by Karla Forbes
Nick looked at her with new admiration. “Adversity reveals the genius of a general; good fortune conceals it.”
“What?”
“It’s a quote from Horace, a Latin poet. He meant that it’s only when times are hard that people show their real strengths.”
Annelies pulled a face. “Whenever people agree with me I always feel I must be wrong – Oscar Wilde, an Irish poet. Although you probably knew that.” She sat back in the chair, crossing her arms in a confrontational attitude. “Now, Nick Sullivan, would you mind telling me why my brother thought you were blackmailing him?”
The abrupt change of subject threw him off balance and he hesitated, searching around for an easy lie. But she had clearly realised his intentions, and twisted her mouth into a tight line that challenged him to push his luck. He quickly reassessed the situation and decided on the truth.
“It was a few years ago.” He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We’d both graduated from university. I’d just started my first job in the City, and Ed had been accepted for a fast-track career in the police force. He turned up at my place one night, upset and stinking of booze. It was about two in the morning and he was hammering on the door, waking up half the street. He and a mate had gone out celebrating, and they’d got drunk and nicked a mate’s car for a laugh.” Nick heard Annelies’s sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t interrupt. “The inevitable happened: they crashed the car. Ed was OK, but his friend was trapped in the wreckage. Ed panicked and ran off, leaving him there.”
“My God!” she said, genuinely shaken. “I had no idea.”
“No one ever did,” Nick said quietly.
“So why did Ed go to you?”
Nick stared at the opposite wall as though reliving events of that night. “He wanted an alibi, but I was more concerned about the fact that he’d run away leaving his friend behind. I thought Ed might end up being done for manslaughter, so I drove back to the crash site. The police were already on the scene, taking care of everything. So I slipped away.”
“What happened next?” Annelies asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Several people told the police that they had seen a man running away from the wreckage and as Ed was a friend, they interviewed him along with several others.”
“And?”
“I gave him his alibi. I said that we had been out together all evening, and the police accepted it. They never bothered him again.”
“I don’t know what’s more unbelievable,” Annelies said, sounding genuinely stunned, “the fact that Ed stole a car and ran off leaving someone injured, or that you lied for him.”
Nick shot her a brief sideways glance. “Ed and I were mates. We went back a long way. What would you have done? Dropped him in it? I had to make a quick decision – either help him or turn my back on him – and once I’d made that decision and given him his alibi, I was as implicated as he was. It was too late to retract it even if I’d wanted to.”
Annelies whistled quietly under her breath. “I know Ed can be self-centred sometimes, but even by his standards that was a rotten thing to do.”
“Don’t judge him too harshly,” Nick urged her. “He was young and stupid, but he wasn’t bad. He would have kissed goodbye to his career in the police force, and we both know that was all he ever wanted.”
She gave Nick a thoughtful look. “And you, Nick? Did you only ever want to be an investment manager?”
He laughed with derision. “Hardly! I just fell into it. The trouble is that I was good at my job and I made a load of money.”
“Trouble?” she said, her expression cynical. “A lot of people would like to have trouble like that.”
Nick shrugged self-deprecatingly. “True. But the problem with making money is that you never know when you’ve made enough and it’s time to move on and do something different.”
“Trapped by success, you mean?”
“In a way, yes.”
She gave him a businesslike tap on the arm. “As you’ve now hit rock bottom, I’d say that that particular little conundrum has disappeared, wouldn’t you?”
Nick flinched at her words.
“Come on,” Annelies said, more seriously. “We’ve got to decide our next move. Have you got a plan?”
“We?” he repeated, guardedly. “This is my problem, not yours.”
She pulled her mouth into the tight line that Nick was beginning to recognise.
“It became my problem the moment I decided to help you.”
“Which is why I didn’t want you to get involved.”
Annelies rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Stop worrying, will you? I want something to do. I sit here day after day banging out code on that thing.” She gestured with irritation towards a computer that was sitting in the corner of the living room. “Sometimes I hardly speak to another soul. Working from home seemed a good idea at the time, but I miss out on the social interaction of going out to work. And since Steve and I split, I’ve been… well… lonely.”
Nick expression softened. “I didn’t realise. You should have said.”
“I’ve been foisting myself on Ed instead, kidding myself that he can’t manage without me since his divorce, but the truth is that I’m doing it for me. I’ve discovered that I’m not that keen on my own company, so you’ve got my help whether you like it or not.”
Nick grinned in surrender. “Put like that, how can I refuse?”
“So, as I was saying, what’s your plan? I assume you’ve got one? Or are we just going to wander around the streets looking for three men who fit the description?”
“It’s not much of a plan,” Nick admitted. “No more than a vague idea really.”
“Which is?”
Nick sat forward, eager to put his theory into words. “These three men didn’t ring true in any way. They didn’t know anything about their boat, and although they had some reasonably good scuba diving equipment, the one who called himself Harris didn’t know that the waters around there weren’t good dive sites.”
“Which means…?”
“I’ve had a couple of days to think about this. The only thing I can come up with is that they had only just bought the boat, specifically to go diving in that area.”
Annelies considered. “Searching for something in particular, you mean?”
“Maybe. Who knows?”
“But they would have to know something about sailing and scuba diving. You can’t just buy a boat, take it out to sea and throw yourself overboard. Not if you want to live, anyway.”
“You’d be surprised,” Nick said. “Anyone can buy a boat and get the hang of it quite fast. In fact, so many people nowadays have got the money and fancy the idea of sailing that’s it’s easier to buy the boat than find a berth. You’re partially right about the scuba diving, but it’s easy enough to take a PADI course and learn the basics. It doesn’t make you an expert, and you’d be a fool to go scuba diving on your own without the back up of a club, but since when has there been a law against stupidity?”
“So are you saying that we can track these men down simply by finding out the names of everyone who has recently taken a PADI course?” Annelies sounded sceptical.
Nick shook his head. “No, I’m not saying that. We’ve got no way of knowing when they took the course, or even if all three of them did. Perhaps only one of them knew anything about diving, and for all we know he could have learnt years ago.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that they if they bought the boat recently to go diving in that specific area, then it might be possible to trace them through the sale of the boat.”
“Go on.”
“Unless it was sold privately without actually being advertised, then it’s either going to turn up in the ad section of yachting magazines – and there aren’t many of them in circulation – or on specialist sales web sites. I can remember every detail of that damned boat, so if it’s there, I’ll find it.”
; “But that could take forever!” Annelies groaned.
Nick gave a dismissive shrug. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”
Her silence told him that she hadn’t.
“In that case,” Nick said, “tell me when it’s convenient to use the computer and I’ll get started.”
“You can use my old laptop,” she told him. I’ll give you a hand just as soon as I’ve finished what I’m doing. I’ve promised my client the finished assignment by tomorrow. Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll help out just as soon as I get the chance.”
Nick threw her a smile of gratitude. “It’s a Searay 270 Sundancer, built around the mid-90s, and in a bad state of repair. It has one petrol engine, in poor condition as it turned out, although I doubt that the seller would be admitting to that, and it’s called THE ISADORA.”
“Approximate price?” Annelies asked.
Nick thought about it. “Usually you’d be looking at around twenty-five thousand, but it was in a bad state. I’ll start the search from ten to fifteen thousand and see what turns up.”
Annelies sprang to her feet to switch the laptop on but stopped and turned back to Nick. “If you find these men,” she asked, “what’ll be your next move?”
“I’m not looking that far ahead,” Nick admitted.
But the truth was that at this stage, he had no idea.
***
Dave Wilson, known to Nick as John Harris, advanced on the suitcase and regarded it critically from several angles. He was focused and intent, his expression bordering on reverence. So absorbed was he in his deliberations that he barely noticed the sweat trickling down his forehead and dripping onto the rotting leather.
Malcolm Fox watched proceedings with evident distaste. “That stuff gives me the creeps,” he said, with an involuntary shudder.
“Then clear off,” Wilson told him. “You’re not helping by hanging around, so you might as well rustle up something to eat.”
“If you think I’m turning my back on that, you’ve got another think coming,” Fox said, sourly. “I want to know if it starts…doing anything.”
“Doing anything?” Wilson repeated mockingly. “What the hell do you think it’s going to do? Crawl out of the suitcase and grab you by the balls?”
“You know what I mean,” Fox said. “Decaying, or whatever it does.”
“It won’t suddenly start decaying, because it’s never actually stopped.” Wilson’s patience was wearing thin.
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“I don’t care how you feel,” Wilson snapped. “I just want some peace. I realise that the science is beyond you, but I’d appreciate you shutting up and letting me get on with my job.”
He glared at the other man and was greeted by a sullen scowl but no further comment. With exaggerated care, he turned his back, took a knife in his left hand and began to cut open the barnacle-infested suitcase. Even though the knife was razor-sharp, it was still heavy going. As he worked, he glanced up at the German, who was standing to one side watching with detached interest.
“This must be a strange experience for you, knowing that the last person who touched this was your old man.”
Hubner raised an eyebrow. “Old man?”
“Your father.”
“My father was a fool,” Hubner sneered dismissively.
“Someone must have thought differently to have trusted him with this.” Wilson gestured to the misshapen lump of rotting leather he was handling.
“Nevertheless, he was a fool,” Hubner said. “He had a privileged life: power, status, access to western goods, freedom to travel – but it wasn’t enough for him. He was a vicious, greedy bastard who debased himself by carrying out errands for his Russian paymasters, and I only remember being relieved when he went away one day and never came back.”
“Do I detect bitterness?” Wilson asked.
“Just leave it,” Hubner ordered. “It’s not important.”
Wilson fell silent, and Hubner turned and stared out of the window. A fresh wind was picking up and chasing dark clouds across the sky. It looked like rain.
“What does it matter after all these years?” he asked, his tone bored.
“It doesn’t,” Wilson conceded. “I was just interested.”
Hubner fished a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one in a cupped hand. As he discarded the match, he seemed to come to a decision.
“It wasn’t easy living in the East after reunification,” he explained. “Everyone knew that my father had been STASI. Das Bild published a list of every known party member, professing outrage and taking the moral high ground as though the West was so innocent. My mother and I were…what is the word? Ostracised. People who had previously treated us with respect found that they could spit on the ground as we walked past. Suddenly they were all so brave.”
“So you came to England and left your mother to cope alone,” Fox said, with a sneer.
“She could have come with me,” Hubner threw back. “It was her choice to stay. After more than forty years the borders were finally open once again, and what did she do? Nothing. She dug in her heels and announced that she was too old to start a new life elsewhere. Well, I wasn’t.”
“But you went back for her funeral,” Wilson said, puzzled.
“Good job I did; otherwise I wouldn’t have gone through my father’s private diaries and found out about this.” Hubner jabbed a finger towards the suitcase.
“He must have been crazy to leave written evidence lying about.” Wilson shook his head with disbelief.
“Crazy? No, just careful. He recorded everything that he thought he could make use of. He probably hoped it would provide him with insurance, something he could use to interest the West if the Communist authorities turned against him.”
“It’s one thing knowing he took the suitcase on board,” Fox ventured, “but how did you know where we could find it? There’s a lot of water out there.”
Hubner considered the question through a cloud of smoke that was drifting lazily towards the ceiling. “It wasn’t difficult. I knew he had died trying to take it to Britain. It was easy enough to search the public records for any shipping accidents that took place in 1979 involving German vessels. There was only the one.”
“Do you know what your old man was going to do with it?” Wilson asked. “I can’t believe the Commies were really going to start World War Three.”
Hubner followed Wilson’s gaze that was fixed on the suitcase. “Who knows?” he said. “Once they had learnt how to make a portable nuclear device, they were determined to use it before their enemies did. Most likely they were smuggled into the West and handed over to sleepers, for activation should war become a reality.”
“You mean there’s more of this shit out there?” Fox asked, alarmed.
“Undoubtedly,” Hubner told him. “It’s just our good luck that this one went down with the ship before it could reach its destination. Otherwise, it would have gone underground with all the others and never been seen again.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Wilson said with feeling, “but what made you go back for your mother’s funeral anyway? She was dead. She wouldn’t have known any different.”
Hubner drew on his cigarette as he considered the question. “I wanted to show her scum neighbours that I didn’t care; that I was above their pathetic hatred.”
“Except that you found they had all done very nicely in the meantime and were driving Mercedes and leafing through holiday brochures.”
Hubner inhaled deeply, more in anger it seemed, than enjoyment. “Yes, but only because the West was stupid enough to pour so much money and resources into the East that they bankrupted the whole country in the process. What I have, I’ve got by my own efforts. I’m proud of that.”
“You’ll be a whole lot prouder when you’ve got your share of sixty million quid,” Fox said with a satisfied grin.
Hubner turned to him, his expres
sion cold. “’When’ and ‘if‘ are the same words in German. You should remember that. We still have a lot to do before the money is ours.”
“But we will get it,” Fox said, more as though to reassure himself. “The government won’t have any choice.”
“They might decide to call our bluff.” Wilson paused in his work to stretch his back.
Fox gave a sneer of disbelief. “They can’t do that…can they?” He looked uncertainly from one to the other. “I mean… plutonium… that’s hard shit.”
“Actually,” Wilson said, “it isn’t. That’s what I keep telling you. Its only real danger is from radiation. Cyanide is five times more toxic, and distributing plutonium in the atmosphere is less dangerous to the individual than smoking a packet of cigarettes.”
Fox glanced involuntarily at Hubner’s cloud of smoke. “So we threaten to put it in the public water supply.”
“No point. Plutonium is heavy. Most of it would sink into the sediment. You’d never be able to drink enough of it to have any effect.”
“Then why the hell are we doing this?” Fox asked angrily.
“We’ll be banking on the government not being able to ignore the psychological and financial threat,” Wilson explained. “People are terrified of plutonium. There’ll be mass panic, followed by an exodus from the affected areas. The financial implications will be huge even before they start on the cost of cleaning up. If they’ve got any sense, they’ll get their heads together, decide that sixty million quid is cheap at the price, and pay up.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we go ahead as planned and make the bastards regret a bad decision,” Hubner said, answering for Wilson. The expression on his face left the other two in no doubt that he meant every word.
Fox jabbed a finger towards the suitcase. “I still don’t understand. That shit’s either dangerous or it’s not. If it’s not, why do people bother wearing special gear when they’re handling it?”
