The Legacy

down her cheeks, she fell against him. Jude held her tightly, his forehead creased, his eyes dark with worry. ‘Leave the phone for a while. I’ll answer it,’ he said softly. ‘You go and get some rest. OK?’
    Sheila nodded, her body juddering slightly. ‘I don’t need rest,’ she said stoically. ‘Let me do something else. I can man your computer, answer messages.’
    ‘My computer? But I turned it off when I went out,’ Jude said hesitantly. His own security protocol meant that computers were always shut down when unattended for more than ten minutes. He was religious about it; he of all people knew how vulnerable networks could be.
    ‘So I can turn it on again,’ Sheila said quietly. ‘Can’t I?’
    Jude looked at her uncertainly.
    ‘Don’t you trust me?’ Sheila asked, her lips forming a little pout. ‘Why did you teach me to use it if you never let me on it? I can help, Jude. Let me help.’
    Jude didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, eventually, he nodded. He didn’t have a choice – Sheila was right. She was offering to help and he needed all the help he could get. ‘OK,’ he said, his voice rather strangled. ‘But don’t – don’t do anything stupid.’
    Sheila took his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I won’t,’ she promised. ‘I . . .’ She looked at him searchingly as though about to say something then apparently changed her mind. ‘I won’t,’ she repeated instead, then ran lightly from the room.
    ‘Jude,’ Pip said, suddenly appearing at the door. He looked even more exhausted than Jude felt; his eyes had dark circles round them. ‘Jude,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Where have you been?’
    Jude glanced up. ‘I just had to pick someone up,’ he said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. ‘We’ve got another child. He’s with the guard.’
    Pip looked at him carefully. ‘You went out? That was very risky, Jude.’
    ‘Yes, well, I’m not just a techie,’ Jude said, irritation suddenly getting the better of him. ‘I can actually help people as well.’
    Pip didn’t say anything for a moment, then he nodded. ‘Of course you can,’ he said quietly. He sighed heavily. ‘Jude, I . . .’ He trailed off for a few seconds, then took a deep breath. ‘I want to tell you something. Something important. I . . .’ He looked at Jude intently, then took a deep breath. ‘I . . .’
    ‘What?’ Jude asked impatiently. ‘Is it really important, or is it about books again? Because people are under attack and the phone is ringing because they need our help, and someone’s got to answer it.’
    Pip smiled gently. ‘Of course they do. You’re right, Jude, as always. You are . . .’ He put his hand on Jude’s shoulder. ‘I’m very proud of you, that’s all.’
    Jude felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him at Pip’s words – no one had ever said they were proud of him before. No one. But there was no time to bask in the praise, no time to thank Pip or to wonder why the words meant so much to him. Instead he met Pip’s gaze for a second, nodded, then raced to the phone.
    ‘Hotel Sweeney,’ he said. ‘How’s the weather with you today?’

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    Chapter Eleven
     
    Richard Pincent was scared. It was not an emotion he knew well, not one that sat comfortably with him. Over and over again he paced the floor of his sumptuous office; over and over again he stared out at the London skyline, the dark, cold sky punctuated by tower blocks, by monuments to man’s success, man’s power – his power. He had bestowed the vista of eternity on mankind and now its very existence was threatened.
    Even as he watched out of his window, he knew that people were on the streets marching. They were calling for the Underground to be found and bombed; suspected sympathisers were being locked in their houses and torched. A few months ago he would have sat back and enjoyed the spectacle, but now it simply made him more fearful, because eventually the mob would turn on him. Eventually they would discover his lies, realise that he was the enemy and not the Underground, and when they discovered the truth they would come to his doorstep.
    He lifted his head miserably and looked out of the window, the darkness and howling wind an apt reflection of his own thoughts. Was this how the Pharaohs felt as the Egyptian empire crumbled into dust? Would Pincent Pharma be a relic like the pyramids, explored by ignorant tourists snapping photographs, understanding nothing? Would Richard die