The Thirteenth Skull by Rick Yancey Read Free Book Online Page A

exactly?”
    â€œIt means someone is trying very hard to hide their tracks, Alfred.”
    â€œDoes it also mean you believe me now and I can go?”
    â€œIt means there’s one homicide detective who is very confused and the more she looks into this bizarre case, the more confused she gets. This Mogart you told me about, he’s Arthur Myers, isn’t he?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd this man you were traveling with to Canada, he was ...”
    â€œBennacio, the Last Knight of the Sacred Order. I guess his alias was Benjamin Bedivere.”
    â€œAnd he died ...?”
    â€œAt Stonehenge. I got the Sword and that’s when OIPEP set up the whole deal with the FBI to try to catch me and get the Sword from me. I guess they also bought off your detective friends, or maybe Mr. Samson ... did.”
    â€œWell,” she said. “Here’s the thing, Alfred. I’m not saying that I believe everything you’ve told me. All I’m saying is there’s some very weird coincidences and connections going on, and it’s driving me crazy. Why would someone connected to Tintagel International stage an elaborate assassination attempt on a fifteen-year-old kid?”
    â€œBecause Tintagel International is just a front.”
    â€œA front? A front for what?”
    â€œFor the AODs.”
    â€œWhat’s an AOD?”
    â€œAgent of darkness. That was just my name for them. It wasn’t like their official title or anything. Basically, they were the private army Mogart raised after Mr. Samson kicked him out of the Sacred Order.”
    â€œMogart was a knight?”
    â€œSort of a black knight. He left the Order and then decided to steal the Sword.”
    â€œWhy did he leave?”
    â€œBecause Mr. Samson found out Mogart had a son.”
    â€œAh,” she said. “Ah.”
    â€œSo Mogart raised this private army, some of them I guess still being around wanting a little payback for what I did.”
    â€œWhat would be the point now, though? You said the Sword was back in heaven.”
    â€œWell,” I said, trying to think it through. “I guess because they’re bad guys.”
    She laughed for some reason. “Well, that’s what I hope to find out.”
    She stood up.
    â€œIt makes sense,” I said. “They almost had it in their hands, the most powerful weapon on earth, and they didn’t get it, all because of me. So they tried to kill me and then torched my father’s house.”
    â€œIf that’s true,” she said, “you’ll never be safe, Alfred.” Then she shocked me by kissing my cheek. “But it can’t be true, can it?” she asked.
    She left. I lay there for a minute, trying to wrestle to the ground at least one coherent thought. So it wasn’t OIPEP and it wasn’t Mike Arnold, the two likeliest suspects. It was Mogart’s former henchmen. But other than revenge, what was the big deal about killing me? It wouldn’t bring their boss back and it sure wouldn’t bring the Sword back. Then I told myself maybe it was a good thing, my inability to understand evil minds.
    Meredith had forgotten—or did she forget?—to strap me back to the bed. I swung my feet to the floor and pushed myself forward, and I nearly crashed into the chair; I guessed I was still pretty dopey. I found my balance and walked toward the window, trying to think it through.
    It was like a vendetta or one of those Greek tragedies I’d studied in school. The first killing launches the next and it isn’t over until everybody is dead. Mogart killed Uncle Farrell, my father, and Lord Bennacio. I killed Mogart and not a small number of his henchmen. Now it was my turn.
    I stood at the window and stared at the parking lot six stories below. No, I thought, it went back a lot farther than my uncle dying in our apartment. That was just the most recent chapter in a story that went back a thousand years, to