They were now only yards apart, skimming across the surface of the reservoir, getting closer and closer, as Custard Pie levelled the plane for the final approach. The vast concrete wall of the dam loomed up ahead and Bombardier Llantrisant - her eyes buried in the bombsight — screamed out above the din.
'Six seconds! Five seconds! Four seconds!'
And Llunos and I stood in the entrance to the cockpit and exchanged glances of disbelief.
'Three seconds!'
Mrs Llantrisant's hand, oblivious to us and everything else except those twin pools of light on the surface of the lake which were now less than a second or two apart, moved forward to the lever which would release the bomb. The hour had come. We only needed to retard the moment of release by a second or so and the angle would be wrong, the bomb would drop harmlessly and sink.
'Two seconds!' Ma Llantrisant screeched. Custard Pie held the joystick steady in a grip of iron, just as he must have done so many times all those years ago in Patagonia; just as he must have done, in fact, on that infamous approach over the clouds above San Isadora when they dropped the bombs on to the orphanage. The twin pools of light converged and became one, the hand hovered over the lever, waiting to deal the final blow to Aberystwyth, that once-lovely town by the sea.
'One second' shouted Mrs Llantrisant and then in an orgasm of triumph, 'Go! Go! Go!' as Llunos and I shot our hands forward to hold the release lever and stop the bomb.
Chapter 24
THE POLICE HORSE stamps and whinnies as the wind driving in from the sea makes the windcheaters crackle like fireworks. Dogs howl and babies cry as the townspeople mill around the Cliff Railway base station, pushing in confusion and shoving to board the trains. 'Keep back, at the barrier!' the policeman shouts. 'Women and children first! Able-bodied men take the footpath! No season tickets!' Then a mighty lamentation goes up as the outriders rushing in from the outskirts bring their tales of the advancing wall of water. Tales of tree trunks being tossed about on the surface of the raging foam like matchsticks; of caravans shaken along like dice in a ludo cup; of trains being catapulted down the main street of Borth; of the apocalypse at Talybont, where the waters hit the mill wheel with such fury that the mill building itself had started to spin. Panic spreads and the police horses rear up, neighing in terror and foaming at the bridle as the funicular trains creak and groan under the strain. Each carriage is weighed down with a cargo that spills out of the windows like bunches of human grapes. Never in the entire history of funicular railways has there been such an imbalance between the up and down cars. The hawser joining the two counterbalancing carriages stretches thinner than piano wire and the rails glow so hot in the night that the people down the coast in Aberaeron think Jacob's Ladder has returned to Earth above Aberystwyth.
As the credits began to roll I followed Calamity out of the cinema, blinking into the bright afternoon sunshine.
'I don't know why we keep going to see it,' I laughed.
'It's rubbish!' Calamity agreed. We exchanged guilty glances — we both knew why we went: we loved it. The warm July wind blew a curtain of blonde hair across her face. The spiky hair was gone now, and the tomboy had given way to a burgeoning air of sophistication and self-possession. She punched me on the arm. 'I'd better get moving, don't want to keep him waiting.' I nodded and she strode off, adding, 'See you at the harbour!'
I looked at my watch; there was still just enough time for a coffee at Sospan's before the meeting at the harbour with the Vatican envoy. I ordered a cappuccino and carried it over to one of the new tables set before the kiosk. Above my head a seagull wheeled in a lazy arc before floating down to land on the railings. He was a big bird, old and fat, almost as big as a cat, and probably remembered the days when Sospan's was a little wooden booth that sold ice cream. I proffered a piece of almond biscotti but he seemed unimpressed. 'Yes, old bird,' I said, 'we all remember those days. But these plastic tables with the central parasols are an improvement, aren't they? Progress isn't always a bad thing.' In the old days, of course, there was no room for such frippery; there was just the ice- cream booth, a few yards of pavement and then the railings. But that was the old days. I wasn't sure whether they had moved the road back or extended the sea wall but the new Prom - or 'Esplanade', as we would have to learn to call it, was much wider and airier. Noddy had gone, too, but he wouldn't be missed. Cartoon characters had no place illuminating the espressos and ristrettos of Sospan's terrace cafe. Nor indeed at the 24-hour Moules Mariniиre booth which had replaced the Whelk Stall at the foot of Constitution Hill.
A voice intruded on my thoughts and I looked up to see Llunos, now Commissioner, walk up to my table. He took a seat and gave his order to the waitress.
'Skinny double decaf' latte please.' He looked at me. 'Afternoon!'
I nodded. 'How's the new police station coming along?' 'Almost finished. Still a few teething problems with the central locking for the cells; and the mural, what a pain that is!' He rolled his eyes. 'Should have been finished by now. But he's flattened the perspective too much for my liking; the bit where the ocean divides.'
'You wouldn't want it too photographic, though.' 'That's what he says. He says he's done it deliberately to compress the narrative focus. I mean, that's all very well, but to Joe Bloggs it just looks like a mistake. We'll get there eventually.'
The waitress brought the coffee and Llunos took a thirsty gulp that left his mouth edged with foam.
We sat in silence for a while like a couple of Darby and Joans and enjoyed the shimmering tranquillity of the afternoon. Llunos was in no hurry to return to work, and I could afford to relax. Calamity took care of the day-to-day stuff and she was a lot better at it than I had been. It was only a matter of time before she took over entirely. I watched Llunos from the corner of my eye and felt an upsurge of warmth towards him. It had been a long journey that we had undertaken together but we had emerged as firm friends. Sospan, moving among the tables near the cafe, raised a hand in greeting and I smiled. He was a busy man these days, checking on his chain of bistros, or meeting with EU officials to discuss grants. We seldom saw much of him. There was still so much to do.
From where I was sitting I could see a tattered poster of Myfanwy Montez, the Legendary Welsh Chanteuse, still pasted to the wall of the old Bandstand. It made me think of that peculiar blemish in the new tarmac down at the harbour and Father Renaldo who had come to see it.
* * *
Llunos interrupted my reverie again. 'It's been a rum two years hasn't it?'
I grinned. 'You can say that again.'
'Do you think Brainbocs intended to sell the movie rights like that?'
I shook my head. 'I think he was just lucky. The newspaper serialisation rights were always part of the plan. But not Hollywood.'
Llunos wiped away the beard of milk with the back of his hand.
'I hear one of the dealers in Cardiff has bought the original essay. Half a million pound.'
'Lot of money for a schoolboy's homework.'
'Bloody madness. I mean, how do you know it's real?'
I allowed myself a secretive smile. Llunos wasn't wrong, but strangely this time, after all the red herrings and false trails, I suspected that the real essay had surfaced. In fact, I was willing to bet on it. 'I think this time it could be for real.'
He looked at me sceptically. 'You think so?'
'I've got this funny feeling.'
He snorted. 'Fake Brainbocs essays coming out of the woodwork for months. What's different about this one?'
I reached into my trouser pocket and handed him the letter that had arrived for me last month from Argentina. It was from Myfanwy and inside there was a photograph of her taken after one of the concerts at the Estada della Caeriog.
The policeman examined it. 'Brainbocs looks well.'
'Yes. That's what the Florida sunshine does for you. He went there to get his leg straightened by one of those fancy Miami surgeons.'
'And who's this in the big hat?'
'Ma Brainbocs. Looks quite the part doesn't she?'
He let the photo fall to his lap and looked at me. 'I don't see that this proves anything.'
'Look at Myfanwy.'
He peered once more at the picture and then looked up. 'What about her?'
'Notice anything different?'
