Conspiracy Thriller 4 E-Book Bundle

‘Then who?’ Jude said.

‘I have no idea, son. I’ve racked my brains and I can’t figure it out. Nor can I understand how anyone could have known what we were up to. We were so damned careful to keep this quiet. Your father wouldn’t even tell your mother about it, and I know how much it hurt him to keep secrets from her.’

‘Your hired consultants might have leaked it to someone,’ Ben said. ‘That was a security risk, for a start.’

‘Sure, I knew it was a potential risk. That’s why I never gave any of them more information than they strictly needed, so they couldn’t guess its history.’

‘But you told the universities everything,’ Ben said.

‘What choice did I have? I was trying to persuade them, so of course I didn’t hold anything back. But these guys are reputable academics. It’s crazy to suggest they could be behind this. In any case, they all thought I was just some hare-brained eccentric. No, it’s got to be something bigger.’

Ben reflected for a moment. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said. ‘Whoever these people are, we know that they have a lot of power and influence. The resources and connections to monitor all your landlines, for a start. That’s got to be the main reason they knew so much.’

Jude frowned. ‘Hold on. I don’t get that. Did they tap the phones because they already knew about the sword, or was it by tapping phones that they found out about it in the first place?’

‘I can’t say,’ Ben said.

‘And that’s another weird thing,’ Wesley said. ‘If the sonsofbitches were onto us from the beginning because they were listening into phone calls, how come they never went after Hillel? For which I’m very thankful, I might add.’

‘I don’t know that either,’ Ben said. ‘I’d have to hazard a guess that the phone surveillance only began more recently, when Hillel was no longer in the picture.’

But it really was just a guess, and Ben was getting that nasty sinking feeling that they’d reached another impasse. They were floundering.

A silence fell across the table as each man wrestled with his own thoughts and nobody seemed able to come up with anything useful. Wesley poured out the last of the wine.

They’d been talking a long time. It was getting late.

‘These people are still out there,’ Jude said. ‘And we still have no idea who they are.’

‘Maybe the only thing we can do is sit tight and wait for them to make their next move,’ Wesley said.

‘You mean all of us, here?’ Jude asked.

‘Sure, if you feel like sticking around Martha’s Vineyard for a while. That’d be fine with me. Or if you want to go back to England, no problem. We can protect ourselves wherever we are. All it takes is money, and money’s not an issue. I’ll do what I offered to do for your father, and hire a goddamn army of bodyguards to take care of you around the clock until this thing’s over. We can outlast the bastards. And if they dare show their faces, we’ll bury’em.’

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The conversation meandered on a while longer around the table, but everyone was tired and their energy was waning. Finally Jude stretched out his arms and yawned. ‘I can barely keep my eyes open.’

‘There are five guest bedrooms on the top floor,’ Wesley told him. ‘Use any one of them you want.’

‘My stuff’s in the car,’ Jude said to Ben.

Ben was hardly listening. His mind still entirely focused on his thoughts, he vaguely dug the car keys from his pocket and slid them across the table. Jude snatched them up and went outside. They’d left the rental Jeep a little way up the empty beach road, the other side of the dunes.

‘He reminds me a lot of his father,’ Wesley said when Jude was gone. ‘Not so much physically, but he’s got Simeon’s spirit. He’s a good kid. I guess it’s my fault that he has to suffer this. If I hadn’t gotten his father mixed up in it all …’

Ben still found it hard to adapt to knowing whose son Jude really was. ‘He’s tough. He’ll come through it.’

As they talked, they heard Jude come back in from the car and go hustling up the stairs.

‘What’ll he do now, with his folks gone?’ Wesley asked, more quietly in case he was overheard.

‘I’m not sure,’ Ben said. ‘He might finish his studies, or else he talked about joining up with Greenpeace, trying to get himself a placement on one of their ships. He’d like to do something to help the environment.’

If Wesley Holland the arch-capitalist had any problems with that, he didn’t show it. ‘Simeon had hoped he might follow him into the ministry one day.’

‘I’d say there’s not too much chance of that,’ Ben said.

‘Whatever he wants to do, if he needs money …’

‘Kind of you to offer,’ Ben said. He’d already decided that he’d ensure as best he could that Jude was financially secure. The tricky part might be getting him to accept help.

‘Well, anyway, I’m just about done in myself,’ Wesley said, stifling a yawn. ‘Time to hit the sack.’ He stood up and picked the sword off the table. ‘I’ll put this back in the vault in the morning. Keep it by me for now.’

When he was alone, Ben walked out of the front door and onto the broad terrace that separated the house’s facade from the beach. He lit up a Gauloise and spent a while watching the dark waves rolling in, listening to the roar of the surf. The wind was cold, rustling through the reeds that grew among the dunes. Stars twinkled overhead and the lights of the distant marine observatory tower glowed dimly red over the ocean.

Feeling demoralised and as tired as he could remember having ever felt in his life, Ben stubbed out the cigarette, tossed the smoking butt away into the sand and then returned inside and climbed the stairs.

The top floor of the house was dark except for the light shining from a door on the left, which was open a few inches. It was the guest bedroom that Jude had picked out for himself, facing towards the sea. He was sitting on the bed, silent and still. All Ben could see of him through the gap in the door was his foot and part of his leg. He was still dressed and wearing his shoes.

‘Good night,’ Ben said quietly outside the doorway.

No reply. Ben tapped lightly on the door. ‘See you in the morning.’ When there was still no response from inside, he pushed open the door. ‘Jude? Are you all right?’

Jude looked up as Ben appeared in the doorway. His face was tight and pale.

Ben stared back at him, realising that something was wrong.

And felt the blood rapidly drain out of his body into his feet.

Propped up beside the bed, next to Jude’s own rucksack, was his green canvas bag. Jude had brought it in from the car.

And in Jude’s hands was the small sheet of sky-blue paper, creased in the middle, that Ben had been keeping hidden in there. Michaela’s letter.

Ben didn’t move, or step forward to snatch it from him, or say ‘Give me that’. It was too late. Jude knew.

‘I thought I recognised her writing,’ Jude said quietly. ‘In Jerusalem. I pretended I hadn’t noticed what you were reading. Wanted to take another look ever since.’

Ben didn’t know what to say.

‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ Jude asked.

‘No,’ Ben replied. ‘I wasn’t ever going to tell you.’

‘Then you should have just burned this.’

‘I couldn’t,’ Ben said. Anger welled up inside him. Why hadn’t he had the courage to destroy it? It was stupid and sentimental and selfish to have kept it and risked letting Jude find it.