Jon fell silent. Booby Rock passed beneath them unnoticed as he began to have visions of what might happen next. There was no possibility that the St. Barbe’s police could be a threat as far away as Boston. In any case what could they do, and to what purpose? Nevertheless, the idea of sleepless nights needlessly worrying about Josie’s safety was completely unacceptable. He held her tight. “Will you come and live with me? Please say yes.”
Josie looked up at him and smiled through her tears. “Of course. Try and stop me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday, August 24, Stockholm
A combination of beauty and intelligence made Anna Kristina Andersson irresistible to most men, and when she eventually fell in love, it was with a young reporter named Bengt. Six months later, he was brutally murdered on assignment in El Salvador. After this, the few close relationships she experienced came to nothing. Anna had been a journalist at Bengt’s paper, but she soon wanted a different occupation, one that might enable her to come to terms with violence and terrorism. She therefore worked her way rapidly up the corporate ladder in a small but special Stockholm security firm. It wasn’t long before she became a partner.
Thibald and Sörnsen was involved in the lucrative business of gathering intelligence for the United Nations, and this was what had first attracted Anna. She learned that ever since the mysterious death of Dag Hammarskjöld, the most famous Secretary General, the UN had been acquiring a specific type of highly confidential intelligence. It was needed to protect its most important officers, and to help formulate policies concerning international crises. The firm’s mandate was to investigate acts of terrorism and political subversion, worldwide. Anna Kristina hoped this would lead to the capture and trial of terrorists. Unfortunately, in most cases the perpetrators continued their activities without ever being apprehended.
As a partner and director, Anna was responsible for operations in certain geographical areas, including the Caribbean. At thirty-one, she ran her department as she wished. Her method was to recruit carefully screened residents of a suitable country within the region. They would live normal lives, but in addition to being paid by the firm, they would take up a line of work that would allow them to travel to trouble spots at short notice. The most popular cover was to own a small business. Most people under Anna Kristina’s direction were based overseas and were primarily responsible for assessing abnormal political situations. The agents’ operations were strictly passive; they acted only as observers. It was very rare for them to be exposed, but accidents did happen, and on one occasion, an agent had been executed as a spy in Uganda. Luckily he was in someone else’s department.
It was a very wet Friday morning. The gray pall of low clouds scudding over Stockholm was definitely enough to dampen anyone’s spirits, especially Anna Kristina’s. The summer seemed to have given up the ghost, at least that’s what it looked like as she glanced out of her fifth floor office window. She was pouring coffee when there was a knock on the door, and her secretary walked in bearing a handful of papers.
“Hello, Hedi, I hope you’re feeling more cheerful than I am.”
Hedi Wetzlar came from the border region between Denmark and Germany. She looked much older than her sixty years, and had been with Thibald and Sörnsen since it started. Her husband had died a few years earlier.
“It could be worse.” She nodded at the window. “It could be snowing.”
“What, in August?”
“It’s happened before. But I’ve got some work for you. Here’s a preliminary report from Jamaica that might be important. It was brought in by courier.” Hedi’s job every morning was to screen reports and put them in order of importance. Years of experience had made her an expert.
“We haven’t had any news from there since the US invaded Grenada, have we?” said Anna Kristina. “I can’t even remember the agents’ names.”
“Mark and Jenny Seaker. But it seems the problem isn’t in Jamaica. They’re worried about an island called St. Barbe’s. It’s near Antigua.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t ring a bell.” Anna Kristina drained her coffee cup. “What do we know about the place?”
“Not much. The island was once British and is now independent. Their second parliamentary election was about a year ago, so the Seakers monitored it as they were supposed to, and sent us a full report. The new right wing government puzzled them by beefing up the island’s security. Since St. Barbe’s was just opening up for tourism, the Seakers decided it would be a good personal investment to join a consortium renovating an old hotel. But when they went to the island to check up on progress, they found some strange things had been going on. I’ve included a summary of their first report along with the material we’ve just received.” She put the papers in front of Anna Kristina. “You may want to have a chat with the Seakers. Their phone line is secure.”
“I’ll check this through first. I wouldn’t mind an excuse for a trip to the Caribbean.”
“Well something may have to be done, but you’ll see. I’ll be sure you’re not disturbed.” That was Hedi’s way of telling her boss there was some urgency in the matter.
Anna Kristina poured another cup of coffee, and read the summary of the Seakers’ original report.
It contained the following.
Martin Crick and Peter Stoker originally came to St. Barbe’s from Jamaica as landed immigrants. Crick was apparently Stoker’s superior. After operating a sporting goods store for a few years, they became citizens of St. Barbe’s. They then ran as opposition party candidates in by-elections that were called after two government members mysteriously disappeared at sea in a cabin cruiser. Both men were elected, and worked hard to expand their party, the St. Barbe’s Conservatives, which won the next general election. They became favorites of the Prime Minister, who shortly thereafter died of an unidentified viral infection. Crick took over the Prime Minister’s office and expanded the Police, appointing an unknown Antiguan, Xavier Green, as Chief. No one knows why such an expansion in security was required. We conclude that both Crick and Stoker are potentially dangerous, and likely to form a two-man dictatorship.
A note at the bottom stated that most of this information had been gathered by the Seakers when they were negotiating about their hotel, which was almost a year earlier.
Anna Kristina then turned to the current document. She read about a little girl who got chased by something in the night, and a mutilated body found in the reservoir. What was more disturbing, however, was that the Seakers said they had evidence pointing to a very sinister reason for the rise to power of Crick and Stoker. They suspected, but could not prove, that the St. Barbe’s Government had been taken over by an international cartel of some kind. They were unsure as to its purpose, but were certain that the island was to be used for something highly undesirable. This report had been routed through the German Consular Office in St. Barbe’s. The Seakers planned to investigate further, then send a more detailed follow-up when they returned to Jamaica.
Anna Kristina looked at her watch and realized it was still very early in Jamaica. She would have to wait to phone the agents. When she eventually dialed the number of the restaurant, which the Seakers owned in Kingston, the staff supervisor answered. The woman was clearly upset.
“I’m sorry Miss, but they haven’t been seen this week. They’ve completely disappeared.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Thursday, August 30, London
Judge Winchester’s vacation had been busy. He was staying at the London Hilton where he was attending the Annual Meeting of the International Society of Vintage Car Owners. The place was crowded since there were other meetings going on at the same time—the hotel was a popular venue for conferences and the like. During the convention, a four-day recess enabled members to participate in, or watch, the London to Brighton Vintage Car Rally, and for the first time the Judge was in on the action. A friend from an earlier meeting, a Scotsman by the name of Dougal McAllister, asked him to be the co-driver of h
is 1922 Humber. The whole affair had been everything he hoped for. The weather for the rally was perfect. The Humber only broke down once, and that was on a famous hill near the village of Pease Pottage. To cap it all, they had ended up in ninth place out of a record field.
On Wednesday evening, the Judge and McAllister had celebrated at a small French restaurant where they consumed much wine and brandy. The net result was, at least for the Judge, a real humdinger of a hangover. The next morning, he staggered out of bed and made himself a cup of coffee before rushing down to the meeting. Whoever had dreamed up the European idea of providing hotel rooms with a kettle, instant coffee and tea bags, was nothing short of a genius. He was late for the first talk and had problems keeping awake during the second, which was a description of the workings of a spare parts factory. When it was over, he met Dougal in the lobby and they went to lunch.
“You look pretty good,” said the Judge.
“I can’t say you do,” came the smiling reply. “Come on. A pint of warm English bitter should do the trick.”
Judge Winchester made a face.
“It’s true,” continued Dougal. “The hair of the dog and all that stuff.” So they sought out the hotel lounge, sat at one end of the bar, and ordered pints.
“With all this activity I forgot to ask you about your law practice.” The Judge sipped his drink and made another face. “Last year you were getting a bit fed up.”
“Aye, but things are very different now. With German reunification, Europe is opening up and there are great opportunities. I’m moving the whole business lock stock and barrel to Heidelberg.”
“You don’t say. I didn’t know you spoke German.”
“I had to brush it up a bit.”
“Sounds a wise move. The Continent may well dominate world trade in a few years, and Germany will be the driving force.”
By the time they had finished their beer and consumed a light lunch, the Judge felt a bit better, though still somewhat muzzy, so he excused himself to go to his room and freshen up. This being the last day of the meeting, a movie of the rally was scheduled to be shown in one of the hotel’s smaller conference rooms during the afternoon. He made a cup of coffee and pulled a crumpled program from his pocket. The presentation would be starting soon, and he certainly didn’t want to miss it.
While waiting for the elevator, the Judge checked the location. It was room 2767. Once on the second floor, he followed the room numbers until he found himself in a small anteroom at the end of a corridor. A closed door faced him. This would be it, and it looked as though they’d started. He turned the handle slowly and slipped inside. At first, the scene before him seemed perfectly normal. The room was filled with people, and there was a lecturer on the small stage, exactly as one might expect. In the partially dimmed lights, the faces of both the lecturer and the audience could be discerned, and the Judge could see that this was a multinational gathering. There was a slide on the screen. A thin haze of tobacco smoke filled the air, and the light from the slide projector at the back of the room sliced a glowing path through it. The smoke smelled strange to the Judge, aromatic almost scented. The slide was a map, much of it blue sea, but there was some land consisting of islands with familiar shapes and names—Cuba, Hispaniola, Jamaica. The Judge noticed that a red circle had been drawn round a tiny dot southeast of Puerto Rico and east of Saint Croix. He could even read the name of the island that had been highlighted. It was St. Barbe’s.
After a split second of confusion over what he had seen, the Judge switched his attention to the audience. Many of them turned to see who had interrupted their deliberations, but no one said a word. They just stared for a second or two until he backed out the door with a muttered apology. His embarrassment overshadowed all other thoughts as he stepped under a light and consulted his program again. He found that he should have gone to room 3767; the three had been smudged, and looked rather like a two. Obviously, the beer before lunch hadn’t helped after all. The Judge forgot about the incident as he rushed to catch the video of the rally. He wondered whether the camera had caught him cranking up the Humber on Pease Pottage hill. Luckily he missed nothing of importance, just footage of humorous incidents from earlier rallies.
On his way to his room after the screening, in which he hadn’t appeared after all, he joined several other conference participants who were waiting for the elevator. When it arrived and the doors opened, he saw the familiar face of a Japanese man who had been sitting at the end of the row nearest to him in the strange meeting room. The man instantly recognized him, and his glance dropped to the Judge’s identification tag. As the elevator doors closed, their eyes locked briefly, then someone beside him spoke.
“Judge Winchester! Too bad the video missed you and Dougal on Pease Pottage hill.”
“Yes, too bad.” And now the Japanese gentleman knew he was a judge as well, though why this should bother him he didn’t know.
That night, a small group of enthusiasts, including Dougal McAllister, had a farewell dinner at the restaurant, and the Judge told his story.
When he had finished he turned to his friend. “I wonder who they were? You know, Dougal, the smell of their cigarettes was the strangest thing.”
“Sounds like a lot of them were oriental,” replied the Scotsman. “They smoke unusual tobacco. The question is, what were they doing in London? Maybe they were a group of travel agents or something.”
“Quite possibly. But the oddest thing is, by some extraordinary coincidence they were discussing St. Barbe’s. My daughter and her boy friend have just visited the place.”
“Aye, very odd indeed. But that’s probably all it was, a coincidence.”
CHAPTER SIX
Saturday, September 1, Boston
The weather was cold and damp when Josie met the Judge at Logan Airport. A fine drizzle began to fall as their taxi turned onto the main road. They were both sitting in the back seat, and Josie turned to her father.
“Dad, I hope you won’t be mad, but Jon and I are planning to live together.” There, it was done. There was no turning back now.
The Judge said nothing and Josie started to get nervous. Her father was looking out the cab window and obviously letting the matter sink in. After what seemed forever he spoke.
“Your mother certainly wouldn’t have approved, Josie, and I’m not sure whether I do or not.” He turned to his daughter and put an arm round her shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, I like Jon a lot. So why don’t we see how things work out?” He was going to add something about rattling around in the big old house on his own, but decided Josie shouldn’t have to feel guilty about leaving home.
As soon as they arrived, the Judge went upstairs for a shower while Josie lit a fire in the big brick fireplace, which dominated one of the living room walls. Half an hour passed, and she was in the process of extracting a bottle of malt whisky from the liquor cabinet, when he opened the door.
She held it up and smiled. “Glenfiddich—I got it in specially. I suppose you want it neat like your Scottish friend?”
“Dougal says ice ruins it. I think he’s right. Now tell me about St. Barbe’s. Did you hit it off with the family?”
“Things were a little awkward at first but we got on just fine in the end. They’re very down-to-earth people. And what a place. It’s fabulous. We had a pretty exciting time, but we both want to tell you about it together.”
Josie could hardly restrain herself from blurting out about the body and everything, but she had no idea what the Judge’s reaction would be. He didn’t even know they had come home early. In the end she described the estate and the snorkeling and the sugar canes and Bobbie.
After Judge Winchester had gone to bed, Josie finished loading the dishwasher and generally cleaning up the big kitchen where they’d eaten dinner. She found a chocolate bar, made some tea, then curled up in front of the living room fire with her back against an armchair. The cordless phone was on a sheepskin rug beside her, but she wanted to think before dial
ing Jon. What did her father really feel about their living together? He had seemed a bit negative when she told him, but judging from his attitude since the announcement, she had every reason to believe he had an open mind. If not, she hoped he would be somewhat mollified when he found they planned to move into an apartment that was only fifteen minutes away.
The fire was dying down and it was getting late, so Josie had a bath, went to her bedroom, and switched off the lights. Before getting into bed, she went over to the window and looked out over the shadowy garden. As a low cloud passed across the moon, she could have sworn a figure ran across the drive to the big maple tree by the gates, but when the cloud had passed there was nothing. She closed the drapes and began to wonder. The place wasn’t a fortress, and anyone could climb the fence with ease. They relied on house alarms for security.
With the phone still in her hand, Josie pulled the covers around her and called Jon. He was reading, he said, with a stiff drink so he could sleep without his girl.
Sunday, September 2, Boston
The day broke warm and sunny. Josie and the Judge enjoyed their breakfast on the patio, but by the time they had finished their meal and the coffee pot was empty, a brisk southerly wind had tarted to blow. A few darkening clouds billowed overhead.
Josie took her father’s hands and hauled him out of his chair. “Jon won’t be here much before noon, so why don’t we wander round the garden and see what state it’s in. Perhaps we could even do a bit of tidying up.” She said nothing about the figure she thought she’d seen the night before, but made certain their tour of inspection took them under the maple tree. Josie thought the grass looked a little flattened beside the trunk, but there were a few leaves and twigs lying around, and it was difficult to be sure. They got pretty hot working outside despite the fact that it had clouded over.
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