Fairfax stared at the dented drinking flask in his hand.
‘I put it in there for safekeeping,’ Ben explained.
Understanding dawned on Fairfax’s face. ‘The elixir?’
‘Prepared by Fulcanelli himself. This is it, Mr Fairfax. This is what you were looking for, I assume?’
There were tears in Fairfax’s eyes as he grasped the precious object. ‘I cannot thank you enough for this. I will take it up to Ruth’s quarters immediately. My daughter Caroline is nursing her night and day.’ He paused sadly. ‘And then, Mr Hope, I trust you will join me for dinner?’
‘So you had a difficult time of it,’ Fairfax was saying.
The two of them were seated at the long burnished walnut table in Fairfax’s dining-room. Fairfax sat at the head of the table, and behind him a log blaze crackled in the hearth. To one side of the fireplace stood a tall knight in armour, holding a glittering broadsword.
‘I knew it would be a hard task,’ Fairfax con tinued. ‘But you’ve more than fulfilled my expectations. I raise my glass to you, Mr Hope.’ The old man looked triumphant. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done for me.’
‘For Ruth,’ Ben said, raising his glass.
‘For Ruth.’
Ben watched him. ‘You never told me: how did you get to hear about Fulcanelli in the first place?’
‘The search for the elixir has long been my pre occupation,’ Fairfax replied. ‘I’ve been a student of the esoteric for many years. I’ve read every book on the subject, tried to follow every clue. But my investigations led me nowhere. I’d almost given up hope when a chance encounter with an old bookseller in Prague led me to discover the name Fulcanelli. I came to understand that this elusive master alchemist was one of the very few men to have uncovered the secret of the elixir vitae’
Ben listened, sipping his wine.
Fairfax went on. ‘At first I thought Fulcanelli’s secret would be simple enough to find. But it proved much harder than I anticipated. Men I hired to bring it back to me either ran off with my money, or they ended up dead. It became clear to me that there were dangerous forces bent on deterring me from my quest. I understood that ordinary private investigators or researchers were of no use to me. I needed a man of far greater skills. Then my investigations led me to you, Mr Hope, and I knew I had found the best man for the job.’
Ben smiled. ‘You flatter me.’
The hors d’oeuvre plates were taken away and servants brought in an array of antique silver dishes. The lid of the main dish was lifted to reveal a glistening saddle of roast beef. The head servant carved delicate slices with a long carving-knife. More wine was served.
‘Don’t be modest, Benedict–may I call you Benedict?’ Fairfax paused, chewing on a piece of the tender beef. ‘To return to what I was saying, I’ve examined your life story in meticulous detail. The more I found out about you, the more I realized that you were ideal for my purposes. Your activities in the Middle East. Special counter-terrorist operations in Afghanistan. Your reputation for cold efficiency and unflinching application to tasks that would be considerably too challenging for most men. Later on, your complete dedication to your new role rescuing lost or kidnapped children, and your ruthless punishment of evil men who harmed the innocent. An incorruptible man, of independent wealth. You wouldn’t try to rob me, and you wouldn’t be deterred by the dangers of the mission. You were definitely the man I needed. Should you have refused my offer, there was little I could have done to change your mind.’
‘You know why I took the job,’ Ben said. ‘It was only for your granddaughter Ruth’s sake.’ He paused. ‘But I wish you’d told me more about the risk factor. That information might have saved a lot of trouble, if I’d known.’
‘I had faith in your abilities.’ Fairfax smiled. ‘I also felt that, if I told you the complete truth, you might turn me down. It was important to me to find a way to persuade you.’
‘The complete truth? Persuade me? What are you getting at, Fairfax?’
‘Let me explain,’ replied Fairfax, leaning back in his chair. ‘A man in my position learns early in his career that men can be–shall we say–influenced. Every man has a weakness, Benedict. We all have something in our lives, or in our past. A skeleton in the cupboard, a secret. Once you know what these secrets are, you can exploit them. A man with a shameful past or a hidden vice is easy to bend to one’s will. A man who has committed a crime is even easier to influence. But you, Benedict…you were different.’ Fairfax poured himself more wine. ‘I couldn’t find anything in your background that I could use to persuade you to accept my offer, should you initially refuse. I was unhappy with this situation.’ Fairfax smiled coldly. ‘But then my investigators turned up an interesting detail of your life. I recognized its importance immediately.’
‘Go on.’
‘You’re a very driven man, Benedict,’ Fairfax continued. ‘And I know why. I came to understand what motivates you in your work…It’s also the reason you’re a drinker. You’re plagued by demons of guilt. I knew you’d never refuse to help me in my quest if you thought you were saving Ruth. Because Ruth is very dear to your heart, isn’t she?’
Ben frowned. ‘If I thought I was saving Ruth?’
Fairfax finished his glass and poured another, a look of amusement crossing his face. ‘Benedict,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That’s a name with strong religious connotations. Your family were devout Christians, I take it?’
Ben was silent.
‘I only thought…for parents to name their two children Benedict and Ruth. A rather Biblically-orientated choice, wouldn’t you say? Ruth Hope…a sadly ironic name. Because there was no hope for her, was there, Benedict?’
‘How did you find out about my sister? It’s not part of my professional résumé.’
‘Oh, when you have money, you can find out anything, my dear young friend. I thought it was interesting that you chose the work you did, Benedict,’ Fairfax went on. ‘Not a detective, not a finder of information or stolen property–but a finder of lost people, especially lost children. It’s obvious that what you were truly seeking was to expiate your guilt over losing your sister. You’ve never got over the fact that your negligence caused her death…and perhaps suffering that was worse than death. Slave-traders aren’t known for their kind ways. Rape, torture, who knows what they may have done to her?’
‘You’ve been busy, haven’t you, Fairfax?’ Fairfax smiled. ‘I’m always busy. I realized you could never refuse a mission to save the poor, sick little child of the same name and same age as your lost sister. And I was right. It was the story of my granddaughter that persuaded you to help me.’
‘Interesting choice of words, Fairfax. Story?’ Fairfax chuckled. ‘However you prefer to put it. A fabrication. A deception, if you want me to be completely honest. There is no Ruth. No dying little girl. And, I’m afraid, no redemption for you, Benedict.’ Fairfax got to his feet and walked to a sideboard. He lifted the lid of a large casket and brought out a small gold chalice. ‘No, no dying girl,’ he repeated. ‘Only an old man who lusts after one thing above all else.’ He gazed in dreamy fascination at the chalice. ‘You’ve no idea what it feels like, Benedict, to approach the end of a life like mine. I’ve achieved so many great things and created such wealth and power. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my empire in the hands of lesser men–men who would squander and spoil it. I would have gone to my grave a most unhappy and frustrated man.’ He held up the chalice as though proposing a toast. ‘But now my worries are over, thanks to you. I will become the richest and most powerful man in history, with all the time in the world to fulfil my ambitions.’
The door opened and Alexander Villiers came into the room. Fairfax glanced knowingly at his assistant as he approached them. Villiers’ lips spread into a broad grin as he drew a snub-nosed Taurus .357 revolver from his pocket and aimed it at Ben.
Fairfax laughed. He raised the chalice to his lips. ‘I wish I could drink to your good health, Ben
edict. But I’m afraid it’s the end of the road for you. Villiers, shoot him.’
65
Villiers pointed the revolver at Ben’s head. Fairfax closed his eyes and drank greedily from the gold chalice.
‘Before you shoot me, there’s something you should know,’ Ben said. ‘What you’ve just drunk isn’t the elixir of life. It’s tapwater from your own bathroom.’
Fairfax lowered the chalice. A dribble of the water ran down his chin. The look of rapture on his face drained away. ‘What did you say?’ he said slowly.
‘You heard me,’ Ben said. ‘I must admit, you had me fooled. You were right about me–I was blind to your lies. It was brilliant, Fairfax. And it almost worked. If it hadn’t been for a punctured tyre and meeting your head of stables, you’d be standing there with the real elixir.’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Fairfax in a strangled voice.
Villiers had lowered the gun. His face was twisted in thought.
‘Herbie Greenwood’s been working on your estate for thirty-five years,’ Ben went on. ‘But he’d never heard of any Ruth. You never even had children, Fairfax, let alone grandchildren. Your wife died childless. There was never any little girl here.’
‘What have you done with the real elixir?’ Fairfax shouted. He threw down the gold chalice. It clanged dully and rolled across the floor.
Ben reached into his pocket and took out the small glass bottle that Antonia Branzanti had given him. ‘Here it is,’ he said. And before they could stop him, he whipped back his hand and hurled the bottle into the fireplace. It smashed into a thousand tiny shards against the iron grate, and the flames flared high for an instant as the alcohol preservative in the mixture burned up.
‘How does that grab you, Fairfax?’ Ben asked, looking him in the eye.
Fairfax turned, white-faced, to Villiers. ‘Take him and lock him up,’ he ordered in an icy voice, barely containing his fury. ‘By God, Hope, you will talk.’
Villiers hesitated.
‘Villiers, did you hear me?’ Fairfax thundered, his face turning from white to red.
Then Villiers raised the revolver again. He turned towards his employer and trained the gun on him.
‘Villiers, what are you doing? Have you gone mad?’ Fairfax backed away, cowering.
‘He hasn’t gone mad, Fairfax,’ Ben said. ‘He’s a spy. He works for Gladius Domini. Don’t you, Villiers? You’re the mole. You’ve been reporting back every move I’ve made to your boss Usberti.’
Fairfax had backed away as far as the fireplace, the flames roaring and crackling behind him. His eyes were pleading, and his trousers were wet with urine. ‘I’ll pay you anything,’ he bleated. ‘Anything. Come on, Villiers–let’s work together. Don’t shoot.’
‘I don’t work for you any more, Fairfax,’ Villiers sneered. ‘I work for God.’ He pulled the trigger. The high bark of the .357 Magnum drowned out Fairfax’s scream. The old man tore at his clothes as a dark-crimson stain began to spread rapidly across his white shirt. He staggered, clutched at a curtain and brought it down.
Villiers shot him again. Fairfax’s head snapped back, a small round hole between his eyes. Blood spattered up the wall. His knees crumpled and he slid lifelessly down to the floor, still clutching the curtain. It fell with him, one end in the fire. The curling flames ate greedily along its length.
Before Ben could leap across the dining-table, Villiers had spun round and was aiming the gun at him from across the room. ‘Stop right there.’
Ben walked around the table and moved steadily towards Villiers, watching his reactions. He could see the man was nervous, sweating and breathing a little harder and faster than usual. He’d probably never shot anyone before, and he was all alone in a tough situation. He hadn’t reckoned on this turn of events, and his organization was in tatters with no back-up to offer him. But a nervous man could be as deadly as a confident one. Perhaps even deadlier.
He tensed the gun and aimed it at Ben’s face. ‘Stay back,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll shoot.’
‘Go ahead and kill me,’ Ben said calmly. He walked on. ‘But then you’d better start running. Because when your boss gets out of jail he’ll track you down and have you tortured in ways you can’t imagine for losing him his prize. Shoot me, you might as well shoot yourself.’
Flames had spread from the curtain across the rug. Fairfax’s trousers were on fire. A sickly smell of smoke and burned flesh filled the room. Fire trickled up the side of a sofa, quickly gaining a hold on the upholstery, licking and crackling.
Villiers had edged backwards close to the spreading flames. The hand clutching the gun was shaking.
‘There’s only one problem,’ Ben went on. He could feel his rage building up inside him like a cold, white light. He glared hard at Villiers as he advanced steadily towards him. ‘You can’t take me alive, not on your own. You’re going to have to pull that trigger, because if you don’t I’m going to kill you myself, right now. Either way, you’re a dead man.’
Villiers tightened his grip on the trigger, sweat pouring down his face. The revolver’s hammer moved back. Ben could see the jacketed hollowpoint round in the chamber rotating into place, ready to align with the breech just as the hammer came down to punch the primer and ignite the cartridge that would blow a hole through his skull.
But by now he had Villiers right where he wanted him, up close and unable to back away any further. He threw a sudden slicing blow that caught the man’s wrist. Villiers cried out in pain and the .357 sailed into the fire. Ben followed up the blow with a kick to the stomach that sent Villiers sprawling into the suit of armour. It collapsed in a crash of steel plates, and its broadsword fell with a clatter. Villiers scrabbled desperately for the fallen sword and lunged at him, the heavy blade humming through the air. Ben ducked and the wild swing of the blade smashed into an antique cabinet, spilling crystal decanters of brandy and whisky. A lake of fire whooshed up and spread across the floor.
Villiers came at him again, hacking the sword from side to side. Ben backed away, but his foot came down on the gold chalice that Fairfax had thrown to the floor. It rolled, and he slipped and fell, hitting his head against the leg of the dining-table.
The sword came down again, hissing towards him. Stunned from the fall, he moved to the side just in time and the blade crashed into the table next to him. Dishes and cutlery fell to the floor around him. Something glinted at him out of the corner of his eye and he reached for it with groping fingers.
The black smoke was thickening as the blaze spread across the room, uncontrollable now as everything in its path burst alight. Fairfax’s body was burning from head to toe, his clothes little more than curling tatters of carbon, the flesh inside roasting.
Villiers’ figure loomed against the flames as he raised the heavy sword for the final strike. Fire glittered down the blade. His eyes were filled with a kind of animal triumph.
Ben twisted himself half-upright. His arm flicked in an arc. Something blurred through the smoke between them.
Villiers stopped. His fingers slackened their grip on the sword. The heavy blade clattered to the floor. He teetered, one step backwards, then another. His eyes rolled upwards in his head and then his body fell backwards into the flames. Three inches of steel and the ebony handle of the carving knife protruded from the centre of his forehead.
Ben staggered to his feet. The whole room was on fire around him. He could feel his skin shrivelling from the heat. He grabbed a dining chair and hurled it at one of the tall windows. The eight-foot pane shattered. Air rushed into the room and the fire became an inferno. He saw a gap through the flames and dashed at it for all he was worth. Threw himself wildly through the splintered hole in the window and felt a sliver of glass slice his forearm. He hit the grass and rolled to his feet.
Half blinded from the smoke and clutching his bleeding arm, he staggered away from the house and down the garden towards the acres of parkland. He leaned against a tree, coughing and spluttering.
/>
Flames were pouring from the windows of the Fairfax residence and a huge column of smoke rose upwards into the sky like a black tower. He watched for a few minutes as the unstoppable blaze ripped through the whole house. Then, as the distant sirens drew nearer, he turned and disappeared into the trees.
66
Ottawa, December 2007
The plane touched down at Ottawa’s small airport with a squeal of tyres. Some time later, Ben walked out into the cold, crisp air. A flurry of snow swept over him as he climbed into a waiting taxicab. The Sinatra version of I’ll Be Home for Christmas was playing on the radio, and a silvery length of tinsel dangled from the rear-view mirror.
‘Where to, buddy?’ the driver asked, turning his head round to look at him.
‘Carleton University campus,’ Ben said.
‘Here for Christmas?’ the driver asked as the car glided smoothly round the city’s broad, snowy-banked circular road.
‘Just passing through.’
The lecture theatre at Carleton’s science block was full when Ben arrived. He found a seat in the back row of the sloping auditorium, near the central exit. He and the 300 or so students had come to hear a biology lecture by Drs D. Wright and R. Kaminski. Its subject was Effects of Weak Electromagnetic Fields on Cell Respiration.
There was a low murmur of conversation in the theatre. The students all had pads and pens at the ready to make notes. Down below the auditorium was a small stage with a podium and two chairs, a couple of microphone stands, a slide projector and screen. The lecturers hadn’t yet appeared on the stage.
Ben hadn’t the least bit of interest in the subject of the lecture. But he did have an interest in Dr R. Kaminski.
The theatre went quiet and there was a discreet round of applause as the two lecturers, a man and a woman, walked on to the stage. They took their positions on either side of the podium. They introduced themselves to the audience, their voices coming through the PA system, and the lecture began.