Read The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1) Online

Authors: Christopher Read

Tags: #political, #conspiracy, #terrorism thriller mystery suspense

The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

BOOK: The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1)
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“More or less.
I don’t think she was American; probably Polish or Russian like the
guy; she’d be mid-fifties, blonde hair.”

“Does that
happen often – McDowell drinking with people he can’t converse
with?”

“Alcohol can
beat any language barrier,” Rob replied philosophically. “You
wanted facts and memorable, and where McDowell’s concerned that’s
all I’ve got.”

“And they were
from around here or something to do with Erdenheim?”

Rob was trying
his best. “Erdenheim, I think; so maybe they were some of the
outside experts he gets in.”

“I guess
you’ve no idea what they were talking about?”

“I just said
they were talking foreign. And I do serve drinks to paying
customers when not being given the third-degree.”

Anderson gave
a slow and deliberate glance around the empty bar, “Well, it’s
fortunate I’m the only paying customer you need worry about at the
moment. Might any of your regulars have overheard anything?”

Rob frowned,
“Now you’re asking... I doubt it; bar wasn’t busy.”

“And this was
before or after the Commander went to Spain?”

Rob gave
Anderson an annoyed look, then moved across to study the wall
calendar, turning it back to April. “Definitely after; it’d
probably be the week of the 26th, the Monday or maybe that
Tuesday.”

Anderson
persevered, “CCTV?”

“Not unless
you’re the police,” Rob said, with a hint of exasperation.

Anderson bought him a well-deserved drink, mulling over how
this latest titbit fitted in with everything else. It was well
after the Commander’s death and Darren’s accident, and any link
to
Red Terror
or
terrorism was speculative at best. Much like the rest of Anderson’s
leads, it was all a bit confused, a mess of ideas with no clear
answers.

Perhaps
Charlotte’s mysterious trip out would provide some clarity as to
his next move – if not, then at least there was dinner to look
forward to.

* * *

Anderson sat
in the passenger seat still none the wiser as to their eventual
destination, Charlotte sidestepping his questions to quickly turn
the conversation round to McDowell.

“Before you
clam up, I’ve been fully briefed,” she announced, keeping her eyes
on the road ahead as it wound its way towards Graythorp. “I might
be a sceptic but Mum seems determined, so let’s just see where it
all leads. Is there anything more on Pat McDowell?”

Anderson was
already regretting his haste in involving mother and daughter but
it was a little late to turn back the clock. “There might be more
to the Russian connection than just one of Zhilin’s books.”

“Are we
talking about McDowell or Erdenheim?”

“I’m guessing it’s the same thing. McDowell was at the
Farriers
with a man and
an older woman, common language Russian. When I say Russian, I
might actually mean Polish; Yuri and Lara, I’ve decided to call
them.”

“Very poignant… Are you suggesting Dad had seen them at
the
Farriers
?”
The car slowed, Charlotte glancing to her left, drawn – like
Anderson a few hours earlier – to the tributes at the base of the
sycamore.

“The dates
don’t work,” Anderson said, hoping he didn’t need to explain
further. “It’s just another intriguing fact to add to the
rest.”

“Intriguing
isn’t perhaps the word I would have used; random seems nearer the
mark.”

Anderson’s
retort was stilled as they passed through Graythorp. Two hundred
yards beyond Erdenheim, Charlotte turned west onto a narrow back
lane, pulling into a driveway partly-hidden behind a line of stumpy
trees to park beside a mud-spattered Range Rover.

It was in fact
part of a farm complex, Charlotte taking a moment to work out where
to go before leading the way to the farmhouse’s side door. Even as
she went to press the bell, the door opened wide to reveal a woman
in her fifties, her smile of welcome tinged also with a hint of
sadness.

“Miss Saunders
and Mr Anderson is it?”

“That’s right;
Charlotte and Michael, please.”

They shook
hands, Anne Teacher ushering them through into the large kitchen,
readying mugs as she continued to talk.

“I was so
sorry to hear about the Commander; as you know I spoke to Jessica
and things just won’t be the same without him. Always helpful,
always polite; the commander was a true gentleman. What with young
Darren as well; it was all so sad… Now, can I get you some
tea?”

Charlotte
smoothly took control, Anderson’s article on Darren now transformed
into a feature on Erdenheim. He nodded and agreed where it seemed
appropriate, happy to wait and see what Charlotte had in mind. It
quickly became clear that the meeting had been arranged through
Jessica, the Commander’s diary pored over to try and work out why
he had visited the Management Centre.

“As I said to
the Commander at the time,” continued Anne, quickly becoming more
animated. “I have nothing against Erdenheim itself or it being
where it is, and everything was fine until early March. It’s not as
if we have many animals, so an occasional helicopter isn’t a
problem. But then all of a sudden lots of brash Americans turned up
with their loud voices and louder cars, none with the patience to
have to crawl for a mile behind a tractor. Every night it was a
noisy barbeque and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t cigarettes they were
smoking. I was just hoping the Commander could persuade them to
tone everything down a bit.”

Anderson
finally found his voice, “Is it still as bad as when you spoke to
Commander Saunders?”

Anne pursed
her lips, “It improved as soon as he had a word with them and I did
thank the Commander. At the moment, it’s much better and there’s
just the one sports car; even so, I can’t help but think about poor
Darren and worry as to whether my John might be next.”

Charlotte
nodded in understanding, the arrival soon after of Anne’s husband
taken as their cue to leave. The sequence of events involving the
Commander might be somewhat clearer now but not the precise reason
for his subsequent actions. Charlotte’s doubts were pushing
Anderson into a potentially risky strategy, both hoping that his
visit to Erdenheim would help supply some answers.

“We have lots
but we have nothing,” said Charlotte, as they headed back to
Marshwick. “And no motive. Perhaps Pat McDowell isn’t quite the
ogre you seem keen to portray.”

“That’s always
been likely,” admitted Anderson. “I guess I’ll find out
tomorrow.”

Charlotte glanced quickly across at Anderson, “There
is
one more thing. Did
you know my father had a heart condition?”

Chapter 6 –
Wednesday, May 12th
Lincolnshire, England

Anderson sat in his small room at the
Farriers
, flicking through the TV
news channels for the very latest on events in Russia. Domodedovo
was still making the headlines, the total of confirmed dead fast
approaching six hundred. The missile attack had re-ignited the
Russian public’s concern that far too little was being done to stop
the terrorists, and Wednesday morning had seen Moscow’s police
having to contend with several large demonstrations, the biggest
targeting the Government building known as the Russian White House
– due purely to its colour and not because it had anything to do
with Russia’s President, so the BBC somewhat patronisingly
explained.

With still an hour to waste before his 11 a.m. appointment at
Erdenheim, Anderson chose to give
Red
Terror
one last go – he could then return
it to Jessica with a clear conscience. Dinner with Charlotte had
been less than he had hoped for, although the gentle smile and
single chaste kiss as they had said goodbye had offered the promise
of something more. Sadly, the assignment in Bristol would soon be
the priority, Anderson just not sure whether to delay his pursuit
of McDowell or simply abandon it altogether. Although he wasn’t
convinced the Commander’s heart problems were entirely relevant, it
was one more complication to what was already a convoluted tale and
it was simply Anderson’s contrary nature that made him persevere
with the frustration of Charles Zhilin’s long-winded
book.

He ignored the main body, scouring through the two pages of
acknowledgements, then the notes and index, hoping that something
might stir some deep-seated memory. Twenty minutes of searching was
enough to prove he was still wasting his time,
Red Terror
’s secret as elusive as
ever. Name, photo, event, date – the key element could have easily
been staring up at Anderson and he wouldn’t even know.

* * *

Erdenheim’s
car park was relatively full, Anderson finding a space between two
smart BMWs and disappointed not to see any sign of a sports car. A
large sign politely reminded visitors and guests that all public
areas were protected by CCTV, with entry to the site and buildings
between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. by card only. Anderson duly made a mental
note, although unsure quite why he needed to.

The main door
slid open to reveal a large reception area, two curved wooden
staircases to left and right, office directly ahead. Good lighting
made the area bright and cheerful, despite the rather bland colour
scheme of white and beige. Even as Anderson announced himself to
the young lady receptionist, a smiling McDowell clattered down the
left-hand stairs, Anderson feeling rather more apprehensive than
common-sense dictated.

“Mr Anderson;
welcome to Erdenheim’s Management Development Centre. I’m Pat
McDowell, one of the directors here.” They shook hands, Anderson
passing across his business card – it would have seemed odd not to.
McDowell’s American accent was barely noticeable, cultured rather
than broad, his tone friendly; yet there was just something about
his demeanour that made Anderson wary, and it wasn’t simply down to
his preconceptions.

“Is it okay to
take photos?” Anderson asked. “I’ll send copies of the best ones
and you’re free to use them in any future publicity.”

“Yes, of
course, take whatever you want; I checked earlier and none of our
guests are camera-shy… Your assistant said you’re looking to do a
feature on Erdenheim?”

“Probably not just Erdenheim; I’m hoping to put something
together emphasising the success of several new out-of-town
ventures, such as the Golf Centre at Fishtoft. In part it’s also a
follow-up to the article the
Standard
did when you first opened.”
Anderson had his story well-prepared and he had even gone so far as
to make contact with the golf course, anything to give his story
added credibility.

“Well, we’re
always glad of good publicity, Mr Anderson. Forgive me, but have we
met before?”

“Commander
Saunders’ funeral,” Anderson explained, half-expecting the
question. “That’s why I came up from London, and this feature sort
of developed from there.”

“Yes, of
course, the Commander’s funeral,” said McDowell with a sad smile.
“I felt it best Erdenheim be represented; part of our ethos is
strong links with the community and Councillor Saunders was very
supportive with the initial planning application.”

Very
magnanimous, thought Anderson, and possibly even true. In any case
this was all part of a game; one where neither trusted the other
but both had to play just in case one of them was actually telling
the truth. Anderson wasn’t even sure now why he was there, his
suspicions more to do with McDowell himself than Erdenheim.

“Some in the
community,” said Anderson glibly, “might argue that the links
aren’t quite as strong as they used to be.”

There was a
brief pause before McDowell responded. “I assume you’re referring
to young Darren Westrope. A very unfortunate accident which has
clearly harmed our standing in the community; I have spoken to the
Westrope family and Erdenheim is keen to do what it can but I
believe all the evidence shows our driver to be completely
blameless. He’s still off sick and I imagine won’t be back for some
time.”

There was an
uncomfortable silence, broken eventually by McDowell. “If it’s
okay, I’ll give you the usual tour. The brochure can be a bit vague
but that’s because a lot of what we do is customised to our
clients’ needs.” He gestured at the entrance area, “This central
space, for example, can be partitioned off for use as a small
conference room, or we can add tables and chairs for a planning
exercise.”

Anderson took
a couple of photographs, preferring pad and pen for brief notes
rather than using his phone as an audio recorder. McDowell moved on
to the northern single-storey block, its sole purpose that of
providing single en-suite accommodation for up to twenty people,
the rooms small but well-furnished. McDowell opened up an
unoccupied room for Anderson to take the required photos, letting
his guest dictate the pace of the tour. After the slightly awkward
beginning, McDowell had settled into a more relaxed mode, happy to
answer Anderson’s many questions, proud to emphasise that a good
proportion of new business came from client-referrals.

“So business
is pretty good?” asked Anderson between photos.

“Steady
growth; at the moment we’re running at about two-thirds capacity,
and just about heading for a profit.”

“And how many
staff?”

“Seven full
plus five part-time; we also bring in various experts and guest
speakers when necessary.”

“Erdenheim’s
American, is that right?”

“Yes, and no,”
McDowell replied. “The original Erdenheim is in Philadelphia; the
rest of us are totally separate companies operating under a
franchise, paying a yearly fee to use the Erdenheim name and borrow
some of their ideas. The Graythorp Centre is actually owned by a
company called Erdenheim UK with Jonathan Carter and myself as
directors.”

BOOK: The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1)
7.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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