by Gavin Scott
During this conversation Forrester asked Crispin, somewhat randomly, if he had ever met the Bishop of Exeter, and Priestley asked if he meant the current Bishop of Exeter or a previous one, and Forrester belatedly recognised that whoever had been Bishop of Exeter when Edward St. John Townsend had been born must be long gone. Then he asked how one would go about finding out who the Bishop of Exeter had been in 1898 and Priestley directed him to Crockford’s Clerical Directory for that year, though he doubted that even so sophisticated an establishment as Chateau Bougerac would have a copy of that particular volume.
And then Forrester repeated Angela Shearer’s claim that Templar had been distressed as a result of receiving a set of Foreign Office files meant for someone else.
“Oh, yes,” said Priestley. “I remember that incident; very silly and rather sad. I don’t know what the files were, but the messenger who got it wrong was remarkably upset about it. He was approaching retirement, poor chap, and I think it convinced him he was losing his grip.” He leant closer. “A week later he threw himself under a Tube train at Embankment station.”
Taking his leave of Priestley, Forrester returned to the hotel front desk and sent a telegram to Robert Glastonbury asking him to find the 1898 edition of Crockford’s and look up the Bishop of Exeter to see whether the entry revealed any useful information about his son Edward. But no sooner had he sent this than the request was made pointless by the arrival of a telegram from Ken Harrison.
PUBLISHERS REPORT ST. JOHN TOWNSEND
KILLED IN AIR CRASH OVER EMPTY QUARTER
ARABIA SIX MONTHS AGO. OFFICIAL
VERIFICATION ONLY RECENTLY RECEIVED.
Which, it seemed, put him back at square one. Whoever was guiding Theresa Palmer, it wasn’t Sir Edward St. John Townsend.
At which point the great doors of the chateau opened again to admit the members of UNSCOP as they returned from the Palais des Nations in a state of high excitement. Their ponderous Swedish chairman Marius Hansen had that day moved with unexpected speed to finalise the four questions which would frame the committee’s momentous vote.
The first question the committee would have to answer was whether they believed that if the British could be persuaded to continue the mandate in Palestine, it should be renewed, thus reinforcing the status quo.
If the answer to this question was in the negative, the committee would have to vote on whether Palestine should become an entirely Arab-ruled state.
If this was voted down, the next obvious question was whether Palestine should become an entirely Jewish state.
If the committee voted against this, the only remaining option was partition between the Arabs and the Jews, and maps had been drawn up to suggest how that partition might be achieved.
One set of maps included the vast Negev desert in the Jewish area, on the grounds that without it the new state would be impossible to defend.
A second set did not include the Negev, and if adopted would make any Jewish state vulnerable in the extreme.
The effect of this framing process was to put UNSCOP’s decisions in the starkest terms possible.
Nor was this all: Hansen had that day consulted United Nations Secretary General Trygve Lie, and discussed the timetable necessary for a report to be agreed on and issued in time for a vote in the General Assembly later that month.
As a result of which it had been announced that the vote would now take place the following afternoon.
Which meant that if the killer of Charles Templar, William Burke and Jan Loppersum was to complete his work, it would have to be done within the next seventeen hours.
24
THE CONVERSATION OF ANGELA SHEARER
Forrester’s immediate instinct on hearing this news was to consult with Aubrey Eban, but he could see that the man was frantically trying to find out how each member of the committee was responding to the new guidelines.
Which meant it would be some time before he was able to tell Forrester which members of UNSCOP were in greatest danger. Thornham and Priestley also swung into action, along with the other attendant diplomats, some having drinks with committee members at the bar and others sitting with UNSCOP personnel around the reception area. Mrs. Palmer was back on the Chesterfield where Forrester had spoken to her earlier that day, reading placidly, and at first, the sight of her simply made him grind his teeth: she and her “Great Wanderer” had led him up a blind alley.
And then, like a flash of lightning, he saw a new and radical possibility. But before he could do anything about it a voice spoke huskily beside him.
“Hello, Duncan,” said Angela Shearer. “Can we talk? Outside?”
Forrester glanced around the lobby, with its dozen or more conclaves of huddled figures, wondered if he was being deliberately diverted, and decided that if he was there wasn’t much he could do about it. Angela had that effect on people.
They strolled out into the fading light and found a stone bench screened by a topiary hedge.
“I’m so sorry you and Jack seem to have got off on the wrong foot.”
“It’s not entirely surprising,” said Forrester. “I think he took against me when he saw me leaving your flat the day Charles died.”
“Yes,” said Angela. “You’ve been kind ever since that horrible thing happened.”
“I feel I have an obligation towards Charles,” said Forrester. “He asked for my help before he was killed and I wasn’t able to protect him.”
“Or find out who did it,” said Angela.
“No,” Forrester admitted. “The truth is I’m still wondering whether it was Sir Jack himself.”
Angela shook her head.
“No, no,” she said. “I’ve told you, he’s not that kind of man.”
“We both know he has a ferocious temper,” said Forrester. “You’re aware of those head injuries he sustained during his flying days?”
“I am,” said Angela. “And it’s true he does get into terrible rages, but they’re all over in a few minutes. And Jack felt guilty about Charles, not angry.”
“But in New York I found out that he’s part of a British government cover operation called Industrialists International specifically aimed at hampering the creation of a Jewish homeland.”
“Yes,” said Angela, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Forrester looked at her, surprised. “And tell me what?”
“That Jack’s not what you think. You know, a person who doesn’t like Jews. Quite the contrary in fact.”
“What makes you say that?” said Forrester.
“Because Jack only joined that horrid organisation when the government pressured him into it in return for his manufacturing contracts. He’s really on the Jews’ side, you know.”
“What’s your evidence for that?”
“Promise you won’t tell anybody? I don’t want to get him into trouble.”
“If he’s not working to undermine UNSCOP, I don’t want to cause trouble for him either,” said Forrester. “But after what I’ve seen, I need to be convinced.”
“He’s trying to get the Jews aeroplanes,” said Angela. “For when the Arabs come down on them. No one will sell them any, even though there are loads and loads of perfectly good planes sitting around since the war stopped.”
Suddenly Forrester’s conversation with the FBI man and the meeting with the man in the Automat appeared in an entirely new light.
“This is where Al Goldberg comes in?”
“Yes, of course. He’s the man Jack’s been helping with the planes. He knew him during the war and heard about his cousin in the concentration camp.”
“Mauthausen,” said Forrester.
“Yes, that’s right. Somewhere they forced the Jews to make jet engines.”
Suddenly Forrester felt as if a series of interlocking pieces was falling into place in his mind. He’d heard how the inmates of Mauthausen concentration camp had been involved in the production of the Messerschmitt Me 262 fighter, which had almost ch
anged the course of the war – powered by technology which was to be the key to the new age of air transport. What details had Goldberg been able to pass on about jet engines which would make it worthwhile for Jack Casement to risk becoming involved in illegal arms dealing?
And might Charles Templar have stumbled on information about that very scheme when those files were misdelivered to his desk? But Angela was still talking.
“So I just wanted to reassure you that you and Jack are on the same side, really, and he was only cross with you because he thought you were some sort of spy trying to catch him out.”
“And why are you both in Geneva now?”
“That’s the whole point, darling. It’s all part of this Industrialists International nonsense that he’s got to pretend to go along with. They told him to come here to meet the man from America.”
“What man from America?”
“The oil man. The one with the silvery grey hair and a diamond tiepin who sounds like the chairman of the board until he starts telling you how he’s seen the devil roaming the streets of Manhattan.”
“Alexander Samson,” said Forrester.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And he’s here too, in Geneva?”
“He and Jack are closeted together at this very moment. That’s why I came to find you. To let you know the poor love is just being put upon by faceless bureaucrats, and you needn’t worry about him having anything to do with what happened to dear Charles. You really mustn’t.” And with that she stood up.
“Now I’ve got to go and join them for dinner, and pretend to be fascinated when Mr. Samson talks about Beelzebub and international communism. Wish me luck, darling.”
After she had gone Forrester sat there for a long time deciding what to say to Theresa Palmer.
* * *
Little seemed to have changed in the lobby since Angela had taken him out of there, and Eban, along with the others, was still hard at work lobbying. One of the South American committee members – the Peruvian, Fernandez, Forrester thought – was sitting beside Theresa Palmer when Forrester appeared, and slunk away rather guiltily as he approached, but Mrs. Palmer smiled as Forrester took Fernandez’s place.
“Hello, Duncan,” said Mrs. Palmer. “What have you been doing since we last spoke?”
“Dreaming,” said Forrester, beginning the dialogue he had been rehearsing for the last ten minutes.
“Tell me more.” Forrester let the pause last as long as he thought he could get away with it before he went on.
“I dreamt of a man riding a camel, a man grieving for a lost love and finding ancient mysteries in the desert.” He saw the eagerness in her eyes now.
“And did this man reveal his identity?”
“I heard the name, blowing across the sands,” said Forrester, softly.
“Which was?”
“St. John.”
“St. John.” Her face remained expressionless, but the book had fallen from her hands.
“And I saw a vision of a place where a little settlement petered out into a great wasteland.”
Mrs. Palmer looked puzzled. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“Neither did I,” replied Forrester, “till I awoke. And then the vision and the words clarified themselves and I began to make enquiries about Sir Edward.” She glanced at him now: a keen, piercing glance. “Sir Edward St. John Towns-end.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Palmer, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction. Her eyes held his again. “Perhaps you are entering the ranks of the elect after all.”
“Then I remembered Professor Washington at Columbia telling us that Sir Edward was present when Narak was found in Iraq.”
“He was,” said Mrs. Palmer, “but by great mischance the great discovery was taken to America.”
“And Sir Edward guided you to go there and retrieve it?”
“He did.”
“In a letter?”
“Yes.”
“He began writing to you six months ago, did he not?” said Forrester.
Mrs. Palmer considered for a moment, and then nodded.
“Yes, that would be about right,” she said. “Shortly after he had returned to Arabia.”
“And he advised you how to deploy the talents of Aleister Crowley’s former protégé, Mr. Smith?”
“He did. Of course, it was I who really discovered Mr. Smith. But St. John has great insight.”
“And faith in you, I think,” said Forrester.
She smiled. “I only met him once, but there was an immediate affinity. With every letter he sends me, we’ve become closer.”
“And he wishes you to prevail in the struggle with Crowley?”
“Of course. That is why he led me to Narak, and why he has helped me gather the seals.”
“And when you have them all, the power of Narak will be yours?”
“It will,” said Theresa Palmer. “And I promise you, Duncan, I will use it wisely.”
“To decorate your mantelpiece,” said Forrester.
It was as if he had slapped her in the face.
“I beg your pardon?”
“When Smith has fulfilled your instructions and brought you all seven seals, you will have something nice to put on your mantelpiece, nothing more.”
“You are impertinent, Dr. Forrester.”
“Perhaps,” said Forrester. “But you, Mrs. Palmer, have been gullible. Extremely gullible.” And he handed her the telegram from Ken Harrison.
“As you see,” said Forrester, “Edward St. John Townsend could not have been sending you instructions during the last six months because six months ago he was killed in an air crash in the Empty Quarter of Saudi Arabia.”
She stared at the telegram, open-mouthed.
“In short,” said Forrester, “you have been taking your instructions from an imposter.”
“No! I don’t believe it.”
“A telephone call would confirm it.”
She said nothing. The book lay in her lap, forgotten. As he watched her, Forrester understood at last what had been going on. He took her hand and leant close.
“Listen,” he said softly. “You have been manipulated by an evil man, a man who has been pretending to be St. John Townsend ever since he learned of his death. This imposter knew of the Narak effigy and the cylinder seals. He told you to go to America to steal the effigy and take the seals from those who had them. He told you those in possession of the seals must die.”
“Narak required them,” said Theresa Palmer.
“Piffle,” said Forrester. “Piffle made up by someone who wanted to exploit your credulity. Someone who has tricked you into killing three innocent people.”
“I didn’t kill anybody!”
“Oh, you didn’t kill them yourself,” said Forrester. “But you passed on the instructions, didn’t you? To Smith. You manipulated him as the puppet master manipulated you. You persuaded him you were to be the new power in the world of the occult, didn’t you?” She said nothing. “I’ve seen your mind tricks, Mrs. Palmer. You used them on me aboard the Queen Mary to confuse and misdirect me. Did you use them on Smith? Did you confuse him, too? Corrupt him so you could use him? That’s a pretty despicable thing to do. And quite pathetic, too, when you realise you were the dupe all along.”
“I don’t believe this, any of it. Go away, leave me alone.”
“Your puppet master made you believe this was some great event in the world of the occult, didn’t he? But it wasn’t, ever. He simply wants to sabotage the creation of a Jewish homeland. That’s what this has been all about, all along. He has used you, Mrs. Palmer, he has used your belief in the supernatural to do terrible things, and he has been laughing all along at how easy you were to fool.”
She rose to her feet now, her eyes blazing, but behind them Forrester could see the fear and uncertainty.
“He has mocked you, Theresa, and made a murderous fool of you. And now it must stop before you commit the worst injustice of all.”
&n
bsp; She glared at him, her body trembling.
“You are not of the elect. You are evil. I will listen to you no more.” And with her head held high she marched away from him across the room and vanished up the great staircase.
At which point Aubrey Eban drew Forrester urgently aside. “I think I know who is in most danger,” he said quietly.
* * *
They conferred in an angle of the gallery looking down on the great hall, where it was impossible to be overheard; indeed, from here they could look down on the throng below, all deep in conversation. Only God was observing them, staring down from one of the painted beams towards Adam and Eve, and catching Eban and Forrester in his reproving glare.
“Remember how I told you that when the committee arrived in Geneva,” said Eban, “it had to decide whether to visit the camps where the Jewish survivors are still being held?”
“I do. If I recall rightly India, Iran, Yugoslavia either voted against or abstained.”
“Together with Czechoslovakia and Peru,” said Eban.
“From which you concluded there were at least five members of UNSCOP reluctant to vote for a homeland for the Jews.”
“Well, there has been a big change since the visit to the DP camps,” said Eban. “I now believe we have the possibility of a majority vote for the creation of Zion.”
“I congratulate you,” said Forrester. He watched Eban’s troubled face. “But?”
“There are three people in particular who have moved unexpectedly in our direction. The Australian, Brian Cross, Novak of Czechoslovakia and Perez from Uruguay.”
“That sounds like good news to me.”
“But if anything happened to any of them before the vote, they’d be replaced by their alternates.”
“And you know something about them.”
“Novak’s alternate has refused to speak to me, and I am certain has no sympathy for our cause at all. Perez’s alternate is a playboy, and deeply unreliable. The Australian who would replace Brian Cross is one of the few visitors to the camps who seemed to be utterly unmoved by what he had heard and seen.”
