The Invisible Assassin (8 page)

Paul Evans was talking on the phone as Jake walked into the office. He hung up as he saw Jake and grinned at him.

‘Aha, here’s the man who sees things that aren’t there!’ he chuckled.

‘Don’t remind me,’ said Jake with a wry grin. ‘I must have sounded like I was out of my head.’ Then, as casually as he could, he asked, ‘Did they actually find out what it was? The toxic gas stuff that made us all see things?’

Paul shook his head.

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure they will once they’ve examined the canister.’

‘What canister?’ asked Jake, suddenly alert. There had been no canister. Just a book.

‘The one that was dug up,’ said Paul. ‘Apparently, the digger must have fractured it. They reckon it contained some kind of nerve gas, possibly left over from the Second World War. Anyway, they’ve taken it to Aylesbury for examination.’

A surge of excitement went through Jake. Maybe this was just the latest in a series of red herrings, but there was also the possibility that whatever had been found in that hole
had
been taken somewhere.

‘What’s at Aylesbury?’ he asked, doing his best to make his voice sound casual.

Paul shrugged.

‘Some kind of chemical research lab,’ he said. ‘I’d have thought they’d have taken it to Porton Down, but I guess Aylesbury was nearer.’

‘Well, I for one will be keen to find out what was in it!’ said Jake. ‘I breathed in a great whiff of it, which was what sent me off my head and got me seeing things.’

‘A man turning into a vegetable!’ chuckled Paul.

‘You can laugh! You wouldn’t have found it so funny if it had been you seeing walking vegetables!’ protested Jake, but doing his best to keep his tone jokey. He mustn’t appear too keen, too eager; that would only raise suspicion. The last thing he wanted was Paul mentioning anything that might get back to Gareth and set some danger in motion. He still felt a shiver go through him when he thought of that hand pushing him towards the oncoming tube train.

‘I doubt if we’ll ever know,’ said Paul. ‘You know what these science types are like – they like to keep everything close to their chests.’

‘Surely they’ll publish a report,’ said Jake.

‘Yes, but it will be TLEO: for Top Level Eyes Only.’

‘Drat!’ said Jake. ‘Now I’ll never know what infected me.’ He put on a petulant tone. ‘So how do I know if I ought to take precautions?’

‘About what? It happening again?’

‘No, about it conflicting with some future medication. You know, if I’m going abroad and I have to have injections, and they ask me if I’ve suffered from some kind of illness in the past, just to make sure there isn’t a cross-reaction.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they’d tell you if that was a possibility,’ said Paul.

‘I bet they don’t,’ said Jake. ‘Like you say, these science types are secretive.’ He put on a thoughtful look. ‘I suppose I could always ask them.’

Paul laughed. ‘Yeah, like they’re going to tell you!’

Jake shrugged. ‘It was just a thought,’ he said. Then he added hopefully, ‘It still might be worth a try. They can only say no.’

‘True,’ agreed Paul. ‘But if you ask me, you’ll be banging your head against a brick wall.’

‘Maybe,’ said Jake. ‘But, in case I feel like asking, what’s the name of the lab in Aylesbury.’

‘Can’t remember.’ Paul shrugged. ‘I only remembered that it was in Aylesbury because I used to go out with a woman who lived near there.’

Jake’s spirits sank as he heard Paul’s words. He needed to find out where this lab was, but as soon as he started poking around asking questions about the lab, Gareth would hear about it, and he’d be exposed again. In danger.

‘It’s in the file,’ said Paul.

Jake let the words sink in.

‘The file?’ he repeated.

Paul nodded. ‘The incident file. They needed to explain to the press what had happened, so they told them the canister had been dug up and taken for examination by the Chemical Research Department – or whatever it’s called – at Aylesbury. You know what these media people are like – unless they get some concrete information thrown at them they start ferreting around, digging their noses into all sorts of places where the government doesn’t want them poking.’

The name and address of the lab at Aylesbury was in the file! thought Jake with a sense of elation. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? It would have saved him doing all this cloak and dagger stuff with Paul to try to winkle out the address.

‘Anyway,’ said Jake, ‘I suppose I’d better get on with some work, otherwise people will think I just stand around all day talking.’

‘Of course you do.’ Paul grinned. ‘That’s what we all do. We’re press officers.’

Jake left it for a couple of hours before he went down to archives to look at the file. He didn’t want to rouse any suspicions by going straight there. And he wanted to make sure he had more than one topic to check on, nice innocuous ones that wouldn’t set off any alarm bells.

By eleven o’clock, he had a short list of topics he needed to check: the importance of vitamin B in the battle against Alzheimer’s disease (‘What sorts of foods contain vitamin B?’); the differing levels of radon gas in the various regions of the UK (‘For a story about building regulations.’); the problems with accurately forecasting the weather – a guaranteed and unquestionable topic that arose almost on a daily basis; and – finally, ‘and just out of curiosity’ – the file on the incident that happened out in Bedfordshire with the toxic gas. Just to make sure all the t’s were crossed and the i’s dotted in his report. Nothing in depth, just the press report would do.

Jake’s hands trembled as he opened the file. Would the information about where this so-called ‘canister’ had been taken really be in there? Or would he have to dig deeper? Start asking for more classified files, and so have Gareth breathing down his neck again.

No! It was there!

Jake felt excitement pulsing through him as he saw the words:
Canister taken for examination to Hadley Park Research Establishment, Stone, near Aylesbury
.

He’d located it!

Chapter 11

At lunchtime, while Jake headed for a nearby sandwich bar to get himself some lunch, he took the opportunity to phone Lauren.

‘Got it!’ he said.

‘Don’t say any more!’ warned Lauren.

‘We need to meet,’ said Jake.

‘OK,’ agreed Lauren. ‘After work. Where we met last time.’

Jake frowned, puzzled. He wasn’t very good at this. Did she mean where they’d last met together, which was the cafeteria outside the British Library? Or did she mean when he’d met her and Parsons, which was the South Bank?

‘When you say ‘‘last time’’ . . . ?’ he enquired.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jake!’ groaned Lauren impatiently. ‘The van!’

She hung up.

Of course, thought Jake, mentally kicking himself: Robert’s van; noisy enough to stop any long-range microphones picking up conversations inside it. But then the opposition, whoever they were, might well have discovered the vehicle by now. In which case, they could well have fixed hidden microphones to it.

But then, reflected Jake, it really was a
very
noisy van, and it would have to be some supersonic microphone that could survive it.

Seven o’clock that evening found Jake, Lauren and Parsons sitting once more inside the back of Robert’s van, while Robert sat in the front and ran the engine. This time he didn’t even bother taking them for a run, just sat there revving the engine.

‘Won’t he upset the neighbours?’ asked Jake, concerned.

‘He can’t stand his neighbours,’ said Lauren. ‘He keeps hoping they’ll move so he can buy their house and knock the two into one. My guess is revving his engine like this fits into his plan.’

Jake shrugged. So long as they didn’t all get carbon monoxide poisoning from the stationary vehicle.

‘So, what have you found out?’ asked Lauren.

Jake couldn’t help giving her and Parsons a smug smile.

‘I’ve discovered where they took the book,’ he said.

‘What?!’ exclaimed Lauren.

‘Where?’ asked Parsons.

‘A place called Hadley Park Research Establishment. It’s at a village called Stone, near Aylesbury.’

‘You’re sure?’ asked Parsons.

‘Pretty sure,’ said Jake.

He told them what he’d heard from Paul Evans, about the supposed canister being taken to the research establishment.

‘There was no canister,’ he said. ‘But there was the book. And the man who turned into that . . . thing.’

Lauren and Carl exchanged thoughtful looks.

‘It could be there,’ said Parsons. ‘After all, it had to have been taken somewhere. And it would need to be somewhere safe, where they could monitor it.’

Lauren nodded. ‘We need to find out about this place.’ She turned to Jake and asked, ‘Can you ask about it at work? After all, it’s part of your department.’

‘Last time I tried that I nearly got pushed under a tube train,’ Jake pointed out. ‘Anyway, it’ll be easier to Google it. Everything there is to know about everything is on the internet.’

‘Yes, but if they’re watching us, they could be hacked into our computers,’ pointed out Parsons. ‘Every time we do a search, they’ll be checking on what we’re looking for.’

Jake groaned. ‘Modern technology. Nothing’s secret any more! We can’t do anything without them knowing what we’re up to!’

‘No, but someone can,’ said Parsons thoughtfully. ‘I’ve got a cousin who’s a computer whizz.’

‘Does this cousin have a name?’ asked Lauren.

‘Joe,’ said Parsons. ‘Still at school, but an absolute computer genius. If we want anything done without anything anyone knowing, Joe’s our key.’

Great, thought Jake sourly. Some paranoid schoolboy computer geek who lives on junk food and thinks the world is involved in some giant conspiracy against him.

They left Robert still revving the engine of his van purely to annoy his neighbours, and set off for Hackney. At least we’re heading back to my side of town, thought Jake. He always felt more comfortable in the part of London he lived in and knew. At least, he
had
felt more comfortable before all this business began. Now he didn’t feel comfortable anywhere.

Parsons’s cousin lived with his single mother on a large estate. As they walked through the estate, Jake was aware of gangs of youths on bikes and skateboards watching them as they hung around in groups by dilapidated garages.

‘We should have got a taxi,’ he muttered.

Parsons shrugged.

‘They won’t harm you,’ he said. ‘They’re just checking you out, seeing if you’re a threat.’ He gave a wry sigh. ‘Or a victim. Those are the two types who suffer here. Threats from outside, and victims. Just make sure you don’t look like either.’

‘How do I do that?’ asked Jake.

Parsons shrugged again.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve never thought about it.’

I think too much, that’s my trouble, thought Jake ruefully. I think and worry. I see danger everywhere, especially lately. I never used to be like this! Then he amended that. Yes, I did, he thought. He’d always been worried about things. Being mugged or murdered. Being buried alive. Falling to his death from a tall building. In fact, there hadn’t been much that hadn’t kept Jake in an almost perpetual state of anxiety. Until Lauren came along and changed his life. Brought sunshine and happiness into it. And then he’d messed it up, and she’d left, and the misery and gloom and fears had come back again.

They reached a high-rise block of flats.

‘This is it,’ said Parsons. ‘Twelfth floor.’

Oh God, not the lifts, thought Jake. Lifts always stank of urine, and broke down.

‘Shall we take the stairs?’ he said.

Parsons nodded.

‘I was going to suggest that, if you two didn’t mind,’ he said.

Lauren looked up at the towering block.

‘Fine by me, if it’s fine by you two.’ She shrugged.

By the time they reached the tenth floor, Jake was exhausted. His legs and back ached and he was so out of breath he felt he might well need oxygen. Lauren noticed he was lagging behind and turned back. ‘Are you OK, Jake?’ she asked.

Jake forced a smile.

‘Fine,’ he managed to splutter out. ‘I don’t think I’m as fit as I used to be.’

‘You’re spending too much time at a desk,’ said Lauren. ‘You need to get out more.’

‘I will,’ Jake promised.

As they mounted the stairs for the last two flights, he felt happier. That had been a genuine look of concern for him on Lauren’s face.

They reached the twelfth floor and walked to a flat midway along the balcony.

‘Here we are,’ said Parsons. He rang the doorbell. The door opened just a little and a harassed-looking woman peered out at them through the crack. She relaxed when she saw who it was.

‘Carl!’ she said.