The Invisible Assassin(13)

‘Got it,’ he said. ‘When?’

‘An hour. We’ll see you there.’

‘We?’ he queried.

‘After this, I’m not coming to see you on my own. If you’re right, I’m going to need protection.’

With that she hung up. Jake wondered who she would be bringing with her. She’d said ‘protection’. That suggested Robert, that huge hulking rugby player cousin of hers. The big question was: who had burgled Lauren’s flat? Circumstances pointed to Gareth being involved in some way. But why? And why take the stuff on the Order of Malichea?





Chapter 7




Jake sat on the bench on the South Bank in front of the Festival Hall and looked at the familiar landmarks along the Thames. The tower of the OXO building. The Savoy. The three bridges nearby spanning the Thames: the ancient rusted metal of the Hungerford railway bridge; the gleaming new shininess of the footbridge, and, further away to his right, the white stone walls of Waterloo Bridge. He remembered times when he and Lauren had sat here at this very spot, watching the lights sparkling on the waters of the Thames. Those had been the early days of their relationship, when they had been so happy together.

He shook his head to shake the image out of his mind. Stop thinking of her like that. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he half rose, half turned, and there she was, as beautiful as ever. But the man with her wasn’t Robert the rugby player. He was much smaller. Thinner, with a wisp of a moustache, and in his early twenties.

‘Jake, this is Carl Parsons.’

Of course. The new boyfriend. The Mature Brainiac.

Jake stood up and shook Parsons’s hand, though something inside him wanted to crush it. He was surprised at how firm the handshake was, coming from such a weedy-looking individual.

‘I’ve told Carl the story you told me,’ said Lauren as they both joined Jake sitting down on the bench. ‘About the building worker turning into something.’

‘Yes.’ Parsons nodded. ‘Intriguing.’

‘Carl’s in the same department as me, studying Theoretical Sciences,’ explained Lauren.

Jake couldn’t resist thinking sarcastically: He’s your protection? Aloud, he said, ‘Did you report the burglary to the police?’

‘Of course,’ said Lauren. ‘Waste of time though. They’re convinced it was just some junkies breaking in looking for money for drugs.’

‘And taking your information on the Order of Malichea instead?’ commented Jake.

‘They homed in on Lauren’s laptop,’ said Parsons. ‘They said laptops were a prime target. Easily portable.’

‘And the notes you said they took?’ asked Jake.

Lauren shook her head.

‘I don’t think they even bothered to write that down,’ she said. ‘They concentrated on the laptop and a CD player the burglars also took. For them that was proof it was just junkies.’

‘A CD player?’ queried Jake.

‘Obvious cover,’ said Parsons. ‘If they’d really been junkies they’d have taken the TV as well.’

‘Maybe it was too big?’ suggested Jake.

‘So, you believe what the police say?’ asked Lauren.

Jake shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Your notes being taken is the crucial pointer. They want to eliminate everything about the Order of Malichea completely, make sure you have nothing.’

‘But that’s stupid!’ exploded Lauren angrily. ‘Stuff about the Order is all over the internet! All anyone’s got to do is a Google search and it’s there!’

Jake frowned. He wished he’d thought of that before. But there was still one puzzle, if what Lauren said was true: why was the information on his department’s search engine restricted to Level 4 security and above? The answer had to be: because the information in the department’s archives was more detailed than anything anyone would find on the internet.

‘I think they’re trying to scare you off,’ said Parsons.

They both looked at him.

‘It’s logical when you think about it,’ Parsons continued. ‘The information you had about the Order is on the internet . . .’

‘Not all of it,’ interrupted Lauren. ‘Basic stuff, the history of the Order, that sort of thing, but some of my research came from other sources. Old books, libraries . . .’

‘And you could get hold of it again,’ persisted Parsons. ‘And whoever these people were know that. So I think this is a message, and a not very subtle one, warning you to keep out of this.’

‘Why?’ asked Lauren. ‘Why send me that message and not Jake? He’s the one poking his nose in.’