The Last Enemy(2)

Was the person watching him one of them, wondered Jake. Or had they got into an adjoining carriage, where they could watch him without being observed, and just get off when he did? Or was there even anyone watching him at all? Had his terrifying experiences with the search for the Malichea books made him paranoid?

He got off at King’s Cross. None of the people who’d entered the same carriage as him at Finsbury Park exited with him. But then, that didn’t mean they weren’t watching him. The young black guy could be passing messages on to another watcher via his headphones. Modern technology meant you could be under observation every move you made, wherever you went.

He walked along Euston Road to the British Library. The whole time he still had the same uncomfortable feeling of being kept under watch. He made it to the big red-brick building, checked in his bag at the desk, and then went through to the reading rooms.

Lauren was sitting at one of the computer terminals, and she waved and smiled at him when she saw him walk in.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘It was a bust,’ he admitted. ‘I got there, and . . .’

A short but severe coughing sound of reprimand from the woman at the next computer terminal made him turn. The woman glared at him. Jake gave her an apologetic smile. He mimed drinking a cup of coffee, and Lauren nodded in agreement. She logged out of the computer, gathered up the sheets of paper she’d written her notes on, then she and Jake headed out of the reading room, for the coffee bar on the same floor.

After they’d sat down with their coffee, Jake told her glumly about his abortive trip to Muswell Hill.

‘So, you can say, “I told you so,” ’ he said with a sigh.

‘Not at all,’ said Lauren. ‘It could have been something. After all, The Index is out there somewhere.’

‘But not in Muswell Hill,’ groaned Jake. He gestured towards the reading room. ‘How did you get on?’

‘Brilliant!’ Lauren smiled. ‘They’ve got a copy of a really old herbal from the eleventh century, with recipes for cures for all sorts of diseases.’

Lauren was in the final year of a science degree, with her emphasis on Alternative Sciences.

‘No Malichea book, then,’ said Jake.

‘No,’ said Lauren. ‘But not every ancient science text found its way into the Library of the Order.’

‘Just the key ones,’ said Jake.

‘Mainly the ones threatened with destruction,’ said Lauren. She sipped at her coffee and looked quizzically at Jake. ‘You look worried,’ she said. ‘This Muswell Hill business?’

Jake shook his head.

‘No. Like I said, that was either a practical joke, or — if it was serious — they’ll get in touch later. No, I had this feeling I was being followed.’

‘When?’

‘On the way here. Right from the moment I got on the platform at Finsbury Park.’

Lauren frowned.

‘Did you notice anyone in particular?’

Jake shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. He sighed. ‘It could just be my imagination, but . . .’

He shrugged. Lauren looked around them, at the other people in the cafeteria, and those walking past, going about their business.

‘No one looks particularly suspicious,’ she whispered.

‘They wouldn’t if they were doing their job properly,’ murmured Jake.

‘Why would anyone be following you now?’ Lauren frowned. ‘Let’s face it, it’s been a while since we were actively involved in getting our hands on one of the hidden books.’

‘Yes, but then there was this business of the phone call about The Index, and Muswell Hill.’

‘A hoax,’ said Lauren.

‘Maybe,’ admitted Jake.

They finished their coffee and went down to the check-in desk in the lower lobby to collect their bags. Lauren handed over her numbered plastic disc and collected hers. When the assistant returned with Jake’s disc in his hand, he looked puzzled.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘There seems to be some sort of confusion.’

‘What sort of confusion?’ asked Jake.

‘The item of property related to this disc has gone. The disc is back in its place.’

Jake stared at the assistant, trying to get his brain around what was being said. He looked at the disc in the assistant’s hand, the one he’d just handed over, a round plastic yellow disc with the number 19 in black. And then at a second disc the assistant produced: another yellow plastic disc, absolutely identical to the first, with that same number, 19, in black on it.

‘But . . .’ stammered Jake, bewildered. He looked again at the two identical plastic discs.