Leeward

by D. Edward Bradley

  It was much later in the day when Josie called with surprising news. She and Crispin had moved to Washington.

  “It makes sense,” Josie concluded. “Crispin has a government friend who’s heard rumors of something fishy going on higher up. He’s also in an excellent position to find out what happened to Marshall Thompson. I hate to say it, but we think he’s dead, and we’re certain there’s been a cover-up because the investigation stalled due to lack of effort. It’s bizarre when you consider that Mr. Thompson was Superintendent. We’re planning to meet Crispin’s friend tomorrow and decide what to do.”

  “I’m pretty certain all this is tied in with the activities of something called The Organization,” said the Judge. “It has influence well beyond the St. Barbe’s Government. I’ll tell you what we’ve discovered another time, but be very careful, they’re extremely dangerous. Now, what about Jon? Meg is worried. Any sign of him?”

  “Nothing, Dad. We tried everywhere we can think of, including the University.”

  “I guess it’s none of my business, but what did you two fight about?”

  “The whole thing was so stupid. Jon wanted to make love and I didn’t. Then we had a fight and I hit him. I slapped him in the face. He just grabbed some clothes and left.” Josie paused. “He called me a black something-or-other. I didn’t catch the word.”

  “That doesn’t sound at all like Jon. He must have been pretty upset. I’m really sorry about this, Josie. I thought you two had something special.”

  “So did I,” Josie whispered, and hung up.

  The possibility that Crispin was involved hadn’t escaped the Judge, but his primary concern was for Jon’s safety, and Josie’s too, come to think of it. Had his daughter told him about the attempted abduction at her apartment, he would likely have taken the next flight to Washington. As it was, the Judge tried to look on the positive aspects of the current situation. Bobbie was pleased to be back at the villa, particularly as she and Neil Barker appeared to have missed each other. In addition, the place had been kept spotless by Muriel and Rodney, and was a haven of comfort after all the traveling. Finally, Trilby had reported nothing out of the ordinary when he met their flight from London. After depositing his passengers on the doorstep, he had departed for the west end of the island, where he played cricket the next morning. All this seemed reassuring.

  Friday, November 2, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica

  On her way to the kitchen to have breakfast, Meg heard the fax machine beep. There was a long message from Dougal. A quick look revealed its importance, so she decided to wake up the Judge.

  “I’ll read it to you,” she said, sitting on his bed. “I only glanced at it, but it looks as though things are beginning to happen.”

  From: Dougal

  Subject: You know what.

  I’ve decided that fax is the best and safest way to send the kind of stuff I have to report. I can be sure that nothing was left out, and you have everything in writing. When you’ve finished reading this, call me. Now hold on to your seats and read on.

  Item 1: Did you hear that the German Chancellor died of an unidentifiable viral infection the other night? If not, tune in to your next national newscast as there’s bound to be a follow-up report. To my thinking he is the second victim referred to in the document on the diskette called “Covert Activities.” Supposing he was injected with The Organization’s virus on October 25, then he would be dead in three or four days, which fits. As I recall, the timing was the same when the Prime Minister of New Zealand died, right?

  Item 2: We have a big breakthrough from the Mannheim research lab. I don’t know what you said to the manager, but it certainly worked wonders. He must have pulled out all the stops because their technician sent us the results from Hedi’s tissue samples this morning. The electron microscope showed that her heart was heavily infected with what was described as an unidentifiable picornavirus. She explained that it had the same shape as polio virus. Remember the diskette file? It said they would use a genetically modified polio virus called A152.

  I’m going to Mannheim tomorrow to persuade the manager to get some infected tissue from the Chancellor, if he can. There seems little doubt that the lab would be able to find out if he was killed by the same virus that caused Hedi’s death. It will probably mean revealing our suspicions about The Organization, if that’s okay with you folks. I had Kurt run a security check, and the man seems clean. But to be on the safe side, I’ll try and scare him enough so he’ll keep his mouth shut, at least for the time being. We don’t want the German equivalent of our MI5 sticking their noses in just yet, do we? And you know what I think? The Organization never did develop an undetectable virus. They’re using the original A152.

  Call me ASAP my friends. We need to talk.

  They did.

  Monday, November 5, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica

  Trilby found Meg in the garden cutting flowers. The early morning sun was hot, but not uncomfortably so.

  “I hope I didn’t disturb you when I got in last night,” he said.

  Meg turned. “Hello, Joel. No, I didn’t hear a thing, and I’m glad you’re back. Marvin and I feel as though we’re floundering in a dangerous quagmire. Is he up yet?”

  “Just finishing his breakfast. He told me all about the lab work in Germany.”

  “It’s really frustrating having to sit around and wait. And what if the lab can’t get any tissue samples from the German Chancellor? We’re virtually impotent until we have concrete evidence that these deaths are more than just coincidental. It’s essential to prove that The Organization exists, and that it’s an international threat.”

  “What about Norbase 2? Why not contact the Brits?”

  “I have a feeling they’ll find the farmhouse empty, but I suppose it’s worth a try. I guess Dougal’s the best person to decide about that.”

  “By the way, Meg, I had an idea while I was driving home last night. I haven’t mentioned it to Marvin, so why don’t we find him?”

  Trilby’s plan was to call Thibald and Sörnsen for instructions. After all, he was an employee and had heard nothing from their office since Anna had disappeared. It was only natural that he should phone them. Trilby thought it would be useful to find out how they would explain Anna’s absence.

  Judge Winchester glanced at his watch; it was still afternoon in Stockholm. “There’s no time like the present. Go right ahead, Joel, but keep it fairly short in case they’re able to put a trace on the call. We don’t want them to locate this place.”

  Trilby used the kitchen phone while the Judge stood beside him. Meg listened in on an extension.

  “Good morning, Thibald and Sörnsen. Can I help you?” The female operator spoke in English.

  “My name is Richard Pearson, your Jamaican agent. I would like to speak to my supervisor.”

  “What is your identification number?”

  Trilby read it out from a card he’d extracted from his wallet.

  “That will be Mr. Larsen’s office. One moment please, I’ll put you through.”

  Trilby’s eyes widened.

  After a pause, another woman answered, presumably Larsen’s secretary. Trilby explained who he was once again, and repeated his identification number. “I am calling because I require specific directions from my supervisor.”

  “Yes, Mr. Pearson, Mr. Larsen is free. Please hold a moment.”

  Another pause, shorter this time, then, “Larsen! What can I do for you Pearson?”

  Trilby decided to take the initiative. “As you may recall, sir, I was employed by Ms. Andersson a while ago to cover Jamaica and the Leeward Islands, but for some reason I haven’t heard from her office for some time. In the interests of Thibald and Sörnsen, I feel I should be given detailed instructions plus information regarding political or military events requiring investigation. I’m anxious to carry out my work thoroughly, and without feedback from Head Office I feel I’m wasting the company’s money. Is there something specific I can do? And has Ms. Ander
sson has been replaced as my Director?”

  Judge Winchester looked at Trilby and gave thumbs up. He couldn’t hear Larsen’s reply, of course.

  “I am glad you called Pearson. To be quite frank I only received notification of your transfer from Ms. Andersson’s roster a few days ago, and I’ve been too busy to read up on the Caribbean, which is new to me. However, my secretary has just handed me a summary of the local situation. Now let me see . . .” He paused as if reading the document. “Apparently we’ve established unofficial ties with a member of one of the island governments. I think it would be a good idea if you contacted him and asked for an assessment of any local changes, which might require your attention. Perhaps a personal meeting might be the most suitable approach. The individual concerned is Mr. Stoker, the St. Barbe’s Minister of Security. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”

  Trilby’s eyes widened even more. “Of course, sir.”

  “Then get onto it Pearson, and report back by the usual channels through the Swedish Consulate. You should know that on the whole, I disapprove of open-line phone calls, but you were right to make one in this case.” He hung up.

  Trilby put down the receiver. “Incredible, just incredible,” he said, and told the Judge what Larsen had said.

  Meg returned to the kitchen.

  “So Larsen’s very cozy with the St. Barbe’s Government, which isn’t surprising,” observed the Judge. “But Joel, this is too good an opportunity to miss.”

  “Definitely. I can hardly believe that I’m going to talk to Stoker in person. It’s amazing, and it’s safe. As far as Thibald and Sörnsen are concerned, I’m Pearson, and I have an Antiguan passport to prove it. I should imagine Stoker will be told about me, so there’ll be no risk whatsoever, and I ought to be able to get something useful out of him. Who knows, I might even be able to find out what The Organization is.”

  Judge Winchester held up a hand. “Not so fast! I don’t want any heroics. It’s essential that you establish a proper escape route in case you’re being set up. You should also contact Norton Grinder while you’re there and see if he has any news. And before you leave, go talk to Rodney so you can pass on a message to his brother, Joshua. He’s the guy who took Hans out in his boat so you could pick him up with the chopper, in case you don’t remember.”

  An hour later, the fax machine spewed out another sheet of paper. It was a handwritten note from Jon. All he said was, “I’m staying with a friend near London. Need time to think. I’m safe and well, so don’t worry.”

  Thursday, November 8, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica

  It was evening at the villa, and a half-moon was rising behind the palm trees opposite the driveway entrance. Meg watched the tail lights of Trilby’s rented car disappear as he turned toward the highway that would take him to Kingston. He had chosen an evening flight to St. Barbe’s, although the meeting with Stoker would not take place until the following afternoon.

  Bobbie came out of the front door and onto the porch to join her mother. “Do you think we’ll be safe without Mr. Trilby?” she asked.

  “Of course we will, my sweet. Don’t forget the Judge is here to take care of us.”

  Meg glanced at Bobbie. Her hair was bedraggled, and she looked tired after the long journey from Scotland. “Why don’t you sleep with me tonight? Tomorrow we’ll spruce you up a bit.”

  Bobbie’s blue eyes focused intently on her mother. “Are you in love with the Judge, Mummy?” she asked.

  Meg smiled but said nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Friday, November 9, St. Barbe’s

  Jon Moresby had no idea what was going on in Germany or at the villa in Jamaica. The reason—he was at the St. Barbe’s Holiday Inn waking himself up with a cup of coffee on the patio of his ground floor room.

  The flight from London on the previous day had seemed interminable, particularly as he was decidedly nervous. There were anxious moments at St. Barbe’s Airport when he passed through customs and immigration, but he needn’t have worried. His convincing disguise and forged UK passport under the name of Brian Fortescue, served him well.

  During his two-week visit with an old school pal near London, he had fixed up his disguise, telling his host that it was a ruse to avoid an ex girlfriend. He also became preoccupied with a desire to find Cindy, and spent several fruitless days searching law office directories and going through the phone book. Finally he had turned to the time-consuming task of obtaining his passport.

  Jon had no plans. He hadn’t figured out what he could do on St. Barbe’s before he left London, and simply assumed he would think up something useful when he arrived. Breakfast brought no inspiration, but obviously the first thing was to get some wheels. Not knowing where to rent a car, he headed for the hotel’s Tourist Information desk. The girl on duty was busy with an elderly couple, so he browsed through a display of colorful brochures. Then, to his surprise, he found a well-illustrated folder on the Leeward Estate Hotel. It described the special local cuisine, and the excellent accommodation. The proprietors, it said, were Peter and Margaret Calluna. Jon glanced at the date, which was in small print on the bottom of the back page. The brochure was a year old. He realized he had stumbled upon a perfect opportunity to find out what the official line was on the status of the hotel, since Tourist Information was the responsibility of the government.

  By the time he finished reading the pamphlet, the elderly couple had completed their enquiries and the girl looked up at him.

  Deciding to play it carefully, Jon placed the Leeward Estate Hotel brochure in between two others. “Can you tell me about Syke’s Hotel?” he asked. “Is the restaurant good, and can I get snorkeling equipment there?”

  “Certainly, sir. The guest rooms are being renovated at the moment, but the new restaurant is open. Scuba diving and snorkeling equipment is available between 10 am and 4 pm daily.”

  Then Jon showed her the Leeward description. “And is the food here as good?” he asked innocently.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the Leeward Estate Hotel has been closed, and the owners have put it up for sale. It seems they were losing money, and I understand they’ve left the country. Those pamphlets should have been removed a long time ago.”

  Jon asked where he could rent a car, and thanked the girl. He decided then and there to check up on Leeward. He would simply drive up to the front door armed with his out-of-date brochure, and present it to anyone who challenged him. If the place was empty, he would have a good snoop around.

  An hour later, Jon was cruising along the south coast road in a small Ford sedan. The familiar scenery evoked mixed emotions, and memories of the incident at the reservoir flooded back when he passed the entrance to The Track. Without making a conscious decision to do so, he slammed on the brakes, backed up the car, and turned into the unpaved road. When he eventually reached the picturesque lake, he looked around. Apart from seasonal changes in the vegetation, the place appeared as he remembered it. Jon walked slowly down the trail round the reservoir toward the east, and soon found the small bay with the flat-topped rocks. For a second he saw Josie standing there, just as she had done before. Then she was lying naked on the patch of shady grass, waiting for him. Lost in his reverie, he was beginning to feel the excitement of the past rising within him when he heard a loud roar and the crash of breaking branches close behind.

  Jon whirled round and came face to face with a creature straight out of hell. Its foul smell almost overcame him, and its black-nosed snout and slavering jaws seemed only inches from his face as it reared on its back legs like a bear. In reality the animal was a dozen feet away, but it was already raising an enormous clawed paw to smash his head and rip it from his body.

  Jon only had a second or so to save himself. He turned and ran through the shallows of the bay, but missed his footing and fell, momentarily blinded by water in his eyes. He knew this was the end, and braced himself for the tearing impact of razor-sharp claws. But when his vision cleared he saw the creature was whe
re he had left it, standing near the water’s edge. It was growling and salivating profusely, but made no move to attack. Jon sat waist-deep in the water, and with his eyes fixed on it, eased himself inch by inch out into the reservoir. In his terror, he was slow to realize that the monster was actually afraid of the water. When this fact finally sank in, he got to his feet. That caused the animal to let forth a hideous bellow that echoed right across the reservoir. Birds screamed, and the air was filled with flashing color as they flew away to safety. Jon sank down again, backing off as he had done before.

  The slow movement gave him a chance to study the brute, which he knew instinctively was the four-legged beast that had chased Bobbie at Leeward, and confronted Hans in the cave on Umbrella Mountain. It was unearthly, unnatural, like a composite animal, part cat, part bear, part ape. Jon decided it must have been conceived by man for the express purpose of hideous killing, perhaps constructed from the genes of the deadliest mammals. Remembering what Bobbie and Neil had overheard in the maze, he felt certain he was face to face with the Guard.

  All this time Jon had been moving away from shore. Without warning, the bottom dropped away beneath him and he found himself treading water. The Guard paced back and forth on all fours, occasionally approaching the water. As soon as its giant paws were even partly submerged, it retreated hissing and snarling. Jon started to swim on his back, raising his head so he could keep the animal in view. When he was about a hundred yards away, he managed to remove his sneakers, which he tied together by the laces and hung round his neck. He was reluctant to cast them adrift, and leave a clue for the authorities to find.

  The next thing to do was to figure out how to get back to the Ford. He tried swimming gently in its direction, keeping well out from the shoreline. But as soon as the Guard saw its prey on the move, it reared up, raising its forepaws above its head. Then it bellowed again. This time there were no birds to scare away.