“The place has a very ancient legend attached to it. Two knights leaving London to go to war—as far back as the Crusades possibly—had a quarrel. They fought on the bridge while their companions watched the struggle from the banks. Both of them fell dead and the bridge has been called after the knights ever after. They made a terrific duelling ground, of course, these open spaces. And were a haunt of highwaymen and footpads until a hundred years ago.”
“No law and order, then, in the early days?” Kingston roused himself to ask.
“Strangely enough,” Joe battled on, determined to entertain and amuse, “the concealing thickets of this park have been the setting for some strange conceptions over the years, no offspring so misbegotten perhaps as the Metropolitan Police Force! Right here. An armed troop was formed to protect the public crossing the park into the city from the thieves that infested it. There’s still a manned police station in Hyde Park about a quarter of a mile away, in the middle of a thousand acres of wilderness. Many men have died here over the years fighting each other with sword and bullet.”
“Sounds like a blood-soaked killing field to me. What are you leading me into?”
“Ah! That’s in the past. When you’ve seen it for yourself, all green and peaceful on a summer’s afternoon, you’ll agree with your countryman Henry James, who lived just round the corner, that this is Paradise.”
Joe pointed out the Broad Walk and its stately elm trees, the Round Pond busy with juvenile yachtsmen and the thickets of the Bird Sanctuary where, seven years ago, he and Armiger had arrested a would-be rapist. “Speaking of whom,” Joe said, “I don’t see your aide. I thought you’d asked him to be in attendance?” In some unease, he warned, “I have to declare I carry no gun myself. You?”
“Me neither. My Pocket Special’s with your police in Surrey. But Armiger is about the place somewhere. This is his style. He never walks with me. That just enlarges the target, he says and, when it comes to protection, you don’t argue with Armiger. Don’t worry, he always steps forward at exactly the right moment and he usually carries a spare. He’s a marvel at keeping himself hidden.”
“A quality I remember well,” Joe confirmed, not without irony. “How do you fancy a calming cup of tea in the café?”
“Order what you like,” said Kingstone when they had settled at a table as far as possible from the others. He straightened the rickety wooden table and banged a leg into place with his fist. When he’d tugged the white linen cloth into place he added, “Anything but Earl Grey for me.”
Joe placed a double order for ham sandwiches, Chelsea buns and Typhoo tea with the waitress and while they waited for the tray to arrive, looked about him, automatically scanning the other customers. Young mothers chatted happily together over the heads of jam-smeared infants or called unheeded warnings to older children playing games between the tables. A poorly dressed young couple were sharing a toasted tea-cake. Two Foreign Office mandarins, heads together, were plotting some skulduggery over their cucumber sandwiches. Joe searched beyond them, peering into the depths of the surrounding foliage and he recognised that the American had made him nervous. “Twitchy, Cornelius? You must have a reason. You said you were playing for your life. How did that game come out?”
“I lost,” the senator said simply. “You’re looking at a loser, Joe. Worse than that. A danger. I won’t make it back to the hotel.”
“You talk as though you’ve got the Black Spot on your back.”
“Damn right, I have! The Nine Men gave—or their spokesman gave—me a message. Useless to offer my services having got to this point. They don’t countenance failures or those who don’t play straight. The gate clanged shut. There was no going back.”
“Further instructions given?”
“None given. You don’t talk to a dead man. I guess if I’m allowed to get back to the hotel I can slit my wrists in a hot bath in the approved senatorial manner but I don’t think I’ll be given that choice. Bullet? Knife in the ribs? Perhaps they’ll drown me in the duck pond? Whatever they’ve got planned—they’re out there and they’re watching me. Probably just waiting for you to back off and give them space. They can’t count on you being unarmed. They wouldn’t think you could be so stupid.”
He gave a grunting laugh. “So—the seedhead has been chopped off and left to rot in the ditch. What you did with the roots seems hardly to matter. But I’d still like to hear, Joe. Ah, here comes our tea. I’ll pour while you tell me.”
Heavy of heart, Joe told him how he’d cornered Swinton and snatched the mask from him. “And underneath, there was a very ugly mug,” he said. “A pop-eyed bigot. You’d probably find the same applied if we could get hold of any one of the Nine Men who direct and inspire him.”
“Not going to happen now. Forget it. If they let you. I don’t know for certain but I’m afraid they may have put you in the same slot as me, Joe. They’ll have noted we’ve got close. Someone who knows the extent of their devilry will not be tolerated. Can you get away? I mean just walk away now?” His voice was earnest, his eyes discreetly observing the lie of the land as he wielded the teapot. “I’m not taking you down with me. Look—put your cup down, visit the gents’ and find a back way out of this place. I’ll cover for you. Choke on a bun … start a fight with the waitress or something.”
This was an offer they both knew Joe was never likely to accept, but, like Kingstone, he had assessed his surroundings. He’d concluded that a busy teashop in a park in Kensington, in earshot of a royal residence and in full view of seven children and at least three pram-pushing, uniformed nannies was probably not the place they’d choose to carry out a double killing. Even so, as two little boys raced around their table playing tag, Joe decided this was not a protection they would want to be using. Time to move on.
“What I’m saying is—get out. Leave the whole scene for a while. Go find your girl in France.”
“Listen, Cornelius, I booked you two cabins on board the Olympic. Openly, in your name: Senator Kingston plus one aide.” Quietly he added, “Also, an alternative: I’ve conjured up less grand accommodation, but anonymous and more secure, on a British naval frigate on its way to New York. I was owed a favour. I’ll lay on a police launch to pick you up and transfer you at eleven P.M. tonight at Waterloo Bridge. I’ll escort you down there. Don’t bring luggage. What you stand up in will do. Just make sure it’s not a tuxedo again.”
“Sounds intriguing. If only … But, Joe, you didn’t say—what about you? Can you get away?”
“I wrote out my resignation this morning. It’s getting to be a bit of a habit. But you can at least tell me why my career and possibly my life is to end like this. A chap likes to know these things. I don’t want to disappear with a huge question mark over my head. Or in it. You claim I ‘know the extent of their devilry.’ Not sure I do. I’m pretty fed up with boxing shadows, tearing off masks and finding bogey-men underneath. Are you ever going to tell me what the carrot was, Cornelius? I’ve seen the stick they dealt out for myself but it would truly be interesting to hear what they were offering you.”
Kingstone’s shoulders slumped and his words, when he could force them out, could have come from the grave: “The presidency. They were offering me the presidency.”
CHAPTER 28
After a very long pause, Joe finally said: “I’m missing something here, Cornelius. You live in a democracy. At the most, nine men have no more than nine votes. How are they going to guarantee the other hundred millions when the time comes in four more years?”
“By skipping the election altogether. And they’re not going to wait that long. More like four weeks than four years. They despise democracy. They particularly don’t favour Roosevelt’s style. It’s a coup they’re planning. The press will soften up the public by running a campaign to denigrate the president. He has his physical weaknesses, were you aware?”