Dark Matter (45 page)

John wasn't even looking up.  Ever since they had asked him to join them in seeing the Duke, he had been busy tapping away and muttering to himself.

'Is the Duke expecting you?'

'No.  We tried calling ahead but were told that the Duke was unavailable.  However it is really important that we speak with him.'

'Is it indeed.  Is it?  Well since you are here now I might as well see if the Duke is accepting callers.  Won't you follow me?'  The Duke led them up the stairs to the formal entrance.
Might as well have a little more fun.

The hall was truly exceptional.  The marble flooring seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.  At the far end was a staircase flowing up either side of the hall to the next floor some twenty-five feet above.  They all fell silent, taken aback by the ornate splendour of it, except for John who was still tapping away and muttering to himself.  Jane gave him a gentle nudge.  He looked up.

'Nice.'  John said and carried on with what he was doing.

The Duke showed them into the drawing room.  Jack suddenly realised that wealth and privilege are relative.  His own home, in which he had always felt somewhat awkward, was regarded with awe by most of his guests.  This however was truly palatial. 
Kings and Queens would feel at home here,
he noted.

'If you would wait here the Duke will be with you shortly.  Can I offer you some refreshments whilst you wait?'

'That would be kind.  Thank you.'  Jane replied.

The Duke departed and asked the butler to send in tea for five.  He headed upstairs to change.

'So what do you think Jack.'  George asked his brother.

'I think this guy must be worth a fortune.  Several fortunes probably.'

'I meant how do you think we should approach him?'

'Well if Jane's information is correct, and I have no reason to doubt it, we should just be direct.  If he responds in kind then we can tell him what we know.  If not, well, then we might have a problem.'

'The information should be sound.’  Jane said.  ‘However he is part of a very secret organisation and he might not want to admit that.  The others, apparently, are very cagey.'

'What are you up to John?'  Jack asked.

'I'm busy.'

'I can see that.  What are you busy doing?' 

'Research.'

The door opened and a maid entered bearing a silver tray.  She placed it on one of the tables and laid out the tea, coffee and a platter of assorted sandwiches.  She left without saying a word.

John immediately stopped what he was doing and helped himself to a coffee and a plate of sandwiches.  He took these and walked out through the French doors so he could smoke in the garden.  Jane helped herself and followed him into the garden.

'What are you doing exactly?'  She said, nibbling on the corner of a sandwich.

John stopped and looked up at Jane.  'Genealogy.'  He turned back to what he was doing.

'Well OK then.'  Jane said, not understanding at all.  She wondered back in to the drawing room.

The drawing room door opened and a well-dressed man walked in.  It was clearly the same man they had met in the garden.

'You're the Duke?'  Jack asked incredulously.

'Frederick Lambert-Hurst, 19
th
Duke of Hertfordshire at your service.'  The look on their faces was reward enough for his subterfuge.  He shook hands with Jack and George and kissed Jane's politely.  John was still in the garden.

Jane took the initiative.  She explained who they were, their involvement now with Group 79 and that they had been informed that he was a member too.

'A very interesting story.  Yes very interesting.  Tell me Jane, for arguments sake, why such a group would be in existence and why should I be a member?'

'I don't know.'  This was not going at all how she had hoped.

'Well then, there you go.  Any other questions?'  The Duke asked.

'Yes actually.'  John said entering both the room and the conversation.  'Tell me when you were the first Duke of Hertfordshire how did you come about your wealth and title?'

'Well the title was fairly easy actually.  You see the then King of England, Charles the first, was fighting an expensive war and he needed money which I provided.....that is the .....I mean.....my ancestor provided the King with money and got the title in return.'  The Duke's face flushed with anger and embarrassment at being caught out so easily.

'What on earth are you on about John?'  Jack exclaimed, annoyed that John hadn't shared this with the group previously.

'It appears that this gentleman, if I can use the term, has a way to cheat death.'

The Duke sighed, this he had decided, would be his last incarnation.  He was tired in a way that sleep could not fix.  There was nothing he had to fear now.  Death would be welcome.

'Not cheat exactly.  I just have the ability to transfer my consciousness from one host to another.'

'How old exactly are you?'  John asked, pleased that his research had proved correct.

'Exactly I'm not sure.  However, you are right; I was the first Duke of Hertfordshire.  I was many things before that too.'

'Such as what?'

'Well I once lived in a small village next to the River Tiber in what is now Italy.  I saw it grow quite substantially.'

'You lived through the Roman Empire?'  Jane couldn't take it all in.

'Oh yes.  I also lived through the Babylonian and Egyptian as well.  Before that, well, things were not so civilised.'

'How do you...'  Jane inquired, her journalistic instinct taking over.

'Transfer my consciousness?  Trade secret I'm afraid.  So you know about our little group then.  What are you plans?'

'We want to free earth.'  Jack said, still somewhat sceptical.

'Ah yes.  Freedom.  Freedom is good.  It is right.  How can I help?'

There was silence now.  In their haste to meet a member of Group 79, they had not considered what they needed from the group, or what assistance they could provide.

'What would you suggest?'  John said.

'Very good, err...'  The Duke hadn't been properly introduced.

'John Deeth.'  John said, holding out his hand. 

The Duke took his hand and shook it warmly.

'Very good Mr Deeth.  That is the right question.  Tell me first though, how did you uncover my little secret?'

'I wrote a genealogy program a few years back.  It wasn't supposed to be that mind you.  Originally, it was going to be a stock market program, but it failed miserably to predict the market in any way I could exploit.  Then I was facing the submission deadline for my project and didn't want to scrap all my work so I looked at other things.  Genealogy was the best fit.'

'You must show me this program sometime.'  The Duke seemed genuinely interested.

'I'd be happy to.'  John said, aware that he was being flattered.  'However if you could first answer my question.'

'I, we have good connections.  We also have considerable resources.  For example, it was our group who have been funding your work, Mr Deeth.  What we couldn't have anticipated was the enormous breakthrough that your work provided.  For everything we are, we are not scientists or engineers.'

'You still haven't answered my question in practical terms.'  John noted.

'No I haven't, have I?  We will provide direction and support.  Your plans I'm afraid will have to be your own.'

'Oh and who decided that?'  Jack insisted.

'We did.  A long time before you were born.'  There was a strength and finality in how the Duke said this that left no room for negotiation.

'OK.’  Said Jane.  ‘Provide us with some direction then.' 
Open ended and leading, that's the way forward with this guy.
  Jane reflected whether guy was the right term.

'Well, have you considered what you are up against?'

Jack decided to field that one.  'We estimate that there are somewhere around a hundred thousand Sunarr soldiers on earth, who are strategically placed to control the governments, the media and the military.'

'So get rid of them and you're free then?  Is that the plan?'  The Duke asked incredulously.

'Basically yes.'  George replied.

'And how long do you think your freedom would last?'

Again, there was silence; it came to Jack to break it.

'I guess until they send reinforcements.'  Jack admitted, starting to realise the enormity of the task ahead.

'They probably wouldn't even land.  They could destroy this planet from space.  Not literally of course, but suffice so there wouldn't be any human resistance when they did land.'

'So we have to remove the aliens and protect the world from further invasions.'  John said, as much for clarification as anything.

'Precisely.  Not an easy task I grant you.  I don't envy you having to do it.  But do it you must.'

'And you won't help us with this?'  George asked.

'I think I already have.  But no, the details are yours to decide.  Tell me Mr Deeth, how proceeds your research?'

John outlined his findings to date.

'So one of these particles, what did you call them?  Deeth particles?  One of these Deeth particles destroyed a solid steel structure and a wall.  That sounds quite impressive doesn't it?'

'Yes, I'm really lucky, if it had been more than one then...’  The light came on in John's head.  'If we could create a stream of these particles or increase the number that react at a time then....'

'Then what?'  Jack asked.

'Then, we would have a weapon of incredible power.'

'But I thought you said that these Deeth particles could be captured and used like wind in a sail to travel in space.'  Jane said.

'That too.  But this way we would have a weapon with which to defend ourselves.'

'But what about Earth?'  George asked.

'Good question George.  So John what about Earth?'  Jack asked.

'Well…'  John was thinking on his feet now, ‘I guess we would need a number of the weapons, with considerable fire power.  They would also need to be space born as well.'

'Why space born?'  Jane asked.

'Well this kind of battle would involve incredible forces.  If their weapons are similar, and I guess they probably are, then we would want to keep the fight as far away from earth as possible.  In addition, the earth's atmosphere would provide some additional protection.  Not much perhaps, but some.  Also we would need as much warning of their approach as possible and for that we would also need to be in space.'

'What sort of forces are we talking about?'  Jack asked.

'I’ll need to do some proper calculation but roughly speaking, in terms of force, probably something like small tactical nuclear weapons, but confined to the point of impact.  Think of them as nuclear bullets.'

Nuclear bullets,
thought Jack,
now there's a cheerful thought
.

21
Chapter Name

08:55
              28 December  [08:55  28 December GMT] 

Stately Home of 19th Duke of Hertfordshire, England.

The Duke worked through his morning post.  It was always neatly piled on his desk here in his private study, laid there by his butler who removed the non-private letters passing those to the Duke's secretary.  The remaining private correspondence was depressingly small.  He longed for the days gone past when post was the only means of long distance communication.  Then he would have huge piles of letters from home and abroad, informing him of the latest developments in peoples’ lives and the world in general.  Now it was just an occasional few.  The plethora of instant communications had impacted on the written word.  Gone was the long flowing text, the complex but pleasing prose.  Now it was more formal, more like a business letter than personal communication.  He had to admit though that he too had become a victim of the trend.  He didn't send letters like those he used to, so he knew that he had little reason to expect others to.

He opened the humidor on his desk and withdrew one of his personal cigars.  Hand rolled in Cuba these were his personal stock and produced just for him.  The air thickened as the smoke rose.  He savoured the flavour, especially when it mixed with his coffee.  The combination was intoxicating.  He reached for the next letter and started to read.  An irritating electronic noise interrupted him.  He glanced up and was surprised to see it was his private line.  Only a few people had this number.  He picked up the receiver and spoke.

'This is Frederick'

'You do not know me,' the woman's voice said, with a distinct Eastern European accent, 'but you knew my mother when you were Consul-General in St. Petersburg.'

'Solomon?'

'Yes.  Look I need your help.'

After some twenty minutes and constant reassurances, Frederick was finally able to bring the conversation to an end.  He had made a note of the hotel in which Solomon and Natasha were staying and the name under which they had booked in.  He flipped through his notebook and found the number for Jane Spencer-Brown.

'Jane.'

'It’s Frederick, the Duke of Hertfordshire, I'm afraid that it is I who needs your help.'  He explained the phone call from Solomon and that her late mother was a member of Group 79.  He left out the relationship the two had enjoyed;
after all, it's personal and doesn't have any bearing on the situation, well not much.

'I can't express how important it is that she and her daughter are brought back here safely.  It's imperative.'

'I will do what I can.  You have my word on that.  I'll be in touch.'

Jane dialled the number for George's phone, which was still in the possession of Jayanti Kapoor.  Jay took the phone into her private bathroom, out of earshot of her bodyguards, once the door was closed she answered.  Jane explained about the phone call from the Duke.  Jay listened patiently for Jane to finish.

'I take it from this call that you do not think you are in a position to fetch this Solomon woman and her daughter on your own.'  Jay inquired.

'No, I don't.  The Duke emphasised how important he felt it was and that she was in danger.  I don't mind going into dangerous situations but, frankly, I have no expertise in what should be a covert operation.'  Jane replied.

'Well I can't go!'  Jay’s frustration, mostly at her own confinement, rather than anyone or anything in particular.

'I realise that Jayanti, I do.'  Jane remained calm
, the better to help Jay regain her composure
.  'However I thought that you might have someone to send.  What about Severine?  Doesn't she have a military background?'

'Yes.  Yes she does.  Moreover, she has performed a number of covert operations herself...you’re right Severine would be perfect.  Give me the details and I'll make it happen.'

10:35               28 December  [09:35  28 December GMT] 

Home of Mme Margaret-Julia Pascal, Felletin, Central France.

The ducks on her grandmother’s pond were happily nibbling at the food that was being provided.  They didn't question why, how or whom.  They just kept their heads down and enjoyed it whilst it lasted.  Severine sighed as she threw some more food on to the edge of the pond.  She couldn't remember when she had last felt this relaxed or content.  She looked up and into the eyes of her lover.  Anne-Marie returned the look, pausing from her own food throwing to do so.  The ducks paused too, the food had stopped falling from the sky, and they looked up, wondering if it would come again.  One of the ducks quacked, then another and another, soon they were all at it, calling to the sky for more food.  The food returned and they were content.  Severine envied the life of these ducks.  Their peace was disturbed by Severine's grandmother calling her from the house.  There was someone on the phone for her.

Severine hung up the phone.  Her grandmother saw the look on her face and resigned herself to confronting Anne-Marie. 
Whatever that woman has done or is doing, my Severine deserves to know where she stands.  She deserves to know, before she goes off risking her life.

Severine disappeared into the garden to tell Anne-Marie the news.  Margaret-Julia watched her granddaughter talk to her lover through the kitchen window.  There was no mistaking it, it was love on Severine's side, but what Anne-Marie truly felt was hidden.  Only Severine could uncover the truth, and only then if Anne-Marie wished it.  She could see that Anne-Marie was crying now, the news broken to her. 
Tears
, she wondered,
of what type are you?  Loss, Joy, Sorrow, Frustration or just plain crocodile?
I will have it out with you and I will do so now.
  Margaret-Julia's blood was continuing to rise; it had been doing so since she had had the news back from her friend in the police.  Anne-Marie La Courtine did not exist.  Not the name nor the person.  He had been quite thorough and had only halted his investigation when he had come up against resistance at a senior level. 
Whoever this imposter is, she is heavily connected
, he had informed Margaret-Julia.

Severine finished hugging Anne-Marie; she left her by the pond and came into the house.

'I'm going to be gone for a while, so I need to pack.'  Severine informed her grandmother as she headed towards her room.

'OK mon cheri, call if you need anything.'

Margaret-Julia took the opportunity and headed over to the pond where Anne-Marie was.

'It's about time you told Severine the truth.'  She was not one to beat about the bush.

Anne-Marie's face flashed cold for an instance. 
There it is, again. 
Margaret-Julia noted. 
That brief look of guilt, anger, and shame.

'Excuse me?'  Anne-Marie replied.

'You are not who you say you are.  You are not Anne-Marie La Courtine.  Even if you have changed your surname, you are not the person you pretend to be.  I don't know who or what you are but know these two things.  First, tell Severine the truth, she deserves it.  If you don't I shall before she leaves.  Secondly if you cause her any harm you will have me to deal with...and I don't care how important your connections are.'

She turned promptly on her heels and left before Anne-Marie could protest or respond in any way.  As Margaret-Julia walked back towards her house, her hands were shaking as the adrenaline in her system turned sour.  She had done and experienced much in her long life.  More than she had ever admitted to Severine.  She knew she was not a woman to trifle with.

Severine placed her suitcase in the hall.  Unlike her days in the army when she had packed her kit bag, she didn't have any protocol to follow.  This was a mission without a mission.  The rules were hers to make or break.  She had no weapons, no uniform, and no camouflage.  Civilian clothes were the only option and she packed those that she thought would attract the least attention.  Skirts rather than trousers, cut just above the knee, white blouses, heeled shoes but nothing like stilettos.  In short she had decided to go for moderate dressy and attractive, the image she wanted was of a personal assistant, low management grade or similar.  Someone to look at and forget in an instant. 

She walked out into the garden.  Anne-Marie had been crying again, Severine took Anne-Marie's hands and held them in hers.  She squeezed them gently them kissed them and looked into her eyes.

'What is it?'  Severine asked.

'This is not how I wanted to tell you.  I wanted to pick the right time.  The right place.  I wanted...I need you to know how things have changed since we first met.'

'You're scaring me.  Whatever it is we can deal with it.  Just tell me.'  The walls around Severine's heart, so recently disassembled were rapidly being rebuilt to protect against the trauma she could feel about to descend on her.

'Know that I love you.  Have fallen deeply in love with you.'  Anne-Marie began, 'There is no easy way to say this so I will just say it.  I too work for Group 79.  I have done so for the past ten years.  It was not an accident that we met.  The Group have been monitoring you closely long before your Courts-Martial.  I was tasked with making contact with you and evaluating you for recruitment.  I have undertaken other such assignments, but never have I fallen in love with them.  I have never fallen in love with anyone before.  You are my first, my only and I promise to you always to be honest.  I too was on a mission.  I hope you can understand that and forgive me.  By the way, I am Julianne Chevalier.  The man who recruited you, Monsieur Chevalier is my Uncle.' 

As she finished Julianne was speaking very fast, almost tripping over her words, trying desperately to get everything out before Severine started to judge her.  She could see that she was too late.  Severine's face had taken on the quality of stone, the colour all drained away, the jaw set ridged, her eyes cold and hard.  Julianne shrank back from her, afraid.

'I trusted you.  I gave myself to you.  It was all a lie.  All a terrible, planned lie.  I told you what had happened to me.  You held me in your arms as I cried.  Telling me you loved me, telling me how you cared for me.  All a lie.'

'Please Severine, please.'

'I can't deal with this now.  I have a mission.'  Severine said as she made to leave.

'Severine please let's talk.  Please!'

Severine didn't look back.  She kissed her grandmother on both cheeks and left, the taxi ready for her outside.  Margaret-Julia waited while the taxi pulled away, she lifted the phone and dialled.  She had been watching the whole opera unfold in her own garden.  Seen the looks the two had shared.  She had decided.  She wandered back into the garden and walked up to Julianne.  The tears were real, no doubt about it this time.

'I have called a taxi for you.'  She said evenly.

'I know I am not welcome here anymore.  I'll collect my things and go.'  Julianne said, thoroughly defeated.

'Actually,' Margaret-Julia said, 'I was thinking that if you were quick you could still catch Severine at the train station.  Her train doesn't leave until half past.  Time enough for a drink and a chance to talk some more, don't you think?'

'You.  I was right about you.'  Julianne said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

'Why?  What did you say about me?'

'A wily old bird.  One to watch.'  Julianne embraced her and whispered in her ear, 'Thank you so much.'

11:20               28 December  [10:20  28 December GMT] 

Train Station,  Clermont-Ferrand, Central France.

Severine relaxed into the seat as the train continued to gather speed.
I still can't believe that Julianne called Mamie a Wily Old Bird, and to her face!
  Severine had cried most of the way from her grandmother's house to the train station.  She had instantly regretted leaving like that, but was too stubborn to go back.  Seeing Julianne walk onto the platform and then hearing that it was Mamie who had sent her there was not something she had been prepared to question.  The look on Julianne's face, her touch, the smell of her hair; all combined to remind her, the things that truly matter.  As her grandmother had once told her,
if there is no room in your heart for forgiveness, then there is no room for love.
 

We only had twenty minutes before my train,
she reflected,
but it is amazing how much changed in those twenty minutes.
  Now she turned her mind towards the mission, confident for the first time that she had a real life to return to.  As the train reached its maximum speed she smiled to herself and watched the countryside go by.

15:50
              28 December  [14:50  28 December GMT] 

Charles de Gaul Airport, Paris, France.

Severine handed over her passport to the check-in clerk.  She had been informed that a ticket would be waiting for her in her name.  There was no need, yet, for false identities as no one was looking for her.  She wondered if and when that might change. 
A woman called Solomon and her daughter Natasha, collect from Zurich and deliver to the Duke of Hertfordshire in England.
  That was all she had been told.  She could guess more though. 
They must be in trouble, on the run from someone, else they could merely hop on a plane direct to England.  Their lives must be threatened otherwise why send me?  Above all, they must be important.
  These and other thoughts lounged around her mind, looking for somewhere to settle.  She had little experience of this kind of thing.  The missions she had undertaken normally ended with a single shot.  Enemies of France beyond the normal reaches of the authorities.  Some of her assignments had been troublesome; not technically, she was far too experienced for that, but morally.  One person's despot is another's great leader; a revolutionary solider is another's freedom fighter.  Nevertheless, for one reason or another, they had threatened France and it had been her duty to remove that threat.  This appeared to be a simple rescue mission, why this mother and daughter were so important she couldn't imagine.