'Her name was Anastasia Bondarenko'
'I'm sorry for your loss.' Wilfred had noted the use of the past tense. 'I'll have a look on our system.'
He made a few keystrokes, and then looked up.
'What is your name please?'
'Solomon Bondarenko'
'And your date of birth?'
Solomon gave him this too.
'That's fine Ms. Bondarenko, everything is in order. If you would like to follow me I will take you to one of our client rooms.'
He led her and Natasha through the open offices into the back of the building and settled her in a pleasant, but windowless room.
'I will be back shortly with your safe deposit box.'
He returned carrying a long metal box placing it on the table he made to leave. 'If you need anything or you are finished, please just close the box and press the button and I will return.'
Solomon stared at the box. She had come a long way to see the contents and was more than a little afraid at what she might find. Disappointment hung in the air like a bad smell, waiting to spoil her day.
'Go on mummy, it’s OK.’
Solomon took a deep breath and pulled the box closer to her. It was remarkably heavy. She lifted the lid and peaked inside. The first thing to catch her eye was a letter, unmistakably in her mother’s handwriting addressed to her. She picked up the letter and placed it reverently on the table. She turned back to the contents of the box. A purple drawstring purse. It was quite large and unusually heavy, it must be at least two kilos, and it clinked when she picked it up. She pulled at the strings and looked inside it. It was full of gold coins. Krugerrands, each weighing exactly one troy ounce, there must be forty or fifty in here. She pulled the string tight and looked back in the safe deposit box. There were stacks of money, different denominations, and currencies. Each one had been parcelled like a brick. She made a stack of bricks on the table, but decided not to count it, after all there is more than enough there for our needs. There was one thing left, hiding in the back, she reached in and clasped it. It was warm to the touch, heavy and cube shaped. She pulled it free and examined it. It was about ten centimetres on each side, gold in appearance and completely sealed. There were no markings or anything to indicate its function or purpose. There was no way to open it; although it was heavy, it was still too light to be solid. She set it down on the table and picked up the letter from her mother.
Solomon read the letter to herself slowly, savouring each word at first, then her daughter saw her face fall. Natasha wanted desperately to ask what was wrong, but anything that could make her mother react like this she didn't really want to know. Natasha moved closer to her mother and rested her head gently on her side. Solomon reached out instinctively and placed her hand on her daughter's head, stroking her hair. Giving comfort and receiving it. Solomon read on, a tear slowly finding its way down her cheek, the pain and the knowledge becoming overwhelming. Finally, she reached the end. There was some good news here at least, some hope for them both. And all the others.
Solomon folded the letter up and replaced it in its envelope. This is for me, and me alone. Until it is time.
Solomon took some money from one of the stacks and replaced all the contents back in the safe deposit box, except for the letter, which she placed in her pocket. She pressed the button. Wilfred returned promptly.
'Is it OK to leave some items in the box?'
'Of course madam. The box is yours; it has been paid for in perpetuity. You may access it and use it as you wish.'
'Thank you. In that case, could you return the box? I will be back in a few days for the rest.'
'Of course madam. May I show you out?'
As Wilfred showed them to the door one of the cashiers dialled the number for the Russian Embassy, she figured the reward offered would make a welcome addition to what she considered to be her low pay.
Solomon and Natasha returned to their hotel. Solomon deciding that as they now had money a change of hotel was in order. They booked into the Hotel California on Schifflaende, still in the city centre but in the prettier old part. It also offered a swimming pool, which she figured, would provide a nice change of pace for them both.
Once checked in Solomon realised that now they had someone to call for help and she wanted to lose no time in contacting them. Besides, he knew my mother.
10:40 27 December [10:40 27 December GMT]
Stately Home of the 19th Duke of Hertfordshire, England.
The Duke was in his gardens, personally attending to his roses. The bushes in question were very old having been planted by the 15th Duke over a hundred and fifty years before. He held a stem in his hand and smelt its scent. Still as fragrant as when it first went in, he reflected. He liked his home, its grounds, and the privacy it offered. He continued his spraying. He could hear a car approaching now, up the long gravel drive. He turned and saw it. It stopped in front of the formal entrance. Like anyone uses that these days. He thought about when it had been in regular use. The precession of horse drawn carriages that brought friends from all corners of the country to stay for a couple of weeks at a time. Those had been good days; life was simpler then, much simpler. He walked over to meet the people in the car, who were just getting out.
'Can I help you?' He asked simply.
'We are here to see the Duke, is he at home?'
The Duke looked down at his clothes. A rough work shirt under overalls. I guess I must really look like the gardener.
'Whom may I say is calling?'
'My name is Jack Hamilton, this is my brother George, this is Jane Spencer-Brown, and the gentleman engrossed with his data pad is John Deeth.'
John wasn't even looking up. Ever since they had asked him to join them in seeing the Duke, he had been busy tapping away and muttering to himself.
'Is the Duke expecting you?'
'No. We tried calling ahead but were told that the Duke was unavailable. However it is really important that we speak with him.'
'Is it indeed. Is it? Well since you are here now I might as well see if the Duke is accepting callers. Won't you follow me?' The Duke led them up the stairs to the formal entrance. Might as well have a little more fun.
The hall was truly exceptional. The marble flooring seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. At the far end was a staircase flowing up either side of the hall to the next floor some twenty-five feet above. They all fell silent, taken aback by the ornate splendour of it, except for John who was still tapping away and muttering to himself. Jane gave him a gentle nudge. He looked up.
'Nice.' John said and carried on with what he was doing.
The Duke showed them into the drawing room. Jack suddenly realised that wealth and privilege are relative. His own home, in which he had always felt somewhat awkward, was regarded with awe by most of his guests. This however was truly palatial. Kings and Queens would feel at home here, he noted.
'If you would wait here the Duke will be with you shortly. Can I offer you some refreshments whilst you wait?'
'That would be kind. Thank you.' Jane replied.
The Duke departed and asked the butler to send in tea for five. He headed upstairs to change.
'So what do you think Jack.' George asked his brother.
'I think this guy must be worth a fortune. Several fortunes probably.'
'I meant how do you think we should approach him?'
'Well if Jane's information is correct, and I have no reason to doubt it, we should just be direct. If he responds in kind then we can tell him what we know. If not, well, then we might have a problem.'
'The information should be sound.’ Jane said. ‘However he is part of a very secret organisation and he might not want to admit that. The others, apparently, are very cagey.'
'What are you up to John?' Jack asked.
'I'm busy.'
'I can see that. What are you busy doing?'
'Research.'
The door opened and a maid entered bearing a silver tray. She placed it on one of th
e tables and laid out the tea, coffee and a platter of assorted sandwiches. She left without saying a word.
John immediately stopped what he was doing and helped himself to a coffee and a plate of sandwiches. He took these and walked out through the French doors so he could smoke in the garden. Jane helped herself and followed him into the garden.
'What are you doing exactly?' She said, nibbling on the corner of a sandwich.
John stopped and looked up at Jane. 'Genealogy.' He turned back to what he was doing.
'Well OK then.' Jane said, not understanding at all. She wondered back in to the drawing room.
The drawing room door opened and a well-dressed man walked in. It was clearly the same man they had met in the garden.
'You're the Duke?' Jack asked incredulously.
'Frederick Lambert-Hurst, 19th Duke of Hertfordshire at your service.' The look on their faces was reward enough for his subterfuge. He shook hands with Jack and George and kissed Jane's politely. John was still in the garden.
Jane took the initiative. She explained who they were, their involvement now with Group 79 and that they had been informed that he was a member too.
'A very interesting story. Yes very interesting. Tell me Jane, for arguments sake, why such a group would be in existence and why should I be a member?'
'I don't know.' This was not going at all how she had hoped.
'Well then, there you go. Any other questions?' The Duke asked.
'Yes actually.' John said entering both the room and the conversation. 'Tell me when you were the first Duke of Hertfordshire how did you come about your wealth and title?'
'Well the title was fairly easy actually. You see the then King of England, Charles the first, was fighting an expensive war and he needed money which I provided.....that is the .....I mean.....my ancestor provided the King with money and got the title in return.' The Duke's face flushed with anger and embarrassment at being caught out so easily.
'What on earth are you on about John?' Jack exclaimed, annoyed that John hadn't shared this with the group previously.
'It appears that this gentleman, if I can use the term, has a way to cheat death.'
The Duke sighed, this he had decided, would be his last incarnation. He was tired in a way that sleep could not fix. There was nothing he had to fear now. Death would be welcome.
'Not cheat exactly. I just have the ability to transfer my consciousness from one host to another.'
'How old exactly are you?' John asked, pleased that his research had proved correct.
'Exactly I'm not sure. However, you are right; I was the first Duke of Hertfordshire. I was many things before that too.'
'Such as what?'
'Well I once lived in a small village next to the River Tiber in what is now Italy. I saw it grow quite substantially.'
'You lived through the Roman Empire?' Jane couldn't take it all in.
'Oh yes. I also lived through the Babylonian and Egyptian as well. Before that, well, things were not so civilised.'
'How do you...' Jane inquired, her journalistic instinct taking over.
'Transfer my consciousness? Trade secret I'm afraid. So you know about our little group then. What are you plans?'
'We want to free earth.' Jack said, still somewhat sceptical.
'Ah yes. Freedom. Freedom is good. It is right. How can I help?'
There was silence now. In their haste to meet a member of Group 79, they had not considered what they needed from the group, or what assistance they could provide.
'What would you suggest?' John said.
'Very good, err...' The Duke hadn't been properly introduced.
'John Deeth.' John said, holding out his hand.
The Duke took his hand and shook it warmly.
'Very good Mr Deeth. That is the right question. Tell me first though, how did you uncover my little secret?'
'I wrote a genealogy program a few years back. It wasn't supposed to be that mind you. Originally, it was going to be a stock market program, but it failed miserably to predict the market in any way I could exploit. Then I was facing the submission deadline for my project and didn't want to scrap all my work so I looked at other things. Genealogy was the best fit.'
'You must show me this program sometime.' The Duke seemed genuinely interested.
'I'd be happy to.' John said, aware that he was being flattered. 'However if you could first answer my question.'
'I, we have good connections. We also have considerable resources. For example, it was our group who have been funding your work, Mr Deeth. What we couldn't have anticipated was the enormous breakthrough that your work provided. For everything we are, we are not scientists or engineers.'
'You still haven't answered my question in practical terms.' John noted.
'No I haven't, have I? We will provide direction and support. Your plans I'm afraid will have to be your own.'
'Oh and who decided that?' Jack insisted.
'We did. A long time before you were born.' There was a strength and finality in how the Duke said this that left no room for negotiation.
'OK.’ Said Jane. ‘Provide us with some direction then.' Open ended and leading, that's the way forward with this guy. Jane reflected whether guy was the right term.
'Well, have you considered what you are up against?'
Jack decided to field that one. 'We estimate that there are somewhere around a hundred thousand Sunarr soldiers on earth, who are strategically placed to control the governments, the media and the military.'
'So get rid of them and you're free then? Is that the plan?' The Duke asked incredulously.
'Basically yes.' George replied.
'And how long do you think your freedom would last?'
Again, there was silence; it came to Jack to break it.
'I guess until they send reinforcements.' Jack admitted, starting to realise the enormity of the task ahead.
'They probably wouldn't even land. They could destroy this planet from space. Not literally of course, but suffice so there wouldn't be any human resistance when they did land.'
'So we have to remove the aliens and protect the world from further invasions.' John said, as much for clarification as anything.
'Precisely. Not an easy task I grant you. I don't envy you having to do it. But do it you must.'
'And you won't help us with this?' George asked.
'I think I already have. But no, the details are yours to decide. Tell me Mr Deeth, how proceeds your research?'
John outlined his findings to date.
'So one of these particles, what did you call them? Deeth particles? One of these Deeth particles destroyed a solid steel structure and a wall. That sounds quite impressive doesn't it?'
'Yes, I'm really lucky, if it had been more than one then...’ The light came on in John's head. 'If we could create a stream of these particles or increase the number that react at a time then....'
'Then what?' Jack asked.
'Then, we would have a weapon of incredible power.'
'But I thought you said that these Deeth particles could be captured and used like wind in a sail to travel in space.' Jane said.
'That too. But this way we would have a weapon with which to defend ourselves.'
'But what about Earth?' George asked.
'Good question George. So John what about Earth?' Jack asked.
'Well…' John was thinking on his feet now, ‘I guess we would need a number of the weapons, with considerable fire power. They would also need to be space born as well.'
'Why space born?' Jane asked.
'Well this kind of battle would involve incredible forces. If their weapons are similar, and I guess they probably are, then we would want to keep the fight as far away from earth as possible. In addition, the earth's atmosphere would provide some additional protection. Not much perhaps, but some. Also we would need as much warning of their approach as possible and for that we would also need to be in space.'
'What sort of
forces are we talking about?' Jack asked.
'I’ll need to do some proper calculation but roughly speaking, in terms of force, probably something like small tactical nuclear weapons, but confined to the point of impact. Think of them as nuclear bullets.'
Nuclear bullets, thought Jack,
now there's a cheerful thought .
21 Chapter Name
08:55 28 December [08:55 28 December GMT]
Stately Home of 19th Duke of Hertfordshire, England.
The Duke worked through his morning post. It was always neatly piled on his desk here in his private study, laid there by his butler who removed the non-private letters passing those to the Duke's secretary. The remaining private correspondence was depressingly small. He longed for the days gone past when post was the only means of long distance communication. Then he would have huge piles of letters from home and abroad, informing him of the latest developments in peoples’ lives and the world in general. Now it was just an occasional few. The plethora of instant communications had impacted on the written word. Gone was the long flowing text, the complex but pleasing prose. Now it was more formal, more like a business letter than personal communication. He had to admit though that he too had become a victim of the trend. He didn't send letters like those he used to, so he knew that he had little reason to expect others to.
He opened the humidor on his desk and withdrew one of his personal cigars. Hand rolled in Cuba these were his personal stock and produced just for him. The air thickened as the smoke rose. He savoured the flavour, especially when it mixed with his coffee. The combination was intoxicating. He reached for the next letter and started to read. An irritating electronic noise interrupted him. He glanced up and was surprised to see it was his private line. Only a few people had this number. He picked up the receiver and spoke.
'This is Frederick'
'You do not know me,' the woman's voice said, with a distinct Eastern European accent, 'but you knew my mother when you were Consul-General in St. Petersburg.'
'Solomon?'
'Yes. Look I need your help.'
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