The Association, page 11
Pay someone else to do it? That was an option but it would be an act of weakness, failure, shifting responsibility. Although I didn't want it, the responsibility was mine. Only God knew how, but one way or another it was for me to deal with him.
This morning I'd woken with the device on my mind and I couldn't shift it - nothing else, just its image in my mind's eye. I'd eaten breakfast in silence and we returned to our room.
Jennie smiled. "Penny for them?"
"Sorry?"
"Your thoughts, they seem quite intense. They must be worth a penny, at least."
I returned her smile. "No thoughts," I explained, "just an image that won't go away."
She sat quietly for several seconds. "Well?" she prompted when I said no more. "The image?"
I moved to her bed, sat beside her and took her hand. "After the fire," I said, "I seemed to be doing constructive things...switching cars in Bangor, changing to a train in Birmingham, getting here. There seemed to be a purpose, an objective. I was moving in the right direction, but then it stopped. I've done nothing over the last few days. I've tried to work something out but..." I took the device from my pocket and held it up, "...this morning I woke up with this on my mind. Maybe the image is trying to tell me something, but if it is I don't know what. To be honest, Jennie, I'm feeling pretty useless right now."
She squeezed my hand. "Come on, Ben," she said, "you're not some sort of soldier or special agent. You're an options trader, a very good one, maybe the best, but you've had no training for this. How d'you expect to know what to do? At least you've kept us alive and broken his hold on me. Under the circumstances, that doesn't seem too bad a track record to me."
She was being kind. "Thanks," I smiled. "But the bottom line is that we need to do something, something to put an end to Godfrey's plans, and I don't know what."
"Police?" she suggested.
"Remember MI5?"
"Yes," she replied. "But maybe the police up here are less likely to be in his pocket."
She had a point. He couldn't possibly have control of every police force in the country, but... "Maybe," I mused. "But we couldn't be sure. The local police may be clean, they probably are, but most of what we'd tell them relates to London. The Met would get involved then...who knows? A few weeks ago we'd never have believed he had friends in MI5. It would have seemed ludicrous. It still does, but it's a fact. Anyway," I continued, "imagine someone telling you this story. Would you believe it?" I answered for her. "I doubt it, and don't forget that Godfrey's a respected member of the House of Lords. They'd probably have us certified. No, Jennie, somehow or other I've got to deal with this without the help of normal channels."
For a while we sat side-by-side saying nothing, but then I saw the inspiration in Jennie's face as she sat up straight, faced me and took my hands in hers. There was excitement in her voice. "How does he control people?" she asked.
Trick question? I answered anyway. "He offers them more wealth than they've already got, a position at or near the top of the pecking order, freedom from disease and, possibly, immortality."
Her excitement grew and it was infectious. She was leading me to something and I was happy to be led. "And?" she prodded.
"And?"
"How else does he control them, the people he actually uses at the moment?"
The answer was obvious. "The device."
Jennie's smile was almost a grin. "Yes!" She paused and the smile that was almost a grin became a fully fledged one. "Godfrey wouldn't be immune, would he?"
"Immune if he was implanted?"
"Yes."
I began to see what she was getting at. "Well no, I don't suppose he would. You're suggesting that we might turn the tables on him?"
"Yes! If we could put what you're holding in your hand under his skin, maybe we could control him!"
I considered the thought and it seemed unworkable and ridiculous. Jennie was excited by the possibility and it certainly seemed more palatable than the option of murdering him but...I spoke gently, genuinely not wanting to burst her balloon. "Jennie, how on earth would we implant it, 'Hi, Tom, d'you mind slipping this under your skin?'
"Perhaps...well...I wonder...I don't know but...”
"Just for a minute, let's assume we could," I continued. "The device must be some sort of receiver and that implies some sort of transmitter without which the device is useless. We have no transmitter. Presumably, Godfrey does, but he isn't going to show us where it is, and even if he did we'd have no idea how to use it. I like the concept, Jennie, but...”
"You're right," she said, her intonation flat. "I'm sorry...it's just that when the thought came to me it seemed to make sense."
Her excitement had died. I'd killed it and I regretted that. "Jennie," I said, "over the last few days I've had numerous thoughts and ideas and none of them were any better than yours, not as good in fact. Don't be sorry, anything’s worth considering."
The idea was dead. But was it?
Was the image I'd held since waking trying to point me in the direction of Jennie's thought? The concept was interesting, exciting even, but it wasn't practicable. It involved two major problems and they were what killed it, but if we could solve those problems, maybe...
The image was still there. It wouldn't go away.
***
Godfrey sat alone in his study considering recent events. He was worried. Harrison and his partner were dead, shot with the very latest microwave weapon, but there were no bodies in the burnt out cottage. Harrison's car had been taken then dumped in Bangor, so clearly Lake and Swift had escaped, and his preliminary investigation had produced no trail. The Swift girl hadn’t been in touch, and from Bangor, they'd simply disappeared. Then Swift's signal had suddenly broken down. There were three possible explanations for that. One - the implant had failed. That was very unlikely. Fancourt assured him that failures would be non-existent. Two - she was dead and the device had been destroyed in the process of her dying. Perhaps she'd been injured at the cottage and died of her injuries. Three - the implant had been removed and disabled in the process. Somehow, Lake had located it and cut it out.
There was no problem with the transmitter because the connection with Fancourt and the others was still fine. It occurred to Godfrey that his longstanding decision not to eliminate Fancourt when he expressed his ridiculous concerns had been sound. He'd felt that he might be needed again and now that seemed very likely.
Hopefully, Jennie Swift was dead. That seemed the most logical of the three possibilities. But four days had passed since contact was lost and no body had turned up. Lake might have hidden it but why would he? What would be the point? How would that benefit him? No. In fact, the most likely and most worrying scenario was that Lake had found, removed and disabled the device.
Whatever, apart from putting every effort into the search, which had already been done, there was little to be done for now. But the worry remained. It seemed that Lake was now a real threat to the Association and its objectives.
***
I'd been mulling over Jennie's idea for most of the day. It was still ridiculous, but I couldn't get away from the image I'd woken with. Was there a connection, a message, maybe?
It was while my mind was on something else that a possibility occurred to me and I turned to Jennie. "How did you first come into contact with Godfrey?" I asked.
"Through AJP."
Her previous employer, that's what I'd guessed. "So AJP did some head-hunting for him?"
"Yes, quite a bit. He became an important client for a while, hence my involvement." She paused. "Have you got an idea?"
"I don't know yet, maybe. What about on the electronics side?"
Jennie's expression indicated that she was starting to get my drift. "Yes, we found several top people for him," she said. "It wasn't difficult because his offers were always extremely competitive. All we had to do was find the right people then his chequebook did the rest."
"Can you remember the name of the top man you found for him, someone who would lead a research team?"
Jennie considered before answering, trying to bring the past to mind. Then she smiled. "Yes, I've got it,” she said. “A guy called Jack Fancourt. I remember Godfrey being extremely pleased to get him." Her earlier excitement returned. "Are you thinking about what we said this morning?"
I began to get excited myself. "Yes," I said. "There were two main problems. Is it possible that Jack Fancourt might be the answer to one of them?"
"The transmitter?"
"Yes, if he was involved with the development, he'd understand the system."
"But that doesn't solve the problem of getting the receiver into Godfrey."
I felt happier. Dim it might be, but I sensed a light at the end of the tunnel. "One thing at a time, Jennie," I said, grinning. "This is taxing my brain enough. We'll worry about the other problem if we can solve this one. So, d'you think this Jack Fancourt might be the solution we need?"
Jennie mulled the question. "He was certainly big in that department," she said at last. "Who knows, but it's certainly possible."
"Would he co-operate?"
Jennie seemed unsure. "I didn't know him that well, Ben, I don't know."
"Well," I said, "there's only one way to find out. So, the sixty-four thousand dollar question... where is he?"
Her face dropped. "I haven't got a clue." She paused then a possibility emerged. "AJP will probably know and I still have contacts there. I could give them a call."
I considered the possibility. "No," I said. "I'd guess that Godfrey would almost certainly get to hear about it if you did."
Her face dropped again. "Yes, of course. So?"
I could think of only one way. "Presumably, Derby has its share of private investigators. Maybe..."
Jennie interrupted."But might not Godfrey get to hear about any contact with a private investigator?"
"Yes," I said. "But I think the odds are with us. He can't have a deal with every PI firm in the country and we could use a small one, maybe a one man firm. Assuming Jack Fancourt isn't in hiding, he probably won’t be that difficult to find, so we probably don't need to use one of the big outfits, the sort Godfrey might be in cahoots with. Any PI, even a small, mediocre one, should be able to deal with a straightforward trace."
Jennie nodded but then her face showed concern. "Something's occurred to me," she said. "What if Jack Fancourt's under Godfrey's control?"
The possibility had been in my mind while we talked. The more I thought about it the more the possibility became a probability, a strong one at that. "We're back to ‘will he co-operate?’," I replied. "Being realistic, he probably is under Godfrey's control, either willingly or otherwise. But we'll not know until we've found him, and when we do we'll just have to play it by ear. It's the only shot we've got, Jennie."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
18th August 2024
On the twelfth, I'd located and approached a PI whose office was a small room above a hairdresser in a rundown part of Derby. It was as well that I saw no need for exceptional PI skills, because from our brief conversation he didn't seem to have any. But on the basis that the lowest profile possible made most sense, Harry Jeynes seemed ideal.
He was a small, skinny man with a worn grease-stained suit and a moustache that wasn't worth the effort. Seedy would best describe him, and I couldn't imagine that Godfrey would have the slightest interest in anyone of his ilk.
His eyes lit up when I paid him one thousand Euros upfront, confirming the general small time impression that he gave. I explained that as I couldn't be contacted by phone, I'd call back in a few days.
Yesterday, I met with him and he smiled - I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that his sneer was intended to be a smile - as he stood up from his desk and offered his hand. "Chesham," he said. He passed me a sheet of paper ripped from a shorthand pad. The full address was written on it.
"No difficulties?" I asked. "No one showed particular interest in your enquiries?"
The sneery smile stayed firmly fixed. "There are always difficulties," he said.
I guessed he felt a need to justify his fee. "But no-one showed particular interest?" I repeated.
I watched as his brain worked hard to produce a clever response. It failed in its quest and finally gave up trying. "No, not really," he admitted.
I needed to be absolutely sure. "Not really?" I prompted.
"Well, no, not at all."
"D'you know if Fancourt’s been at that address for long?"
He referred to his notepad. "He first appeared on the electoral roll in two thousand and eighteen."
So he certainly wasn't hiding. "Married?"
"There's nobody else on the electoral roll, so if he is, his wife doesn't live with him." He paused, coughed awkwardly and touched the knot of his tie. "You asked for an address. If you want more I can find more, but the thousand just covers what you've already had."
I smiled to myself. The big payday had given him unrealistic ambitions but his customer relations skills were poorly tuned. His delivery had verged on the aggressive, but he had nothing to back up his new cocky ambitions. Tomorrow he'd be back on some low key divorce surveillance at a hundred Euros a day. "That won't be necessary," I said. "Thanks for your help."
***
It was just after seven when we pulled onto the M1, heading for Chesham, and as I'd done several times over the last few days, I pondered the possibilities.
Assuming that Jack Fancourt's role had been important, and Jennie believed it had, he'd be under Godfrey's control, willingly or otherwise. I was now quite sure of that because if he wasn't he'd be dead. No way would Godfrey have it any other way.
If he was willingly on Godfrey's team, I had no idea what I'd do. Beat information out of him? I doubted it. First, I lacked the necessary ‘beating it out of him’ skills, and second, if he knew Godfrey well, he'd be far more frightened of him than of me. My hope was that control was forced on him. If so, there might be a chance.
We exited the M1 at junction eight. We'd soon know what we were up against.
***
We drove slowly up and down the avenue five times, examining every parked car and every pedestrian until I was absolutely sure that there was no black limo equivalent or any other type of surveillance. It seemed safe, and having parked outside his house, we approached Fancourt’s door.
He answered our knock, recognizing Jennie immediately. "Miss Swift," was all he said, but when he said it I saw the same look of confusion and doubt that Jennie had shown when under Godfrey's control. He was fitted with a device. I was sure of it.
Jennie noticed his nervousness and smiled reassuringly. "Jack, long time no see. You're looking well." She paused and pushed the smile. "May we come in?"
Doubt - "Err...I...perhaps it would be better if...I wasn't expecting..."
Jennie touched his sleeve. "We've come a long way, Jack," she said.
Confusion - Why? What for? "But..." He was lost.
I glanced at Jennie, probably seeking approval that I knew she wouldn't give, but I saw no other way. I pushed the half open door and forced my way into the hall. "Mr. Fancourt..." I said.
"What the hell...what are you doing...get out of my house!"
Jennie followed me in, clearly baffled and upset by my approach. "Ben!" she said.
He continued with his objections, offering no chance of a reasoned interruption. Sorry, Jennie, Sorry, Jack, I thought, but.... I swung hard and my fist connected with his jaw. His hand moved instinctively to his mouth, a thin stream of blood trickled from its corner. He stood, staring at me, completely bemused, but he didn't go down. He wasn't young, I guessed mid-fifties, and he had a wide girth, hanging jowls and a pasty complexion. He didn't look fit and he didn't look strong - so much for my street fighting skills.
I swung again, desperately regretting the need. I watched his head spin hard to the left and winced in sympathy with his overworked neck muscles. His eyes glazed, he swayed and tottered then slumped to the floor.
"Ben!" Jennie screamed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
There was no time to discuss rights and wrongs. "Check his arm, Jennie," I said.
Her confusion evaporated. "A device?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Check it."
Briefly, she stood her ground. "You could have explained to him, reasoned with him," she said.
Failing to hide my exasperation, I said, "Jennie, he wouldn't even have let us in! If I'm right, if he's got a device, he wouldn't be open to explanation or reason, you know that!"
She did. She paused to consider, but then her expression admitted it. She knelt beside Fancourt and rolled up his right shirt sleeve then fingered his biceps and triceps, settling her finger on a spot just above his elbow. "It's here," she said. "Ben, I'm sorry, you were..."
"Just hope he wet shaves," I interrupted.
"Sorry?"
"Check his bathroom, we need a razor blade."
"Oh...yes, of course.”
Jennie returned with a blade.
"I need tweezers," I said as I sliced into his skin.
"Tweezers?"
I glanced up and saw her brain working overtime - tweezers, where the hell do I find tweezers?
Despite the stress I felt, I couldn't resist an inner smile. "Try your handbag," I suggested.
Her expression spoke - Of course!
I'd learned from my last experience, and the device was out in a couple of seconds. Five minutes later Fancourt stirred and opened his eyes. "What..."
I felt he deserved an honest explanation. "I'm sorry, Jack," I said, "I hit you."
When he'd gathered his wits and moved cautiously to his feet, I explained everything then asked, "Jack, just how do you feel about Godfrey?"
