Thorn In My Side (10 page)

'What to do
about it, though.' He nodded at Kirill. 'Kirill’s right, he is one
of our own. We have never in God knows how many centuries turned on
our own. It’s an unwritten law.'

'Yes, we have,'
Simmonds snapped. 'I checked with the historian. It’s happened
twice before. One of them was an ancestor of his. The stupid idiot
thinks he’s fucking Rasputin.'

'Hmm.' Prince
Carl had been quiet up until now. 'So, seeing as our own scientists
proved centuries ago that madness was mostly, unless self-inflicted
by drug overuse, in the genes, how was his line allowed to
breed?'

Rene Farquhar
rose and moved to the window, where he turned his handsome face
dark against the bright sunshine to look at them all. His English
impeccable, he said, 'The same way as the homosexual gene has
stayed with us. No matter how hard we tried to eradicate it, it
still came through.'

'Yes,' Prince
Carl agreed, 'but not in the families.'

'Does it
fucking well matter?' Simmonds snapped. 'The man’s completely lost
the plot. He had his chance when we had to move out of France early
last year. We should have got rid of him then. I did say, if you
remember.' His petulant mouth took on a self-righteous pout. 'It’s
barely eighteen months, and he’s up to his old tricks again.
Prancing around Northumberland, proclaiming himself as the fucking
Leader. Not caring one bit about what will happen if his true
identity is found out. If something isn’t done soon, we’ll all
suffer. Trust me, we can’t take the risk… And I for one am not
prepared to do so, not for that megalomaniac.'

'I still can’t
understand why his gene pool wasn’t weeded out centuries ago, if it
was proved that his branch was so damn susceptible to madness?'
Prince Carl said.

'I already
said, for fuck’s sake.'

'We could
always go back to Africa,' Tarasov put in, attempting to placate,
seeing Prince Carl starting to take offence at Simmonds' tone.
Picking up an apple from the fruit bowl, he brushed it on his
cashmere jacket before taking a bite, looking warningly under his
eyelids at Simmonds.

'What, because
of one man?' Slone said, immediately making clear his alliance with
Simmonds. 'And you all know white flesh brings in more capital
these days, especially from the wealthy African and Arab states.
The world has changed a lot this last century, no matter how hard
we’ve tried to slow progress down.'

'Thank you,'
Simmonds said, a look of satisfaction on his face. 'Oh, and when
are we going to release the AIDS cure? You know, bring the price of
black flesh back up? We all know that’s the reason it's gone down,
fear of the AIDS virus.'

'The meeting to
discuss that is scheduled for six months' time, as you well know.'
Prince Carl glared at Simmonds. 'Please stick to today’s problem…
How many know of the body?'

Simmonds
sniffed, but answered the Prince. 'At the moment, a few of the
Northumbria Police. Their best man arrived back there this morning.
He’s been in London for a few months, investigating missing kids
and drug trafficking. We’ve managed to throw spanners in every
direction he’s turned until now, but I’m certain he suspects
something.'

'Good, is he?'
Prince Carl asked, refilling his whiskey glass from the sparkling
decanter on the solid gold coffee table.

'From what I’ve
been told, very good. He managed to escape a trap set for him last
night, though God knows how.'

'Why hasn’t he
been recruited, then?'

Simmonds shook
his head. 'He was deemed too high risk. A man of many morals,
allegedly.' He laughed.

'Everyone has a
price,' the American said.

Simmonds turned
to him and sneered. 'Apparently not this man.'

'OK, I get the
picture. So what do we do now?' Slone looked at all of them in
turn. They were all silent, none of them wanting to be the one to
put it into words.

The one in
question was, after all, family.

The families
had been around for more than fifty-one centuries, long before the
birth and death of Jesus Christ. Started by thirteen ruthless men,
down through the ages they had come, with members in every secret
organisation known to man and many that were not. Always keeping
their own secret, their fingers on the pulse of the world they
secretly ruled. And now the future they had delayed for all those
centuries had arrived. In the age of the computer, with knowledge
only a click away, the world their forefathers had known had shrunk
to a fraction of its size.

Prince Carl lit
a cigarette in the silence, blew smoke at the ceiling, admired the
solid gold ceiling rose. Two unicorns back to back. He had the same
rose in his French castle, as they all did in their various
dwellings around the world. 'OK, the way I see it, it’s time for
his line to end. Madmen are too unpredictable. The last thing we
need in this day and age is a loose cannon. Some of these
conspiracy theorists are getting closer to the mark all the
time.'

'Yeah.' Tarasov
said. 'I actually read an article the other day that said the flat
screen TV was around fifty years before we let it go on the market.
Good job they don’t know the half of it.'

'Where are they
getting this from?' Simmonds threw his glass at the wall. It
shattered on impact. A trail of golden whiskey ran down the wall
and fell onto the sparkling broken crystal. Immediately a young,
dark-skinned girl ran in and cleaned it up.

Tarasov
shrugged. 'Don’t know, but some of the peasants are getting pretty
close. You would be amazed if you widened your scope and did a
little reading.'

'I have people
to do that for me,' Simmonds sniffed.

Farquhar said,
'Kirill’s right, though, we are going to have to be more careful.
The peasants have rights, you know. We can’t go swashbuckling
around the world like we used to do. Sometimes it amazes me how
we’ve made it this far.' He laughed.

'You know why
we’ve made it this far,' Slone snapped. 'Because of all the
failsafes in place. They have been there for centuries, and so far
they’ve worked.'

'So far,'
Tarasov snorted.

'OK, enough. We
have to make a decision now.' Simmonds was adamant. Grim-faced, he
looked at each of them in turn.

'How many in
his immediate family?' Prince Carl asked.

'Fifteen
legals, God knows how many outbreeds. The legals are spread around
the world, most of them doing good work for the families.'

'Any of them
showing signs of madness?'

'Only one, but
it’s really more that she’s hyperactive, and slightly
eccentric.'

Prince Carl
sighed. 'Makes no difference, they all have to go. It’s the way.
Ask the historian.'

'Why?' Farquhar
asked. 'Surely we can keep them under surveillance? It’s more risky
killing a whole family these days than the last time we did some
weeding. When was it, 1640? For all our sakes, we must be more
careful now.' He looked at Simmonds as he went on, 'Not easy to go
around chopping people's ears off now… not
en masse
,
anyhow.'

Simmonds curled
his lip. 'Yeah, well, at least they still kept their heads. Not
like the revolution that your ancestors stirred up a couple of
hundred years later.'

Tarasov looked
at Simmonds with delight on his face, 'So it
was
you behind
that black man losing his ears a few months back. Thought at the
time when I read about it that it might be… In the genes, is it?'
He laughed.

'You read too
much,' Simmonds snarled at him. 'And at least my family doesn’t
fucking well eat them!'

'Hmm.' Prince
Carl looked over the rim of his whiskey glass at Simmonds.

'OK. I think we
better move on,' Slone said, thinking about the time his
grandfather had told him about when he’d been a young man, when
four main leaders of the families had knives at each other’s
throats. And apparently that had not been the first time.
Everything about the families was documented by the historian, and
to be read only by the family leaders. What the head of each family
chose to tell those not in the loop was up to him.

He looked at
the three men who had yet to have any input. Their faces were
unreadable. Then he glanced quickly at Simmonds and nodded for him
to move on.

'So, that’s it
then. We are in agreement?' Simmonds looked at them all in
turn.

'No,' Tarasov
said. 'I vote he goes, but not the family. It’s far too risky. He’s
in England, remember, not some third-rate country where we can buy
silence… And, easy as it might be to wipe him out, fifteen others
are all connected. Most of them in high profile jobs around the
world.' Shaking his head he went on, 'A lot of questions are going
to be asked… Also, I do know her quite well, and before a vote is
taken I would exercise my right to speak for her life.'

'I agree.'
Slone said, and everyone nodded. 'We keep close tabs on them,
especially the female. Just because she’s hyperactive doesn’t mean
she’s mad. If we’d gone after every rogue gene there wouldn’t be
any of us left, for Christ’s sake. '

'I also know
the woman in question,' the African leader said. 'She is more
eccentric than anything else, but an excellent pathologist. It
would be a shame to lose her genes. She is also in the loop, being
one of the three closest relatives, and clever enough to suss out
what may happen to her and the rest of her clan. I vote that one of
us pay her a visit and explain the situation. She will understand
the need for his execution. I do believe she is working in the
north of England.'

They all raised
their hands. 'Seeing as you know her so well, why don’t you do the
visiting?' Prince Carl said.

The African
nodded.

Tarasov sighed.
'Once we were thirteen families.'

'And now we’re
nine,' Simmonds snapped, peeved that the Japanese silk baron, and
the Swedish government minister still had not arrived, but thankful
that the vote had been passed without them. It only needed one more
than half of them to make a law, and now it was passed it could not
be undone.

There was
silence for a few seconds before Slone asked, 'And the English
cop?'

'For the moment
we keep an eye on him.' Prince Carl replied. 'Dead cops cause
questions.'

'And those
around him?' Simmonds said. 'He’s got this kid in tow, used to be a
druggie and as mad as a hatter.'

Prince Carl
shrugged. 'People like that, not hard to get rid of. Accidents can
easily be arranged if needs be.'

Mike dropped
the WPC off at Berwick Police Station. Using the police car until
he could pick his own up from Durham, where it was being held in a
friend's lock-up, he drove Smiler and Tiny to his Aunt May’s house
on Holy Island.

When they
arrived, she was waiting at the gate for them. Mike had explained
all about Smiler over the phone, and about the scars on his arms
and face, so as not to give her too much of a shock, though he
strongly doubted if anything in this world could shock Aunt May.
She had after all dealt with that kind of thing before. She smiled
and nodded a welcome at Smiler, then froze rigid, her eyes wide
with exaggerated fear, when Mike got Tiny out of the police
car.

'And where,
Michael Yorke, do you think that brute is going to live?' she
demanded. 'You said nothing at all about bringing a monster home
with you. Dear me, he’s bigger than a bloody Shetland pony. Fairly
outdone your bloody self this time, haven’t you! And a barn to keep
the bloody brute in, we haven’t got.' She folded her arms across
her chest.

Mike grinned.
'Well, not quite, but he can always have my room. Anyhow, you know
you love dogs, Aunt May… If I hadn’t rescued him he probably would
have starved to death by now, and I know you wouldn’t like that to
happen -- a good honest, kind, loving and caring woman like
yourself, Aunt May.'

'Oh yeah, got
more bloody blarney than the Irish, you have.' She looked at
Smiler. 'He’s been picking up waifs and strays since he could get
out on the street. You wouldn’t believe me if I was to tell you
what he’s carted home.'

Smiler gave her
a brief smile. He hoped she wasn’t counting him as one of Mike’s
waifs and strays, though he knew deep down, really that’s just what
he was. He also knew enough about Aunt May from what Mike had told
him to know that she would not have meant anything bad by the
remark.

Mike put his
arm around her shoulders, kissed her cheek then gave her a hug.

'Away with your
charm, Michael Yorke.' She tutted. 'You’ve always been able to
charm the birds right out of the trees. A wee dog I wouldn’t have
minded so much, for God’s sake. But this… this great big ugly
brute...' She glared at Tiny, who wagged his tail. 'What’s its
name?'

'Tiny.'

'You’re
joking.' She threw Mike a look of comic amazement.

Mike shrugged.
'That’s the name he came with, Aunt May… Anyhow, it’s only for a
couple of days.'

'What is -- his
name, or how long he’s staying?'

Mike grinned.
'As cute as ever, Aunt May.'

Shrugging, she
turned her attention to Smiler. 'You’ll be walking the bloody
brute, I presume, and feeding it?'

Smiler nodded
quickly.

'OK, but one
hair one whiff of a smell, and he’s out. I mean it… It’s a good job
I’m not full up. More cancellations than enough with all the bloody
rain we’ve had this year,' she grumbled, glaring at Tiny as if the
weather and lack of bookings were his fault.

'Thanks Aunt
May, you’re a doll.' Mike bent and kissed her cheek again. 'Gotta
go now, we’ll talk when I get back.'

'Get away then,
and don’t forget to check the tide.' Grinning, she turned to
Smiler. 'He got caught on the causeway one night and the helicopter
had to come out and rescue him.' She rolled her eyes in mock
horror. 'How bloody embarrassing is that?'