The Last Enemy (2 page)

‘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.

‘You mean you have two discs here, with exactly the same number on them?’ he asked, stunned.

The assistant shook his head.

‘No, absolutely not,’ he said. ‘We only have one of each number. But it seems that this disc, number nineteen, has already been used to remove the item.’

‘But it’s my bag!’ exploded Jake. ‘Mine! I left it here! And I was given that disc!’

‘I know that’s what you say, sir, but we don’t have duplicate discs . . .’ began the assistant.

‘Then who’s taken my bag?’ demanded Jake angrily.

The sound of Jake’s raised voice, and the tone of anger in it, brought a man in the uniform of a security guard hurrying over.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

‘Yes, there certainly is!’ burst out Jake. ‘Someone has stolen my bag!’

The assistant’s face tightened and he said tersely, ‘We don’t know that for sure, sir. If you’d calm down . . . Are you sure you handed the bag into the counter in the first place?’

‘Yes, and I was given that plastic disc!’ snapped back Jake, exasperated. ‘And if you ask the woman who gave me that disc, she’ll confirm it was me. Ask your colleague to come here. A woman, about fifty, blonde hair. Glasses. Irish accent.’

‘Dervla.’ The assistant nodded. ‘I’m afraid she’s left for the day. Her shift’s ended.’

‘What about the person who handed in the disc and took the bag?’ asked Lauren.

‘They didn’t give it to me,’ said the assistant. ‘The only other person who’s been here this afternoon is Mo.’ He turned and called, ‘Mo!’, and a young man in a uniform appeared from behind the scenes.

‘Yes?’ asked Mo.

The assistant held out the plastic disc with the number 19 on it.

‘Did you take this in?’ he asked.

Mo looked at the disc, then nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘About five minutes ago.’

‘Who collected it?’ asked the security guard.

‘A woman,’ said Mo. ‘In her early twenties, I’d guess.’ He looked at Lauren. ‘About your age and height. Black hair.’

‘And she gave you this disc?’ persisted Jake.

‘Yes.’ Mo nodded.

Jake turned to the security guard.

‘You’d better call the police,’ he said. ‘Someone’s stolen my bag.’

‘We don’t know that,’ said the security guard defensively.

‘Yes we do,’ said Jake firmly. ‘Check with this Dervla, she’ll confirm, it was me who handed the bag in and the disc she gave me. And you’ve heard this man say he gave the bag to a woman.’

‘I’m sure it must be just a mistake,’ said the assistant in a hopeful tone. ‘A mix-up.’

Jake pointed to the two identical yellow plastic discs, both with the number 19 on them.

‘Not with those two, it’s not,’ he said.

The security guard looked at the two plastic discs, at Mo, and weighed up the situation. Then he announced, ‘If you’d come with me to the office, we’ll begin our investigation.’

Jake and Lauren followed the security guard to an inner office, where they discovered that ‘beginning the investigation’ meant filling in forms; in particular, Jake’s name and address, a description of Jake’s bag, and a list of the bag’s contents. When that list consisted of a bar of chocolate, a bag of peanuts and a bottle of water, the security guard looked warily at Jake.

‘Why would anyone want to steal these items?’ he asked.

‘I’m not saying they did,’ said Jake. ‘I’m saying they stole the bag, because of what they thought
might
be in it.’

‘And what did they think might be in it?’ asked the security guard.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Jake. ‘Who knows how thieves think? They see a bag and snatch it, and then look to see what’s in it.’

‘But, if what you’re saying is true, then there’s a lot more to this than a casual bag-snatching,’ pointed out the security guard. ‘You’re suggesting that someone prepared a duplicate disc, with the same number on it . . .’

‘It needn’t have been the same number already on it,’ pointed out Jake. ‘It could have been a blank disc, and when they saw the number I’d been given, they put that number, nineteen, on afterwards.’

‘But why would they do that?’ asked the security guard. ‘Just for a small bag with some snacks in it? If it was a scam to steal a bag, surely they’d use that same blank disc and put a number on when they saw a bag that looked like it might contain something valuable.’

Because they didn’t know what was in the bag, thought Jake. Whoever did this thought the bag held some information to do with the Order of Malichea, possibly about The Index. I was right, I was followed.

‘I don’t know,’ said Jake. ‘All I know is that someone used that duplicate disc to steal my bag from your cloakroom.’

‘And we’ll certainly report it to the police and investigate it,’ said the security guard.

‘I’ll report it to the police as well,’ said Jake. But in his heart he knew it was a waste of time. Whoever had snatched his bag had planned this carefully. Someone was after him. Again.

Chapter 2

Jake and Lauren rode the Tube back to Finsbury Park in a kind of shock.

‘The meeting at Muswell Hill wasn’t a hoax,’ said Jake. ‘Someone else knew about it and thought I’d picked up some sort of information at that meeting, and they thought I’d put it in my bag for safe keeping.’

‘But if they’d been watching you, they’d have known that the person didn’t actually turn up. That you never actually met them,’ pointed out Lauren.

‘Maybe they couldn’t be sure,’ said Jake. ‘They see people pass me by while I’m standing there, and for all they know someone had slipped something to me. A book. A piece of paper.’

Lauren shook her head.

‘Who?’ she asked.

‘No idea,’ admitted Jake. ‘It could be any of the people we’ve come across since we started. Pierce Randall. MI5. The Watchers. Or maybe it’s somebody completely new.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, for the moment we can forget about them. The only thing we know is they’ve got my bag.’

‘Yes, but when they find out it’s just got a bar of chocolate and a packet of nuts and a bottle of water, maybe they’ll come after you again,’ suggested Lauren.

‘Good point,’ muttered Jake. ‘Once we get into the flat, we’ll lock all the doors firmly and barricade ourselves in for the evening.’

‘Do I get to choose which DVD we watch?’ asked Lauren with a smile. ‘Nothing too scary, I promise.’

Jake grinned.

‘Sorry, I know I’m starting to get paranoid,’ he said.

‘It’s only a bag,’ stressed Lauren. ‘We’ve been in a lot worse situations and come out of them OK.’

As they neared their small block of flats they were still joking about some of the life-threatening situations they’d been in, when suddenly Jake stopped in his tracks and any smile on his face vanished.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Lauren.

‘Two men waiting outside our block,’ he muttered.

Lauren followed his look, and gave a sharp intake of breath.

‘I think we’d better go,’ she murmured.

‘Good idea,’ said Jake.

He turned, and as he did so he found a large man standing in his way. A tall thin woman was beside the man. Both were holding out what appeared to be police warrant cards.

‘Mr Jacob Wells? I’m Inspector Bullen from the CID. This is Detective Sergeant Aziz.’

Automatically, Jake stepped back, prepared to run, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the two men from his block of flats hurrying towards them. Inspector Bullen was still speaking, and as his words registered, Jake felt his mouth open in shock.

‘I am arresting you on suspicion of being involved in the murder of Alexander Munro . . .’

‘Munro!’ Jake echoed. ‘What?’

‘You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say may be taken down and may be used as evidence,’ continued Bullen. With that, he turned to the two men, who had now arrived. ‘Handcuff Mr Wells and put him in the car.’

‘No!’ yelled Jake. ‘I didn’t do anything!’

As the two men took hold of Jake and handcuffed him, Lauren demanded, ‘Where are you taking him? I’m his girlfriend and I’ll be contacting his legal representative, so I insist on knowing where you are taking him.’

‘We’re not sure yet,’ said Bullen. ‘That depends.’

They’re not real policemen, thought Jake with alarm. If they were, they’d name the station they’re taking me to.

‘Phone Gareth,’ Jake said to Lauren. ‘Tell him what’s happened.’

‘I need to know where you are taking him,’ persisted Lauren doggedly.

‘We’re taking him to Holloway Road station,’ said Bullen, ‘but the chances are we’ll be moving him on for questioning. If you give me your phone number, we’ll contact you as soon as we know which station Mr Wells is being held at.’

‘Phone Gareth!’ repeated Jake urgently.

‘Who is Gareth?’ asked Bullen.

‘You’ll soon find out,’ said Jake.

And let’s hope I’m not exaggerating, thought Jake. Gareth Findlay-Weston, Jake’s boss at the Department of Science and a covert section head of MI5, had pulled strings on Jake’s behalf before. As the police officers pushed the handcuffed Jake into the back of the police car, Jake prayed that Gareth would be able to get him out of this one too.

The interview room was small, almost claustrophobic. The walls were painted a deep dark green, making it seem even smaller. There were no external windows; just one large internal blacked-out window in one wall. People outside could see in, but people in the room couldn’t see out. The overhead strip lights blazed harshly down.

Jake sat at the one table in the room looking at Detective Inspector Bullen, who sat opposite him. DS Usma Aziz sat next to DI Bullen. A uniformed constable stood by the door.

I should have someone here with me, thought Jake. This was the fourth or fifth time he’d found himself in a police interrogation room since he’d first become involved in the hidden library of the Order of Malichea. I should be used to it by now, he thought. But he wasn’t. There was still that feeling of helplessness that came with being in a windowless room, with accusing glares from unsmiling police officers.

‘Shouldn’t I have a solicitor with me?’ he asked.

‘This is just an initial interview,’ said Bullen.

‘Yes, but I’m accused of murdering someone,’ defended Jake.

‘Do you have a solicitor?’ asked Bullen. ‘This person you mentioned? Gareth?’

No, thought Jake. I used to have Alex Munro at Pierce Randall, but now he’s dead and I’m accused of killing him . . .

‘No,’ said Jake. ‘But my partner, Lauren, will be arranging one through Gareth. He’s my boss.’

‘And Gareth’s full name?’ asked Bullen.

‘Gareth Findlay-Weston at the Department of Science,’ replied Jake. ‘I’m a press officer there.’

He wondered whether DI Bullen knew that Gareth was a head of section with MI5. He doubted it. Gareth’s true role as a spook was only known high up the chain of command.

He looked around the interrogation room. Jake had been relieved when they’d actually pulled up outside a police station. He’d been sure that they’d been fake police officers with fake IDs, the next stage of trying to find out what Jake had picked up from his meeting at Muswell Hill. But no, they’d brought him to a real police station.

‘Has anyone told Lauren where I am?’ asked Jake. ‘She’ll need to know in order to arrange my solicitor.’

‘And I suppose she’ll arrange it with this boss of yours,’ said Bullen. ‘Gareth.’

‘Yes,’ said Jake.

‘He must be a very good boss if he doesn’t mind being disturbed on a Saturday night,’ said Bullen. ‘We find that’s very rare in the Civil Service.’

‘Gareth is a very rare boss,’ said Jake. ‘And can you please answer my question: has anyone told Lauren where I am? You said you’d let her know.’

‘That’s all in hand,’ said Bullen.

‘I’m allowed a phone call,’ said Jake. ‘I’d like to make that call now. To Lauren. To tell her where I am.’

Bullen looked directly at Jake.

‘If you give us her number, we’ll make that call,’ he said.

‘She gave it to you already,’ protested Jake. ‘I saw her give it you. Anyway, I thought I was allowed to make the call myself.’

‘That is a popular misconception.’ Bullen nodded. ‘And yes, she did give us her number. But just to make sure we’re calling the right one, if you could give it to us yourself?’

Jake gritted his teeth to stop himself from shouting out loud angrily. He knew it wouldn’t do him any good. He was sure they were playing for time, making sure they kept him for as long as possible without a lawyer being present; but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it right now. They were in charge.