Vince brought his head down to protect himself. Stevens crashed across him and kicked down hard, catching him in the solar plexus with his boot. Winded, he slapped back into the water as Stevens rose and waded towards him, the knife gleaming dully in his gloved hand.
What made Vince grab the passing seabird by its feet and brandish it at his attacker he would never know, but the struggling penguin was understandably miffed at finding itself faced with what appeared to be a giant rival penguin, and started viciously slashing at Stevens with the sides of its razor-sharp beak. Within seconds it had sawn through the black leather collar of Stevens’s tunic and was biting his neck. The assassin screamed, dropping the knife and falling back, but the penguin kept coming at him, nipping, snapping and chattering as it forced him under the ramp, where Vince was able to boot him hard enough in the side of the head to render him unconscious.
As he slipped and slid back up the incline, grabbing at the sides of the ramp to stop himself from falling, Vince snatched up the dripping envelope that had fallen to its centre. He looked back in time to see the penguin, satisfied that it had exacted vengeance on an interloper, hopping from Stevens’s inert black and white body and swimming away with a satisfied wiggle in its tail. Without flight, thought Vince, but not without fight.
Chapter 47
Departures
‘Okay, there’s a badge of some kind, red and blue enamel, with lettering on it. WBI.’
‘The “Without Borders Initiative”. What else?’
‘Today’s date, and some kind of serial number.’
‘That’s your pass,’ said Masters. ‘My guess is that he wants you inside the perimeter of the WBI’s meeting-place. You have less chance of being arrested under suspicion if you’re outside the immediate crime area. What else is there?’
‘The final letter. I’ll read it to you.’
The Challenge of the Warrior Queen
‘Fear not, isle of blowing woodland, isle of silvery parapets!
Tho’ the Roman eagle shadow thee, tho’ the gathering enemy narrow thee,
Thou shalt wax and he shall dwindle, thou shalt be the mighty one yet!
Thine the liberty, thine the glory, thine the deeds to be celebrated.’
Farewell, Queen of the Iceni.
Your fate decided by a hare,
Loftily charioted, keeping victory in defeat,
Where you were slain, your subjects now depart.
‘This looks like it might be easier than I expected,’ said Vince, cradling the phone beneath his chin. ‘I thought the last one would be a bastard. I’ve got one hour to solve it, which would bring us to eight o’clock.’ He checked his watch, but it had been damaged in the fight. His arm throbbed dully, the bloody wound sticking to his shirt. ‘It’s Boadicea, isn’t it? She fought in the shadow of the Roman eagle. She was the queen of the Iceni in Norfolk. Wasn’t there something about a running hare?’
‘That’s right,’ replied Masters, relaying information from Arthur Bryant. ‘The Romans plundered her possessions, flogged her and raped her daughters, so she led an uprising against them. She needed to convince her troops by showing them an omen, so she released a hare which ran in an auspicious direction, one that revealed the favour of the goddess Adraste, the bestower of victory.’
‘Hence keeping victory in defeat?’
‘No, that probably refers to her name, which means “victory”. It was the only thing she kept. The battle was lost and she was killed, but her fame lives on because, paradoxically, she came to represent the kind of patriotic fantasy figure that children were raised on, this image of the heroic champion who freed the Britons. I’m sure she figured heavily in Sebastian’s upbringing.’
‘The lines are from Tennyson,’ Maggie called out, ‘as is the reference to her being Loftily charioted. He helped to raise her profile immensely, and a statue was built to her.’
‘Where?’
‘It’s on the Embankment right near Big Ben, absolutely enormous, you can’t miss it. I guess that must be your final destination.’
‘No,’ said Vince, staring out into the rain. ‘Where you were slain, your subjects now depart. He’s playing another trick on me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, come on. It’s one of those stupid schoolkid things you remember from history class. He doesn’t mean me to go to her statue on the Embankment at all. He wants me to go to King’s Cross station. Boadicea is supposed to have fallen in battle there. Platform Ten, to be exact.’
‘God, I’d forgotten all about that. The station’s meant to be built on the ancient battle-site, isn’t it?’
‘The thing about her being buried under the platform is just a piece of nonsense,’ he heard Bryant say, ‘one of those things teachers always used to tell children to spark their interest.’
‘But you’re right, it fits,’ Masters agreed. ‘They can’t be holding an international conference on a train, can they?’
‘I imagine they’re boarding a train for somewhere in the countryside,’ Vince replied. ‘If it’s due to set off at 8:00 a.m., they’ll be gathered in the station concourse beforehand. They might even be there already, which means that Sebastian can strike at any time.’
‘Don’t you see how dangerous it is, sending him there alone?’ said Maggie. ‘It’s what Sebastian is expecting. At least let Arthur call someone. Suppose Vince gets inside the security area and a bomb goes off, or a sniper opens fire? Suppose he’s injured? Or arrested, just as the League has planned? Vince has played into their hands every step of the way—and we’re still helping him because that’s the only thing we can do. But if we don’t do something different and disturb their expectations, they’ll have won. It may already be too late.’
The open line on the speaker-phone crackled between them. They were assembled around the dining-room table once more, but were unable to agree on a course of action. When Maggie complained about this, Masters snapped. ‘Well, what do you expect?’ he shouted, ‘we’re academics. We’ve never had to put anything into practice.’
‘Somebody has to this time,’ Maggie replied. ‘Unless you’re prepared to see innocent people die. Why don’t we just tell Vince to contact the first policeman he sees, and to stay out of the security area?’
Vince’s voice cut through the static so loudly that they all jumped. ‘I’m not going to the station,’ he announced.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m turning the cab around. The road here is all dug up. I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get to King’s Cross. It’s a main-line terminus, and at this time of the morning it’ll be packed. I’ll never be able to convince anyone in authority to clear the area in time. Besides, for all I know, they’re waiting for me to be sighted entering the station. It could be their signal to attack. I’ve a better idea.’
‘Thank God,’ said Maggie. ‘I thought you would reach the station, find the train pulling out and leap on a motorcycle to head it off at a level crossing.’
‘You ought to read less and get out more,’ said Purbrick. ‘Vince, what’s your idea?’
‘You have to call the police from there and get them to evacuate the train and the station.’
‘If you can’t do it, what chance do we have? They’ll think it’s a crank call.’
‘Surely not if you have Mr Bryant call, and make him quote the security number on the badge,’ Vince explained, reading it back. Sebastian would live to regret the inclusion of the little enamel pin in his final package. It was the one tangible piece of evidence that could be used against him, and Vince had every intention of doing so.
‘Where are you going now?’ asked Masters.
‘I don’t want to tell you, in case they’ve got someone monitoring the line. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. It’s just some unfinished business.’
There was a crackle of disconnection, and the line went dead.
Chapter 48
The Final Paradox
Sebastian looked aroun
d the room, at the mangled leg of beef dripping bloody gravy on the sideboard, the congealed plates from last night’s dinner, the ashtrays overflowing with joints and the discarded wine bottles, and despaired of ever instilling his colleagues with the discipline of their forefathers, men who had at least been given the chance to run an empire, if not to build one.
Things were falling apart. Prisoners escaping. Stevens demanding money. St John Warner running amok with a crossbow, for God’s sake. Worse, he knew that something had gone wrong with the game. The members of the League who were still awake and sober were downstairs watching breakfast TV and listening to the radio, waiting for first reports of the bomb, but he could hear no sound from them. They were staying away from him, shamefaced and embarrassed, weasels slinking from the fox.
Xavier Stevens had failed to return after their argument over the price of lives. The monitors showed no sign of Vincent Reynolds anywhere near the station. By now the meeting place of the European tribunal should have been damaged by a devastating explosion, the fabric of the building rent asunder, commuters sitting up in dazed and bloody confusion, TV stations preparing bulletins for traffic disruption caused by yet another city bomb as plucky Londoners took it on the nose again.
He checked his watch once more. 7:33 a.m. The WBI members had been asked to convene in front of their platform at 7:30 a.m., and the bomb’s timer-mechanism had also been set at half-past the hour. It could only mean one thing. The police had somehow located the device, and had managed to either defuse or remove it. It was possible, he supposed, that the device itself was faulty, but unlikely considering the number of tests he had specified before taking delivery—
‘Hello, Sebastian.’
A figure was standing in the doorway watching him. Vincent looked terrible. Soaked and grey and sick. There was blood dribbling from his right arm onto the carpet. He smelled of fish.
‘Well, well, I suppose you’d better come in. I’m glad you found your way to the inner sanctum,’ said Sebastian casually. He turned from Vince to the lawns below the window, now revealing themselves beneath the thinning veils of night. ‘I rather wondered if you might find me. The girl, I suppose.’
‘That’s right,’ said Vince. ‘You shouldn’t have dismissed the girl. The upper echelon have always undervalued their women.’
‘For God’s sake, don’t start. Sit down before you fall down. We have something to discuss, you and I.’ He looked around for the decanter and located it under his chair, almost empty. He noticed that his hands were shaking. ‘You came very close to winning the challenge for a while.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Vince. ‘I beat you. I solved all of the tests you set for me. By now the bomb squad should have cordoned off your device and defused it. I hope you’re going to show grace in defeat.’
‘I can’t acknowledge defeat, Vincent, you must see that. After all, you can’t publish. We destroyed your disks, your notes, your manuscripts, your commissioning editor, your agent. And we can do it again whenever we like. You have no evidence beyond your own admittedly faulty memory. Who are they going to believe, the toff or the tout?’ He permitted himself a victorious smile. ‘You broke the rules I laid down. I warned you about tampering with the code of honour.’
‘What honour? You call attacking people and trying to kill them honourable?’
‘It depends on what you’re protecting. I’d ask you to consider joining the League if you weren’t so much against it. We’re dying. Look around you. We don’t have the common touch, you see, and so much of the world does now. We need fresh blood to help take us into the next millennium.’ Sebastian stared at him as though examining a creature from another planet. ‘All my hard work has been in vain. You still have no concept of the people who run the city.’
‘Yes, I do,’ replied Vince. ‘They go around in trucks fixing the streetlights at two in the morning. They spend their evenings sitting on benches waiting to be chosen for clean-up teams. They earn a couple of quid for every thousand envelopes they fill with double-glazing offers.’
‘I’m talking about the people with power.’
‘We’re all born with the same power, Sebastian. Some of us get tricked into never using it.’
‘Vincent, Vincent. You’ve been so bright up until now, it’s a pity you’ve failed to divine the other purpose to all of this.’
‘That purpose being?’
‘The battle for the leadership of the League of Prometheus, of course. Do sit down, you’re making the place untidy. Perhaps I should get you a bandage for that.’ He made no attempt to move. Sebastian poured the last two glasses of brandy and slid one along the table that stood between them.
‘Shortly before I met you, my ability to command the League was called into question by the other members. I felt I was qualified to lead them into the next century; they felt otherwise. As a consequence of their lack of faith, I agreed to devise some kind of independent examination. I offered to find a potential candidate for the job and undergo a test of wits. The candidate I chose was you.’
‘That’s not possible. I chose you.’
Sebastian chuckled. ‘I’m afraid not. You contacted me, that’s true, but I’d been searching for a suitable player for several months before you called. From the outset you seemed ideal. We had so very little in common. That’s what made it so appealing.’
Vince looked in his eyes and saw that beneath the geniality was a hatred born from the fear of anything different, a hatred eternal, dead and pure. ‘This country is at a crossroads, Vincent. When the Fabian Society starts suggesting that we disband the Royal Family and replace the national anthem with a song by Andrew Lloyd Webber, you know that something is rotten.’ He looked about himself, depressed by what he saw. ‘We let our future slip away. Now the nation belongs to people like you.’ He gave a disappointed sniff and stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘Look at you. Your knowledge is all second-hand, gleaned from TV and the movies. It’s left to people like me to provide you with a few real experiences. You know nothing.’
‘I know you, Sebastian. You like a bit of strident marching music. You like Offenbach, Gilbert and Sullivan. And just like Gilbert, you love a good paradox. How could you have resisted this?’
‘You’re right, I couldn’t. I decided to give the leadership contest some bite. It was a chance to further the original purpose of the League. An opportunity to bring the fire of enlightenment to the nation.’
‘And a chance to get back at your father.’
‘Don’t be impertinent. You know nothing about Nicholas.’ He pulled a hand from his pocket and drained his brandy glass. ‘My father was always aware of my ambitions, right from my fourth-form years at public school. But he didn’t believe that I could ever develop leadership qualities. My mother was a “woman’s woman”. Politics bored her. I was her only issue. Nicholas felt I was too much of a “loose cannon”. A favourite expression of his. Felt I lacked discipline. I was allowed a small amount of youthful freedom, but beyond a certain point the parental noose tightened. Do sit down, you’re making me nervous.’
Vince remained standing. He doubted his ability to rise again if he sat now.
‘I headed off to university. During one autumn break, my father set me a test. Turned out that the old man was a bit of a game-player himself. He threw me a spectacular party, provided me with plenty of temptation, and sat back to watch me throw away my future. He knew my weaknesses, you see. He knew that I would let him down.’
‘What kind of father would do that?’ asked Vince.
‘A pity you never got to meet him. You’d understand a lot more about me.’
‘I understand a lot more than you think. I know you want to be me.’
‘Oh?’ Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘What is it about you that I covet so much?’
‘My freedom. Something you’ve not had since the night your girlfriend drowned.’
‘I wondered if you’d find out about that.’ Searching for something else to drin
k, he located a fifth of scotch beneath the chair. He unscrewed the cap and drank from the bottle. The action was uncharacteristic and sat awkwardly on him, like a badly cut jacket. ‘When I discovered Melanie unconscious on the pier that evening, I panicked. She drank, enjoyed her party drugs, was always pushing the limit, just like the rest of us. Her skin was almost blue. She was so cold to the touch. There seemed to be no pulse. You must understand. I thought she was dead. I thought I’d be blamed. I had already assumed that Father wouldn’t help me out if there was any kind of trouble. I saw myself losing everything I had worked for.
‘I simply nudged her body with my foot and she rolled from the pier into the water. There was hardly even a splash. Then I walked back to the dance-tent and poured myself a drink. Nobody saw what had happened. Her body wasn’t discovered for ages. When it was, my father surprised me by offering to help. The old man made sure that the coroner’s verdict went in my favour, and that I would be forever in his debt. He understands the power of emotional blackmail. He didn’t want to make me hate him. Quite the opposite. He wanted to make me hate myself. He proved how much I needed him. Every time I looked at his smug face I could hear him saying “I told you so”.’
‘So you searched for a way to get back at him.’
‘The League members wanted a test of my abilities. My father wanted the free-migration vote to be passed. And I wanted revenge against you. It was my chance to tie the whole thing up in one neat package, and the beauty of it was, it would only take a single night to sort out the troubling strands of my life—one night, ten hours—and all my problems would be solved. Well, I suppose now they are solved.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My agreement with the other League members was that I would admit defeat if you managed to beat me. I do not acknowledge your victory. But I have a feeling that the members will. In which case, I must formally ask if you would be prepared to accept unconditional membership into the League of Prometheus. I am also duty-bound to inform you that if you accept the offer, I must fulfil the final part of my contract with the League.’
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