The Song of the Underground

by Wendy Reakes

  She stepped further inside and crouched down next to the coffee spill. She put her hand on it. It wasn’t sodden. In fact it was almost dry, which must mean whomever had been there, was long gone. God, she hoped so.

  When she went into the bedroom, she saw it was worse than the lounge. The bed had been completely turned over and the sheets were lying in a pile in the corner near the bathroom door. All Ben’s suits had been pulled out and left on the floor in a chaotic mess. The entire contents of his wardrobe were lying around everywhere; shoes, ties, belts. Everything! Charlotte went to her walk-in closet. Her clothes had just been rummaged through, but the suitcases and bags on the storage shelf above had all been pulled down and opened.

  She wondered for the umpteenth time if she should call the police. But what if they delved too deep? If there was a story Charlotte was the obvious choice to run with it, but on the other hand, she wasn’t about to land Ben in the soup, however much she hated his goddamn guts.

  In the kitchen, all the cupboard doors were open, but the contents had been pretty much left untouched. She pulled an opened bottle of white wine from the fridge and then stopped. She forgot…she wasn’t supposed to drink in her condition. But then again, she was going to get rid of it, so why shouldn’t she? In answer, she slammed the bottle back onto the rack in the door and grabbed a carton of orange juice instead. She grabbed an upturned glass from the draining board next to the sink and went back into the lounge.

  She put one of the sofa cushions straight before she sat down and brought up a number on her phone. As it started to ring, she looked across the room to the paper shredder next to her desk. It was toppled over and the lid was lying on the floor, two feet away. The plastic container was empty. She recalled shredding a few things the day before last. The bastards had probably taken the lot to see if they could read anything, which probably meant….

  The phone picked up. “Yo!” His voice was a comfort to her.

  “Charlie. My flat’s been trashed.”

  “Trashed! No way. Have you called the old bill?”

  “No, not yet.” She was still scrutinizing the room with her phone pinned to her ear, looking at everything scattered over the floor. “I don’t know what’s missing,” she said. “The place is a train wreck…They took the contents of my shredder…”

  “What was shredded?”

  “I don’t know…I can’t remember…stuff…But, I think that means they were looking for information, right? I mean, if they were looking for valuables they wouldn’t have taken my shredded bank statements, would they..?” Charlotte took a deep breath. She was starting to feel nauseous. “Charlie, I think this is about Ben. He’s involved in something….I don’t know…” She suddenly remembered something. It was one of the few domestic chores she did for her husband. Ben was useless without his secretary, so if he brought any official papers home, Charlotte filed them for him…or shredded them, whichever he preferred. And the secret documents he wanted to destroy, he never put into his briefcase, he…

  Charlotte spoke into the phone. “Hang on a minute, sweetie.” She looked across the coffee table to Ben’s newspaper, still there from the night before, still folded and turned to her column. She remembered Ben’s theory, that if he wanted to hide anything, he just had to put it inside the pages of his newspaper. He figured if he was going to be mugged, no one would bother taking that. So any secret documents he had were safer wrapped in the paper than they were in his briefcase. Charlotte, at the time had said how stupid that was. She’d argued his logic, asking why have a lock on his briefcase if he was going to hide stuff in the daily news? She couldn’t recall his response, but knowing Ben it was probably something flippant.

  She placed the phone upon the couch and leaned over to grab the paper. Maybe…She unfolded it, holding it up before she shook it. An envelope fell out and fluttered to the floor. Bingo.

  She grabbed the phone as she turned the envelope over. “Yes, I’m still here.”

  Downing Street was embossed in black and gold letters on the front and Ben Mason, Minister of Planning and Construction. By Hand. Strictly Private and Confidential. There was a letter inside. She pulled it out, unfolded it and then spoke into the phone. “Charlie,” she said, dragging her words, “what’s the Sous Llyndum project?”

  Chapter 35

  Charlotte clenched her fist and banged it several times on Charlie’s door. “Hurry up, will you? Open up.” She heard him unlocking the bolts on his impenetrable door. For god’s sake, her brother’s flat was like Fort Knox. It opened and she stepped inside before Charlie closed it behind her in one fluid movement. “I can’t imagine your place ever getting trashed.” She said as she threw her bag onto the bed. It was unmade as usual with crumpled sheets and randomly scattered pillows.

  “You need better security, Char. How many times must I tell you that?”

  “I have a doorman. It’s what I pay extraordinarily expensive ground rates for. A lot of use he was!”

  Charlie sat down and put his foot up on his desk. His computer screens were flashing vivid pictures in stand-by mode. “How did they get past him?”

  She ran her fingers through her fringe to push it back. If she could she would tear the whole lot out in frustration. “Not they. He! One man! They got him on camera, but he was wearing a peaked cap and reading glasses. He was disguised as the guy who cleans Mrs. Burrow’s fish tank.”

  “Who’s Mrs. Burrows?”

  “Christ, Charlie, does it matter? She lives at number 31. Stupid bloody woman, keeping fish! There’s a policy of no pets, you know. I’m going to complain when I get back.”

  “Fish aren’t pets.”

  “What are they then?” She sat down and stretched her fingers, seeing as they were permanently clenched into fists.

  “Well they’re…fish.”

  “Exactly,” she finished.

  Charlie swung about in his revolving chair and pointed to one of his five screens. “I can’t find anything about Sous Llyndum. All I know is that Llyndum is an old term for London and ‘sous’ is French for under, slash, below.”

  “Under London. Maybe it’s a code.”

  He shook his head. “Still can’t find anything that would help. I went into MI5’s system and Interpol.” He rolled his eyes. “Their spyware found me rooting around and blocked me. I’ll be out of there for a week now. Bastards!”

  “Sorry.”

  He shook his head and straightened his peak cap over his brow. “No, don’t worry about that. I’ll get back in.”

  Charlotte leaned forward with an urge to speak quietly. “Look, Charlie. We’ve got to find out where Ben is before the press do.”

  “Why are you so worried? Mase can look after himself.”

  She lowered her eyes to the dark red carpet. “I just think the whole thing is a bit weird, you know? I mean, what is Ben doing with Barnes, anyhow? He’s a big gun in the army, even though he works for the government.”

  A scream coming from somewhere in the building made Charlotte sit up and hold her breath. “What was that?”

  Charlie acted as if it was nothing. “Just the neighbours.” He picked up a pencil and worked it between his fingers before slotting it into his mouth. “Okay, so let’s break this down. Hotshot army guy…minister of planning construction…Sous Lyndum.” Charlie spread his hands in front of him as if he had the answer. “So...they’re working on some sort of property deal, underground…In London.”

  “How would that concern the army?”

  “Mayybee…they need to use military equipment.”

  “Like what?”

  “Erm…explosives…” Charlie removed his cap, scratched his head and then put it back on, pulling the peak down over his eyes.

  “And why is it top secret? And why has he just disappeared? Under the radar they called it.”

  Charlotte and Charlie became silent as they both contemplated the implications of Ben Mason consorting with the colonel, especially one Colonel Geoffrey Barnes. It didn’
t make sense, and as far as Charlotte was concerned she had no idea where to turn next.

  Chapter 36

  Alice Burton was exhausted. It was just before midnight and she’d had one hell of a day. She was relaxing in the library at No.10, alone, next to the fire, with her feet clad in flesh-coloured tights, up on a pouf. Her discarded shoes were at the side and she was wriggling her toes to rid her feet of the numbness she felt from standing on them all day. She leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes as she attempted to let her mind go blank, just as her therapist had instructed. It was no good. The worry she felt was too great.

  She’d taken a call earlier. It had been around six o’clock and as a result, she was compelled to bring in some members of her cabinet for an urgent meeting. She’d held it in her office behind closed doors. “Gentlemen,” she began. She noticed a cautionary glance from Joan Kingsley, the Minister of Industry. Damn, she always missed her out. Joan was a dyke in every sense of the word. She looked like a man, talked like a man, dressed like a man, and she liked to be called Kingsley. Alice never really knew what was politically correct when addressing her. “And lady,” she added. Let that be the end of it, Alice thought.

  There were two other people in the room. One was Michael Francis, her aide, and the other was the American ambassador’s personal assistant, J.R Brightman. Everyone in the government called him John, seeing as how the latter made them think of Larry Hagman. For the British that was way too American, especially since he lived up to his namesake with aplomb. J.R was ruthless and powerful and his only interest was to safeguard the ambassador from any embarrassment, and to ensure he kept his own position as the force to be reckoned with. Born in Texas, John’s accent boomed in a room that was British through and through. His voice never did sit right with Alice Burton. She was a Royalist and since she had taken office, she had to admit she felt extraordinarily close to the throne and all it stood for.

  Alice Burton had been one of nine children, four brothers and four sisters, until their Lucy had died of consumption when she was just five years-old. Welsh born, Alice’s father worked the mines while her mother ruled the purse strings, keeping bread on the table and a fire in the hearth, despite the number of siblings. Alice had been the brightest of the bunch and after marrying well, which took her out of the valleys and into the city of London, she found out when she was twenty-five, that all she ever wanted to do was to be in politics. When Alice related that story to her constituents, to offer inspiration, she always finished with ‘That’s where it all began and look at me now.’

  There were three other people who should have been in her office that day; all privy to the issue now hanging over her head. One was Colonel Geoffrey Barnes who was unfortunately detained elsewhere, or so his secretary had said. Alice knew where he really was, but the group in her office didn’t. The second was Jack Parson’s, head of LURS, the London Underground Railway Society. Jack had been party to the previous discussions, mainly because he felt he represented the voice of the people and how they felt about revealing the secret city of Sous Llyndum to the world. He was all for it and claimed the strategy could be a vital endorsement for the London Underground system. That and the fact he was getting a hefty backhander. The third was Ben Mason. He was someone Alice Burton trusted as an honourable servant. He was a man who could take the project and pacify all who needed pacifying; ultimately pacifying his wife, so that the press didn’t come down on them so hard after the take-over. Alice knew how sensitive people were to society’s victims and despite all the advantages she was offering the Llyns, they may be deemed as coming out of the deal with less than was promised. That was something she couldn’t help. Unfortunately!

  With only three people in the room, the Prime Minister was sitting behind her desk, worried she wasn’t keeping everyone in the loop. Still, she’d done her best. She had a red file in front of her with the words ‘The Sous Llyndum project. Strictly classified’, written on the front. “It seems we have a problem regarding the Sous Llyndum project.” She paused to let them digest the introduction to the reason for their meeting. John, Michael and Kingsley waited for her to continue. “We’ve had a leak and I’ve just had English Heritage on the phone, wanting to know exactly what the Sous Llyndum project is?”

  The people in the room were waiting for her to continue. “And not just that,” she picked up a pen from the side of her desk and held it in her hand. “I am informed that the gentlemen of the press are also sniffing around.”

  The three in the room all looked as if they were contemplating the repercussions. “But that changes everything,” Kingsley offered. “English heritage could put the brakes on. It could go on for years.”

  “Not only that,” Michael, her aide, interjected. “They’d slow the whole process down, even if we do get their consent.”

  Alice nodded. She was pleased they were all on the same page. “They are extremely interested in the history of Sous Llyndum. Excited even.” Alice took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, gentlemen…and lady, we are going to have to abort our plans for the time being.”

  “Now, just wait one darn minute, ma’am.” John was deemed offensive by Alice, but she was used to him now, or so she’d convinced herself.

  “John.” Alice proffered her hand to allow him to speak. It wouldn’t have made any difference. He was going to speak whether she allowed him to or not.

  “My country has already invested a great deal of time and money in this project. We have…expectations, as you know.”

  She made a single gesture of affirmation by nodding her head. “Yes of course, but under the circumstances…”

  “Circumstances be damned. Talk them around. It’s the easiest way…”

  On his left, Kingsley gave an ironic laugh. “You can’t talk English Heritage around. They’re non-governmental.”

  John referred Kingsley’s comment back to the Prime Minister. “Ma’am. Everyone can be bought, even your English Heritage guy.”

  “It’s not as simple as that. Even if he could be…persuaded, he would have a hard time justifying the project to his people.”

  “Ma’am. The ambassador…least of all the President, will not be happy to receive this news. Our interest lies in the product down there, not in the habitants or their structures.” Alice remained silent. “We all have an interest, ma’am,” he continued. “Surely you’re not going to let a bunch of Heritage people dictate what’s in the best interest of our two countries?”

  “I would have to speak to them...I suppose I can hold off suspending the project until we meet.” Alice was thinking it through. What if she could talk them around? Convince them how important the project would be to the environment…to the future of their capital, how the outcome of the project could affect global economy...? She continued to pass the pen between her fingers. “We still have the issue of the press. Someone’s already got wind of this…once they start searching, things could get difficult.”

  John Brightman spoke, as she knew he would. He acted as if there was only one conclusion. “Tighten the lid. Make it clear to them that if the story breaks we could have a bigger problem than just a story being leaked. It would jeopardize the whole thing. It could cause a panic, a serious breach of security…”

  “John…I understand the implications,” Alice interjected. “Perhaps there is someone I could talk to.” Alice pondered the matter and then looked up. “I’ll get back to you…gentlemen,” It was an indication that the meeting was over. “And lady.”

  Now, at midnight, and after the call she’d made to the one person she believed she could confide in, Alice was staring into the fire. She could feel her feet tingling from the roaring flames. She tucked her legs beneath her as she changed position. She had a glass of brandy in her hand. She hadn’t touched it. She raised it to her lips as she thought about her dear William and wondered what he would have said to her now. ‘See it through to the end, Alice,’ she could hear him say. ‘See it through to the end.’


  Chapter 37

  The door opened to No.10 Downing Street and Charlotte Croft was ushered inside. She had never seen the interior of the Prime Minister’s residence before, although she had spent many an occasion in the early days, covering some newsworthy events from outside, with the famous black glossy door in the background. That was before she had been given her own column. That particular honour had been awarded to her by the current editor-in-chief of the City Limits newspaper, Nick Vaughan. He considered Charlotte to be a voice of the people, because she disagreed with practically every political agenda on the table.

  She had just got back from Charlie’s flat when she got the phone call. Charlie wanted her to stay with him, since her own place had been trashed, and he even offered her the bed as he wouldn’t be using it himself. ‘I’ve got a heavy work load,’ he said. Charlotte was adamant she’d be okay. Besides, she wanted to clean up a bit at home and maybe have a root through Ben’s papers to see if she could find anything else that would give her some clues about the Sous Llyndum project.