Prisoner of Fire (15 page)

He kissed her. “I love you, too, Jenny. After all these years, you are still an exciting woman. There is no need to apologise for Vanessa.”

“I’m not apologising for Vanessa… I’m apologising
for me. According to some long-dead poet—Andrew Marvell, I imagine—the grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace. Let’s go to bed.”

“I want to. But what about Denzil Ingram?”

“Forget Denzil Ingram. Let’s go to bed and try to make love. Or, if we can’t make love, at least we can hold each other very close.”

“Darling, we can’t just dismiss him.”

“We can’t. Someone else has.”

“How do you know?”

Jenny drank more whisky. “How do you think I know… Poor Vanessa! Somehow, I seem to be getting more and more finely tuned to her. It’s something I want, and it is something terrible. Come to bed, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Suddenly, hope seemed to flash across Simon’s face.

“Then if Ingram is dead, we might be—”

Slowly, Jenny shook her head. “Think. It doesn’t work like that.
Le roi est mort: vive le roi.
Hold me close, Simon. Hit me, revile me, make love to me. But hold me close. I need to prove that I am myself, Jenny Pargetter. I need to know that I am alive.”

Sir Joseph Humboldt was, as usual, taking breakfast in his dressing room at Ten, Downing Street. And, as usual, while he ate he discussed matters of the day with Dick Haynes, his Private Secretary.

“So Tom Green has another awkward P.Q. for me, has he?” Sir Joseph was eating his accustomed breakfast of sausages and bacon and egg. He drowned the sausages in tomato ketchup until they looked like the bodies of small rodents foully done to death, then he speared one on his fork and munched away with evident relish.

Haynes
suppressed a shudder. His own breakfast had consisted of grapefruit, toast and coffee.

“Yes, sir. Question forty-two: To ask the Prime Minister, who has already assured the House that Vanessa Smith, alleged to have been detained at Random Hill Residential School, does not exist, if he is aware that Dugal Nemo, also an inmate of Random Hill, has committed suicide as a result of duress.”

Sir Joseph popped the rest of the sausage into his mouth and briefly evinced satisfaction.

“Two for the price of one, Dick. I like Tom Green. He’s a great fighter, But clearly he will have to be stopped… Ingram is dead, I understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Vanessa Smith got away?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now we have the additional embarrassment of this child Dugal Nemo. It is a very nasty situation. I do not care for it overmuch… Could we prove that Dugal Nemo did not exist?”

“We could, sir. But it would be inadvisable.”

Sir Joseph gave a cold smile. “I take your point. We must not lose credibility… Well, then, could it be shown to be an accident?”

“Sir, the boy hanged himself in a lavatory… At least, that is my information.”

“I see.”

Having disposed of the sausages, Sir Joseph methodically attacked the bacon.

“There is the possibility of murder, I suppose. It would be more acceptable than suicide… If Dugal Nemo had been murdered, we could be seen to be rather strong on justice—provided, of course, that we could find a murderer.”

“That would be very difficult, Prime Minister,” said
Haynes neutrally. “Particularly as it can be shown that no murder was committed.”

Sir Joseph looked at his First Secretary. “Dick, you are not a fool—otherwise you would not be holding your present position. You have served me well, and advancement lies just around the corner for you. But it depends upon the success of my policies and my government. In politics, you know that we must sometimes accomplish things that are personally repugnant to us. We are servants of the nation, Dick. It is a heavy responsibility. As private persons, we can care deeply for the liberty of the individual. As people charged with high office, it is our duty above all to consider the security of the country. Do I make myself clear?”

“Lucidly so, sir.” Haynes hated himself, hated his weakness. Hated the fact that the Prime Minister knew he was ambitious and played upon the knowledge. But what could one do?

“Well, then,” went on Sir Joseph, “let us suppose it was politically necessary to establish a case of murder. Who is the person most likely to be the murderer?”

“Dr. Lindemann,” said Haynes, hating himself even more. “He was the one who kicked the lavatory door down and discovered Dugal Nemo’s body.”

“He is the one who alleges he kicked the door down,” amended Sir Joseph, dipping a piece of bacon into the yolk of his egg. “Who is this Dr. Lindemann? What does he do?”

“He has a high reputation, sir. He is in charge of the group of paranormal children which included both Vanessa Smith and Dugal Nemo.”

“The fact that two of his child superstars have become a great source of political embarrassment does little to enhance his reputation. Could he be a subversive?”

Haynes
fidgeted. “In view of his record, Prime Minister,” he said uncomfortably, “it would be a difficult thing to prove.”

“But not impossible?”

“No, sir. Not impossible. There are people in S Department who could arrange—“

“Spare me the details. I do not want to know… If he were a subversive and, perhaps, a sexual pervert, by putting him on trial we could be seen to be championing the rights of gifted children. That would be advantageous. We need to recruit paranormal talent, but we are prepared to throw the book at anyone who endangers it.”

“Sir, there is a difficulty. If Dr. Lindemann is placed on trial, he will defend himself by revealing the truth about Vanessa Smith. He will call witnesses from Random Hill, and—“

“Not if he is offered a deal,” said Sir Joseph imperturbably. “We need his confession, and we need his guilt. But he needs his life. At least, I imagine he does.

That is something we will have to establish before we proceed. But, on the assumption that he wishes to continue living, it should be easy to strike a bargain. If he will confess to being an agent, say, of the Chinese or the Russians; or even, at a pinch, of some emerging African power, we will give him the maximum sentence for the benefit of the record and undertake to exchange him for some non-existent British agent as soon as the affair ceases to be headline news. If Dr. Lindemann values his skin, he will accept the deal.”

“And would we honour our side of the bargain, sir?” asked Haynes recklessly.

“Of course,” said Sir Joseph, finishing off his egg. “One should always stand by one’s word—unless circumstances decree otherwise. However, there are still
two troublesome points. I cannot understand why an experienced man like Ingram should have bungled his assignment. He had authority to use whatever force was necessary. His failure disturbs me. The other problem is: who leaked the death of Dugal Nemo?”

“Both mysteries are being investigated, Prime Minister.”

“I see. Any results yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Who is in charge at Random Hill?’”

“A Professor Holroyd, sir. A distinguished academic.”

“There is a file on him?”

“Of course, sir. He is a very distinguished man. He is one of the four who took up where Rhine left off and broke through the psych barrier. When he was younger, he made several significant contributions to the science of personality reshaping. His present post is almost a sinecure. Nominally, he is responsible for the paranormal development programme there. In practice, he is a rubber stamp for people like Lindemann… He is very old, sir.”

“Hm… Do we know anything about his politics?”

Haynes smiled. “He is harmless, sir. Almost in his dotage. An old-fashioned liberal.”

“Is he, indeed!” Sir Joseph stroked his chin. “Old-fashioned liberals, allegedly in their dotage, have an alarming capacity to bite… Now I know how the news of Dugal Nemo’s death was given to Tom Green. Have Professor Holroyd taken out.”

“Sir, we cannot destroy a man on supposition.”

Sir Joseph Humboldt wiped his lips with his napkin. “We can if I say so, Dick. The safety of the realm is my consideration. Let us reduce the imponderables. Professor Holroyd must be taken out. Then we will see how long Tom Green’s ammunition lasts.”

V
ANESSA WOKE UP
feeling stiff and cold and very hungry. For a few moments she had no idea of where she was or of what had happened. Then the events of the night came back to her. She remembered having her hands bound and then being bundled out of the house, along with Roland, into the still, moonlit night. She remembered being allowed to stand on the dewy grass for a few seconds before being pushed into Professor Raeder’s large, safari hovercar.

The moon had been beautiful, the stars had been beautiful; and the cottage where she had found a brief sanctuary looked like an enchanted cottage. If only she could have stayed there for ever! If only she could have had the paranormal powers that had brought such misery burned out of her brain!

Professor Raeder, laser pistol in hand, motioned Roland and Vanessa into the rear of the hovercar while Janine and Quasimodo, taking obvious pleasure in their task, arranged the combustibles that would destroy the only home that Vanessa had ever known.

The fire took a quick, eager hold upon the house. While she was watching the flames leap hungrily in the bedroom and the lounge, with the front door left open to increase the draught, Roland tried to say something to her; but he didn’t manage it. He gave a great sigh,
and his head sank into his chest. Vanessa felt a slight pricking sensation in her arm. Then she heard Professor Raeder say as if from a great distance: “Sleep well, Vanessa. I envy you. For me there is much work and much thinking to be done. Your exertions will not be required till later.”

And then there was nothingness. Until she woke miserable and hungry in a narrow bed in a small room with a barred window. She was fully clothed, but a coverlet had been laid over her. She got up, wincing with the aches in her body, and went over to the window.

All she could see through it were fleecy sunlit clouds in the sky, below, a patch of rough ground that might once have been a garden and a high, dark wall of densely growing pine trees. She stared through the window for a while, seeking life, movement; but there was only sky, forest, grass and a few wild flowers. She stood still and listened, but could not even hear any house noises.

Then she went to the door, and tried to turn the handle. The door would not open. She thought of banging on it or shouting; but she changed her mind, went back to the bed and sat down. She needed to think what would be the best thing to do.

Whatever else he might be, however mad he was, Professor Raeder seemed to be the kind of man who paid great attention to detail. No doubt Roland was locked in a similar kind of room, also wondering what to do.

She closed her eyes, formed a mental image of Marius Raeder, groping for rapport, and tried a flash probe.

She heard a loud chuckle which seemed to come from the centre of the room. She opened her eyes with a start, almost expecting to see Raeder. But there was no one.

“Good afternoon, Vanessa. I should have warned you
that one of the rules of the house is that I am not to be probed. Transgression carries the risk of a somewhat painful punishment. However, you are new here, and must be forgiven an indiscretion or two. I trust you are well rested?”

“Where are you?”

“Elsewhere, obviously. That is all you need to know. I can see you, but you can’t see me.” Again the dreadful chuckle. “I hope you like your room, Vanessa. I chose it for the pleasing view. Kindly bear in mind that you can be observed at all times. It may help to inhibit any foolishness.”

“Where is Roland?” She knew it was a mistake to ask, to betray her concern, but she could not help it.

“How touching,” observed the Professor. “Your first thoughts are for his safety. It almost restores my faith in human nature. Don’t worry, child. I am no ogre. Dr. Badel is still asleep in his room. No harm has come to him, and none will if you co-operate fully.”

“How long do you intend to keep us here?”

“Not very long, my dear. At least, I hope not very long. It depends on how good you are, how much telergy you can contain and focus. I may say that I have high hopes, very high hopes. Yours is a unique psychoprofile. You are quite extraordinarily receptive. I doubt if there is another paranormal of your capacity in the whole of Europe… Well, if your powers are as good as I think they are, you and Dr. Badel will be free to go your own ways quite soon.”

“What is telergy?”

“Good gracious! I see they did not attend greatly to your education at Random Hill. But do not worry, Vanessa. We shall shortly have a tutorial, and all will be made clear.”

“I’m very hungry. Also I am rather cold.”

“There
is a temperature control by the side of your bed. It is very efficient. You can turn your room into a refrigerator or a sauna. Janine will bring you some food shortly.”

“When can I see Roland?”

“At the tutorial, my dear. As soon as you have eaten and refreshed yourself, we will all gather together and you will meet the other members of our little group. Please do not worry. I am sure you will find us all quite friendly and reasonably informal.”

“You are mad, Professor Raeder!” As soon as she had spoken, Vanessa regretted it. This was not the way to help either herself or Roland.

Professor Raeder was amused. “My dear, dear Vanessa, how does one objectively define madness? To paraphrase Bertrand Russell, a philosopher of some merit, I am imaginative, you are eccentric, he is stark staring mad… Have no fears, little one. My madness—if it is such—is a contained madness. I require from you only some small services. If you render them to the best of your ability, I am mad enough to let you and Dr. Badel go free… Till the tutorial, then.”

I
T WAS DARK
before Vanessa was let out of her room. Janine came for her, displaying contempt and dislike, as she had done at their first physical encounter. For some reason that Vanessa could not understand, Janine seemed to despise her. She tried a flash probe. Janine slapped her face hard, taking pleasure in the red mark that showed rapidly on her cheek.