“You don’t look well, Bruce. Have you seen a doctor yet?” Lynes queried solicitously.
“It’s nothing,” Foley replied, “just a bit under the weather, that’s all.”
Foley stared at the vacant monitor screen as though weighing up his options. Just a small slip-up would make Lynes suspicious. Something indeterminate had been found on his left kidney while having a full body-imaging scan offered by a private company. Worried it could affect his army career, he had taken some overdue leave and booked into a Harley Street clinic for some tests. The bile of anxiety and fear melted away when the consultant telephoned him with the results.
“There’s absolutely nothing to worry about,” he assured him. “The biopsy shows it’s benign familial hematuria. A small minority sometimes develop hypertension, but it’s highly unlikely. Rest assured that your army career is safe.”
A week later, Foley was summoned to his squadron headquarters in Wales, without explanation. Filled with apprehension, he marched towards the building, his guts churning like a cement mixer.
“Captain Foley,” the young soldier announced.
Colonel Bradstock gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. Foley sat down warily, eyeing the muscular man in the dark business suit leaning against the wall. Bradstock sat on a swivel chair behind his desk, swinging slowly from side to side.
“It seems, Captain Foley, that you’re friendly with a certain Colin Lynes who works with you in GCHQ.” Bradstock leaned back and stared hard at him. “How did you become friendly?”
“We play chess together at his house.” Foley felt a momentary flutter of anxiety. Why had they been watching him? Bradstock glanced at the dark-suited man. Finally, he said,
“Gilbert works with MI6. It’s not his real name of course. We’ve had Lynes under surveillance for quite some time. He’s good at his job, both of them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“As a cryptographer and as a ‘sleeper’. Initially, he was planted by the Russian Security Services. However, his allegiance is somewhat questionable. He was also recruited by a man known only as the Generalissimo. We don’t know his real identity yet, but there are a number of possibilities.”
Gilbert moved from his position near the wall and perched on the edge of Bradstock’s desk.
“We know all about your visits to Harley Street,” he said.
Foley sagged in his chair. “So much for confidential medical records.”
“We’re dealing with national security, Foley,” Bradstock interjected.
“You seem to have gained a modicum of trust with Lynes,” Gilbert continued. “We have our own game in mind. We’d like you to go on playing chess with him. His job is intercepting Russian traffic, but he hasn’t got access to top-secret documents. That’s where you come in. You’re in a position where you’re handling very sensitive information. Sooner or later, Lynes will take the bait.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He will.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gloucestershire, England, April 2016
Foley glanced around the sitting room, wondering if it had been bugged. It had been six weeks since he had set the trap for Lynes. From then on, it had been relatively easy. Heart thudding in his chest, he dropped his head into his hands, almost knocking over the chess pieces.
“You okay, Bruce? What did the consultant say?”
“It’s my left kidney. It’s completely shot. The right one isn’t functioning properly either. The prognosis isn’t good.” Foley shuffled uncomfortably. “I’ll eventually need dialysis until a donor kidney becomes available. Donors are scarce. What am I to do, Colin?” Voice cracking with emotion, he stared down at his trembling hands. “My army career is finished.”
Lynes patted his knee sympathetically. Foley was getting worse. It was time to show his hand.
“It could be years before they find a suitable donor for you, Bruce.” He hedged slightly before continuing. “I’ve heard that you can buy organs on the Internet. Of course there are other ways besides money. There are people who would acquire what you need for… information.” He hesitated, studying Foley’s face.
“What kind of information?” Foley asked cautiously.
“You work in GCHQ… ” Lynes’s voice tailed off.
“What are you suggesting? I give you top-secret information in exchange for a kidney? Damn you, Colin. I’m no traitor! ”
Furiously, he marched to the door and slammed out. Lynes sat back in his chair and leisurely lit one of the strong Camel cigarettes he favoured. A habit he had acquired in America in the eighties. He’ll be back, he thought. Sooner or later he’ll be back.
*
Lynes drew back the net curtains and peered out. He usually enjoyed his Saturday afternoons watching sport on satellite television. It was the one thing he liked about this decadent country. Much as he hated to admit it, he had missed his weekends with Foley, but there was no room for sentiment. Today, he would come ready to negotiate. He stared through the window at the unrelenting weather.
A watery sun hovered briefly between dark clouds illuminating glistening needles of rain. Wind moaned through the rooftops rustling the leaves on the scrappy street trees. The pavements were dark and slick. Fast-flowing water flooded the gutters sending cigarette packets, lollipop sticks and other detritus swirling towards the drain at the end of the street.
He squinted down the road at Foley’s hunched figure bent under a large, black umbrella. He had to tread carefully. He didn’t want to scare him off before he gained valuable intelligence.
“I’ve been in touch with my contacts,” Lynes said, taking Foley’s wet coat. “The information you’ve provided is not enough. They want specifics. Blueprints of the technology you’ve been working on for cyber security.”
“But it’s highly classified. I don’t have access to that kind of information,” Foley blurted angrily.
“Do you want to die?” Lynes asked harshly. Foley’s shoulders sagged. He seemed too weak and depressed to argue with him. “As soon as you hand over the information you’ll be flown to Switzerland. You’ll be contacted at your hotel and taken to a clinic in the Alps.”
“I’m not handing over the final papers until I reach the clinic. That’s not negotiable!”
Lynes was ecstatic. A flutter of excitement surged in his chest. Foley smiled inwardly; the ‘sleeper’ had taken the bait.
CHAPTER NINE
Bernese Oberland, Switzerland, July 2016
Foley had been in Interlaken for two days waiting for his contact, a man called Joseph. Half-heartedly he prodded the grilled fish on his plate. He would have preferred a juicy steak and a pile of French fries, but he was supposed to be a sick man. Glancing into the mirror on the opposite wall, he stared at his reflection. They had done a good job with the make-up. His face looked gaunt and sallow. Dark shadows under his eyes clouded the usual bright blue. An attractive woman dining alone smiled at him from across the room. Briefly, he returned the gesture then stared into his plate. A woman was the last thing on his mind.
After he had finished his lunch he went into the bar. He ordered a bottle of Evian water and sat in a corner at the back of the room where he could view the entrance. On the table next to him, a florid-faced man conversed loudly with a delicate-looking woman. He grinned at Foley and thrust out a huge paw.
“Ethan Bateman,” he introduced himself, “and this is my wife, Ellie. You’re English?” Foley nodded. “London is our next port of call then home to the good old US of A.”
Bateman wasn’t his contact. What if something had gone wrong? Cold sweat beaded his forehead. Suddenly he was overcome by nausea.
“What’s the problem, son? You look mighty jittery,” the big Texan boomed. “Let me get you a drink.” He motioned to the waiter.
“Not for me. I don’t drink alcohol. I’ll just have some water.”
“Well, we’re set for a nap,” he said yawning expansively. “Enjoy your afternoon.�
��
Turning at the bar entrance, he waved at Foley then disappeared in the direction of the lifts.
Foley shifted in his seat, his long fingers devil-drumming on the table. Nervously, he glanced up every time someone pushed through the doors. Lynes had told him he would be contacted within forty-eight hours. It must be today.
He was about to return to his room when a bearded man sauntered over from the bar counter and sat down at a table next to him. As he did so, he accidentally bumped into Foley’s table, spilling his drink.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologised. “I’ll get a waiter to clear up the mess and order you another drink.” As he leaned over to pick up a sodden beer mat, he whispered, “Meet me outside in ten minutes”
Foley’s mouth went dry. He had to play along until they got to the clinic. He returned to his room, grabbed his overnight bag, and hurried outside. Joseph was waiting beside a black off-road vehicle.
“Get in!”
After leaving the main highway they headed up a rough road until it narrowed into a trail. The 4 x 4 suddenly slewed to a halt. Joseph ordered Foley out and disappeared behind a cluster of boulders, re-emerging with a motorcycle.
“Ride pillion,” he ordered.
There were still quite a lot of walkers about negotiating the trail. They turned to watch the motorcycle labouring up the steep incline.
“This can’t be the way to the clinic!” Foley shouted over the roar of the engine.
Joseph didn’t respond. Bumping over stones, they climbed higher until they were out of sight of the walkers. Twice they were almost thrown off after sliding on loose shale. Suddenly, they careered to a stop. Before Foley knew what was happening, Joseph yanked him off the bike. Roughly, he pushed him towards the edge of the path that fell away to the valley floor. Foley struggled, flailing vacant air, trying to find purchase on the crumbling edge. Joseph pinned him in a vice-like grip, arching his body backwards over the chasm.
“Give me the microchip!”
Suddenly, voices drifted down from the path directly above them. Without warning Joseph released him, jumped on the motorcycle and roared away. Foley fell forward onto his hands and knees. A man’s voice shouted,
“Are you insane? Get away from the edge, you fool!”
Two walkers came hurrying down the path. They grabbed him and pulled him to safety. Trembling from the exertion of his struggle, Foley sank to the ground.
“What happened here?” one of the men asked, watching the motorcycle zigzagging up the trail.
“That maniac almost knocked me down,” Foley lied. Together the two men helped him to his feet. “Thanks, but I’m okay now.”
“If you’re sure, but don’t venture any higher. The trail fans out up there. It’s easy to get lost in the mountains.” He pointed towards the route Joseph had taken. “He’ll have to come back down this track. There’s nowhere else for him to go. The left fork is impassable except on foot. An avalanche has buried the other trail.”
As soon as they disappeared from sight Foley set off. As he climbed higher the path became more and more difficult to negotiate. There was no sound of an engine; nothing except the distant tinkle of a cowbell and the buzzing of insects. There was no sign of Joseph coming back down. Taking a folding walking stick from his rucksack, he unscrewed the metal end to reveal a powerful telescope. Squatting behind a boulder, he scanned the terrain above him.
In the distance he made out the avalanche the walkers had described. It seemed to spill out from below an outcrop of rock. He climbed higher, attuned to every sound and sudden movement until he hit the scattered rocks. The avalanche was more extensive close up. Huge rocks and loose shale spewed over a hundred metres across. Here and there grass and coarse shrubs had pushed their way through the rubble. Screwing up his eyes against the glare, he peered up at the gleaming white peaks of the Alps. Following the direction of the cascade of detritus above the timberline, he saw it had started just below a grass-covered overhang between the rocks. Half walking, half crawling, he climbed up the steep river of boulders until he was almost under the overhang.
Feet slipping treacherously on loose stones, he picked his way up the last few metres until he was directly underneath a sheer expanse of rock. He squatted until he got his breath back and took stock of the situation. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him: a distinct humming sound. At the same time the butt of a gun crashed down onto his head.
CHAPTER TEN
Generalissimo’s HQ, Swiss Alps, July 2016
When he regained consciousness, he found himself lying on a stone floor. Bright light flooded the room, bouncing off his eyeballs. Someone pulled him to his feet and dragged him to a chair. Gingerly, he touched the bump on his head as the room swam into focus. A tall, slim man stood silhouetted against the light flanked by two black-clad figures wearing balaclavas. The uniform didn’t disguise the fact that one of them was a woman.
Foley shook his head, trying to clear the fog in his brain. There was something distinctly odd about the man’s face; the curious twist of the mouth when he spoke. The man bent over him, his prosthetic mask smiling a hideous smile.
“Now, hand over the microchip. No chip, no surgery.”
Foley dragged himself to his feet. He had to play along, buy some time.
“It makes no difference. My doctor says I’ve been very lucky. I don’t need an operation now. My other kidney is functioning perfectly.”
The eyes behind the mask bored into Foley. “Then why did you come to Switzerland?”
“Money, the information I have is worth millions, but I’m not a greedy man,” Foley smiled slyly. “I’ll settle for a million … in sterling.”
Suddenly, the man wearing the balaclava grabbed Foley from behind and clamped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. Systematically, he searched him from head to toe then emptied the contents of his haversack over the floor. The false microchip had been carefully hidden inside Foley’s folding telescope. Gilbert didn’t want it to look too inexpertly concealed in case it aroused their suspicions.
He closed his eyes, willing them to find it. The woman picked up the instrument and smashed it against the steel frame of the door. With a soft, plopping sound the microchip dropped on the floor. Triumphantly, she picked it up and handed it to the man in the prosthetic mask.
“What about my money?” Foley whined.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get what you deserve, Mr Foley.”
They marched him down the stone-walled corridor and stopped outside a lift. Foley looked at the red numbers on the control panel. They descended two levels in mere seconds. The doors slid back to reveal a harshly lit anteroom.
An antiseptic smell pervaded the air. Fear hit him like a jackhammer when he saw the syringe. He kicked out, struggling to free himself, but they just laughed. Dark eyes gleamed malevolently through the slit-holes in the mask. He felt the sharp prick of a needle on his arm. Suddenly, his legs buckled underneath him. He was being lifted onto a bed. Everything seemed hazy and unreal. The woman pulled off her mask and smiled down at him as he plunged into oblivion.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Interlaken, Bernese Oberland, July 2016
A woman looked on with disgust as the smartly-dressed man and woman helped Foley through the swing doors of the hotel.
“Please excuse us. A little worse for wear after the party last night,” the man apologised.
Holding Foley upright, they dragged him along, leaving damp skid marks on the red carpet.
Ethan Bateman called across the foyer.
“Ya seemed to have had a mighty good time last night, son.”
Foley tried to speak, his lips moving soundlessly below his glassy eyes. When they reached his room they manhandled him inside, stripped him and covered him with the duvet.
“Sweet dreams, Mr Foley,” the girl said sourly. She bent close to his ear. “We’ll be watching you.”
Foley woke the next morning with a throbbing headache. A hundred hammers banged simultaneously i
nside his head. He tried to sit up, but waves of dizziness washed over him forcing him back onto the pillow. He pushed back the duvet, struggled to the bathroom and turned on the shower. For a full five minutes he stood under the hot needles of water, luxuriating in its soothing warmth. Gradually, the pain in his head and body eased to a dull ache.
After towelling himself vigorously, he swallowed a couple of paracetamol and tried to formulate a plan. Why had they brought him back to the hotel? Not to arouse suspicions if he didn’t return? They already had the microchip. When they discovered it was dummy information they would come looking for him. He was safe as long as he stayed in the hotel, but he had to get out before they came back. He would act normally, go down to breakfast and stay in the dining room as long as possible.
Except for Joseph, he had no idea what his pursuers looked like, but he would recognise the girl’s voice anywhere. He glanced around the room and spotted his overnight bag sitting on top of the suitcase stand. Inside, he found his clothes still neatly packed along with his shaving gear. They had thought of everything. He pulled on a pair of chinos and a Polo shirt, gave the room a quick once over, grabbed his bag, and hurried out.
His gaze swept the occupants of the dining room, coming to rest on the bluff Texan. He signalled to the waiter hovering at the edge of the room and made his way to their table.
“May I join you?”
“Sure, how are ya?” Bateman beamed. “Ya must have had a real humdinger of a party last night. I thought ya said ya don’t drink?”
“Well, I don’t usually,” Foley replied, grateful for the presence of the garrulous American.
Foley lingered over his breakfast until Bateman rose to leave.
“I’ve got a hire automobile. Ellie and me are taking a trip up to the Piz Gloria if the weather holds. Say, why don’t ya tag along, son? The mountain air will clear ya head,” he boomed.
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