The Invisible Assassin (4 page)

As the train neared Finsbury Park, his mind turned back to what had happened at the dig, and then at the department afterwards. The words ‘Sigma’ and ‘Malichea’ hung in his mind. What were they references to? Something to do with what had happened at the dig, he was sure. But what had happened? He’d seen a man find something wrapped in leather, and open it up to reveal a book. He’d opened the book and then been turned into some kind of mass of vegetation. It sounded like a sci-fi or horror film plot, or something to do with a sort of weird unusual science thing.

As he thought the words ‘weird unusual science thing’, his mind automatically went to Lauren, his former girlfriend, of very recent and painful times. He suspected he’d deliberately dredged up the phrase about ‘weird science’ just so he could think of her. Not that he needed any excuse, he often thought of her. Too often. It was a pity she obviously never thought of him these days.

How long had it been since he’d last spoken to her? Three months? And the conversation they’d had then could hardly have been called ‘speaking’. She’d hung up on him. And that had been that. Maybe he was just using this as an excuse to talk to her again. Try and start things up again, maybe. Fat chance, he admitted to himself. But then, stranger things had happened.
Were
happening.

As he called up her number, he felt a thrill of anticipation. He heard the call tone, then her voice, still sending a shudder through him the same as always, even with that one brief word:

‘Yes?’

Doing his very best to keep his voice calm and relaxed, he said, ‘Hi, Lauren. It’s Jake.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I saw your name.’

Was that a good thing? he wondered. She still had his number saved. But then, from the cold tone in her voice, maybe it wasn’t a good thing after all.

He was about to press on, when she said, ‘You’ve got a nerve, calling me. After what you did.’

His heart sank. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d hurt her. OK, what he’d done was unforgivable, the sort of thing people don’t forget. But he’d hoped time might have helped her forgive him . . . even just a little bit. From the hurt tone of her voice, forgiveness was still a long way off. He took a deep breath, then said, ‘Lauren, this isn’t about
us
 . . .’

‘Of course it’s about us. You’re calling me, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, but not about us. It’s about some weird science thing . . .’

Even as he said it he knew it was the wrong word.

‘Weird?’

Her tone on that one was definitely hostile.

‘Sorry, not weird. Unorthodox. Unconventional. Look, can I see you? I need to talk about this. I promise not to . . . well . . . start anything.’

Again, he mentally kicked himself for sounding like some desperate love-sick twelve-year-old. Pull yourself together, for heaven’s sake! he told himself sharply. ‘Lauren, something odd’s happening.’ His tone was firmer now, more self-assured. A concerned tone, sincere, the tone he used on his job as trainee press officer in order to invoke confidence, no matter how big a lie he was spinning. ‘You’re the only one I can think of who might be able to throw some light on it.’

There was a pause, then she said, ‘OK. I’ve got a lecture at eleven, then nothing after twelve thirty. Let’s meet somewhere neutral. In the square in front of the British Library. One o’clock.’

‘One o’clock,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll see you there.’

As he hung up, he realised he was smiling. He was going to see Lauren again. OK, it wasn’t a date. In fact, it wasn’t really anything except her agreeing to see him to answer some questions about science. It was the sort of thing she might do for anyone, but, considering what had happened between them at the end, she had agreed to see him. It was a start.

In a large and expensive-looking office on the thirtieth floor of a hi-tech building overlooking the Thames, a phone rang. The man in the office picked it up.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘We’ve got an intercept,’ said a voice. ‘The target has made contact, cell phone to cell phone.

‘Who did he call?’

‘A Lauren Graham. She’s in her second year of a degree in Theoretical Sciences at the University of London. They’re meeting in the square in front of the British Library in Euston Road at thirteen hundred hours.’

‘OK,’ said the man. ‘Set the dogs on them.’

Chapter 5

One o’clock found Jake sitting at a metal table with a cup of coffee in the precinct in front of the British Library, scanning the people as they came in. He wondered if Lauren would be on time. She always had been punctual; he was the one who was usually late. But today, he wanted to show her he’d changed. He was on time.

What had happened had been so stupid.
He’d
been so stupid.

They’d met soon after he’d landed the trainee press officer’s job at the Department of Science. He’d been taken to the University of London by an older press officer to show him the ropes, and to talk to some of the students about their work. It was for an article about ‘Scientists of the Future’. The facts and figures Jake had been presented with on that day had been overwhelming, and mind-numbing; but one person had stood out among all the others, a first-year student called Lauren Graham. Jake had stopped listening to what she was saying about something called Theoretical Sciences after a minute and had lost himself in her beautiful blue eyes. To his surprise, she seemed quite interested in him, especially once she’d found out that he hadn’t come from a university background. The fact that both had no memory of their parents was another bond.

Lauren’s parents had been killed soon after she was born, and she’d been brought up by her paternal grandparents, both of whom were now dead. At the end of that day, Jake asked her out; and she said yes.

For six months they’d gone out together, getting closer and closer. So close that Jake had been on the point of asking her about moving in with him. And then there had been The Wedding. A friend of Lauren’s was getting married, and he and Lauren had gone to the ceremony and the reception. It had seemed to Jake that Lauren was spending an awful lot of time talking to some rugby-playing bloke she knew. Too much time. Smiling at him, laughing, touching his arm, even flicking her fingers through his hair as she pretended to examine his scalp for nits. Robert, that had been his name. Robert the rugby player. And Jake had got fed up with it. And he did the unforgivable. He went off and found one of the bridesmaids, who’d already given him the eye earlier during the ceremony, and he’d got off with her in the bushes behind the drinks tent. Where Lauren had discovered them when she’d come looking for him.

He shuddered even now as he thought about it. He’d tried blaming an excess of drink, but it hadn’t washed. It hadn’t deserved to. In that one stupid act he’d finished them.

He’d tried to talk to her since, but she’d just hung up on him. He’d tried hanging around places he knew she went, but she had successfully avoided him, her friends had seen to that. The same when he’d tried calling on her at the university. Each time he’d received very firm instructions that ‘Ms Graham does not wish to see you’.

And Robert the rugby player had called at Jake’s flat one day and warned him that if he didn’t lay off, then he, Robert, would make sure that Jake would be in no state to carry on chasing Lauren this way. Jake took the hint.

Six weeks ago, he’d sent her a birthday card to mark her nineteenth birthday, and written ‘Sorry’ inside the card, but she hadn’t replied.

He sipped at his coffee and checked his watch. Five past one. She wasn’t coming. She was paying him back. She was standing him up.

And then he saw her, entering the precinct, looking around for him. Seeing her, her long coat swirling around her legs, her slim briefcase held under one arm, her long dark hair framing her face, he felt a pain inside and he wanted to rush to her and grab her, kiss her, hold her as he’d held her so many times before. Instead, he stood up and waved, and she walked slowly over. There was a look of wariness on her face.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Thanks for coming. Coffee? Tea?’

‘Nothing,’ she said.

She sat down.

‘So,’ she said. ‘Unconventional science.’

‘Or maybe hallucination,’ said Jake. ‘At least, that’s what the doctor at the department said. Caused by a leak of toxic gas.’

Lauren didn’t reply, just sat waiting for Jake to go on.

‘This isn’t easy for me,’ said Jake.

‘Nor for me,’ said Lauren. She hesitated, and looked as if she was about to say something personal. Her eyes still held that wounded look he’d seen in them at the wedding. But instead she sighed and said, ‘Let’s stick to the science, Jake.’

Jake nodded, and he told her what had happened, starting with the protestors and the ‘fairy ring’, and then the actual events at the building site: the construction worker turning into something inhuman. And about his feelings that his department was trying to conceal something. All the while Lauren listened, and Jake was relieved to notice that her expression had softened as he talked, her eyes showing curiosity.

‘There was nothing on the news about this,’ she said, when he’d finished. ‘Or on the web.’

‘The department put a Schedule D notice on the story,’ said Jake. ‘A news blackout.’

‘And where do I come in?’ asked Lauren.

‘Because I thought it was your kind of thing,’ said Jake. ‘Odd stuff. I mean, say it wasn’t a hallucination but it was real. It
felt
real. It still feels real.’

‘And how would you know if it was?’

Jake hesitated, then asked, ‘Have you ever heard of Sigma?’

Lauren nodded.

‘It’s a letter of the Greek alphabet.’

‘Not the Greek alphabet one. It could be a code or something. Maybe a secret organisation.’

Lauren shook her head.

‘How about Malichea . . . ?’

‘The Order of Malichea?’

Jake could tell she was intrigued by his mentioning the word. He shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ said Jake. ‘Possibly. It was a word written in a report about this incident in the files at the department.’

‘The reference might make sense, if it is,’ mused Lauren. ‘I wanted to write a thesis on the Order of Malichea, but my professor said the subject wasn’t academic enough. In fact, he said it was more suitable for science fiction.’

‘Why?’

Lauren shrugged.

‘Narrow-minded, I guess, like much of the scientific establishment.’

‘Well . . . who are they? This . . . Order of Malichea?’

‘Were,’ corrected Lauren. ‘They were a religious order, or semi-religious, devoted to the study of science. In particular, what were called “heretical sciences”. Things that didn’t fit with what the Church said. They died out soon after 1536. Henry VIII and the dissolution of the monasteries, remember?’

‘Not particularly,’ said Jake. ‘Religion was never my strong point. So they . . . what? Looked into this kind of thing?’

Lauren nodded.

‘More than looked into it. They collected this kind of thing. Science texts from all over the world, especially the Arab world, which was way ahead of the West scientifically in the eighth and ninth centuries. Which did not go down well with the Church of the time, or later. Remember the Inquisition?’

Jake grinned.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Monty Python. Everyone remembers the Spanish Inquisition.’

Lauren gave him a stern look.

‘I’m being serious,’ she said. ‘The Inquisition wasn’t confined to Spain. So, according to legend, the Order of Malichea hid all the science texts somewhere safe so that they wouldn’t be destroyed by the Church. And not just the Church. Certain kings also thought some of these scientific ideas were dangerous and ought to be suppressed. Many of these sciences were thought of as subversive.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they questioned the orthodox theory of how the world worked. Remember, even in the twentieth century such books were banned. The Nazis ordered them burned. The Catholic Church also ordered them destroyed. Anything that contradicted the official line on how the universe was made and worked. And these books weren’t just doing things like claiming that the sun orbited the earth and not the other way round, as Galileo said, and which was thought of as a terrible heresy, for which he was killed. When you think the library of the Order of Malichea was said to have books on subjects like invisibility; turning ordinary metal into gold; the quest for eternal life; raising the dead . . .’

‘Sorcery and witchcraft,’ said Jake.

‘Exactly.’ Lauren nodded. ‘And even more so when you add books on time travel, mind-reading, levitation, telekinesis . . .’

‘Telekinesis?’ queried Jake.

‘Moving things just by using the power of your mind,’ clarified Lauren. ‘Then there were said to be texts on genetic engineering, seeing into the future . . .’

‘Dangerous stuff.’

‘Very. It’s said that if this library actually existed and the sciences had been put into practice, we’d have been on the moon five hundred years before we actually were. Plus treatments would have been found by now for most diseases.’ She thought for a bit, then added, ‘I’ve actually still got my notes on the Order of Malichea. I’ve thought about writing a book about them, if I can find a sympathetic publisher, that is. The problem is, I want it to be a proper book, not some weirdo thing for fantasy geeks, and that’s not going to be easy.’