A Deal to Die For

by Albert Able

  Hans took less time than Alex had expected. “Quite amazing.” he kept saying. “Just can’t believe our luck.”

  The helicopter was expected any time and Alex wanted to be quite certain Hans had learned all he could in the time. He knew that within the next few hours their raid would be reported and the ‘fertilizer would be well and truly in the fan.’

  “OK, Hans, so how about you tell me what we have here and how much more time do you need?”

  “Well, actually my ignorant old friend, ‘Hans the Wizard’ already knows everything there is to know about this.” He waved his hand dismissively at the giant computer as the sound of the returning helicopter attracted Alex’s attention.

  Alex looked out across the lawn and sighed as the helicopter was settling on the grass. “Well, with due respect, Hans, I know you are quite a whizz with these things, so I truly hope you are right, because this is our taxi and there is simply no more time.”

  “Just one thing left to do,” Hans smiled cheekily. “Oh, just in case - you’d better make sure that couple are clear of the house.” He leaned over to the top corner of the last screen, flipped up a covered switch and flicked it over. “I believe we have about ten minutes.’

  ***

  The news that his home had been raided, the guards killed and Rudi’s computer compromised, was for Carl Peterson yet another abysmal chapter in a long battle to teach his son to control and think through his actions before making such catastrophic mistakes. This time, the latest debacle sent him into a rare and violent rage.

  Rudi’s overwhelming inferiority complex created as a result of his dreadful disability was of course entirely responsible, leaving Rudy persistently trying to demonstrate his ability to be as good or better than his father. Unfortunately, the actions and problems he repeatedly caused were almost always the result of reckless and ill-considered schemes. Perhaps worst of all, they had now attracted the attention of Carl Peterson’s nemesis, SONIC, and their agent, Alex Scott.

  Carl Peterson had been married for just a few years when his wife died suddenly. The children were only a few years old and so he had engaged the services of a nanny and her husband who quite simply took over all the usual parental duties and responsibilities. This worked very well for Peterson and the Swiss-born nanny and her husband tutored them creditably in most academic subjects and in several languages.

  The daughters, Liz and Karen, were frequently taken to be twins although in fact they were one year apart, they had developed into two extremely attractive young ladies. But their relatively undisciplined upbringing had turned them into a pair of spoilt, reckless young hooligans. Rudi, born eighteen months earlier, had suffered from multiple deformities, the terrible effects of the drug Thalidomide, but this had never affected the nanny and her husband, who treated all the children as their own.

  Carl did everything in his power to have the debilitating effects of Rudi’s mutated body repaired, but to little effect. The young man was left to struggle with his physical defects.

  The one blessing in the young man’s life was that not only did his nanny love him but his sisters simply adored him, they did not see the ravaged features or the damaged personality. In fact, for his sisters Rudi was the single important thing in their own confused and incestuous lives.

  Although Carl had maintained a public pretence of his widower status, the only real companion in his life was his personal assistant, Michelle Le Novas, who had, even before he was married, loyally stood at his side.

  Born in Switzerland, Michelle, like Carl, was fluent in several European languages. She was both attractive and sophisticated, but her quiet unassuming demeanour disguised the highly intelligent woman. She was now his constant companion and the person who truly understood the constant dilemma with Rudi, as well as the only person capable of easing his grief and anger. Consequently, as soon they arrived at the ship they had wild and violent sex. Michelle knew the mood and was capable of behaving like a whore when necessary, but once the passion had subsided and they lay panting and spent, she held and soothed her beloved master like a helpless child.

  Now, Carl Peterson was calm and back in complete control, sitting on the balcony of his luxury suite aboard Le Monde. It was probably the only place out of so many homes he possessed around the globe where he knew he could truly relax.

  The luxury vessel was cruising towards Newark where a major convention was been staged for some of the worlds’ leading military technology manufacturers, most of whom would be at the special reception on Le Monde when it docked in Newark.

  Ordinarily, Peterson would have been one of the most significant delegates, but Rudi’s outrageous mishandling of the nuclear bomb plot had not only ended in disaster but had completely ruined his father’s business and his carefully engineered private life.

  Peterson, however, having once vented his spleen was not the sort of man who would let the nauseous wave of resentment cloud his vision. In some ways, in fact, such situations triggered his most cunning and audacious schemes.

  As he stared out from his balcony, the seemingly endless emerald green waves curled past the cruising liner unnoticed as Carl Peterson reviewed his current precarious situation.

  Rudi had at least done one thing, he conceded, and that was to locate a few of the loyal former members of the old Syndicate.

  Of course he would have to change his identity again. Moira had been through all that once before and he expected she would do it once again. That part was simply a case of money and that was one thing he had in abundance. The dramatic market movements during the world panic over the suspected nuclear device in Paris alone had made him billions of dollars.

  Again he thought about Rudi. “At least you got that bit right, shame about the rest,” he begrudgingly acknowledged while praying that he would deliver the two remaining cases without any further diversions. However, the plan to create another bomb scare in New York would now have to be reviewed.

  As he sat watching the vast expanse of ocean, his mind methodically assessing every facet of his situation, gradually he became reassured and then excited as more and more relatively simple solutions manifested themselves.

  The one overwhelming thing Carl had learned was that the reason for the present demise of all he had created was due quite simply to the lack of iron discipline he had always required and received from the people he employed. He recognised that it had been his own emotional weakness towards family members that had cracked the mould.

  With all these things in mind, Carl Peterson devised the plan to kill off his current personality and create a completely new one. He doubted if he would be missed by the children whose only real need was the money to live out their extrovert lives, and that had already been adequately provided for through various international trusts. In fact, the only person who would share his new identity and business would be his beloved Michelle, his constant companion for almost thirty years, and he was confident they would easily slip into their new identities together.

  This time Carl Peterson resolved he would have no need for partners. He and Michelle could - and would - manage the whole operation, and so the Syndicate would be re-born.

  ***

  Alex and Hans were flown back to London and their workshops at CTB Securities, where Hans immediately engrossed himself in the information extracted and transferred from Rudi’s computer.

  On the flight back to London Hans explained just how easy it had been to access all the information. Apparently, although Rudi was probably even more skilled than Hans (Hans’s words, not Alex’s), he had also been grossly incompetent when it came to security. For instance, Hans had found all the circuits alive and several still connected, in particular the one to Carl Petersons personal computer at SKY-SEC. All the back-up and storage procedures had been set up on automatic, with apparently no password control. Even the self-destruct system originally
devised as the ultimate protection system had been left in the stand-by mode and so all Hans had to do was divert all the micro links to his own system in London, giving him access to everything not only on Rudi’s computer but also at SKY-SEC.

  Like a boy with a new toy, Hans sat back in his seat, a boyish grin on his face. “So now the real work begins.”

  ***

  Rudi and his sisters, accompanied as ever by their two favourite ‘carers’ as their burley bodyguards were called, planned to join their father aboard Le Monde when the ship docked in Newark.

  They had left the chateau in a hurry as Rudi had been in one of his black moods and insisted in extending his ‘little game’ with his sisters. The charter flight to London was not a problem but they could not be late for the BA scheduled London to Newark flight, which could not be varied, even for Carl Peterson’s siblings.

  Traveling first class allowed them an almost unlimited amount of luggage, and so the two aluminium holdall size cases were included with their hold baggage without any question.

  ***

  After the events in Paris, Igor Pulaski chose not to return to Moscow. Instead, he arranged for his fiancée, Sophie, to fly to London so they could visit Sophie’s family, especially her precious uncle and also soak up a ‘bit of culture’. However, as soon as the Boss, Sophie’s uncle, learned that his niece was to be in town, he immediately seized the opportunity to introduce the couple to all ‘the right people and places’, as he put it.

  Igor and Sophie, on the other hand, thinking they were going to have a few quiet romantic days in London, were not quite so excited with his plans.

  As it turned out, and to their genuine surprise, the whirlwind tour of London’s financial district, a host of historic buildings, West End theatres and several smart restaurants proved to be highly entertaining to the young lovers.

  The final evening was to be a dinner with Sophie’s uncle, the Boss, at the Chelsea Arts Club, but Alex’s return from the raid on the Schloss disrupted the plan.

  The Boss quickly explained what had happened. “Alex would have been with us this evening but, as ever, the situation has changed and both he and Hans will be burning the midnight oil trying to extract as much information as possible before it is scrambled by the other side.”

  Igor and Sophie had heard about Hans’ computer skills and so Igor, an enthusiastic computer buff himself, asked if he could see Hans at work.

  The Boss thought for a moment. “They’ve been at it all day and may welcome a little distraction.”

  By the time they reached the CTB Securities workshop, Hans had just completed what he needed to do to secure the links to SKY-SEC.

  It had been a gruelling day, but as ever, Hans was always thrilled to show someone who could appreciate his craft, “unlike Alex, a complete moron, in computer terms” he emphasised.

  He showed Igor his amazing collection of computers and eagerly gave a demonstration of their abilities, in particular the data from Rudi Peterson’s computer.

  “For instance, by linking to the Internet and some of the secure military sources that Rudi, via SKY-SEC, had infiltrated, it is possible to access almost anything you want, and most importantly, to do so without being detected, well at least not immediately,” he conceded modestly.

  ‘Let’s take, for instance... what was the name of that Moscow Police Chief friend of yours, Yuri Gromenco?”

  “Yuri Drumenco, and he is Chief of Police of St Petersburg,” Igor corrected.

  “OK.” Hans played his keyboard like a concert pianist and within seconds a file appeared headed ‘St Petersburg Police Department’ with a complete list of everyone attached to that department.

  “I’m impressed,” Sophie complimented him, “but I bet accessing Russian Military Intelligence, the GRU, is a bit more of a challenge.”

  Without a word Hans took the bait like a salmon on a tasty fly; his fingers flew across the keyboard. Time seemed to stand still, no one spoke. The only sound was the rapid drumming on the keys while a maze of numbers flashed across several of the multi coloured screens. At one point Hans paused, shook his head, to the others the challenge seemed lost. But when he suddenly gestured with both hands as if the keyboard was hot, and murmured ‘stupid boy’ as he stabbed the ‘enter; key in triumph, they knew they were going to see something extraordinary.

  Still no one said a word as the screens continued to roll until finally each stabilised with the centre screen displaying in a strange greenish colour, the words: GRU Military Intelligence.

  “So what would you like to know?” Hans smiled with obvious glee amidst a chorus of congratulations.

  The Boss was the first to speak. “Are you telling me you have accessed the GRU’s secure computer?”

  “With certain limitations, yes. I think I could get more, but they would almost certainly know that their security has been breached.” Hans deliberately tapped a key: “So we had better get out of that.”

  Hans was obviously enjoying himself. “How about this?” he tapped a couple of keys, and a sound graph danced on one of the screens, followed by a list of names and numbers. “These all appear to be telephone numbers at our own GCHQ in Cheltenham!”

  “My God,” the Boss sighed, “that means Rudi - and worse, SKY-SEC - had (or still has) the same capability!”

  The Boss ran a hand through his silver hair. “I’m almost too scared to ask what else you have found in there.”

  Hans de Wolf looked at his guests. “The problem we have is that someone - and I think we have to assume it is SKY-SEC - has somehow implanted undetectable access points at the time of manufacture in a variety of communication satellites and other purportedly secure computer systems around the world. That rather cleverly means that now they are never going to be detected by any debugging or cleansing software.”

  “The Syndicate,” the Boss answered, repeating even louder, “it has to be the Syndicate.”

  “And therefore Carl Peterson must be the man for whom we have been looking for so long,” Alex exclaimed, grabbing a telephone. “Hans, give me that encrypted number for Jerry Fielding at SKY-SEC.”

  ***

  Rudi Peterson, his two sisters and the two burley carers, arrived at Newark’s busy international airport and were transferred immediately to a waiting chartered helicopter. Together with their luggage they were whisked away to make the planned rendezvous on Le Monde, which was moored at the Newark Passenger Terminal dock, disembarking some passengers.

  ***

  Alex Scott put down the telephone after his long conversation with Jerry Fielding at SKY-SEC. “The good news is that no one over there seems to have any knowledge of our raid on Peterson’s Schloss.”

  “That’s good,” the Boss looked relieved, “because we requested the Austrian authorities to keep the incident under wraps for as long as possible.”

  “Sounds good, but I’d bet my pension Peterson will have found out somehow.” Alex shook his head doubtfully. “Seems that our man has left for Newark to attend a convention of security technology manufacturers and guess who is to be one of the speakers at a special reception aboard the liner, Le Monde?”

  “We had better get you to that conference,” the Boss reached for the phone.

  “Already done,” Alex restrained the Boss, “Jerry Fielding’s fixed it and he’ll meet me at Newark Airport.”

  Igor Pulaski looked up: “Actually, I have an invitation to that congress, but I decided to pass on it when Sophie had the London weekend idea.” He looked at Sophie: “but, perhaps in the circumstances?”

  Sophie pouted and held her man tightly. “So much for our romantic week in London?”

  Ignoring the private aside, the Boss asked quickly: “How come you had an invite?”

  “Some outfit in Moscow trying to set up a unique secure GPS system for our fleet of
transporters,” Igor raised his shoulders, “I wasn’t really interested but perhaps now I could accept?”

  Igor smiled and winked impishly at The Boss and only just managed to duck Sophie’s tetchy swipe.

  “So much for my romantic weekend!”

  “Don’t you worry young lady,” the Boss intervened soothingly, “there is no way I’d let Igor get involved, anyway!”

  ***

  The original plan, of course, had been to create another nuclear bomb scare in London with two objectives in mind: first, to make another killing on the already fragile stock markets, as well as to create another opportunity for SKY-SEC, which would be seen as the prime organisation with the ability to search and recover the weapon.

  Peterson always knew that there had only been sufficient material from the original cases to manufacture two nuclear devices; the other two had been deliberately made with small plastic explosive charges. The nuclear bombs were to be dedicated to the Houses of Parliament in London, the other to the Statue of Liberty in New York. Both targets, Peterson passionately believed, would have caused the most hurt to those nations’ pride. At least, the bluff in Paris had produced a huge financial reward, but now the rest of the programme would have to be revised.

  There was one serious issue, however, and that was that Rudi had been entrusted with delivering the two ‘live’ bombs, one to their agent in London the other to his father in New York. Having failed so miserably in Paris, Carl could only pray that Rudi would adhere to the revised plan and deliver both weapons to Le Monde in time, so that he could expedite the new strategy.

  Yet in spite of his doubts about Rudi, Carl Peterson was smugly pleased with his new plan, partly because it still included causing an unimaginably painful blow to America’s pride, but also because it would so convincingly rid the world of Carl Peterson.

  One of the two remaining nuclear weapons would be placed close to the conference room aboard Le Monde, where the reception for the military security technology manufacturers was to be staged.