Newton’s Fire

them. Walters looked at him. He was standing open-mouthed in the road, radio in hand, evidently wanting to call it in but not knowing what to say. Walters marched over to him, clapped him on his arm. ‘Good work,’ he said. ‘If you still want to join us, I’ll put in a word for you.’

‘Yes,’ said the policeman uncertainly. ‘Thanks.’

‘And keep all this to yourself, right? National security. Above even your boss’s clearance. Can’t say any more. Not until you join us.’ He flashed him a smile, strode to the SUV. They all piled in and pulled away, leaving the policeman still standing there dumbly, doing his best mannequin yet.

‘What now, boss?’ asked Pete.

‘We find that BMW and get rid of that fucking email.’ He turned to Kieran. ‘How much of her password did you get?’

‘First six characters. Should be enough to break the rest.’ He set a programme running, turned to Pete. ‘Give us their licence number, then.’ He tapped it in, ran a search. ‘It’s a rental,’ he announced, thirty seconds later. ‘Company called Jonson’s Cars.’

‘Where are they?’ asked Walters.

‘Head office is St Albans,’ said Kieran, checking his screen. ‘But they’ve got a dealership here in Cambridge.’

‘Open Sundays?’

‘For another hour.’

‘Then give me their address. Let’s pay them a visit.’

II

‘What now?’ asked Pelham rhetorically. ‘What do you mean, what now? You check for your aunt’s damned email.’

Rachel nodded. She logged in on his phone and there it was.

‘My dearest Rachel,

The most extraordinary thing — some Isaac Newton papers have just been unearthed in my attic! It seems your Great-great uncle Bernard bought them at Sotheby’s for next to nothing, and now they’re worth a small fortune! And we always thought him the unworldly one! Anyway, I thought of you and your brother at once. Bernie doted on your mother, though she wasn’t much more than a girl when he died. I’m sure he’d have wanted to help.

Now this is all supposed to be terribly hush-hush, but apparently some terrifically wealthy collector is about make me an offer. Naturally I haven’t the first idea what the papers might be worth, and the nice young man who found them will only say they should fetch?20,000 or more. That would be wonderful, of course, and I think I can trust him, but he is here on behalf of this collector, after all, and I’d never forgive myself if I let myself be duped, not after that wretched episode with the barn roof! Anyway, to cut a long story short, I thought perhaps you or one of your colleagues might have some idea, so I’ve attached the photographs. Incidentally, not a word to anyone, especially not my brood. They don’t know of this yet, so we’ll be able to put the proceeds towards your brother’s care, and no one will ever be the wiser. I’m sure that’s what Bernie would have wanted. How does that sound?

Your loving Aunt P

Tears threatened Rachel’s eyes; she had to bite the knuckle of her index finger to stop them. ‘These papers,’ she asked. ‘Where are they?’

‘Those men have them.’

‘Then why were they after me? If they’ve got the originals, why would they want copies?’

‘They don’t. We think they just want to deprive access to them to anyone else.’

‘Because they back up your story about Aunt Penny?

Luke shook his head. ‘There has to be more to it than that. They freaked out the moment they realized your aunt had sent you the email, which was before she even fell. So there has to be something in the papers themselves.’

Rachel held up the phone. ‘No way can we read a manuscript on a screen this small.’

‘We’ll be at my place in a minute,’ Pelham told her. ‘Send it to print and it’ll be waiting for us when we get there.’

‘How? Do I need to download all these attachments?’

‘No. I’m on my company’s cloud network.’

‘You’re on what?’

‘Give it here.’ He took his phone back from her, worked it one-handed as he drove. ‘All done,’ he said, tossing the phone over his shoulder to her. ‘And you might want to forward your aunt’s email on to some friends. The more copies of it and of the Newton papers that are out there, the happier I’ll feel.’

She nodded and set to work. The smart-phone was still busy with the printing, however, and was slow as treacle as she tried to type out a covering note. Then suddenly it froze altogether. The screen blinked black then began to reset. She tried at once to log back into her account but now it wouldn’t recognize her. ‘They’ve locked me out,’ she said bleakly. ‘Those bastards have locked me out.’

III

The lights were on in Benyamin’s office. Avram was about to ring the buzzer when a young woman emerged, head in the air with laughter as she talked into her phone. He kept the door open with his foot, hurried up the steps. It was a while since he’d been here. The lobby had been painted cream and teal, the walls hung with works of characterless modern art. ‘Who’s there?’ called out Benyamin, when he knocked.

‘Me. Avram.’

Footsteps, brisk and purposeful. The office door swung open. ‘What do you want?’ scowled Benyamin, his voice low enough to suggest he had company.

‘We need to talk.’

Benyamin nodded and beckoned him inside. A well-dressed Yemenite woman was studying architectural plans pinned to a slanted work table. ‘Forgive me, Anna,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to pick this up again tomorrow.’

‘What if Zach calls?’

‘Don’t worry about Zach,’ he assured her. ‘I can handle Zach.’ He escorted her out, locked the door behind her, led Avram over to a pair of tattered red armchairs slouching around a low glass table. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What brings you here?’

‘You know what brings me here.’

‘It’s on, then?’

‘Tomorrow night.’

Benyamin nodded several times. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never get around to it. I was beginning to think you were all talk, like the others.’

‘We’ve been waiting for the right time.’

‘And what makes this the right time? Have you had one of your signs?’

‘We’ve had many signs.’

‘I must have been looking the other way.’

‘Even a sceptic like you must have felt the earthquake, Benyamin.’

‘That?’ snorted Benyamin. ‘That was your sign?’

‘It put fissures in the Dome of the Rock. What else would you call it?’

‘I’d call it an earthquake,’ said Benyamin. ‘After all, if He is prepared to use earthquakes to get His way, why not bring the whole Dome down while He’s at it? Or aren’t His powers up to that?’

‘He doesn’t want to bring it down Himself. He wants us to do it. That’s why we call