The old man rocked forward and back, letting an occasional whimper of his amusement escape. Matlock cursed him for being so long winded and glanced at the monitor but the Abbot still seemed to be fully occupied.
“Hurry it up,” he said.
Carswell gave him a reproachful look and sucked at his cigar.
“As I say, what was needed was a comfortable life with no comeback on the nearest and dearest. Indeed, an opportunity for them to join you when their time was up. Like the ‘In Memoriam’ poems.
“So one or two old friends got together and had one or two chats. And gradually the idea evolved of this place. Not an evasion of the law, but an extension of it. The kind of extension which you as a pragmatic politician, Matt, must have regarded as logical, but unfortunately like many ideas reasonable in themselves it was quite impossible democratically. The public accepted, albeit reluctantly, the notion of limited exemption for active members of the Government. But further than that they would not go, though I need hardly list for you the arguments for not terminating the existence of certain peculiarly important men in the key walks of life. So our organization had to be clandestine. You take my point?”
“Oh yes,” said Matlock. “I take it. Was this started before or after I left the Party?”
“Oh before. Just before. We thought of approaching you, but it didn’t seem worth taking the risk at the time. You were so sincere. And so young. It seemed best to let a bit of age and experience fix your ideas rather more firmly. And you see, we were right.”
Matlock felt something like admiration as he looked at that smiling old face.
You cunning bastard! he thought. And I believed I was using you too much. And the whole world thought you were my puppet on my string! Dear God! Is there a time in my life when someone somewhere hasn’t been using me?
“So you formed the Meek?” he asked.
“Oh no. Certainly not. The Meek formed themselves. We just joined them. Never create your own cover if someone else will create it for you. One of the first principles of Security.
“But then, you never really had much to do with Security during your term of office, did you Matt? That’s the P.M.’s prerogative. Even if he is just a figurehead.
“But to continue. The Meek existed, a vague religious group whose reaction to the Age Laws was the kind of pure unreasoning emotionalism which men dignify by words such as spiritual or mystic. They would have died away in a twelvemonth if we hadn’t injected them with a bit of firm positive purpose. I mean, of course, our dear Abbot.”
They both turned and looked at the figure on the screen for a moment. He was now facing the congregation, his arms outstretched, a look of exultation on his face. Matlock felt vaguely uneasy. Carswell shook his head.
“Sometimes I feel that he really did join them. Then he does something so amorally Machiavellian that all doubts end. At least all those doubts. We poured a bit of money in. There was no shortage. And this place came into being. So there you have it. A retreat where the best and most important minds of our age may be preserved instead of prematurely destroyed. What can be wrong with that?”
Matlock did not speak for a while. He sat with half-hooded eyes considering the defensive note on which the old man had ended. The broad outline of the scheme he grasped easily and this was enough, he felt, for his purposes. But the details still niggled away in his mind.
“What actually happens when your E.O.L. is up?” he asked finally.
The old man waved his hands airily.
“Oh, death is reported, all the necessary records completed. You know the drill. You helped to work it out, after all.”
Smiling, he began to rise. But Matlock reached forward and pressed him back into his chair.
“Yes. I helped work it out. And we made it foolproof. Or as near as possible. Carsie, there’s got to be a body. The Public Registrar or his representative has got to see it before the funeral. Carsie, you had a state burial. I saw it on the tele. Who was buried, old man? Who was buried?”
With surprising agility, Carswell leapt up and made for the door, but Matlock had him in a couple of strides. Slowly he bent the old man’s head back till his eyes began to stand out like balls of marble and an inhuman rattling came from his throat.
“Let’s have it, Carsie. The truth. Or else I’ll do the job your heart clock should have done years ago.”
He slackened the pressure on the old man’s neck, but didn’t let go. Carswell coughed and spluttered for several minutes, his face changing from streaky purple to a mottled grey.
“Now talk.”
“All right. You always were a physical man, Matlock. Not enough mind. All right. Not again. I haven’t survived this long to let myself be strangled by a failure. So there has to be a body. So we help ourselves to a body — one of the faithful, the true believers. So far as the rest are concerned he’s just joined the Hooded Chapter, to fill the vacancy which will be caused by the imminent death of one of these specially devout brethren. Does that make you happy now you know? Are you glad you asked?”
Stunned, Matlock slackened his grip and the old man pulled free and stood almost spitting at him, his head pushed forward, his long bony neck bruised by Matlock’s fingers, his eyes full of venom.
“That’s the way it goes Matt. You started it. You should have learned by now that all democracy does is to ensure the survival of the very fittest.”
“Fit for what?” said Matlock dully. “I had come to think that I’d caused many evils. But this is the worst of them all.”
Still coughing, the old man turned to go. Matlock made no move to stop him. But as he reached the door, he spoke.
“Carswell.”
“Yes.”
“One last thing. There must be more. You might be able to fool local Registrars and Enforcement Officers by substituting bodies. But everything goes back to the Ministry. Identi-Cards. Thumb-prints. Cardio-X-rays. It’s foolproof. You can fool the rest. You can’t fool the Minister.”
He didn’t recognize at first the cracked sound which came almost visibly from the old man’s throat. It was laughter.
“Don’t you know? Why, Matt, you’re even more naive than you used to be? But you must know! They’re all on the waiting-list. All the top people come here. It’s one of the perks of public service. Didn’t Browning tell you?”
“Browning?” said Matlock, feeling himself gawping, but unable to do anything about it. “Browning is in on this?”
“How could we survive otherwise?”
The old man laughed again, then the cracked notes died away.
“If you don’t know about Browning, then why are you here, Matt? You don’t know, do you? Then bringing you here’s even more dangerous than I thought.”
He glanced anxiously at the monitor screen. The Abbot was still addressing the congregation. Reassured, he turned again to the door.
“I must bid you good-night, Matt. I’ve got to talk to one or two people. Things are worse than I thought. I wouldn’t hang around here too long if I were you.”
He opened the door and stopped in his tracks for a moment, then took two or three uncertain steps backwards.
“Good-evening, Brother Adeste. Those were wise words. Probably your wisest tonight. Good-evening, Mr. Matlock.”
Into the room stepped the Abbot.
Matlock glanced from him to the monitor.
“I thought his gestures were a little too flamboyant,” he said as coolly as possible.
“Sharp of you. Shall we sit down.”
He moved lightly across to the large old fashioned desk which stood in the comer diagonally opposite to the bureau. Behind him came Francis, his beard beginning to grow again. Through the door Matlock could see another two or three monks. Francis turned and said something to them. They nodded, he closed the door and stood with his back to it.