“She seems very nice. I spoke with her on the way in,” Carter said in a fatherly tone of voice. “You should keep the oxygen mask on. Your lungs are a little burned.”
“Don’t I know it — I’m coughing like a two-pack a day smoker.”
Suddenly she bowed her head. Nobody spoke. When she looked up again, there were tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Ed.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Megan.”
“Somehow they found me. Somehow, they got in to my place. I should have stopped them. I should have put up a fight. All my stuff… my cats… ”
She hung her head and sobbed. Ed put his hand on her shoulder and waited until the tears were spent. Stone stood quietly by the window, immersed in his own grief and distress. When Megan had dried her eyes, mightily blown her nose, and eaten three more chocolates, Stone spoke for the first time since they had arrived.
“Megan, they took Linda. It was my fault. We knew it was a trap, but I took her anyway.”
Her hand shot to her mouth in horror.
“Oh my God! Poor Linda. Oh Eric, I’m so sorry.”
“I have to find her,” he whispered to no one in particular.
Carter broke the silence.
“Megan? Before the fire, you said that you had found a clue. It could be important. It could help us to find Linda. Do you remember what it was?”
Megan shook her head.
“I can’t remember… ”
Her eyes grew wet again.
“My memory… it’s all… smoky.”
“I brought my laptop. Perhaps if we looked at the files again… perhaps you might remember something,” Carter asked gently.
“Of course.”
She waved for him to bring the laptop forward.
While Megan’s fingers flew across the keyboard, Carter slowly walked through everything that had happened since the fire. He told her about contacting Helen Atkins and arranging the meeting. He explained why they had gone, even though they had suspected a trap, and then he described how Atkins had been brutally shot down. Megan remained silent, right up to the part where he told her how Linda had screamed in pain over the radio.
“Those bastards!”
She looked at Stone, her eyes still wet, but now fierce in determination.
“This wasn’t your fault Eric, any more than the death of Charles. These are bad people — it’s that simple.”
Stone slowly turned to face the window.
“I have to find Linda,” he whispered, “I have to save her.”
Megan gave Ed a grave look. Together they shared a dreadful thought, about what might be happening to Linda Smart.
Gordon McIntosh knocked, and walked into The Fixer’s office. He was carefully carrying a large glass Kilner jar, inside there was a second much smaller jar. Both jars were filled with clear liquid. He paused for a moment to look at the beautiful blonde woman, sitting submissively at the side of The Fixer’s desk. He had a brief image of a young Queen sitting with her King.
“Gordon! Come in please.”
He used an expansive sweep of his arm, to indicate his new possession.
“This is Linda Smart. She used to be with Eric Stone, but now she’s with me.”
Gordon was unsure how to respond.
“Er… hello?”
The Fixer smiled at some private joke.
“Don’t worry, Gordon. Linda isn’t feeling herself just now.”
Linda stared at Gordon with dull dead eyes. He mentally shuddered as he imagined what the Fixer had been doing to this young woman for the last two hours. With great effort, he tore his eyes away from her slack tear-stained face.
“You wanted to see me, Boss?”
“Yes. I wanted to check your preparations for… ” he waved his hand in an arc, “this place.”
Gordon looked from his boss to Linda and back again. The Fixer held up a calming hand.
“Oh, it’s OK Gordon — you can talk freely. She’s quite compliant just now.”
Feeling on safer ground Gordon risked a smile.
“Everything’s ready, Boss.” He cautiously held up the Kilner jar. “That’s why I brought this.”
The Fixer smiled. Earlier he had spoken with his broker. He had reported that every movable asset would be transferred to a numbered offshore account by close of play tomorrow. Mentally he had shrugged in tacit acceptance at the cost. He recognized that the sudden decision to liquidate his assets would result in a considerable loss. Nevertheless, he had already made plans to ensure that the thieving bastard didn’t live long enough to enjoy his share.
At least he was consoled by the knowledge that in just a few hours, he would board a private jet with Linda Smart, and they would fly far, far away, to begin a long and happy life together. Before then, he wanted to kill the remaining members of the Wrecking Crew. Then he would destroy the bodies, and any other incriminating evidence, by incinerating the house. The Fixer looked at Gordon’s jar of liquid, and braced himself for the inevitable science lecture.
“Go ahead, Gordon. Tell me what I need to do to torch this place without losing my eyebrows.”
Gordon smiled proudly.
“Actually it’s really simple. As long as you follow my instructions, you’ll have plenty of time to set the fire and leave.”
The Fixer nodded in encouragement.
“Go on.”
Gordon produced a drawing from his pocket and placed it in the desk. It was a rough diagram of the house and grounds. He pointed to a square containing four circles.
“OK… At each corner of the basement there’s a tea chest filled with Thermite. It’s a mixture of iron oxide and aluminum powder. That stuff burns at an incredibly high temperature, hot enough to melt most metals. Unfortunately, it can be difficult to ignite, so I’ve added some barium nitrate to the mix. That will make the Thermite burn even hotter, but with the benefit of being easier to light.”
Gordon used a pen and laboriously drew an arrow, pointing towards one of the circles.
“This tea chest nearest to the door is painted yellow. It contains strips of magnesium metal, which will act as a fuse. Once the first chest is alight, the others will follow in sequence — they are all rigged to burn.”
His eyes glittered with excitement as he explained his preparations.
“To add a little variety, on each floor above the tea chests, I’ve placed a five gallon jerry-can of gasoline. If you add all that to the 300 gallons of kerosene in that heating oil tank out by the garage, we can expect a pretty spectacular display.”
The Fixer tried to look as if he understood the chemistry — or even cared about it, but it was hard going. He had always found Gordon’s passion for conflagrations to be distasteful.
“So how do I start the fire?”
“That’s what this is for.”
Gordon proudly jiggled the Kilner jar.
“It contains a mixture of potassium chlorate, sucrose, and nitro cellulose. It’s something that the British spooks invented during the Second World War, to destroy secret documents. Inside this Kilner jar, is a second smaller jar filled with sulfuric acid. When mixed, these chemicals produce a very hot and nasty fire.”
“Sounds delightful.”
Gordon didn’t notice his bosses thinly disguised sarcasm.
“Oh, it is wonderful — and quite spectacular.”
The Fixer was becoming impatient. He gave Gordon a cold stare.
“Anyway, all you need to do is throw the jar into the yellow tea chest, and walk away.”
The Fixer raised his eyebrows. He’d had some previous experience of his arsonist’s work.
“That’s all? Just throw and walk away?”
“Well, there will be a mighty ‘woof’ when the jar breaks, but the thermite will take a little while to get going. So I would suggest that you throw the jar and then leave immediately.”