‘Better get you some dry clothes before you catch pneumonia,’ said Louie, pulling Pam to her feet and rubbing life into her shoulders. ‘Vince will have to manage without us now.’ The wound on his leg was throbbing badly, the skin around the opening starting to harden and swell. Before either of them could rest tonight, they would have to check themselves into a casualty ward somewhere. He hoped that Vincent, wherever he was, was having better luck.
—
‘I am, by nature, a suspicious man,’ said Bryant, turning his gimlet eyes from the screen and running a hand across his bald pate. ‘There has to be something other than this. It isn’t just a matter of principle or class. Sebastian Wells is denied a parliamentary position because he’s an Honourable. He has to make his presence felt in another way. Even if it’s underhand. Even if he never fully receives public credit for it. He’s not bothered about publicity, more than likely shies away from it. Prefers to work behind the scenes, be the hidden puppetmaster. But what does he want?’ He gave Jane’s arm an anxious prod.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered, ‘power? Isn’t that what they normally want?’
‘I suppose he wants his hand on the tiller of the country. That’s why he revived the League of Prometheus. It would have faded away without his intervention. His father had lost faith in it. Under his waning tutelage the membership had dwindled away to almost nothing. Sebastian built it back up, made it strong again. Of course, it must have been quite convenient to have the glorious capitalistic eighties arrive in the nick of time. No doubt the Thatcher years provided all kinds of reciprocal benefits. But where does Vince fit into all this?’
‘Perhaps Wells was lonely. Intrigued. Perhaps he fell in love with him.’ Jane shrugged. ‘Who knows with these public-school types?’
‘One thing’s for sure, though. He thought he’d found someone who could play his games, but Vince not only rejected his friendship, he threatened to make him a laughing stock.’
‘Then isn’t that cause enough for revenge?’
Bryant thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Wells would never normally choose a working-class man as a confidant, especially one like Vince. It goes against his grain, against everything he stands for. Look through Harold’s articles and you can see how obsessed with his image Wells is. Why would he bother to cultivate himself so carefully and then take frivolous risks?’ Bryant worried a fingernail in his dentures. ‘Their first meeting might have been an accident, but it was a fortuitous one. I think Wells agreed to be befriended by Vince for a very specific reason. What have you got there?’
‘I just ran a search on topics related to the League and this came up. Looks like it’s downloading from somewhere on the eastern seaboard of the USA.’
‘The Eulenspiegel Society?’
They watched as the web-site slowly built itself in layers of colour that revealed an engraving of a long-haired man in a red hat and a cloak.
‘My god, it’s a special interest sex group—masochists. I don’t see the connection…’
‘Wait, look. There’s a link to their house magazine. Ready for this? It’s called the Prometheus Periodical.’
‘It figures. Prometheus was the wisest of his race. He persuaded Zeus not to destroy the world and brought fire to mankind, for which he was punished by living a life of eternal torment, chained to a rock and having his liver torn out by an eagle each day. I guess that would appeal to masochists. We know the name Prometheus means “forethought”, and its symbol is the swastika. But who is Eulenspiegel?’
‘Hold on.’ With the file fully loaded, Jane scrolled down through the pages, stopping and reading. ‘ “Till Eulenspiegel. Fourteenth-century German trickster, representative of the individual taking revenge upon society. Cunning, brutal and obscene by nature, fond of jests, puns and practical jokes, he always outwits those in authority. The subject of all kinds of musical and literary works, translated into many languages including Dutch, French and Latin. Richard Strauss wrote a symphonic poem about him.” ’
‘Sounds like Sebastian found himself the ideal role model. It throws a little light on the nature of the League of Prometheus, but it doesn’t offer us any immediate help. The trickster. The revenger. But against whom, and how? This is going around in circles. I have to speak to Vince again. Can you get him on the phone?’
Vince had just reached the great false-fronted portico of St Paul’s Church, and was searching the rain-soaked walls for his next envelope when the mobile began buzzing in his jacket.
‘Vince, this is Mr Bryant,’ said Bryant, shouting unnecessarily. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in Covent Garden. Tell Doctor Masters I haven’t found the envelope yet. The churchyard’s locked up. I’m going to have to scale the gate, and there are security cameras mounted at either end.’
‘Before you do that I need you to think carefully for me. What do you think Sebastian will do if you beat him in the next couple of hours?’
‘I don’t know. I hope he’ll keep his end of the bargain. I think he will. He’s kind of rule-bound. Honour and duty. Prides himself on behaving like a gentleman.’
‘That doesn’t mean much any more. There must be something…’
‘He loves games and tricks, but you know that.’
‘Vince, what are his friends like?’
‘Snooty. I didn’t get introduced to many of them.’
‘What about his parents?’
‘Divorced. Didn’t meet them. He hates his father with a vengeance.’
‘Oh, really? Why do you think that is?’
‘I’m not sure, but there’s definitely bad blood between them.’
‘Did he ever tell you what his father actually does?’
‘He used to head the League, but now he’s some kind of business consultant at the DTI, heading up boring Euro-committees.’
‘You see, Vince, I’m trying to think how best to explain my thinking: could all of this be providing him with a way of getting at his father?’
‘You mean it’s a personal matter? I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s angry with me, angry with his old man, probably capable of being angry with the whole world. But I don’t see how he could do anything about it like this.’
‘Neither do I. I’m afraid I can’t help you in your physical search. That’s Doctor Masters’s department. All I can do is dig further into Wells’s background history and hope something turns up in time.’ He rang off as Jane Masters downloaded a fresh set of files on her PC.
‘I’m absolutely convinced that the solution to this conundrum is right here in front of us, Jane,’ said Bryant. ‘It’s not out there, it’s somewhere in the past. This is my area of speciality, you know.’
‘I’m sorry we’re making you work on your sabbatical,’ Jane apologised, although she knew that Bryant welcomed any opportunity to break with routine while he waited for May to return from abroad.
‘If we assume Sebastian has a hidden agenda, what’s his method for implementing it? Suppose he and his father fell out after the Melanie Daniels inquest. I find myself wondering whether the old man fixed the coroner in order to save his son from a murder charge, but if that was the case, Sebastian would owe his father a huge debt of gratitude, not be angry with him. Let’s suppose for the sake of argument that he has a powerful reason for hating his old man. And by doing something tonight he can take revenge, for the League and for himself.’
‘But how?’
‘What would hurt his father most? Making the League strong again? He’s certainly been trying to do that these last few years. Call up Sir Nicholas’s file once more.’
Jane returned to the Internet address and waited while further information downloaded onto her screen. ‘Here we are, full biographical details, current positions held, boards on which he sits—or publicly admits to sitting on, no current social background.’
‘Can we pull information on each of these groups in turn and get work agendas and calendars from them?’
‘I suppose so. Of course, it will be limited to knowledge they’re prepared to make available to press and public.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘I’m not sure. It depends on who holds the information and how much of it they release. How soon do you need it?’
‘Let’s put it this way; Vince finishes his challenges at dawn, which I suppose will be around 7:45 a.m. this morning. Something will have to happen then; either Sebastian will keep his promise and let him go, and he’ll be free to publish his book, or he’ll break his word and stop Vince for good. Or he’ll implement some kind of action that fulfils his plans. Whichever route he takes, we’ll know soon enough. I don’t like surprises, Jane, they make me nervous.’
He glanced back at the screen and saw that the screen had filled with dense blue type. At the top was the yellow circular star logo of the EC.
‘The EC’s Without Borders Initiative,’ said Jane. ‘Sebastian’s father is founder and present chairman. There’s an access address for their manifesto if you can be bothered—member countries, outline of objectives, information pack, stuff like that.’
‘Part of the answer is right here,’ said Bryant suddenly. ‘We know Sir Nick had a change of heart, from old Tory to new Liberal. Imagine: he sets up this initiative, ready to exploit the pants off the labour market, then has a pang of conscience and drops the hidden agenda in favour of doing genuine good.’
‘It would explain the rift between father and son.’
‘Sebastian is betrayed, and the initiative from which he’d hoped to profit becomes the new enemy. What about a listing of their meetings, their monthly schedule?’ asked Bryant. He had remembered seeing European flags lining the Mall only yesterday. ‘Confound this thing. How do I move to the next page?’ Bryant sat before the computer helplessly.
‘Click here, Arthur. It makes the copy scroll. Look.’
WITHOUT BORDERS is an EC initiative aimed at reducing and ultimately eliminating immigration restrictions between member communities.
‘Little Englanders won’t like that at all. Member countries presently in London for annual conference. Odd coincidence.’
‘What is?’
‘It starts today. Even better. Officially opens this morning. What does it say next to the address?’ Bryant’s nose was almost touching the screen. ‘Why do they make the print so small?’
Jane read for him. ‘This important conference is attended by all key member delegates.’
‘Highlight those nationalities, would you?’
‘I’ll have a go.’ Jane was beginning to wonder if they were wasting their time, so close to Vince’s deadline. She flicked the cursor to the sections of the schedule that were marked in a deeper shade of blue. A series of names and titles began to scroll down.
‘Ten of them.’
‘Ten men. Ten challenges.’
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing. How about a list of their registered offices? Not in their resident countries. London addresses someone might use if they wanted to help, or needed press information.’
‘Hang on.’ Jane backed up to Information Packs: UK Contact Addresses for Member Countries and clicked on the blue title.
‘There’s your answer.’ Bryant sat back, as smug as a cat.
‘I don’t see—’ Jane began, stopping as she studied the office locations. The screen shone rectangles of cobalt on her eyes. ‘Good God.’
‘Victoria. The Strand. Muswell Hill Broadway. Puddle Dock. Red Lion Square. Vauxhall Bridge Road. St Martin’s Lane. City Road. Bedford Street. Covent Garden.’
‘It’s a list of all the places Vince has visited in the night.’
‘Do you see? Sebastian had to make Vincent carry out all the challenges alone. He needed him to unravel each of the clues in turn. I thought it odd that he should get rid of everyone who’s been at the boy’s side, and yet allow us to continue helping him.’
‘I don’t see how he could have stopped us—’
‘With the resources at his command he could have done so very easily, but he didn’t dare. We were making sure Vince reached each of his destinations. Besides, he didn’t need to stop us.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we couldn’t be seen. Don’t you understand? He only had to stop the ones who could physically be seen.’ Bryant stabbed a bony forefinger at the air. ‘Up there. All very clever.’
The revelation, such as it was, escaped her. ‘I’m not sure I follow, Arthur.’
‘The surveillance cameras. All those closed circuit television networks. All those security monitors busily cutting crime statistics in the capital. In the course of one night, Vincent Reynolds has been photographed at every single one of the official addresses of the members attending the conference. So if anything bad happens when it opens, guess who’s the perfect scapegoat? And short of smearing his hands with blood, we’ve unwittingly helped to pin the blame on him.’
‘But surely if something did occur, Vince could explain what’s really been happening…’
‘How? By relating some half-baked story about being persecuted through the night, with no one to back it up, not even us. After all, we haven’t seen any of these supposed self-destructing ‘notes’ he’s been finding, have we? No one will believe him, Jane. There’s no evidence. The League is adept at covering its tracks. Even if he’s kept the remains of the letters, they mean nothing by themselves. No wonder Sebastian was so careful in his selection of a dupe. A working-class man with a dodgy background! In his eyes, Vince is just the sort of person who would resent an organisation dedicated to ending immigration restrictions. How better to show that it’s the will of the common people to remain an island? How better to back up his inflammatory speeches with an “I told you so”, to prove that the working classes are dangerous and must be controlled?’
‘Vince is still out there collecting the details of the final destination. Won’t Sebastian want to place him at the site?’
‘Crikey, that’s a thought. Does it specify the location on the EC schedule?’
Jane checked the screen. ‘No. I don’t suppose they would post the conference location in public view for security reasons.’
‘Then we’ll have to figure it out from the clue. Call Vince again.’
‘Are you going to tell him about Sebastian’s plans?’
‘I have to. God, we owe him that.’
‘Suppose he doesn’t want to go on once he knows?’
‘I don’t think it will make any difference to him,’ said Bryant. ‘I mean. Would you stop now?’
He picked up the telephone receiver and dialled.
Chapter 45
Monkey Business
I cannot by the progress of the stars give guess how near to day, he thought, feeling like Brutus in his long night of torment before the death of Caesar. The rain pattered against the windows in ripples, a drenching cloak for an inhospitable world.
Sebastian felt that the false-fronted church, featured with such neat hypocrisy in Hogarth’s painting, provided an appropriate setting for this latest envelope. Its discovery would wind Vincent up and send him off again like a little clockwork toy along a track. The poor lad had never supposed that there might be more than one level to the game. A pity really, for it reduced his status as a player.
Sebastian could afford to sit back and watch the fireworks. Rather more than fireworks, perhaps. The Semtex derivative that Xavier’s boys had planted was quite untraceable, thanks to the fact that it had been passed on a false (and very expensive) route through several different countries. An explosive device, the traditional choice of traitors from Guy Fawkes onward, classic and simple, a truly London weapon. It had been a stroke of genius to coat the envelopes in traces of the stuff so that by now it completely covered Vincent’s hands and clothes.
A warm dark feeling grew within his chest. Prometheus was placing a spark to his kindling, about to bring fire to mankind once more…
Thanks to his careful planning, the comi
ng day’s events were now a foregone conclusion. Following the tip-off Caton-James was preparing to make, Vincent would be picked up and interrogated. The police would realise that the boy had no alibi for the night. They would discover that he could be placed at every single member’s London address, with the proof neatly provided on ten separate videotaping systems.
Vincent could tell them of his challenge, but would be able to offer no proof beyond some indecipherable shards of paper (if he had managed to keep any of them) which only made him look more of a fruitcake. That had been another smart move, to use paper stolen from his apartment. He would take them to the Holborn chamber, and they would find nothing. He might even be able to lead them to their Chelsea headquarters, but the police would still find nothing.
No doubt at one stage Vince would cite the death of his agent as proof of unseen forces at work, but here Sebastian had boxed clever. With admirable restraint he had avoided the obvious route of planting evidence that would incriminate Vincent in the murder—for how could the boy have been in two places at once? The videotapes that had filmed him through the night were time-coded. Instead, Xavier had been instructed to make his violence appear to be the result of a bungled burglary.
Then there was Harold Masters. The doctor might attempt to lodge some kind of complaint, but he had a history of attacking the League. Better still, he had a history of mental instability, having suffered a nervous breakdown in 1987. The only loose cannon was the girl, Pam, but she was presumably lost at sea along with the other one, Louie, and anyway her word meant nothing to anyone. Nobody really listened to people like that. No proof, no power, any of them. It was perfect.
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