THE CAMBRIDGE ANNEX: THE TRILOGY

by Peter Damon

  Stan put himself back to work. Only hard work and diligence would see him through this episode.

  June 2nd

  The British Government could move with extreme speed when it wanted or needed to, Sir Arthur Coleman reflected, sitting in his offices overlooking the River Thames and watching a tourist boat fight against the tide as far as Vauxhall Bridge, then turn to go down-stream again. As shown in the case of poor Professor Rolle at Cambridge for example.

  Stanley’s news was bad, but on its own, it was hardly enough to stir up even the most flighty of ministers. However, it had only taken a polite phone call from one of the tabloid editors warning of an embarrassing story that they were about to publish, for Her Majesty’s Government to request that the Chinese attaché leave the country, his diplomatic status firmly revoked.

  Hot on the heels of that snub, the British called the Russian ambassador to the Foreign Office for a long conversation on commercial espionage. Nothing precise, of course, but with a tone that suggested Russia would do best to remain friends with Britain and not promote any attempts to obtain goods by deceit. Sooner or later, friends would share knowledge, while those harbouring ill-will would find themselves getting short shift from the British educational authorities when research opportunities began to arise, as they were sure to do.

  They may have had good cause to walk out of the Foreign Office in high dudgeon, but it was sufficient to cause the US Ambassador to send an amicable greeting to the British offering full support and any technical assistance she may need in the weeks and months to follow. No pressure was intended, was the meaning between the words. And the summary removal of four of their nationals from their vacation in Cambridge went unremarked upon. What are four junior officers in the overall scheme of things, after all?

  Sir Arthur reviewed the meeting notes and transcripts and hummed softly to himself as he took the call from the British Ambassador to Japan.

  “Hello Walter, how are you, old chap? And how’s Emily?” he asked, remembering the good days at Oxford. “Well, yes, we do have a bit of a problem down there. Some Cambridge University students have gone to Japan to do some tests with a brand new chemical and, quite frankly, we’re very worried that the Japanese may have got wind of it, and may try stealing it from them, and us of course,” he explained.

  “Would you? That’s awfully kind of you,” Sir Arthur said, before returning to talk of family and club events. “We’ll make it a foursome the next time you’re in the UK,” he promised with a light laugh.

  He put the phone down and frowned. Three threads to have to follow now; protect those within Cambridge from aggressive foreigners; continue to cajole them into giving their secrets to the proper authorities; and protect whatever was happening down in Japan. Sir Arthur considered the three aspects and made some notes for Stanley. Then, his thoughts in order, he phoned the Prime Minister.

  +++++++++++++++++

  Gary Clarke felt very conspicuous as he walked towards the Security check-in area at Heathrow Airport, a full six inches taller than his nearest neighbour. Not that he had anything in his possession that was illicit. However, Professor Rolle’s death had unnerved him and he had become hyper-vigilant. In many respects, he was glad to be leaving the country. His chief worry, right at the forefront of his mind, was how Cheryl would cope on her own somewhere in Europe.

  “Have you been to Australia before, Mr Clarke?” asked the young woman at the security desk as she waited for her screen to tell her that the young gentleman was who his passport said he was.

  “No. This is my first time,” he admitted. Not that he’d make it of course; the ticket allowed him a 24-hour stop-over in Tokyo, by the end of which time he’d be long gone, he hoped.

  “Have a good trip, Mr Clarke,” she told him, smiling as she returned the passport, and then daring to turn for a moment, just for one quick glance at his buttocks as he walked on towards the detector corridor.

  June 3rd

  Police cars were drawn up on Chesterton Road, Cambridge, and police tape encircled the trees that led towards the river bank and enclosed an area that included the dead body. Jesus Green was immediate across the river, a long expanse of grass that would have given anyone dumping the body into the slow moving river Camb some degree of privacy.

  A white police tent had been erected over the body, and Heather didn’t need anyone to tell her the woman laid out on the grass was Claire Rolle.

  “Do we have cause and time yet?” she asked the woman from the Forensic Science Service, who was even then taking swabs and putting them into clean containers for later analysis back at the laboratory.

  “Cause looks like blunt force trauma to the head. Time; not recent. More than twelve hours is all I’m willing to say at the moment.”

  “Not drowning, then?” Heather asked for confirmation.

  “Definitely not drowning,” the woman agreed.

  Heather stepped out of the tent and saw her sergeant and detective constable walking over, their faces wiped of expression. Behind them, beyond the barrier of tape, she could see Michael arguing with one of the police officers on the cordon. “Let him through, constable,” she shouted before turning to her team.

  “Go talk to Professor Lark and see if you can’t find some link between the break-in at Cavendish Laboratory and this. Then get over to the business park and check out stories of a band of gypsies having moved in.”

  “You think it related then, Ma’am?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m not sold on this Russian mob that the Crime Manager suddenly turned up with this morning,” she admitted. “Just find out what they’re up to and we’ll take it from there,” she suggested before Michael moved within hearing.

  “Is it Claire?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry Michael. I know you two didn’t talk much after Wendy died, but did she seem different at all recently?” she asked.

  “I didn’t see much of her,” he admitted. “Frankly, she didn’t like me, as you can probably guess,” he murmured. “Probably fair, given I was responsible,” he admitted.

  “Was she...?” he asked, the sentence left unfinished.

  “No,” Heather told him. “A single blow to the head,” she admitted. She knew he wouldn’t publish that much detail.

  “Anything sprung to mind as to who would do this, and to why?” she asked.

  Michael shook his head, his eyes cold and distant. Heather, watching him, felt he was keeping something back, but for the life of her couldn’t understand what or why.

  “What about that story in the press this morning?” she asked him. “British Intelligence in Cambridge?” she queried. “Bit of a wild shot, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Who knows,” Michael admitted with a shrug inside his old waxed jacket. “I’ll let the Vice Chancellor know. They were good friends,” he murmured before walking away.

  Heather watched him walk away, wondering about all the rumours swirling around Cambridge. If only a fraction of them were true, something was happening in Cambridge, and she felt certain the death of the Rolles’ had something to do with it. Proving it was another matter. As for Michael, she could only guess at the complexities of his relationship with his in-laws, which made her wonder what had driven Michael to return to Cambridge. As much as she enjoyed seeing him again, she would have preferred better circumstances.

  +++++++++++++++++

  The walk to the Vice Chancellor’s office was therapeutic. Michael remembered the short cuts and walking routes from his time as a student, and the memories, though still painful, were pleasant memories. Along with memories of Wendy came those of Heather too. For a while the two women had been inseparable, and for a while he himself had not known which he was in love with. They were so different and yet so similar.

  Sir Richard’s secretary smiled sadly at him as he entered the outer office, and invited him to go right in.

  “Ah, Michael, how are you?” Sir Richard Phillips asked as he stood and moved around his desk to meet Micha
el, taking his hand and gripping his shoulder. “If there’s anything we can do,” he murmured.

  Michael smiled sadly while thanking the man. “The best thing we can do is see this through,” he told him and the two Pro-Vice-Chancellors already seated at the small conference table. They shook his hand and waited for him to sit, the sadness in their eyes weighing down on his shoulders.

  He placed the little black box on the table and turned it on, checking his tablet before he continued. “The ship is being prepared and is on schedule. Most of our people are already over there, helping out in one way or another. Our job remains the most important though; continue to confuse the authorities until the ship is ready.”

  “And Rolle’s death? How does that affect your plans?” Sir Richard asked.

  Michael took a steadying breath as mention of the professor’s name brought back the pain. “If Rolle told them about Japan and South Korea, then we’re sunk,” he admitted, and glanced at the three senior University leaders.

  “I truly don’t believe the team out there is in any more danger than if we were to admit everything to our own authorities. British, American, Russian or Chinese, it doesn’t matter. We’d be spirited away to tell them everything we know, and then discarded.

  “So from that perspective I intend to continue with the plan, just as if Rolle were still here.”

  “And with regard to resource? Do you need us to get any more involved, take up anything Rolle was engaged in, for example?” Dr Cannon asked.

  Michael shook his head. “The conversion is unaffected. All the preliminary work that Rolle was involved in had finished before his death. The only remaining work is our continuing efforts to keep the authorities from getting too close to our true aims,” he explained. “I suspect Professor Rolle was conducting some subterfuge that would keep at least some of our antagonists off our backs, but for the life of me, I never thought it would lead to this!”

  “Well, following Rolle’s death I’ve spoken to some of our friends in the Government, and they’re applying pressure on the Foreign Office to take a firmer stand on the Chinese, Russian’s and Americans,” Sir Richard explained. “That piece in the newspapers helped though,” he nodded.

  Michael nodded his gratitude. “Yes, my biggest worry is the British Intelligence Service. Their man Charway is the closest and most dangerous, but to interrupt him in any way would be to take his blinkers off. He might just see what we don’t want him to see,” he stressed.

  “So we will live with him,” Sir Richard agreed.

  “And by the way,” the Vice Chancellor said. “If you agree, we would deem it an honour if you would call the new facility The Cambridge University Annex; Rolle College.”

  For a moment Michael was unable to speak. “I can’t imagine a better name,” he said finally.

  +++++++++++++++++

  Michael walked aimlessly through Cambridge, knowing there were things that needed doing and yet dismissing them as unimportant. Occasionally he rose from his reverie to notice where he was, never surprised to find himself somewhere with links to Wendy.

  Such moments brought more memories, the past flowing over him, dousing him in overwhelming pain.

  His two bodyguards had returned, he noted, but they were unobtrusive for once, almost as if they were ashamed to be there. So, for a while, he put his mind to making life awkward for them and entered the occasional shop to talk to the staff, sometimes begging to be let out of the back of the store where the inevitable alley led to yet another crowded street.

  He walk took him northwards, past Magdalene College, never once admitting to himself where he was bound, and therefore noticing with some surprise when he got there, that he stood outside the small St Giles-with-St Peter’s church on Castle Hill.

  Wendy and he had married there, much to Claire Rolle’s delight. Although a small church, it was in fact the smallest church in Cambridge, it held a simple and calming beauty.

  Michael found himself walking in, under the curved doorway that was 11th century, to walk quietly to one of the pews. He recalled the music, in particular Johann Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. And the radiant beauty of his bride, the smiling faces of all her friends. Heather had been bridesmaid. Professor Rolle in his splendour as he gave away his daughter while Claire stood close by, so proud of her daughter.

  More recent memories crowded in and made him close his eyes in grief and pain. He had been the cause of so many deaths.

  “Michael? Michael Bennett?” said a deep voice from the aisle.

  Michael wiped his eyes and looked up. Reverend Martin Giles stood there, fifteen years older, but still with the warm and welcoming face he had always shown them.

  “Oh, Reverend,” Michael sobbed, grief finally overwhelming him.

  +++++++++++++++++

  On the top floor of number 15, Thoday street, Matt, Jake and Leanne sat on the couch and stared silently in front of them, the large TV and game consoles ignored as they contemplated the death of Professor Rolle and his wife.

  “What if someone wanted information? What if he told them our names?” Leanne asked.

  “I don’t think we’d still be here if he’d said anything,” Jake murmured. Matt nodded.

  “So we just continue, like nothing happened?” she asked.

  Matt took the control yoke from her lax hand and pressed the green button for the game to appear on the TV screen. “Unless you have a better idea,” he suggested.

  +++++++++++++++++

  Michael and the reverend had wandered over to a bench in the small graveyard. There, among old and lopsided limestone gravestones, Michael had unburdened himself, probably further than he’d intended. Once he’d started there had been no end to it, and the reverend had listened without interruption, his expression never once changing.

  “It’s going to get worse,” Michael morbidly murmured at the end of it all.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” the reverend told him.

  Michael laughed but without any humour. “Why do you believe that?” he asked.

  “Because I don’t think you will allow it,” the reverend told him. “It must be terrible to lose so many of your close friends and family, and yet I don’t see you as the type to lie down and allow still more to happen,” he told him.

  Michael considered. Could he close the project? Could he allow the twins to be taken? He shook his head. This had never been about the twins; this had been about an incredible discovery and how it should be used. And that had to remain the focus of their attention. At the end of the day, could they afford to allow any government authority to acquire the new chemical, when history loudly proclaimed that none of them had the moral fortitude to use it correctly?

  “Thank you Reverend. You’ve helped,” Michael told him.

  The two men stood and shook hands.

  “May I ask a question of you, Michael?” the Reverend asked.

  “Surely,” Michael agreed.

  “Would this craft have a chapel in it? Don’t you think it would be an idea to build one, and request that a priest be there?” he asked.

  Michael grinned. “I think we will correct that oversight!” he agreed.

  June 4th

  Matt held down the button that drew the roller doors up on the front of the warehouse and Jake pushed the van out, into the car park. It looked like it was going to be another lovely day with a clear blue sky and the air already beginning to feel warm. Neither of them saw the man across the road point his long lens towards the warehouse to take ten quick photographs of the interior before the doors were rolled back down again.

  Matt finished closing the roller door and stood back to admire the van under natural light.

  “Is that cool, or what!” Jake asked, joining his partner and admiring the vehicle.

  The van was now black, but the panels on both sides had been elaborately painted using images of the Eagle Nebula taken by the Hubble Telescope back in 2010, when it had still been operating. Dust clouds of vibrant blues, brown
s and reds seemed to be lit brilliantly from behind, rising out of the overall black of the vehicle.

  Leanne came out and grinned at the pair. “You know how to use the new control yoke?” she asked.

  “Sure, no problem!” Matt grinned.

  “And you’ve tailored the phone App?” Leanne asked.

  The boys waved their phones in the air. Both now held the new App that was the security on the very special van. The vehicle would not function if it didn’t sense the phone, or receive the right code from the hand-held device.

  “Yes, we’ve put in a pass code,” Matt and Jake told her.

  “You’re leaving now then?” Jake asked of Leanne.

  “Soon as I’ve finished here, perhaps a day more,” she agreed with a nod.

  “Well, be sure to give them our regards,” Jake said, giving her a hug and a brief peck on the cheek.

  “Be careful, wont you?” Leanne begged, returning his hug to then do the same with Matt.

  “Let’s go get the gear,” Matt told his partner eagerly.

  They got into the van, and it automatically started, allowing the boys to drive away to pick up their disco equipment. With sufficient clothes to last them for a few days, they then drove off towards Belgium where they had a contract to do a party at the College of Europe in Bruges as part of their end-of-year celebrations.

  +++++++++++++++++

  Stan watched from his car as another three Chinese men were taken from their hotel and pushed into the back of the British van. Once again, there had been nothing in the hotel rooms to indicate they were anything other than what they claimed to be; tourists, nor was there anything to confirm their credentials. There were no tourist maps, no tickets to any of the museums, no trivial purchases to remind them of their holiday.