CHAPTER 50
Cassiopeia climbed from the boat cradling an assault rifle that had been provided by the Swedish military.
She was followed by the two agents Koger had supplied, both also toting sound-suppressed rifles.
All three wore military-grade Kevlar vests.
A report had come in about an hour ago of an explosion and a building on fire.
Lake M?laren was huge, spanning about one hundred kilometers from east to west. Once its calm waters were the most efficient way to get around, so castles sprang up across the countless islands that became centers of royal dominion.
Bjorko Island lay toward the center of the lake, its landscape a combination of pine-clad rocky hills and moraine ridges dotted with fields and deciduous trees, mainly tall, bushy oaks.
It stretched about three and a half kilometers wide and two kilometers long.
The highest spot, about fifty meters above sea level, provided a great view of the lake and contained a former ancestral country estate.
Which was burning.
She led the way from the dock, plunged into the trees, and started up a mild incline toward the house.
She’d been briefed on the locale. No full-time residents.
The island privately owned. Used as a hunting and fishing retreat.
The first building was erected in the fourteenth century.
A fortified castle. It changed hands a number of times until the fifteenth century, when the Carthusian monks took title and made it a monastery.
King Gustav Vasa confiscated the property in the sixteenth century and tore down the old stronghold, building a chateau that royalty enjoyed until the beginning of the twentieth century when it was bought privately.
Currently, title was held by a Swedish national who resided in northern France.
It was also on the list of sites Ivan had provided to Cotton.
She caught sight of the chateau.
Firefighters had arrived. Two pumper boats were anchored close to shore, but the house was too far inland for any water to reach.
The structure itself was nearly gone. By all accounts the explosion occurred about ninety minutes ago.
She’d been told the house was a couple of hundred years old, built of wood, which had burned fast.
Not much was left.
A group of firemen watched the smoldering ruins from a distance. Flames still lit up the night, consuming the last bits of fuel. She approached and introduced herself. Stephanie had worked through the prime minister’s office and made sure the firemen knew to expect her.
“These old places were built solid,” the man in charge said. “It will be a few days before this fully extinguishes. We will be here to make sure nothing spreads to the forest. But there is something you need to see.”
She followed the man toward the conflagration, feeling the heat from the steaming embers. The two men who’d come with her stayed back and kept an eye on the situation. A three-story building that had survived the centuries was gone. Its footprint remained, along with piles of smoldering rubble.
“We found three male bodies,” the fireman said. “Burned to a char. But toward the back we discovered something else.”
They rounded the site to the rear where the house had collapsed down onto itself, much of it still burning, though the flames seemed to be receding. At ground level was what had once been the kitchen. Appliances and a refrigerator could be seen. Along with what appeared to be a large stone tub.
“It is marble and heavy. It sat on one of the upper floors but ended here after they collapsed. Incredibly, it fell straight down and did not flip over. The worst of the flames seem to have spared it.”
She wondered what this was about.
The man led the way into the rubble. She followed.
He clicked on a flashlight and illuminated inside the tub.
She saw a body. A woman. Naked. Had she been taking a bath?
Older. Her arms and legs had sustained burns, along with her torso.
But the fireman had been right. The tub had apparently shielded the corpse from the worst.
She found her phone and typed in Princess Lysa’s name, then clicked on IMAGES. Many pictures appeared on her screen of the princess in various poses and places.
Her skin pimpled into gooseflesh.
No mistake.
The corpse seemed reasonably intact. Like a message from the dead.
Surely the idea had been to eliminate any trace of what might have happened here.
On that count the effort had failed. She tapped her phone screen again a few times, then brought the unit to her ear and stepped away from the fire, walking toward the trees for privacy.
“I found the princess,” she told Stephanie. “She’s dead.”
“Any indication as to how?”
“She was naked inside a tub, in the house that exploded. I’m not sure what conclusions can be drawn from that. The body is partially burned, but there was no sign of any bullet holes or knife stabs.”
“Collect the body and bring it back. Keep things contained. I’ll make sure the firemen at the scene are not a problem. I’ll have an ambulance waiting when you get back. We need an autopsy.”
“Got it.”
“Everything just changed,” Stephanie said.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Get back here. Fast.”