Another shocking development had occurred during the night; Mayor Lambton had been kidnapped. Lambton had been scheduled to give the keynote speech at a trade federation dinner at the Guildhall but hadn’t shown up. Later, an electronically disguised voice message had been received by the BBC news channel purporting to be from the same anarchist organisation that had issued the Mayor with a death threat. They were holding the Mayor, and unless their demands were met in full, Lambton would be executed.
Not surprisingly, the Metropolitan Police were now fully mobilised to track down Lambton and his abductors. Officers had been pulled in from specialist units to assist in the investigation. Time was running out and there would be no let up until the Mayor was found.
DCI Milton had been assigned to lead the search of the Mayor’s offices, but the shocking news of Carla’s murder was also hanging heavy in his mind. Blake had insisted that he needed to see the DCI urgently. Despite the early hours, Milton had agreed that Blake should come to City Hall for a debrief.
Blake stood in Mayor Lambton’s personal office looking out over the London skyline, waiting for Milton to return from the incident briefing. There was a dark sadness around his eyes. The first signs of dawn had already arrived. According to Mary, this was the day of the Reckoning. His chest heaved, as he looked at the clear pink line cutting across the horizon. He couldn’t rest; his mind was turning over at double speed.
He thought of Carla and a new wave of grief swept across him. He couldn’t believe she was gone. If only he had got to her sooner, could he have saved her? And now Eli Rubens was dead as well. Following Blake’s frantic phone instructions from the Mats Tower, Milton had despatched an armed response unit to Rubens’ boxing gym. After smashing down the security door, they discovered Rubens’ body, his face a shredded mess of flesh and blood.
A wretched feeling of remorse rose up in his throat. It felt like part of his heart had been ripped out. Blake teetered on the brink. Could he have saved them somehow? He knew he would never be truly free from the thought. Blake’s mind kept circling back to the shadowy profile of Carla’s killer and his almost superhuman strength. Was this really the Dark King written about in the Book of Creation?
Milton returned to the office. There were circles of exhaustion around his eyes. Despite his rumpled appearance, there was no disguising his look of concern for his friend. ‘I’m so sorry. Carla and Eli, it’s such a …’ the words died in the DCI’s throat. Blake shut his eyes, as if recoiling from an impact. Hearing their names made the horror of the situation even more real. He stared up to the ceiling, as the guilt worked into him some more.
‘There are some good detectives leading the investigation at Eli’s place. If there’s something there, they’ll find it.’
Just then, Commissioner Lewis stormed into the office. He threw Blake a questioning look. The two men measured each other up. Milton was about to say something, but Lewis cut him off with a raised hand. ‘What the hell is Blake doing here?’
‘Vincent is here on my request. He found Carla Sabatini’s body last night and I wanted to get a debrief.’
Lewis stared at Milton with a hard, unbending expression. ‘Let’s talk about this outside,’ commanded the Commissioner.
‘Wait here,’ said Milton as he followed his boss out of the office with a troubled frown.
Left on his own, Blake moved over to the Mayor’s large vintage-style desk in the corner of the room. With his hands in his pockets, he walked a circuit of the desk, his mind meandering to Mary waiting for him in the Alfa outside. His eye was caught by a golden paperweight of the Great Pyramid of Giza. Then he noticed that the desk drawers were all open, undoubtedly the result of a police search. Blake tipped his head to one side, curiosity pulling him closer to the contents of the top left-hand drawer.
He cast an eye over the drawer’s contents for a few seconds, and then his eyebrows shot up. A postcard had been placed within the pages of a diary. It was half sticking out of the journal, the handwritten address clearly visible. Glancing nervously at the door, Blake opened up the diary and scrutinised the postcard. He was momentarily stunned by what he saw. The postcard was addressed to Carla Sabatini in Rome. With a trembling hand he turned it over; it was the picture of Wren’s Monument to the Great Fire. He stared at the image with horrified fascination. It was the postcard Carla had been sent by her father and stolen from her apartment.
His focus moved to the diary pages bookmarked by the postcard. A brief examination of the journal showed that it marked Lambton’s final entries in the book. With his heart thudding in his ears, he read the handwritten notes. It wasn’t a recent addition; instead it described the day of his mayoral election victory.
Today should have been one of the happiest days of my life, but as I sit and write these words late into the night, it feels that my very sanity is hanging by a fraying rope. Something has happened to me.
Even before the final results were counted, I knew I had won by a landslide. It’s been one hell of a fight getting here. We dared to dream that change was possible, and now the people of London have given me a massive mandate to make it happen.
The newly completed Minories Hospital was a fitting venue for my victory speech. The hospital, built on derelict wasteland, is a shining example of what can be achieved with the right people and the right vision.
The memory of looking out across the sea of people who had come to see me deliver my victory speech will always be with me. Even the strange blood-red moon hanging ominously in the night sky couldn’t dampen their spirits.
But as I spoke, something dreadful happened. I first noticed the papers of my speech fluttering on the lectern. Then, from out of nowhere, a sharp flash of lightning hit the ground behind the stage. It scared the hell out of me.
As I tried to settle the crowd, I felt a blackness creeping over my vision. Something dark and alien stretched out around me. My hands gripped the podium with a fear I’ve never felt before. Slowly, I felt the blackness enter me.
Even writing this now, I feel a terrible fear that something monstrous has taken hold …
Lambton’s entry stopped and a further paragraph began again on the opposite page, but where it continued, the tone of his commentary seemed to have altered.
I feel him taking over my thoughts. He has shown me unimaginable power from the beyond. I feel stronger than I have ever felt in my life. My war injuries have vanished, and my limitations have been lifted. Strength is welling up in me like a glorious beast living within …
There was one more chilling sentence.
I have been drawn into the heart of the Dark King.
Lambton was the Dark King! Blake struggled to grasp the full implications of his discovery. No one would believe him. With his eyes scanning the door, he gathered up the postcard and slid it into his jeans pocket. Then he returned Lambton’s journal to the drawer.
Lambton hadn’t been kidnapped; it was just a smokescreen to disappear long enough out of public view to unleash the power of the Logos Stone, because today was the day of the Reckoning. Somewhere out there, Lambton was preparing. Blake headed for the door with the flame of justice burning brightly in his mind.