P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4) (23 page)

Chapter Fifteen - Intelligence

Matthew was still sleeping when Jo returned. She was tempted to sit down by him and sleep herself, in the hope that together they could dream their way back home. Then she remembered how keen Matthew was to see what Titus was plotting. He might not be able to foil Titus’s plans in 1964, but in the future he might be able to use the knowledge gained to outwit his enemy. 

‘Wake up, Matthew. Time to do some sleuthing.’ Matthew opened his eyes. He took a few moments to register where he was, then he smiled.

‘Did you have a pleasant walk?’

‘I’ve had better,’ answered Jo laconically. She changed the subject. ‘Matthew, I want you to promise me that after we’ve checked on the laboratories, we can go home.’

‘I promise,’ he replied. ‘I’m missing Mary dreadfully and I know you’re worried about your parents.’

Jo had been grappling with a problem. ‘We are still there, aren’t we? As well as being here?’ Mary’s not looking at an empty bed wondering where you are…’

‘She’s probably looking at me thinking it’s about time I woke up and stopped snoring. Back there we’re fast asleep. Our bodies have stayed put but our minds have hitched a lift with the dream to here. As I understand it, eight hours sleep a night equates to roughly eight days of dream-time. So no-one’s going to raise any alarms. We’ve plenty of time.’

‘Maybe. But I’m longing to get back, so let’s get on with it!’

‘This is so spooky,’ Jo whispered. They were making their way through the deserted fairground guided only by the light of the moon and the emergency lights. ‘I wish we had a torch.’ Another thought struck her. ‘And I wish we had some Wellington boots!’

‘Why is that?’ queried Matthew.

‘We’ll have to paddle our way into the Tunnel of Love.’

‘Ah.’ Matthew did not sound very enthusiastic. ‘These are rather expensive shoes.’

‘So take them off,’ counselled Jo. ‘Roll up your trouser legs and pretend we’re on our holidays.’

‘This is hardly paddling,’ Matthew observed glumly a few minutes later as he lowered himself into the waist-deep, bitterly cold water. ‘These are also rather expensive trousers.’

In the absence of light, fragrance and music there was no romance in the tunnel at all. ‘It’s like a damp, dark, disused Underground station,’ said Jo. ‘And I’ve had more than my share of them, thank you very much!’

She was feeling her way along the wall, trying to locate the jetty. ‘This is it!’ she said, and they clambered onto a narrow walkway, behind the rose-coloured silk and velvet drapes that covered the tunnel walls. ‘Should be a door any minute… and here it is!’

On the other side of the door metal steps led down to a space so brightly lit that Jo and Matthew were temporarily dazzled. The hum of a massive machine led them onwards.

A very long tank of coloured water stood in the centre of the vast room. Jo stood there, dripping wet, and watched as the water moved in a wave from one end of the tank and back.

‘Is that it?’ she asked, feeling rather underwhelmed.

Matthew took in all the peripheral dials, turbines and connecting rods. ‘Amazing,’ he breathed. ‘A Soliton Generator.’

Jo braced herself for a lecture. She was not disappointed.

‘Back in the 1830s, John Scott Russell was watching a horse-drawn barge travelling along a canal. He was an engineer, researching canal boat designs. For some reason the barge suddenly stopped, but it had generated a wave, and that carried on moving along the channel.’

‘Oh.’

Matthew tried another tack. ‘Imagine a queue of people. As they move forward, each person has a delayed reaction to the space opening up in front of them which sets up a backwards-moving wave of forward-moving people.’

The more Matthew explained, the less helpful Jo found it. She cut to the chase. ‘O.K. Titus knows how to make a big wave that keeps on going. So what?’

‘Well, you put it rather neatly, Jo, when you said he was – ahem – mucking about with the weather. You see, a soliton wave is self-reinforcing. It will keep going, in other words, and maintain its shape while travelling at a constant speed. This phenomenon is being used here to create a regular pulse which releases steam from these turbines, creating clouds.’

‘Titus has a bit of a thing about clouds and rain. In Bayne it was red rain. I remember when I was here before with the choir he’d made these incredible, rolling Morning Glory clouds. Hawk heard him talking about creating some kind of mass hysteria by drugging the clouds. He called it
the rapture
. It was so powerful.’

‘You experienced this rapture?’

‘I was there, but I didn’t let it get to me.’

Jo recalled the incense-scented air throbbing as all around her people chanted rhythmically, intoxicated, entranced. It had taken an enormous effort of will to resist the magic of the drug.

‘Titus doesn’t just want to control the weather,’ Matthew said gravely. ‘He wants to use the weather to control whole populations. And this is where it starts. Water and steam. So simple. So amazing.’

At the far end of the tank was another door. Jo and Matthew went through into a corridor that stretched as far as the eye could see. Doors from the corridor led to a complex of laboratories, testing chambers and libraries. One room was full of spools and consoles. ‘It’s a computer,’ breathed Matthew. ‘IBM’s System 360.  State of the art. Rendered the competition obsolete.’

The corridor seemed to go on for ever. There were storerooms, packed from floor to ceiling with supplies, and rooms lined with bunk beds. Jo was reminded of the Deep Level Shelters. She wished they could just call it a day and go home. But Matthew was determined to gather as much intelligence as he could. As he walked along, inspecting Titus’s empire and taking notes, his face was grave.

‘This is on a scale far greater than I had feared, Jo. Satellite communications; nuclear weaponry; air traffic control; climate control; the list is endless. He has a finger in every pie, making him more powerful and dangerous than my worst nightmares.’

‘Sssh!’ Jo’s urgent whisper stopped Matthew in his tracks. ‘There’s someone up ahead. Quick! In here!’ She pulled Matthew through a doorway just as a white-coated figure with a clipboard came into view.

Matthew coughed. ‘Allow me to remind you, Jo, that we have ascertained that no-one can actually see us!’

Jo laughed. ‘Pure instinct, Matthew. But allow
me
to remind
you
that it was you who insisted on waiting until nightfall…’

As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom they could see a steep flight of stone steps leading up to a heavy metal door. Together they pushed it open, and stepped into a massive, dusty store-room. And to their astonishment, there, shining in the shadows, was a Junkers Ju 88 bomber.

‘What a beauty!’ breathed Matthew in awe. ‘I wonder how long Titus has had her stashed away?’ He answered his own question. ‘Probably the late 1930s. It looks brand new.’

‘So how did he plan to get it out of here?’ asked Jo, ever practical.

Matthew pointed towards the other side of the hangar. Huge doors filled the end wall. A smaller door was cut into one, and Jo went to see if it was open.

‘It’s locked,’ she said, disappointed. There was, however, a small spyhole and she peered into it. ‘I can see the runway!’

Matthew joined her. ‘Just getting my bearings… there’s the Helter Skelter in the distance. And the Ferris Wheel. We must be the other side of the Maize Maze. Near the old Deadwood trail.’ He studied the lock. ‘I, for one, would rather not go wading back through the tunnel. I have had quite enough immersion for one night. I wonder…’

He rooted around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for. ‘Should be out of here in a jiffy,’ he announced with a wink, and sure enough, they were.

‘A mis-spent youth, Matthew?’ teased Jo. ‘Fancy you knowing how to pick locks!’

Matthew’s reply was characteristically enigmatic.

‘Youth must be wanton, youth must be quick,

Dance to the candle while lasteth the wick.’

‘I must remember that,’ smiled Jo. ‘Who said it?’

‘It’s from
The Night of the Iguan
a
by Tennessee Williams.’

‘It reminds me of something else,’ said Jo, racking her brains. As ever Matthew had the answer.

‘Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.

Jack jump over the candlestick.’

‘That’s right! So who was Jack?’

Matthew frowned as he considered the question. ‘Possibly Black Jack, an English pirate who always needed to be one step ahead of the authorities. Hence the need to be nimble. But people used to jump over candlesticks, partly as sport and partly to tell their fortune. If the flame went out it was bad luck.’

‘You are very learned, Matthew,’ Jo said admiringly.

‘There’s a story behind almost every nursery rhyme,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘
Pop goes the Weasel
, for example. It’s really about being extremely poor and taking your precious winter coat – the weasel – to the pawnbroker. And
Baa Baa Black Sheep
was about taxes, and…’

Jo was glad to be outdoors in the fresh air. The night was still warm, giving their damp clothes a chance to dry off as they strolled towards the Mirror Maze. Matthew was on a roll, and she smiled, half-listening, as he continued his soliloquy.

‘… and in conclusion,
Ring A Ring of Roses
is believed by many to be about the Black Death but many scholars, and I am one of them, dispute that!’

While Jo and Matthew were walking through the Maize Maze, Quinn was furiously throwing his clothes into a scruffy old hold-all. He took great care removing his Bob Dylan posters from the wall, and his precious LP collection was practically handled with kid gloves. He was about to slam the door behind him when he noticed a pile of overdue library books. Swearing softly he scooped them up and headed for the Library.

He put the books on the Librarian’s desk. As he turned to go he spotted something lying on one of the tables. ‘How the hell did that get here?’ he said to himself. He picked up the psychedelic tobacco tin and headed out to the battered old camper-van that would take him to Greece and nine years of oblivion.

Chapter Sixteen - A Proposal

Soundlessly Matthew slid back the mirrored panel that hid the secret corridor. At the end was a studded oak door, slightly open. Matthew and Jo slipped in expecting to see more laboratories but to their surprise they found a comfortable, wood-panelled room reminiscent of a gentleman’s Victorian smoking parlour. Comfortable leather button-back chairs rested on a richly coloured Persian carpet. A well-stocked drinks cabinet stood next to an expensive hi-fi system. Thick velvet curtains hung at the windows, but when Jo went to look out she quickly realised the windows were skilful fakes painted on the wall.

‘
Trompe l'oeil,’
said Matthew admiringly. ‘From the French. To fool the eyes. As do these very realistic shelves of leather bound books. This must be Titus’s secret refuge, completely concealed from nosy parkers. I wonder what he has hidden in this exquisite Sheraton desk.’

Before Matthew could demonstrate his criminal tendencies for the second time, Jo interrupted him. ‘Someone’s coming!’ Still not confident of their invisibility they hid behind the curtains as Titus could be heard making his way along the corridor, talking to a companion.

‘Welcome to my little hideaway. Please take a seat,’ he said gallantly. ‘Make yourself comfortable, Lethe – we have much to discuss. May I offer you a brandy?’

‘No thank you. I prefer to keep a clear head when it comes to important negotiations.’

Titus laughed and poured himself a large drink then sat down at his desk, facing Lethe. Jo could clearly see his face as he studied her at length.

‘You really are very beautiful. I have a proposal to make that is worthy of not only your beauty, but your prodigious intelligence. In short, I would like you to be my wife and business associate.’

There was a long pause. ‘I imagine Lady Annabelle would object to that arrangement,’ said Lethe drily. ‘Even in this permissive society I do believe bigamy remains a crime.’

Titus laughed heartily. ‘I am talking about a long-term plan here, my dear. Dear Lady Annabelle is, alas, in indifferent health, and I will certainly outlive her – ‘

‘You are very confident about that,’ observed Lethe.

‘Indeed I am. To continue. After a decent interval of time spent as a grieving widower, I would be honoured to make you my wife. In the meanwhile we would have an understanding, and you would have ample opportunity to prove to me that you are indeed an appropriate choice for a man such as myself.’

‘
I
would be on trial?’ Lethe was clearly flabbergasted.

‘Indeed. I am incredibly rich and immensely powerful. I have a great deal to lose by throwing my lot in with just anybody.’

‘As do I.’

‘Oh please. All you would need to relinquish is your juvenile habit of breaking young men’s hearts, and your rather trivial attempts at decadence. Your reputation as my future wife should be without blemish. In return I can ensure that your fascinating research continues to be fully funded.’

‘This is about the prophecy, isn’t it?’

‘In part. The Child of Glory would be well served with me, the son of the wolf, as the father and you, a mistress of memory, as the mother.’

‘Hmm. Other men could claim to be the son of the wolf, and I am not the only mistress of memory.’

‘But only you and I have decoded the prophecy and understand its magnitude.’

‘I already realise it would be a great privilege to be the mother of the Child of Glory,’ conceded Lethe. ‘The position would entail boundless power and prestige. And the other parts of your proposal?’

‘Your sensual beauty is a bonus, of course. But your searing intellect, absolute ruthlessness and hunger for power match mine, and that excites me more than mere carnality. That is why I promise to marry you as soon as I am in a position to do so with the honour you deserve. Until that blessed day arrives we will continue to forge a business partnership and build an empire the like of which the world has never known.’

‘Fine words butter no parsnips, Titus. How do I know you will keep your promise?’

‘How I adore your forensic, sceptical mind! I will demonstrate my commitment by sharing something with you that no-one else knows. Like Oscar Wilde, I have grown to love secrecy. Secrets bind people together.’

‘Suppose I betray your secret to a higher bidder?’

‘There is no higher bidder. But if there were, believe me, you would have too much to lose. Destroying me would mean destroying yourself and all that you hold dear. Please note, by that I do not mean people. I have been unable to find a single living soul you hold particularly dear and I am under no illusion that I might be the exception. I mean your work. With me, you can explore each and every academic avenue that excites you. Equipment, staff, funds, resources – whatever you want will be yours for the asking.’

‘You intrigue me, Titus.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Very well. Allow me to whet your appetite. And remember, this is just a taster.’

Jo watched as Titus pressed a switch and the wall of imitation books became an enormous map of the world. A scattering of black on yellow radiation trefoils was sprinkled like confetti across the map. Next to some half a dozen was a red star-burst and a date.

‘Each trefoil represents a nuclear facility controlled by Stigmurus Enterprises,’ explained Titus.

‘I did not realise you had so many,’ conceded Lethe. ‘Is that the big secret? That there are many rather than few?’

Titus chuckled. ‘Rather an anti-climax were that to be my great revelation. I suggest you study the stars. And the dates.’

Lethe was silent for a while as she thought hard. ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that the star-bursts mark the sites of minor nuclear accidents. Am I right?’

‘Indeed you are. Congratulations. Although
accident
is not the correct word.
Incident
might be more accurate.’

‘This is still not secret information,’ objected Lethe. ‘These events were well publicised.’

‘Quite. The secret lies in the fact that in each case I was able to warn the relevant authorities in time to prevent a major catastrophe. Only minor damage to people and property was sustained. Reputations were preserved; lives were saved; damage was limited and extreme danger was averted. All thanks to me.’

‘You knew the accidents – I mean incidents – were going to happen?’

‘Indeed I did.’

‘But how – ’ Lethe’s mind was racing. ‘Do you mean you caused the incidents?’

‘What a suspicious mind you have. Good heavens! How could I possibly plant a careless operative here, a faulty component there?’

‘I would imagine such things to be well within your capabilities,’ said Lethe. Her tone was laconic.

‘Why, thank you. Yet all quite impossible to connect to me in any way. We are indeed getting to the heart of the matter. The beauty of it is, the governments involved are most appreciative of the warnings - extremely so - lucratively so - but also understand that what they witness is –‘

Lethe interrupted. ‘A threat.’

‘You catch on so quickly, my dear. But I prefer to think of it as a demonstration of possibility.’

‘So you blackmail them with a ’demonstration of possibility’ of worse to come.’

Titus tutted. ‘
Blackmail
is such an ugly word. You really do need to adapt your vocabulary to modern business practices. I offer them valuable opportunities for fruitful alliances and commercial partnerships.’

‘So you hold them to ransom,’ mused Lethe.

‘I provide them with valuable insurance, yes. And that same insurance could be available at the other locations if it became necessary.’

‘What kind of price does this insurance command?’

Titus looked shocked. ‘Really, my dear! This is not about money. That would be vulgar. It is about a marriage of my wisdom and wealth and their assets, resulting in mutual respect, influence, status and entrepreneurship. Profit is almost incidental – the true aim is a celebration of human potential.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ mocked Lethe. ‘I should have known your mind was fixed on higher things.’ She sat pondering for a while. ‘You cannot possibly do this on your own,’ she observed.

‘Indeed not. I have a vast network of agents and insiders who all benefit considerably from offering such valuable protection.’

‘These are people you trust implicitly?’

Titus roared with laughter. ’I trust none of them, dear lady. Not one. That would be laughably remiss of me.’

‘But any one of them could betray you!’

‘I think not. Firstly, not one of them has the imagination to see the vast scale of my operation. They only see a very small piece of the jigsaw. Secondly, I ensure my workforce is well rewarded for their efforts, meaning they would have a lot to lose by turning on me. Thirdly, I have learned something from the drug dealers such as those who supply you and your foolish young acquaintances.’

‘I don’t follow.’

The urbane, chuckling Titus gave way to an altogether colder, ruthless puppet-master.

‘I create addiction, Madame. I weave a net that ensnares and compromises the weak and greedy. Those who do not succumb to the enticements I offer of lazy wealth and luxury are easily hooked by promises of power and influence. Like any pusher I drip-feed my associates with a little of what they want until they are desperate for it. I ensure that they are well supplied – most of the time. Just occasionally I kick away their metaphorical crutches, so they realise how much they want and need what I have to offer.’

‘I have no desire to be one of your junkies.’ Lethe’s voice was cold.

‘Perhaps another metaphor would be more to your taste. Imagine a delicate machine, a 1930s pocket watch by Patek Phillipe, perhaps, with cogs and pivots, fly wheels, gears and assorted complications. Most of the time it runs smoothly, without friction. Like clockwork, in fact. But from time to time it is necessary for me to wind things up. Turn the screw. I run things my way and all the little cogs have to do to keep me happy is keep on turning.’

‘Are you suggesting I would be a mere cog?’ Lethe’s tone was contemptuous.

Titus reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a slim, leather case. He opened it reverently, and took out a wristwatch with an oval face and fine mesh strap. He reached for Lethe’s hand, and fastened the watch round her wrist. ‘My gift to you is this priceless Patek Phillipe watch. It is made from eighteen carat gold. There are twenty jewels at the heart of the movement. The point is, you would be the exquisite jewel at the heart of my – no, our - movement.’

Lethe admired the beautiful timepiece for a long time. When she looked up her expression was sombre. ‘No. The point is, you are a criminal. A terrorist, even. Supposing I took this story to the highest authorities?’

Titus was all smiles again. He named a prominent politician. ‘Would he qualify as one of your highest authorities?’

Lethe caught on quickly. ‘Ah. He’s in your pocket,’ she said flatly.

‘He is, indeed, a most valued colleague. I have helped keep his heroin-abusing son out of jail, paid for his wife to have special medical care and bankrolled his election campaign.’

‘You’re saying I would not know who to trust. Except possibly you.’

‘You are correct. But you are not correct in thinking I want you as my junkie. I seek a challenge, not a pushover. You are unique among women in that you will not be controlled by me.’

‘Hmm. The best dealers always know how to flatter,’ observed Lethe. ‘Calling me unique has the merit of being true, of course, but it is flagrant flattery, nevertheless.’

Titus moved quickly and held Lethe’s face in his hands, forcing her to look directly at him. ‘No more fencing, Lethe. I consider you my equal and so I am offering to share with you the keys to the kingdom. I demand an answer.’

‘And you shall have one. But not tonight.’ She breathed deeply and held his gaze, then drew his head down to her breast, lingering a while before raising his chin until they were face to face. ‘I will tell you, however, that your proposition excites, no, arouses me.’ His breathing quickened as she ran her finger across his lips then slowly moved her mouth to his. After what seemed like an eternity she drew away and, looking him in the eye, she smiled triumphantly, confident that she now had him in the palm of her hand. ‘Good night, Titus.’

Jo studied his face as he watched her walk away. ‘A masterpiece,’ he breathed to himself. He composed himself. ‘And almost indispensable.’

He locked the door behind Lethe then moved back to his desk, sat down and reached underneath. There was the click of a switch and a buzz of static.

‘Did you get all that?’ said an unsmiling Titus. All his avuncular, hail-fellow-well-met manner had vanished.

‘It is exactly as you said,’ rasped a voice so desiccated and menacing that Jo almost gasped out loud. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she remembered Lord Oleander. Was it possible that he was part of this reality as well? Jo could hardly breathe as he continued a dry whispering that crawled into her mind. ‘Her beauty is a given, of course, as is her intelligence, but I sense a deep corruption and wickedness that would be valuable to our cause. However, is it strictly necessary to marry the woman?’