by Daniel Kemp
“Did you read any of what was in that paper, Fianna?” I asked, still shocked.
“Only the opening lines, Shaun. How did it start? Oh yes, how could I forget.” With a patronising smile on her face she began to recite the first two short paragraphs of my work from a piece of paper she withdrew from a pocket.
There is no Right in this world. No seraphic conscience that guides our decisions in a righteous direction towards what is implied to be; the right way. There is only Wrong. Wrong never deviates, nor can it be complicated by conscience.
The reaction to the effects of any action upon collective humanity are not governed by an inbred spirituality. The response is based solely on an individual's, or government's, ability to assimilate the cost to himself, or country. Be that life or death, war or peace, or truth or lie.
The failure to respond to Wrong is not wrong. It is the natural progression towards the acceptance that there is no Right.
“I gave up after that, far too intellectual for me. I used to find Enid Blyton too difficult.”
“Did Jack read that?” I enquired painfully.
“He did and then he made me write it down.”
“I'm so pleased you both found it so absorbing. I'm impressed,” I managed to reply, confused and agitated at the same time.
“Did Jack tell you of my being wounded and ask you to return?”
“Not exactly, but he does know I'm here. I think I may have given him more to think of, Shaun.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Have you a gun?” she asked with the pain of life that I first saw in Twickenham lining her face with its intensity in her eyes.
“I did have. It should be with the clothing I was wearing.”
“It's not now! Nor do those look like worn trousers and shirt.” She indicated the newly pressed garments hanging from a cupboard door.
“That's all new stuff. Perhaps you were covered in the gunman's blood.”
“Jack said he was wounded so, that could be right. Do you know what's happened to him, as Jack was his usual vague self?”
“He's dead, Shaun!”
“And I need a gun, do I.”
“I'm of a mind to think that you do, yes. Luckily for you I have two.”
“Am I to guess that Jack doesn't know that?”
“You'd be far from wrong by thinking that.”
“Okay, then whose side is Jack on and come to that whose side are you on, Fianna?”
“We have a saying in Ireland that goes—your feet will carry you to where your heart lies. I'm here, so pick the bones out of that, brother dear.”
“You haven't answered about Jack.”
“He's on the side of right, but according to you there is no right, or, have I got that wrong?” she smiled deliciously.
“You're in no danger from Jack, Shaun. Have you taken a look at that list of chemicals that he left with you?” she asked as the subject was changed from the future to the here and now.
“Only a quick look, before I nodded off. I'd like to get a shoe on this foot of mine and have something soft to eat before giving it my full attention. I'm starving and thirsty as hell,” I replied.
“We're back where I came in. Hell again,” she smiled and I returned that smile. Only mine was forced whereas hers looked pure and honest. Where did I go from here, I wondered as I desperately tried to gather what thoughts I had left making sense of a situation I was still trying to understand.
“It's a fifty-yard walk from here to the street outside. I'll turn my back while you dress and then, if you're up for it, we'll wander out and catch a cab to Sally's. I'll stand you breakfast. Are you up to having that splint removed? If not I'll leave it on, but you'll find it difficult to eat and drink with it there, Shaun.” She gently touched the side of my face, sending shivers down my back and making the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mid Morning In New York
The Wait
I had recovered the list from under my pillow then dressed and with careful steps, aided by a walking frame, followed Fianna to the street. The splint was off, but the pain was still there. When we arrived at Salvatore's I waved her on before me as I paid the cab fare. She obeyed under protest, carrying on with her complaint as I caught up with her inside the restaurant. She was at the counter ordering.
“That stubborn side of yours could have led to a fall, Shaun. How does your foot feel?”
“A little sore, but on the whole, fine, thanks. Can I get some water to go with that coffee, I'm gasping!”
“How about your face?” she asked.
“I'll manage with a straw. I'll tell you more after I've eaten.”
“I've ordered you some porridge.”
“I hate porridge! Lumpy wallpaper paste! Anyway, I thought you said we'd miss breakfast?”
“It's about all you can eat for a few days, besides, it's good for you,” she stated to my obvious annoyance.
“These Americans eat it all the time. I'll get that water of yours brought over. I'm going to use the Ladies and leave you to have a ponder on that list of Jack's. See if you can fathom it out. Be back in two shakes of a bee's bum.”
“And how long is that?”
“Depends on the size of its bum, Shaun.” Her golden smile turned towards the washrooms leaving the shrill of an Irish laugh lingering, as the only other person in the restaurant rose from the end table he occupied and left. I watched as he crossed the road to use the same phone kiosk that Jack had used. Even allowing for my anaesthetised mind the coincidence did not escape me.
Around the corner from Sally's was the same Ford van that had taken me on that hooded trip yesterday, only this time Job had company inside with him listening in to the wiretap he had on that telephone; it was Alain Aberman.
“The man who had Leeba in that apartment is not dead. He's in Guigamo's with a tall broad with red hair. No, they're the only ones in there!”
When Haynes Baxter-Clifford next used his telephone it was to call Karl Weilham, who took the call and then hurriedly made arrangements to leave.
* * *
There were more people interested in the comings and goings at Salvatore's this day other than Alain and the man who worked for Haynes. Henry Cavendish had an agent taking photographs from a car parked down the street. However, his camera was never pointed at the two figures that approached on foot. There was no need. One was Daniel Cardiff and the other, agent Harold Lawson.
Fraser Ughert had parked the car he had rented under the name of Fergus Andrews much earlier that morning then walked the block, noting both the Ford van and the FBI agent with a camera. He was now sitting inside his vehicle also watching the front entrance to Sally's. He had misgivings on seeing Cardiff, ones of a professional nature, but Fraser was not fully aware of Dicky's plans. He might have been more worried if he did know.
* * *
As the tables on the pavement outside began to fill with lunchtime customers and the noisy conversations penetrated inside the building, I started my examination of the list. It was extensive and complex. There were chemical compounds such as corticosteroids, which could cause depression or induce euphoric mania. Mescalines which were common hallucinogens. Methamphetamine which can act as an aphrodisiac, or as another euphoriant, but it can also send a user delusional and psychotic. Another inducer of sleep; benzodiazepines, but overuse of that drug can cause strong dependency, along with memory loss and aggression. There was one chemical compound that I had no knowledge of, and not having access to a periodic table, I had no way of finding out what it was. It could either have been a hybrid, or something recently discovered. To determine what all this added up to needed experiments conducted under laboratory conditions where the combination of the available structural formulas could be supervised, preferably on recipients of some kind. Either the bee had a small bum or Fianna's phone call to Jack, with an update of my condition, was short and compact.
“Come to any concl
usions, Doctor Mengele?”
“That's a very strange name to use, Fianna. Why him?” I asked.
“Just the first name that came into my foolish head, brother dear. How's it going? Have you cracked it yet?”
“Nowhere and no, are the short answers to that, sister dear. All I could possibly do is to guess. This is just a list with nobody telling me how it's been put together. I'd need to see the whole package. But even then, without trials, I would not be able to reach a definitive conclusion on what purpose it serves. If Jack's on his way here for an answer then he'll be disappointed. Where did he get this from, Fianna?”
“Sorry, Shaun, but I've no idea. He just asked that when awake you took a look. He is on his way, only he has things to do before he can get here. He wanted me to apologise on his behalf for keeping you waiting.”
“Has it anything to do with an Argentine town called Trelew?” I asked.
“Nope, sorry! Not told about that. Care to fill me in?”
* * *
“Wow, what a sight you make, Shaun! Straight out of a horror movie without the need of makeup, but at least you're walking unaided,” Jack declared as he saw me standing at the counter of Salvatore's ordering two more coffees. He looked flushed in the face as though he had hurried from somewhere else. He also looked odd. Dressed in blue overalls bearing the white logo of a cleaning company; Wiped Out Cleaning.
“It's all good with me, Jack. How's it going in your world? Found a new occupation, with more clearing up to do?” I replied.
“I wear them now and again just to keep my clothes clean, Shaun. Job has a plentiful supply if ever you need a set.”
* * *
Cilla had been a complication that needed fixing after their planned evening together had fallen through because of my injuries. Jack had wanted one last visit into Weilham's office on Wednesday night to set his recording machines to tape Richard Stockford, the chairman of the German pharmaceutical company, Karl and his South African wife in conversation. Now that the coming together was no longer a proposition he had visited the UN building on his way to Salvatore's this morning.
“They kept me in the hospital, Cilla. I'm so sorry, but I had no way of letting you know. If only I had been a little less English and asked for your phone number. Anyway, too late for that now! It turned out that I have a slight heart murmur that requires some investigating. They let me loose on the world an hour ago when it turned out to be not as serious as they thought. I've got to go back in a week's time for an ambulatory electrocardiogram. No, don't look so worried, it really is nothing. Just a tiny machine strapped to me that measures my heartbeat as I go about a normal day's activities.
The only trouble is I'll have to tell my supervisor for insurance purposes, you understand. Look, I know it's a bit much to ask, but as it's Thursday today I need to work to get a full paid week in, otherwise they dock my money and quite honestly with all this going on I can do with every penny, oops, cent! I wouldn't have this problem back in the UK with their National Health and all that, but when in Rome as they say. Anyway could I borrow your keys? That way no one should know that I'm late on parade, as I can get straight on without signing in. I'll spin some line about forgetting to, when I sign out. I'm sure I won't be the first who's forgotten.
What's that, you will! You're an angel, Cilla, and no mistake. How about we have a drink after work, then perhaps a walk in Central Park in the setting sun? If tonight is as good as it has been, then it should be lovely.”
“I would so love that, Cecil, but only if you really want to. No pressure at my end.”
“That's a date then, and thanks again for the keys. I'll catch you later and arrange the time, Cilla.”
It was then that he made the wax impression of her master key, rather than last night.
“Everything's hunky-dory with me, Shaun,” he said, as he passed a small tin box to Salvatore.
“Make anything of that list of chemical elements I gave you?” he asked.
“Nothing, Jack. Told Fianna the same.”
“Know anything about a country called Namibia?” he quizzed me, with that characteristic, supercilious smile on his face.
“Other than it's next door to South Africa, then no again.”
“Part of South Africa nowadays in reality what with apartheid in that country. Let me grab a coffee and I'll join the two of you. I have some points of interest to explain that might tie a couple of knots up for you,” he volunteered mysteriously.
“Is what's happened to Leeba on your agenda, Jack, or did her disappearance come as a surprise? And while we're on the subject of loose ends how about that man of Haynes Baxter-Clifford? Fianna tells me he's dead. Are there any more waiting to shoot me before I get to go home?”
“In one way you should be grateful to Haynes. It was after all his concrete floor that saved your life, Shaun. If it had been made of wood then he wouldn't have wounded himself and in all probability he would have shot you dead. Why the mention of home? Fed up with excitement already, are you?” he laughed and I caught myself joining in. He turned and ordered his coffee.
Whilst he stood at the counter, Salvatore approached him and whispered in his ear. Jack appeared to be halfway between elated and puzzled, but whatever it was it did not remove his smile.
“Good to see the two of you having fun.” Fianna took up the conversation whilst he still waited.
“Next thing we'll all be on Broadway in a threesome production of Hair. I could be the Irish equivalent of Sally Eaton. That's if no one notices I've got red hair. Why did you get the colour of that beautiful hair of yours changed, Shaun? Blond doesn't suit you at all,” Fianna complained.
“Blame him,” I pointed at Jack, adding, “and he sent me to a mad woman to have it done.” I spoke quietly, not because my face ached but trying not to offend Salvatore.
“You're not about to tell me of another of your conquests are you, cos if you are then I'm covering me ears, unless you agree to performing in Hair with me,” smiling she tried to entice me.
“If it involves any dancing then I'll sit that bit out,” I replied, caught up in her euphoric mood. But not for long.
“Has Richard been frightened off from meeting Karl, Jack? Or, will he go in the end?” I asked as he returned, coffee in hand.
“There was I thinking that your broken face might have stopped your questions long enough for me to get a few words in. Seems not even that can stop you. Good job you're not a dog. You would have chewed my leg off by now if you were.” Anything to avoid the subject, I thought. I persevered.
“What was the topic they were going to discuss, Jack? Care to fill us both in?” He sipped his coffee and lit a cigarette, and both Fianna and I followed his lead. It was then that he slowly started to reveal the truth behind the façade he'd built around that 1937 meeting in Vienna.
“There was a settlement at a place called Karas, about five hundred kilometres east of Bloemfontein, in Namibia, that up until Tuesday of this week was the home of some three hundred or so souls of the Nama tribe. Today not one of those are alive. Want to know why, Shaun?” Fianna was puffing vigorously on her cigarette, not looking at either of us as I answered.
“I would think it's something to do with that list you gave me. From what I can gather I would say they become delusional with either depression or severe euphoria then either killed each other or killed themselves. Whichever way their lives ended it was neither pleasant nor painless. I'm guessing of course as there was one element I'd not seen before; CID 3355. I have no idea what molecular formula that refers to.”
“It's a high-powered painkiller, Shaun. The strongest that's yet been discovered. You're wrong about them dying painfully. They never felt a thing! The experiment took three days. That's what Karl, his wife and their chums were to discuss. Mrs Olivia Weilham brought the results to New York this morning. Benzine of some description was added so I'm told, not sure why though.”
“Was it sprayed over that settlement?” I asked.
<
br /> “Yes, it was. One thousand gallons of the stuff delivered on consecutive days with differing amounts of methamphetamines added along with the chemical you couldn't pin down. Notes were taken of the results from a fair old distance. Behaviour, tolerance, resistance, that sort of thing. Some of those affected would have walked through machine-gun fire to kill anything. They who looked on were very clinical. It was Olivia Weilham's company who supplied the planes, observers and then it was her men who counted the bodies before burning them.” His face was of a tortured mess, squinty-eyed, channelled brow, clenched teeth, all moving and changing as the tale became more terrifying.
“I asked about the spraying because the benzine could have made it atmospherically heavier, Jack. Plus, if it was an ethanol-based substance it could have made it sweeter to breathe. Like sniffing a good cognac or whisky. I'm surprised your lab technician never told you that. If you knew what the whole thing added up to why give it to me?”
“Simple, Shaun, I wanted you to know who and what we're dealing with. If this stuff had been manufactured indiscriminately then whoever held the formula had life or death hanging over us all.”
“There's a lot of past tense in that remark of yours. Have you stopped the manufacture?”
“We think we have, Shaun, and we believe we have the only copy of the compound. We now have to deal with those who wanted it in the first place. Do you want a role in that part of this operation?” he asked.
“Can't see as I'd be much use to you, Jack.”
“You're not usually unsure of what you want. Sidestepping was a word I never thought I'd aim at you. What's put the doubts in your mind?”
“Fianna did. I'm not sure that I want to be involved in Clifford's death by whatever method the two of you devised. Incidentally, the gun you gave me is no longer in my possession, Jack, so, if you're thinking of asking me to shoot someone I'm afraid I'll have to refuse. Will that put me on the next plane home?” I was fishing to see if he knew that Fianna had given me a replacement.
