The Spear

  He quickly glanced at the unmoving body of Köhner, then walked around to the other side of the car and climbed in. He drove through the open gateway on to the main road.

  Steadman was forced to jam on his brakes once again as he began his turn. Two figures had emerged from the woodland on the opposite side of the road and were frantically waving their arms at him.

  ‘Sexton! Steve! What the hell are you doing here?’ Steadman wound down his window and looked at his two employees with amazement.

  Sexton jerked a thumb at his companion. ‘Goldblatt and a woman were picked up by three men. Steve followed ’em here. Are you all right, Harry?’ he asked, suddenly noticing the fresh blood on Steadman’s cheek.

  The investigator ignored the question. ‘I’ve got to get to a phone.’

  ‘There’s one about a mile and a half down the road, Mr Steadman,’ Steve said, excited by the action.

  ‘Okay. Jump in, both of you. There’ll be men coming from the house any minute.’

  The two men hurried around to the passenger side of the car, Steve nimbly climbing past the front seat into the back and Sexton slumping his cold-stiffened frame beside Steadman.

  ‘It’s back that way, Mr Steadman.’ Steve pointed. The investigator quickly reversed, the rear of the car almost entering the grounds again, then spun the wheel to the right as it screeched forward. Sexton just had time to see a dark figure sitting in the driveway rubbing the back of his head. He turned to face Steadman as the car gathered speed along the road.

  ‘What’s been happening, Harry? We were a bit worried.’

  ‘It’s Gant. He’s a madman. He had Goldblatt and the woman killed. And Maggie.’ There was a weariness in Steadman’s voice.

  ‘Christ! What do we do? Get the police?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m going to call a man named Pope. He works for Intelligence – MI5. He’ll have to sort it out.’

  ‘But what about this Gant? He’ll get away.’

  ‘Already gone,’ Steadman replied grimly.

  ‘The helicopter. We saw a helicopter leave and a truck drove out shortly after.’

  Steadman dimly remembered the sound of rotor blades as he’d recovered consciousness back in the house. ‘Yes, that would be it. I saw one earlier in the afternoon. He’s gone to somewhere he calls his “Wewelsburg”. Somewhere in North Devon.’

  ‘He’s got an estate there where he tests weapons,’ Sexton said. ‘I found that out this morning. A lot of the country around that area is used by the Military for testing.’

  Steadman nodded. ‘He’s got something planned for tomorrow – I’ve no idea what. It sounds important to him and his crazy organization, though.’

  ‘What’s he up to?’

  ‘He imagines himself as the new Hitler – only stronger. I told you – he’s completely mad. Where’s this bloody phone, Steve?’ There were street lights now, and houses lined the roadside.

  ‘Not far. Just up here a bit on the left.’

  ‘What happened back at the house, Harry?’ Sexton asked. ‘How did you get away?’

  ‘Gant left me behind – with his special inquisitor. Fortunately for me, neither he nor the few remaining guards were too efficient. I had a lot of luck on my side, though.’ He pulled over to the telephone box. ‘Wait here,’ he told the two men as he left the car, its engine still running. ‘Keep an eye on the way we’ve come. They may decide to look for me.’ Sexton and Steve turned their attention to the rear window.

  The pips indicating someone had lifted the receiver at the other end began almost as soon as Steadman had finished dialling the memorized number, and he pushed the coin into its slot. A voice said, ‘Pope,’ and the investigator breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Pope,’ he said. ‘Thank God you’re there.’

  ‘Steadman? I’ve been waiting for your call. Been rather anxious, actually. Now, have you found out any more on Gant?’

  There was a hint of relief in Pope’s voice, but it was hardly comforting to Steadman. ‘I found out plenty, but it’s all so incredible. You were right. Gant is the head of an organization called the Thule Gesellschaft.’ Steadman quickly told him what had happened at the house and Pope listened patiently, occasionally interrupting with a pertinent question. ‘But why did he leave you in the hands of this man, Köhner?’ he asked when Steadman explained Gant’s departure from the house.

  ‘To get information from me, to find out what I knew and who else was involved. Gant has a big operation to mount and he had no time personally to waste on me.’

  ‘Operation? What sort of operation?’ Pope’s voice had a keen edge to it.

  ‘I don’t know. He’s gone to his North Devon estate – somewhere near Hartland – to carry it out. Do you know anything that’s going to happen some time tomorrow, Pope? Anything in that area?’

  There was a long silence at the other end then Pope said, ‘There is something, but . . .’ Another silence. ‘No, it can’t be that, it’s nothing to do with that area. Unless . . . Oh God, he wouldn’t try to do anything like that.’

  ‘What, Pope? Remember, he’s a madman. He’d do anything to further his crazy cause.’

  ‘Not over the phone, Harry – I’ll tell you later. We’ll have to move in. We know this estate – a large part of his weapons-testing takes place there, so it’s usually under some sort of surveillance by us.’

  ‘There’s another thing. He’s got the girl there. Holly Miles. He thinks she’s working for Mossad.’

  ‘The journalist? Is she working for Mossad?’

  ‘I was going to ask you the same question.’

  ‘I’ve no idea, dear boy. Rather confusing, isn’t it?’

  ‘What about Major Brannigan and the MP I saw down here? What will you do about them?’

  ‘They’ll be hauled in when we have Gant. It’s all very delicate, though.’

  ‘The murders of Maggie, Goldblatt and Hannah – and maybe Baruch Kanaan – are all very indelicate, Pope,’ Steadman said angrily.

  ‘Of course, Harry. They’ll be accounted for, don’t worry. Now listen, can you get to Hartland?’

  ‘Are you crazy? Why the hell should I go there? It’s up to you now.’

  Pips began, informing them that their allocated time was up, and Steadman fiercely pushed another coin into the slot.

  ‘Harry, are you still there?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘I need you to go there, Harry. You know Special Branch has to make the arrests – I haven’t that power as MI5. You’re the only man who knows the full story, and if I order a large force into the estate, I need some verification. Your personal evidence will save a lot of unnecessary official wrangles. Please believe me, I need you there if only to convince my superiors.’

  ‘Why can’t I just come over to your HQ now?’

  ‘It’s easier this way. It’s pointless for you to come back to London when you’re already on the way to the west. I want you on the spot, Harry. Do you feel up to it?’

  ‘I’ll manage.’

  ‘Good man. There’s a town called Bideford not far from Hartland. Find yourself a hotel and book in. We’ll find you there easily enough by checking round.’

  ‘Will you involve the local police?’

  ‘They’ll be informed but not involved. Too many people in high places involved for this to be made public, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Listen, Pope, if you’re going to protect . . .’

  ‘Please, Harry, there’s no time for discussion now. I’ve got a lot to do and you have a long journey ahead of you. I’ll have to have any calls from Gant’s estate in Guildford intercepted for a start. If any of those guards warn Gant before I can get a squad down . . .’

  ‘Christ, Pope . . .’

  ‘Please, Harry. There’s no time. Remember the girl’s in danger. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  The receiver at the other end was put down and Steadman stared blankly at the burring earpiece. He slammed down the phone and left the booth.

  H
is two companions looked at him anxiously as he threw himself back into the driver’s seat. He ran his hands over his face as though to wipe away the fatigue.

  ‘What now, Harry?’ Sexton prompted gently.

  ‘I’ll take you back to your cars, then I’ve got a trip to make. To Devon.’

  ‘Are we coming with you, Mr Steadman?’ Steve asked eagerly.

  ‘No, I don’t want either of you involved in this thing.’

  ‘We work for you, Harry,’ said Sexton. ‘If you’re involved, we’re involved. Besides, we thought a lot of Mrs Wyeth.’

  Steadman smiled at them. ‘There’s one thing you can do, but I’ll tell you what on the way back to your cars. Tell me though: have either of you heard of something or someone called “Parsifal”? When I was in the house, Gant said something in German to his friends. He said: “Our Parsifal is inquisitive and impatient.” He was referring to me and obviously didn’t know I understand a little German thanks to my ex-wife. Have either of you heard the name before?’

  Sexton shook his head, but Steve leaned forward towards the front seats, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘There is a Parsival, Mr Steadman. He was one of the Teutonic Knights. Wagner wrote an opera about him, but he changed the spelling to “Parsifal” for some reason. It was all about the Holy Grail and the sacred Spear that was stolen from the king, Amfortas, the Keeper of the Grail.’

  The two men twisted their bodies to stare at his excited face, lit by a nearby street light.

  ‘A sacred Spear?’ Steadman said quietly.

  Steve suddenly became embarrassed under their scrutiny. ‘I’m a bit of an opera freak – that’s how I know the story. I think Parsifal was one of Wagner’s greatest. He was . . .’

  Steadman interrupted him. ‘You say this Spear was stolen?’

  ‘Yes, by Klingsor, the evil magician. It was Parsifal who had to get it back . . .’

  ‘What’s all this got to do with Gant, Harry?’ Sexton asked impatiently. ‘Aren’t we wasting time?’

  Steadman silenced him with a raised hand. ‘Tell me the whole story of this Parsifal, Steve,’ he said. ‘Try to remember every detail. It could be the key to this whole bloody business.’

  Steve looked in bewilderment at the investigator, took a deep breath, then began.

  14

  ‘But are we to allow the masses to go their way, or should we stop them? Shall we form simply a select company of the really initiated? An Order, the brotherhood of Templars round the holy grail of pure blood?’

  Adolf Hitler

  Steadman relaxed on to the bed and reached for the cigarettes on the small side-table. He lit one and drew in a deep breath, watching the smoke swirl in the air as he exhaled. He felt rested now and his mind was beginning to think more clearly. He winced when he crossed his ankles, then drew up a trouser-leg to examine the knife wound inflicted by Köhner the previous night. It wasn’t deep, but it was irritatingly painful. Fortunately the hotel receptionist hadn’t noticed the torn trousers from behind the desk. After reading the investigator’s London address as he filled in the card, she had merely accepted Steadman’s somewhat dishevelled appearance as a result of his long drive. In fact, Steadman had broken his journey.

  It was just outside Andover that events had caught up with him. He had been forced to stop the car as tiredness overwhelmed him, and a feeling of remorse had had a lot to do with that tiredness. Even the thought of the danger Holly – and Baruch, if he really was still alive – was in could not spur him on. In his present condition, he knew he could not help anyone. Slumping against the steering wheel, he cursed himself for having become involved with such violence, for having broken his vow to himself and Lilla that never again would he become part of such things. It wasn’t his fault, he knew. He’d been reluctantly drawn into it; yet he’d used their own kind of violence against them. And it had been perpetrated with a coldness that now disturbed him. Pope had been right at their first meeting. His aggressiveness had only been smothered; it was still there waiting to be unleashed.

  He felt no pity for Köhner or the little man, Craven – they had deserved to die – but he felt concern for his own actions. He had recovered enough energy after a while to find a motel and there he’d spent the night, surprisingly falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. The following morning, after a shower, then a half-eaten breakfast, and covering the gash in his cheek with a Band-Aid obtained from the curious but sympathetic motel receptionist, he had resumed his journey, feeling better for the rest, his mind clear again. The guilt was still there but, he thought cynically, he would wallow in it when matters had been put right. The remainder of his journey had been more relaxed and it had given him time to sort out his thoughts. By the time he reached Bideford he had a new resolve. Before, his purpose had been to protect Holly, to let Pope deal with Gant and whatever he was up to; but now he had decided to take care of the arms dealer himself. After all, wasn’t that the reason for his involvement in the whole bizarre affair – the final confrontation between himself and Edward Gant?

  The blood on the knife wound had hardened, forming a natural healing seal. He slid his trouser-leg back down and rested the injured limb; he could bandage it later. He looked at his watch, impatient for Pope’s call. Had he missed him because of his unplanned late arrival at the hotel? No, Pope would keep checking all the hotels until he showed. What was keeping him though?

  It was strange how it all made a crazy kind of sense: Hitler, the Spear of Longinus, Gant’s referring to him, Steadman, as Parsifal. But what was the Wewelsburg? More symbolism, ancient beliefs? Steve had told him about Wagner’s opera, and the significance had begun to sink into Steadman’s confused brain. It was the reason for his involvement, why it had to be played out to the end. It was the fulfilment of the legend, but this time with a different ending, and that ending would be the omen of their success.

  The ringing of the bedside phone startled him from his thoughts. He picked up the receiver.

  ‘Oh, Mr Steadman? Two gentlemen in reception to see you. A Mr Griggs and a Mr Booth. Acquaintances of a Mr Pope.’

  ‘I’ll be right down,’ he replied and put down the phone.

  He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray and swung his legs off the bed, groaning at the stiffness of his bruised ribs and limbs, then donned his jacket and left the room.

  Mr Griggs and Mr Booth were sitting in the lounge area, a small coffee table between them, an empty chair awaiting his arrival. He recognized them as the MI5 agents who had taken the collapsed jeweller from his house two nights before. They jumped up at his approach and one said, ‘Glad you made it okay, Mr Steadman. I’m Griggs, by the way.’

  Steadman nodded and took the provided easy-chair. ‘Where’s Pope?’ he said bluntly.

  ‘Up at the estate. We moved in early this morning without much trouble.’ Steadman could not be bothered to register surprise.

  ‘Is the girl all right?’

  The second man, Booth, spoke up. ‘Fine, sir, a bit confused though.’ He grinned at the investigator.

  ‘And you’ve got Gant?’ Steadman didn’t grin back.

  ‘Yes, Mr Pope’s still interrogating him,’ said Griggs. ‘He’s refusing to say anything even though he knows the game’s up. I think the sight of you should unsettle him, though.’

  ‘What about Major Brannigan and the others?’

  ‘Quiet as mice. The whole operation was extremely smooth. Hardly any resistance at all.’

  ‘Have you found out what they had planned for today?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Booth, ‘but we think we know already.’

  ‘Can you tell me?’ Steadman looked directly at Griggs, who seemed to be the senior of the two.

  ‘Afraid not, Mr Steadman. Not yet, anyway. I’m sure Mr Pope will fill you in on the details, though. In fact, er, I think they’re rather anxious to see you out there. Special Branch have co-operated rather well, but they’ll be relieved to have some hard evidence to substantiate the allegations again
st Gant. What we’ve found is highly suspicious, but not enough to warrant any arrests to be made. It’s your evidence that will hang Gant and his friends.’

  ‘But what about the dead bodies of the two Mossad agents at Guildford? That’s pretty damning evidence.’

  ‘He denies any knowledge of them.’

  Steadman laughed humourlessly. ‘They died in his house,’ he said. ‘Does he deny that?’

  ‘He says he left Guildford early yesterday evening, and you were still there at that time!’

  ‘And I probably killed them.’

  ‘And Köhner. When we told him the man called Köhner was dead he said you must have been responsible.’

  Steadman shook his head, a thin smile on his face.

  ‘We’ll soon break him, Mr Steadman. We’ve got too much against him and his organization now. But they do need your help at the estate. The SB boys are hopping up and down with frustration and demanding to see you personally.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go then,’ the investigator said, rising to his feet. ‘I’d like to make a phone call first.’

  ‘Oh, you can do that from the house,’ Griggs said as the two men rose with him. ‘It really is important that you get there right away. Booth and I just have to check in with the local police to put them in the picture – it’s all a bit much for country coppers – so I’ll tell you how to get to Gant’s estate and you can go on ahead. Mr Pope will be waiting for you.’

  And so the game continues, Steadman thought grimly.

  Ten minutes later, he was in the Celica driving along the A39 towards Hartland. It was a cold day, the clouds hanging dark and heavy against the horizon, but Steadman kept his side-window open, wanting to feel the cool air on his face. His mind was clear and resolute.

  He turned right when he reached Hartland, and the banks of the narrow roadway rose up sharply on either side, blocking the view to the surrounding fields. Then the road swung to the left, suddenly widening, and an ancient church confronted him. It was a grey stone building with a high, square-shaped tower that must have offered a fine view over the surrounding countryside. A grotesquely twisted tree stood beside the low, stone wall which enclosed the churchyard, reaching towards the building like a withered and gnarled claw. Then it was gone, the road dipping suddenly, and he saw the sea less than a mile ahead. The road levelled once more, and again the steep banks of undergrowth restricted his vision.