“Did he have a PC in the last years?” he asked Holly.
She looked back from the angry teacher, who was still unsure if he should give way to the demand to leave.
“Yes…”
“Now see here!” the teacher exclaimed. “Amongst other things I teach here, I teach self reliance – and if you think I’m going to just walk away…”
“Oh, do be quiet,” Quayle said. He tore the plastic open and out fell a faded envelope and the foil wrapped computer disk. Then, sliding the envelope open, he read the first line and put the contents in his pocket with a tired smile. “How short are you for the new pavilion?”
“What?” the teacher asked, amazed at the new tack the conversation had taken.
“The pavilion rebuilding fund. It’s short of target. How much?”
“Ah… about sixty thousand dollars I think,” he replied.
“Tell Mortimer he’s got the money. But there’s a caveat. It’s to be called the Morton Pavilion. And this structure and the trees that shelter it are to remain standing always. Tell him my solicitor will be in touch. Of course, no-one is to know where the remaining funds came from or of my visit here today.” He smiled then, the urbane benefactor.
“That is very generous,” the teacher said, trying to view Quayle as a wealthy eccentric rather than a vandal.
*
Sergi drove back to Melbourne, Quayle sitting beside him and reading the letter over and over. Holly had read it until the code began, the tears coming freely along with her father’s voice from the grave, his wonderful full looped handwriting so familiar.
‘My Dear Titus,
If you are reading this missive, my old friend, then it means I have passed on into the great wonderful unknown. What an adventure that will be! I shall of course be sad to leave those I love and England, but the task shall not remain undone, of that I am sure. If it is not you reading this, then it matters not, as you will see.
In writing this I have placed you in some danger, but you are a competent chap and can deal with that issue as it arises. Never could abide that sort of thing myself.’
The fourth paragraph was an introduction to an access code and, although it was written for Quayle alone to understand, he grappled with it as the car powered though the miles.
‘Remember well the incidents. Each is stand alone and only you can answer them. Leave no spaces, and work in capital initials only. I tried to calculate the probability of someone breaking the code by chance and stopped in the billions. I am not a mathematician, and understand code-breaking is an electronic art in these technical times, so I have built in safeguards with the help of a very bright young man who is part of this technical generation. Think it through carefully, Titus, before committing to the keys. If any part of the access is wrong then the programme will destroy itself.
The file has been updated regularly but is not complete. One question, while answered, remains to be confirmed. I leave it in your hands and am confident you will finish what I began. Opportunities to do the right thing in the face of adversity are common. Men who rise to the challenge are rare. You are one.
Give my love to England, her green fields and warm fires, and remember me to the walls of the college when next you visit.
One last favour to ask, old friend, although I realise you would never refuse a one. Keep a gunner’s eye on Holly for me. She will have received, at the start of my great adventure, a modest inheritance – so will lack nothing material. But she will, like all mortals, require good measures of solid advice; and at times the warm hand of friendship. Impart of those as you see fit and it will be such a thing that money cannot buy.
I remain,
Yours Sincerely
Edward. G Morton.
He had signed with a formal flourish as was his way, the bold blue ink strokes hard across the carefully formed longhand script.
Quayle knew he should have felt things, then. Relief that he had found the file, sad at this last message from his oldest friend, elated at having found the file. But he was tired and he knew it wasn’t over yet. Far from it.
The tone of the letter said much to confirm what he had suspected, and the code was yet to be broken – and he knew how lateral Teddy’s thoughts could be. Once in, he knew there were things to be done, the file to be closed once and for all. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and leant back. As he did so Holly leant forward and stroked the back of his neck.
He turned to speak but she put a finger gently across his lips.
“I know,” she said, her eyes still red from crying. “I know.”
They bought a Compaq laptop computer at the airport and, with spare batteries and the salesman’s assurances that it would run for the next four hours on that power supply, they boarded the first leg of the northbound flight back to Europe and the team waiting in Chamonix. Sergi took a look around the aircraft, decided they weren’t in any danger and, on Quayles bidding, allowed himself to fall asleep.
But sleeping would have to wait for Quayle. His time had come. The Englishman lifted the top of the computer, turned it on and inserted the disc.
*
Alexi Kirov picked up Jean Girard in the Albert Hotel. There he was eating in the old dining room, sitting at a table in the corner from which he was able to see the entire room.
Kirov requested a table behind a small wood-panelled pillar that would shield him from view, but allow him to observe through the reflections in one of the
