‘Yes?’
‘Prime Minister, Sir Neville Stonehatch and Mrs. Collier are waiting.’
‘Send them through.’
The PM stood and walked over to his drinks cabinet. He collected a large tumbler and began filling it with small lumps of ice until the glass was full of it. The security personnel entered his office.
‘Ah, Sir Neville, Mrs. Collier. May I pour you a drink?’
‘No thank you, sir,’ replied Mrs. Collier, standing prim and upright.
‘What about you, Sir Neville?’
‘Nothing for me, either, Prime Minister.’ The security chief looked to be showing the strain. His posture was stooped and he kept rubbing his eyes.
‘Oh, very well, as you wish…’ The PM dribbled a single malt all over the ice allowing it to fill the gaps. ‘Come and sit over here, on the sofas. This will be my last security briefing today – barring absolute emergencies – I’ve not slept for…’ The PM tried to calculate the hours but quickly gave up, ‘…for ages!’
He joined the others on the sofas, his drink making agreeably loud clinking sounds as he slurped from it. Sir Neville and Mrs. Collier regarded him with hatchet expressions.
‘What have you got for me?’ The PM asked.
Sir Neville sighed and pulled something from his ever-present manila folder. He handed it to the PM.
‘What in God’s name is this?’
‘It’s a selfie,’ replied Mrs. Collier.
‘Taken in my office at Vauxhall Cross, less than an hour ago,’ added a clearly agitated Sir Neville.
The PM tried to make sense of what he was seeing…
‘That’s the principle subject of our investigation on the left, sir. And an as yet unidentified male on the right…’ drawled Sir Neville, apparently in physical pain.
‘And what is going on in the middle here, is that a cat?’
‘It appears to be, sir. The other member of the ensemble has been identified as an extremely large tarantula spider… possibly a trapdoor, sir.’
The PM laughed and took a sip of freezing whiskey.
‘I don’t think you grasp the significance, Prime Minister,’ stated Mrs. Collier, ‘Sir Neville’s office was ransacked, with top-secret files left scattered all over the floor and they appear to have gained access to a secret room that, regrettably, does not appear on any records or building floor plans…’
The PM was now grasping the significance: ‘Did you know about this room, Sir Neville?’
‘No, sir. I was aware of the rather arcane and risky practices that used to prevail in my department, including the passing on of secrets – the really hot ones – by word-of-mouth only. Regrettably Sir Hamish Godfrey Smiles never told me anything about this.’
The PM was horrified: ‘Incompetent old duffer! What was in that room?’
‘We just found empty shelves, Prime Minister.’
‘Good God! How did this… “crew” know about it? And how the hell did they manage to break into your office, Sir Neville? This is not looking good at all!’
The PM shot his security chief a furious look as he drained his glass of fluid and stood up to pour more whiskey over the ice.
‘Perhaps I will have one of those, sir,’ said Sir Neville.
The PM rolled his eyes but said nothing as he fetched another tumbler. ‘What were in the other files, the ones in your main office?’
‘I had them transferred from archives earlier today. Those “X-files” you mentioned, sir. They have proved generally useless to our investigation, thus far.’
‘Well, they seemed interested in them!’ replied the PM, pointing at the picture. He handed Sir Neville his drink and glanced over at Mrs. Collier, who shook her head. He then sat down and silently regarded his two security officers. ‘Anything on CCTV?’
Sir Neville and Mrs. Collier exchanged furtive glances.
‘Well!?’ demanded the PM.
‘The internal camera network went down approximately one hour before the picture was sent to my phone but–’
‘Whoa! They sent it to your phone!?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Jesus!’ the PM took another sip of whiskey and stared sullenly out of his window for several seconds, before demanding: ‘What was that “but” you were about to mention?’
‘But the camera in my office remained active throughout. I have the video on this tablet, if you would like to view it now, sir.’
The PM remained silent, jaws clenched, as Sir Neville showed him the silent footage from his office:
To start with it just showed the office empty and undisturbed. Then the door opened and the tall woman terrorist strode in, followed by a gigantic spider, a fat cat and finally a man dressed in lycra. They proceeded to rifle through everything they could find, studying each file closely. There appeared to be a dispute at one point and a file went flying.
The PM continued to gawp as the spider jumped onto the wall and the opening to the secret room lowered, allowing the woman to collect a sizable pile of ancient secret files. God only knew what secrets they held. The footage finally stopped when the group took their selfie and departed the office.
‘That’s a fucking big spider!’ The PM eventually managed.
‘And no one noticed it,’ remarked Mrs. Collier.
‘They’re taunting us,’ The PM added.
The room fell silent for a minute or more, with no one apparently eager to offer any further analysis or insight regarding this disturbing turn of events. Mrs. Collier finally spoke:
‘Prime Minister, I can also brief you on Alan Dosogne’s interview if–’
‘I must say,’ interrupted the Prime Minister, ‘I am amazed that you let him scuttle off on legal grounds, what legal grounds!?’
‘His legal team made–’
‘Nonsense!’ shouted the PM. He drained some more Scotch and glared at Mrs. Collier: ‘Proceed!’
‘Sir?’
‘With your briefing on Dosogne!’
Mrs. Collier summarized the interview, occasionally showing actual footage to highlight Dosogne’s nervous manner, his furtiveness, and his occasionally surprising responses to specific questions. His reactions to being shown the photo-fit were of great interest to the PM.
‘He knows her!’ he declared at one point.
‘Yes, sir, and note his obvious fear, or terror even, every time he is confronted by that image,’ observed Mrs. Collier.
The PM could understand that. Perhaps, like himself, Dosogne just found himself caught up in events, receiving a ‘glancing blow’, as it were, but was otherwise an innocent party in all this.
‘He’s a chump,’ declared the PM following the conclusion of Mrs. Collier’s briefing. ‘He probably witnessed something-or-other but I doubt he is a real player in all this.’
‘We are inclined to agree, sir, but there still remains the question mark over his illness and subsequent full recovery.’
‘Caught in the crossfire, as you suggested in the interview, Mrs. Collier? We would know by now if you hadn’t let him go!’
The PM’s security officers remained silent.
‘Alright,’ declared the Prime Minister, standing up, ‘We’ll leave it there for now. We will reconvene tomorrow morning, nine sharp, and as well as any updates I would appreciate it if either of you could come up with some sort of narrative to explain all of this.’
Sir Neville and Mrs. Collier both rolled their eyes in perfect unison.
‘Yes, I realize that is a tall order but if we can at least try to make some sense of this madness, then perhaps we can best figure out what to do about it! Do you have any questions?’
Sullen silence.
‘That will be all.’
Chapter Three
Wednesday
(The Malevolence)