by Jim Eldridge
Chapter 20
They returned to the Merc in the underground car park. This time, Clark didn’t get in. ‘You and Mr Munro won’t need me for this meeting,’ she said. She indicated the uniformed chauffeur, standing with the rear door of the car open. ‘Keith will take you to Mr Munro and bring you back afterwards. I’ll call and pick you up at eight forty-five tomorrow morning.’
‘Don’t we need to discuss what we’re going to say tomorrow?’ asked Jake.
‘You won’t say anything,’ said Clark. ‘I’ll do the talking.’ She handed him a plastic card. On it were printed sequences of numbers. ‘The code at the top is the key to get into the apartment. The one at the bottom is to get into the building.’ She shrugged. ‘Not that you’ll need that one. Once Keith brings you back, I think you’ll be ready to go to bed. My advice would be to get a good night’s sleep so we’re ready for the police tomorrow.’ She turned to the chauffeur. ‘Take him to Mr Munro’s,’ she said. ‘And bring him back safely.’
‘Yes, Ms Clark.’ Keith nodded.
There was something about Keith, the way he held himself, his build, that suggested to Jake he was more than just a chauffeur. A bodyguard, thought Jake. Former SAS, I bet. Just like those two men who grabbed me in Marsham Street.
Clark headed towards another car in a nearby parking bay, this one a low-slung silver sports car. How the other half live, thought Jake. Luxury apartments. Mercs. Silver sports cars. They never have to worry about battling to get on to a crowded tube train, or be concerned about increases in their electricity bills. Nothing but the best for them. Expense no object. Even when one of them is arrested for murder, they have the clout to walk them out of police custody and away to somewhere safe. Money and power.
Once again, Jake settled into the luxury of the leather seats in the rear of the Merc, and let Keith do the work. His thoughts were full of Lauren and Parsons. What had happened? It had to be the same sort of thugs who’d been after him, only they’d caught up with Lauren and Parsons, and Parsons had been killed and Lauren framed for his murder. But who was behind it?
Jake glanced at the back of Keith’s head through the glass partition. Yes, definitely a military man. Ex-special forces, he was sure. Just like the dead man in his flat. Jake felt a sudden jolt of fear at the thought of being driven by this military man to see the mysterious Mr Munro. Was this Munro the person behind all that had happened? He certainly had the sort of power to make things happen, if the apartment and what had happened with Detective Inspector Edgar was anything to go by. Was he being taken unsuspectingly into some kind of spider’s lair?
You’ve seen too many James Bond films, Jake warned himself. Too many films where the villain is some super-rich man, pulling the strings, above any law. He wondered what this Munro character would be like. A James Bond super-villain? Sitting in a magnificent luxury apartment, like the one they’d just left? Maybe stroking a white cat with a jewelled necklace round its neck?
For heaven’s sake, stop letting your imagination run away with you, Jake told himself. This is real life, not some thriller! But someone had tried to kill him. Someone had killed Carl Parsons. Someone had killed the dead man in Jake’s flat.
He noticed the car slowing down, and realised they’d pulled into yet another underground car park. The car stopped, and Keith got out and opened the rear door for him.
‘Number three lift, sir,’ he said, gesturing to a row of lift doors. ‘It will take you straight to the company’s offices.’
‘Which company is that?’ asked Jake.
Keith seemed surprised by the question.
‘Pierce Randall, of course, sir,’ he said.
‘Of course.’ Jake nodded.
‘I’ll be waiting for you when you’ve finished,’ said Keith.
Jake nodded, and went to the lift. As he approached the doors, they opened. Automatic sensors, registered Jake. More luxury. He stepped in, and the doors closed, and the lift shot up at speed. If Munro is a real villain, I’m trapped, thought Jake. There’s no way out. Keith is guarding the only way out, and he could kill me with one hand.
The lift doors slid open and Jake stepped warily out. It was no James Bond villain who was waiting to greet him: no one with black-gloved metal claws for hands; or a golden gun; and certainly not a malicious-looking white cat. The man who greeted Jake was medium height, about forty, dressed in a plain but expensive-looking suit, and with a warm friendly smile on his face. It was the first warm and friendly smile Jake had seen in some time. Except for Gareth’s; but Jake already knew that Gareth’s smile was a complete fake.
‘Mr Wells.’ The man beamed. ‘I’m Alex Munro, a senior partner with the London office of Pierce Randall. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’
Jake let his hand be shaken in welcome. It was a good handshake: firm and friendly, just like Munro’s smile.
‘I’m sure you’re bursting with questions,’ said Munro. ‘So why don’t we go into my office and get acquainted, and I can answer everything.’
They walked along a corridor decorated with heavy carpet. On either side were large offices, with people in shirtsleeves at their desks, on the phone, or sitting intently at computer screens. Jake looked at his watch. It was 8 p.m.
‘You’ve got a lot of people working late,’ he commented.
Munro smiled. ‘There is no such concept as “working late” at Pierce Randall,’ he said. ‘We are a global firm. Some of them are talking to clients in Australia, where it is early in the morning. The fact is, we operate twenty-four hours a day, because the world operates twenty-four hours a day.’ He came to an office door and pushed it open for Jake to enter.
It was a large office, but hardly luxurious. Certainly not when compared to Gareth’s, for example. The chairs were simple and minimalist, but looked comfortable. The large desk had a few files on it, a few sheets of paper, but not much else. Neither cluttered, nor clear.
‘Please, take a seat, Mr Wells,’ said Munro, gesturing at a chair. ‘Or may I call you Jake?’
‘Please do.’ Jake nodded.
Munro’s smile broadened.
‘In that case, please call me Alex,’ he said. ‘It’s far less formal. We like to think of our clients as our friends at Pierce Randall.’
Jake sat down.
‘Anything to drink?’ asked Munro. ‘Tea? Coffee? Brandy? Beer?’
‘No thanks,’ replied Jake.
The truth was, he’d love to sink a beer right now, but he was feeling so shattered he was worried if he did he’d do or say something stupid, and he felt he needed to be on his guard, however friendly Alex Munro seemed to be.
Munro settled himself down in an equally comfortable chair opposite Jake, and nodded sympathetically.
‘Getting right to the point, we know you were framed,’ he said, his face serious. ‘That dead man in your flat.’
‘I’m not the only one!’ burst out Jake. ‘This business of Lauren and Carl . . .’
‘Ah, Ms Graham.’ Munro nodded thoughtfully. ‘We’ll get to her in a moment.’
‘What happened to her and Parsons is connected with the book,’ insisted Jake.
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Munro. ‘I have no doubt of that whatsoever.’
‘She’s innocent!’
Munro hesitated, then nodded.
‘I know you think so, and you may well be right . . .’
‘I am right!’ said Jake emphatically. He calmed himself down, then said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry for flying off the handle. This has all been such a nightmare! It’s been unbelievable! Sue Clark told me you hired her to represent me.’ He looked at Munro, puzzled. ‘I’m still not sure how you even knew I was in custody.’
‘There are lots of things you don’t know, Jake. Maybe I’d better explain. It all begins with the secret library of the Order of Malichea.’
Jake studied him, his mind whirling.
‘You mean you believe in the secret library?’ he asked carefully.
Munro
nodded. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘And that the monks hid the books in the fifteenth century.’
Jake regarded him, still puzzled.
‘I don’t understand why you’re involved,’ he said. ‘Why are you interested in these ancient books? It hardly fits with a powerful, modern, twenty-first century law firm.’
Munro smiled. ‘I’m afraid our image belies what lies at the heart of Pierce Randall. The firm was set up early in the twentieth century by two idealist solicitors in Edinburgh, and they set it up for one reason only: to get justice and fair play for all. I admit, that since those days, the firm has gone on to occupy a very grand sphere in the legal world, but the basic principal remains the same: justice and fair play for all.
‘In the case of the hidden science texts, we believe that the information they contain could be invaluable to the whole of humanity. They could hold the answers to disease, famine . . .’
‘That’s what Lauren said,’ said Jake unhappily. He sighed. ‘I’m guessing that with all the hoo-ha that’s going on, the book that was dug up at the site is the first one ever found.’
Munro shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I know of at least one that’s been discovered, and I believe there have been others that have been found, but kept hidden.’
‘Who by?’ asked Jake.
‘I would suggest your own people,’ said Munro.
‘My own people?’ asked Jake, puzzled.
‘The Department of Science. That’s what they did with this book, isn’t it? The one that was dug up at the site.’
Jake hesitated. That was exactly what had happened. And if they’d done that with this particular book . . .
Suddenly the implication of what Munro had just said struck Jake. I know of at least one. ‘You’ve got one,’ he challenged.
Munro nodded. ‘We found one for one of our clients. Nothing startling. Not like the text that I understand you saw dug up, Jake. The one we found is about the science of optics. Basically, creating spectacles to help those with poor vision.’ He smiled. ‘But the miraculous aspect of it is that it was written in 200 BC. Yours was on the rapid growth of fungal spores, I believe.’
‘That’s what Lauren said,’ replied Jake. ‘By some guy called . . .’ he struggled to recall the name. ‘El Izmir something . . .’
‘El Izmir Al Tabul. The greening of the desert,’ said Munro. ‘Creating food from fungal spores.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s on our list.’
Jake studied Munro suspiciously.
‘You’ve got a list?’
‘Yes,’ said Munro. ‘One we’ve compiled over many years, based on rumours of what the secret library contained.’
‘Lauren’s got a list like that,’ said Jake.
‘We’d like to take a look at it,’ said Munro. ‘Compare the two lists.’
‘Let’s find her first,’ said Jake grimly.
‘We’re working on that already,’ said Munro calmly. ‘As you’ve already pointed out, we are a very large and very rich organisation. As a law firm, one of our briefs is to trace people. The private investigators we employ are second to none. If anyone can find Ms Graham, they can.’
‘They need to do it before whoever killed Carl gets to her.’
Munro hesitated. He’s about to tell me that Lauren killed Carl, thought Jake. Then Munro obviously changed his mind.
‘Let’s worry about that later,’ he said. ‘Can we return to why we had you freed?’
‘The book,’ said Jake.
‘The book.’ Munro nodded. ‘The El Izmir. The one you and Ms Graham rescued from Hadley Park last night.’
He knows, Jake said to himself. He’s not just guessing. In the same way that Gareth knew, and those two men who grabbed me in the street. And Penny Johnson. Everyone involved in this case knows that Lauren and I got the book. How? Was it the image of Lauren and him on the CCTV, even though he had been masked? Then another thought struck him.
‘This book you found for your clients – the one about optics . . .’
‘Yes,’ said Munro.
‘There’s nothing about it having been found on the internet. If there had been, Lauren would have known. She’s been trying to trace this hidden library for years, even to find one book from it just so she can prove it exists.’
‘A very worthy ambition,’ said Munro.
‘So why haven’t you announced this book you found to the world? If what you say is true, about wanting to share the knowledge with everyone.’
‘We thought about that,’ said Munro. ‘But then we reasoned, if we did and word got out that it was one of the Malichea hidden books, every crackpot would be out searching and digging. And who knows where these books might end up? In the hands of crooks, or governments who want to keep them hidden.’
‘But you’re keeping this one hidden,’ persisted Jake.
‘Believe me, Jake, if it had anything new to show the world, we would reveal it. We would give that information to the world, freely. But, unlike the text you found, all our book says about optical sciences is already known.’
Jake studied Munro. Despite the man’s easy manner, the frank way he spoke about everything and the way he’d answered all of his questions, Jake had an uneasy feeling there was something being hidden.
‘You were talking about the book,’ Jake reminded him.
‘The one you have,’ said Munro, watching him intently.
Jake shook his head.
‘I haven’t got it. You’re right, Lauren and I took it last night, but she and Carl Parsons took it with them. The idea was for Parsons to take care of it because he was less likely to have his flat burgled. Also, he said he could hide it better than either of us.’
‘Do you know where?’ asked Munro.
‘No,’ admitted Jake.
‘A pity,’ sighed Munro.
‘Find Lauren,’ said Jake. ‘She’ll know where it is. She may even have it with her.’
Munro nodded.
‘I still don’t get it,’ said Jake. He waved his hand around at the luxurious offices. ‘All this costs money to keep up. Someone’s got to pay for it. Likewise, searching the world for the hidden texts must cost a huge amount.’ He gave Munro a quizzical look. ‘No matter how much you may care for the “common good”, there’s got to be a reason why you pour so much money into searching for these books. You’ve got to get paid for it.’
A small smile crossed Munro’s face. ‘Money, indeed, Jake. The force that seems to drive the world. But, in this case, not necessarily so. As you rightly point out, the search for the books does cost a great deal of money. But fortunately we are the kind of firm with many very wealthy clients, and not all of them want to keep the money for themselves. I’m sure you know about Bill Gates and Microsoft pumping millions into Third World health charities?’
‘You’re saying he’s one of your clients?’
‘No,’ said Munro. ‘I’m just giving you that as an example. We have many wealthy clients who feel that the hidden texts should be found, and the information and discoveries used to make this world a better place. They channel their money to us to try to make that a reality.’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately, of course, we are up against very powerful oppositions.’
‘The government,’ said Jake bitterly, thinking about Gareth and the Department of Science.
‘Not just the government of this country,’ said Munro. ‘Other governments, especially those who fear these discoveries could result in dangerous new weapons. And large chemical companies who make millions from selling drugs, just because they hold the patents on them. There are many organisations who want to make sure that these books are never found.
‘There are other companies who want the books so they can patent the sciences in them, and so make massive profits from them. There are also weapons manufacturers and terrorist organisations who would love to get hold of some of the sciences and use them as weapons. Like this El Izmir book on fungal spores, for example. Look what happened to that
worker who was contaminated at the site by the spores. Imagine that on a massive scale. A biological weapon that doesn’t destroy buildings. That’s a potential gold mine!’ His tone suddenly became very serious. ‘It also represents a threat of nightmare proportions. That’s why it’s vital that book doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.’
Jake nodded. ‘Yes, I see,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know where I fit in.’
‘Because you have seen the book. You know it exists. And because Ms Graham obviously trusts you. If she is out there and she’s going to get in touch with anyone, I believe that will be you.’ He leant forward, the expression on his face now deadly concerned. ‘You are the key to finding this book. We got you out of jail because we need you to help us find it. For the good of the world.’ His face softened. ‘It’s also what Ms Graham wants.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Jake. It was. Bring the hidden library out into the open, for the common good.
Munro sat back, relaxed.
‘So, can we count on your help?’ he asked.
‘Right now the book isn’t as important as finding Lauren,’ Jake responded. ‘But if finding the book will help find Lauren and get her back safely, and it seems that’s the case, then yes, you can count on my help.’
‘Excellent!’ Munro beamed. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s getting late. You must be tired.’
Yes, I am, realised Jake. I’ve been running on adrenalin ever since those two men tried to kill me in Marsham Street, and now it’s wearing off. I need to sleep.
‘The car will take you back to the apartment,’ said Munro. ‘Get yourself a good night’s sleep, and remember you have an appointment with Ms Clark and the police tomorrow morning.’
‘I won’t forget,’ said Jake.
‘Good,’ said Munro. ‘Oh, and if you need anything at all during the night, or if you feel alarmed, there is a concierge on duty twenty-four hours a day. Just pick up the red handset.’
‘All-round protection,’ commented Jake.
‘Nothing is too good for our clients,’ said Munro.
Chapter 21
Keith dropped Jake off in the underground car park, and Jake went through the security systems for the lift and the door to the apartment, still half expecting someone to leap out and attack him the whole time. Even when he got into the apartment, he went from room to room, checking to make sure no one was hiding anywhere in it.