Authors: Jim Eldridge
The Deadly Game (7 page)
Jake thought of Robert’s noisy old van.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘I was thinking of popping in on some old friends of mine on the way there,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen them in ages. They’re in Salisbury, so I thought I’d see them on Friday and stay the night, and then go on to Glastonbury from there. I’d invite you, but you don’t know them, and it’ll be boring for you, old friends catching up. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if you hadn’t said about your friend coming as well. If he can take you, that would be great.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ said Jake. ‘We’ll meet at Glastonbury on Saturday.’
‘I’ve booked us in at the Grail and Thorn,’ she said. ‘The booking’s under my name, Faure, if you get there first.’
Jake was slightly taken aback at this.
‘But . . .’ he began.
‘Listen, Glastonbury gets booked up with all these Arthur pilgrims every weekend,’ said Michelle. ‘You’ve got to move quickly if you want to get a room.’
A room? One? Warning bells sounded in Jake’s head.
‘Actually . . .’ he began awkwardly.
‘Don’t worry about the cost,’ she said. ‘My editor said it sounds like a good story, so the magazine is picking up the tab.
‘When you say “get a room” . . .’ he said.
‘Rooms,’ she corrected him quickly. ‘Two.’
‘Oh,’ said Jake, relieved.
‘Let’s get something clear, Jake,’ she said, and now there was a new note in her voice: a warning tone: ‘I don’t know if you were thinking that we might be sharing a room . . .’
‘No no!’ said Jake quickly.
‘But that’s not what this is about,’ continued Michelle.
‘No, of course not,’ said Jake awkwardly.
God, he felt such an idiot.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you at Glastonbury on Saturday.’
Jake arrived home, feeling invigorated. Robert’s suggestion of using a sniffer dog was a stroke of brilliance. If there was a book to be found, using the dog they’d find it, Jake was sure. In a matter of just a couple of days, ever since he’d come home to find that old book cover on his kitchen table, he’d found a whole new confidence in what he was doing. He’d have Lauren back, and sooner than either of them had expected, of that he was certain!
He walked into his kitchen, glancing at the table, half expecting to find another book cover left on it — perhaps this time a whole book! But the table was clear.
He turned towards the kettle to make himself a drink, and as he did so, he saw the picture. It was stuck to the wall with a knife. It was a photo of Lauren, and her face had a red cross slashed over it, like blood. Underneath the photo were scrawled the words:
Samantha Adams
, followed by her address in New Zealand. And then the warning:
Don’t go to Glastonbury
.
Jake’s mind was in turmoil. They knew who Lauren was. They knew her so-called secret identity. They knew where she lived in New Zealand. And they knew that Jake was planning to go to Glastonbury.
Who were they?
He tried to think of who knew about Lauren becoming Samantha Adams in Wellington. Gareth, obviously. And he was fairly sure that Pierce Randall knew the secret, they seemed to know everything. But Pierce Randall had wanted Jake to find the books for them, not for them to remain hidden. The only people he knew who wanted the books to stay secret were the Watchers, and Gareth and the government people he worked for. Everyone else was after the books because of what they offered: power and money. Was this threat from some organisation that wanted to stop Jake from interfering with their own search for the books? Was it the same people who’d phoned him and threatened him? And now, they were threatening Lauren.
He had to warn her. But how, without the automatic censors cutting them off? If he could Skype her or phone her, he might just be able to get a warning out before the system shut down.
He looked at the clock. Eight o’ clock. It would be eight in the morning in Wellington.
He picked up his phone and dialled her home number. It rang, and continued ringing. As he hung up, he reflected that she must have gone into the office to make sure she was there for these meetings she’d mentioned, the forthcoming Antarctic expedition. At least, he hoped that was why she wasn’t answering.
He tried her mobile number, but all he got was the voicemail asking him to leave a message.
Surely they wouldn’t have done anything to her yet?
His fingers trembled as he switched on his computer and went to his emails, and then relaxed slightly as he read one from Lauren.
Jake. If you try and call, I’ve had to go to the office early for a meeting about the Antarctic expedition
.
Just as I thought, mused Jake.
As it’s for a meeting, all phones will be off. But I’ll talk to you on Friday (Saturday your time) as we said. So, King Arthur! Wow! Sounds really interesting. Wish I was with you! Who are you going with? Or will this trip be on your own? Got to go. Love you lots, S. xxx
Jake sat and read the message again. She was all right. At least, she
seemed
to be OK. He started to type a reply, then he stopped. Should he tell her he was going with Robert
and
Michelle? Then he’d have to explain who Michelle was. A reporter. A young woman reporter, and Lauren might get the wrong idea of what was going on.
He felt sure Lauren knew she could trust him, but, this far apart, with no way of talking things through and explaining things face to face . . .
He typed:
I’m going with Robert and a rugby pal of his
.
For once, he was glad they weren’t on Skype. If he’d tried saying that on camera to her, she’d see through him straight away and know he wasn’t telling her the whole story. And then, when she discovered about Michelle, she’d wonder why.
I’ll tell her about Michelle later, he determined. After we’ve got the book. I’ll tell her I didn’t want to say anything about her in case the opposition picked up on it and realised we were really after one of the hidden books.
It was a lame excuse, and he felt guilty because he knew he was lying to Lauren, but he didn’t want her thinking he might be interested in anyone else while she was away.
He typed some more, innocuous chatter about how good it had been to see Robert again, and things that were happening in Britain, and then added the heartfelt core of his message:
Be careful. There could be some nasty people over there. Someone here seems to know who and where you are. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I miss you. Jake. xx
When he’d sent it, he went on to the internet. If he was going to Glastonbury under the pretence of looking for Athurian artefacts, then it would be a good idea to do some research on the subject, just in case anyone started asking him questions. He typed in ‘King Arthur’, and almost immediately thousands of websites were listed. He went through them methodically, particularly those where there was a link to Glastonbury. It took a couple of hours, but it was time he felt was worth it. For one thing, if Gareth’s spooky minions were monitoring his computer activity, this would go a long way to convincing them that he really was interested in King Arthur and the Grail legends.
The legends surrounding Glastonbury seemed to begin with stories of Jesus Christ coming to Britain. One said that he was brought to Britain as a child by his uncle, a wealthy trader called Joseph of Arimathea, and that they ended up at what was to become the site of Glastonbury Abbey. Another said that after Jesus had been crucified and resurrected, Joseph of Arimathea came to this site at a place called Wearyall Hill, and stuck his traveller’s staff into the ground. That staff blossomed and became the Glastonbury Thorn, a bush that still flowered twice a year — once at Christmas and once at Easter.
Joseph built a simple church at the site. He was also said to have brought the Holy Grail with him to Britain, the cup used by Jesus at the last supper, and in which it was said that Joseph caught some of Christ’s blood while he was on the cross at Calvary.
As if this wasn’t legend enough, it was also believed that King Arthur had been buried at the site when it was still an island called Avalon. According to another website, during the reign of Henry II, the monks of the abbey unearthed a tomb and a lead cross, on which was carved, in Latin:
Here lies the famous King Arthur, buried in the Isle of Avalon
. The body found in the tomb was then reburied in the abbey itself.
‘Wow,’ Jake murmured to himself. ‘No wonder the place attracts so many myth hunters!’ As well as numerous references to King Arthur of legend, and his Knights of the Round Table, Jake found one reference from an ancient history book, written about
ad
600, which talked of ‘Arthur, King of the Britons, leading his troops against the invaders and defeating them at the Battle of Badon Hill’.
Another search indicated that ‘Badon Hill’ was not far from Bath.
‘Which puts it all in the same area as Glastonbury,’ mused Jake. He smiled to himself. This was looking good. This would be just the sort of stuff he’d be unearthing if he really
was
planning to look for relics of Arthur. And maybe even the Holy Grail itself. He hoped that whoever was watching him was monitoring his computer activity. His cover story was looking good.
8 a.m. Saturday, and Jake was smiling into his webcam and looking at Lauren on his computer screen. His overwhelming feeling was relief that she looked OK, safe and well. But the expression on her face showed something was worrying her.
‘That email of yours . . .’ she began.
‘Careful,’ warned Jake quickly. ‘We don’t want to get cut off before we start to talk.’
Lauren hesitated, then nodded, but asked: ‘These people you mentioned . . .’
‘I don’t know who they are,’ said Jake quickly. ‘I just got an anonymous message. I just wanted to let you know so you’d take care, just in case.’
Just in case they come after you
, Jake meant. He wondered how much he could say without the censor cutting them off. He decided to change the topic to something lighter, and then maybe he could slip in a clearer warning later.
‘So, King Arthur,’ he said jovially. ‘What do you think?’
‘You and Robert looking for the Holy Grail.’ Lauren smiled. ‘Just like two knights of old.’
‘Why not?’ said Jake lightly. ‘Sir Jake and Sir Robert. Anyway, I thought it was time I took up a new interest. Something a little less . . . problematic.’
This was for the sake of whoever might be listening in, just to assure them that the trip he was planning to Glastonbury was harmless. He didn’t know if it would work, but it was worth a try. At least they hadn’t been cut off.
‘What about you?’ he asked, changing the subject. ‘The Antarctic expedition?’
It was obviously a topic that Lauren was delighted to talk about, because Jake listened happily for the next ten minutes as Lauren outlined the forthcoming expedition. ‘And they say I might even get a chance to go on one!’ she ended excitedly.
‘Wow!’ said Jake, impressed and jealous at the same time. ‘I wish I could go with you.’
Lauren smiled.
‘Who knows,’ she said. ‘Maybe one day we can.’
The sound of Jake’s mobile ringing interrupted them. Jake picked it up, and looked at the screen.
‘It’s Robert,’ he announced. Then he put the phone down. ‘I’ll call him back.’
‘You’d better talk to him,’ said Lauren. ‘It’s obviously about your boys’ weekend.’
Jake hesitated momentarily, then nodded. His phone had stopped ringing, but Jake knew Lauren was right. They needed to get to Glastonbury and find the book, get the evidence that would bring Lauren back.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know how we get on.’
‘Give Robert my love,’ said Lauren. ‘And this kiss is for you.’
And she blew him a kiss.
‘I’ll be thinking of you,’ Jake told her.
‘I’ll be thinking of you,’ she said back.
Then they disconnected.
Immediately, Jake dialled Robert’s number.
‘Hi, Robert,’ he said. ‘You called. All ready for the trip?’
‘No I am not!’ snarled Robert.
He was angry. No, he was more than angry, he was absolutely furious.
‘Do you know what those swines have done!’ he bellowed. ‘They’ve attacked Lizzie!’
For one horrible moment, Jake thought that Robert’s fiancée had been attacked. Then he remembered her name was Gemma. He also just managed to recall in time that Lizzie was the name Robert gave to his van.
‘What?!’ he said, shocked. ‘How?’
‘They’ve slashed all her tyres, and they’ve put sugar in her petrol tank. So the old girl’s not going anywhere!’
They were an hour later than planned in setting off for Glastonbury. Robert had hired a car for the weekend, telling Jake determinedly when he’d pulled up outside Jake’s flat: ‘If they think they can stop me, they’ve got another thing coming!’
