Waiting for Godalming by Robert Rankin Read Free Book Online Page B

Sombrero
[5] in which small time crook Andy Challis, played by Tom Hanks, steals a patent leather clutch bag from a prostitute played by Meg Ryan. The bag contains a doorway to another dimension and poor old Tom gets sucked through it into oblivion, several scenes before the hero, in the shape of Laz, played on this occasion most unconvincingly by Leonardo di Caprio, [6] arrives to solve the case.
    The small time crook
always
came to a hideous end. It was a great Hollywood tradition. Hollywood knew its own business best and who was Icarus to argue?
    “I’m in serious trouble here,” mumbled Icarus Smith. “Although …”
    Although?
    “Although.” Icarus began to smile.
    To smile?
    “Just let me think about this.”
    Icarus gave the matter some thought. Some deep and serious thought. Surely, he thought, in a deep and serious manner, this can be no accident. Surely, this tape did not fall into my hand through mere chance alone. The nature of my game is instinctiveness. To become aware of something and then to relocate it. If I have acquired this cassette tape, then there must be some reason why. And think about it, just think about what’s on this tape. A man is being tortured and he dies because of something he has discovered. A drug, created from a formula given to him by a pattern of flowers. A drug designed to create the human computer, which instead opened the man’s eyes and allowed him to see something incredible. Something terrifying.
    “To see things as they really are. And people as they really are. The ones who actually
are
people. And the ones who aren’t.”
    This was big. This was
very
big. This had to be a part of the Big Picture.
    And what else had the dying man said to his tormentor?
    “You’ll never find the drug. But someone will and that someone will learn the truth and they’ll put paid to you and your kind. That someone will change the world for ever. That someone will make things right.”
    “That someone is me,” whispered Icarus Smith. “I must find this drug and I must take it and then I will be the one to change the world.”
    It had to be so. Well, to Icarus it did. To Icarus this could not be one of Stravino’s “caprices of fate”. To Icarus, it was a case of “I am the Chosen One”. And, as history has proved most conclusively, it can be a difficult matter arguing with a man who believes that he is the Chosen One.
    “There can be no doubt,” whispered Icarus Smith. “The tape was meant to fall into my possession. It is my destiny to change the world for ever.”
    And so with all this thought and said, Icarus set to reopening the briefcase. His hands shook only slightly now, and this from excitement rather than fear. Icarus rubbed these hands together and then began to rifle through the contents of the case.
    Disregarding the leather briefs, the packed lunch and the Dictaphone, he addressed his attention to a wad of papers and a notebook bound in a curious hide.
    Firstly the papers. Icarus leafed through these. They bore the letter heading of the Ministry of Serendipity, and appeared to be interdepartmental memos, concerning the staff canteen and the poor selection of food on offer.
    “Hence the packed lunch,” said Icarus Smith.
    The notebook, however, was of considerable interest. There were two stains on its front cover. The first appeared to be marmalade but the second looked like blood. Icarus opened the book and then went ah.
    “Addresses,” said Icarus Smith.
    On the flyleaf of the book were printed the words:
     
    This book is the property of
    Prof. Bruce Partington
    Wisteria Lodge
    Shoscombe Old Place
    Brentford.
     
    “Aha,” said Icarus. “No doubt the tortured soul himself. But let’s just check.” He dug into a jacket pocket and brought to light the relocated wallet. Flipping this open, he observed a Ministry of Serendipity security card made out to one Arkus Cormerant. The photo displayed the face of the chap in Stravino’s. The erstwhile “owner”