Pelham squinted at him. ‘Wasn’t Pope paid to write that?’ he asked.
‘Doesn’t mean it wasn’t true,’ said Luke. ‘Trust me on this: if Ashmole had owned something extraordinary, something mathematical, particularly something alchemical, Newton would have been his man.’
Rachel had pulled up a biography of Ashmole on the laptop.
‘Sorry to be the one to toss in the monkey wrench,’ she said. ‘But Ashmole was dead by ’93. He died in May ’92.’
‘That still fits,’ said Luke. ‘It just makes whatever this was a bequest rather than a gift.’
‘Something Ashmole couldn’t bear to part from while he was alive,’ suggested Rachel.
‘Or something too explosive to share,’ said Pelham.
Luke nodded. ‘That would explain those guys from earlier.’
‘But what the hell is it?’ asked Rachel. Only silence followed her question, however. ‘Maybe if we knew more about Ashmole,’ she said. ‘All it really says here is that he founded the Museum. What else did he do?’
‘I know someone who could help,’ said Pelham. ‘Olivia something, forget her surname. Runs the Museum of the History of Science in Oxford. I put on an exhibition with her a few years back, about the transition from alchemy to chemistry.’
Luke shook her head. ‘Why would she know about Ashmole?’
‘Because her museum’s in the original Ashmolean building,’ said Pelham. ‘And she’s an historian of science. So she’s bound to know something, right?’
‘Or maybe there’s an easier way,’ said Rachel, pointing to the bottom line, reading it out aloud: ‘On completion, E.A. asks that ye whole be in SALOMANS HOUSEwell concealed.’ She looked up at them both with a mischievous grin. ‘You don’t suppose it could still be there, do you?’
II
A navy blue Range Rover was waiting for Croke on the tarmac of London’s City Airport. A shaven-headed young man in pale slacks, a short-sleeved blue shirt and mirror sunglasses was leaning against it, hands casually in his pockets. Croke went over to him. ‘Morgenstern, right?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Thanks for arranging Cambridge.’
‘No sweat.’ Morgenstern was trying to play it extra cool, perhaps regretting his earlier gushing over the Vice President. He opened the Range Rover’s rear door, invited Croke inside.
‘What about my men?’ asked Croke, as Manfredo struggled down the jet’s steps with his suitcases.
‘I was told to help you,’ said Morgenstern. ‘No one said anything about your crew.’
‘Fair enough.’ He went back to tell Manfredo to find rooms and wait for instructions, then joined Morgenstern in the Range Rover.
‘Crane Court, yeah?’ asked Morgenstern.
‘Crane Court,’ agreed Croke.
Morgenstern leaned forward to give their driver his orders then buzzed up the internal glass screen for privacy. ‘We’re evacuating it right now,’ he said. ‘Should be ready for searching by the time we get there.’
‘How long will that be?’
He shrugged. ‘We’ve had to close down Fleet Street. Traffic’s going to get crazy. We’ll use sirens where we can, but they’re only so much help in a gridlock.’
‘Give you time to explain how this works,’ said Croke.
Morgenstern nodded. ‘First thing you need to know is that counterterrorism in England used to be run by London’s Metropolitan Police; but they kept screwing up, so it got split off into a new body.’
‘The National Counterterrorism Taskforce?’
‘That’s the one. Second thing you need to know is that, around the same time as the NCT was being set up, the UK Supreme Court ordered the release of some highly-confidential documents that the CIA had shared with various agencies here. The intel itself was nothing, to be honest. Embarrassing rather than harmful.’
‘But it was the principle,’ suggested Croke.
‘Exactly. It was the principle. The Brits had given us their word they’d keep this shit secret. Suddenly it’s all over the front page. What are they going to release next? The name of one of our agents? The Internet companies and banks who share their customers’ data with us? Footage of an enhanced interrogation?’
‘Could be a problem.’
‘Damned right. But what could we do? Britain’s our ally, and we can’t withhold intel just because their justices, in their supreme fucking wisdom, are complete pricks. Besides, the Brits have some top sources themselves. What if they cut us off in retaliation? In pissing matches, everyone gets their feet wet. So we put our heads together and designed a mutually acceptable solution into the new NCT. Still with me?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s British-run, of course; and all the full-time personnel are Brits. Mostly ex-policemen, from when it was part of Scotland Yard; though they’re recruiting more and more from the SAS and MI5, places like that. Thing is, because of the Supreme Court decision, we can’t risk giving them our best raw intelligence; so what we do instead is we second people like me from the State Department, the CIA, the NSA and Homeland Security. We all have high-level clearance and therefore unrestricted access to our best intelligence.’
‘So if you learn anything of use to the NCT, you can let them know,’ nodded Croke. ‘And, because there’s no physical documentation, the courts can’t order it released.’
‘Exactly,’ said Morgenstern. ‘Unfortunately, as it turns out, our intel is sometimes so ultra top secret that even that’s too much of a risk. So what we do in those situations is we help our British colleagues plan their operations, then we tag along to make sure they have all the information they need in real time.’
Croke frowned. ‘You’re telling me that we get to plan and run NCT operations? And their guys just do the dirty work?’
‘Essentially, yes.’
‘And they go along with this?’
‘Are you kidding? They’re grateful. Amazing what fear will do. But this is pretty sensitive territory, as you can imagine, especially as there have been some malicious rumours recently, accusing us of using this arrangement to pursue our own agenda, go after low-level hackers, critics of our foreign policy, that kind of shit.’
Croke smiled. ‘As if.’
‘Exactly. As if.’
‘So how will it work today?’
‘Simple. We’ll fix you up in an apartment in Crane Court, give you access to whatever you need. Me and my Brit counterpart will run the actual search. I’ll come brief you every half hour. You tell me what you need done next, I’ll make sure it happens.’
‘And your counterpart won’t object?’
‘We have extremely good relationships with these guys,’ said Morgenstern. ‘Our arrangement stipulates that we only have to share our intel with people we’ve vetted thoroughly and feel comfortable with. Naturally, we only feel comfortable with those who share our broad outlook of the world; and then only after we’ve had them over in the States for six months’ evaluation and training. Trust me. By the time they get back here, they might as well be ours, born and bred.’
Croke nodded. ‘Are there many of you?’
‘You mean Americans? Just twenty. But that’s plenty, believe me. Think of us as project managers rather than operational staff. We get to draft in whomever we like: civilian contractors, the army, regional police forces. And they don’t get to ask why or say no. The moment we cite national security, they have to give us whatever we want.’