Trove (The Katie Walsh Mysteries) (6 page)

If she could find these crystals, she’d be able to prove her theory that there had been survivors of the destruction of Atlantis and that one of the groups had settled in western Britain, near what was now the Isle of Skye. She needed to identify possible sites. “So, Eric, once this step is completed, can we try incorporating the use of GPS coordinates?”

Eric nodded. “Aye, I’ve almost finished linking into the supercomputer at the Institute with a user-friendly interface. That should allow you to run the program using the extensive maps and satellite photos stored on the mainframe.”

Katie sighed, pleased with how far they’d come. “I can’t believe we’re so close to the end of phase one. You know what my first quest will be?”

“Nae.” He laughed, his deep voice rumbling through his chest. “Would it be Norland?”

“Oh, you know it.” She smiled. “If I could find any trace that would help me prove my theory and unwind the legend to discover just what was at the core…”

“Aye, t’would be something, lassie, but just so you know, the initial load and linking of the software and the supercomputer may take a day or two and that’s assuming it all goes smoothly.”

She grinned. “Did you ever think when you were at university studying geology that you’d morph into a techno-geek?”

“Nae, no more than I ever dreamt of hooking up with a renegade researcher by the name of Katie Walsh.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “We make a great team, lassie.”

“Yes, yes, we do,” she said as she pulled away from him, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimate gesture. “I got confirmation that we can link to the computer this weekend, if you’re ready. You can start tomorrow.”

“I’ll be ready.”

She stood and stretched. “Good. Let’s give the supercomputer a real workout.”

****

After checking with Eric on Friday morning and finding that the linking and initialization were proceeding well, she headed off to meet Henri St. Claire. Henri was a collector and dealer in obscure objects mostly from the British Isles. Though now well into his seventies, Henri was as spry and sharp as someone half his age.

Katie had discovered his name noted on the inventory tags of several items she’d uncovered in the Institute’s storage rooms during her cataloging project. There was such an odd mixture of items that had been procured by him that she just had to meet him. After several phone conversations, they had agreed to meet when she was next in London. That was more than two years ago. While not close friends, they each had respect for the other.

Though not a collector of things because of their investment value, she had started to collect objects that she believed were linked to Celtic and Nordic myths and legends. The few items she already had in her possession provided her with a tangible link, an immediate connection to the distant past.

Shortly after their initial meeting, she had asked Henri to seek out a dagger with a rough-hewn, unpolished emerald in its handle. At least she believed it to be an emerald. It could be a green agate, but frankly she didn’t care. The artifact itself, not the component parts, held value in her mind. Legends had survived through the last thousand years that named this dagger the “Emerald Blade.” She believed that this was a modern name for the artifact, derived from the emerald that had been embedded and protected in the hilt. She thought the item may in fact be the “Stone of Grass.” The link between this dagger and Norland existed only in her mind at this moment. But while
creating the robust catalog at the Institute, she’d run across two obscure references. One was tenuous at best, but the other provided a more tangible connection to Norland. This blade was one of two. The other resembled it, but instead of an emerald, it held a ruby, and was commonly known as the “Dirk of Skye.” If related it would be the “Stone of Blood.” Her research revealed that this blade was acquired several years ago by Lord Anthony Chester, the owner of Willowton. While she was on friendly terms with Lord Chester, she had yet to see it. She didn’t want to make her interest in the blades known, at least not yet.

The obscure reference contained the phrase and an odd symbol which she’d translated as “Atlu.” While researching her doctoral work, she’d seen this symbol in two different sources, one in reference to Atlantis and one in reference to Norland. The Norland reference was an old Celtic myth, while the Atlantis connection seemed to be Druidic. And contrary to common belief, she believed that Druids in the British Isles predated the Celts by millennia, and may have eventually been absorbed into Celtic culture, reinforcing her belief that the myth of Norland was related to Atlantis.

Henri had emailed a scanned photo of the object last week. Katie’s heart had skipped several beats when the picture loaded on her laptop. It was the Stone of Grass, she was sure. Henri had located it in a small estate sale in northern England. The recent chain of possession had it in the care of the Cardon family for at least five hundred years. Not much was known by the family regarding its origin or purpose, as there was no detailed documentation in the estate papers. The Cardons had regarded it as a family relic, but since the death of the last Cardon months ago, there was no one left to claim ownership. It was being sold as part of the estate, and the proceeds would be used to pay the dreaded death taxes. She shook her head as she thought about the many artifacts that had scattered to the winds as they were sold off to satisfy the government. Once again money trumped history. The only value existed in the here and now.
So sad
, she thought,
so very sad
.

Henri had acquired the dagger with the embedded emerald and would give her first refusal to purchase it. She was ecstatic that she wouldn’t have to wait long to see it, as she had emailed back that she would be in London for a conference this week.

She rode the elevator, literally a glass box attached to the outside of the ultra-modern skyscraper, to Henri’s office. She smiled as she contrasted his work as a finder of obscure objects and his modern, minimalist office. Given a choice, however, she’d opt for an office in one of the old buildings that still made up most of London. It wasn’t so much their age that attracted her as it was the rich history that had been absorbed into the stone walls.

“
Bonjour
, Katie. It is so wonderful to see you once again.”

She kissed each cheek. “Good to see you too.”

“Do you have time for lunch?”

She shook her head. “I have a five p.m. flight for Boston. And with all the extra security, I have to be there hours early.” She shuddered.

“Are you cold?”

“No. It’s just the thought of getting processed through Heathrow. Tell me something
. Is that airport ever
not
busy?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever experienced.”

She sighed. “I’m coming back next week, and if all goes well, I’ll be flying on the Nordstrom jet. I wish I could travel that way all the time.”

He nodded in agreement. “Well, let’s get down to basics. Would you like to see it?” he said, a wicked grin plastered on his face.

“Yes,” she hissed softly. “Not only do I want to see it, I want to hold it, feel its heft in my hand.”

He retrieved a small wooden chest and placed it on the conference table that doubled as his desk. He handed Katie the key to the lock and winked. “Have at it, girl.”

Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she approached it. She took a deep breath and focused on what was about to be revealed to her, what had come down through time to her. She had a feeling this was always meant to find its way to her. She felt the key she held in her hand was symbolic as she believed she was the key to unlocking the mystery of Norland.

She took a deep breath and steadied her hands. She lifted the lock outwards from the chest with her left hand and used her right to insert the key. She paused for a moment, imprinting this scene in her memory, absorbing the heightened sense of anticipation. If only she could bottle that feeling. It was heady, powerful. She turned the key and heard a click as the lock released. She removed the lock and set it on the table. She held her breath, and with both hands, she slowly lifted the lid. She gasped as the overhead lighting cast its light over the green stone. Though unpolished, it seemed to glow in the ambient light.

Katie reached in and lifted the iron dagger out, bringing it close to her face. Though somewhat small, the blade length about five inches, the heft was solid and strong. She turned the blade over, noting faint markings, eroded by time and human touch. She’d have to use the equipment at the Institute, but she felt sure she could determine what the markings were. Separating the hilt where the blade attached to the handle was a cross piece, which gave it a traditional “T” shape. She peered closely and saw markings there on the bottom of the cross piece, though not as eroded as the ones on the blade. She looked up at Henri. “Did you see these?”

“Yes, but I don’t recognize them.”

“Hmmm,” she replied. “Neither do I.” Her hand closed around the hilt, and she reveled in the feel of it. She turned and faced him. “I’ll take it. But you have to hold it here until next week. You can send it to Willowton and I’ll take it back on the Nordstrom jet with me.”

“I knew you’d take it. But why not leave with it today?”

“I’m tempted but I don’t think I’ll be able to take this onboard with my carry-on stuff and I definitely do
not
want to have it disappear in the underworld of Heathrow.”

He laughed. “I understand your point. You want to avoid the sticky-finger brigade.”

Katie smiled. “Yes. Would you please make sure that all the paperwork and customs documents are completed and delivered with the box?”

“I’ll have it delivered by my personal courier.”

“Great. I’ll let Lord Chester know about its arrival.” She looked at her watch and shrugged. “Time to head for purgatory,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Thank you, Henri. You have no idea how much this means to me. I’ll be in touch.”

****

The only plus to enduring the harassment of Heathrow was that she would sleep in her own bed tonight. Thankfully the flight was uneventful and without any turbulence either man-made or by force of nature. She arrived home shortly after six p.m. East-coast time. She poured herself a glass of a delicious
pinot grigio
and got comfortable in her leather armchair, tucking her legs underneath her before powering up her laptop.

She checked her work email and quickly deleted any that didn’t pertain to her. Just as she was about to logoff, a meeting request from Alec MacGowan popped into her inbox. She tensed as she read the subject line:
Kickoff meeting for team members of the Celtic Lore Division
. She opened the email and noted that the only recipients listed were herself and Laura Benson. The meeting was scheduled for Monday at eight a.m. in their new work area. She reluctantly responded, selecting the “I will attend” option. She wanted to add “but I’m not happy about this,” but stopped herself. It wasn’t his fault that he got her promotion. Someone else selected him over her. But why?

Katie swiped her security badge and entered the lobby with her laptop, as ever at her side. She waved at the receptionist as she breezed across the lobby, her four-inch heels clicking on the tile floor as she hurried to the door on the far side of the open space. She was almost through it when Diane came running up to her.

“Dr. Walsh, didn’t you hear me?” Diane asked as she tried to catch her breath. “I have a message for you. You are to report to Dr. MacGowan as soon as you arrive.”

“Thank you, Diane,” she said as she yanked open the door that led to north wing.

“But, Dr. Walsh, his office is in the other direction.”

“Thank you, Diane. I have a very good idea where his office is. I’ll be there when I’m through,” she said as she continued down the corridor to Dr. Samuel Austin’s office.

The farther she went into the north wing, the quieter it was. She knew it was her sometimes overactive imagination, but she could swear that this part of the
Institute literally hummed with power at times. The feeling, whether perceived or real, always made her a tad uncomfortable as she headed down the corridor to Dr. Austin’s office. He, along with Dr. Marcus Altun, whom she had yet to meet, founded the Nordstrom Institute years ago. She had a sudden urge to kick off her shoes and scrunch her toes in the lush carpet. She was surrounded by understated elegance. And that was saying something as the rest of the Institute was well appointed.

She would have preferred to meet him for brunch yesterday, but he wasn’t available until this morning. Dr. Austin
had been her unofficial mentor since she started at the Institute eight years ago. Though he had known her parents and her since she was a child, he’d told her when she interviewed with him that he had this feeling that she’d be a maverick in proving her belief that the myths and legends were based in fact, something he also believed.

While Katie had a special relationship with Dr. Austin, particularly after her parents’ deaths when he assumed the role of surrogate father/grandfather. She made it her dogma never to ask him for personal favors when it came to her career and work at the Institute. Any projects she wanted to work on required a full Request for Proposal, or RFP. Any resources she requested would be considered against other RFPs and awarded on availability and ranking. While she might get her project approved, if someone else’s project had a higher ranking, then she would have to wait until resources where available. Some of her projects received lower rankings but that didn’t stop her, only made her more determined to keep them moving by relying on her out-of-the-box thinking. Her determined focus did little to endear her with her colleagues and earned her the whispered moniker of Ice Princess. She’d heard the talk. The whispers said she was cold, aloof, and relied only on herself. Maybe her “all by myself” attitude was odd, but that’s all she’d known in her life since that accident ten years ago.