by Thomas Fay
‘Hello, Lauren,’ Socrates said. ‘I do not believe we were properly introduced before. My name is Socrates. I’m John’s new partner.’
Lauren held her hand out. Socrates shook it.
‘John’s told me about you. Thank you, for what you did. I’m grateful.’
‘It’s why I am here.’
John motioned them towards the lift. The hotel was so busy that they hadn’t had time to upgrade to the newer turbo-lift models. Not that they were ever likely to upgrade the old cage lift in the cortile. The remainder of the elevators did, however, have full surveillance and voice-command control.
‘John Tesh, Sentinel. ID Alpha-101. Disable all surveillance in elevator and level fifteen. Engage silent mode and proceed to level fifteen.’
‘Sentinel override accepted. Silent mode engaged.’
The lift doors slid shut and the lift ascended.
‘Socrates, is that phone still in the room?’ John asked.
Socrates’s eyes blurred momentarily. It was so fast that only John saw it.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’d say things are about to get interesting.’
Forty-Two
The elevator stopped on level fifteen. The doors opened. The corridor was empty. Lauren stepped out of the elevator. She motioned for John and Socrates to follow her.
‘Lauren, I think you should let Socrates go first,’ John said.
‘It’s better if I go. At least then we have some chance of explaining this away, if there’s someone in the room,’ she replied.
‘Good point. Lead the way.’
Lauren pulled on her jacket. Straightening her shirt, she walked purposefully down the corridor. John and Socrates followed a few steps behind. Reaching the door to room 1505, Lauren knocked.
‘Madam Ambassador?’ she asked.
No response. Lauren took out a biometrically coded key card. Swiping it on the reader, the door unlocked. She was about to push it open when John stopped her.
‘Wait. Now let Socrates go first,’ he said.
Lauren reluctantly took a step back. Socrates moved past her. He opened the door and was inside in one seemingly fluid motion. John followed. The living room of the suite was empty. Socrates emerged from the bedroom five seconds later.
‘The room is empty,’ he said.
‘What about the phone?’ John asked.
Socrates looked around the room. His eyes never blinked as he took in every detail. He walked towards the closet. Sliding it open, he moved the ambassador’s formal wear aside, revealing a standard hotel safe.
‘I believe the telephone is inside the safe,’ Socrates said.
‘Lauren, do you have access?’ John asked.
She shook her head.
‘No, only the ambassador does.’
John turned to his partner.
‘Can you open it?’
‘Yes,’ Socrates replied.
‘John, I don’t know about this,’ Lauren said. ‘If you’re right … ’
John looked at his wife for a long moment.
‘Lauren, from what I’ve seen of how these people operate, it doesn’t mean the ambassador is the one behind it. The fact that the phone is here, in her room, almost makes me think she isn’t the one behind this. Either way, we need that phone. It may be the clue we’ve been looking for to solve this case.’
The inner struggle was clear to see on Lauren’s youthful face. Finally, she nodded.
‘Alright. Do it.’
‘Thank you,’ John said. He turned to Socrates. ‘Open it.’
The android reached down and placed his hand on the biometric scanner. A series of lights flashed and a whirring sound announced that the fingerprint scan had been accepted. The safe swung open.
Inside were a series of official documents with the Swedish consular logo, as well as, a military-grade satellite phone. Socrates picked it up.
‘Is that it?’ John asked.
‘Yes. This is the same telephone which was communicating with the operative we terminated at the distribution centre.’
‘Lauren, have you ever seen this phone before?’
‘No. I … no.’
‘Any idea who it belongs to? Ever seen anyone using it?’
Lauren shook her head.
‘I have no idea who it belongs to.’
The front door to the suite opened and two men stepped inside. The first man was in his late thirties, cleanly shaven. He was dressed in a black suit, with matching tie and white shirt. The second man was dressed the same but was older. John recognised him. It was the man who had pretended to be Greg Rawson. Both men took in the scene inside the hotel room. The older man spoke.
‘That telephone belongs to me.’
Forty-Three
Before any confrontation there is a moment of stillness. A brief instant when everything seems to stop, when the very air ceases to exist and everyone and everything is suspended in a void. That moment is so fragile, so fleeting, that it disintegrates the instant anyone moves or speaks. John broke the stillness by drawing his handgun.
‘You’re under arrest,’ John said.
‘I don’t think so,’ the fake Greg Rawson said.
John took a step forwards and raised his weapon. The two newcomers remained where they were, positioned just inside the doorway.
‘You got lucky last time. What do you think will happen to you when we take apart that phone?’ John asked.
The man smiled. For some reason that made John angry.
‘You think this is funny? You think trying to kill two Sentinels is a joke?’
‘I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Really? That’s how you want to play this? Socrates, restrain him.’
The younger man reached inside his jacket.
‘Don’t,’ John said, emphasising the point with his weapon.
The man pulled his hand out, empty. Socrates advanced on them.
‘As entertaining as it is watching you flounder around, it’s time we ended this, Sentinel. I suggest you leave before you violate diplomatic immunity and I am forced to report this incident to your Ruling Council.’
John held his hand up for Socrates to stop.
‘You’ve got immunity?’
‘Of course. I am a member of the UN security team protecting the UK delegate.’
‘Prove it.’
The man smiled as he reached inside his jacket.
‘Slowly,’ John cautioned as the man withdrew his hand.
In it, he held his wallet. He flipped it open. John stepped forwards. The name on the ID was Zachary Wallman. It was a UN security ID. John reluctantly stepped back. He lowered his gun.
‘That’s better,’ Wallman said. ‘Now, if you’ll return my property.’
John looked at the man calling himself Zachary Wallman. What his real name was, John could only guess. His instincts were screaming at him, telling him this was one of the Rainmaker’s operatives. Perhaps even the Rainmaker himself. The man responsible for blowing his cruiser up. John’s anger rose up as he stared at the perfectly composed face of the man before him.
John raised his weapon.
‘I don’t think so. We’re taking that telephone.’
‘You really don’t—’
‘No, you don’t understand. You may have diplomatic immunity but you’re in Iona. I’m a Sentinel. While I may not have the authority to detain you, I do have the authority to remove that telephone. Now get out of my way.’
Wallman was about to say something when another person appeared in the doorway. It was the ambassador. Her look of surprise turned to disbelief as she beheld the scene inside her room.
‘Lauren, what is the meaning of this?’ she demanded.
‘Madam Ambassador, forgive me, please,’ Lauren said.
‘And who are these two? What are you doing in my room?’
Zachary Wallman cast John a look that clearly said this isn’t over. He then turned to the ambassador.
‘Madam Ambassador, forgive the intrusion. I’m with UN security. When we saw these people entering your room, we followed them to ensure your safety.’
The ambassador’s eyes narrowed.
‘I might be old but I’m not blind. I suggest you get out of my room before I call the UK ambassador and inform him of your actions,’ she said.
Wallman inclined his head.
‘As you wish, Madam Ambassador.’
They left the room without another word, leaving John, Socrates and Lauren standing in the middle of the living room facing the ambassador. Putting her hands on her hips, she said, ‘What part of no did you fail to understand?’
Forty-Four
The rules governing diplomatic immunity were codified in the 1961 Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations. At their most basic level they ensure that official delegates to foreign countries are free from prosecution under those countries’ laws. While diplomatic immunity can be revoked by the home country, the only real sanction the foreign country can impose is to expel the delegate, who may or may not face charges when they return home. Diplomatic immunity was a critical element of international relations, something Elsa Petersson, the Swedish ambassador to the UN, knew very well.
‘I am waiting for an answer,’ Ambassador Petersson said. Her hands remained steadfastly on her hips and her face clearly underlined her displeasure with the invasion of her hotel room.
‘Well?’
John cleared his throat. Realising he was still holding his handgun, he holstered it.
‘My sincerest apologies, Madam Ambassador. The situation is such that we were forced to take drastic steps.’
The ambassador’s gaze moved to Socrates. He was still holding the satellite phone.
‘I assume that is the device you were after?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And I’m assuming it has something to do with those two men that were here?’
‘Let’s just say it’s not the first time we’ve crossed paths.’
The ambassador nodded.
‘Lauren?’
‘Yes, Madam Ambassador?’
‘You said this man was your husband?’
‘Yes.’
The ambassador took a deep breath. She took a step into the room and closed the door behind her.
‘You’d better sit down and tell me what’s going on.’
****
The ambassador listened to John’s account of the events in Iona leading up to the discovery of the satellite phone, which Socrates still held in his hand. She asked the occasional question to clarify a finer point but otherwise she sat on the couch in the suite’s living room and listened without interrupting. When John finished, she picked up the cup of tea she’d asked Lauren to make for her. Taking a sip, she set it back on the edge of the coffee table.
‘This isn’t a coincidence, is it, these events taking place in the days leading up to the UN Security Council meeting?’ she asked.
John shook his head.
‘As Manson would have said, there are no coincidences.’
‘Do you know who’s behind it?’
‘Not yet, but we’re getting very close. That phone may be the key although I’m still not sure why it was planted in your room.’
‘Perhaps to implicate me in the events transpiring in Iona,’ Ambassador Petersson said. ‘There are those within the UN who would be happy to see me expelled from the summit.’
John nodded, slowly.
‘That’s one possibility. Or it could have been used as a listening device or even …’
‘John? What is it?’ Lauren asked.
‘A targeting device. We know that someone smuggled a surface-to-air projectile into Iona. That phone could be used to guide the missile to take out specific targets inside the hotel.’
‘Are we in any immediate danger?’ Ambassador Petersson asked.
‘The telephone can no longer be accessed remotely,’ Socrates said.
The ambassador turned to look at him. The android stared at her, his expression unreadable.
‘That’s a relief. I take it those security operatives are part of this?’ she asked.
‘Yes, at least one of them definitely is. Which makes me suspect whoever is behind this is here as part of the UN meeting.’
‘What are they after?’ Lauren asked.
‘That I don’t know but I’ve got a working theory.’
‘Which is … ?’
‘Their actions suggest they are trying to sabotage the UN Security Council meeting, however … ’
‘You don’t think that’s what they’re really after?’ Lauren asked.
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s too obvious. I also don’t think what they’ve done so far would be enough to derail this meeting, unless … ’
‘What is it?’
John stood up. He walked towards the window, where Socrates was standing.
‘Please tell me you’ve managed to hack into that phone?’ John asked, his voice low so that Lauren and the ambassador wouldn’t hear him.
‘This device has been encoded with military-grade encryption. While complex, it is easily overcome by the sheer processing capacity I am capable of generating. So far I have managed to access its call history and GPS data, as well as, disable any remote access.’
‘GPS? You mean you know where the phone was when those calls were made?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Inside this building.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, John.’
‘Damn. That’s what I thought.’
Lauren stood up from the couch and crossed the room.
‘John, what’s happening?’ she asked.
‘I think whatever these people are planning, whatever their end game is, we haven’t seen the worst of it yet. In fact, I think something is going to happen, something big.’
‘Any idea what and when?’
John shook his head.
‘No. I just know it’s going to happen; nothing else makes sense.’
‘What about the gala?’ the ambassador asked, suddenly.
‘Madam Ambassador?’ Lauren asked.
‘There’s a gala event tonight at the Opera House to welcome all of the delegates to the summit.’
‘Will everyone be at the gala?’ John asked.
‘Yes.’
‘That has to be it.’
Forty-Five
John stared at the body lying on the medical examiner’s table for a long moment. The man was still wearing the Iona Corporation uniform. He could have been on his way to work, except for the fact that he was dead. The six bullet holes didn’t help either.
‘What can you tell me, George?’ John asked.
The in-house Sentinel medical examiner, George Seng, adjusted his glasses. Checking his touchscreen tablet, he looked at the body as he spoke.
‘No ID. His clothing was standard Iona Corporation issue.’
‘So, no way of identifying him?’
‘No easy way. Which meant we had to dig deeper. We did a thorough 3D scan of his body, which gave us the equivalent of a medical history.’
George pointed at the body as he spoke.
‘He’s spent a lot of time driving vehicles, based on the stress patterns on his feet, hands and back. There are also a number of bullet wounds, knife wounds and what appear to be burn marks.’
John nodded.
‘Any of that help you to ID him?’
‘I was getting to that.’
George lifted the man’s right arm. He pointed out an angry purple scar that ran the length of the man’s forearm.
‘Do you see this scar here?’
‘Hard to miss.’
‘Titanium bars implanted into his forearm combined with skin regrowth and nerve replacement. I suspect his arm was completely shattered in an accident.’
‘How does that help us?’
‘This is cutting-edge reconst
ructive surgery. There are only a handful of medical facilities in the world that could perform this kind of operation.’
‘Please tell me you found which one?’
George scrolled through the information on his tablet.
‘I did. The Synergis Medical Research and Experimental Treatment facility in Basel, Switzerland. The operation was performed in November last year. Patient name: Jackson Trent.’
John could almost hear his uncle’s voice in his head saying bingo. They now had positive ID on one of the Rainmaker’s operatives.
‘Thanks, George. Outstanding work as always.’
‘Just doing my job. You need him for anything else?’
‘No. I’ll get the guys upstairs to run that name through our search algorithms.’
‘Okay, I’ll send for the coroner.’
‘Actually … can you hold off on the coroner for another day?’
George raised his eyebrows.
‘You want me to keep him here until tomorrow?’
‘Yes. It’s probably a long shot but if the people he’s working with don’t know he’s dead, then it might provide us with a tactical advantage.’
‘Very well.’
John left the medical examiner’s lab and walked back to the turbo-lifts on level fourteen. He reached out to press the button for up when his phone rang. The caller ID showed: Michael Fernali.
‘What’s happening?’ John answered the call.
‘We found Greg Rawson,’ Fernali said.
‘Alive?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Upstairs, Interview Room 2.’
‘I’m on my way.’
John closed his phone and pressed the button to call the turbo-lift. A part of him was relieved that the air traffic controller hadn’t become a casualty of the rogue operatives, while another part, the investigative part, was wondering why they had left him alive.
Forty-Six
Fernali was waiting for him outside the interview room on level twenty-five. He was wearing his dark-grey suit jacket and leaning casually against the wall.
