unobtainable and there was no message for him.
That was five days he had not been able to reach her, not since the Delta Strike which had freed Melissa- jane. She seemed to have disappeared completely, and Peter pondered the implications during the quiet days when he was almost always alone with his daughter.
Then Dr. Kingston Parker arrived at Abbots Yew, and Sir Steven
Stride was delighted to have as his guest such a distinguished statesman.
Kingston Parker’s giant personality seemed to fill the beautiful old home. When he put himself out, his graciousness was irresistible. Steven was delighted with him, particularly when he discovered that despite Parker’s image as a liberal and his well-known concern with human rights, he was also a champion of the capitalist system, and determined that his country should take more seriously its responsibilities as leader of the Western world. They both deplored the loss of the BI bomber and the delaying of the neutron bomb programme, and the restructuring of America’s intelligence agencies.
They spent much of the first afternoon in Steven’s redwood-panelled study exploring each other’s views, and came out of it fast friends.
When they emerged, Parker completed his conquest of the Stride household by showing he shared with Patricia Stride a scholarly knowledge and love of antique porcelain.
His concern and warmth for Melissa-Jane and his relief at her safety were too spontaneous not to be entirely genuine.
His conquest of that young lady’s affections was complete when he went down with her to the stables to meet Florence Nightingale and prove that he was also a fair judge of horseflesh.
“He’s a lovely man. I think he is truly an honourable man,”
Melissa-Jane told Peter, when he went up to her bedroom to bid her goodnight “And he’s so kind and funny-” Then, lest there be any question of disloyalty, “But you are still my most favourite man in all the world.” Her cure and convalescence seemed almost complete, and as
Peter went down to rejoin the company he marvelled again at the resilience of young flesh and young minds.
As usual at Abbots Yew there was glittering and stimulating company at dinner, with Kingston Parker at its centre, but afterwards he and Peter exchanged a single glance down the length of Pat Stride’s silver-and candle decorated table and they left them to the port and cognac and cigars and slipped out unobtrusively into the walled rose garden.
While they paced side by side on the crunching gravel pathway,
Kingston Parker stoked his meerschaum and then began to talk quietly.
Once his bodyguard coughed in the shadows where he waited just out of range of their subdued voices, but that was the only intrusion and the spring night was still and balmy. Their conversation seemed utterly incongruous in these surroundings, talk of death and violence, the use and abuse of power, and the manipulations of vast fortunes by a single mysterious figure.
“It’s been five days since I arrived in England-” Kingston Parker shrugged. “One does not rush through the echoing passages of
Whitehall. There was much to discuss-” Peter knew that he had met with the Prime Minister on two separate occasions ” and it wasn’t just
Atlas business, I’m afraid-” Parker was one of the President’s confidants. They would have taken full advantage of his visit to exchange views with the British Government. “However, we did discuss
Atlas in depth and detail. You know very well that Atlas has opponents and critics on both sides of the Atlantic. They tried very hard to squash it, and when they could not they saw to it that its power and duties were severely curtailed-” Parker paused and his pipe gurgled.
He flicked out the juices from the mouthpiece onto the gravel path.
“The opponents of Atlas are all highly intelligent concerned and informed men. Their motives and their reasoning in opposing Atlas are laudable. I find myself a little in sympathy despite myself. If you create a strike force such as Atlas, where enormous powers are placed in the hands of a single man or a small elite leadership, you could very well be creating a Frankenstein a monster more frightening than you are setting out to destroy.”
“That depends on the man who controls it, Dr. Parker. I believe that they have the right man.”
“Thank you, Peter.” Parker turned his big shaggy head and smiled. “Won’t you please call me Kingston.” Peter nodded agreement, while Parker went on. “Atlas has had some spectacular successes at Johannesburg and now in Ireland but that makes it more danger—us. There will be a readier acceptance of the whole concept by the public; if Atlas asks for wider powers, it is more likely they would be granted. And, believe me, if it is to do the job it needs wider powers, Peter. I find myself torn down the centre-“
“And yet,”
Peter pointed out, “we cannot take on the most dangerous animal in the world, man the killer, we cannot do it without arming ourselves in every possible way.” Kingston Parker sighed. “And if Atlas achieves those powers, who can say when they will be abused, when will the rule of force supersede the rule of law?”
“The rules have changed. The rule of law is so often powerless in the face -of those who have no respect for the law.”
“There is another aspect, Peter. One that I have thought about half my life. What about the rule of unjust law? The laws of oppression and greed. A law that enslaves or deprives a man because of the colour of his face or the god he worships? If a duly constituted parliament makes racial laws or if the General Assembly of the United
Nations declares that Zionism is a form of Imperialism and must be outlawed. What if a handful of men gain control of the world’s resources and legally manipulate them in a manner dictated by personal greed to the detriment of all mankind, such as the Committee of the
OPEC, the Shah and the King of Saudi Arabia-” Kingston Parker made a helpless gesture, spreading those long sensitive fingers. “Must we respect those laws? The rule of law, even unjust law, is it sacrosanct?”
“Balance,” said Peter. “There has to be a balance between law and force.”
“Yes, but what is the balance, Peter?” He abruptly closed his hands into fists. “I have asked for greater powers for
Atlas, wider scope for its use, and I think these will be granted.
When they are, we will have need of good men, Peter.” Kingston Parker reached out and took Peter’s shoulder in a surprisingly powerful grip.
“Just men, who can recognize when the rule of law has either failed or is unjust, and who have the courage and the vision to act to restore the balance that you spoke of a moment ago.” His hand was still on
Peter’s shoulder and he left it there.
It was a natural gesture, without affectation.
“I believe you are one of those men.” He let the hand drop, and his manner changed. “Tomorrow I have arranged that we meet with
Colonel Noble. He has been busy breaking down and examining the entire
Irish operation, and I hope he will have come up with something for us to get our teeth into. Then there is much else to discuss. Two o’clock at Thor Command, will it suit you, Peter?”
“Of course.”
“Now let’s go in and join the company.”
“Wait.” Peter stopped him. “I have something I must tell, Kingston. It’s been tearing at my guts, and after you you have heard it you may alter your opinion of me my suitability for my role at Atlas.”
“Yes?” Parker turned back and waited quietly.
“You know that the people who kidnapped my daughter made no demands for her return, made no attempt to contact me or the police to negotiate.”
“Yes,” Parker answered. “Of course. It was one of the puzzling things about the whole business.”
“It was untrue. There was a contact and a demand.”
“I don’t understand.” Parker frowned and thrust his face closer to Peter’s, as though trying to study his expression in the poor light from the windows.
“The kidnappers contacted me. A letter which I destroyed-“
“Why?”
