Newton’s Fire

up top again. ‘I just got a call,’ Croke told him, leading him to a secluded corner. ‘It seems it’s in London after all.’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ scowled Morgenstern. ‘How many more dead ends are we going to hit?’

‘This wasn’t a dead end,’ said Croke. ‘They built this place to hold it; they simply found somewhere better. And now we know where that is.’

‘Where?’

‘St Paul’s Cathedral.’

‘No way. No. Fucking. Way. It’s miles beyond my authority.’

‘Your authority comes from your Commander in Chief,’ said Croke. ‘Are you planning to let her down?’

Morgenstern bit his teeth together, brought his anger back under control. ‘It’s not like that,’ he said. ‘I’d do it if I could. But I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t have that kind of pull. Crane Court was different. I could do it on my own initiative, explain myself afterwards. But not St Paul’s. We’d need explicit ministerial approval. And they’d want some kind of in-person briefing. With evidence too. Hard evidence. Not some mysterious phantom source.’

‘My informant has just assured me that the terrorists from Crane Court have planted a dirty bomb in the crypt of St Paul’s Cathedral. There’s a national memorial service tomorrow night at which the Prime Minister, his cabinet and the whole royal family are going to be honoured guests. Are you honestly telling me you’re prepared to let that service go ahead without first making absolutely sure it’s safe?’

Morgenstern nodded, seeing how he might be able to make it work. ‘An attack on the Royal Family,’ he said. ‘On the British government. On democracy itself. We couldn’t possibly risk that.’

‘No,’ said Croke. ‘We couldn’t.’

TWENTY-NINE I

It was quite a climb to the top of the dome, particularly with the Monument already in their legs. Luke and Rachel allowed themselves a minute’s respite on the stone gallery, savouring the breeze as they looked out between fat stone balusters down over the river and south London.

A man bumped into Luke’s back, not looking on where he was going, too intent on his companion, a charming redhead. ‘Quite something, huh?’ he commented to her. ‘How often in life do you get to stand on a miracle?’

‘A miracle?’ asked the redhead.

‘The Germans threw everything at this place. Everything. Didn’t hit it once. If that’s not a miracle, what is?’

Beside Luke, Rachel stiffened. He glanced curiously at her. Her eyes were tight and her lips were clamped together. He raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, waited until the couple were gone. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I hate that bullshit story. St Paul’s was hit multiple times. It survived because of the wardens who risked their lives staying up here during the raids to put out fires before they could catch. And, anyway, who the hell wants to believe in a God who’d save his precious building from the bombs, while letting tens of thousands die?’

Luke nodded. He agreed with her viewpoint, yet it didn’t explain her intensity of reaction. ‘You never did tell me about your brother,’ he said.

‘No,’ she agreed.

‘What was it? A bomb?’

‘Please.’

‘Was it in London? Some terrorist attack?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘The army, then?’

She gave a little grimace. ‘Afghanistan.’

‘And it’s not getting better?’

‘It’s not going to get better. It’s his life now. Our lives.’

‘And that’s why you need the Newton papers? To pay for his care?’

Her eyes began to water. She blinked furiously, wiped them with thumb and finger, as though ashamed of her weakness. ‘They say he’s fit enough to work. He’s not fit enough to work. He’s nothing like fit enough. He’s lost his legs and his hand, and the blast fucked up his insides and his mind. He can’t concentrate. His memory plays tricks on him. He gets frustrated. He gets angry.’

‘Aren’t there schemes?’

‘There are a thousand schemes. There’s just no money in them. The government keeps reneging. And now they’re trying to buy us off with a lump sum. But it’s not enough. It’s not even close to being enough. Do you have any idea how much a lifetime of care costs?’

‘No.’

She sighed, held up a hand in apology. ‘They owe Bren better, that’s all I’m saying. They owe everyone in his situation better. They took their legs and arms and guts and brains for their absurd fucking wars, but now that the bill’s due they’re not only refusing to pay, they’re trying to hide their victims out of sight so they don’t have to look at them and have their precious consciences troubled. Well, fuck them. Fuck the lot of them.’

‘Are you suing?’

She gave a nod. ‘They keep postponing our hearings. It’s just a ploy, of course. They want us to run out of money so that we’ll have to accept their offer. But Bren will be screwed if we accept. All his comrades will be screwed. So we need enough to see us through. But I can’t seem to make it happen.’ She shook her head helplessly. ‘I already have nightmares about how much debt I’m in. No one will lend us any more, except at such ridiculous rates of interest that we might as well give up. So yes, I need those papers.’

He touched her arm to express both his sympathy and his willingness to help her once they were through this, but also to steer her towards the steps. They trudged up to the golden gallery. A woman guide was sitting on a fold-up wooden chair outside the door, welcoming new arrivals with a smile and an invitation to ask questions. They were amazingly high. The grey stone balustrade was crumbling a little and discoloured with small islands of damp. Luke turned his back to it, leaning against it as he looked upwards and inwards, in case the answer to their quest lay at its peak; but the camber of the dome concealed it from their view.

‘Thank god for the balustrade,’ murmured Rachel, as she leaned back beside him.

‘Thank Wren, you mean,’ smiled Luke.

‘Actually,’ murmured the guide. ‘Wren hated it.’

‘Really?’

She stood and came to join them, bashful of being overheard. ‘He thought it broke the harmony of the whole machine. That was how he put it himself: the harmony of the whole machine. It always stuck in my mind, that phrase, for some reason. Like he saw this place as a fearfully clever contraption for bringing about the will of God.’

Luke touched the balustrade. ‘He lost the argument, then.’

‘Newton talked him round.’

‘Newton?’ frowned Rachel.

‘It was after they’d put Wren out to grass,’ she told them. ‘Newton was his close friend, and he sat on the committee to complete the cathedral, so he became their go-between, explaining decisions like the balustrade to him, making sure there weren’t any technical reasons not to do them.’

‘This committee to complete,’ said Luke. ‘How would we find out more about it?’

‘You’d have to speak to Clarence,’ she told him. ‘He’s our head librarian.’

‘And where would we find him?’

‘I’d imagine the library might be a good place to start.’ She must have realized how tart she sounded, for she blushed and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Do forgive me,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what it is. These things just pop out.’