The Babylon rite

35

Clapham Common, London

The carol singers were gathered under the bare-boned plane trees, by Holy Trinity Church, warbling of merriment and figgy pudding. The hardiest joggers sprinted past, white earphones in place, oblivious and sweating despite the chill.

Nina sat between Adam and Jason, on the cold park bench. She pulled the sleeves of her blue jumper over her small white hands. ‘Poor bastard.’ She shook her head. ‘And he had kids, didn’t he? A baby?’

Adam nodded. Fighting off the fear and despair. This was the first time he and Nina had really discussed what the detective had told him: that Ibsen had returned to his car to find DS Larkham dead. Garrotted, while he sat in his car; his face contorted into a smile.

‘And there was a note, right?’ Jason said.

‘Yes. “ One of ours, one of yours.” That’s what it said, that’s all it said.’

Nina interrupted, ‘So they must have been looking for us, failed, but found the poor cop. But we’re next.’

Adam quickly replied. ‘We don’t know that.’ Though he knew it to be true. Ibsen had said as much to him, sounding shaken.

Jason sighed. Adam’s best friend had been back from a hard assignment in Spain for just a few hours, and the tiredness showed in his face. Now Adam felt a deep shiver of guilt, dragging his old friend into all this terror.

‘So what the hell do we do now?’ Nina asked.

Adam looked into her eyes, seeking her real feelings. Ever since the discovery of Larkham’s death, she had appeared to strengthen, paradoxically. The sobbing had stopped, the rheumed eyes had disappeared. She had slept. Probably, Adam guessed, she was faking the strength, but the fakery was good, and necessary. He answered as best he could. ‘Ibsen suggested we could go into protective custody.’

‘You mean put us under bloody house arrest? Yeah, great.’

Jason gestured at the police car parked at the edge of the Common. Two officers sat patiently inside: their protection. A pair of officers didn’t seem quite so impressive, not any more.

‘You’re already pretty restricted. But living with the cops in some dismal safe house, that could be even worse.’

‘Exactly. It’s pish. I’m not doing it!’ Her voice was decisive. ‘Who knows when we’d ever emerge? These guys, the Camorra, are famously patient: they will wait years if necessary, didn’t you say that, Jason?’

Jason agreed. ‘I did a story once on them once, they will cross the world to take out enemies and rivals.’

‘Well they’re not doing it to me.’ Nina swore. ‘My sister is already dead. My dad is dead. They’ve killed two-thirds of my family. I don’t care any fucking more. I’m not hiding in some stupid hole.’ Her voice was impassioned, maybe a little broken, but it was undefeated. ‘I’m not going to hide for the rest of my life.’

Adam stared at her: she was like Alicia, yet she was also much, much stronger. ‘What do you suggest we do, then?’

‘We get moving. We find the answer.’

‘We continue searching? The trail your father laid?’

‘Of course.’

‘But they will just hunt us across Europe.’ Adam gazed at the police car, dwarfed by daunting London traffic.

Jason interrupted. ‘You could set a decoy? Pretend that you’re still in Britain, get a mate in the press to leak a story saying you’ve been taken into protective custody. That would buy you some time.’

‘Yes,’ Nina said. Her eyes were fiercely bright. ‘Yes. Adam? Yes? Would Ibsen buy that?’

‘I don’t know. I guess. Quite possibly. Yes…’ The idea began to quicken in Adam’s mind. Fight back: do something. Stop the terrible waiting. It was tempting, but there was a problem. ‘But what about you, Jason, what would you do? They might-’

Jason shook his head. ‘I’m flying to the States Tuesday. A three-month assignment on the West Coast, Canada, Oregon. I’ll be just fine, dude. Will that cop agree to this?’

‘Yes, I think so. In the end it’s up to us. Of course we’d have to come back as witnesses at some point. But that could be months.’

‘So,’ said Nina, ‘that’s what we do. We do it fast, and we keep moving. We don’t give them a chance to catch us. Here.’ She reached for her jeans pocket, and brought out an envelope.

Adam recognized her writing. France, August 4th-9th. ‘Your father’s receipts. You brought them?’

‘I had the feeling we would make this decision.’ Her smile was fixed. ‘This is where he went next.’ She opened the envelope. ‘Southwest France. Near Bergerac.’

‘Where?’

‘It’s a castle. The Templars were imprisoned there. It’s called Domme. He spent three days there. It must be crucial.’ She murmured the words like a prayer for the dead. ‘Domme Castle, Sarlat-le-Caneda. In the Dordogne.’