The Aachen Memorandum

by Andrew Roberts

  She turned to Horatio and pointed to a heavy-looking metal box on the floor. ‘Take that over to Marty. Now.’

  Horatio walked to the corner of the room and bent down to pick up the long, silver-coloured container by its handle. It was almost too heavy for him. He averted his eyes from Upham, who was lying just beyond it. Lugging the case to the control panel, he set it down, wheezing.

  ‘Catch!’ Cleo tossed him his inhaler. ‘We don’t want you croaking out on us before all the fun starts.’ Once he had got his breathing back to near normal she threw over a key and pointed to the box, signalling him to open it.

  ‘Our forefathers felt a justifiable pride in the way that they had stood against Nazi Germany. It had been Germany which ravaged the continent from September 1939 until the glorious moment arrived in May 1945 when the British, American, New Zealand, Australian, Canadian, Free French and Russian forces finally liberated all the many and various nations and peoples of Europe.

  Disparaging Grossdeutsch Region like that, let alone mentioning A.F.T.A. and A-P.E.Z. countries in such a favourable way in a public speech, represented an enormous risk, thought Horatio, as he clicked the case open. And as for ‘all the many and various nations and peoples of Europe’! Yet it seemed to be paying off. The crowd was spellbound. It was the first time most people had ever heard so completely different a version of history from the established one. In schools it had long been taught that the pro-federationist Germans, Austrians, Cossacks, Belgians, Italians, Romanians and Vichy French had attempted to create a New European Order but were eventually prevented by a nationalist Anglo-Saxon/Slavic/Communist cabal which had employed a combination of immoral bombing atrocities, starvation and the nuclear threat to win victory. The outside world had combined to stop the unification of Europe. That was the moral of the 1939–45 period taught in schools across the Union. The King was preaching historical heresy, but there was no protest audible from the crowd.

  ‘Take them out and hand them to Marty.’ Horatio was looking at a series of long aluminium tubes. He handed them across one by one. The larger ones had U.S.E. Army markings and geiger-voltage warnings stencilled on their sides. Marty slotted each piece expertly into the next.

  ‘It’s a laser,’ said Horatio.

  ‘Clever boy,’ said Cleo. ‘Indeed it’s the laser. And if your Pretender makes trouble, rather than just giving us a paint-dryingly boring history lesson it might become the most famous laser in history.’

  ‘But it’s far too powerful for that!’ protested Horatio. ‘It won’t just destroy the stage and everyone on it. It’d also kill scores of people in the crowd.’ The King’s protective box would be useless.

  ‘Correct. You see we need it to look like a slightly amateurish but altogether vicious job. Indeed your job. Check the sights Marty, but under no circumstances fire till I say. We don’t want a rerun of the bloody Bridge fiasco.’

  ‘What?’ ejaculated Marty testily. ‘I thought I’d got him. How was I to know he’d been moved? That was Sigint’s fault.’

  ‘Your orders were to take out the entire motorcade. All twelve vehicles.’

  ‘I only had three beams. Any more and they’d have traced me.’

  ‘And as for passing Bittersich’s message onto my home modem …!’

  Horatio butted in.

  ‘You’re setting me up for this? It won’t wash. Why should an academic be able to use a laser?’ Cleo turned to him.

  ‘Oh, it won’t wash?’ Sarcasm seeped from every pore. ‘Well, try this for size. The notorious terrorist murderer Dr Lestoq was identified by nice old Mr Evans downstairs as he went up in the lift. He was with a loyal Kiwi security man who was later found dead on the floor. Another Kiwi is discovered in the car you were seen running away from earlier this morning. Plus there’s a dead sound boffin’ – talking through his headphones and adjusting the noise levels of the various loudspeakers around the park, the boy could not hear his fate – ‘and another stunned one who remembers nothing when he awakes except the word “Lestoq” said as the lift door opened. The fingerprints on the case and every part of the laser match those of the said doctor of philosophy after he, as they tend to put it in these voluntary-death cases, “turned the weapon upon himself”.’ Horatio noticed for the first time that Cleo, Tallboys and Marty were all wearing gloves.

  ‘Then there’s always Plan B, which is to blow up both of these rooms immediately we’ve left. Frank’s wiring them up now. No pathologist will be able to tell if you, Longman over there and the technician here were stunned or fully conscious at the moment of death. “Bizarre Terrorist Suicide Pact” – I could almost write the headlines myself. Either way, Plan A or B, if I were a choreographer, I think I’d be in line for an award.’

  ‘You’ll be seen escaping,’ answered Horatio lamely. Pathetic. He was flailing around for arguments. He knew he’d have to do far better than that to stay alive.

  ‘Hardly, in all the commotion. People will be on the ground, screaming, dying, panicking and frying. The Department will call in every camcorder for evidence, and we’ll accidentally damage, erase or lose any vids featuring us. It’d hardly be necessary, because the “mad-dog” killer will be obvious for all to see. Well, not so obvious, as presumably much of your head will be obliterated by your auto-euthanasia shot.’ She paused theatrically to let the ghastly plausibility of the plan sink in.

  ‘The disc Marty brought us, which he’ll be returning to file this very afternoon, shows that you needed psychiatric treatment at Oxford. You’re still on some pretty stiff medication according to the I.D. which Marty borrowed off the Basingstoke police. You see, we know everything about you.’

  ‘That was depression, not madness. Not aggressive at all. In fact quite, quite the opposite.’

  ‘We’re already onto your shrink. He’ll call it what we want him to.’

  Poor Robert Virgil, thought Horatio, yes, he probably would. ‘But if anything happens to me …’

  ‘All the editors in A.F.T.A. and A-P.E.Z. blah, blah, blah – yes, I know all that and it’s bullshit. You didn’t have time to set that up when I saw you and we know you haven’t had the Memorandum on you since. Anyhow, what editor would print an unsubstantiated, treacherous rant from a proven assassin and mass-murderer? Can’t see it making many front pages. This is 2045, the era of responsible journalism, remember, not the 2000s.’ She paused again.

  ‘Now, you can of course avoid all this nastiness, and instead we can set up Mr Joseph Jacomb here’ – she jabbed her thumb at the oblivious soundman – ‘if only you will tell me one little thing. WHO IS JACOBITE?’

  ‘You are,’ came a voice from the lift. ‘Nobody move.’

  CHAPTER 29

  11.12 SATURDAY 8 MAY

  The room froze. It reminded Horatio of the moment in the school play when the curtain falls a few seconds late, leaving all the actors posing rigidly after the last line.

  His mother was standing in the lift doorway, pulse gun in hand. What had happened to the guard?

  Like the moron he was, Tallboys moved. He swung round at her, gun in hand.

  Heather shot him. The force of the stun flung Tallboys straight back against the soundman’s swivel chair. The terrified occupant was swirled round as Tallboys hit the floor, his gun falling between Horatio’s feet.

  Cleo and Marty were still armed. His mother was in danger.

  For the first time in his life, Horatio did something consciously brave. In a single swift movement he crouched down, scooped up Tallboys’ gun and shot Marty full in the stomach. At that range even he couldn’t miss. His own decisiveness surprised him, and from the look on his face when he took the stun and was blown back three metres against the wall, it had surprised Marty too.

  ‘Drop it!’ Heather ordered, pointing her gun almost in Horatio’s eye. His jaw fell. So did his gun.

  ‘The Second World War is sometimes presented in schools today, in the media generally and by Euro-revisionist historians, as a tragically unnecessary civil
war between morally equivalent groups of competing nationalists. Hitler the National-Socialist, Churchill the Tory Nationalist, Roosevelt the American Nationalist and Stalin the Communist-Nationalist. Some nationalists wanting a federated Europe, others against it.’ The King was getting into his stride and the crowd was listening intently.

  ‘Well, I have to tell you a very different tale. It is one rooted in the foundations of our island story and our ancient, honourable policy of always preventing any one country from dominating the continent. It is the story of decent patriotism and of responsible, respectable nationalism. It is the story of British liberty.’

  Heather walked over to Cleo and, covering her carefully, took Upham’s gun from her belt. She stuck it in her own.

  ‘Get him online.’ She ordered her. ‘Now!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know bloody well who. I’m not playing your game, you’re playing mine now. Just do it.’

  Cleo walked over to the control panel a few feet away and pressed Redial. Heather picked up the receiver and waved Cleo back against the wall with her gun.

  Horatio at last allowed himself to consider a scenario so diabolical that, for all its intrinsic logic, his mind had hitherto shrunk from exploring it.

  ‘It’s me … never mind that, we’ve got a problem here. I’ve just worked out who JACOBITE is. From something Lestoq told me when I tried to get the Memorandum off him … Yes … I knew this stupid policy of trying to confuse him by all pretending to be against one another would backfire. Never a runner. The Ratcliffe girl just used it to warn him against Marty … yes, Cleo Tallboys, who d’you think? … Yes … I only twigged about twenty minutes ago. I got here right away when I realised she’d … that’s right. Tell me, have you spoken to her about our plans for Rex today? … DAMN! I thought so … did you give her orders? … She’ll have recorded them … Can’t do that, what will forensics say afterwards? … No, it has to be a conspiracy, no one’ll believe he did all this on his own … He couldn’t blow his own nose till he was ten. It’ll be like the Thatcher thing all over again otherwise. Grassy knoll theorists till kingdom come! No, it’s got to be clean and massive … Maybe he can be with the other guy here and I can out-take her now … fine, leave it with me. I’ve got no back-up though. Can you send someone reliable fast? I’ve only got F.E. downstairs. Plus we’ve got to lug Marty, and I suppose Tallboys, out beforehand … The idiot pulled on me just now so I had to stun him. She’d obviously debriefed him too … OK. Yes … Yes. I know. God, I’m going to want you when all this is over.’ She replaced the receiver. She was thinking.

  So was Horatio. She’d been quite specific about the dates. She’d ‘remembered it like it was last Monday’. She’d returned from a General Staff meeting on the day of the Atgas explosion 6 April 2016. Yet Riley’s thesis had categorically stated that the Bonchurch Road arrests had taken place on 3 April – three days before.

  There was no Bonchurch meeting for her to come back from on 6 April. She’d been at Ebury Street all along. Something else, too. Cradock had told him Upham had moved the King just before the Entente attack. But his mother had also claimed credit for it. She’d been lying. And she had his pager number; she must have given it to Frobisher before the party.

  ‘I have to tell you, my countrymen, that this was no pointless, unnecessary European civil war we are commemorating today, but victory over the most evil tyranny ever to have besmirched this planet, Nazi Germany.’

  Hearing Germany, the Union’s primus inter pares as it was described in the quality media, described in this way sent a thrill of incitement through the vast throng. They were conscious that they were privileged to be present at an unmistakeably historic occasion, one of those watersheds which only happen a couple of times a century, a myth-inspiring moment. When they found the cure for Alzheimer’s in 2022 a generation of octogenarians suddenly woke up one morning with their lost memories back.

  This was like that. The more historically-literate in the crowd thought of the Armada, Trafalgar, the Battle of Britain. The catharsis was tangible.

  ‘You recorded him giving you orders, didn’t you?’ Heather hissed at Cleo.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re …’ Heather hit her hard in the mouth with the butt of her Smith and Hutchings 400. Cleo went down but not out. She looked up from the floor, holding her jaw, blood flowing freely from a split lip and broken teeth. Heather gesticulated contemptuously at the prone figures of Marty and Tallboys.

  ‘You might have fooled those dummkopf but not me. Now? Where is it?’ By a supreme effort of will Horatio managed not to look over to the Record button which Cleo had pressed before speaking to Percival.

  ‘Mummy …’ he pleaded. She swirled round.

  ‘Don’t call me that! Surely you must have twigged by now. Call yourself a logician! I’m not your mother, thank God. I adopted you after my miscarriage to keep the bloody marriage going. Don’t think I wanted to either. I kept you on after Ebury Street solely for cover. Believe me, there was no pleasure involved. Since then you’ve been useful occasionally, such as when I nailed that Estonian bitch of yours. She clicked it was me, by the way. That was why you had to be kept away from court.’ Her eyes flashed again with a snarling cruelty. ‘And why she never made it to Finland.’

  That hit him harder than the butt-punch had hit Cleo.

  ‘I will now play you a tape made recently by one of the regional Chief Scrutineers of the Aachen Referendum of May 2015. Last week he was murdered by agents of the Berlin-Brussels Bureau. It will astound you, as it proves beyond any doubt that this great country was tricked, conned, cheated into joining a Union which has been disastrous for her economy, her world standing, her true interests and her God-given independence …’

  The phone rang. Heather picked it up, nodded twice and said to Horatio, ‘Right, that’s it. Get against the wall beside her.’ As Horatio shuffled over he saw her flick the butt switch from left to right. From ‘Stun’ to ‘Kill’.

  ‘Get that over here,’ Heather ordered the soundman, pointing at the laser. He did as he was told. ‘You might like to know by the way, Cleopatra, that when I held that cushion over your granddaddy’s face he didn’t even struggle. It was like flicking over from a boring cable movie.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘Because the old fool warned me he was about to spill the beans to the Boy Wonder here. I’d told Sigint we should have taken him out years ago but no one listened.’

  ‘I need to know one thing,’ said Horatio, as he lined up beside Cleo, his back to the wall.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can understand about Robert Lestoq, but you also killed James and Flora in Ebury Street. Your own sister and brother-in-law. Why?’

  ‘Bad intelligence. We didn’t know they were there. It’s something I’ve got to live with.’ She raised the gun. ‘At least you won’t have that problem.’

  ‘I’ve heard different.’ Horatio’s nerves were whirring. Use logic. Buy time, any more time. ‘And before you kill us you ought to hear it. She’s Flora’s daughter, after all.’

  ‘What?’ Heather hesitated. ‘No, I’m not falling for that.’ She had raised the gun and was pointing it straight at Cleo, who was leaning against the wall with her hands on her head, blood dripping from her lip. Her eyes were shut. She was muttering to herself. It seemed like she was praying. Had she cracked?

  ‘I’ve got evidence that Gregory Percival ordered Evans – or whatever his real name is – not to tell you that he knew your sister and her husband had entered the building just before you. He said he wanted your total, unquestioning devotion and judged he’d get it if you killed your own sister for the cause.’ Horatio was flying blind, but he had to gain altitude, gain time. ‘He said he didn’t love you, that his affair with you didn’t matter two cents to him. He cared nothing for you and only tolerates you now because you saved his life so often. He despises you.’

  ‘What’s your evidence?’

  ‘It’s in a letter
to Frank Evans downstairs. Cleo took it off me earlier.’

  ‘Where?’

  She turned to Cleo, who shouted, ‘Do it now! Fire! Go on! What’s keeping you?!’

  Horatio could not believe his ears. Was she suicidal?

  There was a sudden movement on the floor in the corner of the room and Heather was hit in the small of her back by a force which sent her lurching forward a couple of paces, her arms splayed wide. She collapsed in a heap at Cleo’s feet. Just behind where she had been standing, Longman was lying on the ground holding a pulse gun, a sweaty look of triumph on his face.

  ‘Christ, you left that a long time!’ yelled a terrified Cleo. ‘What the hell was keeping you? A moment later and we’d all be out-takes! There’s lying doggo and there’s bloody well opting out!’

  ‘Sorry, Cleo. I’m a perfectionist. We’ve got everything we need now.’

  Horatio was still gawping as his brain rewound. Cleo had got to the control room before Tallboys, who had been sent off to chase around for Cradock. She hadn’t stunned Longman at all, just told him to play possum.

  He was safe. He was going to live.

  ‘Let’s get you away,’ said Cleo to Horatio. She was in pain, nursing her jaw. She tapped the soundman on the shoulder. He’d heard the shot despite his headphones and was in a state of tormented funk. Cleo asked him whether he wanted to leave and let Longman take over. He nodded, unable to speak. Horatio hoped he would make a reliable witness when the time came.

  ‘Then go now. When you get to the bottom give Frank the security guy the password, ‘Auk’, and tell him to take the lift up now. After that, just run. Go direct to the police. The regulars, not the politicals. Tell them there’s been a terrorist attack here.’ The soundboy nodded vigorously, still too petrified to speak. She turned to Horatio. ‘You’d better get lost too, it’d only complicate matters having you here. Steer clear of the authorities till we’ve cleared your name. We’ve got the laser, Percival’s taped orders to kill the King, Heather’s confession and, best of all, these three.’ She pointed at the unconscious bodies of Marty, Tallboys and Heather. ‘Jim and I should be able to deal with everything now.’ She looked at Longman. ‘You know what to do.’ Longman looked down at the laser, and then crouched down beside it.