The Deadly Game(2)
He knew what lay ahead for him this morning: there’d be a message for him to go and see the head of the department, Gareth Findlay-Weston, and then a dressing down from Gareth for breaking the rules. But he hadn’t broken any rules. All he’d done was talked to his girlfriend and told her what he’d been doing. All right, privately he admitted to himself, there had been more to it than that. Each time he and Lauren talked, they tried to find a coded way of talking about the Order of Malichea and the hidden books, without the people who were listening in and watching them, picking up on it. So far they hadn’t succeeded. But Jake had thought this time he’d found a way: an uncontroversial chat about a walk he’d been on in the Sussex countryside. He’d hoped that Lauren might read between the lines; that he’d been through her list of possible hiding places for the hidden library, and was checking one of them out: a long ancient barrow at West Firle. This first visit he’d made had been to recce the site for a possible dig later, perhaps under cover of darkness, but the size of the site had given him doubts. He needed to narrow down his area of search in some way. Right now, he wasn’t sure how, but the place was a definite possible.
Jake walked into the large open-plan office where the department press office was based. It was just after nine o’clock, and already everyone seemed to be at their phones or their computer terminals, chasing down stories or responding to press requests. As Jake got to his desk, his fellow press officer, Paul Evans, hung up from a phone call and greeted Jake with a cheery grin.
‘What time do you call this?’ he demanded.
Jake looked at his watch.
‘I call it five past nine,’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘You should have been here at nine,’ said Paul.
‘My bus got stuck in traffic,’ said Jake.
‘You should use a bike, like I do,’ said Paul. ‘It’s better for the environment, and gets through traffic quicker than anything else.’
‘Yeah, and you get lungfuls of diesel fumes and you’re liable to get knocked off it by some crazy driver,’ pointed out Jake.
Paul shook his head.
‘Not if you’re careful,’ he said. ‘Also, I wear a filter mask to protect against fumes. Trust me, Jake, you’d be a lot healthier if you biked it to work.’
Jake looked at him suspiciously.
‘Are you involved in some sort of government press initiative to get everyone in London cycling?’ he asked.
Paul looked slightly uncomfortable.
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Although it’s just in the planning stage at the moment. Anyway, Gareth was looking for you.’
Jake’s heart sank. As he’d feared.
‘When?’ he asked.
‘He was waiting by your desk when I came in dead at nine,’ said Paul. ‘That’s why I said you should have been here on time. It doesn’t do to upset the big boss.’
‘What did he want?’ asked Jake.
‘He wanted to know if you were in. I covered for you, told him you were most likely in the toilet, but I’m not sure if he believed me.’
Unlikely, thought Jake. Gareth never believed anyone about anything. That was why he was so good at the job he did. Officially, Gareth was head of the press office at the Department of Science. Behind the scenes, he was a very senior MI5 spook, with the power of life and death over people. People like Lauren and Jake. But, as far as Jake was aware, he was the only one in his department who knew about Gareth’s real role. And he knew his life, and Lauren’s, were at stake if he breathed a word to anyone about it.
‘I’d better pop up and see him,’ said Jake.
Just then, Paul’s phone rang, and he was soon engaged in a conversation that appeared to be about how exercising the legs increased the supply of oxygen to the lungs and brain. Yes, Paul was definitely on a ‘cycling is good for you’ story.
With a sense of foreboding, Jake left the large office and began to mount the wide staircase to the third floor, and Gareth’s sanctuary. As always, he noticed the change to the decor as he went higher. From the ground floor to the second, everything was hi-tech, thrusting modern. Then, as you left what could loosely be called the ‘public’ areas and entered the upper echelons, where the real power lay, the world changed, slipping back in time a hundred years or more. The banisters changed from ordinary metal to brass. The light fittings, which were plain white plastic up to the second floor, became shining gun-metal.
As Jake walked along the narrow corridor, panelled with dark oak, the wood adorned with old paintings showing an England long past, hunting scenes, countryside celebrations, his sense of dread was replaced with one of anger. Yes, he knew that Gareth was going to look at him and sigh with that tone of unhappy resignation Gareth did so well, and then proceed to tear him to shreds with his caustic, sarcastic language, which was not a happy experience. But what right did Gareth have? thought Jake indignantly. Jake hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Well, not on the face of it. Even if Gareth suspected that Jake was trying to pass on some information to Lauren about the books, there was no proof. Not this time, anyway. And Gareth had had a nerve to shut down the Skype connection between him and Lauren. Well, Jake would have something to say about that!