Moral Compass (The Samuel Beasley Trilogy Book 1)

by Adam J Watts

  'No, that's not what I meant!' he floundered.

  'I know. I was joking,' she smiled, 'I appreciate the offer.’

  'Good. Walk with me?'

  'Where are you heading?'

  'The English department,' he told her before pulling a face that said, 'silly question.’

  They both laughed and rose from the seats. 'I hope you don't mind me asking, but your name... Is it French?'

  'I don't mind at all. Yes and no.’

  'What kind of answer is that?' he teased.

  'A very good one when you give it some context.’

  Five minutes into the conversation and he liked her even more. She wasn't merely style over substance. This girl had a brain. He would have to be careful when it came to future conversations and this edge excited him.

  'Which is...?' he invited.

  'I was born in Jersey. My father has French heritage, but my mother is English.’

  'Ah I see.’

  'Ever been?'

  'To Jersey? No, but I'm open to offers,' he flirted.

  What was he doing? He was flirting with her, knowing full well she was already spoken for. He was a big bugger too. Seb had seen him around, but knew little about the chap. Maybe he would look into this soon and assess the 'competition.’

  'Are you now? Do you speak French?'

  'Oui. Aussi Allemand et Russe. Juste les deux langues pour vous?, he smirked.

  'Show off!' she said and hit him playfully on the arm.

  It appeared as if she did not care about openly flirting with another man. Unless, of course, this was not how she saw things. He decided to find out.

  'What exactly are we doing?' he enquired innocently.

  'Have you forgotten already?' she joked.

  'No... I just wanted to...'

  'We're walking to the English department and getting to know each other... Don't spoil it.’

  He didn't. They continued to walk, talk and generally enjoy themselves until they reached his destination.

  'Thanks for the escort.’

  'We must do it again sometime...'

  'I'd like that.’

  'In fact, you could help me with my latest essay if you have the time?'

  He didn't really, but was hardly going to say no.

  'Definitely. What is the subject?'

  'Shakespearean lovers... See you here at five!'

  With that she disappeared down the corridor and around the corner, leaving Seb with a mix of confusing emotions.

  Chapter Seven:

  Trade Secrets ~ Summer 1939

  ‘Remind me again what we are doing here, Gerald.’ There was more than a trace of irk in Seb’s voice.

  ‘Come now Samuel, we are here on official business. You already know the whys and what for.’

  Picking up his teacup Seb internally cursed the petite nature of the handle and took a dainty sip from the china.

  ‘I know why we are here; it’s the same as always. What I meant is; why “here” of all places?'

  Gerald decided to humour his young and impetuous colleague.

  ‘Oh I see. Put simply, the client requested that the transaction take place on neutral ground.’

  ‘Why so cautious?' Seb mused.

  Gerald turned to face the ocean view. His reply had already begun to flow before his eyes eventually returned to the table.

  ‘I think it is time you knew the whole story Samuel.’ There was a distinct unease in the old man’s voice, one that Seb could hardly miss.

  ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

  ‘Since our man’s discovery there have been several interested parties. Some significant names on the list, so to speak.’ Gerald paused to tip back the remains of his orange juice. ‘This is no ordinary deal, Samuel, the product we seek to sell has the potential to change the course of any future conflict.’

  Now it was Seb’s turn to cast a gaze over the waterfront. Although he had seen it before not quite two years previous, there was no denying it was a splendid view across the harbour. The morning sun glinted from every piece of polished metal in the marina.

  Before he could pose any further questions his train of thought was derailed by more detail from the Vice Marshall.

  ‘That’s not all,’ he started ‘Our potential buyer is somewhat controversial to say the least.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to say what I think you are going to say, Sir Stratton.’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes my boy. After the expense of the last war, Britain has been looking to recuperate her losses.’

  The tension was broken by a nervous laugh from the aging diplomat. ‘Ironic really; they more or less lose the encounter and the Germans still come out of the whole thing better off.’

  Seb didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. Selling technological advancements to your old enemy, where is the sense in that? Especially with the political climate as it currently stood. Those book-burning fanatics need to be kept as far away from another war as possible.

  ‘What are we selling?'

  Gerald looked up from the paper he had started to peruse.

  ‘A new kind of motion sensor.’ He delivered flatly.

  ‘Sounds rather dull, I can’t see why…’

  ‘That’s what the MOD think, but I don’t believe they realise the full potential of such a device. Imagine if you could see your enemy making an advance, long before they reached you.’

  Seb thought about it for a moment and tried to apply the idea to the several variants of the armed forces. Stratton was right, given the necessary development and application the effect of such a device could be devastating.

  ‘How could the potential of such a thing be... overlooked?'

  ‘Let’s just say the scientist who developed the technology is a bit of a loose cannon. The powers that be have been let down or mislead by his half-baked schemes far too often in the past.’

  ‘But the crackpot could have hit the jackpot this time,’ Seb proclaimed with a titter.

  ‘Not could have old chap. He jolly well has.’

  Gerald eased back his sleeve and took a cursory glance at his watch.

  ‘Time we were moving Samuel. The meeting is scheduled for eleven.’

  Just as he was holding onto the arms of the chair in an attempt to arise, Seb leant across the table.

  ‘I have one more question.’

  ‘Make it quick,’ the Vice Marshall snapped.

  ‘Do we have any security measures in place? Any contingency plans?'

  Gerald looked puzzled, but had a feeling he knew where this line of enquiry was to lead.

  ‘How do you mean?'

  Seb stroked his chin as he continued.

  ‘Say for instance we are double-crossed or change our minds once the deal is done. Do we have the usual precautions in place?'

  There was little hesitation in the old man’s response.

  ‘Yes of course. The only copy of the documentation will remain in your possession, until both parties reach an amicable conclusion. As per usual the paperwork will be wired to the safety mechanism in you briefcase.’

  Seb was well aware of the ‘safety mechanism.’ A cunning little device, which if triggered would incinerate anything situated inside the Attaché’s holdall. Seb liked to refer to it as The Hotbox.

  ‘The Hotbox,’ Seb confirmed.

  ‘Yes.’ Stratton paused as if something had just caught his attention, ‘But there is something else.’

  ‘Go on…’

  He waited patiently for the senior officer to continue.

  ‘There is also… what shall we call it? An antidote to the technology we are aiming to sell.’

  ‘Oh?'

  ‘Yes. The scientist involved is no different to you or I. Unbeknown to the government, he is also in the process of creating a tactical device to counter his earlier creation.’

  Seb glanced down at the bowl of sugar cubes in front of him. Brown and white cubes sat side-by-side staring up at him.

  ‘Without dar
k there can be no light.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Gerald went on to explain how the scientist in question had entrusted him with the details of the second discovery. Apparently he had considered it the best way of protecting his idea from an authority that he felt had betrayed him.

  Seb had his doubts.

  Within five minutes the two men stood underneath the clock in the foyer of the hotel.

  ‘I’ve arranged for a car to take us to the meeting point.’ Seb nodded in acknowledgement before asking the obvious question.

  ‘What time do you want me back downstairs?'

  ‘You can get from one side of this island to the other in half an hour so no need to rush. The meeting is at eleven, so shall we say ten thirty?'

  Seb consulted his watch. That gave him just over an hour to prepare for the negotiations. Plenty of time to get his things together and air out some German in front of the bathroom mirror. Although it wouldn’t surprise him in the least if the clients spoke word-perfect English. When it came to foreign languages, the education system in the Fatherland was far better than back home in Blighty.

  Seb was well aware of the island's turbulent past. The channel island of Jersey has a torrid history. Acting as the rope in a metaphorical tug of war, the nation has

  found itself on either side of the white line on many an occasion.

  Quite the venue for an arms deal.

  Once safely back inside his third floor room, Seb locked the door and retrieved his attaché case from the wardrobe. It was just as he had left it and the hair he had so carefully placed across the doors of the storage unit was still intact. It was an old trick, but remained extremely valuable.

  He entered the combination only he knew and set about packing the holdall. The reams of documentation Vice Marshall Stratton had handed to him under the guise of a broadsheet were carefully placed inside first.

  Seb had only been provided with the schematics and detailed descriptions of the scientist’s second discovery. Vice Marshall Stratton was to retain the other information. This was not uncommon, as Sir Gerald usually withheld all information outside of what was written in black and white. Seb was after all only there to record the transaction, verify payment and liase with foreign diplomats.

  The bedside drawer held the most important equipment. Seb always took these items on business trips and although he hoped they would never come into play, he was sure they would one day prove themselves useful.

  One by one he removed his ‘tools of the trade’ from the teak furniture. First, six separate passports, all bearing Seb’s photo, but that of a different alias; next came his stash of emergency cash, similarly in six different currencies.

  It wasn’t a fortune, but it would be enough to get you by for a few days. Finally he removed the drawer itself. Taped to the underside of the wooden receptacle was his Welrod.

  The Welrod was a little-known silenced pistol developed by the British secret service. It was the model of choice for the most consummate of assassins and issued to Seb by an MOD commanding officer.

  He remembered the words as if it were yesterday. Take this... in case negotiations ever break down.

  Seb had never fired the weapon, but he did keep it in good order. Every so often he would clean and grease the barrel, as well as performing a periodic dry run to test the trigger and firing pin respectively.

  He checked his watch. Ten twenty, he was ready if all be it a little early. He decided to go and call for Gerald. The Vice Marshall’s room was on the second floor and he had to pass it on his way to reception.

  Sir Stratton valued promptness, so much so that Seb thought it strange he did not answer at the first knock. The notion struck him that the old man could be otherwise engaged, but surely he would still acknowledge his approach?

  A second knock was delivered to the wooden door, painted a gleaming shade of white. Nothing. Ordinarily Seb would not press the issue, but things didn’t add up. The Vice Marshall was usually the one badgering him, not the other way around.

  He tried the handle and to his surprise the door offered little in the way of resistance.

  ‘Sir Gerald?' He called out into the void. Nothing.

  Slowly he eased the door open and peered around the corner. He could see Stratton reclined on the bed, but he was facing the other way. Could he really be asleep?

  Obviously Seb had no interest in the Vice Marshall’s sleeping habits and therefore remained unaware of how heavily he slumbered. After some deliberation he closed the door and elected to try and wake his superior as gently as possible.

  As he approached the queen-size bed, Seb could not help but notice the nature of his associate’s posture. The position he had adopted appeared far from comfortable.

  Once again he softly called out his name, but this time simultaneously tapped the old man on the shoulder.

  Vice Marshall Stratton had an alarm clock on his bedside table. Seb took stock of it and noted the time; ten thirty five. He already knew they were going to be late for the meeting, as Sir Gerald was nowhere near ready.

  Was that a bottle of pills on the bedside table?

  He had no idea Gerald was on any kind of medication. Perhaps this was the explanation for his strange behaviour. Could he have got the dosage wrong?

  ‘Sir Gerald, are you alright?' He ventured. Silence.

  Slowly Seb placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder and attempted to turn him over. He hoped to god he wouldn’t have to try and revive him, his merciless breath was well known to all who met his acquaintance.

  What Seb saw next, sent him staggering backwards in disbelief. The expression on the Vice Marshall’s face was one he would not forget in a hurry. His eyes were fixed and staring at what can only be described as certain death.

  For a moment there was too much to take in. Seb couldn’t decide whether the old man had died of natural causes or if something more sinister was at play. Of course, he was old. Of that there was no doubt, but he had seemed fine some forty minutes earlier.

  Perhaps you get overly suspicious and somewhat paranoid in this line of work, but Seb knew there wasn’t time to deliberate. If someone was out to obtain the information in their possession, they clearly didn't want to pay for the privilege.

  Seb had to leave. Now.

  Thoughts and ideas were tumbling through his head like a heavy fall of rain. Occasionally a drop would hit him and absorb into his brain.

  He needed to perform a hasty search.

  If the first half of the documentation were missing, what was currently a conspiracy would become a reality. There was no time to waste. In one swift move Seb reached for the do not disturb sign. He opened the door the merest of cracks and attached it to the handle on the other side.