End It With A Lie

by Peter M. Atkins

Tuesday 9.50 p.m.

  Larry had gone at it hard for the whole of the afternoon. It left him with a hollow stomach and a headache, but he finally had all the T’s crossed and the I’s dotted. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his fingers into his dry and tired eyes, before looking again at the neat pile of applications and lodgment forms. The fat sheaf of paper sat like a cairn, a monument which not only celebrated his hard day’s work, but to the accountant it stood as a masterpiece.

  Reaching forward he touched, almost caressed the screen of his computer, and with quiet voice he thanked it, and all of its cousins for allowing him to accomplish so much in such a short space of time. Then he slouched back into his chair again. Relishing in the kind of afterglow that exists between humans and the machines they know are necessary for their standard of living.

  Larry looked at his watch and decided it was not too late to call Adam. He hit the speed dial and waited through a set of three tones.

  “Yes mate, it’s all done. What time is good for you in the morning?”

  “How about I meet you in that coffee shop near your office? Yes, eight thirty is fine mate. See you then.” After some minutes he stood and stretched his cramped body to its full height.

  Then with the pile of papers cradled in the crook of his right arm, it was time to approach Lee for signatures. There were fifteen of them in all, and he hoped that Lee would sign quickly. If he, Larry had to go through and explain each of the documents to Lee, then there would be little sleep this night.

  He made his way to Lee’s office and was glad of the sound insulation it offered. Evidence of its effectiveness was obvious as he pushed the office door closed and the noise of the bar almost disappeared.

  Lee sat at his desk and held in his hand the remote control which he had been using to flick through the programs on his wide screen T.V. He put down the remote as Larry sat in the chair opposite him, and Larry knew by the sounds of the news reader’s comments that there had been yet another bombing in Iraq.

  Larry placed the paper pile onto the only small clearing available on Lee’s desk and looked toward Lee as he was asked.

  “All done Larry?” Larry saw worry on Lee’s face. His look of fatigue seemed to be emphasized by the five o’clock shadow which was now in extra overtime.

  “Yes Mr. Lee. There are just the signatures and everything can be lodged first thing tomorrow. If you like, I can leave them with you and you can go over them. I can pick them up in the morning and take them into town.” He’d hoped that Lee would read in his answer that he was mainly interested in going home and crawling gratefully into his soft bed. Lee either didn’t read, or he wasn’t interested in Larry’s desire. He instead sought information.

  “Tell me about this… Lee broke off his question mid-sentence, and Larry watched as Lee’s gaze suddenly became fixed on the television. His fumbling of the remote control as he attempted to raise its volume also caught Larry’s attention. He turned to see what had distracted Lee, and was greeted with the sight of a winter garmented woman. Her windswept hair sought the attention of her waving hand as she stood on a rain wet pavement.

  Larry saw ‘London Live’ in large letters in the corner of the screen a second before his ears tuned into the commentary. Lee finally got in control of the volume.

  “... an hour since all the major news outlets received documents stating that the weapons of mass destruction were in fact manufactured in the building behind me. The documents state clearly that the weapons are designed to emit a poison gas, and are in the form of an electrical transformer. Some moments ago, we were allowed a brief glimpse of the inside of the yard when the front gate was opened to allow passage for an emergency services truck. We could clearly see one of the large wooden boxes, or crates which the documents state was the type used for the export of the weapons.”

  The windswept woman paused for a moment as she glanced at the folder in her hand. Larry watched as she waved her microphone hand over the folder, succeeding in her attempt to turn a page in the gusty conditions.

  The microphone travelled back to where it hid her pointed chin and she went on.

  “We’re advised by the documents that there are five crates in all. One is still here in Britain. The others have been exported, to the Philippines, Canada, the United States and to Sydney, Australia.

  Larry’s mouth was dry. He flashed his tongue around its inside in order to make moisture. As he did, his hand automatically laid upon his breast where he felt the comforting hardness of the cover of his recently updated passport.

  He’d placed it in the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket when he’d picked it up from Moot the forger. Deciding then, that the small book would stay with him at all times. All he needed for a short notice exit was both of his passports and some credit cards. His recent divorce had made him almost possession less, so he was certainly able to travel light.

  He looked back to Lee expecting some type of verbal outburst, but was surprised when Lee just quietly lowered the televisions volume. He spoke almost with an air of despondency.

  “Which of these need signing?”

  No words were spoken as Lee signed some of the forms. Larry passed them over and when he retrieved them, he inserted them back into the paper pile. When the last block of paper was back in order, Larry waited for some moments, until it became clear to him that further conversation between the two men was not likely. He retrieved the pile of documents from the desktop and made his way to the office door, closing it softly behind him.

  It was as if Lee had not noticed Larry’s departure from the room. He sat quietly as the television soundlessly displayed more pictures of the windswept English street. Lee picked up the remote once again, but decided there was no more information the news service could offer him. It had said enough.

  The image of the wooden box was all the information necessary to know that the shit was about to hit the fan. He looked toward the two suitcases which stood against one wall of his office, then made his way to the office door and locked it.

  Satisfied with his privacy he turned his attention to his safe. As its heavy steel door swung open, his eyes were greeted with a colourful display of money. He quickly removed the wads and carefully placed them into one of the suitcases.

  As he transferred the money he felt a sullen smile exercise his facial muscles as he thought. Drugs, worth their weight in gold and then multiply by fifty. When it was full he closed it and locked it with a small padlock, before filling the second case, until the safe only contained small denomination notes. He padlocked the second suitcase, and then moved a lounge chair away from the wall to expose the corner of the carpet. It peeled away from the floor to reveal a steel door which had been set into the concrete.

  It opened quietly and he dropped the two suitcases into the dark hole that had been hidden beneath it, before relocking the steel door and replacing the carpet and lounge chair over it. With his task completed he sat down lazily in the lounge chair and tried to decide what to do next.

  He could visualize his options, but found it next to impossible to organize his thoughts. The television set caught his attention again, and he turned it on its swivel base so that its screen was visible from the lounge chair.

  With a cushion comfortable under his head, he lay on the lounge and thumbed through pay T.V. He found the movie channel, and then settled to watch the early stages of an old Steve McQueen classic, ‘Tom Horn.’

  Maybe if I just take some time out and clear my head a little he thought, as Horn shot a musical minded cowpoke in the leg.

  Tuesday 10.15 pm

  Ben sat quietly in his car and dialled Alan Rodgers’ number on his mobile phone while he waited for the traffic lights to change. Several ring tones later the familiar voice of his apprentice answered.

  “Yes, Boss.”

  “Alan. I’m not interrupting anything critical, am I?”

  “No, Sir. What’s happening?”

  “Have you got your T.V on?<
br />
  “No, Sir. It broke down last week.”

  “How did you go with the truck driver who saw the fork lift truck?”

  “I got on to the company and learned that he is away on a delivery job down at Nowra. They don’t expect him back at his loading yard until tomorrow morning.” Rodgers paused in his comment as if he was unsure whether the next thing he said might suggest a lack of enthusiasm. He covered himself by saying, “Boss, I have his home number and address. I could call him, and if he’s back in town, I could go and see him now.”

  “Yes, do that. Commander Bates has called for a full briefing, which means everyone, but I can fill you in on the outcome of that. Go to the man’s house and stay there until he comes home if necessary. Then hook up with Rodney and find out what he discovered from the traffic tapes and report to me.”

  “Yes Sir. Boss what’s happened?”

  “It seems that this wooden box thing is bigger than any of us envisaged, Alan. Switch on your radio and listen to the news while you’re driving to the truck driver’s house. Better still, the A.B.C is offering full coverage. You’ll find out from them more than I know at this moment. I’ll see you the moment you have news.”

  Ben put down his mobile phone and tried to listen to the radio’s coverage of the story. At the same time he considered his next move.

  There was a lot at stake and he had little to go on. Just the delivery truck driver, the fork lift truck and a wooden box. Of John Kane’s involvement he was sure.

  He was also sure that now the news had broken about the reason for the wooden box, Kane, along with Walters and Wild would expect surveillance and be sure footedly discreet.

  As for Lee?

  Ben was convinced that he would not knowingly put himself at risk by having a close association with the wooden box. Having it firmly planted in his own back yard, even for the short period that it had been, didn’t fit Lee. He was not known to leave evidence lying around. No, Ben thought, it feels to me like Sudovich was freelancing. As he had in the Nigerian deal and hopefully because of it Lee was going to be a not so innocent victim. Ben knew that because of the wooden box, he would have access to Lee and he would go through him like a dose of salts.

  Unfortunately, the wooden box and its association to terrorism would push Lee to the back burner for the time being, but Ben was happy in the knowledge that he would stew for a while. He drove through the streets of Sydney, as words like 10X, toxic, disaster, death, issued from his radio, and he cursed. Not because the world was a hard place, but because of the arseholes who made it their business to make it that way.

  *****

  Athol alighted from a motor car outside the front door of a country house that sat on acreage not far from the outskirts of London. He was escorted into the house by one of his subordinates, who cast a glance around the garden area before he stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind them.

  Once inside he ushered Athol through a wide doorway and into a room which two weeks earlier had been the house’s main dining room. It had been cleared of all its original furniture, except for the huge dining table. Its expansive polished top was now almost covered with computer consoles and key boards. Their connecting cables snaked their way to a large computer that occupied space on the floor.

  Athol, who was fifty-five and by far the oldest man in the room, felt a little off balance. Not because of his lack of I.T knowledge, but by the fact that the people who occupied places around the table were so much at home with such advanced technology. They sat with an air of certainty. Like lords of their realms whose ability allowed them to be nonchalant, like a beautiful woman or a domestic cat.

  Athol knew they knew their business.

  The fact that they were in this room was proof. They had all been vetted by people who knew as much as they, and more.

  After some minutes of watching the activity of the people within the room, Athol’s subordinate, Charles suggested.

  “If I might give you an in depth tour?”

  “Mmm? Yes, of course.”

  Charles led the way to the head of the table and pointed to the console there.

  “This is what we call our command console. It will be operated by Phillip here.” Phillip looked up momentarily. He nodded politely at the interruption before returning with vigour to his keyboard.

  Charles resumed his commentary.

  “After the sales team leaders have passed on to prospective customers our web address, the operations teams will carry out the demonstrations. Then the bidding will begin. All of the bidders will come through to this console. When they do, Phillip will redirect each of them to one of his colleagues, so that each of the bidders will be handled by the operator of one of these other consoles.”

  He waved his hand toward and over the congested dining table before continuing.

  “When the bidder has been designated to a console, the operator of that console will bring into operation a computer program. It is designed to worm its way in through the bidder’s back door, and ferret out information necessary to allow us to hack in to his computer at a later date. As you can see we have thirty-two consoles and each one of them is capable of overseeing three bidders. While we have a bidder on line, our devious computer program will infiltrate the bidder’s computer, gaining information on access passwords and connection numbers. Once we have these, we can hack in at a later date and search for passwords and code numbers for banking transactions and accounts.”

  Charles, without explanation stepped to a small table which stood nearby and offered quietly with a raised glass, water. Athol declined with a slight shake of his head. His attention fascinated by the precise finger movements of the whiz kids until Charles resumed his commentary.

  “We expect a better than average outcome, but we’ll not know until the fat lady sings.”

  “We’ll have to hope for the best then,” Athol added before he offered a consideration, “If we can attach ourselves to ten to twenty per cent of them, I’ll be satisfied.”

  “Then we will suck dry ten to twenty per cent of them,” Charles chuckled

  They turned away from the table and slowly walked together toward the door. As they went Athol showed his curiosity.

  “You seem to have a good understanding of all this high tech business?”

  “Not really. I’m at virtual loss. Please excuse the pun,” He chuckled again before continuing, “No. I’m pretty much out of my depth. I understand what I hear if it’s well explained. I’m lucky to have amongst my band of people here, some who would make good teachers. Another thing in my favour is that, like you, I’m a good listener.”

  Charles stood by and watched as a chauffeur opened the car’s rear door, and then again as Athol nestled into its leather seat. He waited until Athol was comfortably seated before he leaned in through the open door.

  “There is one more thing,” he said. “The sales teams are at this moment making known to their potential customers our web site address. The clock will start to tick, as it were, on schedule in a little under four hours.” Athol offered a slight nod. A sparkle came to his eyes as movement at the corners of his mouth suggested a glimmer of a smile.

  He waved as the car pulled away, and as it slid easily down the driveway towards the entrance gate. The reasons why people as rich as Athol got involved in activities like this were secrets that only people like Athol could know, Charles thought as he walked back to the house and his workplace.

  CHAPTER 18