Sophie thought hard for a long minute, clearly reluctant to trammel her journalistic freedom. The she reached a decision. ‘I wouldn’t want to publish anything that affected national security. And I’m limited in what I can publish about Cade anyway, since last night. In a way, I’m already “in”. OK, I’ll sign it.’ She pulled out a pen, sat down and scribbled her signature on the document. ‘My first article about Cade won’t concern any security issues – it will be based on yesterday’s interview in which he told me precisely nothing about what’s going on, you’ll be pleased to hear. Now, what is it that you won’t allow me to print?’
Richards briefed her on the events of the past few weeks; my visit to London as ‘witchfinder’, the two attempts on my life, the operations against the terrorists. Sophie was astonished. ‘There was a bomb in that van?’
‘Yes. Big enough to flatten a considerable area. It appears he was planning to detonate it in the middle of Tower Bridge – a very visible national symbol. It would have put the bridge out of action for a long time.’
Sophie sat back and puffed her cheeks out in thought. ‘When are you planning to release the news about the attempted attacks?’
‘Not just yet. The organisers of the attacks still have no idea what happened. As far as they’re concerned, their men have just disappeared. No explosions, no word from them, no police activity. They will be completely baffled. Two of the men have already responded to Cade’s treatment. They have promised to work for us in return for British citizenship. We are now putting together the details of an operation to reinsert these men into the organisation with a credible cover story which we can arrange to substantiate. It will, of course, cast the cell leaders as traitors.’
‘Then what?’
‘We keep them there until we’ve learned as much as we can. Then we roll up that organisation, and with Cade’s help turn some of their men and reinsert them into the next level, and so on.’
This was the first I’d heard of it, but I had to admire the ruthless logic.
Sophie turned to me. ‘Cade, how did you come to be involved with this? I thought all you wanted to do was to heal people.’
‘True enough, but preventing them from being damaged in the first place is even better, and with the threat of two massive bombs due to be detonated here, I really had no choice.’
Richards looked at her. ‘You could actually be a positive help to us.’
She looked wary. ‘Don’t forget I’m a journalist, believe it or not with some scruples. I’m not going to write anything I know to be false.’
Richards steepled his hands and smiled benignly at her. ‘Well, it won’t be exactly false. It’s just that a report to say that several members of a terrorist organisation have been arrested along with bomb-making equipment might be helpful, along with a hint that the arrests were possible because of a high-level tip-off within the organisation, and that two other men are believed to have escaped the net and are still being sought by the authorities. That sort of thing. Once you’d published it we’d come out with a suitably reluctant and guarded confirmation, and issue photofit pictures of the men we still want to interview.’
‘Which will be your two stooges, except that the photofits won’t look quite like them.’
He winced ‘Quite.’
Sophie sighed. ‘All right then, I can see the need. I’ll just have to remember to carry a long spoon with me when I meet you in future!’
Sophie’s articles hit the press on two separate days. The first was about her interview with me, which was suitably anodyne. The only real news was that I had taken the opportunity to launch a torpedo at those who were exploiting the gullible in my name, by releasing my own philosophy. Sophie had rather pompously dubbed it “The Three Principles of Cade” but the text was exactly as I had given it to her:
There are three key principles which should be followed in life: respect others; respect the environment; and respect yourself.
Respect other people, regardless of sex, age, nationality, culture or beliefs. Treat them as you would like to be treated yourself. If they abuse your trust, then ignore them. If they attack you or other innocent people, then act proportionately in defence.
Respect the environment, in large and small ways. Try to ensure that the world you leave to your successors is better than it is now. Wherever you go, ensure that when you leave, the place is at least no worse, and preferably better, than when you arrived.
Respect yourself. Look after the health and fitness of your mind and your body. Always remain willing to learn. Avoid behaviour which would cause you shame if it became public. Ignore all those who try to interpret these principles for you; make up your own mind about how to apply them, and live accordingly.
Sophie had been dubious. ‘Bit motherhood-and-apple-pie-ish isn’t it?’
‘Yep. That’s the whole point; it’s the KISS principle – keep it simple, stupid! Up to now, the public have had little or no idea what kind of person I am or what I believe in – only what I don’t believe in. This is simple enough to be easily understood by anyone, and inoffensive enough that my religious opponents will have some trouble making anything of it. And put that last sentence in bold – it’s the key to knocking the exploiters on the head.’
The article about the terrorists, which appeared a couple of days later, was carefully distanced from the first as we didn’t want any reference to my involvement to appear – although as events were to prove, someone made the connection. Richards duly followed up with his press release, and Sophie’s journalistic stock went up another notch.
Every week she worked at her job – helped by a steady trickle of information from Richards – while I healed my patients, but at the weekends she came to me.
Several weeks later, Richards sent a car for me after my patients had left. It was now allegedly summer, the daylight hours spreading well into the evening, so I was thankful for the dark-tinted windows as we crawled through London. A few sudden changes of direction, a little interference run by another security vehicle, a quick bit of last-minute deception and I was in Richards’ lair once more.
He had thoughtfully provided a bottle of my favourite spring water – you have no idea what subtle flavours there can be in water unless you drink nothing else – and was looking immoderately pleased with himself.
‘So far so good. Our “stooges”, as your delightful inamorata calls them, are back in the fold and keeping us informed. We’re now ready for phase two.’
‘Knocking out the next level?’
‘That’s it.’ He looked approvingly at me. ‘The organisation has moved a senior man to London to try to re-establish their cells – after the “betrayal”, they don’t really trust anyone who was here. We know there are now six of them altogether, plus our two, we know who they are, where they live and where they meet. We can pick them up at any time.’
‘So why don’t you?’
‘Timing is all. And we must do it in such a way that we secure them before they have a chance to kill themselves. They are all armed, and very wary. If we just went up and gave their front doors a “heavy knock” as usual, they would either open fire or blow themselves up. Which would mean that their organisation would immediately know what had happened. So we must take them quickly and silently.’