The Necessary Deaths

by David C. Dawson

  The man could not have been much more than five feet four. He sported a neatly clipped mustache and was peering intently at Jonathan. The man’s silver hair was immaculately swept back, and his eyes twinkled behind his small, round gold-rimmed glasses.

  “This is called the sgian dubh,” Jonathan said, embarking on one of his favorite lectures. “Its origin is in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Then it was called the sgian-achlais and was carried concealed in the armpit. When you entered the house of friends, you would reveal it by putting it in the top of your stocking. That’s the stocking on your right leg so that it’s ready for immediate use. Unless you are left-handed. Now please excuse me, I am worried about a friend of mine and need to make another phone call.”

  He turned away from the guest and called Steve.

  “Has Dominic got there yet? I’m standing around like the last sad lemon on the fruit stall. If he doesn’t come back soon I may have to pick up one of these rather lovely waiters.”

  “I thought Dominic was with you? Why should he be here?”

  Jonathan gripped the phone a little tighter.

  “He forgot his driver’s license, so he went back with the ghastly politician man from the apartment upstairs to get it. You don’t think they’ve had an accident, do you?”

  “His cell’s still sending a strong tracker signal,” Steve replied. “It looks like he’s about two miles from here. Stationary. Let me get a more accurate reference.”

  There was a pause, presumably while Steve pulled up a detailed map on the screen. Jonathan’s hand began to perspire, and he gripped the telephone handset ever tighter.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s in a place called the Manor off Bragnall Lane. Do you want me to get out there?”

  Jonathan took a deep breath. “I think we’re finally out of our depth. Adrift in the ocean and without a lifeboat. Neither of us have any idea why Dominic’s at this Manor place. And he’s not picking up his cell for us to ask him the question. If we go out there on our own, we could end up dead. Dominic might be dead already, for all we know.”

  He thought for a moment, then went on, “Right. We need the place surrounded. Preferably by men with guns. Big guns. What are your connections like with the armed response unit at Thames Valley Police?”

  Steve laughed. “You must be kidding. I do security-camera installations. I’m not fucking Jason Bourne.”

  “Well, use your imagination. Make up a story. Call emergency. Tell them you’re at the Manor. That you’ve taken your family hostage, and you’re going to shoot them one by one unless they pay you a million pounds. That should get them out. Meanwhile, I’ll get our gorgeous-looking chauffeur to drive me back to Ash House to pick you up. Then he can drive us both over to watch the show at the Manor.”

  “You’re fucking priceless, you are” was all that Steve could say before he ended the call.

  Jonathan turned to leave the room and, with irritation, saw that the little man was still standing behind him, apparently listening in.

  “You know that’s very rude of you,” said Jonathan testily. “Why can’t you go and mingle with the other dull people here, Mr.…?”

  “Professor,” corrected the small, neat man. “I am Professor Heinz Müller. My company is Barton Kane. You may have heard of us?”

  Chapter 24

  “ALLOW ME to introduce Janet Downpatrick. Janet is a very successful investment banker. She is also a founding member of the Natural Family Association. Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Delingpole?”

  The smile on Randolph James’s face seemed to have been created by a plastic surgeon. By contrast, the woman standing by the fireplace in the oak-paneled drawing room of the Manor glowered at Dominic with the contempt of a boarding school headmistress. She was slender and nearly as tall as Dominic. Her auburn hair was scraped back severely into a neat bun. She wore a black trouser suit with black court shoes.

  “Why am I here? Are you intending to hold me against my wishes?”

  “Sit down, Delingpole.” The woman’s voice was quiet, with the hint of an Irish accent. But there was no mistaking its authority. “You may be here for some considerable time. If you don’t hand back that envelope, we’ll start taking actions against your accomplices until you do.” She walked up to Dominic and stared at him.

  “We may start with your gardening man, McFadden. We have him under surveillance at Chequers. Or we could begin with the student, Fraser. We can easily get him picked up in Brighton. We have connections there, you know. You’ve already seen what happened to the boy Simon Gregory. We’re very persuasive when under duress.”

  Dominic sat down heavily on the leather Chesterfield sofa facing the fireplace. There was a cramping sickness in the pit of his stomach.

  “Randolph James. An elected member of the European Parliament.” Dominic looked up at the MP. “And you’re acting like a common kidnapper. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Janet Downpatrick cut in before Randolph James could open his mouth.

  “You’ll find that members of the Natural Family Association hold posts in the highest levels of many organizations around the world. Including governments. We’re an international network. We’ve had some setbacks in Europe in recent years, but we’re correcting that now. Tell me, where is that envelope?”

  Dominic recalled where he had heard about the Natural Family Association before. Jonathan once told him how the group had disrupted an equal marriage demonstration he attended. They had both dismissed the Association as a bunch of antigay cranks.

  Janet Downpatrick took out her cell phone and searched for a number. “Very well, we can begin with McFadden. I believe he’s the ‘special friend’ of yours.”

  “No, wait. Wait.” Dominic desperately wanted to buy some time. He would work out what he could do with that time later.

  “The envelope’s in a safe in central London. I don’t have access to it.”

  “Thank you for confirming that. It’s in the offices of that advocate you saw earlier today, presumably?” Dominic nodded.

  “Then it should be easy enough to recover.” Janet Downpatrick leaned close to Dominic, her face just a few inches from his. “You’ll come with us into London. Our driver and head of security will hold you in the car while Randolph and I retrieve the document. If it’s not in the safe as you claim, there will be consequences.”

  Dominic hardly heard her last threat as he stared at the mirror above the fireplace, realizing where he had seen it before. This was the room in which the orgy photographs had been taken.

  FOR ONE of the few times in his life, Jonathan was rendered speechless. The short silver-haired man in front of him continued his monologue.

  “I’m a research scientist with Barton Kane. We have recently opened a new laboratory not far from here. As a result, I now have the great pleasure of living and working in this delightful part of the world. What is it that you do, Mr.…?”

  “McFadden.” Jonathan was racking his brains to remember what Dominic had told him about Barton Kane. “I’m an opera singer at Glyndebourne. Have you ever been?”

  Professor Müller tapped the tips of his fingers together with delight. “Earlier this year, for the first time. We saw the revival of Handel’s Rodelinda. It was charming. So, Mr. McFadden, will I have seen you on the stage?”

  “I played Flavio,” lied Jonathan, “and I was understudy for Garibaldo. What do you research, Professor? Are you going to be able to finally cure the common cold?”

  Professor Müller chuckled and patted Jonathan’s arm.

  “My dear boy, I am working on a far more important cure than that. My field is gene therapy. You know, we are very close to being able to correct some of nature’s tiresome anomalies. Forever. It all comes down to genes, you see. How short or tall you are, your susceptibility to disease. And of course your sexual orientation.”

  Jonathan tensed. “Tell me more, Professor. I’m intrigued.”

  “Oh, it’s a fascinating field.
It will be possible to remove so many of life’s unhappinesses permanently. Terrible diseases like cancer or cystic fibrosis. People will be able to be more normal.”

  “What do you mean by normal, exactly, Professor?” asked Jonathan suspiciously. “After all, it’s our differences that make us interesting.”

  “Maybe interesting from a scientific or anthropological point of view, Mr. McFadden. But few people are happy at being different. They would much prefer to be normal. I myself would have preferred to be a little taller. I am sure you have found being tall is an advantage on many occasions.” Professor Müller puffed out his chest and stood to attention. “I could never have been an opera singer at only five foot five.”

  “Well, Mario Lanza wasn’t much taller than you, and he did quite well. So instead you’re a scientist and clearly a very successful one. Isn’t it more important for people to make the most of what they’ve got rather than fooling around with nature? Why try to be something we’re not?”

  Jonathan waved away the offer of a top-up from a passing waiter. He was anxious to get away to find Dominic, but at the same time, he could not resist the temptation to stay to demolish the pompous professor.

  “I can assure you, Mr. McFadden, we do not ‘fool around,’ as you call it, in our research. There are many people in this world who are unhappy with being different. Who are you to deny them the opportunity to be more normal if they can? Look at homosexuals for example.”

  Jonathan was in danger of crushing the champagne glass in his hand.

  “They may use the word gay, wear flamboyant clothing, and march in the streets saying they are proud. But the reality is that many of them are deeply unhappy. Why? Because they are not normal. People are happiest when they are part of an accepted, normal group in society. When they feel they belong. It will only be a short while now before we can help homosexuals to be normal permanently. It is very exciting. We have already begun trials on a new gene therapy.”

  Jonathan had heard enough.

  “Professor, I’ve actually got to be somewhere else now. And after what I’ve just heard, I’m bloody glad I do. Just so as you know, I’m gay, I’m proud, and I’m very happy.”

  He put down his glass and turned to leave. “You do know that Handel was gay, don’t you? And by all accounts he was pretty fucking happy too.”

  WHEN JOHN saw the van pull into the stream of traffic, he pushed past the group of students he had been walking with and broke into a run. He pulled his hooded jacket tightly around him against the December cold. It was only a couple more minutes before he would reach the hospital. His feet beat out a rapid, steady rhythm on the pavement, and his fingers tightened around the cell phone in his pocket. He comforted himself with the thought that very soon he would be in the warm and could check in with Steve before going to see Simon.

  From behind him, the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching set John sprinting for the distant lights of the hospital. His heart was thumping. Despite the cold wind, sweat had broken out on his forehead. He was certain his pursuer was getting closer.

  The pounding of feet was drowned out by the roar of an engine and a screech of tires. The black van he had seen earlier overtook him and pulled in sharply at a road junction ahead. The side door slammed open, and a man wearing a ski mask jumped out. John swerved to the left to avoid him. The hooded man lunged forward and grabbed John’s neck, pulling him down into a headlock.

  John flailed his fists, desperately trying to do his assailant some injury. He managed to get one punch to his groin. With a howl, the man briefly loosened his grip. As John tried to wriggle free, the man brought his knee up hard into John’s face. Then he tightened his headlock again. John could taste blood in his mouth, and his nose was throbbing with pain. Despite his struggles, he was rapidly being overpowered by the sheer bulk of the man. He felt himself being dragged back to the van.

  “Oh no you don’t!” a familiar Australian voice yelled out from behind him. John was thrown sideways as a body hurled itself at them. The man released his grip, and John rolled to the ground as Jay leapt on top of the man.

  “Run, mate, get the fuck out of here!” John’s housemate laid punches into his attacker’s head. As John scrambled to his feet, the driver’s door of the van opened. John leapt over the bonnet and slammed it against the driver’s hand, eliciting a howl of pain. Taking a solid grip on the door handle, John then yanked it open, slammed it again, and heard another satisfying yell.

  He looked over at Jay, who by this time was standing over the motionless body of the attacker. John was gratified to see a look of approval on his housemate’s face.

  “Not bad for a poofter, mate. Come on. Let’s get to the hospital before the police arrive. I don’t think we’re going back to the house for a while.”

  Chapter 25

  THE WEBBING of the seat belt was tight around Dominic’s body. Janet Downpatrick sat alongside him in the back of the black Mercedes. She watched with mild amusement as Dominic shifted awkwardly, trying to ease his discomfort.

  “You’ll find that you’re very secure, Mr. Delingpole.” She touched a button on the panel to her side and the seat belt tightened further. “And if the belt’s a little loose, I can always make sure it’s good and tight. It’s probably best that you simply keep still.”

  The Mercedes pulled out of the gateway of the Manor, and the journey to London began. The combined smells of warm leather, Downpatrick’s expensive perfume, and the driver’s stale sweat, clawed at Dominic’s nostrils.

  Randolph James sat in the passenger seat in front of Dominic. He turned around with a fixed smile on his face. “Yes, my dear chap. Just sit there quietly. You’ll be more comfortable that way.” The MP settled back into his seat.

  With difficulty, Dominic shifted his body to turn it away from the Downpatrick woman. He needed to avoid her seeing what he was going to do next. Lifting his left hand slowly, he reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and fumbled for his cell. He found the small switch on its side, and with his thumb, flicked it in the pattern Steve had shown him earlier that evening. He could not risk looking at the phone to confirm he had activated the transmitter. Slowly he dropped his arm back to his side and faced the front. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Downpatrick watching him in the half-light of the car.

  STEVE WAS preparing to clear away his equipment when his laptop beeped with the alert from Dominic’s cell. He sat down at the keyboard and set the audio recorder running. The slightly muffled sound of the interior of the black Mercedes came through the laptop’s speakers.

  “So you’re taking me to Miles’s law offices at Lincoln’s Inn? How, precisely, do you think you’ll get into the safe? Miles has very good security, you know.”

  Steve listened intently. At the same time, he sent a text message to Jonathan. He needed him back with the car, quickly.

  A woman’s voice came through the speakers. “It will be very straightforward. Viktor is not just an excellent driver. He also has many talents when it comes to matters of security. It won’t take him very long. You must hope for your sake that the envelope is still there.”

  “And what do you propose to do with me once you have it? I presume you don’t want me to tell the world that Randolph James MP and Janet Downpatrick of the Natural Family Association, whatever that is, are in the kidnapping business.”

  “The world won’t believe you, old chap” came the voice of Randolph James. “We have connections at the highest level. In every organization. No one’s going to believe a preposterous conspiracy story from a tin-pot country lawyer.”

  “What exactly is this Natural Family Association anyway? Judging from the photos in that envelope, you seem to have an unhealthy interest in male pornography.”

  Steve began packing the rest of his equipment away in readiness for Jonathan’s arrival. He turned up the volume on the laptop, and the soft Irish lilt of the voice he now knew to be that of Janet Downpatrick filled the living room.

  “
Quite the opposite, Delingpole. We want to put an end to the filth that your sort peddle. Children need families that are natural. Marriage should always be the union of one man and one woman. We will reverse this recent fashion for the unnatural marriages of homosexuals and lesbians that a minority of governments have approved.”

  “So you’re campaigning against equal marriage? I still don’t see why you organize male orgies at the Manor. That’s where those photos were taken, isn’t it? I recognized the room immediately.”

  The living room door in Dominic’s apartment swung open and Jonathan bounded in. Steve motioned to him to be quiet as they heard the voice of Randolph James.

  “Oh, my dear fellow. That was just an amusing sideshow for those who are funding us. You see, we’re working to stamp out homosexuality permanently. Thanks to advances in gene therapy, we’re very close to repairing the damaged gene that people like you have. Our research partners are already testing the treatment. We host those little parties at the Manor from time to time to see how well the guinea pigs respond to the treatment.”

  “My God,” whispered Jonathan, “I’ve just met the bastard who’s behind all that. Let’s get after Dominic. Pat the Pecs has got the engine running downstairs.”

  IT WAS shortly before ten o’clock when Miles arrived at his law offices. His clerk, Harrison, was waiting for him in the small reception area.

  “Evening, Mr. Torrington. I’ve got the materials from the secure room. They’re on your desk. Would you like some coffee, sir?”

  “Good man, Harrison. Yes, strong and black is the order of the night, I think. We may be in for a long evening.”

  Miles entered his office. He picked up the envelope and was examining it closely when his cell phone rang.

  “Mr. Torrington, this is Steve here, the… er, skinhead surveillance chappie.”