Hunter Hunted, Jack Gatland [good story books to read .txt] 📗

towards the older graves. Declan hurried to catch up with her, and caught up with her beside a tall, broken down mausoleum on the right-hand side of the path.

‘You look stupid,’ she said as a hello. Taking off the aviator glasses, Declan shrugged.

‘You made a point about not looking recognisable,’ he replied. ‘Can you honestly say you would have picked me out if I hadn’t been meeting you?’

‘Fair point,’ Kendis glanced around to ensure that they were alone. ‘I needed to speak to you, and it had to be somewhere private.’

‘A cemetery was your first choice? Not really a place for a political reporter to hang out.’

Kendis looked around the cemetery. ’Don’t belittle the dead,’ she smiled. ‘Some of Westminster’s biggest and brightest have plots here.’ She showed a square, stone mausoleum across the path, about fifty yards away and under an overhanging tree branch. ‘That’s the one for the Gladwells. Over there is the Harrison family.’

‘As in Baker’s adviser? Didn’t realise he came from money.’

‘They all come from money, Declan,’ Kendis replied sadly. ‘Even the ones that claim that they don’t.’

Declan passed her back the burner phone. ‘Here, next time just call me on my normal one, yeah?’

‘It’s not that easy,’ Kendis replied as she wiped the phone down before placing it in her pocket.

‘Look, if this is about this morning—‘ Declan started, but stopped when Kendis raised her hand.

‘What, you mean when you snuck out of my bedroom like a sodding burglar?’ she asked. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. There’s more to life than you, Declan.’

‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ Declan continued. ‘I had the call about Monroe.’

‘I know,’ Kendis wearily leaned against a stone cross as she pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. ‘Just like I know that if you had spoken to me, we’d probably have had some talk about how we were moving too fast or similar.’

‘We are,’ Declan insisted. ‘Christ, Kendis. Have you even told Peter you want a divorce?’

‘I told you last night that I’d broached it with him,’ Kendis snapped. Declan frowned. He couldn’t remember the conversation.

How drunk had he been?

‘Look,’ Kendis was looking around the cemetery again as she spoke. ‘As great as it is to see you, this is bigger. I had something posted through my letterbox this morning.’ She pulled out a piece of paper, passing it to Declan. Opening it up, he read a sheet of Arabic writing.

‘I can’t read this.’

Kendis took it from him, glancing at it as she did so. ‘I can,’ she said. ‘I learned the lingo while abroad. I’m not fluent, but I know enough to see the gist of things. And Google Translate is amazing for filling in the gaps.’

‘And the gist here is?’

‘This is a letter telling me it’s time to see the Prophet, that it’s time to strike at the infidels.’

‘It’s a martyr’s call to action?’ Declan stepped back from Kendis. ‘Christ, are you really one of them?’

Declan saw Kendis’ face pale as he spoke.

‘How could you think that?’ she asked.

‘Monroe had your file on his screen when he was attacked,’ Declan explained. ‘It stated a whole load of things about you, mainly during your time in Syria.’ He paused, almost unable to continue. ‘It said that they radicalised you.’

‘What?’ This stunned Kendis. ‘And you believe that?’

‘Of course not!’ Declan snapped back. ‘But then you show me Arabic calls to martyrdom sent to you, while having a secret meeting in a graveyard!’

Kendis thought for a moment. And then, slowly, she nodded.

‘I can see that,’ she whispered. ‘But it’s not true. I’m in trouble, Declan. I bit off more than I can chew this time.’

‘Then let me help,’ Declan stepped forward. ‘Whatever it is.’

‘It’s political,’ Kendis replied. And that you’re here is help enough for the moment. Walk with me.’

They started down a smaller lane now, gravestones on either side of them as she continued.

‘It began when I was researching into Andy Mac,’ she explained. ‘I found out things about Charles Baker back then. And, when the Devington case ended I carried on digging.’

‘Why?’ Declan shook his head in confusion at this. ‘He was done. Finished.’

‘People like Charles Baker don’t just finish,’ Kendis continued. ‘He’s protected.’

‘How so?’

‘Have you ever heard of the Star Chamber?’ Kendis asked, stopping beside a gravestone.

‘I remember seeing a film about it,’ Declan admitted. ‘Something about people taking the law into their own hands.’

‘They started it during the reign of Henry VII, back in the fourteen hundreds,’ Kendis explained. ‘They named it after the room that they sat in, in the Palace of Westminster. It had stars on the ceiling, you see.’

‘Who sat?’

‘Two royal judges and two counsellors to the King,’ Kendis continued. ‘It was designed to administer justice to cases that couldn’t be heard publicly. Usually property matters, that sort of thing. But by the time Henry VIII took over, he left it to its own devices as he couldn’t be bothered to attend the meetings. It became autonomous to the crown, and by the reign of Charles I, it was actively used as a tool of royal oppression, finding rivals to the king and torturing them, silencing them, or simply making them disappear. It was officially disbanded in the sixteen hundreds.’

‘As great as this history lesson is, why am I being told about it?’ Declan asked.

‘Because unofficially, it never stopped. Removed from royal hands, it became a tool for Cromwell’s Parliament. Even when Charles II took the throne, nobody informed him of this. And so on.’

‘Until now?’

‘It’s never been busier than now,’ Kendis took a long drag on the cigarette. ‘It’s Parliament based, you see, and to keep things equal its membership of five are taken randomly from all parties. You stay on it for five years, or leave earlier if you lose your seat. The longest serving member becomes the grandmaster of the chamber, replaced by the next longest serving member on their exit and on and on. And once you’ve been a part of it and left, you can’t return.’

‘Let me guess,’ Declan said, considering