Double or Die

by Charlie Higson

  Perry laughed. ‘I think he was right on that count,’ he said.

  It was James’s turn to laugh now. ‘If we ever get caught, Perry, they’re going to hang us.’

  ‘Or give us a m-medal each,’ said Perry. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We go and find Pritpal at the Eton Mission,’ said James. ‘And just hope he can decipher Peterson’s coded message.’

  Perry flagged down a taxi and the two boys were on the move again, this time going eastward, towards Hackney. The further they travelled, the poorer the people looked. Cars became less frequent. The houses became shabbier. The goods in the shop windows became cheaper and cheaper. By the time they reached Hackney Wick they were in a very different world to the one they had left. It was an area of low, cramped terraces, blackened by soot and smog. Big, ugly factories and workhouses dominated the streets like medieval castles.

  Gainsborough Road, the street where the mission stood, was quiet, and as they arrived a group of children stared at them as if they had never seen a taxi before and were curious to see which rich aristocrats might be inside.

  The mission itself was a cluster of odd buildings surrounding a Victorian red-brick church in the Gothic style with evil-looking gargoyles poking out from its tower.

  ‘Do you want me to wait?’ the taxi driver asked as Perry paid him.

  ‘No, that’s all right, thank you,’ said James. ‘We can make our own way back.’

  ‘Suit yourselves,’ said the cabbie, looking up and down the street dubiously before driving off.

  ‘I must say this is a lovely part of town,’ said Perry. ‘Did you know that in the past they used to inoculate the boys before they came down here from Eton?’

  They could hear singing from inside the church. Then the singing stopped and there was a minute’s silence before the doors opened and boys started streaming out. James and Perry hung back, watching from a safe distance until they spotted Tommy Chong.

  James hurried over and grabbed Tommy’s elbow.

  ‘Can you get away?’ he said quickly.

  ‘Think so,’ said the startled-looking Tommy.

  ‘Get hold of Pritpal and meet me round the corner in five minutes,’ said James. ‘We need his help.’

  13

  Breaking the Code

  ‘It is binary code.’

  The four boys were sitting on a low wall just along from the mission and Pritpal was studying the piece of paper James had taken from Professor Peterson’s study.

  ‘What’s binary code?’ asked James.

  ‘It is a system of counting,’ said Pritpal. ‘We use a decimal system in which there are ten digits, from zero to nine. We make all our numbers from them, using multiples of ten as our building blocks. Binary code uses only two digits – one and zero.’

  ‘How on earth does that work?’ said Perry.

  ‘Simple,’ said Pritpal. ‘In many ways it is the simplest form of counting. Zero is 0. Then, using only the digits 1 and 0, what is the next largest number you can make?’

  ‘1,’ said James.

  ‘Good. So, 1 is 1,’ said Pritpal. ‘How would you make 2?’

  ‘11?’ said James.

  ‘No. You would use 1 followed by 0. Two is 1-0. Three is 1-1. Then the next largest number you can make is 1-0-0, which is four. Then five is 1-0-1, six is 1-1-0, and so on.’

  James thought for a moment. ‘Seven must be 1-1-1,’ he said, ‘and then eight is 1-0-0-0.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Pritpal.

  James nodded at the paper in Pritpal’s hand. ‘So that’s just a series of numbers?’

  Pritpal looked at it again. ‘Low numbers, mostly,’ he said. ‘Nothing higher than about thirty, I would say.’

  ‘They could correspond to letters of the alphabet,’ said Tommy, looking over Pritpal’s shoulder. ‘If A was 1, and B 1-0. What is the first block?’

  Pritpal read it out. ‘100-101-1-10010. Or four, five, one, eighteen.’

  Tommy counted on his fingers. ‘D-E-A…’ he said. ‘Then we have a big number, 1-0-0-1-0, that makes, let me see, eighteen, which is…’

  ‘R,’ said James. ‘The first word is “Dear”. It’s a letter. It must be. Make yourself useful, Pritpal, and decipher the rest of it for me, could you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Pritpal. ‘I have been very useful, thank you very much. Tommy and I have been working hard on Fairburn’s cipher. While you two have been living the soft life in Regent’s Park we have solved another of the clues.’

  James was about to put Pritpal right when he heard an engine and looked round to see a police car pulling up.

  ‘Make yourself scarce,’ he hissed at Perry as two plainclothes policemen got out of the back. A third policeman, in uniform, stayed behind the wheel.

  Perry thrust his hands into his pockets and sauntered off down the road without looking back.

  James took a deep breath.

  Now what?

  The two police officers came over. They were wearing grey mackintoshes and brown trilby hats and had hard, world-weary faces. One of them had a broken nose. If James hadn’t known they were policemen he would have had them down as criminals. He supposed that if they were local they were probably used to dealing with some pretty tough customers.

  ‘You boys part of the mission here?’ asked the officer with the broken nose, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Yes,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘You’re Etonians, are you? From Eton school?’

  ‘We are,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘Tell me,’ said the policeman. ‘We’re looking for two boys. Luc Oliver and Arthur Stevens. You know them?’

  Those names again. Which only meant one thing: Charnage had already reported James and Perry to the police.

  Pritpal was about to say something when he caught James’s eye. James was giving him a look that very clearly said keep your mouth shut.

  ‘I do not know them, I’m afraid,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘What have they done?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘That needn’t concern you, son,’ said the second policeman. ‘It’s a police matter. Who’s in charge here?’

  ‘The Reverend Falwell, I suppose,’ said Pritpal. ‘Shall I take you to him?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Pritpal took the two officers round behind the church to the residential part of the mission. James held back a moment then followed, smiling. The policemen hadn’t even noticed him. All they had seen were the other two. A Chinese boy and an Indian boy in their smart Eton half change suits. Add in Pritpal’s turban as well and James had become invisible. That was why he had sent Perry away. If Charnage had given a description of James and Perry to the police then they didn’t want to be seen together.

  Once inside, James waited in a small porch as Pritpal showed the two policemen into a room further along a dark passageway. After a moment he came out and found James waiting.

  ‘Where did you take them?’ James whispered.

  ‘To the Reverend Falwell’s sitting room,’ said Pritpal. ‘Why? What is going on?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute,’ said James. ‘You go back to the others. I need to try and listen.’

  ‘It is two doors down on the right,’ hissed Pritpal and he went outside.

  James sneaked along the passageway. He passed a kitchen on his right and then came to the sitting-room door. He pressed his ear to it but could hear only muffled voices. He ducked back into the kitchen and picked up a glass he found drying on a rack, then hurried back and placed it carefully against the shiny painted wood of the door. He put his ear to it and instantly recognised the voice of the policeman with the broken nose.

  ‘They claimed to be from Eton and said they were staying here.’

  ‘What have they done? Is it serious?’ This new voice presumably belonged to the Reverend Falwell.

  ‘It’s very serious, I’m afraid,’ the policeman went on. ‘They broke into the house of a gentleman in Berkeley Square. The gentleman returned unexpectedly and cau
ght them trying to burgle the place. He locked them in a room and they told him their names and where they were from, but as he was telephoning his local police station they gave him the slip.’

  ‘We’re not quite sure we believe their story,’ said a third voice, presumably the other policeman. ‘It seems unlikely that two Eton boys would be breaking into people’s homes, but they knew enough to say they were from here, and, well, stranger things have happened before.’

  ‘It’s possible they were local boys,’ said the first policeman. ‘Who knew about the mission and pretended to be from here.’

  ‘We have to check these things out, you understand,’ said the second policeman.

  ‘Of course,’ said Falwell. ‘Two boys, you say? One of about sixteen, the other younger, with black hair and blue eyes.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the first policeman.

  ‘Any number of boys could fit that description. What names did you say they used again?

  ‘Luc Oliver and Arthur Stevens,’ said the first policeman.

  ‘No,’ said Falwell. ‘I don’t recognise the names. Besides, at the time you mentioned, all the boys were out with me. I really don’t think it was anyone from here.’

  ‘That’s what we suspected,’ said the second policeman. ‘But if you do hear anything, please telephone us. In the meantime we’ve put a call through to the station in Windsor. Officers from there will be speaking to somebody at the school. If these are Eton lads we’ll find them sooner or later…’

  ‘Professor Peterson obviously knew something about what was going on,’ said James. ‘And whoever solved the clues was supposed to go to him and find out.’

  It was ten minutes later and the boys were sitting in the empty church, their breath making wispy clouds in the cold air.

  ‘Unfortunately, though,’ said Perry, ‘someone else got there first.’

  ‘Charnage,’ said James.

  ‘You don’t know that for sure,’ said Perry.

  James pulled something out of his pocket and gave it to Pritpal.

  ‘Fairburn’s original letter,’ he said. ‘The last time we saw it, it was in Codrose’s desk at Eton. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Perry.

  ‘That was Tuesday,’ said James. ‘What happens next?’

  ‘Charnage turns up at the Crossword Society pretending to be Ivar Peterson,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘Yes,’ said James. ‘He claims to know nothing about the letter when you mention it, but he’s very interested. The next day there’s a break-in at Codrose’s and Katey the maid is frightened by a man with a face like a skull.’

  ‘He was obviously there to steal the letter,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘That night we go to Cambridge,’ said James, ‘where I discover that Peterson has been killed.’

  ‘By a m-man with a face like a skull,’ said Perry.

  ‘Exactly,’ said James, ‘and this morning we find the letter in Charnage’s house. What more evidence do you need, Perry?’

  ‘But he’s a gentleman,’ Perry protested. ‘From a good family. With a respectable address. He’s a knight, dammit!’ Perry banged the pew with his fists.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said James. ‘A knight?’

  ‘He’s Sir John Charnage. A knight of the realm. People like him don’t go around m-murdering people.’

  ‘So why did he lie to the police?’ said James. ‘Why didn’t he tell them why we were really at his house? They obviously know nothing about Fairburn’s disappearance.’

  ‘You must go to the police,’ said Pritpal. ‘And tell them what is going on. You have done some wrong things, but it is better to be scolded by the police than to be murdered by these villains.’

  ‘No,’ said James and he jumped up and began pacing the aisle, too full of nervous excitement to sit. ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Charnage called the police. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘But he didn’t tell them the truth,’ James went on. ‘He told them just enough to get them on our tail. And he made sure that if we did decide to go to them ourselves, as you suggest, we’d be in very hot water indeed.’

  ‘I don’t see what you’re getting at,’ said Perry.

  ‘Let me finish.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Now, say the police found us and arrested us,’ said James. ‘What would happen?

  ‘We’d tell them the truth,’ said Perry.

  ‘And who would they believe? Us or Charnage?’

  ‘Not us, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said James. ‘It would be the word of two schoolboys against that of your precious knight of the realm.’

  ‘At first, yes,’ said Perry. ‘But eventually they’d have to look into our story. Eventually the truth would come out. It m-might take a few days, but sooner or later they’d find out that we were telling the truth.’

  ‘Yes, and by then it would be too late,’ said James.

  ‘What do you m-mean?’

  ‘Read me the start of the cipher, Prit,’ said James. ‘The bit where Fairburn talks about leaving Eton.’

  ‘As I am sure the almighty Elliot will have explained,’ Pritpal read. ‘I have had to leave Eton. In fact I am leaving the country. My next crossword will be my last, as I will be gone before my next deadline.’

  ‘He’s telling us,’ said James, ‘that he’s been kidnapped and he’s going to be taken out of the country. He sets a crossword every week, doesn’t he? When’s his deadline, Prit, do you know?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pritpal. ‘He sometimes liked to check the clues with us before he posted the puzzle to The Times.’

  ‘When?’ said James. ‘When would his next deadline be?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Pritpal. ‘Sunday. He always put them in the post on Sunday evening.’

  ‘That’s why Charnage called the police,’ said James. ‘He was worried that he might not be able to track us down quickly enough by himself. He wants us out of the way. If we’re in a police cell we can’t be out there solving the clues, can we? He’s gambling that it would take a couple of days for the police to listen to us and by then he’ll be gone – out of the country – and Fairburn with him. We’ve got to solve this thing ourselves and we’ve got to do it before tomorrow night. So, come on, Pritpal, what have you got?’

  Pritpal flattened Fairburn’s letter out on the shelf in front of him.

  ‘We think we have solved a clue,’ he said. ‘Listen to this – I love all those old stories of ancient Rome, like Nero’s great love affair with Cleopatra. You should try to visit the great necropolis in Porta Alta one day and see the marvellous statue of him gazing across towards her obelisks.’

  ‘What does it m-mean?’ said Perry.

  ‘He obviously wants us to visit somewhere, and it must be somewhere not too far away,’ said Pritpal. ‘So it can’t be Egypt or Rome. The mention of the obelisks made us think of Cleopatra’s Needle on the Thames, but nothing else seemed to fit with that. So we looked at the Latin.’

  ‘Porta Alta?’ said Perry. ‘Where is that?’

  ‘It translates as “tall gate”, or “high gate”,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘Highgate?’ said Perry. ‘In North London?’

  ‘We think so,’ said Pritpal, ‘because the rest fits.’

  ‘What’s Cleopatra got to do with Highgate?’ said Perry. ‘And what’s a necropolis?’

  ‘It’s a city of the dead,’ said James.

  ‘Yes,’ said Pritpal. ‘And there is a big Victorian cemetery in Highgate.’

  ‘Is there a statue of Nero there?’ said James.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Pritpal. ‘But there are some famous Egyptian tombs, complete with obelisks.’

  ‘I’ve done it!’ Tommy suddenly exclaimed.

  While the others had been talking he had been slowly cracking the binary code and writing the translation out on to a fresh piece of paper. ‘You were right, James, it is a letter. From Fairburn to Peterson. Dear Ivar, forgive the code, but
this is for your eyes only. I have come to a decision. It was not easy. I am afraid you will have to continue building Nemesis without me. I think I know who John is working for and cannot be a part of it. Do you remember how he laughed when I told him the story of Sir Amoras? Well, I believe that John has made his own pact with the devil. I left home, Ivar. I will never go back. I know the truth. I will not think badly of you, however, if you want to proceed. Best, Alexis.’

  ‘What does he mean when he says he left home?’ said James.

  ‘He is half Russian,’ said Pritpal. ‘His mother is from Manchester. He grew up in Russia, but he was sent over here to study when he was our age. He was born Alexei Fyodorov. Fairburn is his mother’s maiden name.’

  ‘What does the rest of it m-mean?’ said Perry. ‘What’s Nemesis? And who is Sir Amoras?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘There is a postscript,’ said Tommy. ‘P.S. It is strange to think that the cause of all this are those harmless-looking grey blobs sitting in Case Twenty-two, Room Five at the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons.’

  ‘Highgate cemetery and the Royal College of Surgeons?’ said James. ‘Which is nearer?’

  ‘The Royal College of Surgeons,’ said Perry. ‘It’s in Lincoln’s Inn Field.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ said James, heading for the door.

  ‘Come on, where?’ said Perry, hauling himself up from his seat.

  ‘To the museum, of course,’ said James. ‘We have to find out what’s in Room Five.’

  14

  Soft Tissue

  The Royal College of Surgeons was an imposing, white building on the south side of the large square known as Lincoln’s Inn Field. The journey across London, by train and tube, had taken James and Perry ages. James realised what a huge place the city was, and how much of your time could be taken up just getting from one part of it to another.

  This was an area of London where people came to work, mostly in the local law courts and lawyers’ offices, and, it being the weekend, the streets were largely deserted. The boys had been worried that the college might be closed, but its front door was open. They walked up the steps through the row of tall pillars ranged across the front and went inside.