‘Then we’re going to change that,’ she said. She stood up. ‘Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’ asked Parsons.
‘Where we can talk without being overheard.’
Chapter 8
As Jake and Parsons followed Lauren across the pedestrian bridge over the Thames towards Embankment Station they kept a resolute silence, to Jake’s great frustration. Where are we going? he thought. Surely it wouldn’t do any harm for her to at least tell me where we’re heading. We’re walking on a bridge over the Thames; no one can pick up what we say here. Unless we had a parabolic microphone trained on us from a boat on the Thames. What were the chances of that?
Every chance, realised Jake gloomily. These people tried to kill me, they’ve taken Lauren’s laptop. They can get everywhere and do anything.
He kept silent, along with the other two, and just followed them. From the Embankment they caught a train to Baron’s Court. Outside the station Lauren hailed a taxi.
‘It’s only a short distance from here,’ she whispered. ‘But this way, if anyone has been following us, it should throw them off the scent.’
Under Lauren’s directions, the taxi turned off the main road, and then zigzagged through back streets, until she gave the order for it to pull up.
They were outside a small terraced house. Lauren rang the doorbell. After a few moments the door opened and the massive figure of Robert, Lauren’s rugby-playing cousin, looked out at them. He grinned massively when he saw Lauren, but then his look fell on Jake and he scowled.
‘What’s he doing here?’ he growled.
‘Later, Robert,’ said Lauren. ‘Can we come in? It’s urgent.’
Robert stepped aside and the three slipped into the house.
Jake expected the inside of the house to be the sort he expected from a hulking great rugby player like Robert: namely, a rubbish tip, with rugby boots and shorts and empty beer cans dumped all over the place. To his surprise, the interior was neat and tidy. And not just neat, it was very tastefully decorated, and quite modern in a minimalist style.
‘Nice place,’ murmured Jake, looking around at the room they had walked into in.
‘Robert’s an architect,’ said Lauren.
Jake looked in surprise at Robert as he joined them. This hulking great man-mountain of a rugby player, someone who looked like he could tear an opponent apart with his bare hands, was an architect?
‘What’s up?’ demanded Lauren. ‘You’re looking strange.’
‘Nothing,’ said Jake quickly. ‘I’m just a bit knocked over by all that’s going on.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’
‘Oh, it is,’ said Parsons quietly. ‘What we have to find out is where you fit in.’
‘Tea or coffee anyone?’ asked Robert.
‘Decaf coffee for me,’ said Lauren.
‘Tea for me, please, Robert,’ said Parsons.
Parsons has been here before, thought Jake. He’s a friend of Robert’s now. Part of the family, he thought bitterly.
‘You?’ Robert demanded of Jake, his voice still menacing enough to make Jake worry.
‘Me, what?’ asked Jake, uncertainly.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Er . . . tea, please. If that’s OK.’
Robert glowered at him, then disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Right,’ said Lauren, sitting down on the settee. ‘Tell Carl what you told me. About what you saw.’
‘You said you’d already told him?’ said Jake, puzzled.
‘Yes, but I want him to hear it from you in case I missed something out.’
So Jake repeated the story to Carl Parsons: the fairy ring, the digger, the worker suddenly being covered with vegetation, the panic, the SAS team arriving, the ambulances, him being ordered home on sick leave by his boss. And the attempt on his life at the underground station.
While Jake was telling his story, Robert appeared with a tray with their drinks on and set them down on the small coffee table, before sitting down with them and joining in listening to Jake.
When Jake had finished, Lauren turned to Parsons. ‘Well?’ she asked.
‘Sounds like fungal spores,’ murmured Parsons.
‘In particular, El Izmir and the greening of the desert,’ added Lauren.
‘And not just the text but the actual spores,’ added Parsons thoughtfully. He shook his head, an expression of awe on his face. ‘It’s not possible, is it? That the fungal spores were actually placed by El Izmir inside the pages of the book?’
Jake looked from Lauren to Parsons, and then back at Lauren again.
‘Would either of you mind telling me what you’re talking about?’ he demanded, annoyed. ‘I’m out of the loop here.’