‘In my opinion, you were right first time, Jake,’ he said. ‘Trying to find another one could take . . . well . . . years. This offers our best opportunity.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Lauren. ‘That makes sense.’
Beaten with my own words! thought Jake gloomily. ‘OK.’ He nodded.
From the front of the van, Robert called out, ‘How much longer do you want me to keep driving around. Lizzie soaks up fuel like a sponge. I’m going to have to find a petrol station if we’re going to go on much longer.’
‘We’re finished, thanks, Robert!’ called Lauren. To Jake she said, ‘Right, it’s up to you, Jake. You have to find out where they’ve taken the book!’
Chapter 10
As Jake walked through the imposing entrance of the Department of Science at 9 a.m. on Thursday morning – his twenty-four-hour sojourn over – his mind was in turmoil. Find out where they’ve taken the book! Lauren’s instructions screamed at him. Impossible!
He’d spent the whole of the last day thinking about it. Worrying about it.
Gareth knew he’d been digging into the Order of Malichea, he was sure of it. He had discovered him in the archives, and Jake was certain he would have asked the clerks there what Jake had been looking for. Gareth had sent him home. And it had been on his way home that someone had tried to push him under a tube train. The connection was obvious, and it sent shivers down his spine. Gareth was behind the attempt to kill him.
And now he was going back into the lion’s den. Back into this building where Gareth ruled the roost and could order him to go here or there, to places that could be dangerous. Over the past two days Jake’s mind had played out all sorts of scenarios. Gareth calling Jake and sending him on an assignment to a steelworks somewhere, where he could suffer an accident with molten metal and be killed. Although his own awareness of UK industry told him that nearly all the steelworks in Britain had closed down and most steel production now went on in India. He couldn’t see Gareth sending him out to Mumbai to have him killed – too expensive, especially with the taxpayer footing the bill.
A road accident, thought Jake. That’s how most political assassinations seemed to be carried out. Car crashes. People run over on pedestrian crossings. But only low-level people, of course. Jake couldn’t believe that anyone important would actually be walking anywhere, let alone across a pedestrian crossing. Important people were driven everywhere. Walking in London was for low-level civil servants. People like Jake. So, for the past twenty-four hours, Jake had spent most of his time in his flat. When he did go out, like this morning to go to work, he made sure that he only crossed a road if there was a crowd of people crossing at the same time.
I’m getting paranoid, he thought. Especially since Lauren gave me all that stuff to read. The hidden books. Henry VIII killing the Abbot of Glastonbury. We’ve got a long tradition of political assassinations in this country, thought Jake.
‘Jake!’
The voice stopped him short as he crossed the marble entrance hall to the stairs. It was Gareth Findlay-Weston. Why was he here? Had he been deliberately waiting for Jake?
Jake fought to keep down the feeling of panic welling up in him and turned to face Gareth as he came to him.
‘You’re back.’ Gareth smiled.
No thanks to you, thought Jake acidly.
Gareth’s face suddenly went into an expression of deep concern.
‘How are you, Jake?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine, thank you, Gareth.’
‘No recurrence of the . . . the problem?’
Jake forced what he hoped sounded like a light laugh.
‘No,’ he said. Then he put on his best sincere expression. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened. Thinking I was seeing things at that site, I mean.’ He gave what he hoped was a rueful chuckle. ‘A man turning into a vegetable! God! I must have seemed like a complete loon.’
Gareth visibly relaxed.
‘I must admit, you had us all worried.’
‘Luckily, the pills the doctor gave me sorted me out. They must have flushed the toxic whatever it was – the gases – through my system.’
‘So, no after-effects?’
Jake shook his head.
‘No. The brain’s back in working order.’ He smiled. ‘No little green men or flying elephants.’
‘Excellent!’ Gareth beamed. He clapped Jake heartily on the shoulder. ‘The department will be very relieved to have you back! That incident the other day really set the cat among the pigeons! You know . . .’
‘The hallucinogenic stuff,’ finished Jake with a rueful sigh. He forced a smile. ‘Luckily, as I experienced it myself, I might be able to answer some of the questions. Scotch any rumours and gossip.’