Eagle Strike

Damian Cray.
    I know he‟s famous. But if there‟s a chance that he was involved with the bomb, why won‟t you at least investigate him?”
    “Because we can‟t.” It was Blunt who had spoken and the words came out flat and heavy. He cleared his throat. “Damian Cray is a multimillionaire. He‟s got a huge penthouse on the Thames and another place down in Wiltshire, just outside Bath.”
    “So what?”
    “Rich people have connections and extremely rich people have very good connections indeed.
    Since the nineties, Cray has been putting his money into a number of commercial ventures. He bought his own television station and made a number of programmes that are now shown all around the world. Then he branched out into hotels—and finally into computer games. He‟s about to launch a new game system. He calls it the Gameslayer, and apparently it will put all the other systems—PlayStation 2, GameCube, whatever—into the shade.”
    “I still don‟t see—”
    “He is a major employer, Alex. He is a man of enormous influence. And, for what it‟s worth, he donated a million pounds to the government just before the last election. Now do you understand? If it was discovered that we were investigating him, and merely on your say-so, there would be a tremendous scandal. The prime minister doesn‟t like us anyway. He hates anything he can‟t control. He might even use an attack on Damian Cray as an excuse to close us down.”

    “Cray was on television only today,” Mrs Jones said. She picked up a remote control. “Have a look at this and then tell me what you think.”
    A TV monitor in the corner of the room flickered on, and Alex found himself looking at a recording of the mid-morning news. He guessed Mrs Jones probably recorded the news every day.
    She fast-forwarded, then ran the film at the correct speed.
    And there was Damian Cray. His hair was neatly combed and he was wearing a dark, formal suit, white shirt and mauve silk tie. He was standing outside the American embassy in London‟s Grosvenor Square.
    Mrs Jones turned up the sound.
    “…the former pop singer, now tireless campaigner for a number of environmental and political issues, Damian Cray. He was in London to meet the president of the United States, who has just arrived in England as part of his summer vacation.”
    The picture switched to a jumbo jet landing at Heathrow Airport, then cut in closer to show the president standing at the open door, waving and smiling.
    “The president arrived at Heathrow Airport in Air Force One, the presidential plane. He is due to have a formal lunch with the prime minister at number ten Downing Street today…”
    Another cut. Now the president was standing next to Damian Cray and the two men were shaking hands, a long handshake for the benefit of the cameras which flashed all around them.
    Cray had sandwiched the president‟s hand between both his own hands and seemed unwilling to let him go. He said something and the president laughed.

    “…but first he met Cray for an informal discussion at the American embassy in London. Cray is a spokesman for Greenpeace and has been leading the movement to prevent oil drilling in the wilds of Alaska, fearing the environmental damage this may cause. Although he made no promises, the president agreed to study the report which Greenpeace…”
    Mrs Jones turned off the television.
    “Do you see? The most powerful man in the world interrupts his holiday to meet Damian Cray.
    And he sees Cray before he even visits the prime minister! That should give you the measure of the man. So tell me! What earthly reason could he have to blow up a house and perhaps kill a whole family?”
    “That‟s what I want you to find out.”
    Blunt sniffed. “I think we should wait for the French police to get back to us,” he said. “They‟re investigating the CST. Let‟s see what they come up with.” “So you‟re going to do nothing!” “I think we have explained, Alex.” “All right.” Alex stood up. He didn‟t try to conceal his anger.
    “You‟ve made me look a complete fool in front of Sabina; you‟ve made me lose one of my best friends. It‟s really amazing. When you need me, you just pull me out of school and send me to the other side of the world. But when I need you, just this once, you pretend you don‟t even exist and you just dump me out on the street…”
    “You‟re being over-emotional,” Blunt said.
    “No, I‟m not. But I‟ll tell you this. If