The Wormwood Code Read Free

cement his place in history. No one ever got remembered because waiting lists were low or because they had introduced prostrate cancer screening for over-50s. Settling the Northern Ireland issue, creating democracies across the Middle East, bringing China and the west closer together, extending British influence across the republics of the former Soviet Union, bringing Britain further into the heart of the European Union and subtly easing Germany and France away from the centre of power. Those were the big issues, the issues which would see him remembered for the rest of history. Not NHS funding and MRSA and consultants fees.
    He wanted to place a call to George right now and discuss the plans to invade Iran.
    'Any of them mention my teeth?' he asked.
    Williams rolled his eyes. Thackeray glanced at the front pages, although he knew there was nothing there to see.
    'You only get personally headlined in the Telegraph, in connection with the pensions issue.'
    'Pensions,' the PM said, muttering darkly. He turned and looked from one of his men to the other. 'Suppose the serial killer made more front pages than I did?'
    Thackeray nodded.
    'That's what grabs the news, isn't it? That's why George has got the right idea, sending his troops in all over the place. Murder, death and fear, that's what people want to read about. Maybe I'd get more press if I sent all those troops back to Ireland.'
    'No!' said Thackeray and Williams together.
    'I suppose,' said the PM. 'Peace in our time, and all that. Any chance of a doughnut?'
    ––––––––
    0856hrs
    T he cleaner knocked on the door again. The 'Do Not Disturb' sign had been up for three days now, the room had been paid for until the end of May and yet she had a bad feeling. She'd been getting the shivers every time she walked past the room, and even though she had been told by management that it was none of her business, and that the sign meant what it said, the strange mixture of curiosity and fear had taken hold of her imagination. It ran in the family, down through the women in her mother's side. Some sort of psychic ability, which most of them had tried to ignore in recent generations. But she couldn't deny that it was there, she couldn't deny the feelings of unease which she felt each time she passed a place of sadness or despair. And she had a feeling about this bedroom.
    She knocked again, and then finally, her hands shaking, looking nervously up and down the corridor, she took the key from her pocket and put it in the lock. She tentatively opened the door and stuck her head round to look into the room.
    A small room, large double bed taking up most of the space. TV in the corner, playing one of those awful makeover shows; Changing Rooms In The Toilet or Newsnight In The Garden . An armchair positioned in front of the TV, its back turned to the door. She could just see the top of a blue woollen hat, and a pale hand resting on the arm of the chair. She swallowed, knew already that the person was dead.
    'Hello?' she said nervously. 'Hello. Are you all right?'
    The corpse of Ramone MacGregor was silent.
    The cleaner, Juniper Lopez, had all the symptoms of near panic – racing heart, dry mouth, cold sweat, shivers, shakes, the hairs on her head standing to attention, everything – yet felt herself more and more drawn into the room. She had no thought of turning round and getting help, even though she now knew she had seen enough to alert hotel management.
    'Mr?' she asked, stepping slowly forwards. She swallowed again, but her mouth and throat were dry, harsh.
    Deep breath, doing everything to conquer the fear which gripped her, a fear so much greater than any of the myriad phobias which plagued her life. Spiders, flying, confined spaces, crowds, open spaces, chips served with pasta. She edged nearer to the chair, moving away to the side, pressed against the bed, as far away as she could. Stopped again, another deep breath, steeled herself, closed her eyes, and then she