Newton’s Fire (27 page)

‘You asked about his role,’ said Rachel. ‘That was my suggestion. I never promised it would get us anywhere.’

Luke looked upwards. Sunlight flooded through the plain glass windows that girdled the base of the dome. The organist struck up again, and then the choir, a growing swell of joyous sound; and he felt a mild, toe-tingling vertigo at the sheer scale and glory of this place, mixed with awe at the courage and skill of the masons and carpenters and painters who’d risked their lives on precarious wooden scaffolds, just a stumble away from certain death. The
weight
of that thing. It was unimaginable. And all resting on this ring of sixteen slender pillars. But then he frowned. The pillars weren’t actually in a ring after all, but rather in eight pairs. An octagon holding up a dome; he shivered with the ghost of an idea. But then Rachel touched his forearm and it vanished.

‘Let’s go up,’ she said.

‘Up?’

She nodded down at the brass disc in the floor.
‘
‘‘As below, it shines”.’ Then she looked up at the dome.
‘
‘‘As above,
it shines.” They do call that thing the great lantern, don’t they?’

‘These places needed light,’ said Luke. ‘You couldn’t just flip a switch.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But even so. It’s a
theme
, isn’t it? Something to investigate.’

Luke hesitated. The longer they stayed here, he knew, the greater would be the risk that those men would pick up their trail again. Yet the urge to find the truth proved stronger than caution. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said.

Jay Cowan kept trying his uncle’s telephone numbers, but his uncle wasn’t answering and he couldn’t wait forever. He put the phone down once more and went to stand in the centre of his living room. He clasped his hands lightly behind his back and stared intently at the wall. Doing this sometimes helped him clear his mind of clutter when he had consequential decisions to make.

Jay knew he wasn’t quite like other people. It had taken him many years to come to terms with this, but now he welcomed it. His uncle Avram had shown him that he was
special
. Being special meant carrying special burdens, but it also meant enjoying special gifts. Most of all, it meant he had a purpose; because why else would you make something special? His uncle had shown him what that purpose was too and he had embraced it with all his heart. Now it was up to him to make it happen – even if that meant allying himself with people he didn’t much care for; people like Vernon Croke. Even, indeed, if it meant deceiving friends like Luke and the woman Rachel. For Jay had liked Rachel very much. She’d been kind and pretty, and she’d smiled warmly at him and she’d been inside his home. Not that many pretty women had ever smiled warmly at Jay, or had been inside his home.

Perhaps she would marry him one day. It was possible.

Jay had known full well that there was nothing in the vault of the London Monument. Contrary to what he’d told them, he’d actually visited the place twice. He’d sent them there, hoping to keep them out safely out of the way. Unfortunately, they’d made the correct deduction by themselves and would already be in St Paul’s by now. Telling Croke what he’d deduced would inevitably put them in danger. Yet failing to tell him might damage his uncle’s mission; a mission that Jay had committed himself to helping succeed.

It was what they called a quandary.

His eyes narrowed. His lips tightened. Life missions, if they were to mean anything, had to take precedence over friendships, even friendship with the woman one might eventually marry. And it wasn’t as if he was without power in this business. He had the power to protect them. In fact, by protecting Rachel, he could prove his worth to her, making their eventual consummation all the more likely.

He walked back to his desk. He picked up his phone and made the call.

Curiosity and dignity had fought like rival angels over Croke when invited to climb down the rope to see first hand what lay in the underground chamber. Dignity had won.

He watched the feed on a laptop screen. The passage. The antechamber. The vault itself. No sign of it anywhere. He hadn’t expected it, not after having seen the empty plinth. Yet it was another major setback. And time was running out fast.

His mobile rang. Avram Kohen’s nephew Jakob. The one who’d sent them here. ‘What do you want?’ he asked him tightly.

‘I know where it is,’ said Jakob. ‘I know
exactly
where it is.’

‘That’s what you said last time.’

‘No. I only said it made sense. This time I’m sure.’

‘Go on, then. Where?’

‘I want your word on something first. Luke Hayward and Rachel Parkes are my friends. They’re not to come any harm.’

Croke scowled. So that was where they’d gone from Victoria. To see Kohen. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You have my word. They won’t come to any harm at our hands. Now where is it?’ He listened as Kohen talked. ‘You’re quite sure about this?’ he asked, when he was done. ‘You’ve already steered us wrong twice.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Kohen. And he launched into a confusing explanation of the vault beneath Croke’s feet, of ciphers, of iron anchors and state funerals.

‘Okay,’ said Croke, cutting him off. ‘We’ll take a look. If we find it, you’ll be coming with us, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your uncle said something about supplies. Anything you need will have to be at City Airport by mid-afternoon.’ He gave him contact details for his pilot Craig Bray then ended the call and stood there thinking through next steps. He tried Walters first. ‘I told you they’d break cover,’ he told him when Walters answered.

‘Where?’

‘St Paul’s Cathedral. But listen: I gave Kohen my word that they wouldn’t come to any harm. Not at our hands. And we need him on our side, for the moment at least. So if anything should happen to them, it can’t look like it was us.’

‘Got you, boss. Leave it to me.’

Croke went over to the well shaft, shouted down for Morgenstern. The NCT man clambered athletically back up top again. ‘I just got a call,’ Croke told him, leading him to a secluded corner. ‘It seems it’s in London after all.’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ scowled Morgenstern. ‘How many more dead ends are we going to hit?’

‘This wasn’t a dead end,’ said Croke. ‘They built this place to hold it; they simply found somewhere better. And now we know where that is.’

‘Where?’

‘St Paul’s Cathedral.’

‘No way. No. Fucking. Way. It’s miles beyond my authority.’

‘Your authority comes from your Commander in Chief,’ said Croke. ‘Are you planning to let her down?’

Morgenstern bit his teeth together, brought his anger back under control. ‘It’s not like that,’ he said. ‘I’d do it if I could. But I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t have that kind of pull. Crane Court was different. I could do it on my own initiative, explain myself afterwards. But not St Paul’s. We’d need explicit ministerial approval. And they’d want some kind of in-person briefing. With evidence too. Hard evidence. Not some mysterious phantom source.’

‘My informant has just assured me that the terrorists from Crane Court have planted a dirty bomb in the crypt of St Paul’s Cathedral. There’s a national memorial service tomorrow night at which the Prime Minister, his cabinet and the whole royal family are going to be honoured guests. Are you honestly telling me you’re prepared to let that service go ahead without first making absolutely sure it’s safe?’

Morgenstern nodded, seeing how he might be able to make it work. ‘An attack on the Royal Family,’ he said. ‘On the British government. On democracy itself. We couldn’t possibly risk that.’

‘No,’ said Croke. ‘We couldn’t.’

It was quite a climb to the top of the dome, particularly with the Monument already in their legs. Luke and Rachel allowed themselves a minute’s respite on the stone gallery, savouring the breeze as they looked out between fat stone balusters down over the river and south London.

A man bumped into Luke’s back, not looking on where he was going, too intent on his companion, a charming redhead. ‘Quite something, huh?’ he commented to her. ‘How often in life do you get to stand on a miracle?’

‘A miracle?’ asked the redhead.

‘The Germans threw everything at this place.
Everything
. Didn’t hit it once. If that’s not a miracle, what is?’

Beside Luke, Rachel stiffened. He glanced curiously at her. Her eyes were tight and her lips were clamped together. He raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, waited until the couple were gone. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I
hate
that bullshit story. St Paul’s was hit multiple times. It survived because of the wardens who risked their lives staying up here during the raids to put out fires before they could catch. And, anyway, who the hell wants to believe in a God who’d save his precious building from the bombs, while letting tens of thousands die?’

Luke nodded. He agreed with her viewpoint, yet it didn’t explain her intensity of reaction. ‘You never did tell me about your brother,’ he said.

‘No,’ she agreed.

‘What was it? A bomb?’

‘Please.’

‘Was it in London? Some terrorist attack?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘The army, then?’

She gave a little grimace. ‘Afghanistan.’

‘And it’s not getting better?’

‘It’s not going to get better. It’s his life now.
Our
lives.’

‘And that’s why you need the Newton papers? To pay for his care?’

Her eyes began to water. She blinked furiously, wiped them with thumb and finger, as though ashamed of her weakness. ‘They say he’s fit enough to work. He’s not fit enough to work. He’s nothing like fit enough. He’s lost his legs and his hand, and the blast fucked up his insides and his mind. He can’t concentrate. His memory plays tricks on him. He gets frustrated. He gets angry.’

‘Aren’t there schemes?’

‘There are a thousand schemes. There’s just no money in them. The government keeps reneging. And now they’re trying to buy us off with a lump sum. But it’s not enough. It’s not even
close
to being enough. Do you have any idea how much a lifetime of care costs?’

‘No.’

She sighed, held up a hand in apology. ‘They owe Bren better, that’s all I’m saying. They owe everyone in his situation better. They took their legs and arms and guts and brains for their absurd fucking wars, but now that the bill’s due they’re not only refusing to pay, they’re trying to hide their victims out of sight so they don’t have to look at them and have their precious consciences troubled. Well, fuck them. Fuck the lot of them.’

‘Are you suing?’

She gave a nod. ‘They keep postponing our hearings. It’s just a ploy, of course. They want us to run out of money so that we’ll have to accept their offer. But Bren will be screwed if we accept. All his comrades will be screwed. So we need enough to see us through. But I can’t seem to make it happen.’ She shook her head helplessly. ‘I already have nightmares about how much debt I’m in. No one will lend us any more, except at such ridiculous rates of interest that we might as well give up. So yes, I need those papers.’

He touched her arm to express both his sympathy and his willingness to help her once they were through this, but also to steer her towards the steps. They trudged up to the golden gallery. A woman guide was sitting on a fold-up wooden chair outside the door, welcoming new arrivals with a smile and an invitation to ask questions. They were amazingly high. The grey stone balustrade was crumbling a little and discoloured with small islands of damp. Luke turned his back to it, leaning against it as he looked upwards and inwards, in case the answer to their quest lay at its peak; but the camber of the dome concealed it from their view.

‘Thank god for the balustrade,’ murmured Rachel, as she leaned back beside him.

‘Thank Wren, you mean,’ smiled Luke.

‘Actually,’ murmured the guide. ‘Wren
hated
it.’

‘Really?’

She stood and came to join them, bashful of being overheard. ‘He thought it broke the harmony of the whole machine. That was how he put it himself: the harmony of the whole machine. It always stuck in my mind, that phrase, for some reason. Like he saw this place as a fearfully clever contraption for bringing about the will of God.’

Luke touched the balustrade. ‘He lost the argument, then.’

‘Newton talked him round.’

‘Newton?’ frowned Rachel.

‘It was after they’d put Wren out to grass,’ she told them. ‘Newton was his close friend, and he sat on the committee to complete the cathedral, so he became their go-between, explaining decisions like the balustrade to him, making sure there weren’t any technical reasons not to do them.’

‘This committee to complete,’ said Luke. ‘How would we find out more about it?’

‘You’d have to speak to Clarence,’ she told him. ‘He’s our head librarian.’

‘And where would we find him?’

‘I’d imagine the library might be a good place to start.’ She must have realized how tart she sounded, for she blushed and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Do forgive me,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what it is. These things just pop out.’

‘It’s okay,’ laughed Luke. ‘How do we get there?’

‘It’s on the Triforium level. Back below the Whispering Gallery.’

‘What do you think?’ Luke asked Rachel.

‘Let’s give it a go,’ she said.

And ye shall give the red heifer unto Eleazar the priest, and she shall be brought forth without the camp, and she shall be slain before his face. And Eleazar the priest shall take of her blood with his finger, and sprinkle of her blood toward the front of the tent of meeting seven times. And the heifer shall be burnt in his sight. Her skin, her flesh, her blood and her dung, shall be burnt.

Avram stripped naked to purify himself in the chamber of immersion then dried himself with towels of white linen from the table of vestments.