by Malcolm Rose
Every instinct told Luke to get out, but that way he’d probably blow his best chance of solving the murders. He swallowed, took a deep breath and removed his coat. With trembling fingers, he pulled up his shirt sleeve.
The gathered Visionaries sat stiffly, watching him in total silence.
Luke took four measured steps towards the basket, wishing he’d instructed Malc to come for him if he hadn’t returned to the hotel by an agreed time. Then, his mobile could have had anti-venom delivered and injected within two hours. Even if he was about to be bitten, Malc could have saved his life. But Luke hadn’t made any such arrangement. For once, he was on his own.
He crouched down, getting closer and closer to the snake. He was easily within its striking distance and he felt sweat running down his back and face. The reptile looked more animated now but its dark eyes were curiously dead. Luke ignored the flickering tongue. That wasn’t the problem. It was the fangs that he had to worry about. They were as sharp as hypodermic needles, ready to inject deadly venom. In Luke’s previous investigation, a suspect had pulled a knife on him. The snake’s fangs were far worse, far more lethal than steel. And a snake didn’t care if Luke lived or died. It was just a matter of whether it could be bothered to strike.
Luke tore his eyes away from the rattler and looked at his own arm. It was not smooth like Ethan’s. Would the snake be irritated by the tickly feel of hair? Could it smell his sweat and fear? Could it detect his warmth or racing heartbeat? Just for a moment, Luke thought of Georgia Bowie. She knew all about snakes and biology. She could have told him what to do and what to avoid. But, like Malc, she was somewhere else. He knew only that he must not make himself a threat to the watchful reptile.
Inching his arm towards the basket, Luke knew for certain that the Visionaries had put Sarah Toback through this test after she had sacrificed her principles by taking her conjoined twins to Thomas’s Hospital. He also knew for certain that she had failed. Her death had not been an accident.
As his arm settled on the cold cane, the snake’s grey tail came up out of the basket with a rustling noise. In the audience, Rachel caught her breath. The rattle poked up in the air as a warning but it remained still and silent.
Luke tried to keep his head as far away from the basket as possible. He imagined that one drop of sweat falling from his cheek and landing on the snake – or one trailing hair – would be enough to scare it into attacking.
The rattlesnake moved its head along his exposed arm as if it were smelling him or looking for something. Twice, its scaly body came into contact with his skin.
Luke gritted his teeth and refused to react to the touch. He was sure that, if he pulled back suddenly, the snake would attack. It would dart forward with the speed of a missile, reveal its curved fangs and sink them effortlessly into his arm. The poison would ooze down the groves in its fangs and into his body. Unless he was treated quickly, death would be inevitable. Luke had seen the awful effects of rattlesnake venom on a human being. He knew that his death would be ugly and painful. Kneeling by the basket, he had to fight his natural inclination to run away. There was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn’t get very far.
He waited for a few seconds, until he couldn’t take any more, and then began to withdraw his arm. At once, the snake sounded its rattle as if angered that Luke were reclaiming the gift of flesh. At once, the tension in the room doubled because the noise was a chilling prelude to a bite.
The hair along Luke’s arm was standing on end. He knew he was swaying slightly – he couldn’t help it – but he strained to keep control so that he didn’t topple over. If he did tumble, he was certain he’d provoke an attack and that would be the end. Steadying himself as best as he could, he tried once more to draw back little by little without disturbing the snake.
He had forgotten about the audience of Visionaries, Ethan, and even his case. He concentrated only on widening the gap between himself and the rattlesnake without making a single hasty movement. While he did it, the creature stared at him as if it were displeased but not angry enough to strike. When he thought he was far enough away, when he thought he was safe, Luke got to his feet and staggered back, well away from the basket. It was all he could do to remain upright on unstable legs. But it was over and he had survived.
The snake settled itself back into its basket when Ethan approached it, holding out the lid like a shield. The rattler seemed to be content. It probably welcomed the return to solitude.
When the cover came between the poisonous reptile and the room, there was a collective sigh of relief. Luke’s sigh wasn’t the loudest but it was the most heartfelt. He lurched to a spare place on one of the workbenches and almost fell on to it.
Ethan said, “My friends, The World Church of Eternal Vision has a new member. Welcome, Luke Harding. You are saved!”
A brief ripple of applause went round the ring, saluting the strength of his faith.
Ethan tore up the slip of paper bearing a new address. “If you’d left us or failed the test, we wouldn’t have been able to return here. But, for now, this is our new church.” He hesitated and then added, “It’s not grand, like a Pairing Committee chamber, but it’s what we do here – not the decoration – that’s important. God forgives a dark and grubby home but never a dark and grubby heart.”
The challenge completed and the rattlesnake caged, some members began to melt away. Most stayed behind and clustered around Luke, their mood suddenly lifted – along with their spirits. Catching the smell of garlic, Luke realized that it was coming from Samuel. The twins’ father had also put on a smart sheepskin coat. Luke’s spine tingled. He was sure he’d identified one of the bandits – and perhaps Lost Bullet as well. But he dared not show any sign of interest in Samuel. He couldn’t afford to ruin his newly gained trust by bouncing straight back into the role of forensic investigator. Instead, he chatted excitedly about becoming a Visionary.
Later, on the way back through the underground tunnels, Ethan drew Luke to one side and said, “You know, you’ll be very useful to the Church. We’ve never saved an investigator before.” He laughed. “Despite your age, that makes you the most powerful Visionary, in a way.” Suddenly serious again, he added, “I wouldn’t expect any of your new friends to be arrested for protests like smashing up surgeries or Pairing Committee rooms. Do I make myself clear?”
Luke nodded. “But what if someone was inside? What about murder? You – we – don’t believe in violence against people.”
In the dim passageway, Ethan didn’t answer straightaway. He stared ahead at the frozen escalator that sloped back up to the normal world. Then he said, “That’s right. Murder’s different. Much as we’d like to stamp out evil, killing is not for us to decide. It’s a sin.”
****
In the hotel lobby, the cheerful receptionist said, “Good evening, FI Harding.”
Luke nodded. “Back at work? Last I heard, you were sick.”
Mr Morgan replied, “Thank you for enquiring, sir. I’ve just this minute reported for duty. It’s all this wet weather. Just a cold or a germ of some sort. The doctor gave me something for it so I’m perky enough now.” As smart as ever, he smiled and added, “No excuse to avoid the night shift, I’m afraid.”
As Luke went up to his room, he realized that he should feel cheerful as well. He had opened up several lines of inquiry inside The World Church of Eternal Vision and he was still alive. He burst into his quarters and said, “I’m a Visionary!”
Malc hesitated before responding. “Only after enduring considerable nervous tension, stress or exhaustion.”
Luke halted at once, horrified. “How do you know that? You didn’t have me bugged, did you? That would’ve put me at risk, to say the least, if I’d been found out.”
“No. I detect copious amounts of fermenting perspiration, with butanedione as the major odour component.”
Luke sighed with relief and smiled. “So, you’ve scanned me for sweat.”
“I analysed the gases
you are emitting.”
“Nice. All I’ll say is, there was a reason for copious amounts of sweat. Industrial-strength deodorant wouldn’t have covered it up. And, yes, I can confirm the Visionaries have got a rattlesnake. Now, before I take a shower and collapse, record what I say, Malc. I want to describe everyone I remember and give you a few names.”
“I cannot include them in case notes.”
“Fine. I just want a record,” Luke said. “And first thing in the morning, I’ll want you to link me to the department in charge of issuing identity cards. I’ve got a feeling I’ll need Owen Goode on my side before long.”
Chapter Eighteen
Hands tucked behind his head, Luke pondered the enormity of space. Lying on the bed, he studied the pretend night sky projected across the ceiling. Stars always made him realize that his own planet was a mere speck of dust in a vast and mysterious universe. It also reminded him that, as an FI, he was often looking for one significant speck of dust – a mere trace – at a crime scene that had no obvious boundaries. Even when a murder had been committed inside a building, the most significant clues could be outside, somewhere between the killer’s home and the victim’s body. He thought of the bullet that had passed through Anna Suleman’s head. Now, it could be anywhere within the swollen Thames at Westminster, the sewer system and the open sea.
Sometimes, when Luke was feeling down, the night sky made him realize that he was a mere speck of dust in the universe as well.
He said, “It’s hard to believe that one being – God – could have created all this, as well as bacteria, humans and all life in between.”
“It is far more likely that people invented God than God invented people,” Malc replied.
“That’s an opinion. You don’t give opinions.”
“It is listed as a fact in my encyclopaedia.”
Luke glanced at his mobile and smiled. “No wonder the Visionaries don’t like you. They’re an illegal organization and you’re the ultimate Rationalist. No hope of converting you.” He paused and sighed. “Now you’ve brought me back down to earth, I want you to get that agent back outside Rachel Toback’s place. I’d like to visit Rachel – to say thanks for the introduction to the Church – when I know Samuel’s there. I want it carefully planned to look like coincidence.”
“Transmitting request.”
“Since I got back from the Church, I’ve been thinking. Yesterday I said Lost Bullet must know quite a lot about forensic science, but I might be wrong. Maybe he hasn’t left any hairs behind because he hasn’t got any. Male Visionaries purge themselves at regular intervals. Completely bald. The girls and women don’t shave, though. They’d drop hairs now and again. Your analysis in Russell Plaza proves that.”
“Lost Bullet might wear a hood or headscarf.”
“Yeah, I know. Nothing’s certain yet. But it’s going to be a Visionary. That way, the motive and the cry of ‘respect!’ make sense. You’ve got a record of all the hospital staff Anna Suleman met in the last week, haven’t you?”
“Confirmed.”
“Well, I don’t think I’m going to need it. No Visionary is going to work in a hospital. But I ought to go through all the stuff at 72 Russell Plaza. That might give me some extra juice. I could get pictures from the computer but, for now, why don’t you just read the list to me?”
“Illogical question. There is nothing to prevent me reading the logged items,” Malc replied.
Luke winced and shut his eyes. “Go on, then.”
Malc rattled through the list uninterrupted until he reached the vegetation detected in the room. Most of the finds were ordinary leaves and seeds, probably blown into the house by the wind or carried in on shoes or clothing. Two of the items caught Luke’s attention.
“Hang on. You said, part of a leaf from the Papaver genus. That’s a poppy, isn’t it?”
“Confirmed.”
“Fair enough. I’ve seen poppies around, but there was a bit of a seed capsule from Papaver somniferum. I don’t think that’s native here.”
“Correct. It is grown under greenhouse conditions for its seeds. They are a food flavouring with a nutty taste, especially popular on bread.”
“That’s not all, is it?”
“The unripe seed capsule can be harvested for morphine, but it is against the law.”
“Mmm. Sounds like at least one Visionary is into spices or prohibited painkillers. I suppose it’s okay for a Visionary to take morphine because one of God’s plants makes it, not a doctor. I don’t know if it’s got anything to do with Lost Bullet, though.”
Luke did not spot any other interesting items from the Russell Plaza address. Instead, he changed tack. “There’s something else I’ve been mulling over: the attack on Clement School. Was that arson by Visionaries in general or was it attempted murder by Lost Bullet?”
“Insufficient evidence.”
“If it was Lost Bullet, I would’ve expected to see him at the door with a rifle, gunning down everyone the fire flushed out. Perhaps the presence of an FI scared him off.”
“Speculation.”
“Mmm. Puts a question mark over the big bald bouncer, though. I didn’t see him at the Charing Cross church but I don’t suppose every member was there. Anyway, how did the Visionaries – or Lost Bullet particularly – find out where and when the whites were getting together?”
“They are not an illegal organization. They would not have to keep meetings secret.”
“No, but, with these arson attacks going on, I bet they’re careful who they tell.” He hesitated and then said, “I’ve got a few questions for Cleo McGrath.”
“Do you want a connection now?”
In London, Luke had no one to see – not for social reasons anyway – and nothing to do apart from work or sleep. “It’s late, but she’ll be keen to speak to me. Yes. Sound only will do.”
Malc established a link within two minutes.
Cleo seemed surprised to hear him, but pleased. “Investigator Harding. How can I help you?”
“It’s that guard you had on the door at Clement School. Have you used him before?”
“Quite a few times recently,” she answered.
“Do you trust him?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I went to school with him and he lives in the apartment upstairs. He’s fine.”
Luke was inclined to agree with her. If the bouncer had been Lost Bullet, he would have barred the exit from the school or started shooting. “If he’s upstairs, check whether he saw someone prowling around, particularly if it was someone bald or hooded, and let me know.”
“I’ll see him in the morning.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Is that all?” she asked.
“How do you tell your friends about meetings? Do you put up notices?”
“We used to, but not now. I just use telescreen messaging.”
“So, how does someone like Owen get to hear about them?”
“He checks for messages now and again in a community centre.”
“I wonder how the people attacking you get to hear about them,” said Luke.
“I can only think they hack into our computer systems.”
“Possible,” Luke replied. “But not easy. It strikes me, it’s more likely they know someone white.”
Cleo seemed shocked by the thought. “You mean, somebody’s leaking the information?”
“Exactly.”
“I can’t imagine...”
“It may not be deliberate. I’m not saying that. But there’s a way to pin it down. Would you cooperate, even if it was a bit... trying?”
“We’d all cooperate. We don’t want to live in fear any more. That’s more trying than you can imagine.”
“Okay. How many people do you send the message to?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Plus the security guard?” said Luke.
“Yes. Thirty-eight.”
“Right. Leave it with me.”
Malc disconnected the link
.
No longer contemplating the fake sky, Luke swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I wonder how many agents The Authorities would let me have.”
“Do you want me to find out?” asked Malc.
“No. I just want you to put in a request for a minimum of one hundred and ninety.”
“That would be the largest operation in London in the last decade.”
Luke shrugged. “To take down a big killer, I need a big operation. Here’s the plan. The Authorities give me thirty-eight different locations for meetings on the same night. I get Cleo to send a different address to each white and tell them not to discuss it between themselves. At the last minute, she cancels the lot so no one turns up and puts themselves at risk. I post at least five agents at each address and see if and where Lost Bullet appears. When he shows, they might catch him. Great. End of story. But if they just see him, I get a description and, what’s more, I know which white person he got the information from. That’ll get me really close to him. It’s a nice scheme.”
“But not totally dependable. Lost Bullet may not take the opportunity to murder whites.”
“I bet he will. Especially after I stir it up a bit at the Church meeting tomorrow. Don’t forget, he’s killed three medics and butchered a Pairing Committee. Whites are bound to be his next target.”
“Speculation.”
“Just send in the plan and my request.”
“Transmitting.”
Chapter Nineteen
Before breakfast on Saturday, Luke stood in the middle of the living area and braced himself. Needing to prepare for the evening meeting of The World Church of Eternal Vision, he said to Malc, “I want you to fly at me and hit me.”