Roadworks

by Gerard Readett

  Three men wearing identical suits to Hamlyn's were busy installing all sorts of high tech equipment. The stuff I could recognise were the cordless videophone and a laptop computer with an in-built CD engraver. Laid out on the bed was a plan, presumably that of the hotel.

  One man was by the window, holding a short, thin, metal tube, with which he diligently avoided disturbing the lace curtain. The end of the tube was wedged between the open window and the windowsill. A cable ran from the contraption to the back of the laptop.

  What I was doing here, what I was here for was beyond me. I glanced at Hamlyn.

  "Mr. Ryan, I have brought you here to identify your colleague. Stephane, I think his name is. At this stage, we don't want any mistakes; we have to be sure. So, please sit here."

  He showed me the chair directly in front of the laptop. It displayed the close-up view of a window. As the hotel is L-shaped, I understood that I was looking at another room in the same hotel. That contraption his colleague was using was a telescope, and we were seeing a room that was at least forty metres away.

  I clearly saw that room as if I was standing just outside it. On the right-hand side was the bed, directly in front of the door. To the left was the open door to the bathroom. The speakers of the laptop emitted a low scratching sound, then the back of a chair moved into the shot. Stephane's face appeared momentarily as he sat down with his back facing us.

  "How do you get sound?" I asked Hamlyn. "I mean, the picture I can understand, it's a little like binoculars, but sound?"

  "There's a laser fitted to the camera. When played against a window, it detects the minute vibrations caused by sound waves, and amplifies them. Someone talks in that room over there, and we'll hear all we need."

  A little while later, Stephane stiffened. The door opened, and he darted into the bathroom.

  A man and a woman entered the hotel room. The man was short and stocky. The fat hanging from his chin creased into a triple chin. He waddled into the room, and threw himself on the bed.

  The woman was only slightly taller than the man was, but she, too, had quite a heavy build. She wore an ample and sober business dress. Her brown hair was tied into a bun at the back. On her shoulder, she carried a shiny, black handbag.

  Behind me there was a sharp intake of breath. Hamlyn leaned closer to the screen. As he was muttering, I didn't quite catch the swear word that he started with.

  "It's Marion Grayson."

  "Who?" I asked.

  "She works for the Ministry of Defence."

  "What's she doing in the same hotel as the Prime Minister, then?" I asked without thinking.

  He looked at me sideways. "You do know that there was a NATO conference scheduled for this morning?"

  "What? Of course. Sorry. Forget I said anything."

  My attention was drawn back to the screen. Grayson had sat down in the chair vacated by Stephane. The man had sat up on the bed, and pushed his back against the wall. His short legs kept his feet from touching the ground so they dangled over the edge.

  "Wellens, I think it's about time we got down to business. Don't you?" Grayson said. She opened her handbag to pick out a GSM videophone. She switched it on and placed it on the table. Wellens leaned over to open the drawer of the bedside table. He, too, pulled out a videophone, which he powered up and placed beside the other phone.

  Fortunately for Hamlyn and myself, the table was in full view of our camera-cum-laser gun his colleague was pointing at the room. We could see the video screen of both phones, and would probably hear any conversation emanating from them.

  Grayson's phone lit up, and the face of a man appeared on the screen. She must have dialled the number before she placed the phone on the table.

  Behind the man, an empty road was visible. It was a narrow street, probably some little-used backstreet. A large, brand new car was parked by the curb. In the middle of the boot was a numeric keypad lock. It was a relatively new invention by the automobile industry to increase car safety. The key, which could be lost or stolen, had been done away with. All the car owner had to do was remember a six-digit code that would unlock his car. At the moment, only top-range cars were fitted with this system. The man turned to face the screen.

  "Ma'am."

  "Grayson here. Hold on."

  Barely seconds later, the face of another man appeared on Wellens' phone. He didn't give his correspondent time to speak.

  "Wellens here. Are you ready?"

  "Yes, sir. I have our contact here with me." The camera angle on Wellens' videophone moved. His man was no doubt tilting his hand. The face that was on Grayson's screen slowly came into view.

  Wellens glanced at Grayson. "Ready when you are."

  "Let's see what we're buying." she said.

  "Sam, do as the lady says," Wellens urged.

  The camera angle dropped to the road. A large, heavily reinforced suitcase lay open. It contained, well packed in foam, what looked like a gun and several long shiny tubes.

  Wellens' man, apparently called Sam, handed his phone over. Grayson's man placed it so that the weapon was in full sight. We all watched as Sam quickly assembled it. When he had finished, Grayson said, "Could we have a demonstration, please?"

  Sam pointed at a spot on a wall, about twenty meters away from where he stood. Grayson's man changed the viewpoint of both phones. His own he pointed at Sam so that the whole weapon could be seen. The other phone he pointed at the wall.

  Sam pulled the trigger once. A thin red beam reached out and stabbed at the wall, moved up about two centimetres, then disappeared. Even from here, we could see the small puff of smoke that emanated from the wall the instant the beam touched it.

  Grayson's man advanced to give his employer a better view of the damage caused. In the brick of the wall, there was a small thin indentation running up the wall. The edges were perfectly smooth, albeit a little blackened.

  "Hmm. Not bad," muttered Grayson.

  Wellens grinned. "For fifteen years, billions of dollars has been invested in laser technology to get this result: a laser that can cut things at a greater distance than five centimetres. This is the pride and joy of the American military, that they were going to show to their NATO allies at the conference this morning."

  "Mustn't have been easy to obtain," Grayson said.

  "It wasn't. The bloody paranoid yanks had split it into four pieces that were kept in vaults in several places around the city."

  Grayson's voice betrayed her surprise. "You broke into four safes?"

  "No," Wellens laughed. "In preparation for the transportation to the conference, each piece had been taken out of its vault. While they waited for their transportation, each piece was in the hands of a squad of US soldiers. All we had to do was neutralise each squad. In two cases, they had time to call for backup before we finished them off, but then we knew no one would come to help them in time."

  Grayson waved a hand. "I don't think I want to know any more. Let's make the exchange. Here's the code for the car." She handed Wellens a small card.

  "Sam," he said, "the code for the car is 957833."

  "Right, Sir." Sam retrieved his videophone from Grayson's man, and went to the boot of the car. He punched in the number, and it opened. Inside were three black, hard-back suitcases. He opened each of them in turn. They each contained reams and reams of one thousand-dollar bills. He closed the suitcases, and then the boot of the car.

  "Sir, that seems to be in order."

  Wellens nodded. "Don't forget to dismantle the weapon for them. When you've finished there, go to my office. I'll meet you there shortly. We'll pick up the car together." He pushed himself off the bed, picked up his phone, and switched it off. He pulled out his electronic notebook, and ran the program that would transmit the location where the car was. When it was finished, he closed the notebook and put it on the table.

  Grayson got up and replaced her phone in her handbag. She put out her hand. "Glad to do business with you, Wellens."

  Wellens loo
ked down at her hand, then up at her face. "I didn't know that the British government condoned poaching allies' military technology."

  "Who said anything about the British government? All you need to know is that I bought the weapon. But I will tell you this: the buyer is a private entity, not a government." She extended her hand again "As I said, glad to do business with you."

  Wellens took it, and they shook. He showed her to the door. When she spoke, the sound that was re-transmitted to us was much fainter, but we could still hear.

  "Great idea to think of a car as a safe deposit box. I wondered how you would move such a large amount of money."

  Wellens grinned. "Great idea to think of meeting here. No one would suspect we would enter a building we know has a bomb in it. Considering the fact that the OPA weren't supposed to be dealt with this quickly, it was a bit risky."

  Grayson paled. "I thought there wouldn't be a bomb in this hotel. You said--"

  "No, I told you not to worry. I didn't exactly say that there wasn't a bomb. There really was one. However, the OPA were too few to have someone check the entrances and exits of each hotel. Had they still been alive now, they would never have known."

  "But if someone from inside saw you entering--"

  "The OPA said that if anyone left a hotel, they would detonate. They didn't say anything about going into the hotel."

  Grayson didn't sound convinced. "I'll get going then." She opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

  "Goodbye."

  Wellens closed the door, and smiled to himself. "She must think I'm mad. I wouldn't take the risk of walking into a building with an active bomb in it."

  He walked over to his small overnight suitcase, picked it up and laid it on the bed. He began packing his belongings into it.

  Stephane stepped out of the bathroom.

  Wellens snarled. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

  "Somehow Michaux found the OPA. I had to ensure their silence earlier than planned."

  A shiver ran down the back of my neck. There was a great difference between being told about someone, and then suddenly being presented with irrefutable proof--and from the horse's mouth, so to speak. So, we had been right. No doubt about it now. The OPA had been set up as a scapegoat.

  "I thought that had been clear. You should have returned home, where we would have contacted you. When it's all over."

  "Yeah, sure," replied Stephane. "When it's all over, you'll disappear, and I'll never hear from you again."

  "What's wrong now? We had a deal: you give us the information and keep an eye out for Michaux. You get your share."

  This was getting interesting.

  "Look, Wellens, you and only you know where it's stashed. The others, if they all get together, will find out with their chips, but if one of them is caught, we all have to trust you. I don't even have a chip. So, if something happens to you, they can cut me out. It won't be hard; I don't even know who they are. I know where the rendezvous is, but all they have to do is shoot me when I arrive."

  "I'm pained to think you have lost your trust in me, Stephane. You know full well that we take care of our employees."

  "I'm not really an employee, am I?"

  "No, but--" For some reason, I could hear a slight tremor in Wellens' voice. I couldn't at the time understand why.

  "Cut the bull, Wellens. We both know you needed me for the details on the Authority. Now, you've no more use for me."

  "I don't understand why you're unhappy," muttered Wellens nervously.

  "Why? I'll tell you why. This morning, on my way home, some guy in a pickup truck tried to heave me off the road. If it hadn't been for the tree he crashed into, it would have been me dead in the ditch instead of him."

  I saw Wellens' face turn white. "And you think I had something to do with it?"

  "There's always the possibility that one of your employees took it upon himself to get rid of me." Stephane paused thoughtfully as he studied Wellens. "At first, I tried to convince myself of it, but when someone else took a shot at me after I had rid you of the OPA, I started wondering. By the way, your sniper is dead, too. You planned on framing me. If your hit and run had killed me, the police would look no further for who helped the OPA. Then, when the OPA's usefulness was used up, your sniper could eliminate them. If, unfortunately, he failed, I would still be the one the police would be after--"

  "But Stephane, how could--"

  "Shut it. One guy working his own agenda, fine. But two? Come off it. We both know all your employees are faithful to you. You, personally, I might add. Two attempts on my life in one day is a big enough hint, don't you think?"

  Little droplets of sweat appeared on Wellens' forehead, giving it a shine.

  An electronic ringing sound started behind me. My eyes left the screen as I swung round. Hamlyn had his GSM in his hand, and he was staring at me.

  "Yes, he's identified his colleague. Fine, we'll send him back right now." He severed the connection.

  "Hugh, that was Michaux. He wants you back."

  "Right now?"

  "Yes. Thank you for your help." He practically lifted me out of the chair, then took my place. With the feeling of having been dismissed, I trudged out of the room.

  In the corridor, I passed several hotel guests. As I reached the lifts, a tall, serious-looking African came out. On noticing me, he pulled out a handkerchief and started to blow his nose, but kept his eyes fixed on me. I couldn't help sensing that the closer I got, the more interested he became. He stopped and remained still while I ignored him and entered the lift. I punched the button for the lobby, and the door promptly started to close. The last thing I saw was him staring at me. His head cocked to one side gave me the impression he was thinking something over. The doors closed, and I put him from my mind.

  ***

  For ten minutes, Hamlyn had been trying to get in touch with someone who knew about the Americans' laser. Ironically, the one time a secret was well kept in the American army was the one time it would have been better for more people to be aware of it. Although he was beginning to be annoyed at getting transferred around NATO headquarters from one official to another, Hamlyn knew that he had to help. If he were successful, then the Americans would owe them a favour, an important advantage in the espionage business.

  He gave up on his current correspondent, a nervous young man who didn't seem to know who to transfer him to. He ended the call, but immediately his mobile rang.

  "Hamlyn here," he muttered.

  "Ham. It's Gerry. Got your message." Gerry Pernell was Hamlyn's counterpart in American counterespionage. They had met four years ago on a joint mission to the Ukraine, investigating Nuclear Arms sales. Since the successful resolution of that mission, they had joined forces on two other occasions with the same results. "What you been doing, man? Your phone's been busy for the past five minutes."

  "Hello, Gerry. I've been going through your corridors of power trying to get someone who knows what I'm talking about."

  "And what are you talking about, Ham?"

  "Has anyone on your side of the Atlantic misplaced a new weapon?"

  "Tell me more."

  "Gerry, don't play coy with me. Yes or no? If not, I'm wasting both your time and mine."

  "Look, Ham, you know how it goes. Deniability."

  "That won't work with me, Gerry. But for the sake of speeding this up, I'll spell it out. We have stumbled onto the sale of a new laser that was apparently stolen this morning from the American Army."

  "Shit, Ham. You're still the best. We've been looking all over for it. Stay where you are; I'm coming over. Just give me time to round up the teams the laser was stolen from. Make sure you keep that weapon in sight. It's too powerful to fall into unclean hands."

  ***

  What was that Traffic Controller doing in this hotel? Akila wondered. And on Wellens floor? He had taken the lift on this side of the building, on purpose, to avoid bumping into Wellens. Instead, he had come face to face w
ith someone else who was able to recognise him. This was a dangerous place, but then the whole enterprise had been fraught with risk. The OPA men killed at the backup TMC still needed avenging, and he was going to see this thing through.

  He headed down the corridor in the direction of the room number he had been given. Wellens' secretary, at first reticent, had been very helpful once he had cut her. Although he was a ruthless man, Akila disliked violence when it wasn't absolutely required. To make sure she didn't warn her boss, he had been obliged to tie her up and lock her in Wellens' office. He had every intention of returning to set her free once he had dealt with Wellens.

  Checking the numbers of the rooms he walked past, he noticed he was approaching the one he wanted. Suddenly, a door was opened, and a man rushed out, heading away from him. Akila froze, but the man never turned around, then ran as he passed the corner. As Akila approached the open door, he noticed that it was the door to Wellens' room. He stepped inside.

  Wellens was lying on the floor, his head propped against the side of the bed. His left eye was a gaping hole, and already his blood was staining the bed sheets. Akila felt partly relieved that Wellens was dead, but also he felt cheated. Revenge was his, and someone had taken that from him.

  Wellens moaned weakly. Akila grinned as he whipped out his knife. Wellens was dying, but he wasn't yet dead.

  "Wellens, you double-crossed me, but it looks like someone double-crossed you. Ironic, don't you think?"

  "You going to kill me?" Wellens muttered.

  "No need. I will watch you die."

  When Wellens stopped breathing, Akila sighed. "My brothers, your death is avenged."

  ***

  On the way down to the lobby, I couldn't help feeling cheated. I had a personal score to settle with Stephane, and I wanted to be present when they arrested him. Hamlyn and his men would probably be required to arrest him, Wellens, and Grayson, but I was going to miss that. Michaux needed me at the backup TMC to restore the city's transportation systems. Not a glamorous prospect considering the excitement of the last half-hour.