by Albert Able
First, he completely changed his identity as well as his physical appearance. The loss of a considerable amount of weight, most of which had been accumulated through excessive eating and drinking during his indolent days in the Diplomatic Corps, saw the return of the virile young body. He also changed his hairstyle, assuming a mature silver grey colour and the successful laser operation to his eyes allowed him to dispense with the thick heavy spectacles, which had so easily identified him in the past. Finally he adopted a new name, Carl Peterson, which he considered more appropriately reflected the true heritage afforded to him by his Norwegian mother and Austrian father.
Finally satisfied with his new image he set about the even more difficult task of finding a small group of partners with a shared passion for punishing the democratic system.
It took him several months to carefully identify the four fellow travellers with whom he was to eventually create the Syndicate. Each man was totally committed to achieving great wealth and power by way of avenging what they considered to have been the grossly unfair treatment for their particular misdemeanours.
Carl Peterson chose well and the Syndicate would soon become one of the most feared and notorious crime organisations in recent history. Until, of course, SONIC and the dedicated endeavour of Sonic’s top agent, Alex Scott, eventually brought their ambitions to an end.
There were to be many duals between them, yet they were never on a personal level. The Syndicate’s leader had always managed to retain his anonymity and although he enjoyed the advantage of knowing exactly who and what Alex Scott represented, he had never allowed it to develop into a personal vendetta. Carl Peterson had always been far too wise to let such emotions cloud his immaculate judgement, which meant that now, as he prepared to re-launch the Syndicate, he started with a very considerable advantage since he knew them but they did not know him!
***
With a gross tonnage of over forty-eight thousand tonnes Le Monde was a very big vessel and although not the largest passenger liner ever built, the unique concept was considered by some to be the greatest innovation in passenger travel since steam.
‘Le Monde’ was the dream of a handful of investors who planned and gave berth to the first vessel of its type. One of its elegant brochures described it as ‘the only way to travel the world without leaving home. This is not a Private Yacht nor is it a Cruise Ship. It is a Life Style Concept that Goes Beyond Anything That Has Ever Existed Before.
‘Almost six hundred and fifty feet in length, ‘Le Monde’ boasts one hundred luxury two- or three- bed-roomed apartments. The price ranges from a modest one million five hundred thousand pounds Stirling to a princely five million. The annual management charges vary between sixty to two hundred and fifty thousand pounds per apartment. A limited number of guest suites are available at a modest one thousand plus pounds per day.
Facilities on this dream vessel include six restaurants, swimming pools, a golf driving range and natural grass putting green, as well a full size tennis court and even a three hundred metre jogging circuit. Naturally there is a casino and a magnificent theatre. The Helipad allows for regular helicopter traffic between ship and shore for its affluent passengers.
‘The vessel and her exclusive residents will cruise the world chasing the best weather and any special prestigious international events such as the Cannes Film Festival, The Monaco Grand Prix or The Rio Carnival.
‘This exclusive floating resort is therefore going to attract only the richest individual people or major corporate investors. The consequences of which posed a gigantic security challenge. So in order to properly address this huge responsibility, the designers consulted the world’s best experts and eventually installed the most sophisticated detection and observation methods currently known to man. These included built-in personal security devices, like palm recognition scans and the integrally mounted internal and external sound and vision recorders.’
The controls of the ship had a multiple failsafe warning system. There were ultra-sound and external video hull inspection devices, which regularly scanned the hull for variations in the shape, particularly of the wetted area.
‘Pirates and the like won’t stand a chance’ the owner’s claimed - but then they hadn’t heard of the Syndicate. Few people ever had.
The ship had taken two years to be built at the yard in Norway. On completion she was launched, ceremonially blessed, collected her residents and set out in blaze of razzmatazz for the public relations tour of Europe.
The inaugural cruise would also to serve as her extended sea trials; in fact, thanks to her dedicated Norwegian builders, she performed immaculately. On completion of the three month tour the next twelve month’s itinerary was published detailing the general routes, all carefully timed, of course, to follow the most favourable weather.
Le Monde would start by crossing the Atlantic to New York then tour down the East coast and on to the Caribbean, followed by a brief run down the North East coast of South America before heading back to the Panama Canal and the Pacific Ocean. Then she was scheduled to take six months cruising through a number of the Pacific regions, before calling into Tokyo. From there she would travel south calling randomly at well-known ‘civilised’ locations en-route to Singapore. The return would be via Manila in the Philippines and on to Australia and New Zealand before crossing back to the Southern tip of South America.
As one of its original investors, Carl Peterson had always recognised the potential Le Monde offered as an attractive target for one or other of the more ambitious criminal or terrorist groups scattered around the globe. So, by using his considerable influence to obtain the electronic security contract, he would be able to ensure that Le Monde’s electronic security systems were of the most advanced space age technology, combined with a multitude of other protection devices that would be well outside the scope of the average commercial security engineers and thus would require the unique dedicated support of the main contractor.
One of the many advantages that Carl Peterson and the Syndicate possessed was their amazing network of often unwitting informers. Consequently when the contract for the onboard security system came up for tender, Carl Peterson’s SKY-SEC had little problem ensuring that their unique equipment was exactly what was required - as was their estimated price. So it was no surprise when the contract was offered to SKY-SEC, signed and that the work soon got underway.
As the numerous customised security controls were being installed, two of Carl Peterson’s most trusted operatives permanently implanted an array of obscure overriding devices. These were then programmed with the common security codes so that when the system went live they automatically became an integral part of it all.
As part of the settlement for the contract, Carl Peterson had negotiated the purchase of two of the liner’s most luxurious Penthouse apartments exclusively for him and his family.
As they sat on the terrace of the new apartment overlooking the flat oily sea as they cruised gracefully along the North African coast towards the Canary Islands Carl Peterson in a rare mood of self-gratification boasted to his fawning daughters: “The Captain and crew won’t be able to a thing to control the ship if we want it so.” He raised his tea in a toast “to the glory of micro technology”.
“Oh daddy,” giggled Elizabeth, “does that mean we can choose where we go next?”
“In principle, yes, but let’s wait, my kittens, let’s wait.” Peterson smiled smugly.
Later that day the ship would anchor briefly in Casablanca to refuel, allowing passengers time to go ashore.
Carl Peterson was unusually pleased with himself. “You have done well as usual, my kittens,” he smiled happily, “and so I think that now is the time to revive the Syndicate. But this time, there will be no partners to let the side down, just the four of us, a truly Family Syndicate.”
His eyes expressed a deep fire of determina
tion. “Once again the so called democratic institutions will pay a heavy toll to stay in business.” He raised his empty glass. “To us, my family and the New Syndicate.”
“To us and the New Syndicate,” the young ladies chanted happily in unison, raising their own glasses in salute.
“So daddy, does that mean if we don’t like the weather in the Caribbean we can just up and sail her somewhere else?” Liz sat up suddenly paying a little more attention.
“In theory we could, but as I said, that’s not the intended purpose my kittens. I have much more interesting little games to play.”
“Pity Rudi can’t be with us today. He would be very proud of this moment,” Liz added. “What would we do without our genius brother eh?” She raised her glass: “To Rudi!”
“To Rudi,” their father echoed.
“And, here’s to Charlie and David.” Karen followed a little sadly raising her glass of mint tea.
“Sorry about that my kittens, but we must have total security. There can never be any chance of a leak.” Carl absently stroked Karen’s hair as if she were no more than a faithful dog, and stared into the distance as he remembered the two remarkable young electronic engineers who had not only developed the special overriding devices, but had so carefully and cleverly concealed them in the vast labyrinth of cables and channels within the ship. “Yes, a real pity. They were quite pleasant young men.”
The girls remained silent; they knew better than to comment.
The ship could now sail the world, armed but safe until needed by its ultimate master, the Syndicate, who would wait patiently for the right moment to fulfil their terrifying ambition.
***
Casablanca, as with so many Arab Cities, is a wonderful mixture of ancient and modern cultures. With more than a little flavour still remaining of the French Colonial period, Casablanca offers its residents and visitors a delightful array of gastronomic opportunities to suit any taste.
“You two must stay aboard for the moment. I don’t want you swapped for camels - not yet any way.”
Carl Peterson smiled, gazing loving at his daughters. Although he frequently called them ‘his kittens’ he also likened them at times to a pair of Springer Spaniels tugging at the leash. Together with his son they were, he reflected, the only things of any emotional importance in his whole life.
“Oh Daddy you’re so wonderfully caring, how will your innocent young ladies ever grow up?” Liz teased, hugging her sister, Karen, protectively.
“Be good now,” he scolded.
Lightly ignoring their oblique plea to assist, he turned to go but then seemed to change his mind.
“OK, I’ll tell you what I want you do, if you can’t keep yourselves in check.” Carl smiled with understanding. “Go ashore with the scheduled ferry, in about half an hour.” He looked at his wristwatch. “Then take a cab to the King George V Hotel. It’s a bit scruffy but I want you to wait there until I contact you. I shouldn’t be very long, so please don’t get into any trouble! I need you to act as decoy, just in case, agreed?”
Although they were aged 28 and 29, Peterson knew that they had the spirit and energy of excited teenagers.
“See you there, oh master.” They called after him in unison.
“Take some overnight things. I may have some amusement for you.” He waved without turning as he strode purposefully to the gangway.
Carl Peterson was the only passenger on Le Monde’s cutter when it went ashore.
A small bribe easily persuaded the crewman to land him around the corner and out of sight of the usual landing jetty, which conveniently turned out to be just a short walk to the address he had been given in the text message. The inconspicuous building he noticed was in good structural condition. He could only speculate what the interior might be like, but as he stepped up to the door and was about to knock, a voice from the side of the narrow street hissed.
“Over here.”
Peterson turned as a shrouded figure stepped from the shadows.
“Mr Black?”
Peterson nodded.
“Follow me please.” The figure requested politely.
Peterson complied without question. They walked briskly through a maze of shaded alleys until they arrived at a small cobbled square. The perspiration ran freely down Peterson’s forehead, his shirt was soaked from the exertion in the stuffy thirty plus degrees of humid heat.
“Over there please.” The voice instructed once again.
Peterson looked across the square to where the man was pointing and saw a battered looking four by four Toyota, its engine rumbling gently in the still air. As he approached the vehicle a man appeared silently from the shaded side and politely opened the rear passenger door. Peterson entered and sat in the remaining empty seat.
The inside of the Toyota was not at all like the external appearance implied and he realised instantly why its engine had been running as the effects of the air-conditioning offered instant relief from the torturous heat outside.
There were two comfortable leather seats either side of small table. Two small bottles of iced water were positioned in a cooler near the window. A man dressed in Western style suit sat facing him.
“Some water?” The man picked up a bottle.
“Thank you,” Carl Peterson answered.
The man broke the seal before passing the bottle across.
Peterson took a modest draught of the icy liquid. “That is most welcome, thank you.” He deliberately replaced the top and slipped the bottle back into the cooler. He was so dehydrated that he had wanted to drink the whole bottle, but knew that it would not be good for him and nor would such lack of self-control impress his host.
“So, Mr Black is it?” The man didn’t introduce himself but raised his eyebrows in scorn. “What is it you think you can do for us?”
Carl Peterson was not a man to be intimidated by such tactics but from years of experience negotiating with every race and creed on the planet, knew when to be contrite or aggressive.
“I don’t wish to cause offence, but I don’t know you or your name. I do know, however, the people with whom I set up this meeting. So I’m afraid I can only discuss the intimate details with them.” Peterson raised his hands in innocent supplication.
Just out of Carl Peterson’s vision the man sitting in the passenger seat next to the driver spoke. “It’s alright Ali, he is our man okay.”
Peterson turned to face Mustafa Ben Lorie, the man with whom two years ago he had negotiated a huge arms deal.
It had not been a happy affair. Mustafa Ben Lorie’s humourless personality had found great difficulty in accepting the fact that agents from SONIC could have so easily have sabotaged the whole of his precious cargo of weapons.
Peterson knew that this was to be the pivotal moment of the meeting. “Mustafa, good to see you again,” Peterson exclaimed recognising the man at once.
Carl Peterson had realised that his contacts would send someone to verify his credentials but he had not expected the man himself.
Mustafa spoke immaculate Public School English. “Yes it is me. Surprised?”
He chuckled as he slipped out of the car and swapped places with Ali.
Mustafa didn’t shake hands, just sat and scowled whilst he appeared to be making up his mind, and then suddenly his face lit up in a cheerful grin. “You must be the only Westerner to honour a failed contract?” He shook his head in wonder and thrust his hand out.
“It may seem strange to most people I know, but that’s the way I do business,” Peterson replied, relieved by Mustafa’s welcome. He gripped the hand firmly.
“Perhaps I can make amends with this new deal?”
Mustafa Ben Lorie had been the negotiator for one of the biggest arms deals Peterson had ever organised. The cargo would have supplied the Islamic rebels
of the Philippines with enough firepower to set the whole region alight.
It had been the intervention of Alex Scott and his team that had completely negated the whole project and left Carl Peterson faced with the embarrassment of explaining his failure to deliver the enormous cargo of arms. Peterson fortuitously made a full refund of all the cash, plus a substantial bonus ‘to cover out of pocket expenses’
“Even with the extra twenty percent to cover expenses, as you called it at the time, it was touch and go whether those fanatics would accept the excuse or your refund.” Mustafa reminisced conversationally. “They were so mad at loosing the chance for a revolution, the money meant little to them. Anyway and luckily for you, they eventually calmed down and took the cash. You always were a lucky bastard.” Mustafa grinned.
Carl Peterson did not speak just raised his hands in modest acknowledgement, happy that his wisdom was paying off today.
“So Mr Black, what’s this crazy deal you want me to set up this time?” Mustafa became serious. “Do you seriously claim to be able to deliver a nuclear bomb?”
“You should know me by now, I’m always serious and I do have a nuclear device. It is not assembled and ready to go at this time, but I have all the necessary components stored in a number of different locations. That means that if a deal can be agreed, I can bring those pieces together and quickly.”
Peterson sat back, placing his hands briefly on the table, before reaching casually across for the water. He opened his bottle with a slow deliberate twist of his manicured fingers, took a measured drink and returned it to the holder adding. “I also have the target.”
“Oh! And what would that be?” Mustafa exclaimed mockingly.
Carl Peterson continued ignoring the attempted interruption. “The deal is I provide the device and deliver it to within easy distance of the target; your people detonate it, with the full benefit of all the accolades of its inevitable devastating success.” Peterson leaned forward. “Some of your people will have to die to make this deal work!”
