young people involved with drugs, and he spent two years fighting to have a laboratory closed down because it was experimenting on animals.
“In 1989 he performed in Belfast, and many people believe that this free concert was a step on the way towards peace in Northern Ireland. A year later he made two visits to Buckingham Palace. He was there on a Thursday to play a solo for Princess Diana‟s birthday; and on the Friday he was back again to receive a knighthood from the Queen.
“Only last year he was on the cover of Time magazine. „Man of the Year. Saint or Singer?‟ That was the headline. And that‟s why your accusations are ridiculous, Alex. The whole world knows that Damian Cray is just about the closest thing we have to a living saint.”
“It was still his voice on the telephone,” Alex said.
“You heard someone give his name. You don‟t know it was him.”
“I just don‟t understand it!” Now Alex was angry, confused. “All right, we all like Damian Cray.
I know he‟s famous. But if there‟s a chance that he was involved with the bomb, why won‟t you at least investigate him?”
“Because we can‟t.” It was Blunt who had spoken and the words came out flat and heavy. He cleared his throat. “Damian Cray is a multimillionaire. He‟s got a huge penthouse on the Thames and another place down in Wiltshire, just outside Bath.”
“So what?”
“Rich people have connections and extremely rich people have very good connections indeed.
Since the nineties, Cray has been putting his money into a number of commercial ventures. He bought his own television station and made a number of programmes that are now shown all around the world. Then he branched out into hotels—and finally into computer games. He‟s about to launch a new game system. He calls it the Gameslayer, and apparently it will put all the other systems—PlayStation 2, GameCube, whatever—into the shade.”
“I still don‟t see—”
“He is a major employer, Alex. He is a man of enormous influence. And, for what it‟s worth, he donated a million pounds to the government just before the last election. Now do you understand? If it was discovered that we were investigating him, and merely on your say-so, there would be a tremendous scandal. The prime minister doesn‟t like us anyway. He hates anything he can‟t control. He might even use an attack on Damian Cray as an excuse to close us down.”
“Cray was on television only today,” Mrs Jones said. She picked up a remote control. “Have a look at this and then tell me what you think.”
A TV monitor in the corner of the room flickered on, and Alex found himself looking at a recording of the mid-morning news. He guessed Mrs Jones probably recorded the news every day.
She fast-forwarded, then ran the film at the correct speed.
And there was Damian Cray. His hair was neatly combed and he was wearing a dark, formal suit, white shirt and mauve silk tie. He was standing outside the American embassy in London‟s Grosvenor Square.
Mrs Jones turned up the sound.
“…the former pop singer, now tireless campaigner for a number of environmental and political issues, Damian Cray. He was in London to meet the president of the United States, who has just arrived in England as part of his summer vacation.”
The picture switched to a jumbo jet landing at Heathrow Airport, then cut in closer to show the president standing at the open door, waving and smiling.
“The president arrived at Heathrow Airport in Air Force One, the presidential plane. He is due to have a formal lunch with the prime minister at number ten Downing Street today…”
Another cut. Now the president was standing next to Damian Cray and the two men were shaking hands, a long handshake for the benefit of the cameras which flashed all around them.
Cray had sandwiched the president‟s hand between both his own hands and seemed unwilling to let him go. He said something and the president
“In 1989 he performed in Belfast, and many people believe that this free concert was a step on the way towards peace in Northern Ireland. A year later he made two visits to Buckingham Palace. He was there on a Thursday to play a solo for Princess Diana‟s birthday; and on the Friday he was back again to receive a knighthood from the Queen.
“Only last year he was on the cover of Time magazine. „Man of the Year. Saint or Singer?‟ That was the headline. And that‟s why your accusations are ridiculous, Alex. The whole world knows that Damian Cray is just about the closest thing we have to a living saint.”
“It was still his voice on the telephone,” Alex said.
“You heard someone give his name. You don‟t know it was him.”
“I just don‟t understand it!” Now Alex was angry, confused. “All right, we all like Damian Cray.
I know he‟s famous. But if there‟s a chance that he was involved with the bomb, why won‟t you at least investigate him?”
“Because we can‟t.” It was Blunt who had spoken and the words came out flat and heavy. He cleared his throat. “Damian Cray is a multimillionaire. He‟s got a huge penthouse on the Thames and another place down in Wiltshire, just outside Bath.”
“So what?”
“Rich people have connections and extremely rich people have very good connections indeed.
Since the nineties, Cray has been putting his money into a number of commercial ventures. He bought his own television station and made a number of programmes that are now shown all around the world. Then he branched out into hotels—and finally into computer games. He‟s about to launch a new game system. He calls it the Gameslayer, and apparently it will put all the other systems—PlayStation 2, GameCube, whatever—into the shade.”
“I still don‟t see—”
“He is a major employer, Alex. He is a man of enormous influence. And, for what it‟s worth, he donated a million pounds to the government just before the last election. Now do you understand? If it was discovered that we were investigating him, and merely on your say-so, there would be a tremendous scandal. The prime minister doesn‟t like us anyway. He hates anything he can‟t control. He might even use an attack on Damian Cray as an excuse to close us down.”
“Cray was on television only today,” Mrs Jones said. She picked up a remote control. “Have a look at this and then tell me what you think.”
A TV monitor in the corner of the room flickered on, and Alex found himself looking at a recording of the mid-morning news. He guessed Mrs Jones probably recorded the news every day.
She fast-forwarded, then ran the film at the correct speed.
And there was Damian Cray. His hair was neatly combed and he was wearing a dark, formal suit, white shirt and mauve silk tie. He was standing outside the American embassy in London‟s Grosvenor Square.
Mrs Jones turned up the sound.
“…the former pop singer, now tireless campaigner for a number of environmental and political issues, Damian Cray. He was in London to meet the president of the United States, who has just arrived in England as part of his summer vacation.”
The picture switched to a jumbo jet landing at Heathrow Airport, then cut in closer to show the president standing at the open door, waving and smiling.
“The president arrived at Heathrow Airport in Air Force One, the presidential plane. He is due to have a formal lunch with the prime minister at number ten Downing Street today…”
Another cut. Now the president was standing next to Damian Cray and the two men were shaking hands, a long handshake for the benefit of the cameras which flashed all around them.
Cray had sandwiched the president‟s hand between both his own hands and seemed unwilling to let him go. He said something and the president
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