The Last Enemy
Jim Eldridge
Chapter 1
Jake Wells still wasn’t sure if it had been a genuine meeting that had been abandoned at the last minute, or someone playing a trick on him.
‘Someone wants to meet you,’ the voice on the phone had told him earlier that morning. ‘They have information about The Index.’
The Index. The Holy Grail for people who were hunting for the hidden books of the Order of Malichea. The list of where each individual book was hidden.
‘Who?’ Jake had asked.
‘No names,’ the voice had said. ‘Be at Muswell Hill Broadway at half past one today. Come alone. They will recognise you.’
And so, at 1.20 p.m., Jake had been at Muswell Hill Broadway, standing in plain sight so that he could be easily spotted. By 1.40 p.m., he was still standing at the same spot, alone and uncontacted. Then, at 1.45 p.m., he’d got a text. ‘Meeting off. In touch later.’
And that was it.
He’d driven back to his and Lauren’s flat in Finsbury Park, all the way still not sure whether it had been a stitch-up from the start, or if the mysterious person had been genuine but had really been forced to cancel at the last minute and would, as they had promised, be ‘in touch later’. As he drove he reflected on how their lives had changed in the six months since Lauren had returned to England. Before, they’d been separated by a whole planet, with Lauren in New Zealand. Now they had a flat of their own, in London, and even a car. And not just a car but Jake’s dream car, a Mini Cooper.
He parked the Mini in the small car park at their block of flats and wondered what to do. He wanted to phone Lauren and tell her what had happened, how it had been a no-show, but she’d told him it was all too simple, that it was highly unlikely that someone would suddenly appear with information that would lead them to The Index. She’d said it would be a set-up, and now he’d have to tell her she’d been right and he’d been wrong. Not that she’d gloat about it, Lauren wasn’t that kind of person, but there’d be just a little hint of smugness about her when he told her, and that would irritate him.
He sat in the car and weighed up his options. He could wait for Lauren to return from the British Library and then tell her his meeting at Muswell Hill had been a waste of time; but he knew she wouldn’t be back till late in the afternoon. Or he could go to the British Library now and meet her, get his pride dented quickly and over with.
OK, he told himself. The British Library it is.
As Jake stood on the platform at Finsbury Park tube station he could swear that he was being watched. It was strange; there was no logical reason for the feeling, but his experiences over the past eighteen months had shown him that he had entered a world where everyone was suspect: so many of the people he’d encountered since he’d started hunting for the hidden books of Malichea hadn’t been what they had seemed to be at first. Harmless-looking people had turned out to be ruthless killers. Apparent villains had turned out to be good guys. And they were just the ones he’d actually encountered. He knew there had to be many more people who’d stayed firmly in the shadows and pulled the strings behind the scenes.
Like now. As he waited for the next train — due in two minutes, according to the display board — a sixth sense he’d developed told him that someone’s eyes were on him. Not just a casual observer, but concentrated on him. When all this had first started, someone had tried to push him to his death under a tube train at Victoria Station. Whenever things got bad, he could still feel the force of that unknown hand against his back, feel himself falling forwards . . .
He looked along the platform. There were about thirty or forty people waiting with him: a mixture of all ages, men and women, young and old, different dress styles. No one stood out.
But that was how they operated, he’d learnt to his cost. People who looked ordinary, nothing special, nothing to attract attention, but who were part of a massive conspiracy to obtain the hidden books of Malichea. People who would do anything to get their hands on them, and especially The Index. People who would kill.
He moved back from his position near the edge of the platform. It wasn’t at all crowded, but Jake was taking no chances.
The train came in and Jake got on board, scrutinising the people who came into the carriage with him. An elderly Asian woman with a shopping bag on wheels. A young black guy, dressed in a smart business suit, wearing headphones, from which Jake could vaguely hear classical music. A pair of teenage girls, chattering away excitedly to one another. An older white guy, shaven-headed and covered with tattoos, who had a deep scowl on his face.