Pip smiled gently. ‘Of course they do. You’re right, Jude, as always. You are . . .’ He put his hand on Jude’s shoulder. ‘I’m very proud of you, that’s all.’
Jude felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him at Pip’s words – no one had ever said they were proud of him before. No one. But there was no time to bask in the praise, no time to thank Pip or to wonder why the words meant so much to him. Instead he met Pip’s gaze for a second, nodded, then raced to the phone.
‘Hotel Sweeney,’ he said. ‘How’s the weather with you today?’
.
Chapter Eleven
Richard Pincent was scared. It was not an emotion he knew well, not one that sat comfortably with him. Over and over again he paced the floor of his sumptuous office; over and over again he stared out at the London skyline, the dark, cold sky punctuated by tower blocks, by monuments to man’s success, man’s power – his power. He had bestowed the vista of eternity on mankind and now its very existence was threatened.
Even as he watched out of his window, he knew that people were on the streets marching. They were calling for the Underground to be found and bombed; suspected sympathisers were being locked in their houses and torched. A few months ago he would have sat back and enjoyed the spectacle, but now it simply made him more fearful, because eventually the mob would turn on him. Eventually they would discover his lies, realise that he was the enemy and not the Underground, and when they discovered the truth they would come to his doorstep.
He lifted his head miserably and looked out of the window, the darkness and howling wind an apt reflection of his own thoughts. Was this how the Pharaohs felt as the Egyptian empire crumbled into dust? Would Pincent Pharma be a relic like the pyramids, explored by ignorant tourists snapping photographs, understanding nothing? Would Richard die here, in this large white tomb, to be discovered centuries later? He shook his head. Who would find him? Who would be left to find him?
Sighing, he turned to his computer and pressed a button, bringing it out of hibernation.Work had to go on. Memos must be answered, the veneer of normality maintained.
As if on autopilot, he started to decline appointments, agree budgets, delete anything that didn’t interest him. Perhaps if he continued as normal things would be normal, he found himself thinking. But he knew this was a fallacy. Others might believe his lies, but he could no longer deny the gravity of the situation, could no longer avoid the terrible truth. He was the captain of the
Titanic
; he alone knew about the iceberg, knew that the ship was sinking, that no one would survive.
He felt sick. Felt like crying out. But as he wondered to himself if ever a man had felt more wretched than he, his attention was drawn by an icon at the bottom right-hand corner of his screen telling him that he had a network message. Messages were rare – all were filtered by his secretary and her team, ensuring that only the essential got through. But this message was even more curious because it had bypassed the usual route – it had come direct to him instead of through the Pincent server. Only Derek Samuels had a direct line to Richard’s mailbox; only his messages arrived in this way. And yet this message was not from Derek. He looked at the time badge – the message had arrived just seconds before. Apprehensively, Richard opened it. And then his heart lurched.
‘If you want the circle of life, I can give it to you.’
Richard stared at the message, blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, then looked around the room fearfully. Was this a joke? Had someone been watching him? No, impossible. There were cameras in his room now – introduced after the Underground broke into the building when Peter had worked here – but only he had the code to watch the images captured. So how did this person know? Who was it?
He sat, unable to move for several minutes. Then tentatively he leant forward.
‘Who is this?’ he typed back, his heart thudding in his chest.
‘That doesn’t matter. If you want the circle of life you can have it. But there’s something I want too.’
Richard’s eyes widened, then he pulled his chair towards his desk. It was a trick. It had to be a trap. But what kind of trap? And what if it wasn’t? What if this person really had what he so desperately needed? If they had a lifeboat, if they had the ability to mend the ship, then he had to accept their offer. Didn’t he?
‘I want it,’ he typed slowly, tentatively. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’ll come to that. You know you gave it away once. If you want it back, you’re going to have to do as I say.’
Richard’s mind was racing. He’d given it away? Was it a riddle?
‘I gave it away? I don’t understand.’
‘No. I imagine you don’t. You had a ring, didn’t you? Peter’s ring?’
Richard’s stomach lurched. Peter’s ring. His grandson – the grandson Richard thought was dead until he was discovered by the Catchers. The ring had been with him, had been taken into custody, had found its way to Richard because of its initials – AF. Albert Fern. It had been Albert’s ring. Given to Margaret, then to Peter. And Richard had never even thought to look at it properly. It was an ugly thing – he remembered Albert wearing it. Was it really the circle of life? Why would Albert have wanted to protect it? Why was it so important?
He closed his eyes and tried to picture it, turning it over in his mind. On the inside, Albert’s initials. On the top, an engraving – a poor one, as if Albert had done it himself. Of a flower. Some kind of flower.
Richard opened a drawer and pulled out Albert’s notes and scribblings. Frantically, he turned over pages until he found it. A sketch only, but it was unmistakable – the flower. But what did it mean? He picked up his phone. ‘Derek,’ he said urgently. ‘Derek, I need you in here now.’
A minute later, Derek was by his side, his eyes widening as he saw the messages. ‘How?’ he asked, his face paling as he realised it was his own security system that had been breached.
‘That doesn’t matter now,’ Richard said quickly. ‘What matters is the ring. What was it Albert said when you took him away? That the circle of life had to be protected? Could he have meant the ring? Do you think this is a hoax or could the ring really be important.’
Derek didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he shook his head slightly.
‘Derek?’ Richard asked, frowning. ‘Derek, what is it?’
Derek looked up, his eyes narrowed, deep in thought. ‘He knew,’ he said simply.
‘Knew what?’ Richard asked impatiently. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Albert,’ Derek said. ‘He knew. Before I took him. The way he reacted. He was expecting it.’
‘Expecting to be killed?’
‘He said that you’d never find the formula. He said you could search everywhere but you’d never find it. The way he said it, I think he knew you would try to find it. I think he was prepared.’
Richard nodded, frowning as he frantically tried to cast his mind back, tried to remember. He remembered the ring, remembered seeing it in Maggie’s jewellery box one day. He’d assumed it had been there for a long time, that Albert had given it to her long before. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t wanted to draw attention to it because of the inevitable questions – about Grandpa, about what had happened to him. It was the ring she’d given to Peter, the ring Richard had held in his hands.
‘The ring was Maggie’s though. How did he get it to her?’ he asked, trying to make sense of what he’d been told. ‘Maggie never saw him before he died.’
‘Who knows?’ Derek said. ‘She went to school, didn’t she? There were opportunities. He must have had it engraved with the formula, then given it to her.’
‘Yes,’ Richard breathed. ‘Of course. The eternal circle of life. He put the formula on the ring.’
‘And you had it all that time,’ Derek said.
Richard looked at him, his teeth gritted. ‘And I’ll get it back. You’ll get it back for me.’
Derek didn’t reply, but Richard barely noticed. All he knew was that his prayers had been answered. The ring. He would have the ring and he would have his salvation. Everything would be restored.
He turned back to his computer. ‘You have the ring?’ he typed. ‘Then you also know the whereabouts of my grandson?’
Catchers had been looking in vain for Peter and Anna for a year, ever since Peter had humiliated him in front of his employees, in front of the media. Richard’s heart quickened at the thought of finally finding him, of wreaking his revenge.
‘You need the circle of life, not Peter,’ the message came back.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. Then he shook himself. First the ring; everything else would follow. ‘Very well,’ he typed. ‘The ring. Name your terms.’
He read the message that came back and smiled, then laughed. He felt so happy, so relieved, he could have danced. He was being asked for so little for so much. His heart lifting, he turned to Derek. ‘I want every Catcher to be given Peter’s picture and told to search only for him. Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly, sir,’ Derek said, his eyes glinting.
‘Good,’ Richard said, leaning back in his chair as relief was replaced by delighted malevolence. ‘I think we need to up the stakes. I want the Underground destroyed beyond any chance of repair. And in the meantime, I’ve got a visit I want to make. Call the prison, will you? Let them know I’m on my way.’
There was a bang at the door and Peter, who’d been dragging potatoes into the store, looked up in surprise. Anna, who’d been changing Molly’s nappy – a makeshift affair of tea towels, loo roll and cotton wool – turned round and caught his eye. He could see a flicker of something cross her face – anxiety, he presumed. He shot her a reassuring look, then went to the door, opening it cautiously.
But it was only the wind. Of course it was, Peter thought ruefully. They never had visitors. They were miles from anyone.
‘There’s no one there?’ Anna asked. She sounded worried as always.
Peter rolled his eyes. Ever since he’d received a message from the Underground that morning he’d been restless, agitated. He’d assumed the message was from Jude; it had come from his address. But there had been no sign-off, no banter, just a request. It made him feel insignificant – increased his feeling of isolation, of being cut off from everything.
‘Believe me,’ he said, more sarcastically than was warranted, ‘if we were in any kind of danger we’d know about it. Pip would tell us right away.’
Anna looked at him piercingly. ‘You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.’
Peter blanched slightly – he hadn’t meant to. Not really. Then he shrugged. ‘It’s just that Pip said we were going to be up here for a few months,’ he said. ‘We’ve been here a year now.’
‘I know. It’s amazing, isn’t it? I mean, it’s lovely up here. The children can play outside and we’re left alone . . .’ She met his eyes; he could see that she wanted to say more but was loath to in case he reacted badly. They’d had this conversation so many times lately, Peter always venting his boredom, his frustration, and Anna getting more and more anxious. It was his fault, he knew it – he should be happy up here. But he couldn’t be, not so far away from the action, not so far away from everything.
‘Left alone. You said it,’ he said gruffly, knowing as the words left his mouth that he should have kept them in. It wasn’t Anna’s fault he felt out of the loop, wasn’t her fault that he’d been turning Jude’s message over and over in his head all morning. What did it mean? Why hadn’t he said more? Had Pip told Jude not to tell him? Were they gradually severing the link? Did they not think Peter was useful any more?
‘We’ll go back eventually, you know we will,’ Anna said gently, standing up, moving towards him, putting her hand on his shoulder. He knew he was in the wrong and yet she was mollifying him, was being so understanding. He loved her more than he could ever put into words, and yet . . .
‘I have to go. I got a message. I have to go to London.’ He said it quietly, braced himself for Anna’s response. The message had said to send his ring down to London via their watcher. Not to ask any questions, not to tell anyone else about the message. It hadn’t said to bring it himself. It hadn’t suggested that Peter should leave the safe house.
But that only made it more important to Peter that he go. It was time – time for him to be in the thick of things again. He was sick of being at arm’s length from the Underground, sick of being out of the loop, treated like a child. He’d heard about the attacks; he’d heard about Underground sympathisers being stoned on the streets. But he hadn’t heard it from the Underground itself, only from the newsfeed. He should be there to fight, not safe and sound in the middle of nowhere.
‘What?’ Anna’s hand had left his shoulder; now, instead of quietly supporting him, she was towering over him. ‘Why?’
‘Because they need me. Because I want to be part of the Underground again.’ His voice was tentative, like a child asking for something it knows it isn’t going to get.
‘You
are
part of the Underground. It was the Underground’s idea for us to be here, remember?’ Anna moved away; he knew she wanted to end the conversation.
‘We’re not doing anything,’ he heard himself say, unable to leave it, unable to accept his frustrations. ‘Except grow food and eat it. People are disappearing. The Underground has sabotaged Longevity. Things are happening and we should be part of it.’