Dragging the chair to a corner, Roddy entertained himself by discovering how sharp an angle he could balance it at before toppling to the floor. This proved to be about half as sharp as his first attempt but, it turned out, he had plenty of time to improve.
J. K. Coe said, ‘I think we’ve got a problem.’
Lamb said to Flyte, ‘He doesn’t speak much. Perhaps he’s making an effort on your account. Let’s see.’ He turned to Coe and said, very slowly, ‘Why. Might we have. A problem?’
Then he looked at Flyte again, tapping a finger to his temple. ‘Bit simple,’ he mouthed.
Coe twisted his earbud cord round his fingers. ‘There’s been another incident.’
‘Did you wet yourself again? Don’t worry, we didn’t notice.’
Catherine said, ‘Let’s hear him out, shall we?’
‘A bomb on a train,’ Coe said.
‘And that came to you via the music, did it?’ said Lamb. ‘Might have to try listening to jazz myself. Except I’d rather rub sand in my eyes.’
He put his bottle to his lips, and drank wine like it was water.
‘He’s not listening to jazz,’ Catherine said.
‘Yeah, funny thing, I’d got that far myself.’
‘We’re in lockdown,’ said Flyte. ‘No comms. And you’ve been listening to the radio?’
Shirley said, ‘Give him some slack. He carries a knife.’ She’d found a plastic glass somewhere and poured herself some wine, and her mouth was red from that or the Haribo. She looked like she’d applied lippy while no one was looking.
‘Where was the bomb?’ said River. ‘How many hurt?’
‘Nobody. The device was found and disabled.’
‘Where?’
‘On an HST from Bristol. Heading into Paddington.’
The others already had their phones out, checking the news websites.
Flyte said, ‘Do I have to say this again? Turn your devices off. We’re in lockdown.’
‘It’s because you’re new,’ Lamb said. ‘They’re testing the boundaries.’
‘When I need your input, I’ll ask.’
River, eyes on his phone, said, ‘Nobody’s claimed responsibility yet.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Lamb said. ‘Taking the credit for fucking up, that would be your department.’ He looked at Coe. ‘And as for you. I make a big announcement about the Abbotsfield killers having a crack at Ho, and you trump it with a story about nobody being hurt somewhere else?’ He shook his head. ‘We have to start playing cards for money round here.’
‘There’s more, isn’t there?’ said Louisa.
Coe had put his hands on the desk in front of him, and his fingers seemed agile and twitchy. ‘Yes.’
Lamb’s sigh would have filled a sail. ‘A few fucking details wouldn’t go amiss. Whenever you’re ready.’
Coe collected the agile fingers on his right hand and turned them into a fist. He unbent them one at a time, still staring at the desk in front of him. ‘One. Destroy the village.’
River opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind.
‘Two. Poison the watering hole.’
Lamb leaned back in his chair, looking grim.
‘Three. Cripple the railway.’
Coe folded his hand away again, and stuffed it into the pouch of his hoodie.
There was a short silence, broken by Shirley. ‘Am I missing something?’
‘He’s saying these aren’t random acts of terrorism,’ said River, not taking his eyes off Coe. ‘It’s a destabilisation strategy.’
‘A bunch of penguins get shredded?’ said Shirley. ‘Who’s that supposed to destabilise? David Attenborough?’
‘It’s not the penguins,’ said Catherine. ‘It’s the name. Is that what you’re saying?’
Coe nodded.
‘The Watering Hole,’ said River. ‘Why is that significant?’
‘Think about it,’ said Lamb.
They thought about it; all except Coe, who seemed to have withdrawn into his private universe again.
At length, Emma Flyte said, ‘Well, if it’s a destabilisation plan, it’s not working, is it? Because whatever grand plan they’re working to, the effects still look random. Which is bad enough, but hardly world-shattering. I mean, Abbotsfield? It’s a tragedy, but nobody had heard of the place last week.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Lamb. ‘You’re now an honorary slow horse.’
‘Because I contributed?’
‘No, because you missed the fucking point.’
‘But she’s right,’ said Louisa. ‘If this goes on, people’ll get nervy about public spaces, worried what might happen. But it’s not like they’ll think some supervillain has a strategy. I mean, if this was happening in a tiny state somewhere …’
She broke off.
‘There you go,’ said Lamb. ‘Penny drops.’ He looked at Coe. ‘They’re operating to a plan that might pacify a local population. Because it’s all singular, isn’t it?
Coe nodded.
‘It was never meant for a state the size of Britain.’
‘So why,’ River began, then stopped. Then said: ‘If the strategy’s not going to achieve its original aim, why is it being deployed?’
‘And as long as we’re playing twenty questions,’ said Lamb, ‘anyone want to hazard a guess as to how come our mad monk here recognises it?’
‘Oh Christ,’ said River. ‘It’s one of ours, isn’t it?’
Coe nodded.
The others stared at each other in incomprehension. Only Lamb, who had closed his eyes, and Catherine, who was shaking her head, seemed to grasp the implications.
