gazing at her expression of ecstasy. The Acolyte shivered almost imperceptibly, feeling a wash of emotions — jealousy, disgust, fascination. Together they produced a rush of sexual energy that shivered down his spine. He felt himself stiffen. Then, knowing he could not wait a moment longer, he lowered the metal case to the floor, removed a scalpel from his pocket, unsheathed it and took three rapid steps forward, reaching the end of the bed before either Simon or Samantha were aware of his existence.
In one deft movement, he pulled Samantha's head back and slit her throat with a single slash of his scalpel. He cut through her jugular, sending blood spouting across the room, before pushing the blade down further, slicing her larynx muscles. The emerging scream was silenced immediately and the girl fell to the floor clutching her throat, blood gushing between her fingers. She looked up at the Acolyte, her eyes huge, trying unsuccessfully to understand.
Simon was paralysed by shock and the Acolyte took advantage of the second or two this gave him. He slashed at the young man's throat with such force that he almost decapitated him, cutting through his neck from ear to ear. Blood hit the Acolyte's visor and he wiped it away. Simon Welding's body convulsed and dark blood spewed from his mouth, covering his face in a red liquid mask.
Leaving him to writhe on the soaked sheets, the Acolyte leaped from the bed and crouched down beside Samantha. She was still alive. The Acolyte could not spare a second. He placed a hand on her forehead and another under her neck, and with a single twist he snapped her spine between her top two vertebrae, C-l and C-2. She went limp instantly.
He retrieved the metal carrier and placed it at his side. Then he rolled Samantha onto her front. In two simple movements he opened her body, making nine-inch incisions either side of her spine. Pulling apart the flesh, he could see her ribcage. Removing a battery-powered surgical saw from a zippered pouch in his plastic suit, he cut through the bones in seconds. Prising apart the ribs, he then used his scalpel to carefully sever the vessels and tubes leading to the left and right kidneys.
Opening the organ transporter, the Acolyte felt the cold on his hands. He could see the freezing air spill over the sides of the box. He heard a loud gurgling sound from the bed and then silence as Simon Welding shuddered and died.
The Acolyte placed his gloved hands inside Samantha Thurow's warm body. Slowly removing each kidney, he placed them in individual clear plastic bags, sealed them and placed them delicately inside the transporter. From a pocket at the side of the box he removed a metal coin. Carefully, he placed the coin in the right-hand opening in Samantha's back. He then closed the lid of the organ box and set the combination on the lock. Removing a detergent-infused wipe from a pocket in the oversuit, he cleaned his gloved hands and removed the blood from the handle and the top of the metal box before returning the wipe to his pocket. Placing a protective shield over the blade of his scalpel, he put this in the same pocket.
At precisely 9.13, nine minutes after entering the house, he was once more in the dark narrow passageway alongside the house. He removed his visor, gloves, one-piece oversuit and shoe covers, taking great care not to allow a trace of blood or a particle of tissue to reach his skin or his clothes. Putting on a second pair of clean plastic gloves and replacing the shoe covers with fresh ones, he removed a small bag from his trouser pocket and placed inside it the oversuit, visor, gloves, the first pair of shoe covers, the scalpel and the wipes. He then removed the second pair of gloves, slipped them into the top of the bag and sealed it. Picking up the organ transporter, he moved quickly to the front of the house. Crouching low, he checked the street. A young couple were walking towards him just two houses closer to Cowley Road. He ducked down. They passed by, the girl giggling.
As the couple reached the end of the street and turned out of sight, the Acolyte checked to left and right again. It was clear. He moved quickly but calmly over the low wall of the garden. Opening the boot of the Toyota with a key rather than the remote, he placed the organ transporter inside and used two leather straps to secure it in place. Then he laid the plastic bag next to it, closed the lid of the boot and walked around to the driver's door. Once inside, he removed his shoe covers and placed those in a plastic bag which he put on the seat. He cleaned his hands with a wipe and added this to the bag. Thirty seconds later he was driving towards the centre of Oxford humming along to a Beethoven piano sonata, feeling very pleased with his night's work.
Chapter 17
Oxford: the evening of 11 August 1690
It was six o'clock as the coach descended Headington Hill a mile beyond the city walls, and the weather was still unbearably hot. At the Bear Inn, a manservant carried Newton's case up the winding staircase and asked if he wanted a meal brought to his room. After he left, Newton could rest, enjoy the isolation and reflect on the past twenty-four hours.
He had ridden wildly out of Cambridge, thrashing his poor horse. But after changing mounts twice, first at Standon Puckeridge and again at Great Hadham, he had completed the journey in little over four hours, reaching the capital not long after midnight. As usual, he had travelled using the name Mr William Petty, and as such he had spent the next few hours at the Swan Tavern in Gray's Inn Lane in the City of London.
All through the journey and in the quiet hours in
London Newton had contemplated the task ahead of him, and had recalled time and again the horror that he had left behind in Cambridge. He still could not fully understand what had possessed Wickins. Maybe, he speculated, it was some power within the sphere that had this effect on some people. One thing he knew for certain was that the strange incident in his laboratory had exaggerated his already highly tuned sense of danger. Enemies could be waiting for him at every turn, he realised. He could trust no one. So, to help confuse any potential rival, any others who thought that they could steal the priceless orb, he determined to do everything he could to throw them off his scent. Having first ridden to the capital, he had decided that from there he would take the coach so that he would arrive in Oxford in the same fashion as most other travellers. The scratch on his face caused by Wickins still stung but there was little he could do to hide the welts. By wearing a subtle disguise, he would do all he could to keep himself to himself. Roused from a restless doze by a servant at 4 a.m., he had resumed his onward journey to Oxford, arriving in the city some thirteen hours later.
Now, here at the Bear Inn, Newton suddenly felt exhausted and needed to sleep, but excitement kept him awake and active. He swallowed some broth and read by the evening light, watching dispassionately as a rat scurried across the wooden floor. As arranged, at ten o'clock sharp he heard his friend approach along the corridor outside and tap quietly on the bedroom door. Walking to the door and opening it, he saw Nicolas Fatio du Duillier. With his black cascading curls du Duillier looked younger and more handsome than he had been in Newton's memory; and they had only been apart for three weeks. Newton beckoned him to enter and the younger man stepped forward, with a broad smile. The two embraced.
'Your face,' Fatio said, full of concern.
'Tis nothing,' Newton replied impatiently and turned away.
'You look distressed, my friend. Something has happened?'
'Some minor incident in Cambridge. Nothing with which to concern yourself, my good Fatio. Now, have you made ready?'
T have done my best, sir. It is not an easy thing you ask. The standard works bear little fruit, but I believe I have done as much as any man could. Landsdown and I have been here two weeks now, and we have harvested all that is required. I check the caskets daily and, although we cannot waste a second, I have faith that all will be well.'
Newton studied du Duillier's pretty young face. 'That is good news.'
'The treasure is safe?'
'Of course it is. Now, let us go through the procedure once more.'
Thirty minutes later they left the inn together.
It was a short walk to the college and they completed the journey in silence. There they were met by a third man whom they always referred to as Mr Landsdown. He was even taller than Fatio du Duillier, but muscular rather than slight. His hair was greying at the temples. They each gave a slight bow. 'It is good to see you,' said Landsdown. 'You have everything?'
Newton tapped his overshirt just below his left shoulder. 'All is well.'
