The Eagle's Covenant

by Michael Parker

  “Here we go!” Joanna called nervously. “Keep your fingers ready Conor.”

  The codes came up on the screen exactly as they had on the main control computer in front of the SCO. The next instruction was that the new codes should be typed in.

  “Now Conor! Open!”

  Conor hit the combination and looked across at Joanna.

  “Shut!”

  Conor closed transmission.

  Eshkol watched the SCO feed in his codes. It entailed a thirty two bit encryption which Joanna’s Trojan horse was busy transmuting into a junked version of the Israeli codes. The computer reproduced the new code numbers for verification and transmitted them to the satellite. At least, it looked that way, but in reality, Joanna’s converted figures were busy winging their way across thousands of miles of space and being returned to the SCO’s consul. And there they were transposed back to the original numbers.

  The SCO confirmed the new codes had been entered and grinned up at Eshkol. “Codes confirmed, sir,” he said triumphantly.

  A cheer went round the room followed by general back slapping and hand clapping. Champagne appeared as if by magic and euphoria began to envelope them all.

  Except the second control officer. He had been within seconds of identifying the hacker only for the itinerant to close down communication.

  “Got them!” Joanna leapt up from her chair and danced around the room.

  Conor felt elated too. But tinged with that elation was an element of sorrow. It was over. Soon there would no longer be any reason for him to continue his association with Joanna. As much as he wanted to, he knew he had more chance of flying to the moon.

  He got up from his chair. “Is that it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she sang. She continued to dance and suddenly waltzed her way over to Conor. She threw her arms around him. Conor almost stumbled backwards. Then he felt Joanna’s lips on his and he returned the kiss hungrily.

  Suddenly she pushed him away. She looked away from him brushed herself down. It was a defensive kind of gesture.

  “I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I shouldn’t have done that.” She looked up quickly and then looked away again. “I’m not usually given over to spontaneous gestures like that.”

  Conor nodded. “I understand,” he told her unhappily. “So,” he said, changing the subject. “What happens now?”

  She turned to the computers. “Well, first we have to unplug because in a little while the balloon will go up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gave him a lopsided smile and picked up a disc from the desk. “This is a time bomb.” She removed the floppy disc from the computer’s disc drive and inserted the one she had shown Conor. “Right, transmit to me then pull your data lead out.” She nodded. “Do it now Conor.”

  He did as he was asked and transmitted. Then he closed down and pulled the communication lead from his computer. Joanna loaded the disc in and transmitted.

  “Got them!” The second control officer was jubilant. “Yes!” He clenched his fist.

  The SCO looked round. “Are they still transmitting?” he asked. His colleague checked the screen.

  “No, they’ve stopped. But I have them. Next time they come on line....” He snapped his fingers.

  Schiller had his back to the consoles. He was talking to Eshkol. Suddenly the man’s expression changed. Schiller frowned, turned towards the direction of Eshkol’s source of confusion and saw, from the body language of the two computer men that something had gone wrong.

  “What is it?” He barked the question out. He was no longer thinking of irritating hackers playing games. Something told him this was serious. The two control officers were transfixed by a message on the screen. It dominated the two computers, emblazoned like a banner.

  WARNING!! You have a virus time bomb in your software. The active boot partition of your system has been encrypted. You must respond to this message within fifteen minutes to prevent detonation. Failure to do so will result in a total reformat of all your hard discs. You are at liberty to challenge me and attempt to find and destroy the virus. To acknowledge me and halt the clock, please type the word ‘Freiheit’.

  There was silence in the room as each man clustered round the consoles. The SCO typed the word in. Another message flashed up on the screen.

  Thank you. You now have sixty seconds to attempt communication with your satellites. You will find this impossible. The clock will start after that unless you type in the word ‘Lebensraum’.

  The SCO looked frantically at Eshkol who was now, or should have been, effectively in control. He was still trying to come to terms with this frightening development. He nodded.

  The SCO typed in the passwords for access to the satellites’ control computers. Once in he was then asked for the codes. Gingerly, all eyes on the screen, he typed in Eshkol’s new codes. The reply on the screen was like a knife turning in their stomachs.

  INCORRECT CODES. ACCESS DENIED.

  Schiller slumped to the floor, his frail heart unable to take the shock. Although he was still alive, his breathing was quite shallow. Suddenly pandemonium broke out. The Israeli contingent immediately suspected some kind of collusion by the Germans with another group, which was ludicrous in the extreme. There was no reason why Schiller need play the Israelis for fools.

  Schiller’s personal secretary pushed aside any concerns for his master’s satellite system and ran from the room to call for medical assistance. All Schiller’s house staff was trained in first aid and there was always at least one paramedic on duty.

  Above the noise and confusion, the SCO called for quiet. He had their attention immediately. He went back to the screen and typed the word Lebensraum. Another message appeared on the screen.

  The clock has stopped. When you next press a key, the clock will start. You will have precisely thirteen minutes to find and destroy the virus. Try if you dare. To stop the clock again type ‘Himmel’. I will communicate again soon.

  The message disappeared. Immediately the SCO attacked the keyboard and began typing in commands which would set in motion torpedo programmes to search out and destroy enemy viruses. As he did, a digital clock appeared on the screen and began counting down from thirteen minutes.

  Schiller struggled to his feet after someone had produced a glass of water. His secretary returned and helped the old man to a chair. Schiller’s complexion was wan and pale, and there was genuine concern for his wellbeing as he was lowered into the chair.

  “What is going on?” he seemed to ask nobody in particular. “Why are they doing this to me?”

  There was no-one to answer for him; no-one to offer any comfort other than to stare and wonder as obliquely as the poor, frail old billionaire was staring and wondering.

  He drew in a deep breath and struggled to his feet. His secretary helped him walk over to the consoles where he could see the one sided battle being waged. It was obvious though which side was losing.

  The clock eventually ticked down to fifteen seconds when the SCO typed in the code word to stop the clock. The inevitable message appeared.

  I knew you wouldn’t do it, but tomorrow is another day. You will now retain control of your satellites for one week. I’ll be in touch.

  The screen went blank.

  There was a collective murmur of incredulity. All of them in that room were intelligent enough to realise they would have to rely on the expertise or guile of others to resolve the situation. There was little or nothing any of them could do.

  The SCO sat there feeling helpless. “Whoever he is, he’s a clever bastard,” he admitted. “Really clever.” he turned to his colleague. “Did you track him down while I was on line?”

  His colleague grinned and wiped his hand across his forehead. “You won’t believe it,” he warned him. “Because I don’t.”

  Schiller pushed forward. “You mean you know who did this?”

  The second officer regarded Schiller carefully. “I know where it came from, sir.
But not necessarily who did it.”

  “Where man? Where?” he demanded to know.

  “Whoever hacked into our system did so from somewhere inside the Volkspartei headquarters.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Conor was sitting beside Joanna in the noiseless interior of her Mercedes. Behind them, secure in his baby car cot, was little Manny. The three of them were like a small family and Conor found himself surprisingly content with that.

  They had left behind the frenetic highways of the industrialised heartland and were motoring gently on well- made roads that turned and twisted through the beauty of the Black Forest. The lush green of the pine and cypress trees dipped their foliage against the sunlight and lined their route in graceful symmetry.

  Conor had no idea where they were going. Joanna had been surprisingly reticent about revealing the details. He had been even more surprised when she had suggested, in emotional, faltering tones, that they go away together. She hadn’t wanted it this way, she’d told him. It appalled her to think she felt even a trace of emotion for him, but she felt the need for his company. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere peaceful.

  Naturally, Conor showed no reluctance at all. In his wildest dreams he would never have imagined that Joanna felt something for him. The realisation elated him, and he was quite happy to ride the wave to its blissful conclusion.

  After their battle on the field of computer technology, he had embraced Joanna. The adrenalin rushes had driven them both to a high degree of warmth and good feeling. It had been this, Conor decided, that moved Joanna to ask him to come away with her.

  They wasted little time. That morning, the day after Joanna had planted the software time bomb in Schiller’s system, she had gathered up her son and told her staff she would be away for a few days. None of them were told where she would be.

  Conor wondered how she intended to continue her battle with Schiller and how she intended to resolve the outcome. It was then she told him how she had planted the identity code of the Volkspartei computer in the machine Conor had been using.

  “I hacked into the Volkspartei HQ.” she had explained. “I was able to go in legitimately using Hansi’s communication protocol. I used the piggy back to extract the data I needed. So, when they were trying to trace the source of the software time bomb, I let them find you. They thought they had found the culprit.”

  Conor whistled through his teeth. “Clever girl. So Schiller will go after the Volkspartei with all guns blazing. And that means Franz Molke.”

  “Should sort them out,” she had remarked laconically.

  Conor watched the trees flashing by in silence. His thought wrapped around the beauty beside him. The intelligence of the woman staggered him, and she had shown tremendous mental agility that would have matched any physical prowess shown by many of his previous comrades. He was looking forward to their association and hoped it would be more than just a fleeting affair.

  Joanna had not spoken for some time. She seemed nervous. Conor thought he could understand why. She had asked him to be patient; to show some understanding. It wasn’t going to be easy for her under the circumstances. But he had made up his mind to follow her lead; not to push. He knew his patience would be more than justly rewarded.

  “Is it far?”

  Joanna almost jumped out of her skin. In truth she wasn’t too sure just how far they had to go yet. “I don’t think so,” she answered hopefully. “Last time I came this way, Hansi was driving.”

  He let it go. What did it matter how far they had to go? He asked himself. So long as he was with her, he would travel as far as she wanted.

  “You’re taking a bit of a gamble though, aren’t you?”

  The question startled her. She could feel moisture gathering on her fingertips. “Why? What do you mean?”

  “You’ve left Schiller with no control over his satellites. So what happens now?” He watched her driving as he spoke. Her eyes did not leave the road. She flicked a quick, nervous glance at him.

  “How could you do that if you denied them their codes?” he asked.

  Joanna smiled a little lopsidedly; almost triumphantly. “I lied,” she told him. “I didn’t deny them their codes. But they will spend the next week tearing their hair our wondering how on earth I could when the truth is, I can’t. What I have done though is to sow a seed of doubt. It’s like putting a virus into their collective minds. They will spend a lot of time and energy trying to solve a problem that doesn’t exist. All I did was to put a message on their screen before we left; let them think they only have control for a while.”

  She raised her chin in a kind of superior gesture. “I decided to let them stew a little. I worded it with enough Volkspartei arrogance to convince them who was running the show now. And I extracted enough data to get back into their system again before the end of the week. If I want to,” she added.

  He smiled and looked back through the windscreen. The road curled languidly, following the line of trees, past flowing streams rushing over rocks that churned the water into minor rapids. The car ate the miles up effortlessly and smoothly. Above the forest canopy the sun was losing height and casting streamers of gold through the foliage.

  “Will you make contact with Schiller?”

  Joanna shook her head. “Someone else will do that.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s best you don’t know.”

  He let it drop. Joanna knew what she was doing. Whoever she asked to make contact with Schiller would need a lot of clout. Schiller was like a man without his crutches; capable of standing, but not capable of walking. But the endgame was disposal of Schiller’s empire in a more parochial fashion. Conor knew that Schiller would have to agree terms. One word to the national press and all hell would break loose. Once the Arabs got a whiff of Schiller’s plans there would be bedlam. He would have lost the advantage and be accused of being a threat to world peace. Any label attached to him would stick. Yes, he decided, Joanna knew exactly what she was doing.

  The road ahead forked. Sitting at the beginning of the fork was an old man. He was wearing a Loden cape which Conor thought was unnecessary in the pleasant, autumnal weather. Joanna’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him. She could feel her mouth drying and she prayed Conor would not ask her a question because she didn’t think she would be able to speak.

  She took the right fork, looking nervously now for a track on the right-hand side of the road. It appeared after about one hundred metres. It was exactly as she had been told. She could almost hear the voice over the phone.

  Joanna signalled and slowed. She made a brave attempt at small talk but the words piled up against her arid vocal chords. The noise she made was more of a croak.

  “What’s up?” Conor asked.

  “Nearly there,” she stammered.

  “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

  “Mmm!” It was all she could manage.

  Joanna drove the car along the track which climbed lazily through the trees. Eventually they came to a hunting lodge. It looked a trifle incongruous in such a setting; a throwback to days of German aristocracy. But it still looked magnificent.

  Conor had seen places like this in many parts of Germany and Austria. Stout, log built lodges, pine smoke drifting from the chimney, mingling with the scent of the forest. It seemed perfect for a secret tryst with Joanna.

  She swung the car round in front of the lodge and stopped so that the car was facing back the way they had come. She took a deep breath and turned the ignition off. The gentle throb of the engine, barely discernible in the plush interior of the Mercedes, died. Joanna sat back in her seat, her hands stretched out on the wheel.

  “Here we are,” she said at last.

  Conor unbuckled his seat belt. “It looks magnificent.”

  Joanna retrieved her purse from the door recess beside her and opened it. As her hand touched the barrel key, its coldness seemed to rifle through her. She trembled and fumbled with her seat belt.

  Conor touche
d her gently. “Don’t be nervous,” he said softly. “I won’t rush you. Take all the time you need.”

  Joanna threw him a half-hearted glance and a wan smile. She then opened the door and got out of the car. Conor followed her. They walked up a narrow path leading to a few steps. Joanna felt her legs shake as she climbed each step. She wondered if she would make it to the top without collapsing.

  They stepped on to the veranda, their footfalls noisy on the wooden floor. Joanna approached the front door and inserted the key. She hoped Conor couldn’t see how violently her hand was shaking.

  The door swung open, creaking on its hinges, to reveal a magnificent lounge made entirely of pinewood. Around the walls were various hunting trophies, the pride of which was a huge boar’s head over the magnificent fireplace. Joanna walked to a beautifully carved coffee table and dropped the key on to its top. She straightened.

  “Kiss me, Conor.”

  He needed no second bidding. He stepped forward and took her in his arms. She melted in to him, her stiffness softening as their lips met. He crushed her mouth beneath his and drew her against his body so that he could feel every, soft curve of her flesh.

  She pulled away. “I’ll go and get Manny. He’ll need feeding.”

  He let her go and watched as she closed the door behind her, the vision of her loveliness held like a photographic still, black and white, fixed in his brain.

  “Hallo Conor!”

  The deep voice shattered the moment and Conor spun round. Facing him was a man he recognised. He was standing with his legs apart and his arms thrust outwards. Between his hands, Conor recognised the silenced barrel of a Browning 9mm. automatic. He felt the thud of two bullets in his chest before the sound came to his ears. The force of the shots threw him backwards and he crashed into the coffee table. He slid off the table and sprawled on the polished, wooden floor.