There was still one half of the story entirely unsolved. The British half. The story hadn’t finished. It had just shifted.

From feeling happy and contented, Rob was now tensed and hungry again. Pumped for action. Ready for the next instalment. More than ready: he was worried that something might happen when he wasn’t around. He needed to fly back to England as fast as he could. Maybe he could get a new flight via Istanbul. Maybe he could hire a plane…

Rob felt the prickle of a new anxiety.

36

Forrester and Boijer were staring at the River Styx.

‘I remember this from school,’ said Boijer. ‘The River Styx is the river surrounding the underworld. We have to cross it, to get to the land of ghosts.’

Forrester peered into the dank and subterranean gloom. The River Styx was not very wide, but it was vigorous: it tumbled along its ancient channel, then turned a rocky corner and disappeared further into the caves and caverns. It was a suitable spot to forsake this earthly life. The only jarring note was the old packet of Kettle Chips on the opposite shore.

‘Course,’ the guide broke in, ‘the River Styx is just a name they gave it. Actually it’s an artificial river, constructed by the 2nd Baronet, Francis Dashwood, when they were converting the caves. Though there are lots of real rivers and aquifers in these chalk and flint cave systems. It’s an endless labyrinth.’

The guide, Kevin Bigglestone, smoothed back his floppy brown hair, and smiled at the policemen. ’Shall I show you the rest?

‘Lead on.’

Bigglestone began his guided tour of the Hellfire Caves, six miles from the Dashwood Estate at West Wycombe. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘here we are.’

He lifted his umbrella as if he was leading a tour group. Boijer sniggered; Forrester shot his junior a warning glance: they needed this guy. They needed the cooperation of everyone in West Wycombe, if their plan was to work.

‘So,’ said Bigglestone, his podgy face barely visible in the darkness of the caves. ‘What do we know of the eighteenth century Hellfire Club? Why did they meet here? In these cold and clammy caverns? During the sixteenth century various secret societies arose in Europe, such as the Rosicrucians. All of them were committed to freethinking, to occult lore, to investigating the mysteries of belief. By the eighteenth century élite members of these societies were seized by the idea that evidence could be found in the Holy Land, texts and materials which undermined the historical and theological basis of Christianity. Maybe of all the major creeds.’ The guide lifted his umbrella again. ‘Of course, it was wishful thinking, in an age of anti-clericalism and revolutionary secularism. But these legends and traditions were enough to tantalize some very rich men…’ He walked to the bridge that crossed the Styx and turned. ‘Certain maverick members of the English aristocracy were particularly intrigued by these rumours. One of them, the 2nd Baron Le Despencer, Sir Francis Dashwood, actually travelled across Turkey in the eighteenth century in search of the truth. When he came back he was so inspired by what he found that he established first the Divan Club, and then the Hellfire Club. And one of the raisons d’être of the Hellfire Club was contempt and refutation of established faith.’

Forrester interrupted. ‘How do we know this?’

‘There are plentiful clues, in this area, that reveal Dashwood’s disdain for orthodox faith. For instance, he adopted the motto “Fay ce que voudras”, or “Do as you wish”. This was taken from Rabelais, a great satirist of the church. The motto was later co-opted by the diabolist Aleister Crowley in the twentieth century and is now commonly used by Satanists across the world. Dashwood had this motto inscribed over the archway at the entrance of Medmenham Abbey, a ruined abbey, near here, that he rented for parties.’

‘That’s right sir,’ said Boijer, looking at Forrester. ’I saw it. This morning.’

Bigglestone invited them to follow, still giving them his guided tour speech. ‘In 1752 Dashwood made another eastern journey, this time to Italy. The trip was made in secret: no one is sure where he went. One theory is that he went to Venice, to buy books about magic. Other experts believe he may have visited Naples, to see the excavations of a Roman brothel.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Dashwood was a highly libidinous man, Detective Forrester! In the gardens at West Wycombe is a statue of Priapus, the Greek god who suffers a constant erection.’

Boijer laughed. ‘Gotta cut down on the Viagra.’

Bigglestone ignored the interruption. ‘Underneath the statue to Priapus Dashwood had his sculptor engrave Peni Tento Non Penitenti. That is to say: “A tense penis, not penitence”, confirming, you see, Detective Forrester, his outright rejection of Christianity. Of religious morality.’ They were walking quickly down the main cavern now. Bigglestone jabbed at the clammy air with his umbrella, as if he was fending off a footpad. ‘See here. According to Horace Walpole, these smaller caves were fitted with beds so the brothers could have their sport with young women. Sex parties were common in the caves in Dashwood’s time. As were drinking parties. We also hear rumours of devil-worship, group masturbation and so forth.’

They had emerged into a larger cave, this time carved into Gothic and religious shapes: a faintly mocking version of a church.

The guide pointed the umbrella high. ‘Right above us is the church of St Lawrence, built by the same Francis Dashwood. The church ceiling is a precise facsimile of the ceiling in the ruined Temple of the Sun at Palmyra, in Syria. Francis Dashwood was not only influenced by the ancient mysteries but also by the ancient sun cults. But what did he really believe? A matter of dispute. Some assert that his political and spiritual vision can be summed up thusly: that Britain should be ruled by an élite; and that this noble élite should practice a pagan religion.’ He smiled. ‘And yet, allied to these views was a definite tendency to libertinism: drunken orgies, abusive blasphemy, and so forth. All of which begs the question. What was the true rationale for the Club?’

‘What do you think?’ Forrester asked.

‘You ask that question as if you expect a succinct answer! I’m afraid that’s impossible, Detective. All we know is that, in its heyday, the Hellfire Club numbered the most prominent figures of British society amongst its members. Indeed by 1762, the Friars of Medmenham, as they called themselves, dominated the highest circles of the British government, and thus the nascent British Empire.’ Bigglestone began the walk back through the higher caves to the car park; explaining as he went. ‘In 1762 the existence of the club was finally made public. It was revealed that the Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, plus various lords, nobles, and Cabinet ministers, were all members. This revelation meant that the Hellfire Club became a byword for aristocratic wickedness and lubricious exclusivity.’ Bigglestone chuckled. ‘Following this scandal, many of the most famous members, like Walpole, Wilkes, Hogarth and Benjamin Franklin, decided to quit. The very last meeting of the club was convened in 1774.’

They were in the narrow rock corridor that led from the cave system to the entrance and the ticket office; the walls were close and dripping wet.

‘From this point the Hellfire caves entered centuries of neglect, but they remained a poignant and sometimes troubling memory. But they are unlikely to ever reveal their final secret-because the club members took pains to bury their mysteries with their own corpses. It is said that the last steward of the Order, Paul Whitehead, spent the three days before his death burning all relevant papers. So, what really went on inside the caves is a question whose answer may only be found…in the fires of hell!’