A Spider in the Cup

by Barbara Cleverly

  “Why do you need two guns this afternoon?”

  “Because the senator doesn’t make my life easy. The risks he takes freeze my blood! He and that Sandilands are two for a pair. The silly buggers parade about without any protection but their own swagger. They’ll have not a gun between them when they get out this afternoon! Armaments are not allowed in the conference building—that’s why I’m picking the boss up when he gets out. And anyway, Kingstone had to hand his pocket gun in to the country police force after his little adventure down in Surrey. Sandilands?—well, London policemen don’t go about armed, however high their rank. He’s got an old Browning somewhere but he probably keeps it in a glass case.”

  “What are they supposed to do if they get into trouble?”

  Armitage grinned. “They have to find a phone and ring for backup from an armed unit. Unbelievable!”

  “Kingstone doesn’t need a pistol if he’s got you, Bill,” she said comfortably. “Are you escorting him straight back here? I need to talk to him. I’ve got some news for him.”

  Armitage looked at her speculatively. “Oh, yes. You were down at the lawyer’s, weren’t you? Has the little madam done the decent thing and left her ill-gotten goodies back where they came from—to Kingstone?”

  “I think he should be the first to hear, Bill.”

  “Sure … The boss has decided that since he’s going home early, he’s at least going to get a look at some pretty part of London while he can. He’s going to take a breather walking back from the conference hall. He plans to cross the road into the park, taking in a bit of statuary: the Albert Memorial, Peter Pan and the Achilles statue, topped off with a visit to the park tea rooms and a sing-along with the band, sitting in a deck chair. Itinerary suggested to him by—you’ll never guess—Joe Sandilands, the Kensington Boulevardier. There’s an arrogant bugger who assumes bullets will bounce off him. I had to save his bloody skin more than once in the war. And he hasn’t learned.”

  “Why would they be taking a walk? Aren’t there taxis down there?”

  “ ’Course there are. Walking in parks is what English gents do when they’ve got secret stuff to exchange. No one overhearing or hiding a microphone in a wall or a lamp. More business gets done out there than in the conference hall—or in Parliament. They read newspapers then leave them on a bench with a message in code.” Armitage rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Bloody boy scouts! They look at a park full of trees and bushes and they see a bird sanctuary, haunt of wagtails and willow-warblers. I see perfect ambush country. Three Irish blokes damned nearly got Winston Churchill in Hyde Park. I nipped out to do a recce this afternoon. It’s not good. You could stash ten assassins with machine guns away in there and never see them. And they’d all get away. Because there is no Plod. They only patrol after dark, would you believe! Protecting unsuspecting Members of Parliament who’ve taken a wrong turning from falling into the clutches of lipsticked ladies with short skirts and big handbags.”

  “I know that park,” Julia said. “It is a lovely place on a June afternoon.”

  “Now they’ve stopped using the Serpentine as a sewer. Little boys sailing their boats on the Round Pond, nannies out walking with prams …”

  “Perhaps they’re right. I expect the two gents want to say their goodbyes. They seem to have hit it off.”

  “Well I’d better not keep them waiting. Ta-ta, Julia, love. See you later.”

  “Enjoy the statuary! The Achilles looks a bit like you, without your clothes on, Bill! Best sculpted fig leaf in London! I’ll stay and have my tea at the hotel. Sorry to hear you’ll not be staying much longer … Bill, I was wondering …?”

  He gave her a radiant smile as he eased into his jacket. “I thought you’d never get round to it. We’ll talk about that, shall we? And not in a draughty old park. We’ll take a table to ourselves, this evening. At the Ritz? Go easy on the cream buns, gel!”

  KINGSTON EMERGED FROM the Geological Museum Hall at five o’clock as arranged, looking tired and anxious. Joe hardly liked to ask him: “Did all go well?”

  “Fine. Just fine. Your King George was kingly, your Prime Minister was magisterial. A gold-plated microphone transmitted the messages of good will and resolve to millions all over the world. You can read the text in the papers tomorrow. The World Economic Conference is off to a good start, I think we can say.” And, in an undertone as he settled his homburg on his head, “Where can we talk?”

  Joe led the way down Exhibition Road towards the park. “We’ll give the statues and the architecture a miss and go straight for the café if you like. Did you have any lunch?”

  “No. No lunch. I spent the hour talking. Moving my counters around. Playing for my life.” Kingston rallied and made an effort, as they walked along, to take an interest in his surroundings. “Knightsbridge, you say this is called? I see no bridge.”

  “Long gone. But it must have been right here where we’re crossing into Kensington Gardens, spanning the Westbourne Stream, which ran here in ancient times when the village was well outside the London boundary.” He spoke in the confident voice of a gentleman showing a friend around London but Joe recognised that Kingstone’s attention was scarcely on what he was saying. The man’s eyes were moving from side to side. Hunting for something or someone, grunting a response the moment Joe stopped talking.

  “The place has a very ancient legend attached to it. Two knights leaving London to go to war—as far back as the Crusades possibly—had a quarrel. They fought on the bridge while their companions watched the struggle from the banks. Both of them fell dead and the bridge has been called after the knights ever after. They made a terrific duelling ground, of course, these open spaces. And were a haunt of highwaymen and footpads until a hundred years ago.”

  “No law and order, then, in the early days?” Kingston roused himself to ask.

  “Strangely enough,” Joe battled on, determined to entertain and amuse, “the concealing thickets of this park have been the setting for some strange conceptions over the years, no offspring so misbegotten perhaps as the Metropolitan Police Force! Right here. An armed troop was formed to protect the public crossing the park into the city from the thieves that infested it. There’s still a manned police station in Hyde Park about a quarter of a mile away, in the middle of a thousand acres of wilderness. Many men have died here over the years fighting each other with sword and bullet.”

  “Sounds like a blood-soaked killing field to me. What are you leading me into?”

  “Ah! That’s in the past. When you’ve seen it for yourself, all green and peaceful on a summer’s afternoon, you’ll agree with your countryman Henry James, who lived just round the corner, that this is Paradise.”

  Joe pointed out the Broad Walk and its stately elm trees, the Round Pond busy with juvenile yachtsmen and the thickets of the Bird Sanctuary where, seven years ago, he and Armiger had arrested a would-be rapist. “Speaking of whom,” Joe said, “I don’t see your aide. I thought you’d asked him to be in attendance?” In some unease, he warned, “I have to declare I carry no gun myself. You?”

  “Me neither. My Pocket Special’s with your police in Surrey. But Armiger is about the place somewhere. This is his style. He never walks with me. That just enlarges the target, he says and, when it comes to protection, you don’t argue with Armiger. Don’t worry, he always steps forward at exactly the right moment and he usually carries a spare. He’s a marvel at keeping himself hidden.”

  “A quality I remember well,” Joe confirmed, not without irony. “How do you fancy a calming cup of tea in the café?”

  “Order what you like,” said Kingstone when they had settled at a table as far as possible from the others. He straightened the rickety wooden table and banged a leg into place with his fist. When he’d tugged the white linen cloth into place he added, “Anything but Earl Grey for me.”

  Joe placed a double order for ham sandwiches, Chelsea buns and Typhoo tea with the waitress and while they waited for the tray to arrive,
looked about him, automatically scanning the other customers. Young mothers chatted happily together over the heads of jam-smeared infants or called unheeded warnings to older children playing games between the tables. A poorly dressed young couple were sharing a toasted tea-cake. Two Foreign Office mandarins, heads together, were plotting some skulduggery over their cucumber sandwiches. Joe searched beyond them, peering into the depths of the surrounding foliage and he recognised that the American had made him nervous. “Twitchy, Cornelius? You must have a reason. You said you were playing for your life. How did that game come out?”

  “I lost,” the senator said simply. “You’re looking at a loser, Joe. Worse than that. A danger. I won’t make it back to the hotel.”

  “You talk as though you’ve got the Black Spot on your back.”

  “Damn right, I have! The Nine Men gave—or their spokesman gave—me a message. Useless to offer my services having got to this point. They don’t countenance failures or those who don’t play straight. The gate clanged shut. There was no going back.”

  “Further instructions given?”

  “None given. You don’t talk to a dead man. I guess if I’m allowed to get back to the hotel I can slit my wrists in a hot bath in the approved senatorial manner but I don’t think I’ll be given that choice. Bullet? Knife in the ribs? Perhaps they’ll drown me in the duck pond? Whatever they’ve got planned—they’re out there and they’re watching me. Probably just waiting for you to back off and give them space. They can’t count on you being unarmed. They wouldn’t think you could be so stupid.”

  He gave a grunting laugh. “So—the seedhead has been chopped off and left to rot in the ditch. What you did with the roots seems hardly to matter. But I’d still like to hear, Joe. Ah, here comes our tea. I’ll pour while you tell me.”

  Heavy of heart, Joe told him how he’d cornered Swinton and snatched the mask from him. “And underneath, there was a very ugly mug,” he said. “A pop-eyed bigot. You’d probably find the same applied if we could get hold of any one of the Nine Men who direct and inspire him.”

  “Not going to happen now. Forget it. If they let you. I don’t know for certain but I’m afraid they may have put you in the same slot as me, Joe. They’ll have noted we’ve got close. Someone who knows the extent of their devilry will not be tolerated. Can you get away? I mean just walk away now?” His voice was earnest, his eyes discreetly observing the lie of the land as he wielded the teapot. “I’m not taking you down with me. Look—put your cup down, visit the gents’ and find a back way out of this place. I’ll cover for you. Choke on a bun … start a fight with the waitress or something.”

  This was an offer they both knew Joe was never likely to accept, but, like Kingstone, he had assessed his surroundings. He’d concluded that a busy teashop in a park in Kensington, in earshot of a royal residence and in full view of seven children and at least three pram-pushing, uniformed nannies was probably not the place they’d choose to carry out a double killing. Even so, as two little boys raced around their table playing tag, Joe decided this was not a protection they would want to be using. Time to move on.

  “What I’m saying is—get out. Leave the whole scene for a while. Go find your girl in France.”

  “Listen, Cornelius, I booked you two cabins on board the Olympic. Openly, in your name: Senator Kingston plus one aide.” Quietly he added, “Also, an alternative: I’ve conjured up less grand accommodation, but anonymous and more secure, on a British naval frigate on its way to New York. I was owed a favour. I’ll lay on a police launch to pick you up and transfer you at eleven P.M. tonight at Waterloo Bridge. I’ll escort you down there. Don’t bring luggage. What you stand up in will do. Just make sure it’s not a tuxedo again.”

  “Sounds intriguing. If only … But, Joe, you didn’t say—what about you? Can you get away?”

  “I wrote out my resignation this morning. It’s getting to be a bit of a habit. But you can at least tell me why my career and possibly my life is to end like this. A chap likes to know these things. I don’t want to disappear with a huge question mark over my head. Or in it. You claim I ‘know the extent of their devilry.’ Not sure I do. I’m pretty fed up with boxing shadows, tearing off masks and finding bogey-men underneath. Are you ever going to tell me what the carrot was, Cornelius? I’ve seen the stick they dealt out for myself but it would truly be interesting to hear what they were offering you.”

  Kingstone’s shoulders slumped and his words, when he could force them out, could have come from the grave: “The presidency. They were offering me the presidency.”

  CHAPTER 28

  After a very long pause, Joe finally said: “I’m missing something here, Cornelius. You live in a democracy. At the most, nine men have no more than nine votes. How are they going to guarantee the other hundred millions when the time comes in four more years?”

  “By skipping the election altogether. And they’re not going to wait that long. More like four weeks than four years. They despise democracy. They particularly don’t favour Roosevelt’s style. It’s a coup they’re planning. The press will soften up the public by running a campaign to denigrate the president. He has his physical weaknesses, were you aware?”

  “The paralysis? That’s hitting below the belt, isn’t it? He manages admirably.”

  “He can no longer stand to make his speeches without the aid of a strengthened lectern. They can make that look very bad. Last year the veterans made a nuisance of themselves …”

  “The Bonus Boys. Yes. I know about that.”

  “It gave the Nine Men the idea of using military force against their own people. Triggering a civil war. Another civil war. But this one will be contained and stage-managed. A fire in a bucket. The regular army is small—only half a million men. Poorly paid and disaffected but trained and ready to go when someone blows the whistle. They weren’t happy about the way they were used to put down the protest by the vets—their brothers-in-arms. Our Nine friends looked around for an army man soldiers could respect and they came up with me. I had the added advantage of being close to the president. The plan was to surround Washington with a ring of steel and keep the lid on while the president’s friend declared in some sorrow that the president, for reasons of ill health, was no longer able to carry on. He would continue in name only and pass the management of affairs to his trusted second in command—yours truly, who also happens to go down well with the Praetorian Guard.”

  “Good Lord! They’re modelling themselves on the Emperor-making regiment of Roman times?”

  “Yes! They’ve made a study of power. They know their history and they rather admire the Roman style of getting things done. Then you divert some of the cash that is considered to be wasted on the lower classes and the unemployed and pass it straight to the Praetorians to keep them sweet.

  “Their problem is—and I let them know it—they’d misjudged their man. This president’s strong-willed and he has guts. ‘He’d never agree to it. You’d have to put a gun to his head,’ I told them.”

  “How did they propose to deal with that?”

  “They’d put a gun to his head. ‘Sign away your powers or else.’ ”

  “To caretaker president Kingstone, whom we all know and trust?” Joe sighed. “You’d be holding the pen, Cornelius, but tell me …” his leaden delivery told that he already knew the unwelcome answer, “Who would be holding the gun?”

  “Armiger. We were to work as a pair. He’s accepted by the president’s team—he could have got close enough. William was, literally, to put the gun to his temple. And he might have had to use it. Roosevelt would, I believe, have called their bluff.”

  “How did Armiger come to their attention?”

  “FBI career. I think he took a leaf out of his boss’s book and actually has something on Hoover himself. He gets all the recommendations he needs.”

  “If the coup were to succeed, what then? For your country? For the world?”

  “You know what happened to the Roman Emp
ire. More of the same. Internally: the death of democracy. Bread and circuses for the plebeian class and leave the serious governing to us patricians. Externally: outright war against Russia is first on the agenda. A spectacular win against a perceived enemy goes down well at home. Catch the Russians while they’re exhausted from the war and quarrelling amongst themselves—makes military sense at least. Just to be sure, they’d form alliances with those countries of Europe that see things their way. Those who can be persuaded or bribed: Britain and Germany. Britain will do anything to retain her Empire. Allow her more destroyers, bigger caliber cannon and undisputed world trade routes and she’s your ally for life. Germany is already arming and spoiling for a fight to retrieve their national honour, they reckon. This new Chancellor of theirs, Hitler, they see as no more than a drill sergeant. They’ll let him shout and stamp and generally lick the country into shape and then move in the commander general they’ve got waiting in the wings.”

  “Ah! Enter Heimdallr, heir to the throne of the Norse Gods,” Joe muttered.

  “Prussian father, but raised in America, remember.”

  “They’re after world domination.”

  “Continued world domination,” Kingston corrected.

  “How did you get in so deep, Cornelius? I remember you speaking those lines of Mark Antony’s:

  Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,

  Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.

  You saw it for what it was.”

  “And I saw myself as that traitor—unless I was slick enough to pull out before I hit the buffers. I went along with them to get to the bottom of it. I figured I was always going to be a sacrifice. No way out for me from the moment I had an inkling of what they were about. I thought I’d take down as many of them as I could. Useless to pick them off one at a time. Might as well chop the head off the Hydra. Another one grows straight back in its place. The Nine-Headed Hydra! The Nine Men. They’d just elect another rich crook to join their game. They probably have a waiting list.”