Forty-seven
Gloucestershire
Hawke sipped his Gosling’s rum, neat. His gaze drifted down the grassy hillside to the lazy Thames and the idyllic scene below. The grounds of Brixden House were lovely in this light. He and Ambrose were perched on an old bench. It was very pleasant there, in the shade of a heart-stopping camellia in full blossom against a garden wall. Below, his son, Alexei, and Nell Spooner were driving a pony cart along the narrow path that ran along the banks of the river. It was late afternoon, and the sun cast flecks of gold on the water.
Sunlight, filtered through the trees, mottled the ground and gave a soft serenity to the world that Hawke had nearly forgotten. The world was still and always would be a beautiful place, despite the ugliness and death he dealt with on a near constant basis.
He looked at Congreve and said, “Lovely here, isn’t it, old boy?”
“Indeed. I was just thinking the same.”
“You’re very lucky, you know.”
“We both are, Alex.”
“Yes, I suppose we are.”
“How long are you going to be away this time? Or is the duration as hush-hush as the destination?”
“At least a fortnight, perhaps longer. The new Blackhawke is currently being provisioned, taking on ammunition, and armed. That could take another week and I have to be there.”
“For the life of me, Alex, I simply cannot understand your hesitation to leave Alexei here at Brixden House with Diana and me. The place is crawling with security, as you well know. There’s scarcely a safer place for him, really.”
“It does make sense, I agree.”
“Well, then?”
“I’m afraid, Ambrose. Not just for Alexei’s safety or, God knows, Nell’s. But also for yours and Diana’s as well. I can’t put you in danger.”
“Diana and me? Why? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Yes.”
“Because you can’t tell me.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to tell me what you’ve done. No secrets. But you can tell me what you’re afraid might happen, surely?”
Hawke considered for a moment and said, “On this last absence of mine, I didn’t mention where I was. But I will say I took dead aim at the criminal element responsible for the threats to Alexei’s life.”
“Were you successful?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Then the threats have been eliminated.”
“That certainly was my intention. A lot of monstrously evil people died because of my actions.”
“Splendid.”
“But, and this is the difficult part, I may have merely upped the ante.”
“Meaning?”
“Take a look at this,” Hawke said, handing Congreve a folded piece of tissue-thin blue paper. It was the printout of an encrypted e-mail Hawke had received that morning from Concasseur at the British Embassy in Moscow.
Congreve read it aloud.
“We have destroyed the hive but the bees are still buzzing. Monitoring Internet chatter, surviving members throughout Russia and Eastern Europe. A gauntlet has been thrown down. No idea who was responsible, but determined to find out. Threats of reprisal are serious, indeed. We may have overplayed our hand. Keep your head down and your eyes open. Yours, I.C.”
“I.C.?”
“Ian Concasseur. My man in Moscow.”
“Dear God.”
“These people will stop at nothing, Ambrose. I won’t put you and Diana at risk protecting my son. I can’t.”
“So what will you do?”
“I think the safest place in England is Buckingham Palace.”
“I don’t disagree. But is that even remotely possible?”
“Her Royal Majesty has indicated to me that it is.”
“Then by all means take her up on it, Alex. After all, you saved her life last year at-”
“Yes, yes.”
“If that’s your decision, so be it.”
“It is. Take a look at this.”
He handed Congreve another folded message, printed on the same tissue paper. I am become death, the Destroyer of Worlds. I’m waiting…
“Where on earth did this come from?” Congreve said.
“It appeared on my computer screen last night. Right after I’d shut the whole damn thing down. In other words, the computer was powered down when this appeared. I saved it and printed it.”
“It’s from the-machine, isn’t it? This bloody phantom, Alex.”
“I believe it is, Ambrose. The damn thing knows I’m coming after it.”
“Impossible. But how?”
“How? How does it do anything? Make sane men commit suicide, sink cruise ships, send UFOs streaking over Alaska at the speed of light? It knows, Ambrose, it knows absolutely everything. And it’s capable of absolutely anything.”
“You’ve been in tight spots before, God knows. But I can’t recall a time when you’ve had quite so many balls in the air at one time.”
“Yes. And the problem with having so many balls in the air is that you can be damn sure a couple of them belong to you.”
“It’s a bad business, Alex. I don’t like it one bit.”
“Listen closely, old boy. You’re one of a rapidly decreasing number of people who don’t seem to want me dead. Please don’t accept any phantom phone calls, Ambrose. I may need you and I can’t have you turning into a hypnotic zombie while I’m away. Share this with Diana. Don’t answer the phone. Have someone screen every call coming into the house and hang up immediately if it’s remotely suspicious.”
“Will do.”
“Remember that old-time radio program? Who knows? The Phantom knows…”
“It’s not funny, Alex.”
“Do you really think I don’t know that?”
Nell Spooner, looking round at the high-ceilinged room full of exquisite gilded and silk brocade furniture, massive pictures, and lovely sculpture, thought, So this is Buckingham Palace. What a lark. Her life had changed so dramatically, it almost seemed perfectly normal that she would be sitting with her young charge and his father, waiting to be received by the Queen.
Almost perfectly normal.
Alexei, seated upon her lap, was fidgety. He wanted to be off running about, sprinting down the long, sun-splashed corridors and the wide marble staircases of the Royal Family’s private apartments. She wanted to be doing that, too, to be honest. She was terribly nervous. Alex had tried to soothe her nerves on the drive into the city from Hawkesmoor. Hadn’t worked. Her throat was dry, her stomach filled with butterflies, and her knees weak with-not fear, but something akin to it. Anxiety.
Until, that is, the moment that the Queen’s private secretary ushered them into her presence.
Her Royal Majesty’s eyes simply lit up at the sight of Alex Hawke. She greeted him as if he were a long-lost son returned to the fold at last. Alex clearly adored her, and they chatted happily for a few moments while Nell simply stood back and observed.
The Queen was wearing a suit of robin’s egg blue with a beautiful sapphire brooch at the shoulder. And she exuded genuine warmth that was almost palpable and utterly natural behavior. Right down to the celebrated leather purse she was seldom photographed without. Alex had explained she used it as a signal to staff. If she shifts it from one arm to the other, she’s ready to leave. If she sets it on the floor, she finds the conversation boring and wants to escape. But if it dangles happily from the crook of her left arm, she is happy and relaxed. That’s precisely where it was now.
Alex said, “Your Majesty, may I present Nell Spooner. Nell is on loan to me from her position at MI5. She’s Alexei’s guardian angel, ma’am. She’s already saved his life twice.”
“Lovely to meet you, my dear,” the Queen said, extending her hand.
“A great honor, Your Majesty,” Nell said, taking it lightly into her own.
Nell took a deep breath. She had executed her small curtsy perfectly and even remembered the proper form of address.
The Queen looked at Alexei, who smiled shyly, clutching his teddy bear.
“And you must be Alexei?” the Queen said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Alexei said.
“And who is this delightful bear you’ve brought along? Is he your friend?”