| He had instructed Jane to give them each a copy; they were to read them through before seeing him. No moments were to be lost on explanations that could be covered beforehand. He hadn’t the strength. ‘We won’t waste words on sentiment. You’ve heard your mother; you’ve read what I’ve written. You’ll have questions.’ Andrew spoke. ‘Assuming this vault can be found - and we’ll get to that - what then T ‘I’ll prepare a list of names. Five or six men, no more; they are not easily arrived at. You’ll bring the vault to them.’ ‘What’ll they do?’ pressed Andrew. ‘That will depend on what the vault contains, specifically. Release it, destroy it, rebury it.’ Adrian interrupted quietly. The lawyer was suddenly disturbed. ‘Is there a choice ‘I I don’t think so. It doesn’t belong to us; it should be public knowledge.’ ‘With public chaos? The consequences have to be weighed.’ ‘Does anyone else have the key? asked the soldier. ‘The location of this trip on 14 July 1920?’ ‘No. It would be meaningless. There are only a few left who knew of the train, knew what was really on it. Old men from the Patriarchate; one remains in Campo di Fiori and cannot have much time.’ ‘And were to say nothing to anyone,’ continued the major. ‘No one but ourselves is to know.’ ‘No one. There are those who would trade off half the arsenals in this world for the information.’ ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ Then you wouldn’t be |
breath coming in short, spurting expulsions, his eyes riveted to the onrushing road. The skies exploded. The screams of diving aircraft mingled with the manmade thunder: detonation after detonation. Immense flashes of white and yellow - jagged, shapeless, horrible - filled the open spaces above and between the woods of Oxfordshire. He reached the compound’s gate, tyres screeching as he braked the car into a turn. The iron gates were open. Evacuation. He stabbed the pedal to the floor and sped into the long straight drive. Beyond, fires were everywhere, explosions everywhere, people running in panic - everywhere. The main house had taken a direct hit. The entire left front wall was blown out; the roof was collapsing in weirdly shapeless splendour, bricks and stones cascading to the grounds. Smoke spread in vertical swirls of black and grey - fires beyond, spurting upwards. jagged, yellow, terrifying. A deafening crash; the car lurched, the ground swelled, the windows shattered, hurling fragments of glass - everywhere. Fontine felt blood streaking down his face, but he could see and that was all that mattered. The bomb had struck less than fifty yards to his right. In the light of the fires he could see the ripped-out earth of the lawn. He swung the car to the right, skirting the crater, cutting across the grass towards the dirt road that led to their cottage. Bombs did not strike twice in the same zero target, he thought. The road was blocked; trees had fallen, fires consuming them - everywhere. He lurched |
