The Falklands Intercept Read Online Free PDF

the past.
    One window was open but the set of rooms was on the second floor overlooking the river. Access to the windows from below would have been challenging for a Himalayan climber and impossible to accomplish without equipment or without being seen. The façade of this bit of the college was floodlit till quite late. In theory someone could have abseiled down from the roof. Again difficult to do without being seen but Jacot decided he would go up on the roof later. Dangling ropes digging into 17th-century brickwork would surely leave behind some kind of trace, but it was a long shot.
    Jacot stood for several minutes looking at the room wall by wall, his head turning slowly. He repeated the process a second time, the head moving slowly and methodically and his gloved hands flexing and un-flexing as he reached a peak of concentration. At the end he stood perfectly still for a moment and then walked through to the sitting room. Painted in white and gold – and hung with pictures of 18th-century Cambridge – it was a beautiful room befitting a distinguished and honoured guest. The bookshelves were stacked with standard editions of the great works bound in striking scarlet leather. The rooms were a kind of Don’s dream – the ideal space in which to study, entertain and hold forth – the essence of the Cambridge spirit. A devout man, at least a man devout in the Jamesian style could study and devote himself to God in such a set of rooms. And live well too. Wasn’t an elegant and civilised life a compliment to the Creator? A sceptic would find the rooms a validation of cool rationality and a comfortable setting in which to undertake academic investigation before the darkness closed in forever. Jacot doubted whether Verney had been a religious man. Like his hero Captain Scott maybe he just took things as they came and sought what comfort there was in a contingent universe by relying on himself. Perhaps his religion was himself and his career – it seemed a popular if ultimately depressing philosophy these days. Somewhere in that glittering career there must be something, thought Jacot, that could explain Verney’s sudden death – even if itwas only the smoking.
    Jacot returned to the bottom of the staircase and the military police who were already becoming convinced that the whole thing was due to natural causes – middle aged men died suddenly in their beds with great regularity despite modern medicine and diagnostics . They also died at moments that could be very convenient for some of those left behind. John Smith and Robin Cook sprung to mind but no one would suggest that in a modern country like Britain there could have been anything untoward. Indeed not. And Jacot would be very surprised if the post mortem showed anything unusual or remotely suspicious.
    But something wasn’t quite right. The college wasn’t full of shifty characters straight out of central casting who would not look him in the eye. At first sight the most likely explanation seemed to be the most innocent. But the atmosphere was somehow wrong. It was as if the walls themselves of these beautiful Elizabethan and Jacobean buildings had suspicions. It was hard to put your finger on but he had seen and felt it before. On the Falls Road in West Belfast many years before, when just after a soldier had been shot by the IRA everyone was polite and a little wary as you might expect. But no one had seen anything. Just as in a Hammer Horror film when everyone but the luckless late arrival at the Transylvanian inn knows that it’s not a good idea to go up to the castle late at night during a full moon, but no one dares say anything or even wants to.
    But we should be grateful at least, thought Jacot, for some small mercies. Individuals important to the state and/or privy to its secrets had on occasion died suddenly in more embarrassing and distressing ways than this. At least Verney hadn’t keeled over in a