The Fourth Bear

“Sorry to disappoint,” said the Gingerbreadman with a smile, “but I allowed myself to be captured. Where would be the best place to lie low and await reactivation? On the run—or in a nuthouse? And when once again I need to rest between engagements, I’ll just allow myself to be recaptured. But shh. Don’t tell anyone—it’s our secret!”

“Isn’t he just the cutest thing ever?” murmured Demetrios in admiration. “I brought him out of retirement as a bit of misdirection when Goldilocks’s ‘silencing’ didn’t go according to plan. Who would want to look for a missing journalist when there’s a psychopath on the loose?”

“I would.”

Demetrios’s face fell, and he stuck his snout close to Jack’s. His breath smelled terrible, and his teeth were in a bad state.

“Yes, I should have known better. If those dratted bears hadn’t come back from their walk in the forest early, they would never even have seen Goldilocks, and all this would have been a lot easier.”

“And Ursula?”

“Ah, yes,” he said with a smile, “dear Ursula. Best porridge chef there was. As for her and me, what’s the point of being the supreme dominant male bear if you can’t abuse it a bit? Ed was going to blow the whistle on me, and Ursula… well, she might have blabbed, so I had to order her death, too. But none of that matters now.”

“What about me?” asked Jack.

“You? No one ever found out what became of you. That should sell at least twenty more copies of Conspiracy Theorist, wouldn’t you say?”

Jack stared at him vacantly. There didn’t seem a lot to add. He couldn’t budge an inch in the iron grip of the Gingerbreadman, who he could feel breathing hot, sugary ginger breath down his neck.

“Justice will prevail, Demetrios.”

Mr. Demetrios chuckled and shook his head sadly. "‘Justice will prevail.’ Where do you policemen get your clichés? I am the director-general of the country’s national security service. ‘Justice’ is a purely relative term in the boardroom where I work. Bisky-Batt will take the rap for the Ginja, and you’ll take the rap for Bisky-Batt. Without you around I have complete deniability—and I have the Alpha-Pickle and McGuffin. As soon as the dust has settled, QuangTech will begin experiments in thermocuclear power. I may use it for domestic energy purposes or as a weapons system. I haven’t yet decided. Maybe both. The sunbeams locked inside cucumbers will lead Britain’s economy into the third millennium and beyond, and at the head of the power revolution will be… myself. This isn’t just a technology, Jack, it’s the savior of the planet. They will raise statues to me in years to come as ‘The Bear Who Changed the World.’ The name Demetrios will forever be associated with clean air and an optimistic future. And one thing is for certain: I will make an obscenely large pile of cash. They’ll have to invent a new word for it—‘rich’ just won’t do it justice.”

“The technology belongs to all mankind,” replied Jack, wincing in pain from the Gingerbreadman’s overzealous grip, “not to QuangTech and certainly not to—ah!—you.”

“Do you know,” said Mr. Demetrios slowly, “that’s exactly what Goldilocks and McGuffin said. Personally, I don’t see it that way. But don’t worry, I’ll use the cash to help bears. Or at least one bear in particular—me. The rest can go screw themselves.”

“Can I kill him now?” asked the Gingerbreadman, who was getting bored and fast becoming a cookie of action rather than words.

“Why not?” replied the small bear.

“Do you think he’ll merely let you go?” said Jack to the Gingerbreadman, hoping to drive a wedge between them. “You’ll be disposed of just like all the others.”

“A Ginja fears nothing except the failure to do his duty,” said the assassin simply. “Demetrios is my master; I do his bidding. All other factors are secondary.”

“Didn’t I tell you he was the best thing ever?” repeated Demetrios. “He’s the cub I never had.”

He clapped his paws together.

“Well, that’s us done here, Spratt. I’ve got some unfinished business with a colleague of yours. Without anyone left in the NCD to explain the complexities of this case firsthand, I rather think my future is assured—wouldn’t you agree?”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“There you go with your clichés again. And you’re wrong—I rather think I just have.” Demetrios looked at his watch and patted the Gingerbreadman on the arm. “I’m off now, my faithful Ginja. Make sure no one discovers so much as an atom of his body. Are you going to kill him now or are you going to play with him for a while?”

The Gingerbreadman raised an eyebrow and looked at Jack thoughtfully. “Since he has survived an unprecedented three encounters with me,” began the assassin thoughtfully, “I should like to test him ‘to destruction’ so to speak.”

“Of course,” replied the small bear gleefully. “And to make the fiction complete, be sure he leaves some prints on this, would you?”

He handed his revolver to the the Gingerbreadman and, without another word, departed.