“Don’t worry, Josie. I’ve come up with someone who can help. Do you remember the student in your university law course who did a bit of work for me?”
“You mean the guy with the odd name?”
“Right, but don’t repeat it on the phone. He’s single and dynamic. I recall he gave up law and became a newspaper reporter. Tell Jon about him and pay him a visit. I have a feeling he may be able to push a lot of useful buttons for us. Now, here’s Meg to speak with Jon.”
After a few minutes, Meg hung up.
“I should have thought of this fellow sooner,” said the Judge. “His name is Crispin Marchant.”
Tuesday, October 23, Heidelberg
Kurt phoned in the morning with the go-ahead for kidnapping Larsen.
“I’ve covered every detail I can think of,” he said to Dougal, who was in his office. “Renting a suitable cabin for the interrogation was the most difficult and time-consuming part.” He went on to suggest that the Judge should be the only one to accompany him, that is, if he were willing. It was his experience in the US Army that made him particularly valuable. Dougal agreed and called Judge Winchester at once.
The Judge thought things over, and decided to go with Kurt. He told Meg when they met for lunch.
“As you well know I didn’t like this idea in the first place,” she said. “And I still don’t.”
The Judge covered her hand with his. “I realize that, Meg. But we simply have to take this opportunity.”
“I still think I should come with you. Two people aren’t enough for what you have to do.”
“You may be right,” the Judge replied. “And believe me, I wish you could come along too, but we can’t take any chances with your safety. You’re the most important person in the group because you’re the only one who’s been in on everything since the whole affair started. And there’s Bobbie to think of.”
Meg said nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wednesday, October 24, Stockholm
Kurt Gruber and Judge Winchester were sitting in a rented Saab next to Larsen’s Mercedes. Both were armed with pistols, which had been signed out from Kurt’s affiliated detective agency in the city. The underground parking lot was quiet as most of the employees had left for the day. In the dim light, it was unlikely that anyone would notice two flat tires on the Mercedes. Kurt’s surveillance had determined that Larsen usually left his office on the Thibald and Sörnsen floor of the building between 6.10 and 6.20 pm He then took an elevator to the underground parking lot below. The elevator opened onto a "No Parking" gap, and Larsen’s personal spot was three spaces to the left. It was the last in a line of private parking places backing onto a wall and allotted to company directors, all of whom had gone for the day. Kurt was able to reverse the Saab into the space on the side of the Mercedes away from the elevator. This meant that Larsen wouldn’t have to walk past it.
The plan was simple. When the Swede stepped out of the elevator, the Judge would duck out of sight. Larsen would notice the flat tires, since they were both on the side of the car facing him. Kurt was supposed to walk round the front of the Mercedes, which faced away from the wall, and offer his help. While both men bent down to inspect the wheels, the Judge would slip soundlessly from the Saab and come round the rear, gun at the ready. Larsen would be taken to the rented cabin after they had given him a shot of sedative to keep him quiet along the way. How could such a simple plan possibly go wrong?
It was 6.10 pm, and the only person to leave the elevator was a girl they had seen arrive earlier.
“Come on . . . come on,” muttered Judge Winchester. “I’m not a patient man.”
“Relax, Judge. It’s a breeze as you Americans would say.”
“But I’m not used to this sitting and waiting.”
“Ssh . . . someone’s coming.”
But it was another girl, possibly one of the secretaries who’d been working late. She walked straight toward Larsen’s vehicle. Kurt’s heart missed a beat until he realized she was heading for another car some distance away. Without being spotted, he hunched down in his seat until she drove off.
Soon, the elevator door opened again, and there was Larsen. He was wearing an almost black overcoat and a Russian-style fur hat. He had a short beard, which was streaked with gray, and carried an expensive-looking briefcase. Larsen immediately noticed the slant of his car, and his two assailants heard him curse. They had anticipated that he would bend down to inspect the wheels before doing anything else. Instead he rounded the front of the Mercedes, obviously planning to unlock the driver’s door, which was level with the Saab’s front passenger seat. The Judge, who was virtually invisible in the gloom, had left his door ajar for a quick exit. When Larsen turned to insert his key, he accidentally banged it shut. Later on, Judge Winchester couldn’t fathom how he had managed to react so swiftly to get out of this decidedly awkward situation.
The Judge and Kurt sat up quickly, a movement that Larsen didn’t notice in the dim light.
“Excuse me,” said the Judge through the open window. “My friend and I were just discussing your flat tires. May we help?”
Larsen was either too annoyed at being inconvenienced, or had something else on his mind, since he showed no signs of suspicion. “Thank you,” he replied. “But I have only one spare for two wheels, which is obviously inadequate.”
Kurt’s mind was working overtime too. They had to get him to the flat tires on the other side of his car so they had room to overpower him easily. “I believe we have an emergency repair kit in the trunk. I’m sure you know the kind. A pressurized can sprays sealant into the tire, and re-inflates it.”
Larsen paused. “Now that’s a different matter. Come and have a look at the problem and we’ll see what can be done.”
The Judge accompanied Larsen to the elevator side of the Mercedes, while Kurt got out of the Saab to unlock the trunk. There was no tire repair can of course, but he went through the motions of looking for it. As he opened the trunk lid, he heard the Judge speak.
“Kindly bring your briefcase and come with us, Mr. Larsen.”
Kurt knew that Judge Winchester had pulled out his gun. He expected to see Larsen accompanied by his would-be captor come round the front of the Mercedes, but instead he heard a thump, then a grunt, then a clatter. After that, there were the sounds of a struggle, but he couldn’t see anything over the lid of the trunk. He moved quickly between the rear of the Mercedes and the wall, only to find the Judge on his back in the empty parking space. Larsen was holding him down. The Judge was obviously losing the fight, so without hesitating, Kurt pulled out his own gun and hit Larsen sharply on the back of the head with the butt. The Swede slumped forward and rolled off the Judge, who sat up and gingerly got to his feet.
“Are you hurt, Judge?”
“No Kurt, I’m fine thanks, although my dignity has suffered somewhat. I hope you didn’t kill the guy.”
“Not a chance,” replied Gruber. “If anything I was too gentle. He’s beginning to come round already. But give me a hand and we’ll put him in the back seat.”
At that moment the elevator door opened and a young man stepped out. Luckily he didn’t see them as he walked away in the opposite direction. A minute or so later he drove off. Meanwhile the elevator door had closed.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Larsen stirred again and Judge Winchester saw his eyelids flicker momentarily. He saw something else too. There was a small rectangular object beside the man’s head, so he scooped it up and put it in his pocket. Just as they were about to carry Larsen to the Saab, they heard the sound of a vehicle coming down the ramps.
“We’d better leave him,” said Kurt. “And don’t forget your gun. It’s by the front wheel.”
They both ran to the Saab, and in a few moments were on their way to the street.
“That was close,” said the Judge, who ducked as they passed the other car.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kurt persisted. “Your cl
othes are a bit of a mess.”
“I’m fine, Kurt. No problems. But you’re right about my clothes. I’ll need to clean them up before going into the hotel lobby.”
“Luckily the car rental agency has thoughtfully supplied a snow brush. That should do the trick, as most of the dirt looks like dust. If you turn round you’ll see it on the back seat.”
The Judge retrieved the stiff-bristled brush. It was a bit unwieldy in the confines of the car, but seemed to do the job. He was still working on his jacket when they stopped at a red light, and the brush hit something hard in the pocket. It was the object he had picked up.
“I completely forgot, Kurt. I found something on the garage floor just as we were leaving.” He took it out and frowned. “It’s only a calculator. I thought it might be important since it probably belongs to Larsen.”
“Let’s have a look.” The light was still red, and Kurt had time to give the calculator a cursory examination. “It may be more than that. If you look at the keys, there are a few with unusual symbols. It’s probably a sophisticated electronic notebook, in which case we might have something after all.”
“It’s sure a lot better than nothing,” replied the Judge as they drove on. “But you can bet that by this time friend Larsen’s come round and called the police, or worse still, The Organization. We could be right up the proverbial creek—and what about this car? He got a good look at it, and we were seen driving away from the parking garage. Should we get rid of it?”
“There’s no need for that, Judge. I doubt very much if Larsen had a chance to note the license number, and even if he remembered the type of car we have, there must be thousands of almost identical Saabs in Stockholm. You can forget about the vehicle, but he did get a good look at our faces, and I think we’d better get out of the country fast. We could try for a lunchtime flight, but that would give the authorities a chance to set up something at Arlanda, and with due respect, a tall black man like yourself would be all too obvious in the departure lounge. We’d be picked up for certain. I know this seems somewhat elaborate, but the safest way home is to drive to Helsingborg, take the ferry to Denmark, then go by train to Copenhagen and fly from there.”
“Sounds dreary.”
“Very well then, if you want to risk the airport—”
“No Kurt, I don’t. If you think that’s the best way out, then I’ll go along with it.”
“Fine. In that case we’ll check out of the hotel and head for Helsingborg.”
A couple of hours later, they were well on their way to their destination on the west coast. During the drive, the Judge spent some time fiddling with the little gadget he had retrieved. In retrospect he felt certain it was Larsen’s, because he would have noticed it before the scuffle. He found the phone directory, but unfortunately it was password-protected. Beyond that, the Judge got nowhere. There were other facilities, but except for the calculator, he couldn’t get them to work either.
“Never mind,” Kurt said when the Judge gave up. “There’s an electronics wizard in my firm’s office in Heidelberg. I’ll bet he can figure out the circuit and bypass the password, along with anything else that gets in the way.”
Kurt switched on the radio for the hourly news. The Judge didn’t understand Swedish of course, and Kurt glanced at him when it was over.
“I’ve been waiting to hear about the assassination attempt that was supposed to have taken place on October 20,” he said.
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Kurt. Has anyone of importance been murdered?”
“Not exactly. It seems that the Prime Minister of New Zealand died of a heart attack yesterday. Apparently he had a history of heart disease, and was getting on in years.”
“Hmm . . . it doesn’t sound like The Organization’s involved in that, or does it?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just possible. On the other hand the news report said an autopsy had been performed, and there seems no doubt that death was due to natural causes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thursday, October 25, Heidelberg
The journey from Stockholm had been tedious to say the least, but after spending the night at a hotel in Helsingborg, they encountered no problems or delays at the ferry between Sweden and Denmark. Meg had seemed inordinately worried when the Judge phoned her from Copenhagen, and gave him a big hug when he arrived at the hotel in the afternoon.
The electronics expert at Kurt’s office disabled the password circuit in Larsen’s notebook in just a few minutes, and Kurt raced back to Dougal’s office where everyone met to see what it contained. Meg pulled out a small pad and a ballpoint pen to take notes, while Judge Winchester put the instrument on a table by the window. He pushed the button for the phone directory, and a number came up. It had four groups of digits, like most of the twenty-two others they found.
“All but three are overseas numbers,” said Kurt, leaning over and reading them out for Meg. “That is to say overseas with respect to Sweden, of course. You’ll notice they have the Swedish direct dialing code at the beginning. I can recognize a few country codes too. There’s the UK, France, and the US, for a start.”
Dougal frowned. “Run through the numbers again Kurt.” A few moments later, Dougal stopped him. “That’s St. Barbe’s. It has the Caribbean area code.”
“Maybe we can dial one or two of them, and get some names when they answer. But we ought not to try too many at one time.”
“I agree,” said Meg. “We could easily arouse suspicion somewhere along the line, if you’ll forgive the pun.”
“Let’s try the notebook symbol on the gizmo,” suggested the Judge, and pressed the button. The first item that appeared was a name, Norbase 2. It was followed by groups of numbers.
“Sounds like something from the Second World War,” commented Dougal. “And what do the figures mean?”
“Latitude and longitude for sure,” Kurt replied. “I have them noted. You can try the next one, Judge.”
The notation Southbase 1 came up, with more numbers.
“Is that all there is?” asked Meg.
“Seems to be.” Judge Winchester pushed more buttons. “There’s an Appointments file though.”
But they were out of luck. It was empty.
Kurt leaned over the table and picked up the instrument. “Apparently this is a brand new model. It seems to have a lot of unused capacity, and my guess is that Larsen had only just bought it and was in the process of entering data.”
“I’d like to know where Norbase 2 and Southbase 1 are,” said the Judge. “Unfortunately we don’t have an atlas here.”
“But I’ve got one.” Dougal stood. “Let’s go to my place. It looks like your Stockholm trip wasn’t a waste of time after all.”
Dougal decided his stock of Scotch might be getting a bit low, so he drove off on his own to pick up some more. Meg, Kurt and the Judge followed together a few minutes later.
“I’m worried,” said Meg as they pulled out of the law office car park. “In fact I’m scared stiff. The Organization appears to be everywhere, and there seems to be no limit to what it can do.”
“Sure, Meg,” replied the Judge. “But you know it might just be possible to overcome them eventually. Obviously our small group can’t handle it alone, but if we could persuade some government or other—”
“Kurt,” interrupted Meg. “What about you? How do you feel about things? Are you as shaken as the rest of us?”
“Not really, Meg. I haven’t formed an opinion yet. My mind was trained very objectively, and I make assessments on the basis of facts. What I’ve seen so far points to some kind of highly sophisticated Mafia-type setup. It’s very powerful I grant you, but so’s the CIA come to that. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not playing down the situation. To be honest, I’m rather concerned.”
When they had arrived and everyone was settled in Dougal’s living room, he went to the study and returned with an atlas. He found a map of Europe, and Kurt read out the first latitude and longitude fro
m his notes.
“Norbase 2’s in Scotland,” said Dougal.
Meg stood and paled. “Oh, my God! Bobbie!”
The Judge went over and put his arm round her shoulders. “Where exactly is it, Dougal?”
“It’s at a place called Loch Hourn, which is a long sea loch leading to the Sound of Sleat. For the benefit of ignorant sassenachs, that’s the strip of water between the Isle of Skye and the mainland. I’ve never actually been to Loch Hourn, mind you, but I know the area.”
“Oh, my God!” Meg repeated. “Bobbie’s staying just outside Fort William. How far away is that? If The Organization knows she’s there, they might—”
“Fort William is about sixty miles by road to the south and east.”
“Now don’t worry.” Judge Winchester took her hands in his. “She’s just fine, I’m certain.”
“Aye,” said Dougal. “I’m sure she’s perfectly safe. But to satisfy yourself, give her a call. There’s a phone in the bedroom.”
Bobbie was all right, of course, and Meg was careful to say nothing that would alarm her.
When she went back into the living room everyone looked serious except Dougal. “I’ve decided to take a wee trip home, and it would be nice if you’d come along, Meg. Kurt’s coming too, and we’ll all take a look at this so-called Norbase 2. After that, maybe we should get Bobbie out of Scotland.”
Kurt was still poring over the atlas. “Listen everyone!” he exclaimed. “I’ve found Southbase 1. It’s on the South Island of New Zealand. And I know you’ll be wondering if there’s a connection with the Prime Minister’s heart attack. But it could still be a coincidence.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Meg.
Kurt paused for a moment. “On second thoughts, perhaps not. The date does fit perfectly.”
There was a short silence, then the Judge remembered Dougal’s computer. “Do you suppose . . .” he began uncertainly. “Do you suppose that any of those numbers on Larsen’s gizmo connect to modems?”
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