Chapter Two

THE STORY SO FAR: A white-haired, experienced, older man has been stabbed in the back in Westminster, London, England. Prof Robin Longjohns suspects the involvement of sinister right-wing incense-burning messianic cult Opus Dave. NOW READ ON….

“Not so fast, Longjohns,” sneered Inspector Mitchell. “If you’re so clever, how do you explain this?” And he pointed an infra-red torch at the wall to reveal a message scrawled across the tomb of Sir Isaac Asimov:

Inspector Mitchell aimed his Aitken-Kaletsky 47 subpostmaster machine gun at my heart. I was flabbergasted. But even more so as a vision of loveliness shimmied into the Abbey, flicking her lustrous red hair behind her as she moved with long, fluid strides, and draped in what has been described as “a knee-length cream-coloured Irish sweater”*, which presumably made her trip up and stumble (in a fluid, lovely way).

“I’ve never seen you before,” said Inspector Mitchell. “Are you the editor of The Times?”

“No. I am Agent Ann Widdicombe of the French secret service department SW1A 2AH. Luckily, although I am French, I have been brought up to speak fluent English, which means this book can be understood by readers in the Mid West of America. I have cracked that secret code and I have come here to say that Prof Longjohns is completely innocent.”

Mitchell slipped up, and the gun went off, shooting himself through the head and missing his brain by six foot. Ann grabbed my hand and we ran out of the Abbey with long, fluid strides, punctuated only by her stumbling due to her knee-length Irish sweater. Outside we jumped onto her waiting C5 and scooted away.

“It is quite clear to me,” said Ann, fighting to push her gorgeous long burgundy hair from out of her mouth, “That the message identifies the killer as the mysterious person known only as The Shadow Teacher, who is the chief of Opus Dave.”

“Yes,” I replied. “And I recognise the significance of the letters POB. By a mystic piece of symbology involving the Zodiac, the paintings of Tracey Emin, the edicts of the Council of Nicea, and Hebrew anagrams, it stands for Priory Of Bruges, the ancient secret society sworn to defend the relic known only as The Handbag of St Margaret. If Opus Dave get their hands on that relic the safety of Western Civilisation is at stake!”

“Gasp!” gasped Ann. “Exactly,” I muttered with a determined fixed jaw which will bring out the dimple in my chin when they make the film, “And the line ‘Swish! Credit unaccountably locked’ can only refer to a locked account box at the nearest branch of Credit Suisse the well-known Swiss bank, as you know. Take me there immediately!”

As the C5 sped away from Westminster Abbey, out of the shadows lurched a misshapen figure in a cowl. He limped due to the bleeding caused by a ‘Make Poverty History’ band fastened round his thigh, but he felt no pain because of his devotion to the cause of Opus Dave. This was Tobias, the fanatical killer, and he hobbled off into the night.

TO BE DISCONTINUED…? (Unless Ben Drown sends in the Third Chapter)

*Seriously – see Da Vinci Code page 79. If anyone can tell me what a knee-length Irish Sweater is, I am thinking of getting my grandmother one for Christmas.