I’m still not really sure how it happened, but the whole thing began to unravel. She had inside help; from people in Swaziland and Uganda. People who let their emotions get the better of them. And then our production manager went rogue and made a full confession before killing himself.
It was all such a waste! Years of planning down the toilet. Our network in Southern Africa was completely destroyed. We were going to have to start again from scratch.
And, not content with causing havoc in Africa, Ms Jones then brought the whole thing back to England, right to my doorstep. It was time for me to disappear.
All the plans were in place anyway. I’d had the Brazilian operation set up for years; the villa was built and ready for occupation. It just meant bringing everything forward by a few months. But it was irritating to be working to someone else’s timetable rather than my own.
In fact, I probably wouldn’t have known anything about it until it was too late if it hadn’t been for a tip-off from Francine Matheson. She thought she was being so clever, calling me out in front of the PM that night. But I’ve eaten bigger fish than her for breakfast many times!
And luckily I knew things about Francine. Things from her past, before she rose to her current giddy heights. She was a very junior MP when we first met at the conference in Africa. I didn’t know how her indiscretion would be of use to me, but I knew it would at some point. And with Nico’s help, I set her up, made it look like she was involved in the counterfeiting. The whole thing was very tenuous. It would have been embarrassing for her if it had come out, but it wouldn’t have stood up under close examination. But it didn’t have to. It was enough to make the pair of them—Suzanne and Francine—slow down in their investigations; just long enough for me to get away and move to Brazil.
And then, finally I was free, with my new, or should I say my old, name. Free of those wretched investigations; free of my silly wife Pauline. Free to carry on with my business unhindered. And for a while, I was content. But I started to think about the old days, back in Mozambique. I wondered about Grace. I decided to see if I could find her. And I asked Stefano if he could help.
For a while there was no word. Then one day, I got a call. Poor Nico had met with a tragic accident in Kiev and was found in the river. But Stefano’s other son, Mikhail, was coming to São Paulo to meet me. I never allow any of my business associates anywhere near the villa, so arranged to meet him at a favourite haunt of mine near the cathedral in the city centre. And the news he brought me turned my life upside down once again.
CHAPTER 32
‘It was ancient history by the time I went to college,’ Suzanne said. Damien had jumped in a cab and come straight over to the office when she told him she’d worked out a huge piece of the puzzle. ‘But they still taught the psilocybin story when I studied pharmacy in the 1980s.’
‘Psilocybin? What’s that?’
‘It’s an hallucinogenic alkaloid found in some toadstools. They’re sometimes called magic mushrooms or shrooms.’
‘What are they used for?’
‘These days, very little. They’re regulated or prohibited in many countries around the world, but for a brief time in the early 1960s they were legal and were being hailed as some kind of wonder drug. Have you ever heard of Timothy Leary?’
‘Yes, I think I have,’ Damien said, nodding. ‘Isn’t he the guy Richard Nixon described as ‘the most dangerous man in America’?’
‘That’s the one. He was a great advocate of mind-enhancing substances and, at the time, he had been encouraging the use of LSD; hence Nixon’s comment.’
‘And what does he have to do with psilocybin?’
‘Well, before he became public enemy number one, Leary was a respected psychology lecturer and researcher at Harvard. It didn’t last very long and Leary was fired after some of his students were discovered taking LSD in the laboratory. But before that, he was instrumental, with a couple of colleagues, in establishing the Harvard Psilocybin Project and carrying out behavioural studies on students and seminarians. And that’s where the phrase ‘joining the party’ comes from.’
Damien held up his hand.
‘I’m not sure I’m following all this, Suzanne. What does a disgraced teacher from more than forty years ago have to do with Sunshine Supplements? You don’t think he’s behind all this, do you?’
Suzanne laughed and shook her head.
‘No, of course not; Leary died back in 1996. And coming to the party wasn’t one of his phrases anyway. The one he was best known for is ‘turn on, tune in and drop out’.’
‘So where does the phrase come from?’
‘One of the seminarians involved in the study was the second son of a British earl. He went under the wonderful name of Rufus Armstrong Jenkins. And as the spare in the family, he was naturally going into the church.’
‘What?’ Damien pulled a face and Suzanne realised she’d lost him again.
‘Sorry, Damien. I know the English nobility is a new subject to you. We have a joke in this country about the importance of breeding an heir and a spare. The first son takes on the title and the property on the death of his father. And the second son is the spare, in case anything goes wrong with the succession. Under normal circumstances, the route for that second son is either into the military or the church.’
‘And this Armstrong Thingy was a second son?’
‘Armstrong Jenkins. Correct. But after getting involved with the Harvard Psilocybin Project, he left the seminary and carried on the research started by Leary and his mates.’
‘And this was all in the States?’
‘Only to start with. Psilocybin is registered as a Schedule 1 drug with a high potential for abuse; and it’s illegal under US Federal Law. But, for example, it’s only been banned in this country since 2005. So there are still places around the world where its use is legal.’
‘And Armstrong Jenkins has been taking advantage of that?’
‘Yes, he’s been an advocate of its use ever since. He even put up a strong case for declassifying it at some point. And that’s when he started using the phrase: come together; join the party.’
‘But it’s a fairly innocuous phrase. Are you sure it’s not just a coincidence that Nigel Atkinson used it?’
‘On its own, yes, it could be. But I’ve checked very carefully; gone back through all the pictures I can find on the internet and I am positive that the old guy I saw at the Sunshine Supplements factory—the same old guy that Atkinson ejected from his party at the sports ground—was Rufus Armstrong Jenkins.’ Suzanne sat back in her chair and nodded at Damien. ‘I’m still not sure what’s going on, but if Rufus is involved, I’m willing to bet there’s a link to either psilocybin or a similar entheogen—that’s the general term for psychoactive substances.’
Damien made Suzanne go back to the beginning and go through the whole story again, just to make sure he understood what she was saying. Then he came up with all the sceptical questions he could think of, to try to disprove, or even just weaken her conclusions. But in the end, he had to agree with her. It looked as though Nigel Atkinson was involved in some way with the old researcher. And when they further investigated the nature and history of psilocybin, they found papers talking about the anxiety and paranoia suffered by some users. They also discovered a study from the 1970s which concluded that the dosage of the drug was very hard to control due to its source as plant material.
‘So, to summarise,’ said Damien, as Suzanne closed down the laptop at the end of a long research session, ‘we have a link between Nigel Atkinson’s Sunshine Supplements and an elderly researcher who has spent his life trying to win acceptance for a mind-enhancing drug. A drug that comes from a natural source and is therefore difficult to manufacture under controlled conditions.’
‘But which is known to cause paranoia in some users,’ concluded Suzanne. ‘And I’ve been having another think about that analysis you had done on the material Lulana left beh
ind.’
‘But if I remember rightly, it didn’t show anything dodgy, did it?’ said Damien. ‘All my friend found was yerba maté tea and a few vitamins. Certainly nothing of an unusual chemical nature.’
‘What methodology did he use, do you know?’
‘No idea, I’m afraid,’ Damien said with a shrug. ‘It’s all alien to me. But I can ask him. Why?’
‘Well, I’m wondering just how sensitive his instrumentation would be. This is a university lab, right? He probably used gas chromatography for separation, but if he used IR or NMR for identification, they are less sensitive methods and would only tend to find the functional groups.’ Suzanne realised Damien’s eyes had glazed over; she laughed and patted his hand. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that his method might not have been sensitive enough to pick up traces of another organic material among all the herbal matter. We may need to get a sample to a specialised government laboratory.’
‘But we don’t have any more samples, do we?’ said Damien.
‘No, I’m afraid not. Looks like we need to add that to the task list too.’
The pair called it a night and headed across the road for one of Sanjay’s curries. And it wasn’t until later the following morning that the final piece fell into place for Suzanne. She found reference to an article Rufus Armstrong Jenkins had co-written, singing the praises of homoeopathic medicines. Like many pharmacists and classical medical professionals in the western world, Suzanne was very sceptical about homoeopathy. Invented in the eighteenth century, it was an alternative system of therapy which used highly diluted substances, claimed to enable the body to heal itself.
‘And, to be honest, it doesn’t matter in this case whether it works or not,’ she told Damien when she phoned him to give him the news. ‘The point is the quantities of the material we’re looking for could be so dilute, they’re incapable of analytical detection.’
‘But in that case, it wouldn’t have any effect on people, would it,’ asked Damien.
‘That’s not necessarily so. We’re talking about extreme allergies, here. And we know from our experience with penicillin that people who are allergic can be affected at sub-analytical dosages.’
‘So if Sunshine Supplements is using psilocybin or a similar material in very dilute quantities, it’s not going to be provable in the laboratory,’ he said. Suzanne sat in silence for so long that Damien finally asked, ‘Are you still there, Suzanne?’
‘Yes, I’m still here,’ she said. Then she sighed. ‘It’s no good, Damien. This is all supposition and conjecture. The only way we’re going to catch these guys is to get back into that factory; into that locked room, in fact.’ She paused and then went on. ‘I’m going back, Damien; back to São Paulo.’
‘Then I’m coming with you,’ he replied.
‘That’s sweet of you,’ she said with a smile, ‘but don’t you have exams coming up? I think you should go back to college and wait until you hear from us.’
Suzanne didn’t mention her other reason for wanting to go back to Brazil. She’d not heard from Charlie for the past three days. If she was honest, that wasn’t unusual; she was used to her sister doing a disappearing act. But given what she was investigating, it would be good to get over there and see what she was up to.
PART III
CHAPTER 33
Charlie didn’t remember falling asleep. She had no idea how long she’d been out for but she had the mother and father of all hangovers. She didn’t think she’d had that much to drink, but something had to explain the seven dwarves and their mates who were tunnelling through her head, trying to beat their way out. And the foul taste in her mouth. And the absence of any memory after hearing Mercy’s quiet voice in the darkness, reliving her youth.
Then she realised something that pushed all these other thoughts into the background. She was lying on her side, on the hard, metal floor in the pitch dark—and she was unable to move. Her arms appeared to be tied behind her back and her ankles were fastened together too.
‘What the fuck...?’ She tried to sit up and then stopped suddenly as waves of nausea threatened to overcome her.
‘Lie still, take it gently. The nausea will pass in a minute.’ The voice in the darkness was the first indication she wasn’t alone. Michael Hawkins was in here—wherever here was—with her.
‘What’s going on? Why am I tied up?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that, my dear. I seem to be in the same predicament as you.’
Charlie struggled to loosen the ties around her hands, but they refused to budge and it only made her head pound even more, so she gave up. Then she had a thought.
‘Mercy? Mercy, are you in here, too?’ There was no response. ‘Michael, where’s Mercy? Do you know? And what the hell’s happening here? Is it pirates? Are we under attack?’
‘I’m afraid she’s not here,’ responded Hawkins. ‘It’s a very small room. I can touch one wall with my toes and the other with my head. If there was a third person in here, we’d be able to feel her.’
‘Have you tried shouting?’
‘No, I only came to a little while before you did, Rose. I was waiting for you to wake up. What do you remember?’
‘Nothing! Not a thing.’
‘So let’s go back to what we do remember.’
‘Well,’ said Charlie, ‘I remember leaving the limo in the street. Coming back here, moving out into the bay. Then we waved the crew off in the motor boat for their night out and sat on deck, eating dinner and chatting, watching the fireworks. Mercy talked about her childhood. But after that, nada! How about you?’
‘Pretty much the same as you. I certainly don’t remember strangers boarding the boat or being tied up.’
At that moment, the door flew open, blinding them as the darkness was wrenched away to be replaced by bright sunshine. A tall figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light. Hawkins realised who it was while Charlie was still blinking against the light.
‘Mercy! Thank God! Are you alright? What the hell’s happening?’
The tall African woman said nothing for a few seconds and then when she spoke, Charlie was shocked to hear laughter in her voice.
‘Oh yes, Tata dear, I’m perfectly alright. In fact I’ve never felt better.’
‘Can you untie us?’
‘Of course I can—but I don’t think I’m going to. At least, not just yet.’
There was a stunned silence. Charlie was starting to suspect she might have misjudged her new friend. She tried to keep her voice calm and reasonable.
‘Mercy, please help us. Your father’s not well...’ but Mercy only laughed again.
‘Oh, I think you’ll find my father is perfectly well, Rose. You’ve no idea how good he is at playing a part.’
‘Mercy,’ Hawkins said, ‘what’s going on?’
‘Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,’ she said. She waved her fingers at them. ‘Don’t go away. I’ll be back in a little while,’ and she pushed the door closed. There was the sound of high heels clipping along the deck—and then silence.
‘Right,’ said Charlie slowly, ‘so now we know. Not pirates; not strangers on board. I rather suspect your daughter might have drugged the brandy last night.’
‘You think?’ growled Hawkins, a note of sarcasm in his voice. But then he sighed. ‘Sorry, Rose, I shouldn’t take it out on you. And we seem to be allies in this, whatever this is, so let’s just see if we can work together, shall we?’
They talked through a number of possibilities for a while, but neither of them could come up with any reason why Mercy should be behaving as she was. After a while, they lapsed into silence. Charlie’s head had cleared but she was starting to get cramp from the awkward position in which she was lying. It was difficult to think straight in such circumstances. But it wasn’t the first time Charlie had been in a situation like this and she knew the next encounter with Mercy was crucial.
True to her word, Mercy returne
d within less than an hour.
‘Right, let’s get you two somewhere more comfortable,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’ She helped Michael Hawkins to his feet, cut the ties around his ankles and pushed him out of the door. ‘I’ll be back for you in a while, Rose,’ she said. Charlie fancied Mercy’s voice was a little softer when talking to her, than her father. Maybe the issue was with him, rather than her. In which case, maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to talk her round to letting them, or at least her, go.
When Mercy finally returned, she hauled Charlie to her feet, freed her legs, and guided her out of the room, which turned out to be a storage locker on the lower deck, towards the stairs, and up to the living quarters. The sun was starting to dip in the west and Charlie guessed it was late afternoon. They went into one of the cabins and Mercy clipped the tie holding Charlie’s hands together. At the same time, she pushed her hard so she stumbled across the room and half-fell onto the bunk. By the time she righted herself and whipped around to face the other woman, she was looking straight down the barrel of a classic shooting pistol.
‘Stop right there,’ said Mercy. ‘Running’s not the only sport I’ve been training in. I can shoot straight—and I will use this if I need to. Although it would be a little wasteful and I’d have to reorganise my plans.’ She gestured towards the en suite. ‘Go and make yourself comfortable. But leave the door open. And don’t try anything silly!’
Afterwards, Mercy made Charlie walk in front of her down the corridor to the main lounge. Hawkins was lying on the floor, hog-tied once more. He looked up at the two women and glared silently at his daughter. For a moment, Charlie felt sorry for him; until she remembered just who this man was and what he’d done to her friends and family in the past.
Deception! Page 17