Philian Gregory

by Simon J. Stephens

  “You’re wrong about The Circle, for a start. In fact, you couldn’t be any more wrong.”

  “But branding a ‘C’ into his chest? You think I don’t know what that means.”

  “Oh, that.”, Philian couldn’t help laughing as he replied, “You think the ‘C’ is for The Circle. Priceless!”

  “It’s not?”

  “Let me introduce my friend to you.”, Philian replied, “Nathan Carrington. That’s Carrington, with a C.”

  PART THREE

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  In defiance of any natural or logical explanation, it was the silence that woke Bob Dexter. As he emerged from a deep sleep into the hinterland of semi-consciousness, that silence overwhelmed him. It was almost a post-apocalyptic silence, deep and complete, thick like fog, and yet, it was a silence that carried no threat with it. This was the silence of peace. A silence like Dexter had never experienced before. His life had been one of constant background noise. If it hadn’t been the traffic and the trappings of modern cities, it had been the numerous calls of the natural world, or else the steady thrumming of the mechanisms that maintained all his home comforts. They were the sounds that he had always lived under and their absence was a unique experience to him.

  Tempted to let the peace overwhelm him and return him to sleep, he forced an eye open as he turned his weary body to one side. He didn’t recognise the surroundings. That helped him to wake fully, alert to any danger even though he felt safer than ever. The space he occupied was lit only dimly by the few shafts of daylight that managed to ease through gaps in the dark grey curtains which were too near for him to make any sense of them. Above his head, the ceiling was low and curved, brass fixtures lying flush against the surface. His hand reached out to his side and he felt the smooth, glossed surface of another wall. A switch revealed itself to his touch and he flicked it, wincing at the bright light that shone from above him.

  Slowly, he began to comprehend his whereabouts. Like the silence that surrounded him, the space in which he’d slept so soundly was alien to his experience. His bed occupied almost the whole width of the room, there being only a foot or so of clearance for him to swing his legs around and sit up. From that position, he had only another wall in front of him and a long, tunnel-like expanse to his side. If it had been a prison cell, he’d have been within his rights to complain that it breached the minimum space requirements. And yet, it was a comfortable space that lacked for nothing.

  “Afternoon.”, a familiar voice spoke gently to him from a short distance away, “No need to ask if you slept well. Coffee?”

  Dexter threw back the quilt and expected to be hit with a blast of cold air. Instead, he felt the warmth of a well-heated room. Wearing only his boxer shorts and a thin t-shirt, he stood and stretched, before replying in the affirmative.

  “There are clean clothes under the bed.”, he heard the voice explain, recognising it as that of Philian Gregory, “Or a robe behind the bathroom door. Whatever suits.”

  “Thanks.”, Dexter replied, opting for the robe which he found where he’d been told it would be, although the use of the term bathroom seemed a little optimistic.

  “The boat is really only geared up for two adults,”, Gregory explained, “but we’ll work something out.”

  He’d already remembered why the surroundings were so unusual, and had the briefest recollection of arriving on the boat and being shown to the bedroom at the bow end. At that point, he’d been exhausted from the driving and from the events at Falstaff’s house, his body choosing to purge itself of the stress and strain of the previous weeks by overcoming him with fatigue. Now that he was awake, he felt the benefit of that rest.

  “How long have I been asleep?”, he asked as he took the cup of freshly brewed coffee from his friend.

  “All day yesterday and to now, which is early afternoon.”, Gregory smiled as he replied, “You looked shot. We thought we’d leave you alone to give you some time to recover. We’ll grab some food at the pub when you’ve got your bearings. I imagine you’re quite hungry.”

  “Coffee’s enough for now, thanks,”, Dexter replied, “I may be hungry later. Just need to wake up first, and get a handle on things.”

  “I don’t blame you. The last few days haven’t exactly been conventional for you. Come through to the rear of the boat and we can talk.”

  They shuffled awkwardly through the narrow corridor that was only wide enough for one, Philian Gregory indicating a long, curved sofa for Dexter to sit on as the last room in the boat opened up before them.

  “Afternoon.”, Nathan Carrington looked up from the papers he was reading through, lowering his glasses and waving his hand in greeting.

  “Nathan.”, Dexter mumbled, “That’s right, isn’t it? Hi.”

  “Between us.”, Gregory looked intently at Dexter, “Philian and Nathan and Bob are all fine. But, you should know, that the wider world knows us differently. A little like your James McCloud.”

  “And your friend’s Professor Richard Harrison, over in Spain.”, Nathan smiled mischievously.

  “That was you two?”

  “Of course,”, Gregory replied, “although, at the time, we didn’t peg you as being an active participant. Thought you’d just got scooped up in the whole thing. No trace of Professor Harrison on our return though, so, we assume that your buddy was a professional?”

  Dexter nodded, casting his mind back to that night in Spain when he’d first seen the branded ‘C’ on their target’s body.

  “Before we get into the details,”, Gregory continued, “you need to know that I am now, officially, George Evans. Nathan is John Martin. Best tip I can give you until you get used to that is if you use generics when we’re out and about. It may not be your style, but ‘mate’ and ‘buddy’ are safer than making mistakes. So, with that aside, I suppose you want a brief explanation? Or is it the pub first?”

  “No,”, Dexter replied, “let’s get the basics over first. It’s still a lot to take in and I don’t even know where I am just now.”

  “Okay,”, Gregory refilled everyone’s coffee from the large pot that was keeping warm on the wood-burner before settling back and composing his thoughts, “a potted history of our last year or so. Are we sitting comfortably? Then, I’ll begin.”

  That potted history lasted for just over an hour. Where Philian Gregory forgot details, Nathan Carrington filled in the blanks. All the while, Dexter sat quietly and listened to their most improbable tale of transition from fugitives to vigilantes.

  Having initially sought only the anonymity of escape, Amanda’s murder had pushed them close to the edge. When Gregory was targeted as the key suspect in that death, they drew closer to that edge, which they plunged over when they were almost killed themselves. From that point, they had resolved that their flight from the elusive forces of The Circle would cease and they would become the pursuers themselves.

  “I had names and details that I’d even forgotten I possessed.”, Carrington explained, “Or ones that I’d forgotten how to interpret. Had them tattooed onto my arm in code, but couldn’t remember how to decipher them. As you probably know, I was a little the worse for drink for quite a while and those years passed by in an alcoholic semi-consciousness that carries few memories. Somehow, I’d managed to keep hold of my precious documents. But they meant nothing to me until I’d sobered up a bit. Then the paperwork and the tattoos began to make sense.”

  “You off the bottle now?”, Dexter had asked.

  “As much as I ever will be.”, Carrington smiled as he replied, “I’ll never be free, but I can manage it now. It serves me well, I hate to say.”

  Gregory continued the narrative, explaining that, in much the same way that Dexter had piggy-backed from one name to another, they too had found that the limited resources that they had could be used to open up new lines of investigation and expose new targets.

 
“And, when I say targets,”, he leant across to Dexter as he spoke, “I mean, targets. We’d agreed that any form of partial vengeance wasn’t enough. Exposing these people carried too many risks. Not least, the risk that, like Baxter, they could use their contacts or whatever leverage they had to evade justice. All we had to do was confirm their guilt. Once we agreed, we sentenced them to death.”

  “And the branding?”, Dexter asked.

  “A little crude, I know, but we didn’t want those deaths to go unnoticed. You see, even though The Circle’s members would be fully aware of the connection, the public were never likely to be given that knowledge. Believe me, we’ve tested the water and these people know how to protect their image. When it’s all over, we hope that the connection will be revealed and that the branding of the ‘C’ will be the lasting memory that the public has of that particular den of scumbags.”

  “But why only the ‘C’?”

  “That was my decision.”, Carrington explained, “And we nearly split up over it. On the one hand, it gave us a certain amount of cover in that those in the know might think it was The Circle. I know that was your own thinking. With the uncertainty, it became a little easier to track people down as they started to come out into the open to protect themselves. But that wasn’t the main reason. It was more personal than that. I wanted those in the know to know that Nathan Carrington was alive and well and out to avenge the death of his wife and daughter.”

  “I remember now.”, Dexter interrupted, “You were sentenced for GBH for attacking your daughter’s killers.”

  “That’s right. I should have killed them then. But I was more innocent in those days. I believed in the forces of justice and in the fairness of the system. Not anymore. When they killed Amanda, and followed that by coming after Philian, I made my decision. I’ll answer for it when the time comes.”

  After detailing how they’d managed to hide away on the canals, adopting new identities and living off Carrington’s gambling earnings, they moved onto more recent events.

  “You’re not going to like some of this.”, Gregory explained, “But I’ll tell it as it is from our side. First off, you were betrayed. Falstaff wasn’t on our radar at all. Of course, we knew about Baxter, but we also knew that he wasn’t connected to The Circle. We should have twigged, but hey, we’re still trainees at this.”

  He finished his coffee before continuing.

  “Anyway, whether you like it or not, since Spain, we’ve been keeping a bit of a left-eye on you. Nothing too intrusive. I just wanted to assure myself that you had simply been drawn into events. I was almost there and ready to forget about you, when we picked up your name on an e-mail that we’d hacked into. It seems that The Circle were as uncertain of your role in things as we were. They wanted to cover their bases, so they put a man on your tail.”

  “I didn’t notice anyone.”, Dexter looked puzzled.

  “Oh, that’s only to be expected. You see, The Circle don’t always do things in the conventional way. They weren’t going to monitor you by sending a guy in a trench-coat to shadow you. They had a different plan. They’d put someone in full view. A certain Mr Jeremy Saunders.”

  “I still can’t believe that.”, Dexter sighed as he remembered Falstaff’s reference to the project manager.

  “I’m afraid so.”, Carrington confirmed, “From day one, he’s been keeping tabs. And we’ve been keeping tabs on them keeping tabs. When you announced your brief respite from the business, he did what he was charged to do and monitored you even in your own absence. He knew you well enough to know that you’re a creature of habit in certain specific areas of your life; you only ever wear one type of shoe, made by one craft business and to your exact specification; you have three pairs at any one time. Each of those pairs was carrying a tracking device placed there by Saunders. Don’t worry, we’ve removed it now.”

  “Sounds a little James Bond to me.”

  “I suppose it is. But, The Circle had to track you and that was their method. Of course, it’s a little crude and not as secure as it should have been. Hence, our ability to track you as well.”

  “But Falstaff seemed prepared?”, Dexter queried.

  “He may have appeared so,”, Carrington replied, “but he wasn’t. If he’d really have been suspicious, he wouldn’t have made you his speciality curry. No, he was taken in completely. But they tipped him off at the last minute.”

  “The phone call he received?”

  “Correct. A brief exchange, instructions to allow entry and a specific timing for him to work to. Of course, that also gave us time to plan our own actions. We were close by, ready to see what your plan was and keen to help, given that we now had Falstaff pegged as a target that we needed to eliminate anyway. We followed the team in and the rest, well, you know about that.”

  “And Saunders?”

  “Had to be taken care of, I’m afraid.”, Carrington displayed no emotion as he spoke, “We didn’t want it to be too obvious and we needed to protect you, but he’s dead. Not branded by me, of course, but his demise should appear quite natural.”

  “Seems a little drastic?”, Dexter said.

  “I’d have reacted the same,”, Gregory sighed, “in the past. Now, I go with it. Murder’s not as cut and dried as it’s made out. Sometimes, conscience trumps the law and we do what we have to do. It took a while to get used to that, but then I remember the victims. Those who still live with the scars, those whose lives were ruined and those who died. The death of an innocent lays a heavy burden on the scales of justice. It can take many guilty bodies to rebalance those scales.”

  “Which I believe,”, Dexter stood up and stretched, “is the point at which I ask that we retire to that pub that you mentioned to digest what you’ve said and get some grub in my belly. But, before we head off, I need to know. Exactly, where do I stand just now?”

  “A very good question.”, Gregory replied, “And one I think we can answer. You see, The Circle keeps its lines of communication as tight as possible. Makes sense really. And that works in your favour. Saunders tracked you to Falstaff, but it all happened very quickly. Up until that point, he had you vacationing in Yorkshire and travelling around the tourist hot-spots he’d expect to see you visiting. Nobody fed back anything about your McCloud pretence. It raised no suspicions. By the time he tracked you at Falstaff’s, recognised the location and decided that it was too much of a coincidence, he only had time to make the call and alert his team. He was waiting for confirmation of your death before making contact with his superiors. That gave Nathan here time to burn his electronics with a virus, deny him access to communications and delete all records of your movements. Yesterday, while you slept, we caught up with Saunders and sorted him out. He was still a devoted employee, despite everything that was going on, and we staged a work-related accident. What with the ice and snow in London, his slip on an icy surface was entirely unsuspicious. In short, you’re still in the clear. The next step, well, that’s up to you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The food, like the pub that served it, was plain and simple. It was a throwback to an Englishness that had been all but smothered by corporate uniformity and a misguided shift in public demand. The pie that was accompanied by homemade chips and a mountain of peas was a reminder to Philian Gregory and Nathan Carrington of a childhood way of life that would never return. To Dexter, it was a taste of a cuisine that was pleasantly comforting. The beer was served in glass tankards, now returning to fashion in the swankier hostelries, but which had been a part of this pub forever. It was a local brew, served straight from the barrel and therefore, not to everybody’s taste. Matching the food and drink, the pub was devoid of a jukebox, a fruit machine and wi-fi. It only traded in cash. All were welcome, but you had to take the place as it was. If you didn’t like dogs, you could go elsewhere. If you had children, the choice was made for you. This was a place that was confident in itself a
nd hid under no pretences.

  Huddled in a discrete corner, warmed by the roaring fire beside them, the three men ate in silence, savouring every mouthful of a proper nineteen-seventies British tea, each lost in their own thoughts as they compiled the data that they’d shared. When the plates had been cleared away, Gregory went to the bar and returned with fresh pints.

  “My kind of pub this.”, he said as he placed the drinks on the table, “Good food, good beer, rough and ready furnishings and a blazing fire.”

  “It’s great.”, Dexter agreed, “I found a couple like this in Yorkshire, but they’re few and far between. As a foreigner, I can see the attraction.”

  “But,”, continued Gregory, “it also suits our purposes very well. No CCTV, no internet, no credit card trail. And a landlord who you just know has heard it all and never shared a thing. We’re safe to talk here. So, how do we move forward?”

  The silence came again as none of the trio wanted to make the first move. It wasn’t an awkward silence. It was simply a silence of contemplation, deference and practicality. What they said next would define a lot about their futures.

  “Let’s start with you.”, Philian Gregory made the first move, nodding to Dexter rather than using his name, “You’ve already given us the overview, and, I have to say, we were aware of most of it. What intrigues me though, is your approach to Daniels. We saw the news coverage of the conviction, but we didn’t tie it in with The Circle. What was different about him, as opposed to Falstaff?”

  “Don’t credit me with too much foresight on this whole thing.”, Dexter replied, “You should remember that I’ve been winging it ever since I starter dabbling in this strange world. But, yeah, you’re right. With Daniels, well, it just seemed right to let the victims deliver justice. And, without wishing to put anyone else in the spotlight, it was a plan devised and executed by some trusted colleagues of mine. Falstaff was something completely different. I knew that he was guilty and I knew that he would be acquitted. Could I have gone through with the murder? I’m not sure. I was banking on him taking the honourable way out.”