Once she was finished with giving orders, she came over. Ignoring Radleigh’s repeat of his greeting, she stopped a few yards in front of Jennifer. There was something of the 1980s about her padded shoulders and the tight fitting of her skirt. But there could be no doubt of the power she radiated. “Why didn’t you pick them up outside Cambrai?” she asked coldly without looking at Radleigh, who fiddled with his cigarette case. “Didn’t I make my instructions clear enough? Thanks to your delay, we’re in big trouble.” Jennifer stared into what resembled the eyes of a calm but predatory insect.
“Where is the Greek boy?” she asked, still looking at Jennifer. A man in a dark suit came over and softly touched her arm. She looked at a sheet of paper covered in print. She pushed it back at him. “Glasgow doesn’t matter!” She looked at Michael and smiled. “No, Glasgow doesn’t matter at all. Keep the bombers waiting, but ready to go at my order.” She patted a lock of hair into place and walked past Jennifer. “Hello again, Michael!” she said. She put out a hand.
“I stand before you in captivity,” he said, speaking an English he might have been rehearsing all day. “My wife please release, and with me as you will may do.”
Hooper dropped her hand and stood back. “No one told me he could speak English,” she said accusingly.
“It’s not an accomplishment I’d ever noticed,” Radleigh answered from within a cloud of tobacco smoke. “However, I think he should be told the deal in his own language.” He stared at Tarquin, who swallowed and looked nervously round at things he didn’t begin to understand. He was barely up to explaining that Michael would be needed to play his allotted part with full internal willingness. That was the limit of his cowed explanation. Then Hooper broke in to emphasise that, if he did exactly as required, Jennifer would be turned loose into the street. Michael stared back, saying nothing.
Jennifer put her arms about Michael again. “What are you going to do with him?” she demanded. Some of the toiling men in white stopped and looked in her direction. Hooper’s response was to snap her fingers at the guards and turn again to the man in the dark suit. As she was pulled away from Michael, Jennifer managed to add: “Whatever you do to my husband, you’ll do to me as well.” She had intended it to be a ringing declaration of love. Instead, her last few words trailed off into sobbing. Hooper didn’t bother looking at her.
“Do whatever they ask,” Michael called to her. “I will see to it that they let you go.” He struggled with the guards, but was pulled farther away from her. “Trust me—I am a diplomat.”
Jennifer sat down on the floor and put her face in her hands. She heard Tarquin mutter something in Greek too low for her to catch. Then she could smell Radleigh’s smoky breath as he pulled her to her feet. “I told you, dear girl, I’d save you for your mother’s sake,” he whispered with quiet urgency. “Don’t cross me, and the offer still holds. Hooper needs the boy. She doesn’t care who’ll take charge of you afterwards.” He let go of her, and, when she didn’t fall down again, stood away. He took out his cigarette case again and looked about for Hooper. For the moment, she was nowhere in sight. He held his case out to Robert, and leaned forward to share a match. He blew smoke at Tarquin, whose hands fluttered over a pocket, before his nerve failed and he let his arms drop to his side.
A man coughed politely behind Jennifer. “We haven’t exactly been introduced,” the interpreter she’d seen in Tenterden said. “But my name is Gordon Jessup. I know this isn’t at all the time and place. Even so, please accept my congratulations on your marriage. Michael is a fine young man.” He continued in whispered Latin: “If it kills me, I’ll do what I can to see that you are happy together.” Back in English, he raised his voice and looked over the rail at the masses of flashing computer equipment that spread out below them. “I really never thought this sort of place existed.”
“And, Siree, it doesn’t officially exist,” a man with a broad American accent called cheerfully up at them. Jennifer looked at down at General Rockville. He was leaning against the back of a chair and had been staring at a long print out. “To my certain knowledge, it hasn’t existed since Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan signed the first cheques back in 1983.” He laughed. “You know, I was right beside President Reagan. This place was just a dripping bunker in those days, filled with asbestos and tins of your bully beef. It took true vision to see what it could become—yes, Sir, true vision!” He caught Jennifer’s eye and laughed again. He looked at the other faces that peered down at him. Still smiling, he turned once more to his print out.
Jennifer continued staring at Rockville. The business suit he’d been wearing for his tour of London had been replaced by his military uniform. His whole manner suggested ownership of all about him. She looked a few yards to his right. There, hunched over each side of a small table, two men were playing cards in silence. One of them, she realised after a few seconds, was the old man she’d seen in Tenterden. The other one—she looked again….
“Yes, it is the Prime Minister,” Jessup said quietly in Latin. “I was picked up with my client and the Lord Robert a few hours after you had made your rather dramatic exit. My understanding is that the man now smoking with Count Robert had betrayed everyone to Hooper. Mr Duffy was brought here about a fortnight ago. I haven’t heard any news, but there seem to have been many changes in the past few weeks.” He looked over to where Hooper had reappeared. “I’d better get back to them,” he said, holding up the teapot he was carrying.
Hooper leaned over the rail. “Oh, there you are, Madison.” He waved back, a boyish smile on his face, and, almost knocking Jessup out of the way, bounded up a small metal staircase to take her hand. “I must apologise for a delay that was longer than I’d expected,” she said. “But Sweeting tells me that we’re back up to full power.” She motioned at a short man with thinning hair and a very wide mouth who stood beside her. His face took on a look of dreamy eagerness, and he nodded in agreement.
“Aw, shucks, Abigail!” Rockville cried. “You know I’ve been having the time of my life here in little old London town. You just take your time. We’ll soon be on the offensive against these fundamentalist terror attacks.” He looked at his watch. “I reckon the e-mail I sent earlier should have got you everything necessary to retake control. We just need to get the Gateway open for physical traffic.” He stopped and sniffed. He looked at Radleigh and Count Robert, who, leaning against one of the larger blocks of equipment, were trying for a basic and unspoken conversation. Rockville frowned. “Say, Abigail, isn’t all this supposed to be no smoking?”
Chapter Forty Three
Jennifer was beyond guessing how far deeper into the earth they’d gone. The inner hub of the complex had contained a single lift. After the first dozen, she’d given up counting the levels passed in this renewed descent. They’d finally stepped out into what the echo of their voices suggested was a high chamber dozens of yards across. No one had met them here. It had been necessary for Professor Sweeting himself to turn on the intense and buzzing arc lights bolted at close intervals onto walls of smooth black rock. Now, following a short walk along one of the wide galleries that radiated out from this central point, they were in a room about thirty feet by twenty. One entire wall of this was a sheet of darkened glass. Though just a few faint outlines could be seen through the glass, it seemed reasonable to think the next room was smaller.