The Fourth Bear

35. Ursula

They rose through the Bob Southey in one of the many luxurious oak-paneled lifts. Jack found to his surprise that he was still holding Ashley’s thin but immensely strong outer membrane. It had dried out by now and resembled blue cellophane. So he rolled it up, folded it twice and placed it in his breast pocket for safekeeping.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” said Jack, finally breaking the thoughtful silence. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me shit, Inspector,” replied Vinnie in his usual short manner. “The Ursa Majors voted you Friend to Bears an hour ago, and it’s totally out of my hands. It’s not a good situation. I’ve got a bit of clout with the authorities, but it’s only a matter of time before they decide to use force to get you and Bartholomew out of here.”

“I’ll surrender before that happens, Vinnie. I won’t have senseless loss just to postpone the inevitable.”

Vinnie gave an imperceptible nod to show that he approved of Jack’s attitude.

The elevator doors opened, and they walked out into a plush corridor with thick carpeting on the floor and original Lichtenstein prints decorating the walls. Vinnie walked up to a door and entered. It wasn’t locked, but this wasn’t unusual—bears didn’t have any need for them. In the entire Bob Southey, the only locks were the ones that connected the bears’ world to that of the outside. The apartment was light, airy and modern, but it still retained the same understated utopian ethos as the three bears’ cottage in the forest: hard-wearing, functional wooden furniture and a minimalistic low-tech feel with simple floral designs on the drapes and small furnishings.

Standing at the window was Sherman Bartholomew. He looked tired and gaunt.

“Good evening, Inspector,” he said, rubbing his temples nervously. “I know I’m going to be sorry to ask this, but… what the blazes is going on?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet, sir. A missing nuclear physicist, a discovery of unthinkable and devastating potential and Goldilocks caught up in the middle. NS-4 and QuangTech are implicated, and the Gingerbreadman is involved—I just don’t know where. And then there’s the fourth bear.”

Jack went on for some minutes, attempting to explain the complexities of the case.

When he’d finished, Bartholomew stared at him for a long time and then said, “I knew I’d be sorry.”

Vinnie, however, had understood it all a little better.

“So are you saying that all the nuclear strain of cucumbers have been destroyed?”

“No—Fuchsia told me that his ‘Alpha-Pickle’ was snipped off the main stalk last night. That’s the sole remaining cucumber. Whoever possesses that has almost unthinkable riches and power within his grasp.”

“And who do you suppose this fourth bear is?” asked Vinnie.

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. He’s a dominant male, likes porridge, has no compunction about killing other bears—and was having an affair with Ursula Bruin.”

Vinnie pricked up his ears when he heard this.

“You’ve an idea?” asked Jack.

“Not me—but Ursula might.”

They took the elevator to the large vaulted atrium on the ground floor and made their way across to the Bob Southey Medical Center.

“She regained consciousness an hour ago,” explained Vinnie, his claws clicking percussively on the smooth marble flooring. “She can’t speak, but she might be able to communicate in some other way.”

The medical center was one of the most modern Jack had ever seen, a reflection on the colossal wealth the bear fraternity had amassed over the years with wise long-term investments, well-planned trust funds and top-notch stock portfolios. Ed Bruin was in his own room, where a small army of medical staff was giving him minute-by-minute care. He seemed to have more tubes going into him than Charing Cross Station, and a vast array of high-tech equipment played an almost symphonic melody of bleeps, pings, chirps and whistles, while several monitors spewed out long strips of paper full of meaningful ink traces.

“He’s a long way from being out of danger,” said a small bear with a stethoscope draped around his neck, “but he’s getting the best care we can give him.”

Ursula was in a separate room and had only a plasma drip and a heart monitor. She was lying on her back on a sturdy wooden bed with a crocheted bedspread, and a large flower arrangement in a vase was sitting atop a table nearby. Sun streamed through the open window, and sitting opposite her with his chair against a bookshelf was the baby bear. It was the first time Jack had seen him, and he was baby in name only. Medium-size and wearing baggy trousers and a hoodie emblazoned with a flaming skull, he looked like any other teenager you might find in Reading—only with a lot more hair.

“She’s very weak,” said the bear with the stethoscope. “Try not to tire her too much.”

“Mrs. Bruin?” inquired Vinnie softly.

Her eyes flickered open, and she stared weakly in their direction.

“This is Inspector Spratt,” continued Vinnie. “He’s friendly to bears, and he needs to ask you a few questions.”

She blinked twice and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“I know about the fourth bear,” began Jack. “I know that he was there in the cottage the morning Goldilocks came around, and whatever you think about him, you must know that he killed Goldilocks and attempted to have you and your husband murdered to keep you quiet. You don’t owe him a thing, and I need to know who he is and where I can find him.”

Ursula closed her eyes for a moment, and two tears welled up in her small brown eyes. She looked at Jack, then raised a wobbly claw and pointed it… at Vinnie.

“Oh, I get it now,” said Jack, jumping to his feet. “All the time you pretend to be on our side, but actually, while using the League of Ursidae as cover, you—”

But then he stopped, because Vinnie was pointing at Ursula. Her wavering claw was no longer directed at Vinnie; she was pointing it across the room to… baby bear.

“Oh, I get it now,” said Jack, turning to face the youngest Bruin. “Adopted when a cub, you grew resentful of your father’s authority and—”

“Jack,” said Vinnie in a kindly tone, “calm down. I think you’re suffering a temporary excess of resolutions.”

Jack took a deep breath to compose himself. Vinnie was right. And Ursula was pointing not at baby bear but at the bookcase behind him.

“She means a book,” muttered Vinnie, running across to the bookshelf and gathering up an armful of volumes, which he then proceeded to show to Ursula one by one. By the time they’d got to the third shelf, they’d found what she meant. It was the authorized biography of the Quangle-Wangle, and most households in Reading had a copy.

Jack opened it to the first page and sat on the bed to show Ursula the list of chapters. She indicated the appendix, Jack rapidly flicked to the back of the book, and Ursula pointed to a popular ballad that described in broadly lyrical terms the formation of the characters who came together to form the Quang’s business empire.

"‘The Quangle-Wangle’s Hat’? asked Jack, and Ursula nodded. She then closed her eyes and relaxed, her energy spent. Jack cleared his throat and read:

“On top of the Crumpetty tree, the Quangle-Wangle sat,

But his face you could not see, on account of his beaver hat.

For his hat was a hundred and two feet wide,

With ribbons and bibbons on every side,

And bells and buttons and loops and lace,

So no one could ever see the face

Of the Quangle-Wangle Quee.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” murmured Jack.

“Maybe it picks up further on,” suggested Vinnie.

“But there came to the Crumpetty tree,

Mr. and Mrs. Canary,

And they said, ‘Did ever you see

Any spot so charmingly airy?

May we build a nest on your lovely hat?

Mr. Quangle-Wangle, grant us that!

Oh, please let us come and build a nest

Of whatever material suits you best,

Mr. Quangle-Wangle Quee!’"

“I suppose that must refer to Mr. and Mrs. Canary who now run the Quang’s hotel chain in the Far East,” murmured Vinnie. “They were the first to join the Quangle-Wangle. Who arrived after them?”

“And the Golden Grouse came there,

And the Pobble who hast no toes,

And the Small Olympian Bear,

And the Dong with the Luminous Nose,

And the Blue Baboon who played the flute,

And the Orient Calf from the Land of Tute,

And the Attery-Squash and the Bisky-Batt,

All came and built on the lovely hat of the Quangle—”

Jack put the book down and looked up at Vinnie. "‘The Small Olympian Bear,’" he said in a quiet voice. “The SOB we can’t trust that Ed warned us about. Who is he?”

Vinnie shook his head. “I’d never thought he’d do something like that,” he said sadly, his tone tinged with anger, “after he had done so much and risen so high. Killing a friendly and ordering the Bruins’ death. He’ll never make it to the Perpetual Forest with those on his conscience.”

“I really don’t think he cares, Vinnie—who is he?”

“Nick,” he said slowly and with infinite sadness. “Nick… Demetrios.”

“Demetrios?” repeated Jack incredulously. “The head of NS-4? Danvers’s superior? A bear?”

Vinnie took the book out of Jack’s hands, flicked to the picture section in the middle and showed him a group portrait taken at the opening of QuangTech in the sixties. Standing between Pobble and Bisky-Batt was a short bear. While everyone in the photograph was smiling, the bear just glared sullenly into the camera.

“Demetrios,” said Vinnie, tapping the picture with a claw. “He’s slippery and ambitious and for many years has been the poster bear for what ursines can achieve, even in this human-dominated world. Ever wonder why no one gets to see the boss of NS-4? Well, now you know.”

This new piece of information whirled in Jack’s head. Demetrios—the fourth bear. He was in with QuangTech from the beginning and must have known all about McGuffin’s work with cuclear energy. As head of NS-4, he was best placed to guard the nascent technology—until Goldilocks got wind of it and was about to go public. If she did, then thermocuclear energy in the public domain would net Demetrios, Bisky-Batt and QuangTech the sum total of zip—the secret had to be protected at all costs.

Jack pulled out his phone and called Briggs. He needed to have him arrest Demetrios and then have some officers sent over to the Quangle-Wangle’s facility to do the same to Bisky-Batt and seize all the QuangTech files. But, unsurprisingly, Briggs didn’t quite see it that way.

“You’re certifiably insane,” he told Jack unkindly, “and the only thing I want to hear from you is that you’re surrendering. If you’re not out of the Bob Southey in an hour, we’re going to storm the building.”

“Can we make a deal?” Jack asked, ever hopeful.

“No,” replied Briggs.

Jack hung up and then dialed Mary.

“It’s Jack.”

“Is it true about Ash?” she asked. “That’s he’s… dead?”

"‘Deflated’ would be a better term. He was a true hero and saved us all, and he asked me to tell you that he would ‘pluck the stars from the sky for you.’"

There was a momentary silence from Mary. “Thanks, Jack, I appreciate it. He was a fine officer, and a good friend.”

“He was,” agreed Jack, adding in a more urgent tone, “But it’s not over yet. Mr. Demetrios is the fourth bear, and Briggs isn’t exactly pro-Spratt at present. What’s going on out there?”

“You were right,” she replied. “McGuffin was watching. I’m with him now, and he has the Alpha-Pickle he cut from Fuchsia’s champion. He’s confirmed that it’s the last vestige of the strain—without it, thermocuclear power is nothing more than unverifiable pseudoscience. McGuffin says it’s all got horribly out of hand, and although limitless free energy is a positive step, the idea that any nation that possesses an average-size greenhouse and a trowel can have a nuclear capability is a bit of a downer—despite the truly spectacular fireballs, which he says he’ll miss.”

Jack breathed a huge sigh of relief. “That’s fantastic news. With McGuffin in custody, we can convince Briggs of my innocence—and put Demetrios in the clink.”

“Not really,” said Mary. “You see, I found McGuffin and then NS-4 found me. Agent Danvers is holding us both—and she wants to speak to you.”

“Hello, Spratt?” said Agent Danvers with an unpleasant sneer as she came on the line. “I suggest you get over to SommeWorld as soon as possible. You want answers? You’ll get them there. Mary says good-bye.”

And the phone went dead.

“Bollocks!” muttered Jack. He snapped his phone shut and turned to Vinnie. “Bartholomew is to give himself up in twenty minutes.”

“And you?”

“I need to get to SommeWorld. Can you get me past the three hundred or so armed officers who are surrounding the building?”

Vinnie flashed him a smile.

“Do I shit in the woods?”