Son of Perdition (Chronicles of Brothers) by Wendy Alec Page A

‘The great American patriot!’
    ‘Alex!’ Polly glared at him warningly.
    ‘If I’m not mistaken,’ Julia said drily, ‘it was the great American patriot who got you your place at The New York Times . And changed your nappies when you were four months old. You’re going to be the scourge of Manhattan at this rate.’ She looked at him and sighed. ‘You are so like your mother, Alex Lane-Fox.’
    Alex grinned. ‘Gorgeous – yeah, I get that a lot.’
    ‘I was rather thinking stubborn.’ Julia stopped in mid-sentence. Frozen.
    Lily was staring up at Alex in complete adulation. Lily and Alex had virtually grown up together. Holidays. Family festivities. They were like brother and sister.
    Julia took a deep breath. All these years, she had never noticed. Her strong-willed independent daughter was totally besotted with Alex Lane-Fox.
    Julia knew with a mother’s instinct that it had nowhere to go. Alex was deeply in love with Polly. Lily was disabled for life.
    How had she not seen this? Alex, through no intention of his own, was literally breaking her daughter’s heart.
    She was going to have to put some space between them.
    The doorbell rang again. This time, eight teenagers stood in the hallway.
    Alex pushed Lily’s wheelchair out through the doorway.
    ‘Bye, Mum,’ Lily said, waving. Julia smiled weakly.
    ‘Bye, Mrs D.’ Polly stopped. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t call you Mrs D. now.’ She shuffled embarrassed. ‘ . . . now that the divorce is through.’
    Alex poked his head back through the door. ‘You should really start dating again, Aunt Jules. My dad’s surgeon friend Callum Vickers says you never return his calls. He thinks you should.’
    The door slammed behind them.
    Julia walked over to the windows to draw the heavy cream curtains. The skies were already darkening. She hesitated and frowned looking at the strange white apparition in the skies above the English Channel. She wondered if Jason was dating. Strange, the thought of Jason dating. She couldn’t quite imagine it.
    She had to admit he was still attractive in a worn kind of way. She missed him tonight.
    She walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up a photograph of Jason, the only one in the apartment. She looked closely at the picture, studying his features.
    She ran her fingertips gently over his face. Then turned the photo face down and scrolled down her BlackBerry to Callum Vickers’ phone number.
    Took a deep breath.
    And dialled.

Chapter Seven
    Mourir de Façon Horrible
    Monastry of Archangels, Egypt
    Nick dried off his freshly washed hair and upper torso with a bath towel.
    There was a loud knocking on the door of the monastic chamber. Nick opened it. Lawrence St Cartier, now freshly changed into a crisply pressed shirt and cravat, stood clutching a dog-eared British newspaper in his hand. He stared at the red weals and sores all over Nick’s chest, then lowered his eyes.
    ‘Lawrence, this place is in the Dark Ages,’ Nick said in frustration. ‘There’s no mobile signal. I’ve tried to put a call via landline through to the UK six times and each time I’m told the lines are down.’
    ‘Oldest monastery in Egypt – still operates on a local exchange. The lines stay down for days at a time.’ Lawrence replied distractedly.
    ‘Aren’t you going to come in?’ Nick studied Lawrence’s face. The Professor looked shaken. He fidgeted uneasily in the doorway.
    ‘I’m the bearer of unpleasant news, I’m afraid, Nicholas.’
    He laid the newspaper on the table awkwardly.
    ‘I came as soon as it was slipped under my door – I haven’t had time to review the entire article.’
    Nick stared down at the newspaper headline – Massacre at the Temple Mount . His eyes locked onto a black-and-white headshot of one of eight murdered archaeologists.
    ‘Klaus,’ Nick murmured, stunned. He grabbed the paper and scanned through the leading paragraph. ‘Klaus . . . ’
    ‘Von Hausen.’ St Cartier finished his