The Invisible Assassin (6 page)

‘No, it’s not,’ Lauren said. ‘I said that to Jake in the precinct in front of the British Library, out in the open air, and unless the table we were sitting at was bugged . . .’

‘Directional microphones,’ said Parsons. ‘State-of-the-art surveillance equipment. Parabolic mics. You can pick up a conversation in the open air from fifty metres. Even further with the latest technology.’

Lauren looked shocked. She shook her head. ‘But how would anyone know that we were worth bugging?’

‘Because of what happened to me this morning, getting kicked out of the department,’ said Jake. ‘It was me they were bugging, waiting to see who I contacted. And I contacted you.’ He gave an apologetic sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. Well . . . I did, but I didn’t think it would lead to this. I’m really sorry.’

‘I’m not,’ said Lauren.

Jake looked at her in surprise.

‘But . . .’ he began. Lauren didn’t let him finish.

‘I’ve always wanted to write a book about the Order of Malichea. This is all about what you could call “lost sciences”. Science books that the Order hid hundreds of years ago because the sciences in them were deemed “dangerous” by the powers that be. As far as I knew, all the evidence about the Order of Malichea and their lost sciences was circumstantial, stories with some evidence to back them up, but nothing tangible. Nothing solid.
This
is solid.’

Jake frowned, puzzled.

‘I don’t get you,’ he said.

‘The event that happened in Bedfordshire, the building worker turning into something weird,’ said Lauren ‘You saw that.’

‘Yes,’ said Jake. ‘I swear I did.’

‘The attempts by this boss of yours . . .’

‘Gareth Findlay-Weston.’ Jake nodded.

‘. . . by him to persuade you it was all a hallucination. And now this burglary, my laptop and my notes on the Order of Malichea being taken as a warning. It means there
is
hard evidence, and someone’s got it, and they don’t want it being known about as real instead of just some . . . weird stuff.’

‘You’re jumping to a bit of a conclusion,’ said Parsons doubtfully.

‘I am – a logical conclusion,’ said Lauren.

‘A
circumstantial
conclusion,’ challenged Parsons.

Good, thought Jake. Please argue between you.

‘I know what’s happened so far points to that, but there could be another explanation which we’re missing, because we don’t have all the information,’ insisted Parsons. ‘And there’s another thing . . .’ and he began to look around, concerned. ‘We’ve just agreed that it’s likely your conversation outside the British Library was bugged. So what’s the betting the same people are listening to us at this very moment?’

Lauren and Jake exchanged concerned looks. Parsons was right. Then Lauren’s expression changed to one of angry determination. It was an expression Jake recognised all too well. It was the expression she’d had on her face when she’d told him he could go to hell after she’d found him with the bridesmaid.

‘Then we’re going to change that,’ she said. She stood up. ‘Come on.’

‘Where are we going?’ asked Parsons.

‘Where we can talk without being overheard.’

Chapter 8

As Jake and Parsons followed Lauren across the pedestrian bridge over the Thames towards Embankment Station they kept a resolute silence, to Jake’s great frustration. Where are we going? he thought. Surely it wouldn’t do any harm for her to at least tell me where we’re heading. We’re walking on a bridge over the Thames; no one can pick up what we say here. Unless we had a parabolic microphone trained on us from a boat on the Thames. What were the chances of that?

Every chance, realised Jake gloomily. These people tried to kill me, they’ve taken Lauren’s laptop. They can get everywhere and do anything.

He kept silent, along with the other two, and just followed them. From the Embankment they caught a train to Baron’s Court. Outside the station Lauren hailed a taxi.

‘It’s only a short distance from here,’ she whispered. ‘But this way, if anyone has been following us, it should throw them off the scent.’

Under Lauren’s directions, the taxi turned off the main road, and then zigzagged through back streets, until she gave the order for it to pull up.

They were outside a small terraced house. Lauren rang the doorbell. After a few moments the door opened and the massive figure of Robert, Lauren’s rugby-playing cousin, looked out at them. He grinned massively when he saw Lauren, but then his look fell on Jake and he scowled.

‘What’s he doing here?’ he growled.

‘Later, Robert,’ said Lauren. ‘Can we come in? It’s urgent.’

Robert stepped aside and the three slipped into the house.

Jake expected the inside of the house to be the sort he expected from a hulking great rugby player like Robert: namely, a rubbish tip, with rugby boots and shorts and empty beer cans dumped all over the place. To his surprise, the interior was neat and tidy. And not just neat, it was very tastefully decorated, and quite modern in a minimalist style.

‘Nice place,’ murmured Jake, looking around at the room they had walked into in.

‘Robert’s an architect,’ said Lauren.

Jake looked in surprise at Robert as he joined them. This hulking great man-mountain of a rugby player, someone who looked like he could tear an opponent apart with his bare hands, was an architect?

‘What’s up?’ demanded Lauren. ‘You’re looking strange.’

‘Nothing,’ said Jake quickly. ‘I’m just a bit knocked over by all that’s going on.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

‘Oh, it is,’ said Parsons quietly. ‘What we have to find out is where you fit in.’

‘Tea or coffee anyone?’ asked Robert.

‘Decaf coffee for me,’ said Lauren.

‘Tea for me, please, Robert,’ said Parsons.

Parsons has been here before, thought Jake. He’s a friend of Robert’s now. Part of the family, he thought bitterly.

‘You?’ Robert demanded of Jake, his voice still menacing enough to make Jake worry.

‘Me, what?’ asked Jake, uncertainly.

‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Er . . . tea, please. If that’s OK.’

Robert glowered at him, then disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Right,’ said Lauren, sitting down on the settee. ‘Tell Carl what you told me. About what you saw.’

‘You said you’d already told him?’ said Jake, puzzled.

‘Yes, but I want him to hear it from you in case I missed something out.’

So Jake repeated the story to Carl Parsons: the fairy ring, the digger, the worker suddenly being covered with vegetation, the panic, the SAS team arriving, the ambulances, him being ordered home on sick leave by his boss. And the attempt on his life at the underground station.

While Jake was telling his story, Robert appeared with a tray with their drinks on and set them down on the small coffee table, before sitting down with them and joining in listening to Jake.

When Jake had finished, Lauren turned to Parsons. ‘Well?’ she asked.

‘Sounds like fungal spores,’ murmured Parsons.

‘In particular, El Izmir and the greening of the desert,’ added Lauren.

‘And not just the text but the actual spores,’ added Parsons thoughtfully. He shook his head, an expression of awe on his face. ‘It’s not possible, is it? That the fungal spores were actually placed by El Izmir inside the pages of the book?’

Jake looked from Lauren to Parsons, and then back at Lauren again.

‘Would either of you mind telling me what you’re talking about?’ he demanded, annoyed. ‘I’m out of the loop here.’

‘It’s a treatise said to have been written in about 690 AD by El Izmir Al Tabul, an Arabian philosopher and agrarianist,’ answered Lauren.

‘Agrarianist?’ asked Jake, with a puzzled frown.

‘A gardener,’ explained Parsons.

‘Then why not say so,’ Jake complained, ‘instead of using words like some sort of code to cut me out and make me feel like a spare part.’

‘I’m not trying to make you feel cut out,’ defended Lauren. ‘The fact is, he was more than just a gardener, and – for me – science is about being precise. Anyway, when I was researching the Order of Malichea I came across a list of books that were said to have been in the secret library.’

‘I think I need to know more about this secret library,’ said Jake.

‘Bear with me’ said Lauren. ‘One of the books was a scientific text written in the late seventh century by this El Izmir, in which he claimed to have developed a strain of fungus that only needed the moisture in air in which to grow rapidly. As soon as the dehydrated spores came into contact with moisture . . . voom!’

‘And the point of this was?’

‘Food,’ put in Parsons. ‘The desert is not a place where food can be cultivated easily, and in areas far from groundwater, but where there could be moisture in the air . . .’

‘OK, I get the idea.’ Jake nodded. ‘So this particular type of fungus . . .’

‘Was an early example of genetic modification of a plant strain,’ said Lauren. ‘Food that could be grown in abundance from the water in air.’

‘If it’s true, that would be fantastic,’ said Jake. ‘Growing food rich in protein in desert areas.’

‘An end to famine,’ said Robert.

‘Exactly!’ said Lauren.

‘But it didn’t happen,’ pointed out Jake.

‘It did,’ said Lauren. ‘You saw it happen. The fungus grew when exposed to air.’

Jake shook his head.

‘It grew on this man who was working at the site,’ he said.

‘Because human beings are seventy per cent moisture,’ said Parsons.

‘The spores have to be released in a properly controlled way,’ added Lauren.

Jake thought about it, and what he’d seen. The man opening the book, breathing in whatever was stuck to the pages.

‘You’re right,’ he said. Then he frowned. ‘But, if it works, why hasn’t anyone heard about it before? I mean, something like this, that could solve hunger . . .’

‘Because El Izmir’s book about the fungus was destroyed, along with the rest of the secret library,’ said Lauren. ‘Or, it was
believed
to have been destroyed.’

‘We’d better tell him about the secret library and the Order of Malichea,’ said Parsons. ‘Otherwise none of this is going to make sense.’

Lauren turned to Robert.

‘Robert, have you still got that battered old van of yours?’ she asked.

Robert looked affronted.

‘Lizzie is not a battered old van,’ he replied defensively. ‘All right, she may have a few dents here and there, but . . .’

‘But is she still noisy?’

Robert looked uncomfortable.

‘Well, compared to some of these
modern
vehicles . . .’ he began, his tone a definite sneer.

‘Good,’ said Lauren. ‘We’ll need your laptop.’

‘OK,’ said Robert. ‘I’ll go and get it.’

Chapter 9

Lauren waited until they were all in Robert’s van and he’d turned over the ignition and started it up before she told them her plan. Robert was at the wheel, Jake was in the back of the van with Lauren and Parsons. The van was really noisy. Lauren had to shout to make herself heard above the sound of the engine.

‘Once, when my laptop was out of commission, I borrowed Robert’s and copied my files on to it,’ she said.

She opened Robert’s laptop, turned it on, and her fingers began hitting keys.

‘So he has the history of the Order of Malichea on it?’ asked Parsons.

‘Providing he hasn’t deleted it,’ said Lauren.

‘I haven’t,’ Robert called from the front of the van. ‘Everything you put on there is still there, just in case you needed it.’

As the van set off and began chugging along the road, Jake realised why Lauren had chosen it for this session. There would be very few microphones, if any, that would be able to pick up their conversation above the noisy engine.

Lauren found the file she was looking for and passed the laptop to Jake.

‘Read this,’ she said.

‘ “The Order of Malichea and the Lost Sciences”, by Lauren Graham,’ read Jake.

‘In the seventh and eighth centuries, the monastery at Lindisfarne on Holy Island, off the east coast of Britain, was the centre for all learning. Scholars from across the whole of the known world, from Europe, Asia and north Africa, came to Lindisfarne to exchange researches on a huge range of topics, especially the sciences. They brought their notebooks, and the monks at the monastery made copies for the monastery library. By AD 780, the library at Lindisfarne held most scientific knowledge available at that time. An order dedicated to the development of science sprang up within the larger order at Lindisfarne. This was the Order of Malichea.

‘In 793, the monks at Lindisfarne heard a rumour that the Vikings were preparing to invade Britain. The monks were afraid that the Vikings would come to Holy Island, and if they did they’d destroy the library with all these precious scientific texts. It’s believed that some members of the Order of Malichea decided to take all the scientific texts away to a sympathetic abbey at Caen in Normandy, in northern France, where the library found safe haven. In 793, the Vikings did invade Holy Island, as had been predicted, and they destroyed the priory at Lindisfarne before they went on to attack the rest of Britain. But the science books were now safe in France.