'It's not about money!'
Ephesian turned. This time their eyes connected, a quick flash. Ephesian's head twitched violently and he looked away.
'What d'you mean? What else is there?'
Jacobs kept his eyes on Ephesian, daring him to look back.
'I've monitored the movements of the Brotherhood ever since we arrived on the island, Grand Master,' said Jacobs. 'You know I have. And particularly this week.'
He paused, eyes still narrowed and demanding. Ephesian's head spasmed again, twice, sharp jolts. Struggling to keep control, but he didn't want to erupt in violent temper. He wanted to curl up; he wanted the problems to go away.
'Lawton had no friends,' said Jacobs slowly. 'He kept no association. There is no way, no conceivable way, that he shared his secret with others in the Brotherhood. I know he told us, I know he was foolish enough to approach Ping Phat, but that was taking the secret up the chain, to see what he could get for himself. There is no way he would have taken it sideways.'
'Why take it to anyone? Why not just blackmail us?'
'Because he was impetuous. He was stupid. He told you and he told Ping Phat because he could not contain himself. But he quickly realised how foolish he'd been. That was why he decided to retrieve the Grail for himself.'
Ephesian breathed deeply, staring blankly up the road. Feeling his head was about to explode, information overload. Not yet seeing that this simplified everything. If Roosevelt was the culprit, if it was that straightforward, then their problems could be resolved much more easily than he'd been anticipating.
'So why did Roosevelt give Lawton the Grail?' asked Ephesian.
Jacobs stared sharply at Ephesian, teeth clenched. Look at me, he thought, just look at me for once in your fucking life!
'He didn't give him it! He didn't know where it was until Lawton took it. He must have followed him to his house and retrieved it for himself.'
'But he said he didn't know where it was.'
'He was lying!' shouted Jacobs, then he stopped while he brought himself under control. It was years, maybe even decades, since he'd lost his temper at Ephesian. 'He was lying,' he repeated, his voice struggling with rage. 'He does not want the Grail to be found! As soon as it had been taken from the Cathedral he retrieved it and took it out of our reach.'
'But why?'
'I don't know. Perhaps, now that the day has come, he is against our goals. He would not be the only one of his kind to feel that way, were it the case. This thing that we have all worked so long to achieve, this bane that has been passed down through the generations, this truth that binds us, it will split the churches of the world. That is why the Italians are on the island. But it is not just Rome who will be offended or disbelieving. Every church, every single one will be rent asunder. Who knows for whom Roosevelt is working. It might be the Episcopalians. He might just be doing it for himself.'
'We need proof.'
'We have the proof,' said Jacobs. 'The facts are there before us, sir. The only people who knew about the Grail find were us, Ping Phat and Roosevelt.'
He stopped. He looked at Ephesian. Ephesian turned and stared at Jacobs. Suddenly this time their eyes locked. Ephesian felt sucked in by it, although he found the feeling of looking directly at someone horribly disconcerting, until, with a shake of the head, he managed to pull himself away and look out up the road.
'Ping Phat can't be on the island already,' said Ephesian.
Jacobs stared along the same stretch of road, the sudden little moment of epiphany turning his convictions about Roosevelt to dust.
'I don't know,' he said.
Silence descended on the car. Ephesian could feel his insides begin to churn and grind, could feel the sickness at his core worsen by the second. Jacobs was suddenly aware of nervousness, the final piece in the jigsaw having seemed to be about to fall into place, now once more out of reach.
He angrily put the car into second gear and screeched quickly away from the kerb.
***
The doorbell rang. Luigi Linguini sat in the leather chair looking out to the far end of the golf course. He had seen the people arrive at the front gate and had ducked down into the chair, its back turned to the window overlooking the driveway.
Sit it out, presumably whoever it was would leave in a short while, and then he could continue his search of the room. So far he had been in there for ten minutes and had yet to uncover anything. His task was undoubtedly hampered by the fact that he had no idea what he was looking for.
The doorbell rang again. Suddenly he leapt out of the chair and walked through the room. Balls, he thought to himself. Balls!
Into the hall, switching into character and he opened the front door with a flourish, ready to greet his visitors.
'Good afternoon,' he said, smiling. 'How can I help you?'
There were five people before him, arranged in ascending order so that the most important was clearly at the back, currently turned away and looking down across the island.
'You will be Mr Jacobs,' said the woman at the head of the queue.
'Yes,' he said smoothly. 'And who can I say is calling?' he added, playing the part.
'We are Ping Phat,' said the woman.
Luigi nodded. He had heard the name before after all and looked along the row of Chinese men and women until he reached the face at the back, now turned expectantly towards him. Ping Phat might have lost out on a few doughnuts to Jonah Harrison, but he was at the very least eating at the same bakery bar.
'Mr Ephesian is home, no?' asked the woman.
Luigi smiled.
'He is home, no,' he said. 'Just stepped out for a short time. Perhaps you would like to wait.'
The woman bowed her head and said, 'That would be most delicious.'
Luigi took a step back and ushered the communion of Chinese into the house, before closing the front door.
'In here if you please,' he said, directing them to the west wing of the house, into Ephesian's office.
The Chinese filed into the room, Luigi walking serenely after them, wondering where it was all going to lead. Once assembled they all stood looking at him with some anticipation, Ping Phat himself in their midst, regarding Luigi with expectant eyebrow.
'Can I get you...' Luigi began to say, and then let the sentence drift off as he wondered what exactly would be appropriate to offer these people at this time of the day.
'It is wonderful you to meet, my brother,' said Ping Phat suddenly.
Luigi found himself putting his palms together and bowing. Luigi, he thought to himself, get a fucking grip!
'And you, Mr Phat,' said Luigi.
Ping Phat burst into a ridiculous laugh.
'Ping! Ping!' he said. 'Let us not be formal after all this time.'
'Ping,' said Luigi, warily.
'Strange that the works of Robert Louis Stevenson we have to thank,' said Ping Phat. 'After such a long search we had.'
Luigi nodded. Jesus, he thought, this guy sounds like stinkin' Yoda for Chrisssake.
Robert Louis Stevenson!
'Close we are,' said Phat. 'Delicious it is to be here at such an auspicious time. Delicious, yes.'
Robert Louis Stevenson...
Luigi nodded, smiled again. Time to get out of Dodge before they cottoned on to the fact that he wasn't Jacobs. Which they already would have done if Ping Phat had not left his PA behind in Paris, choosing instead to travel with two bodyguards, a personal trainer and his Principal Private Secretary.
Tea, he thought, that's what these people drink.
'Can I offer you some tea?' he asked, attempting as much formality as possible.
Ping Phat smiled. Recognised, he thought, a butler's inherent need to serve.
'Kind of you that is,' he said. 'Tea we will all take.'
'Very good, sir,' said Luigi, then he backed off quickly, left the room and closed the door behind him.
He breathed a sigh of relief at having managed to escape, took a second or two to compose
himself, and then walked quickly back into the study, not entirely sure what he was going to be able to unearth but at least with some idea of where to look.
Bunglestiltskin
'So I'm on a ski lift, you see, suspended in mid-air, nowhere to go. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a snake appears at my side, in the unoccupied half of the chair.'
'What kind of snake?'
The guy shook his head.
'Don't know. Know nothing about snakes, not my line. I'm in women's toiletries.'
'Cool.'
'So what did the snake do?' asked the customer from behind.
Igor looked up from behind his broom so that he could more clearly see the bloke's lips in the mirror. Usually he didn't need to because he had heard all these customers' stories a hundred times, but this one was new. For most of these old geezers, all the interesting things had happened decades previously. Dreams were just about the only way for them to update their lives.
'He bit me,' said the guy, currently under the razor and receiving the benefit of a fantastic Jude Law.
'Snakes are as snakes do,' said Barney.
'Exactly,' said the bloke.
'Was it poisonous?' asked Garrett Carmichael, who had come into the shop to establish the progress of Barney's paperwork.
'Viciously,' said the guy. 'The minute it bites me I can feel myself start to ebb away.'
'What happened to the snake?'
'I don't know,' he replied lightly. 'It vanished or something. Anyway, the chairlift gets to the end and there I am, running around like a lunatic looking for the antidote. I can feel myself dying. I'm stopping people, grabbing at them, asking for their help. Jings, I'm stopping small children in the street asking if they know what their mother keeps in the medicine cabinet.'
'In the street?' asked Barney. 'Thought you were at the top of a chairlift?'
'It was a dream,' he said casually, 'locations come and go.'
'Got you.'
'Did you die?' asked the old geezer at the back.
'Nah,' said the Jude Law.
'They say if you die in your dreams you really die in your bed,' chipped in Garrett Carmichael from behind.
'So what happened?' asked Barney.
Jude Law shrugged.
'I woke up with the missus sticking her elbows into my ribs. Said I'd been chuntering. Jings, if I'd had a million pounds for every time I could've elbowed her for chuntering,' and he shook his head, then paused, and then he shook his head again.
'Snake dreams are pretty serious,' said the old guy behind.
Ain't that the truth, thought Igor in agreement.
'Just a rehash of the day's events,' muttered Jude.
'What happened to you yesterday?' said Garrett Carmichael.
'The snake symbolises fears and worries that you might not yet be aware you have,' said Barney. 'That's what they say.'
'It's phallic, isn't it?' ventured Carmichael. 'It represents dangerous sexual desires, something like that. Must be someone you want to sleep with who you shouldn't, eh?'
Jude grunted.
'Aye,' said the old codger from the back, 'and someone with a phallus at that. I've always wondered about the way you combed your moustache.'
'Ach, bugger off,' muttered Jude.
'But then,' offered Carmichael, who had happened to stumble upon one of her favourite subjects, 'the snake also signifies that there is someone in your life you don't trust. Who's that then?'
'My lawyer,' he said quickly, catching her eye in the mirror, and she laughed.
'Arf,' said Igor, looking at Barney.
Barney nodded.
'Igor reckons that the snake implies that you're going to attain an arch enemy, and only if you overcome the snake in your dream will you be able to overcome the enemy.'
'Jings, I'm ninety-one for pity's sake, I have trouble overcoming my two shredded wheat in the morning. And where am I going to get an enemy at this stage?'
'I reckon it's the race-against-time factor that's the more worrying for you,' said the other old guy.
'He might have a point,' said Carmichael. 'It means you're stressed and can't cope with the pressures of modern life.'
'Modern life? I spend my day sitting in a near comatose heap in front of the television! The only stress I have is whether I'm going to have enough cotton hankies to mop up my drool. That and all the other weird and disgusting gunk and fluid that emanates from your body by the time you get to this age.'
Barney hesitated as he steered the scissors around the left ear. It's just plain better not to be reminded of some things.
'Turned cold again,' he said mundanely.
'Aye,' said someone in agreement.
'You had a chance to look at those papers, Mr Thomson?' asked Carmichael.
Barney looked at the clock. Glanced at the waiting customer, back at the Jude Law, took a quick look out onto the near-deserted street along the sea front.
'Can I deduce from the prevaricative essence of your rejoinder that you have yet to scrutinize the portfolio?'
'If I can deduce from the question that you're assuming I haven't read them yet, aye, you're right.'
'And the other lawyers?' she asked. 'You've contacted them?'
Barney turned fully round, remembering to lift the scissors from the Jude Law as he did so, and said, 'I used to watch Petrocelli when I was younger. I'll be all right.'
She gazed at him thinking that here was another man who thought he knew better than a lawyer. And even though she knew he was not going to be caught out in any way on this, it would serve Barney Thomson right if he were to get shafted by some manner of means.
'Be it on your head,' she replied bluntly.
Barney smiled at the motherly tone, then turned back to the Jude.
'See you later,' he threw over his shoulder as an invitation for her to leave.
She shook her head, rose from her chair, glanced and then smiled at Igor, who muttered something that sounded like arf, before bowing to his brushwork. Garrett Carmichael then left the premises and the status quo of the bastion of manhood was once again regained.
'The night before,' said Jude Law, 'I dreamt I was going to a new school. What's that all about?'
'Unresolved childhood anxieties,' said Barney and the other customer in unison.
Arf, thought Igor in agreement.
***
The car slowed as it pulled into the driveway. Jacobs and Ephesian glanced at each other as they saw the Renault Scenic parked to the left of the house. Ephesian twitched.
'D'you recognise it?' he asked, as Jacobs brought the car up behind the Renault.
'No,' he said. 'I don't.' Then he quickly got out and walked round to open the door for Ephesian.
Ephesian hesitated and then stepped out into the chill of the afternoon. He took a moment to taste the sea air, something which he always did. A few deep breaths, fingers tensing and relaxing. Jacobs waited impatiently, recognising his need for routine, but thinking that this was one time when it would be wise to forego it. Forgetting, in a time of crisis, that for a man such as Ephesian, the more stressful things became, the more necessary routine became.
'Ping Phat?' said Ephesian eventually.
'Quite possibly,' replied Jacobs. 'Nice that he feels so at home that he let himself in.'
'What are we going to do?'
Jacobs stared at his boss. There was no point in trying to second-guess Phat because neither of them had any insight into how his mind worked. They knew his routine, they knew the people who worked for him, they knew some of his goals, at least. But in their long association, Ping Phat had continually surprised them, beginning with his involvement with the Brotherhood in the first place.
'We go in, we talk to him, we see what he wants and if he has anything to demand of us. Try to establish if he has the Grail. We had our little moment of epiphany back there but it doesn't mean we were right. My initial premise might still be accurate. Roosevelt could be the man.'
Ephesian breathed heavi
ly through his nose.
'Perhaps Roosevelt and Phat are working together,' he said in a low cold voice.
'Perhaps,' said Jacobs. 'Perhaps it is not even Ping Phat who awaits inside. We should stop making assumptions, go in, find out everything we can in as short a time as possible and then retreat somewhere to establish our strategy.'
'Yes,' said Ephesian.
And with determination mustered as much as possible, they marched into the house.
Who Built Thebes?
They walked into the office to be greeted by the five faces pregnant with expectation, waiting for a nice cup of tea. Neither Jacobs nor Ephesian had ever met Ping Phat before, but here they were walking in on a Chinese sea; there was no doubt whose company had descended upon them, and in the midst of the five, there was no doubt which one of them had the presence, the charisma and the authority. The short stocky figure in the middle, his back turned to the door as they entered, looking down on the cold grey sea far below.
Ping Phat turned and stared at the two men. As he presumed that he had already met Jacobs, he had no idea who the man standing next to Ephesian might be. Ephesian himself, however, was instantly recognisable. Ping Phat knew far more about Ephesian than Ephesian realised.
'Mr Ephesian,' he said, 'delighted I am.'
And he strode forward, hand outstretched.
'Ping,' said Ephesian without the requisite level of enthusiasm, as usual his voice betraying every negative feeling that coursed through his body. Ping Phat laughed.
'This is Simon Jacobs, my man,' said Ephesian, nodding minimally in his direction, hoping that this introduction might lead Ping Phat to introduce the other four characters who he'd brought with him. Stopped himself saying what he considered to be the more appropriate So you let yourselves in then?
Ping Phat regarded Jacobs with curiosity, ignoring for a couple of seconds the outstretched hand. Eventually he accepted it and smiled inquisitively.
'I believed Mr Jacobs I had already met,' he said. 'An individual most helpful.'
'We have not met before, sir,' said Jacobs, shaking his head and doing the Jeeves thing. Although by now, after a couple of days of full-on stress, Jacobs had more of the Jeeves-by-way-of-Hannibal-Lecter look about him.
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