by David Archer
Twenty minutes later, three more operatives arrived. They were accompanying Mrs. Lambril, who rushed to her husband and threw her arms around him.
* * * * *
Tushar was surprised. He'd made it clear to Alex Lambril that he had people watching him, and had even given him the courtesy of a warning, but he'd never have believed the old bureaucrat could take out two of his best, not on his own. That seemed to be what happened, though, since neither of his men had checked in at the time appointed, and this was confirmed only an hour later, when the news services reported on the attempted assassination.
He had called Alex from one of a number of disposable phones he kept close to him, and when Alex had refused to cooperate, he'd used the same phone to tell Mustapha and his partner to move in. The purpose of the assassination was simply to shake up those who were trying to stop him, even though he seriously doubted they had any real hope of doing so. Still, it couldn’t hurt to keep them nervous, could it?
He looked around the large room that he was sitting in, watching Martin Embry for a moment as the man decanted yet another gallon of the deadly poison into a new container. It was absolutely amazing to Tushar what a man would do to protect someone he loved, even when that beloved person was completely unaware of his affections. It was one of Tushar’s operatives who had discovered that Martin Embry, one of the leading biochemists in the field of protein folding, was hopelessly in love with a neighbor girl who was barely into her teens. When that operative managed to find the video feed from the hidden camera Embry had embedded in the shared wall that led into her bedroom, Tushar had known he had what it would take to convince Embry to do what he wanted.
All he had to do was threaten to kill the girl. Embry had been his man ever since, and his skills proved to be every bit as good as advertised. He had agreed to create a potent poison for Tushar, but even Tushar was stunned at what the man had developed.
“Touch of Death,” he mused, thinking of the name that MI5 had given to Embry’s creation. It was fitting, he thought. And in less than forty-eight hours, it would make its presence felt throughout the world.
“How much do we have now?” Tushar asked. Martin looked up at him, his face haggard and filled with hate, but without any sign of resistance.
“I’m up to fourteen gallons,” Embry said. “Dispersed properly, you have enough to kill a billion people or more.”
Tushar nodded. “Then you need make only six gallons more,” he said, “and then we shall be finished. How long do you need to complete the rest of the procedure?”
Embry looked at his equipment. “Not much longer,” he said. “The beauty of this is that, by exposing my protein to others that had the same amino acid foundation, but with a different three-dimensional structure, the rogue prions in mine cause the inert proteins to re-fold themselves into a duplicate of my own. This is why it seems to replicate itself, because I have simply refolded a common protein found in blood plasma. The blood plasma your people acquired for me is what is making it so simple to create larger quantities.”
“And your protein is stable? How long will it keep before it is no longer deadly?”
Embry shrugged. “Once it is completely dehydrated, the protein is stable. There won’t be any loss of toxicity, because there won’t be any breakdown of the amino acids. You can store it on a shelf for twenty years and it would still be just as potent and deadly as it is today.”
Tushar smiled. “Martin, you are a wonder. Perhaps I should be thinking of a way to reward you for what you have done. I know, I know,” he said. “Perhaps I should arrange for your young lady to be relocated somewhere safe, where you could join her once your work is done. Would that please you, Martin?”
Embry stared at him, licking his lips several times before he got up the courage to speak. “You would actually do that? But suppose she rejected me?”
Tushar shook his head. “I don’t think rejection would be a problem,” he said. “Where I would take the two of you, she would be entirely dependent upon you for survival. Why, Martin, you could turn her into your own ideal of the perfect woman.”
Martin swallowed, then licked his lips again. “I would do anything for you,” he said, “if you could do that for me.”
Tushar smiled. It was so easy to manipulate those who were captivated by their own perversions. Of course, there was no way he would actually allow Martin to ever lay hands on the young girl. Better she should die, along with so many others in London, than to have to endure the touch of a pedophile.
“I shall see to it immediately,” he said aloud. “As soon as your work is done, Martin, I shall make your dreams come true.”
Tushar had no qualms about lying to Martin, and he had no fear about what he intended to do. He had accepted years ago that he was destined for this time and this position, and he had sought out the kind of advisers who could help him to plan it out. By uniting all of the radical Islamic factions, Tushar Balakrishnan would one day rule the world, and this was his ultimate goal. When Allah was recognized as the one true God, Tushar Balakrishnan would exercise his authority throughout all the Earth.
For the moment, though, he had work to do. Leaving Embry to his work, Tushar told three of his men to remain and ensure that he continued. Thus certain that the man would only do what he was supposed to be doing, Tushar got up and went to his small, personal cubicle.
The door opened behind him, and he glanced around to see old Tariq al-Bassar coming toward him. Tariq was his most trusted friend, and was highly skilled when it came to politics. It had been Tariq who first recognized Tushar’s charismatic genius, had realized that this was the man who could lead Islam to its rightful place in the world. He’d been working with the young man for more than a year now, and he felt that the time was drawing near when all of his hard work would finally come to fruition.
“It is all coming together, Tariq,” Tushar said. “One more demonstration, just to keep the London authorities interested, and then it will be time for the true mission.”
“And should all go well,” the old man said, “the world will be a very different place in just a few days.” He smiled at Tushar. “The Realignment. When we first used that term, I never dreamed it would be coming into reality so soon.”
Tushar smiled. “Allah wills it,” he said. “We have waited far too long for Islam to take its rightful place in the world. I am only grateful that I was chosen to serve in such capacity.”
“Indeed,” Tariq replied. “This is why I was led to you, and you have proven yourself a faithful servant. Go and do what you must for tonight, for the great work begins tomorrow.”
Tushar bowed to the old man and waited until he had left the room. As soon as he was alone, he reached under the small bed and removed the case that held the masks that had been made for him. They were soft, and so incredibly realistic that even those who knew him were often fooled. He opened the case and selected one, then quickly put it on. A fast change into jeans and a T-shirt and he was ready to go out into London once again.
After all, he had already announced who the next victims would be. He certainly didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Lambril by failing to deliver them.
He stepped out the door of the old warehouse building that he was using for a headquarters and got into the Jaguar that was parked outside. While MI6 was trying to identify the people in the photos, Tushar didn’t need to worry about where to find them. They’d be right where they were supposed to be, doing their jobs just as they did every night. He drove into the city and directly to Brewer Street in Soho.
Even though Soho had been cleaned up since its heyday in the nineteen eighties, it was still the place where you could find just about any kind of sexual adventure you might want. Prostitutes, strip clubs and sex shops were mostly found there, and Tushar had discovered them a couple of years earlier during a previous visit to London. He’d been fascinated, not so much by the dancers and displays, as by the spectators and customers. Such weakness, he thought, could on
ly be a sign of a sick and broken society.
On the other hand, those who worked in the area tended to cherish their privacy. All three of his targets were employed in the Blue Room, an emporium that offered every kind of sex toy one can imagine, along with small theaters in the back of the building where strippers—both male and female—plied their trade.
The mask he was wearing was one that had become familiar to the employees of the establishment. He had developed the reputation of a big spender, dropping a lot of cash into the G-strings of the dancers, so he was rewarded with smiles when he entered.
A quick stop in the men’s room allowed him to carefully place one drop of Touch of Death onto each of three 20-pound notes. Wearing the gloves that protected him from its effects, he rolled them up and wrapped a few more notes around each. He slipped them into his shirt pocket, peeled off the gloves and went to watch the dancers.
Tucking a roll of notes into the waistband of the G-string was easy. The stripper probably wouldn’t bother to unroll it and count them until the night was over, so he was able to visit three different theaters and then make his departure within an hour.
As he drove back to the warehouse, he couldn’t help chuckling. Wouldn’t the police be surprised when all three of the victims he had predicted turned up dead before morning?
* * * * *
“So, did you have a good night?” Giselle asked. Her friend, Savanna, looked up with a smile.
“I did,” she said. “How was yours?”
Giselle frowned. “Not nearly as good as I would’ve liked,” she said. “I was hoping to make rent tonight, but I’m eighty quid short.”
Savanna gave her a pouty look. “Poor baby,” she said. “I can lend it to you, if you like. I did very well tonight, it won’t hurt me a bit.”
She picked up her bag and reached inside, coming out with a roll of notes. She hadn’t bothered to unroll and count it, but she was sure there was at least 100 pounds rolled up together. Giselle laughed and thanked her, tucking the roll down into her pocket. She didn’t unroll it until she got home, and then quickly counted out the rent money and set it on her dresser.
“Ooh, someone made some money tonight,” said her roommate, Jackie.
Giselle smiled. “Not too bad,” she said, “though I did borrow a bit to make rent. I should do pretty well tonight, though.” She swallowed suddenly, and put a hand to her throat. “I usually...”
Jackie looked at her. “Hon? You all right, then?”
Giselle opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She took in a deep breath and tried again, but she felt like she wasn’t getting enough air, and was suddenly gasping. Jackie watched in horror as Giselle became unsteady and fell, and then the girl was unconscious.
Jackie knelt down beside her and took her hand, calling her name. Giselle didn’t answer, but a moment later, Jackie realized she was having trouble getting enough air. She had seen the news and began to panic, so she screamed for help.
The landlord downstairs heard the screaming and ran up to see what was going on, but both of them were dead by the time he arrived. He had also seen the news, so he rushed out of the tiny room and called police immediately.
THIRTEEN
Sam and Denny had both slept fitfully that night and rose early. They were in the hotel’s breakfast nook at six thirty, when Sam’s phone rang.
“Sam Prichard,” he said.
“Albert Lingenfelter. Remember those photos, we couldn’t identify the people in them?”
The skin on the back of Sam’s neck began to crawl. “I do,” he said.
“Well, we know who they are now,” Albert said. “They were strippers, exotic dancers, and all three were in the country illegally, which explains why we couldn’t find them in any of our databases. People like that, they like to keep a low profile. Two of them are dead, but one of them got lucky. Our man put the poison onto some money that he gave them, several notes rolled together. The man and one of the women died as they were getting ready to leave, counting the money they’d made. The other girl, however, loaned hers to a friend. Both the friend and her roommate died just a short time later at home.”
Sam scowled. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “Tushar.”
“Undoubtedly,” Albert said, “although we’ve gone over the security video and haven’t been able to identify him. We are looking for all of the patrons, but it’s going to be difficult to round them all up.”
“I’m sure it will be. All right, Denny and I will be there shortly. Any idea what you want us to do today?”
“Sam, I’m not even sure what I’m doing. I’ll see you at my office.” He hung up the phone and Sam dropped his own onto the table as he repeated the information to Denny.
“So, what are we going to do?” Denny asked. “Sam, I’ll confess I’m at a bit of a loss on this. I don’t truly fathom why we’re even here. Surely, MI6 has people who can do this sort of work better than we can.”
Sighing, Sam nodded. “I don’t disagree,” he said. “Unfortunately, everybody seems to be looking at us. We’ve got to at least try.”
They finished breakfast and headed to Vauxhall Cross, arriving a half-hour later. Instead of going to Albert’s office, as he had mentioned, they were shown back to the conference room. Noah and Jenny were already there, and both of them greeted the two men with handshakes.
“Don’t let this get you down, Sam,” Jenny said. “None of us can win them all, but we still keep trying.”
Sam managed a smile for her. “I don’t intend to quit. I just wish I had some idea where to start looking for this guy.”
“I think that’s what we’re going to focus on today,” Noah said. “There are six of us, and two of you. I think we should brainstorm together about the kind of place a guy like Tushar would be hiding, and then split up to go hunting. Two of us in each team, that’s four teams out there looking.”
Sam nodded. “Best plan I’ve heard yet,” he said. “So, got any ideas where to look?”
“Maybe,” Noah said. “We know that Tushar and Embry left the house in a truck yesterday, and we got a brief look at the truck by satellite. There aren’t any kind of distinguishing markings on the top of the truck, so after searching the area, there were quite a lot of them that looked the same. Neil noticed, however, that almost all of them ended up in industrial areas. Factories, warehouses, that sort of place. There are about forty-five real industrial areas in the city, so that’s a little more than ten each per team. Neil will be here shortly and can generate maps for us.”
“Maps for what?” Albert asked, entering the room.
“We had the idea of checking out industrial areas,” Noah said. “Most of the trucks we saw in satellite ended up in such areas, so it’s reasonably possible Tushar is using an old warehouse or storefront as his headquarters. Sam and Denny are going to look at some of them, while my team splits up into pairs and does likewise.”
Albert managed a weak smile. “Good plan,” he said. “I can detail some people to assist. There are hundreds of small business parks in greater London, so you’re going to need help.”
“Excellent,” Sam said. “The more of us out there looking, the better. Just bear in mind, we are dealing with one of the most dangerous criminals ever. Your people need to be aware that he has to be stopped at any cost.”
Albert looked at him for a moment, and Sam got the impression that he was being examined. “All MI6 personnel take it as a given that anyone we are seeking should be stopped at all cost. This case is no different in that regard.”
Sam nodded in acquiescence. “No offense intended,” he said. “Remember, I’m not used to dealing with people of your caliber. Back home, it’s hard enough to get local police to do anything other than harass the citizens.”
Albert managed another smile. “None taken,” he said. “Now, we need to look at another matter. Tushar has managed to kill the people he assured us he would, and that’s only going to embolden him. As it stood yesterday, I think w
e all agree that the upcoming investiture is a likely target. I’m going to be putting some of our own people onto that for security purposes, along with MI5 and the national police. I should appreciate having all of you look over the situation and offer your opinions. Should Tushar find a way to actually harm the queen, I’m afraid it could be a blow from which the country would never recover.”
“I can imagine,” Sam said. “If I could make a suggestion?”
“Please do,” Albert said.
“The company I work for specializes in large event security. It might be worth asking one of our security supervisors to come over and take a look, as well.”
Albert looked at him again for a moment, and Sam got that same under-the-microscope feeling. “Normally,” he said after a moment, “I would bristle with national pride and scoff at the offer, but this is not a normal time. If you would make such arrangements, I would be in your debt.”
“I’ll be glad to,” Sam said. “But I didn’t mean to imply…”
“Mr. Prichard, I am concerned about the safety of my queen. My pride, or the pride of my nation, cannot be permitted to get in the way of that purpose. Please, in the situation, I shall welcome all the advice I can get.”
“You’re a bugger, Albert,” Denny said with a grin. “Remember that I used to be with MI6, right? I can tell you that Windlass Security has people that make our blokes look like amateurs. You could do a lot worse than having them consult on this particular matter.”
“Undoubtedly,” Albert said, his face passive. “As I’ve stated, the safety of the queen is paramount. I look forward to hearing what your people have to say.”
Neil came in a moment later, followed by Marco, Sarah and Renée. Angeline arrived only a few seconds later, and then Liam Scott.
“Anyone know where Charles is?” Albert asked.
Liam waved a finger in the air. “He called me a few minutes ago to say he was having breakfast with one of his sources,” he said. “Should be here shortly.”
“Very good. Now, Mr. Blessing, we have been discussing the plan of searching the business parks. I believe you can provide some maps, for guidance?”
