The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1)

by Unknown

  One minute Arthur was alone in his office, the next, Merlin was there. So accustomed was Arthur to these sudden manifestations that he no longer bothered to comment on them. Virgil hopped on Arthur’s left shoulder and gently nibbled the lobe of his ear.

  ‘How wonderful,’ said Arthur gratefully. ‘He never forgets me.’

  ‘He never forgets people he loves.’

  Arthur looked every bit as flattered as he felt. Merlin relaxed in an armchair whilst Virgil settled down on his master’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

  Arthur pulled a face. ‘I’m not doing very well, am I?’ Merlin stroked Virgil’s chest. ‘Politics is a rough game.’

  ‘So it seems,’ said Arthur ruefully. However rough it was, though, he had to see it through, despite the damaging rumours, despite being disillusioned with Uther and the government, despite his frustration with world leaders, despite all his doubts. ‘There has to be a political solution to the world’s problems,’ he said.

  Merlin raised a delicately dubious eyebrow. ‘Has to be?’ ‘Ought to be, then.’

  ‘In case there is not, Camelot is ready for you,’ said Merlin enticingly.

  Arthur’s eyes dreamed as he half remembered. ‘We visited an island, you and I . . . ’

  ‘Did we?’

  ‘You spoke of knights riding out to do battle against the forces of darkness . . . ’ Arthur’s eyes were clouded with pain.

  ‘Go on,’ said Merlin.

  ‘In whose name will they ride?’

  ‘In the name of every decent man, woman and child in the world,’ said Merlin quietly. ‘In the name of those whose only desire is to live in peace. In the name of the meek who will one day inherit the earth.’

  ‘In the name of what government, what international body, what court of law?’

  ‘If mankind self-destructs,’ said Merlin, ‘where will your governments be then? Or your international bodies, or your courts of law?’

  Even if Merlin was right . . . ’Justice must be done,’ said Arthur. ‘The rule of law is paramount.’

  ‘The first law of the universe is order,’ said Merlin. ‘When chaos threatens, order must be restored, if necessary, imposed.’

  Arthur flinched.

  ‘I know the thought of fighting fire with fire troubles you,’ said Merlin. ‘It troubles me too, Arthur. But like that great king of old, you have no choice. Not if mankind is to be saved.’

  ‘The wicked take the law into their own hands,’ said Arthur. ‘If we do the same, are we any better than they?’

  Merlin leaped up. Startled, Virgil hooh-hooed grouchily and fluttered about the room before settling on the mantlepiece. As Merlin paced, his white robe brushed the carpet. ‘It’s the story of Athene and Perseus.’

  ‘Explain, magus.’

  ‘Medusa, the Gorgon, turned her enemies to stone by looking at them. Athene gave Perseus her shield to use as a mirror so that he could overcome the monster without looking at her directly.’ Merlin stopped dead in the centre of the room and directed his penetrating gaze at his beloved protégé. ‘You don’t have to become your enemy, Arthur. The face of the monster is not your face. It is the monster who is responsible for his actions, not you. You are good, he is wicked, he uses his power to achieve his own selfish ends, you use yours for the good of humanity, he is cruel and immoral, you are merciful and just.’

  ‘You have such faith in me,’ said Arthur.

  Merlin’s eyes glowed tenderly. ‘I know you, Arthur. I know you better than you know yourself.’

  Head in hands, Arthur pondered until the storm in his head subsided. ‘I still believe my way is the right way,’ he said at last.

  ‘Your way?’

  ‘The democratic way. I believe it is possible to use political power and influence to solve the problems of the world. I also believe it is possible to convince the leaders of the free world to unite in the fight against the powers of darkness.’

  Merlin began to fade. ‘The time may come,’ he said, as he and Virgil disappeared, ‘when you will change your mind. If that should ever happen, I shall be there for you.’

  Fifteen

  2024

  Arthur knew something was wrong the moment he saw George Bedivere’s face. George was the most unflappable man he knew, but for once he looked harassed.

  ‘Read this,’ he said, laying a file in front of Arthur. ‘Phone me. I’ll be with Leo and Thomas.’

  ‘What’s up, George?’

  George Bedivere shook his head. ‘Read it,’ he said, and hurried out.

  The file was stamped MOST SECRET and it made grim reading. For several years Uther Pendragon had been under the surveillance of MI5, and the evidence they had gathered was damning. It seemed that when he was Minister of Foreign Affairs he had accepted huge sums of money from Sadiq el Shaeb of the Kingdom of the Euphrates. It was obviously no coincidence that during that same period a substantial quantity of light and heavy arms, tanks, aircraft, missiles and high tech equipment had been secretly delivered to the K.O.E., even though it was at the time on Britain’s list of arms-embargoed countries. If that were not shameful enough, there was evidence of secret arms-for-cash transactions with Colombian drug producers, and with two rogue states – one in South-East Asia, one in the Middle East – known to support active terrorist groups.

  For a few minutes Arthur sat staring blankly at the wall, trying to come to terms with what he had read. He had not believed the rumours about his father, or perhaps he had not wanted to. To see them now confirmed in black and white was devastating. Swivelling his chair, he looked out of the window of his sixth floor office. Across the road was Big Ben and the gothic-revival mass of the Palace of Westminster. Below lay Parliament Square, flanked by the statues of famous statesmen – Palmerston and Peel, Canning, Disraeli and Churchill – great men all, men of vision and foresight, men of courage and initiative. Men of integrity. Around the corner, Whitehall and Downing Street were out of his line of sight; Arthur presumed his father would be at his desk in Number 10 attending to affairs of state, unaware of the deadly danger he was in. He tapped into a secure line. After a brief pause George Bedivere, once Arthur’s platoon sergeant, now shadow Defence Secretary, Leo Grant and Thomas Winnington appeared on the wall screen. ‘How did you get hold of this?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘A contact in MI5 gave it to me,’ said Thomas Winnington. ‘He said he would be in deep trouble if his bosses found out. I’m not so sure about that.’

  Arthur nodded. ‘You think it was an authorised leak?’ ‘I think MI5 are testing the waters,’ said Winnington.

  Arthur rocked gently in his chair. ‘Why would they want to do that?’

  ‘Speaking as a lawyer,’ said Leo, ‘I would say a great deal of their evidence might be inadmissible in a court of law. Some of the surveillance tactics they used were pretty unorthodox. As you know there are strict legal guidelines about that sort of thing. My guess is that MI5 decided it would be a waste of time sending the report to the CPS. But there’s more than one way of skinning a cat.’

  George Bedivere grunted. ‘They want us to do their dirty work for them.’

  ‘Where do you stand on this, Arthur?’ They all knew what Thomas Winnington was asking. Blood was thicker than water, wasn’t it?

  ‘He has to go,’ said Arthur. ‘One way or another.’

  Leo nodded. ‘That’s what we hoped you’d say. We have to confront him with the evidence and demand his resignation.’

  ‘Knowing my father, he might feel he has nothing to gain by resigning.’

  ‘We’ve thought of that,’ said George Bedivere. ‘We suggest offering him immunity from prosecution; only if he resigns, of course.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said Arthur. ‘It smells of a cover-up.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ said Leo. ‘In this case the end justifies the means.’

  ‘Dragging your father through the courts is not going to help anyone,’ said Winnington. ‘Everyone involved will be damaged – the se
curity services, politicians on both sides of the House, above all the country. Let him resign on the grounds of ill health. No one will ask any questions, and we’ll make sure the report is never published.’

  Whilst Arthur pondered, they watched him anxiously. After a while he nodded his head in agreement and the three men breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Who is going to wield the knife?’ he asked.

  They were all looking down at him from the screen.

  ‘Forget it,’ said Arthur. ‘Don’t ask me to bring down my own father.’

  ‘It has to be you,’ said George Bedivere. ‘He knows that if you make a deal, you’ll stick to it. He trusts you. You are probably the only man in the world he does.’

  Arthur took a seat on the other side of the Prime Minister’s desk.

  ‘Coffee?’

  Arthur shook his head.

  ‘No?’ Uther sipped his coffee and sighed contentedly. ‘They make an excellent cup of coffee in Number 10.’ A grin. ‘One of the perks of the office.’

  ‘This is not a social call, father.’

  ‘So I gather. You look like Banquo’s ghost.’ ‘You read MI5’s report?’

  ‘I did.’ Uther left a void of silence for Arthur to fill. ‘Any comments?’

  Uther poured himself another coffee. ‘I found it enormously entertaining. Always did have a weakness for spy fiction.’

  ‘So none of it is fact?’

  ‘Lies from beginning to end,’ Uther assured him. ‘A crude attempt by my enemies to discredit me. They won’t succeed.’

  ‘Then,’ said Arthur, ‘you would not object if the report were made public?’ It was bluff, but worth a try.

  Uther toyed with a lump of sugar. He nodded his head firmly as if he had reached a decision. ‘No sense in playing games; it’s all true. Every word of it. For once MI5 have got it right. So what? So I made deals with some unsavoury characters. You know how it started? Years ago the Party was heavily in debt, we had been on the opposition benches for ten years and we looked like being there another ten. I told the PM I would put the Party in the black within a year, and that’s exactly what I did. He asked no questions, he was very grateful. Before I knew it I was in the cabinet.’

  Uther had not addressed the most distasteful accusation in the MI5 dossier. Reluctantly, Arthur wielded the knife. ‘MI5 say you transferred money to numbered bank accounts in Switzerland.’

  Uther thought for a long time before replying. To lie or not to lie? That was the question. For him it was not a moral issue, he told lies every day. Damn it, he would not be Prime Minister if he didn’t. The real issue was simple: which would serve him best, a lie or the truth? He decided that the truth would put more pressure on his son. ‘What if I did? I had a wife and children to support. Before you judge me, Arthur, let me remind you of something. From the day I became an M.P. I devoted all my time to the Party, and none of it to my property business. The result was I lost a fortune – in the service of the Party, Arthur, in the service of the Party. Remember that. What’s more, when I asked my own son to help me rescue my business, he turned me down. Had you done your filial duty, things might have been different. There would have been no need for me to take desperate measures.’

  Arthur’s feelings for his father were complex. The one certain thing was that he loved him, and nothing Uther had done, or probably ever would do, would change that. He was acutely and embarrassingly aware of his father’s shortcomings, but he had learned to live with them, as one lives with the imperfections of an old house, or, for that matter, of old friends. As for respect . . . ? Had he ever truly respected his father? How could you respect a man whose natural inclination was to distort and manipulate the truth, and what’s more, do it so utterly plausibly? ‘Some people would call it a gift,’ said Arthur.

  Uther brightened. ‘A gift?’ he echoed hopefully.

  ‘This talent you have for misrepresenting facts and rewriting history. It is ludicrous and cowardly of you to try to shift the blame for your corruption onto me. If you were so concerned for your family, you should have quit politics and looked after the business yourself. The truth is, the only person you ever really cared about is Uther Pendragon. You wanted to get to the top, and you wanted it at any price. You and no one else are responsible for your actions. It’s time to go, father. For God’s sake go with dignity. It’s the very least you can do.’

  Uther trembled with anger. Never had his son, never had anyone spoken to him like this before. How dare he! He should not have allowed him back into his life. He should not have made that deal with Merlin. ‘I shall never resign, if that is what you are suggesting. Never! You don’t fool me, Arthur. You wouldn’t dare publish the MI5 report. You know damn well what would happen. The scandal would destroy the New Millennium Party. We would be unelectable for years to come. As for United Labour, do you really think they would walk away from the devastation unscathed? I don’t think so. And now I come to think of it, let’s talk about you, Arthur. Is anyone going to believe you knew nothing about my little peccadillos?

  My own son? I don’t think so, my boy, do you? You would have to kiss goodbye to your political career.’

  After this harangue Uther fell back in his chair panting. He was so short of breath that Arthur feared he was about to have a heart attack. He waited for his father to calm down. ‘None of us will look good, that’s true, father,’ he agreed. ‘But that’s a risk we are ready to take. No one but you took bribes. No one else was involved. The MI5 report makes that clear.’

  Uther laughed like a man enjoying a good joke. That he could laugh at such a time was something Arthur marvelled at. If his father was a rogue, he was a gutsy one. ‘Who believes MI5?’ said Uther witheringly. ‘Lying and deception is their business. No, they’ll believe me. I’ll make sure every member of the cabinet, every spin doctor, every secretary, every under- secretary, every frontbencher and backbencher in the Party is tainted. I’ll throw so much mud, some of it is bound to stick. Go back to your friends, Arthur, and tell them this. They can cut off Samson’s hair, but if they do, he’ll bring the house down on all of them, every last one. There’ll be nothing left but dust. Tell them that, will you.’

  Arthur, George Bedivere, Leo Grantand Thomas Winnington talked into the small hours. Everyone knew what had to be done but no one knew how to do it. Uther was right: bring him down, and he would bring the house down with him. Finally Arthur said, ‘If that’s the price we have to pay, perhaps we should pay it.’

  Silence.

  Leo shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but no. I am not prepared to take the risk, I fear the consequences would be catastrophic. Uther knows what he’s talking about; it’s not just New Millennium, it’s the whole works that would be damaged. The people of this country would be even more disillusioned with politics and politicians than they are already; it would take years to regain their respect.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Thomas Winnington. ‘There’s too much at stake.’

  Arthur focused bleary eyes on Bedivere. ‘George?’ ‘I’m with Leo and Thomas,’ said George bluntly.

  Leo was the last to leave. ‘You said it yourself. Your father has to go. The question is, how do we force him to resign?’

  Arthur raised his arms and let them drop helplessly by his side. ‘I really don’t know. The report is the only weapon we have, and Uther knows we dare not publish. So what’s the answer?’

  Leo shrugged. ‘It’s up to you now.’

  Up to him. Was that what it meant to be a leader? People relied on you to perform miracles. For some reason he thought of Merlin.

  Sixteen

  2024

  In his flat Arthur dialled the evening news. Instead of the news, what came up on the wallscreen were two intensely bright green orbs. ‘Merlin?’ Around the orbs, bits of Merlin’s face materialised like pieces of a jigsaw – eyebrows, mouth, cheeks, ears, forehead and hair, chin and nose, until finally the whole face was assembled. The last thing to appear was the smile.

  ‘What’s t
o be done, Merlin?’

  The mouth formed the words ‘Come with me.’ No sooner had it done so than the face receded into darkness. Under a starry sky lay an island in a moonlit sea, on the island a glimmer of white buildings. A fast zoom, and the camera focused on one of them. There stood Merlin pointing at a sign over the entrance – the one word, NIWIS. ‘Mean anything to you?’

  Arthur shook his head, puzzled. ‘No.’

  Reaching up, Merlin dabbled his fingers in the heavens and drew down a handful of stars. For a few moments they chased each other round and round his head, then broke away and streaked towards Arthur, seeming to burst in his face, dazzling him. When he opened his eyes again, there onscreen was the full-length magus, white robe, linen jacket, shoulder-length blond hair. ‘Remember now?’

  Arthur’s eyes dreamed. ‘Yes . . . NIWIS . . . Nothing Is What It Seems.’

  ‘Suggest anything to you?’

  The words came back to him. ‘We make our enemies see what isn’t there. And not see – what is.’

  Merlin spread his hands. ‘Precisely.’ ‘How does that help me?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘Simple. Make Uther see what you want him to see, even though what you want him to see is not there.’

  ‘Riddles, Merlin,’ complained Arthur. ‘Why is it always riddles?’

  ‘You want your bread sliced and buttered on both sides,’ said Merlin tetchily, his image fading from the screen.

  For hours Arthur’s thoughts ran here and there chasing elusive ideas with no hope of catching them, like a friendly dog half-heartedly chasing a rabbit. At the end of every blind alley stood Merlin shaking his head and pointing in the opposite direction. Mentally exhausted and thoroughly exasperated, Arthur fell into a deep sleep.