‘Leave them. We must go.’
‘I can’t leave these. I might not get another chance to search here.’
‘Someone is coming. We have to go now.’
The footsteps stopped. They could hear a jangling key behind the door. Ratty removed the tiles from his jacket and piled them neatly on a table, filling his pockets instead with bundles of 1975 photographs. Any that didn’t fit he attempted to stuff into his other pockets or just to hold in his hands. He ran out of the room, following the Patient, and closed the door behind him just as the other door creaked open.
‘Where now?’ asked Ratty, loving the adventure and yet aware that his enjoyment was somehow morally wrong.
‘We find the police constable. He might be here.’
‘Constable Stuart? I’d nearly forgotten about the fellow. But this place is getting busy. People are arriving for work already.’
‘So let us move with the utmost efficiency. You were being held in the basement level. I saw no other locked rooms down there, so I suggest we look instead to the other extreme.’
‘The jolly old attic?’
They located another staircase and sprinted to the top where they found a small landing and a single door. Ratty turned the handle and it opened easily.
‘Can’t be here,’ he said, briefly looking into the unlit room. ‘Not secure.’
‘Perhaps it doesn’t need to be secure?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Perhaps the constable is restrained by another method? Or perhaps he does not need to be restrained at all?’
Ratty sighed and marched into the attic room, tapping his hands on the wall in search of a light switch, but it was the Patient who found the switch and revealed to them the sight of piles of personal possessions stacked in neat boxes. There was no one waiting for rescue.
‘Why would you question whether the constable needed to be restrained at all?’ asked Ratty.
‘Now that, young men,’ said a voice behind them, ‘is an excellent question.’
Ratty and the Patient spun around to see Constable Stuart standing at the doorway.
‘Constable,’ spluttered Ratty, ‘I can, of course, provide an entirely reasonable explanation for our presence in this attic.’
‘Of course.’
‘We were endeavouring to locate you with a view to precipitating your rescue,’ said the Patient.
‘Precipitating?’ asked the constable. ‘Sounds like it’s going to rain!’
‘Why are you already free to roam around the building?’ asked Ratty.
Before the policeman could answer, the Patient gave Ratty a nudge and started edging towards the stairs.
‘Actually, constable, we have to be somewhere,’ said the Patient. ‘Perhaps we can continue this chat another time?’
‘Where are you lads off to at this time of the morning?’
‘Lots to do,’ said Ratty. ‘Starting with a pre-breakfast perambulation in the general direction of thingummy.’
The police constable stepped in front of them, blocking their way to the stairs.
‘I don’t think so, boys.’
‘You don’t?’ asked Ratty.
‘I think you ought to remain here for now. We’ll look after you.’
‘We?’ asked the Patient. ‘To whom are you referring?’
‘Now that’s another excellent question. My, you two are coming up with some right corkers this morning.’
He placed his hand on his hip, as if adjusting a hidden weapon beneath his trousers.
‘Now look here, old fellow,’ said Ratty, surprising himself with the courage his indignation had created, ‘back at Chartres you made it abundantly clear that you were on our side. You took care of the other cars that were following me and said everything would be fine if we stuck close to you, but I can only assume from your attitude and the fact that you seem to be at home in this giant egg box of a building that your affinities lie with Dalí, not with the Ballashiels clan.’
‘I am a police officer, young Justin. My affinities lie with truth and law and order.’
‘Not with Dalí, then?’
‘Emphatically not. Through no fault of his own, Dalí is the cause of more disorder in the world than you can possibly imagine.’
‘Well, some of his paintings didn’t quite hit the spot, but I think it’s going a bit far to say that he was some kind of force of destabilisation, constable.’
‘With respect, young man, you are not an initiate, and therefore you cannot understand the truth about history.’
‘Surely first class dibs in the subject from Gonville and Caius counts for something?’
‘I am afraid not. And whilst I am not a worshipper of Dalí, neither am I a fan of the Ballashiels line, despite past appearances to the contrary.’
‘Why ever not, old chap? We’ve always done our bit. Provided a goat or two for slaughter at Harvest Festival. Let the commoners on the land once in a blue moon for village fêtes and wotnot. What is there to dislike?’
‘I am sorry to inform you, young Justin, that your grandmother is as guilty as Mister Dalí. What they did has changed the world, and not for the better.’
This made no sense to Ratty. His quest for information about his grandmother was turning into a series of unsettling revelations.
‘So let’s get this straight, officer. When you caught us stealing a book from the village feminist, you were already waiting for us with a locksmith in tow, ready to cover up all traces of our crime. No arrest, no verbal warning, no yellow card.’
‘Correct, Justin.’
‘Then I crashed into your car in France, and you denied that there was any damage to your vehicle.’
‘Also correct.’
‘Then you follow us and when we threw our tracker device into a sheep lorry you followed the other cars who were also following us, ending up with you shooting them dead at a remote farm.’
‘I don’t know where you got that impression from, young man, but you are mistaken.’
‘Did you just injure them? Scare them off? Have a word with them? What was it?’
‘None of the above. I merely had a beer with them.’
‘A beer?’
‘Well, not a proper pint, you understand. Rather hard to come by on the continent, as I’m sure you’re aware. And it wasn’t as if I was officially on duty.’
Ratty appeared even more confused.
‘What about all the guns we saw in your boot?’
‘My guns, yes. A fine collection.’
‘But you didn’t use them?’
‘On my very good friends? That would be a little unsporting.’
‘So what was going on?’
‘Rather amusing, really. We were all tasked with tailing you on the roads, but as time went on I realised it was not the wisest thing to be doing. I recommended to the others that we take a different approach: gain your trust, make it seem that I was putting myself at risk for you, make you happy to have me follow you. Ultimately, get you to follow me, rather than vice versa. In the end I knew where you were headed and didn’t feel it necessary to stick around. Far more useful for you to think you might be able to rescue me from this building.’
‘Well don’t go expecting a contribution to the Police Benevolent Fund this year, constable. I think your behaviour is unbecoming and devious.’
‘May I remind Your Lordship that you were driving an unroadworthy motor car, without due care and attention, and that you were caught attempting to rob the home of Salvador Dalí. Don’t throw stones unless you are without sin.’
‘A necessary evil is not evil if it is necessary,’ said the Patient. ‘And by necessary, of course, I mean in the context of achieving a greater good. Ratty and myself are embarked upon a mission to discover what happened to his grandmother before she locked up a room in Stiperstones, and we also desire to find out where his mother went after she apparently discovered whatever that room contained. The pursuit of that knowledge is, in our opinion, a greater
good than any minor offences that may have been committed along the way.’
‘Well that’s a fine summing up speech. You’d make a handsome barrister, no doubt. But you fail to appreciate that my own evil is for a necessary cause that extends far beyond personal interest and selfish motives. What I do is in the interest of many millions of people. It truly renders insignificant any rules that I have to bend along the way.’
‘Well it’s been marvellous, as usual,’ said Ratty. ‘We should do as you say, retire to some room or other.’
‘Not with those,’ said the constable.
‘Not with what?’ asked Ratty.
‘Those photos sticking out of your pockets and those documents that your friend has stolen. Hand them over, boys.’
***
The forgeries were complete. Charlie held them adjacent to the real documents in the bright morning light that blazed into his hotel room. The job of scanning, typesetting, editing, and testing with the high resolution inkjet printer had kept him awake overnight, aided by the stomach-churning awareness that if his construction permits were discovered to be false he could be looking at a substantial prison sentence. But he was satisfied that he had done his best, and he couldn’t envisage a minimum wage security worker having the skills to spot his forgery. The previous day he had sent an e-mail to the supplier of the drilling machine and construction accessories saying he was ready to receive the equipment on site. Now he had to prepare physically and psychologically for the task of carrying out this brazen deception. There was no second chance. If he screwed this up his world would fall apart very fast.
He showered and pulled on his Men in Black outfit. The disguise gave him confidence. He looked one more time at the faked permits from City Hall and rehearsed his spiel, testing one or two memorised anecdotes about previous foundation excavations he had carried out. After breakfast he checked his e-mail and received confirmation that the machinery would arrive at noon. The heist was on.
He took a cab all the way to Flushing Meadows, hoping to arrive in advance of the machinery so that he could facilitate their entrance to the park, and rehearsing his cover story over and over. Minutes from the park he looked up from his permits and notes and paused for a moment. A thought struck him: he was actually taking something seriously, possibly for the first time in his life. He was taking a complex task and seeing it through instead of walking away from anything to do with effort and commitment. And another realisation reached him: he hadn’t eaten a donut since he’d arrived in the States. Was he changing? Was this what it was like to mature? The idea didn’t repulse him, so some maturity must have been going on there. His confidence grew another notch.
At the park gates he paid the cab driver and waited out of sight of the security guard’s hut, jumping out only as the convoy carrying his equipment arrived. A guard approached the lead truck. Charlie marched boldly towards him and intervened.
‘New York State Pavilion. Foundation inspection,’ said Charlie.
‘Again?’ asked the guard.
‘Gotta be regular. But this one is more thorough than the last. We’re going deeper and further. We think those piles are suffering real bad down there. The whole place could be facing imminent collapse.’
The guard looked at the forged permits. He read them in excruciating detail. He looked up at Charlie, standing there in his ridiculous outfit. He looked at the line of trucks waiting for his approval to permit them entry to the park. The blue collar drivers looked rough and unforgiving, impatient and judgemental. The guard was not easily intimidated, however.
‘Come with me, sir.’
Charlie followed him into his hut. The room was formal, devoid of personality. This was not a guy who would respond with good humour to anything that wasn’t precisely by the book. The guard sat behind his desk and invited Charlie to sit, too. Charlie read the guard’s name tag. Dick English. He clamped his lips tight together and studied his foe. English was older than Charlie, but not much. He had a nice, clean uniform and his own desk. He had a role in life, a groove into which he fitted. It was everything Charlie had spent his adulthood trying to avoid.
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ asked English.
‘I’ve been asked to dig down to look at the foundations of the –’
‘Don’t give me that crap. I didn’t wanna make a scene in front of the drivers, but I know this is bull. What are you really planning?’
‘The trustees have ordered another survey, that’s all.’
‘The trustees of the New York State Pavilion have done no such thing. Now you can come clean with me and let me know what your game is, or I can call for back-up and we can have you guys thrown in the cells.’
‘But I have the paperwork from City Hall. It shows the trustees have approved my survey.’
‘The trustees did not approve any survey for today.’
‘How would you know if they did or didn’t, anyway?’ asked Charlie, losing his cool amid rising panic.
‘Because my father is one of the trustees.’
Charlie gulped. The old man’s threats echoed in his head. This could be a turning point. Glory or disaster. He was in so deep there was nothing left to lose.
‘Listen, soldier,’ he whispered, crossing his arms and wondering why he’d used the word ‘soldier’ when the guard was clearly nothing of the sort – it just sounded right – ‘or can I call you Dick?’
When there was no reaction he continued regardless. ‘This City Hall paperwork. You’re right. Total bull. And I’m proud of you for being on the ball. You should be proud. Your bosses should be proud. You’re a good worker, my friend. No, a great worker. You’ll go far.’
‘Go on,’ said English, trying to resist the temptation to soften his attitude in the face of so much flattery.
‘So the piling thing is bull, obviously, but the kind of hardware and people you see out there, they don’t come together for no reason. Something big is going down, but I’m sure an intelligent guy like you understands why information is on a need to know basis.’
‘So you’re not a surveyor?’
‘With respect, do I look like a surveyor? Of course not. I report very high up. Between you and me, this goes all the way to the White House.’
‘It does?’
‘Sure does.’
‘So level with me. If this isn’t more bullshit, what is it?’
‘It’s the time capsule.’
‘The Westinghouse capsule?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Which one? There are two of them.’
‘The Thirties capsule. Look, I know I said this was need to know stuff, but you’re someone I think I can trust with the truth and I think you do need to know because I want you to feel comfortable about what is going to happen.’
‘Which is what?’
‘We’re going to dig the time capsule out of the ground.’
‘Uhuh.’
Charlie was resorting to his usual idiotic honesty in order to get him out of this hole, and into the hole he hoped soon to be digging. He toyed with the idea of introducing the catch-all ace of the threat of terrorism, but couldn’t think of a way to connect a 1930s capsule with a modern threat to the safety of New York. So he stuck with a story that was as close to honest as he felt able to go.
‘In 1936, Salvador Dalí was working on an exhibit for the World’s Fair, right next to where the time capsule was being prepared. Information has come to light at the highest levels that Dalí tampered with the capsule before it was sealed and buried.’
‘Dalí? Melting clocks guy, huh?’
‘Right. For reasons of national pride and national security, I’ve been charged with the job of inspecting the capsule to make sure there is nothing that will cause embarrassment to our nation or that will harm the people of the future. That Spaniard was a practical joker. We think he may at that time have also been a communist or even a Nazi sympathiser. We need to know what he did to that time capsule, and the only way to check is
to dig the damn thing up.’
‘Dig it up, huh?’
‘That’s right. Now you and I both know that it’s going to be hell on earth right here if word gets out about this. That’s why we’re going in under the foundations of the New York State Pavilion. Tunnelling at forty-five degrees will get us to the capsule in less than a week, and no one will be any the wiser. The City Hall paperwork is legit, the works will be screened and out of anyone’s way, we’ll check the capsule, put it back, seal it up, and move the hell out of here.’
The guard actually appeared satisfied by this explanation.
‘You know the two capsules are not in the same hole?’ he asked.
‘Er, kinda,’ said Charlie.
‘They buried the Sixties capsule ten feet due north of the Thirties one. The capstone is actually between them. From the New York State Pavilion aim five feet to the left of the capstone.’
‘Got it,’ replied Charlie, aghast that this man was being so helpful.
The guard reached across his desk for a box of security passes.
‘Give one to each of your guys. They have to wear them at all times when entering and leaving the park. Keep the noise down. Keep the mess down. Keep outta trouble.’
Charlie shook his hand.
‘Your co-operation is appreciated,’ said Charlie. ‘We had a lot of guys on stand-by ready to roll right over you if you gave us any shit. I’ll order them all to stand down. Well done. You made a good call today.’
As he walked outside he could feel the jelly-like wobble in his legs, and the aftermath of the adrenal rush that had pumped his brain with the necessary sharpness to maintain the illusion of authority. The dig was on. The hard talking was over. The hard labour would now begin.
***
‘It has been a long time in coming,’ said the old man. Ratty fidgeted in his seat and the Patient sat calmly. The old man shuffled the photographs in his hands like a deck of cards. With the slick hand movements of a magician he suddenly fanned them out and flicked a single photo towards Ratty. ‘Is this perhaps the one you were hoping to see?’
The Dali Diaries (The Ballashiels Mysteries Book 2) Page 15