A Deal to Die For
Page 29
***
Alex Scott, Igor and Jerry Fielding were eventually released when a security guard, responding to the emergency call from the guest two decks below, found the unconscious body of his chief and three other men frantically trying to get back into the suite from the balcony.
Alex had heard the helicopter land and was now clearly talking off again. “Where’s the helipad?” Alex demanded of the overawed security guard.
“This way,” he pointed and led Alex and Igor through the twisting corridor. They heard the explosion seconds before emerging from the door near the helipad.
“My God, he’s done it again.” Alex shook his head in disgust.
***
Two days later, Alex sat with the Boss in his favourite corner at the Chelsea Arts Club. Igor Sophie and Hans had been summoned to join him for ‘afternoon tea’ and de-briefing. They were quite alone in the Club other than Henshaw, who filtered in and out in his usual silent way.
“Thank you all for coming over here this afternoon. I thought it would be the best way to review the last few days, eh?” Everyone smiled or gestured politely. “Most importantly, of course, I thought it would be a good way to introduce Igor to civilised afternoon tea.”
The silence following Boss’s attempt at a joke was broken by Sophie. “Uncle, behave,” she scolded with a giggle.
The Boss ignored the moment and continued. “Let’s start with the bad news then.” He looked, or rather scowled, at each of his guests in turn.
“I understand,” he held up Alex’s report, “that you had the leader of the Syndicate in your hands and you let him slip away!”
He dropped the papers on the table. “You think, only think mind you, that the leader we now know to have been Carl Peterson was killed when his helicopter exploded?”
Looking less than convinced Alex tried to justify his report. “Put it this way, Boss, if the ship’s computer record of the helicopter passenger list is to be believed, that would seem to be the case,” he gestured dismissively with his hands.
“You must understand that the helicopter and everything in it was completely vaporised by, we assume, the second tactical nuclear weapon.” Alex picked up the report and waved it thoughtfully. “The search of Le Monde for Peterson and his secretary, as well as the subsequent search of his suite, only showed that they must have left without any kind of preparation. Even when permission was eventually granted to access his safe at the suite, the presence of their passports, several credit cards and over two hundred thousand dollars in cash served as further evidence to suggest that they had been killed in the explosion.”
Alex slipped the report back onto the table. “The inquest was perfectly happy with the evidence, so that’s all I can tell you.”
In spite of all of this so called concrete evidence of their demise, Alex’s years of experience with the leader of the Syndicate convinced him there was something just too perfect about it all, but for the moment there was no other obvious answer and so he changed the subject: “OK, so what’s the rest of the bad news?”
“Yes, well,” the Boss picked up another sheet, “Hans managed to extract a host of names from Rudi Peterson’s data which resulted in several arrests, including our own Gerald Rive, head of GCHQ Archives and another top official at the Admiralty. The rest on the list were either dead or very minor. Gerald Rive, however, tried to plea bargain and confessed to both Graham Watkins’ and Lydia Rowland’s murder; tried to say that he had been blackmailed and tricked into doing it!” The Boss ground his teeth. “I’d hang the bastard personally!”
He glared at Sophie: “No apologies my dear, some people do not deserve the protection of the democratic principle.”
Igor intervened. “Send him to Russia. There we could organise an accident?” The fire in his eyes showed he wasn’t joking.
“OK, everybody,” Sophie responded, trying to lighten the mood. “So now it must be time for the good news?”
Hans looked up with a smile: “I think I can help with that - in computer terms, anyway - because now that the dust has settled over everything I can confirm that we have been able to disable all the known links from Rudi’s computer and the one at SKY-SEC to a host of military and other satellites. In turn, they had infiltrated our security at GCHQ and from there several other equally important security establishments around the world,” Hans sat back and folded his arms smugly.
“Great work, Hans,” the Boss congratulated him. “Thank God someone understands what all this computer stuff is about, eh?”
Alex nodded agreement and turned to Igor: “Having travelled back to London separately I never had a chance to ask how you just happened to be in Newark?”
“Well, you see I have this mission in life to act as your guardian angel!” Igor looked serious: “Paris, Newark, where next?” He smiled cheekily “It was Sophie’s fault: she insisted on a shopping trip to New York and so when the Boss suggested that I look in on you, just socially you understand, I had little choice. Mind you, the fact that the Boss had discovered the real Jerry Fielding was working for a security company in New York may also have had something to do with it.”
Alex reached across and firmly shook Igor’s hand and grinned. “As far as I am concerned, you can take Sophie shopping close to where I’m operating any time.” Alex released his grip. “However, I am officially retired now so you may not have to be a bodyguard again.”
Sophie cocked her head. “Yes, well anyway, we seem to have finished off these Syndicate people, so no more problems there, yes?”
“Yes, my dear, it would seem so,” her uncle smiled to assure her, “and let’s face it - that was the modus operandi after all, wasn’t it?”
The Boss picked up his tea cup and, raising his eyebrows, added: “Never toasted in tea before.” He winked at Sophie. “The toast is ‘Here’s to Us and to Hell With The Syndicate’”
***
Charles and Marion Pemberton, alias Carl Peterson & Michelle Le Novas, went ashore separately mingling easily with the technicians who had been working on the conference installations.
They met up again outside the Ferry Terminal gates, hailed a cab and vanished into Newark’s’ bustling City.
In the back of the taxi Charles held Marion’s hand; it was an unusual gesture and gave him a strange warm feeling.
Marion squeezed his hand in response. “Together at last,” she whispered coyly.
Charles Pemberton relaxed. “I must confess that when I thought you had somehow ditched me, I had such a hollow sense of emptiness that when Rudi said he was going to kill me I don’t think I really cared.”
Marion looked straight ahead; a tear trickled down her cheek. “It would take more than Rudi’s eccentricities to destroy my love for you.”
She lifted up his hand and kissed the fingers lovingly. “Such a sad little soul and in the end he somehow destroyed himself.”
Charles shook his head, his eyes grim, the earlier moment of compassion lost.
“Not just himself, but his sisters too,” he looked out of the window without seeing the passing view. The loss of his family seemed to have little or no emotional impact.
“Those poor little girls, you know, were almost as crazy as he was.” Charles Pemberton held Marion’s hand again. “It’s hard to believe they’re all gone, and all because of another of his catastrophic mistakes. I don’t suppose we will ever know what went wrong, but for our sake thank God it did.”
Charles pulled his cuff clear of his jacket sleeve revealing the elegantly engraved platinum cuff links. Marion, then Michelle, had given them to him recently. “These are my most treasured gift,” he smiled warmly as he experienced emotions he had not known for years, “and please note, Marion Pemberton, the initials are perfect.”
Marion smiled and moved closer allowing Charles to lean over and passionately kiss
the only person he had ever truly loved.
“We have work to do, my dear, and decisions to make,” Charles said quietly as he sat back still gripping her hand firmly, “together, there isn’t anything we can’t accomplish.”
***
Alex Scott returned to his family in Falmouth, Cornwall, the following day. His wife, Rosie, holding their six month old daughter Blossi on her hip, greeted him with a gentle kiss
“This is your daddy by the way,” she said and pushed Blossi into his arms. “I expect he’s just dropping in for a little home comfort before dashing off to hunt more bad men?” Rosie pouted.
“Well, Mr Scott, you’ll find the price has gone up quite a bit!”
Alex ignored the playful jibe and gently hugged little Blossi. He was about to speak when a squeal of delight announced the arrival of Alex junior.
“He’s as bad as his daddy - never stops poking into things.” Rosie gathered the energetic boy into her arms but he struggled, eager to be with his daddy. Alex knelt down and still holding firmly on to Blossi, hugged his two year old bouncy son; a surge of paternal emotion flushed over his body and his eyes watered as he looked up at Rosie and recalled Rudi’s cruel threat.
There was no need for any words as Rosie joined them on the floor in an all-embracing hug.
That night when the excited young Alex finally closed his eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep, Alex and Rosie went to their own room. They lay together for a long time, just touching without words until they gradually rediscovered each other in a gentle but all consuming passion. It was only later when they lay spent and relaxing that Rosie finally asked: “Is it all over now?”
Alex had no intention of burdening Rosie with all the morbid detail of the last three weeks so took some time before carefully replying: “If I could only say it was, but that would not be entirely honest.”
He turned to face her, then lay back and smiled: “But hey, what else would you have me do with my time?”
Rosie grabbed his manhood. “Well you could make better use of this for one thing.”
They fell together and loved as only two people who have the deepest care for one another can.
***
Seated in the workshop at CTB Securities partners, Alex Scott and Hans de Wolfe had just completed the specification for a new contract. “You know, I was only able to make this bit of software work by using that little gismo which came from some of Rudi Peterson’s files,” Hans admitted as he set the printer going.
Alex sighed. “In some ways, I feel sorry for that poor little freak, but not too sorry. He was a psychopathic killer, you know, and I believe he would have mutilated my children, had he been given the chance.”
Alex winced with the memory.
“Incidentally, you told us that it was you who managed to explode the bomb on Le Monde’s cutter, blowing Rudi and his mates to smithereens, but you never explained precisely how. I suppose it’s too technical for me?”
“Well, it is a bit, but I’ll try. It shouldn’t be too technical for you - you see all I did was divert his telephone call!” Hans held out his hands in supplication.
“Divert his call,” Alex queried, “how did you manage that?”
“Simple, really. Rudi had already told us he was going to detonate the bombs remotely using his monitor, which of course was nothing more than a sophisticated Blackberry or something similar, so when I saw the two aluminium cases with the six figure numbers stencilled on them I figured they were the telephone numbers he would have to use to activate them, so I accessed the same satellite he was using from the Schloss and - Bingo! Simple, eh?”
“Bingo. Simple,” Alex exclaimed.
“The most difficult problem I had was deciding which country code he was using,” Hans twisted his mouth and grimaced, “New York, USA, or Salzburg, Austria. In the end I reckoned he had probably been a bit lazy so I plumbed for Austria, 0043662. Fortunately it turned out I was right.”
“My God,” Alex exclaimed, “and if you had tried New York first, how much time would you have had to re-select the other diversion number?”
Hans thought for a moment as he gently scratched the back of his neck. Then he looked up, grinning cheekily.
“Well actually none, it was a once only shot.”
Alex had survived dozens of scrapes and duels over the years and now a small chance of fate had saved him yet again. But every time he marvelled at his luck.
“It’s difficult to know quite what to say,’ he stood up and embraced his friend, “perhaps ‘thanks’, old friend’”
Hans briefly accepted the embrace before pushing Alex gently away “Oh don’t be so silly! After all, if I had got it wrong I wouldn’t have to put up with you hanging around here all the time getting in my way when I’m trying to make some money!”
Alex ignored the good natured gibe. “Just one more thing: how do you think the bomb on board the helicopter was triggered?”
Hans sat down again. “Well this really concerns me and I’ve wanted to talk to you about that. You see I was not entirely convinced until now.” Hans wrinkled his brow “In fact I’ve tussled with this for some time and one thing’s for sure: in my opinion, I can’t see Peterson topping himself. He is, I suspect, a man far too sure of himself, and so on that simple premise, that means the bomb was detonated remotely and almost certainly by him.
“That, my friend, means that Carl Peterson, the leader of the Syndicate, is alive and well.”
Hans’ expression betrayed his genuine anxiety. “And bearing in mind since it was I - or shall I say we, however you want to look at it - who killed his family, it may not be too long before he re-surfaces and starts hunting for us!”
Alex Scott’s response to Hans’ remark was an abject look of horror and recognition of the implications.
He ran his fingers through his hair, shook his head dejectedly and then reaching across the desk, picked up the telephone and dialled the Boss.
“Hello Boss, Alex here. Bad news I’m afraid, it’s still not over.”
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