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'Firstly I must point out to you both that this is a matter of great national importance and I am asking for your advice only because we are desperate. We find ourselves in a head-of-state deficit condition by virtue of a happenstance of a high other-worldliness possibility situation – and we hoped you might be able to reverse-engineer us out of it.'
'Cut the waffle,' said Spike, 'what's going on?'
Parks's shoulders slumped and he took off his dark glasses.
'We've lost the President.'
My heart missed a beat. This was bad news. Really bad news. The way I saw it, the President wasn't due to die until next Monday, after Kaine and Goliath had been neutered. Missing or dying early allowed Kaine to gain power and start the Third World War a week before he was meant to – and that was certainly not in the game plan.
Spike thought for a moment and then said:
'Bummer.'
'Quite.'
'Where?'
Parks stretched his arm towards the busy traffic speeding past on the motorway.
'Somewhere out there.'
'How long ago?'
'Twelve hours. Chancellor Kaine has got wind of it and he's pushing for a parliamentary vote to establish himself dictator at six o'clock this evening. That gives us less than eight hours.'
Spike nodded thoughtfully.
'Show me where you last saw him.'
Parks snapped his fingers and a black Bentley drew up alongside. We climbed in and the limo joined the M4 in a westerly direction, the police cars dropping in behind to create a rolling roadblock. Within a few miles our lane of the busy thoroughfare was deserted and quiet. As we drove on, Parks explained what had happened. President Formby was being driven from London to Bath along the M4, and somewhere between Junctions 16 and 17 – where we now were – he vanished.
The Bentley glided to a halt on the empty asphalt.
'The President's car was the centre vehicle in a three-car motorcade,' explained Parks as we got out. 'Saundby's car was behind, I was with Dowding in front, and Mallory was driving the President. At this precise point I looked behind and noticed that Mallory was indicating to turn off. I saw them move on to the hard shoulder and we pulled over immediately.'
Spike sniffed the air.
'And then what happened?'
'We lost sight of the car. We thought it had gone over the embankment but when we got there – nothing. Not a bramble out of place. The car just vanished.'
We walked to the edge and looked down the slope. The motorway was carried above the surrounding countryside on an earth embankment; there was a steep slope that led down about fifteen feet through ragged vegetation to a fence. Beyond this was a field, a concrete bridge over a drainage ditch and beyond that, about half a mile distant, a row of white houses.
'Nothing just vanishes,' said Spike at last. 'There is always a reason. Usually a simple one, sometimes a weird one – but always a reason. Dowding, what's your story?'
'Pretty much the same. His car started to pull over, then just, well, vanished from sight.'
'Vanished?'
'More like melted, really,' said a confused Dowding.
Spike rubbed his chin thoughtfully and bent down to pick up a handful of roadside detritus. Small granules of toughened glass, shards of metal and wires from the lining of a car tyre. He shivered.
'What is it?' asked Parks.
'I think President Formby's gone . . . deadside.'
'Then where's the body? In fact, where's the car?'
