Part 23 (2/2)

'You can look at it this way,' said May. 'Theseus survives.'

'Only because we'll never be allowed to go public with the story. We don't even have a unit anymore.'

'And we can't go public, Arthur, because n.o.body there will ever acknowledge what happened, even if any one person had possession of all the facts.'

'They know, John. And we could let them know that we know. We could get in there.'

'No, no, no.' May shook his head in vehemence. 'We have nothing left, Arthur. As of this minute, we have no official status. What are you going to do, kick the door down and blast everyone with a shotgun?'

'You just said we have no official status. We're off the radar.' Bryant was forced to shout in order to compete with the traffic on Euston Road. 'This may require guerrilla tactics.'

'Don't you think you're a little too old to be thinking about bringing down the government?' asked May.

'I've been thinking about it all my life,' said Bryant with a twinkle in his eye. 'Might as well go out with a bang.'

47.

PANDORA'S BOX.

Arthur Bryant pa.s.sed two six-foot b.u.t.terflies and a red rubber nurse tottering on platform heels before he started to wonder if he really was hallucinating this time.

On Sunday morning at eight o'clock, the only people on the streets of King's Cross were backpackers leaving their hostels and thematically dressed denizens of a large nightclub, all of whom looked very much the worse for wear.

The courtyard door leading to the refurbished office complex behind York Way had been left discreetly ajar by the overqualified Polish cleaners who nightly restored works.p.a.ces to their functional glory. Slipping inside, Bryant crossed the new cobblestones and once more found himself before the gates of Theseus Research.

What an arrogant name, he thought, peering through the bars at the brushed-steel logo adorning the sea of darkened gla.s.s before him. Theseus was both mortal and divine. His father, Poseidon, was the G.o.d of the ocean. Appropriate, considering that Dr Peter Jukes had been washed up on sh.o.r.e, a victim of its turbulent currents.

Bryant had studied the tidal charts and suspected that, as much as he wanted to blame Theseus, suicide could not be ruled out. He supposed no-one would ever get to the absolute truth surrounding Jukes's death. Such is the path of vigilance, he thought. Each single mystery precipitates a dozen more. Then again, Theseus was thrown off a cliff after losing his popularity, so perhaps the company directors might find it best not to behave too much like G.o.ds.

Mandume, the Namibian guard, was in his usual place. Providing twenty-four-hour security for Theseus Research required three men, but Bryant had calculated the s.h.i.+fts correctly. His obvious respect for the security officer and his performance of general doddery politeness stood him in good stead. Mandume saw him and smiled, happy to approach. He even opened the gate slightly to chat.

'Hi there. Any luck with your walking club?'

'We've decided to reroute our tour through another part of town, but thank you for asking. I missed you yesterday, when I came to visit my grandson.'

'My day off,' the guard told him. 'I went to visit my little boy. He lives with his mother.'

'It's difficult to know where to take the kids sometimes, isn't it?' said Bryant, as if he had any clue at all about children and divorced parents.

'He likes dinosaurs, so we went to the Natural History Museum. You know that place?'

'Certainly, I've been there many times. I daresay they shall put me there when I retire. A joke.' The guard had looked blank, but now smiled. 'Why don't you bring your boy here to see where his father works? I'm sure he'd be interested.'

Mandume's smile vanished.'No, no, not here.'

He's heard something, thought Bryant. Secrets have a way of escaping. 'When I came here yesterday I stupidly forgot to leave my grandson's christening gift. His wife gave birth to a baby boy. I wonder, could I go and leave it on his desk? It would only take a moment.'

'Where is your grandson today? Could you not give it to him yourself?'

'No, he has to visit his wife in hospital, and they're not al-lowed to use cell phones inside, so I can't call him.' The lies, he thought, they trip from the tongue so easily I'm almost ashamed of myself.

'Or if I can't leave it on his desk, perhaps you could. I'd be very grateful. No child's birth should go uncelebrated in the eyes of Our Lord, don't you agree?' For a fleeting moment, Bryant wondered if he was overdoing it.

Mandume looked so uncomfortable that Bryant felt bad about pus.h.i.+ng him. 'I could leave it behind reception, in the janitor's room '

'But he may not get it then. He goes straight up to his desk from the car park. You know how things can go missing in a building this size.' Time to show that you've got more front than Selfridge's, thought Bryant. 'Look, I know you're not allowed to go to the laboratories. They are underground, aren't they, and require security pa.s.ses. But I'm also a government employee, and I'll be happy to sign responsibility for the package myself.' He gave Mandume a fleeting glimpse of his police pa.s.s. 'You see, I'm actually a policeman. So surely you could go up to the second-floor reception desk and leave it there.'

The guard glanced back at the building nervously. Bryant knew it was bristling with cameras. 'Sure, I am allowed up there. I can go wherever I want.'

'Thank you, it's a small thing but he'll be so very pleased.' He pa.s.sed the small, ribbon-tied box and card through the gate.

'Hey, no problem. You take care of yourself.'

He trusts me, Bryant thought guiltily as he turned away.

Paradoxically, the idea had come from Harold Masters himself, and his revelation at the beginning of the week that a crystal vial containing the blood of Christ was liable to hold germs that would be dangerous in a modern environment. It had set Bryant thinking, and reminded him that they were employing a man with connections in such a field.

Dan Banbury had done a brilliant job at short notice. If he ever goes to the bad we'll all be in danger; the lad has a terrible knack for such things, Bryant thought, eyeing the innocent package.

Going to the press about Theseus would require leaving a trail back to the PCU, so Dan had suggested that an appropriate way to deal with the company was to send them a message showing that their secret was out. Inside the chocolate box was a soluble membrane filled with a colourless, odourless fluid. Banbury had whipped it up in Kershaw's lab from ordinary household ingredients, using a recipe detailed on an anarchists' Web site.

It would take approximately five hours for the membrane to dissolve at room temperature, releasing the chemical through the slotted plastic base of the box. As it evaporated, the ex-posed oily particles would be drawn into the working ventilation system and would cling to every surface inside the building.

The chemical components would induce mild nausea and vomiting, but would have no lasting effect. However, the offices would need to be evacuated and quarantined while every-thing was cleaned. In a nice touch, Banbury had thought to include the photographs of the four women who had died because of what they knew. Resignations would no doubt be tendered, questions would be asked and new brooms would discreetly sweep clean, but ultimately the company would survive.

As he walked away, it occurred to Bryant that the only person to get hurt by his actions would be the guard. They'll fire Mandume and remove his security status, he thought gloomily.

48.

the LAST fAreweLL On the following Wednesday morning, Arthur Bryant stood motionless in the rain on Gray's Inn Road, watching the iridescent carapaces of black taxis chug past King's Cross station.

Beyond the railway tracks, cranes were moving girders with regal slowness, replacing the demolished Victorian housing blocks with vast gla.s.s boxes. London is becoming an alien place to me, he thought, polyglot, splintered and patchwork. But I think I'm actually learning to like it this way. Perhaps we can finally be whoever we want to be.

Once there were recognisable London types, ranks as distinct and separate as bird families were to twitchers. They had been replaced by fluctuating, instinctive tribes. Now, the occupants seemed united by tension and velocity.

<script>