The Dali Diaries (The Ballashiels Mysteries Book 2)

by Stewart Ferris

  Words were plainly attempting to form upon Ratty’s lips, but he lacked sufficient control of his facial muscles to elucidate them.

  ‘Did Dalí know of your imprisonment?’ asked the Patient, valiantly stepping in to cover for his fragile friend.

  ‘He had no idea, boy. Even when he came to live in the museum building in his dying years, he never questioned why the turret level was off limits. He was too frail to climb stairs, in any case. When Dalí died in 1989, I thought Mitford might relent and give up his insane quest, but he became ever more controlling, taking over the museum and the archives and studying ceaselessly in an effort to understand the reasons for his birth. Finally, Project Keo was announced by the European Space Agency. A time capsule for the distant future, containing a request to send confirmation of its receipt back in time. That’s when he changed. That’s when he found a way out.’

  ‘A way out?’ asked Ratty, finally able to speak again.

  ‘A way out of this life, boy. A way to make everything as it should have been if your grandmother hadn’t seen the word Keo in the sky and had gone to Germany as planned. All Mitford had to do was to stop Keo from ever being launched. If the time capsule doesn’t arrive in the future, the request for a message to be sent back in time won’t arrive either, and therefore the message won’t be sent. And if the message isn’t sent, my motherin-law goes to Germany, persuades Unity to shoot her lover, or bloody well does it herself, and the whole damn war never happens.’

  ‘And Alois Mitford would never have been born?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Precisely, girl. That’s what he wants. He doesn’t want to kill himself. He wants to erase himself. And in so doing he wants to give millions the chance of life that was denied them by the bloody war.’

  ‘But weren’t you born just after the war, Mother?’

  ‘When my father returned, finally demobbed. I don’t suppose I would be here at all if it hadn’t been for the war. And you, boy, certainly wouldn’t be here if your grandmother had been apprehended after bumping off Hitler.’

  ‘I can claim likewise,’ said the Patient. ‘My grandfather was somewhat involved in the more unpleasant aspects of that time, and the in vitro fertilisation experiments he conducted under war conditions and perfected during the following decades led directly to my creation.’

  ‘My parents were first round baby boomers too,’ said Ruby. ‘We’re all on this planet only because of the war.’

  ‘I don’t think your parents have any relevance to this discussion, girl. My point is that we are the ones to whom destiny gave an opportunity of life that was denied to millions of others. My motherin-law made a decision that changed everything, but that is the reality in which we now live.’

  ‘So if Mitford sabotages the Keo launch, we all suddenly evaporate and get replaced by a different bunch of chaps?’ asked Ratty.

  ‘I doubt if evaporation is the mechanism by which such things function,’ said the Patient, taking things too literally. ‘It is impossible to know the effects of meddling in time in this way, but the sheer degree of uncertainty makes any such alterations unwise.’

  ‘Are you talking parallel universes?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘That’s not a theory I would want to stake my life upon,’ replied the Patient. ‘It is a theory that is currently unprovable. All I will say is that the time capsule satellite must be launched, for to remove its arrival in the future from the planet’s timeline could have serious consequences for us all right now.’

  ‘Are we going to dissolve like an aspirin if Mitford gets his way?’ asked Ratty.

  ‘Worse than that,’ replied the Patient. ‘I believe that if Keo is not launched, Mitford will achieve his dream of complete erasure from time, and he will drag the rest of us with him. We won’t just cease to be. We will never have existed.’

  ‘Keo was originally supposed to be launched ten years ago,’ said Lady Ballashiels. ‘Mitford has used his influence to create delay after delay, but the launch date is now fixed. That’s why he has become increasingly desperate and erratic in recent weeks. He knows that he needs to sabotage the launch in person. He’s heading for Guiana, to the launch site. That’s why I tried to get back to see you, Justin. Time is running out for us all. I wanted to be with you at the end of time.’

  There was a stunned silence amongst the group. The profundity of her words took some moments to sink in.

  ‘There’s every chance he won’t make it, isn’t there?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Mitford is a very wealthy man, girl. Not something you’d know about, I imagine. People are cheap.’ She looked Ruby in the eye as she said it. ‘If he finds enough corrupt people he will get his way.’

  ‘Then we must stop him ourselves,’ declared Ratty.

  ‘You mean go to Guiana?’ asked Ruby. ‘Do you even know where it is?’

  ‘No need. I understand it’s the pilot’s job to worry about that kind of thing. We just need to book our flights.’

  ‘I shall come with you, boy,’ said his mother.

  ‘I rather fancy you should stay behind. Things might get a little testy out there. And you have so much catching up to do in England. Much has changed since the Seventies. We have more than three channels on the television, now. We have something called the Internet. Oh, and you mustn’t be racist anymore.’

  ‘No, boy. I risked everything to find you, and I’m not letting you go again. If he succeeds, I want to be with you for our final moments. Besides, I know Mitford well. I know how he thinks. Maybe I can help.’

  ‘Do you even have a passport, Mater?’

  ‘How do you think I came back to England? Obviously, it’s not my passport. For immigration purposes, I am the Spanish lady from whom I stole an identity. Desperate measures for desperate times. I will make it up to her if I get the chance. And you, boy, will find someone to clean up this house. It’s a disgrace.’

  Ruby wasn’t watching, but she sensed that Lady Ballashiels was looking at her when she said that someone needed to clean the house. She sighed. Meeting Ratty’s mother had turned out to be less of a pleasure than she had expected. Her sole consolation was the imminent destruction of everything and everyone she knew. If her relationship with Lady Ballashiels was going to test her, at least it wouldn’t be a prolonged agony.

  THURSDAY 9TH MAY 2013

  Charlie lowered his sunglasses and blinked. He was melting. French Guiana’s humidity seemed to suck the moisture from his body. Rocco fanned himself with his passport as they stepped out of the Cessna. He could hardly believe the gruelling journey was over. New York to São Paulo, São Paulo to Belem on Brazil’s northern coast, Belem to French Guiana’s modest capital, Cayenne, followed by a bone-rattling hop to the airstrip at Kourou in what felt like a small car with wings. All those connections, checkins, security checks and complimentary nuts made Rocco feel like he had arrived at the end of the world.

  Part of the spaceport was visible from the runway, its boxy buildings and full-size mock-up of an Ariane rocket set against a breath-taking background of dense foliage. Futuristic space architecture and primitive jungle clashed like black and white. Somewhere out of sight of the airstrip was the Keo time capsule, installed in a rocket on a launch pad, ready to begin its fifty-thousand-year mission to bring twenty-first-century knowledge and culture to humanity’s distant descendants.

  Rocco and Charlie were, however, focussed upon a more modest time capsule. Since it had departed New York by sea, they assumed it would arrive by the same means and resolved to check out the fishing docks on Kourou’s river.

  ‘Three thousand miles at forty knots,’ said Rocco, as they sat in the back of a taxi heading for the docks. ‘Even without stopping for fuel, it’s going to take that boat three days to get here. And I doubt it has that kind of range, and the sea conditions won’t allow him to go flat out all the time anyway, so we’re looking at four, maybe five days since he left until he gets here.’

  ‘And it took us two days to make it down here,’ said Charlie, �
��so we have a day or two to wait. What are we going to do? Hang out at the hotel bar?’

  ‘You’re forgetting something, Charlie. I’m a senior employee of the space agency. I have authorisation to access the launch site. The Keo satellite launches in three days. The old man wants me to do something for him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He wants me to blow it up on the launch pad.’

  ‘Huh?’ Charlie was shocked and impressed in equal measure. ‘Why does the dude want you to do that?’

  ‘I still don’t know. That’s why I’m here. Keo is obviously a major threat for him. I sense this is something far bigger than space technology or money. He was prepared to kill to keep people away from Keo. I’m going to find out why.’

  ***

  At the fishing dock, an unusual craft was tying up. At its helm was Dick English. He wasn’t sure the structure of the wooden dock was strong enough to hold the mass of this flying boat against the flow of the river, but he didn’t care. He was certain that he had outwitted Charlie and Rocco by switching from a motor boat to an airplane, and was ready to confront the old man and make his millions. On reflection, he had decided to leave the capsule intact. The drill had damaged the copper alloy skin of the tube, but it hadn’t penetrated completely, so the contents were demonstrably original. Offering the old man a complete capsule was worth more to him than satiating his curiosity regarding the contents. It was probably just a weird piece of art that Dalí put into it, anyway, he decided. That, in itself, could be worth millions, and he had a figure in mind that reflected the value of the Dalí contribution, the lost earnings that would result from him never being able to return to his job, the cost of renting a beach house and a boat, and the cost of the flying lessons that had been needed to be confident of making such a long solo flight. It probably wouldn’t wipe out Mitford’s finances entirely, and since the old man seemed to be preparing for his personal doomsday, money would be of little use to him once he had achieved whatever it was he was planning.

  Dick English had plans of his own, involving a tropical island, a private bar and boatloads of beautiful women arriving every week for his pleasure. Life like that didn’t come cheap. His blackmail plan had to work perfectly.

  Mitford was waiting for him in the bar at Hotel Mercure. For a man on the verge of achieving his ambitions, he was oddly sullen. English thought he had seen death row prisoners with brighter outlooks on life. He almost felt guilty about the blackmail he was about to instigate, but he reminded himself that he had risked his liberty in bringing the capsule out of the United States, and would have to sacrifice the chance of ever returning.

  ‘You have the capsule?’ asked Mitford in world-weary tones. The brightening of mood he had experienced on the flight here had been fleeting, soon replaced by resentment that he had been placed by birth into this position in the first place. His duty to change the world was a thankless, anonymous one; he would never be appreciated.

  ‘Of course.’

  English showed Mitford a photo of the capsule sitting in the yacht, before he’d had it transferred to the seaplane.

  ‘You opened it?’

  ‘There’s superficial damage from the drill, but the capsule is intact. I haven’t cut into it.’

  Mitford reached down to pick up a small briefcase. He opened it and showed the contents to English.

  ‘I want to renegotiate our deal,’ said English.

  ‘We had a contract. This is a million dollars for you, as we agreed. Take it.’

  English pushed it back towards Mitford.

  ‘My costs were more than that,’ he said. ‘I had to do a lot more. Risk a lot more. Sacrifice a lot more. And if you don’t pay what I think it’s worth to me, the capsule will end up at the bottom of the sea.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Thirty million.’ His throat tightened as he said it, almost as if he didn’t believe such a sum even existed on the planet.

  ‘Thirty million? Hah! What makes you think I have that kind of money?’

  ‘Forty million, then. Fifty.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sixty.’

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘I know who you are. I know who your father was, and your mother. That’s a pretty substantial inheritance. All that looted gold and artwork, all those countries ransacked, all those people dispossessed. That money didn’t disappear, did it? All you needed to inherit everything was a number. Unlock a Swiss bank account and you’re set for a life of luxury built on the misery of others.’

  ‘I have never lived a life of luxury.’

  ‘So your Swiss bank account must be full.’

  ‘That is none of your business.’

  ‘Sixty million. It’s my final offer.’

  Mitford was tempted to play the role of the victim, protesting at being ripped off. He knew precisely how much money sat in his account. The price English was demanding would not even put the slightest dent in it. He earned more than that in interest every month. Sixty million could be transferred to English with no problem whatsoever. He would have no further use for his wealth in a day or two, anyway. In fact, the money itself would cease to exist in that account before the week was out. Every penny would automatically return to the families and institutions from which it was originally stolen. It made no difference how much he had once that redistribution occurred, but the principle irked him. Mitford did not appreciate the hint of blackmail inherent in this deal.

  ‘Sixty million, you say?’ asked Mitford, through teeth that seethed and spat.

  ‘That’s the price. Take it or leave it.’

  ‘All right. I’ll leave it. Thank you and goodbye.’ Mitford stood up.

  ‘Wait,’ called English, his voice tinged with panic. ‘We can talk about this.’

  ‘There is nothing to discuss. You have gone against your word. I refuse to be blackmailed, therefore you will receive nothing.’

  ‘Ten million. That’s fair. I did have lots of expenses, and I can give you the capsule intact.’

  Mitford stood still, almost savouring the unfamiliar emotion of satisfaction. Ten million was enough of a climb-down. He could live with that. He turned round slowly and looked English in the eye. ‘I advise you to make the most of that money. Enjoy it quickly. You will not have long to spend it.’

  ***

  ‘This is what Mitford wants me to blow up,’ said Rocco, proudly pointing up at the Ariane rocket sitting on its launch pad, one of two rockets being prepared for launch in the next few days from adjacent pads. ‘The Keo time capsule is right at the top, and there’s a communications satellite beneath it. A GPS unit, I think.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see this firework explode,’ said Charlie. ‘Let’s get closer.’

  ‘I could, but you’d have to wait here. You only have a guest pass, so this is your limit, but my staff pass gives me access almost anywhere. That’s why I got you in so easily as my personal guest. I think my level of access is what Mitford liked about me. Probably why he didn’t assassinate me.’

  ‘How are you going to blow it up?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘You said Mitford hired you to do it.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not really going to, am I? I’m a conspiracy investigator. I get off on solving mysteries, uncovering dark secrets. This is the greatest trail I’ve ever followed. Getting close to Mitford is my way of lifting the lid on his plans. Pretending I’ll do what he wants is my way of getting his trust. He’s planning something big, and the two time capsules are the link, and Dalí is the common thread between them. I just wish I knew why Dalí matters and why Mitford gives a damn. Opening a capsule from the Thirties and destroying one intended for launch this year – what is the point? What’s in it for him?’

  ‘We should go find him. Get some answers,’ said Charlie.

  ‘No, we need to be ready when that Dalí capsule gets here. I want to know what’s in it that’s so important to everyone,’ said Rocco.

/>   He signed out of the space centre and drove him and Charlie the very short distance into town, through streets largely devoid of traffic, and continued all the way to the river where they pulled up at the fishing dock. Still no sign of the motor boat they had last seen near New York. But the seaplane sitting at the end of the dock looked utterly out of place beside the simple wooden vessels used by the locals. Rocco looked at Charlie.

  ‘You don’t think, do you …?’ asked Rocco.

  ‘Not often,’ replied Charlie. ‘… he switched from the boat to the plane,’ said Rocco. ‘He’s already here.’

  They walked along the dock to check out the plane at close quarters. The door was locked. Charlie pressed his nose against a window. There were objects inside, but nothing stood out as being the capsule.

  ‘Shall we break the window?’ Charlie suggested.

  ‘No. It might be someone else’s plane,’ said Rocco.

  ‘Like who? No one round here has this kind of toy. And the capsule could be in the back beneath all that junk.’

  ‘We’re not going to damage this aircraft,’ ordered Rocco, taking one of the mooring lines and untying it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘We mustn’t damage it, but that doesn’t mean we have to leave it here. Come on.’

  Charlie twigged, and jumped into a nearby open fishing boat and started the outboard engine. He slipped its moorings and motored inexpertly in front of the sea plane. Rocco threw a tow line to him, and jumped into the fishing boat with him, securing the rope across two cleats.

  Rocco steered the boat upriver, with the seaplane dragging lazily behind.

  ***

  ‘There are only two ways to prevent Mitford from sabotaging Keo,’ said the Patient from his squashed position in the rear of a taxi. ‘And neither method is infallible, I am sorry to say.’