safety, and facing the need for immediate action, youdidnothesitateorgiveanythoughttoyourpersonalwelfare,’hewrote.
Hesaidthatwhileitwasimpossibleforthepublicevertoknowofmyactions,bothhepersonally
andthecountryatlargeweredeeplygratefulfortheserviceIhadperformed.Somewhereinithealso usedtheword‘hero’.
Iwalkedtothedoor.Ifelttheassembledeyesonme,butIhardlynoticed.Iwentoutandstoodon thelawn,lookingacrossthebleaklandscape.‘Clearedofallwrongdoing,’theletterhadsaid,andasI thought on that and the other word he had used, it unchained a host of emotions in me. I wondered whatBillandGracewouldhavethought:wouldtheyhavefoundtheprideinmeIhadsolongdenied
them?
Iheardacar ’styrescrunchupthelonggraveldriveandstopatthefrontofthehouse,butIignored it.AndwhatofthedeadwomaninDetroit,theonewiththesamestartlingblueeyesasmine?Shehad lovedme,Iwassureofthat,butitwasstrangegiventhatIhardlyknewher.Whatwouldmymother
feelifIcouldhavetoldher?
Ikeptstandingthere,shouldershunchedagainstthewindandtheemotionaldebrisswirlingaround
me,untilIheardadooropen.Iturned–theteamleaderandWonderbrawerestandingontheporch.
Withthemwasanelderlyman,justarrivedinthecar,whomIhadknownforalongtime.Itdoesn’t
matter what his name was – by design, nobody has ever heard of him. He was the director of The Division.
Slowlyhecamedownthestepsandstoodwithme.‘Youreadtheletter?’heasked.Inodded.Heput
hishandonmyarmandexertedatinypressure–hiswayofsayingthankyou.Iguessheknewthat
anywordsofhiswouldhavelittlehopeofcompetingwiththatblue-and-goldseal.
HefollowedmygazeacrossthebleaklandscapeandspokeofthemanIhadkilled.‘Ifyoutakethe
finalbetrayaloutofit,’hesaid,‘hewasafineagent–oneofthebest.’
Istaredathim.‘That’sonewayofputtingit,’Ireplied.‘Ifyoutakethebomboutofit,6Augustwas probablyanicedayinHiroshima.’
‘Jesus,Eddy!I’mdoingmybesthere,I’mtryingtofindsomethingpositive–hewasafriendof
mine.’
‘Minetoo,Director,’Isaidflatly.
‘Iknow,Iknow,Eddy,’hereplied,restraininghimself–amazingwhataletterfromthepresident
cando.‘I’vesaidadozentimesI’mgladitwasyou,notme.EvenwhenIwasyounger,Idon’tknowif
Icouldhavedoneit.’
Ididn’tsayanything:fromwhatIhadheardhewouldhavetakenamachineguntoDisneylandifhe
hadthoughtitwouldhaveadvancedhiscareer.
He turned his collar up against the wind and told me he wanted me to return to London. ‘I’ve checked with everyone who has to sign off. The decision was unanimous – I’m appointing you the newRideroftheBlue.’
Isaidnothing,juststaredacrosstheblightedfieldsforalongtime,saddenedbeyondtellingbythe circumstances and those two little girls. I was twenty-nine years old and the youngest Rider of the Bluetherehadeverbeen.
ChapterEight
LONDONHADNEVERlookedmorebeautifulthanthenightIflewin–StPaul’sCathedral,theHousesof Parliamentandalltheotheroldcitadelsofpowerandgrandeurstandinglikesculpturesagainstared anddarkeningsky.
It was less than twenty hours since my promotion, and I had travelled without rest. I was wrong aboutthelocationoftheranchhouse–itwasintheBlackHillsofSouthDakota,evenmoreremote
thanIhadimagined.Fromthereitwasatwo-hourdrivetothenearestpublicairport,whereaprivate jethadflownmetoNewYorktoconnectwithaBritishAirwaystransatlanticflight.
AFordSUV,threeyearsoldandsplashedwithdirttomakeitlookunremarkable,pickedmeupat
Heathrow and took me into Mayfair. It was a Sunday night and there was little traffic, but even so progresswasslow–thevehiclewasarmour-platedandtheextraweightmadeitabitchtodrive.
The guy wrestling the wheel finally turned into a cul-de-sac near South Audley Street and the garagedoorofaneleganttownhouseswungup.Wedroveintotheundergroundgarageofabuilding
which,accordingtothebrassplaqueonthefrontdoor,wastheEuropeanheadquartersoftheBalearic IslandsInvestmentTrust.
Asignunderneathtoldthepublicthatappointmentscouldbemadeonlybytelephone.Nonumber
wasgivenand,ifanyoneeverchecked,Londondirectoryassistancehadnolistingforit.Needlessto
Bathroom Readers’ Institute