When they went to bed that night they made love again, but this time Cindy was feeling fresh and elated. “Jon, there are things I want to do to you that will . . . you know what I mean, things I’ve been longing to do.”
They had both undressed and were looking at each other, then Jon pulled her to him.
Their lovemaking went on for a very long time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sunday, December 10, St. Barbe’s
Judge Winchester and Meg had just returned from a drive out to Leeward to meet Cindy. As they passed the reception desk, the clerk gave them a message from Dougal. Would someone please return his call immediately?
Meg turned to the Judge. “Why don’t you answer him in my room? It’s much nearer than yours, and it sounds important.”
It was.
“You won’t believe this,” said Dougal. “I’ve just located The Organization’s Headquarters.”
“Are you sure?”
“No doubt about it. The whole thing was pure luck. I was messing around with my computer, trying to decode an Organization document, and to cut a long story short I hit the right button and there she was. It’s in Central London at an address on Praed Street.”
“And you think someone should pay it a visit?”
“Yes, if possible.”
“But I was under the impression that Thibald and Sörnsen were taking over this sort of stuff.”
“In a few days or a week, but not right now. I spoke to Anna before I called you, and she said the firm can’t do much without UN authority, which she hopes to get at a meeting she’s setting up in New York. By the way, she wants you and Meg to go if you can. Anyway, she told me to arrange a look-see at the London address. If you agree, I’d like to have Trilby meet Kurt Gruber and I in London fairly soon. Kurt and I will check the outside of the premises, and afterwards we can collect Joel at Heathrow Airport. We’re planning on Wednesday.”
“I can’t see any problem,” Judge Winchester replied. “But I think I should be included.”
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea, Marvin. You’re much too valuable. Remember, this might be a risky business.”
“Okay. By all means go ahead without me.”
“Fantastic. I knew you’d agree. Aye, this could nail ’em, and maybe even fix ’em for keeps.”
“Don’t you be too sure, Dougal, they’re a hell of a lot smarter than we are.”
Wednesday, December 13, London, England
It was late in the afternoon when Dougal and Kurt met Trilby at Heathrow Airport.
“We’re checked in at the Roxbury Hotel near Soho,” said Dougal as he shook hands. “We’ll take the tube into town; it’s quicker than a taxi.”
Kurt and Dougal had walked past the Praed Street house a couple of times the previous day. It was typical of the area, a gray stone building in a row of what had once been quite nice residences, but which were now divided into flats and small offices. A brass plate on the door had a company name on it, “Joyson’s, Importers of Fine Wines and Sherry.” However, there were no signs of activity, and the place appeared to be deserted. Kurt commented that both ground floor front rooms were devoid of furniture. The upstairs windows were too high to see inside, but they too were in darkness, despite the gloom of a winter’s morning. Kurt went up to the door and pretended to ring the bell. He knew he was taking a chance, but it was vital to get a look at the kind of lock it had. When he realized it would take too long to pick in full view of passers by, he was crestfallen.
The two of them returned after dark, and walked down a back street behind the block. In fact it was a mews rather than a street, and they found two parking spots that looked as though they were allocated to the house on Praed Street.
As soon as they got back to their hotel, they described all this to Trilby then Kurt showed him an important purchase he had made. It was a small device with digital readouts.
“This will tell us if there are burglar alarms on any of the doors before we start messing about with the locks. The one on the Mews entrance looks easy and should only take a few moments since I’ve got the best set of picks you can buy. It will be dark when we get there, and we shouldn’t be noticed if we park the car where it gives us a bit of cover.”
They decided to make one more trip to the Mews to show Trilby the layout, after which, he could sleep away his jet-lag. An attempt would be made to enter the house on the following evening.
Next morning, they met in Trilby’s hotel room and went over their plans for a speedy departure from the UK—just in case. Dougal knew London quite well, and immediately after the break-in he would take them straight to Gatwick Airport in a rented car. He would return it, then join Kurt and Trilby in the departure lounge where they would wait for the 8:00 pm flight to Frankfurt via Hamburg.
After that they checked their equipment. Kurt was to carry break-in tools plus the alarm detector, and Dougal a set of screwdrivers, small wire cutters, and other implements required to deactivate alarms or booby traps. Trilby would act as lookout, and be ready to open the car door for a quick getaway. All three would have pencil flashlights. When they had finished, Dougal went to Gatwick by train to hire the car.
It was almost dark and raining steadily when the black Ford came to a stop in the Mews such that it obscured the rear entrance of the house. Kurt slipped out of the back seat and started on the lock as soon as the alarm detector showed the all clear. It remained to be seen whether a dead bolt was engaged inside the door, but luck was with them, and thirty seconds later he pushed it open. In a moment all three were inside.
“I’m surprised there were no alarms,” said Kurt.
“Aye. Well, it’s logical. They wouldn’t want bells ringing all over the place would they?”
As agreed, each person went to his assigned floor, but a few minutes later, they were back at the rear entrance. Their baffled expressions were just discernible in the glow reflected from Trilby’s flashlight as they stood in the dingy passageway.
“Bloody fuck all!” swore Dougal. “And not even a peep out of the meter. The place is as dead as a dodo!”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” said Trilby.
“Aye. Come on, Kurt, there’s no point in getting ourselves caught over an empty house.”
Kurt turned for one last look, and played his flashlight beam across the bare walls. Beneath the stairs, a narrow closet caught his attention. He decided it was worth a check, but being a cautious person, he switched on the meter and moved it round the door jamb. Almost immediately a red indicator glowed and a set of numbers on the digital readout showed there was an alarm.
Kurt stepped back. “Bingo, as the English would say. Okay, you know the drill. Let’s get to work. I have a feeling this is what we’re looking for.”
The inactivation of an alarm system was a fairly straightforward process, but it took ten minutes for them to deal with this particular one. The inside of the cupboard under the stairs was exactly what one might have expected, a dusty closet with a broom, a mop, and a bucket. Then they had a surprise. The small pencil flashlights revealed a second door in the wall opposite the first. It was disguised by several shelves with cleaning materials on them. Trilby had been the first to enter the closet, and soon spotted the deception. Kurt’s detector indicated that there were no alarms or other devices on this second entrance.
Kurt tapped Trilby on the shoulder. “Well?” he asked in a low voice. “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” Trilby replied. “But hadn’t we better check outside first? I’d like to be sure our escape route’s clear.”
“Aye, you’re right,” said Dougal. “My nerves aren’t what they used to be. I’ll go.”
By the time Dougal returned, Trilby had found the latch behind a bottle of disinfectant and pushed the door open. It all seemed a bit too easy, but there was no point in dwelling on the matter. What they saw was not entirely unexpected, but it was the magnitude that amazed them. The room they e
ntered was illuminated by a single emergency light, relatively dim, but nevertheless adequate. The size of the place must have been about thirty-by-thirty feet. It contained two concentric circles of small tables. There was a computer, keyboard and monitor on each. Two large printers were set up in the center of the circle. All this equipment was switched on, and needless to say, there were no people present.
Trilby was the first to speak. “Oh, man, so this is what it’s all about.”
“Let’s look around,” said Dougal. “And how about taking some pictures with that fancy little camera of yours, Kurt?”
Trilby went back to the rear entrance of the house to keep watch, while the other two found the main light switch and started to examine the computers. The most obvious thing about them was the large nameplate each setup had on the top of its monitor. Without exception they were names of countries, thirty of them, from all parts of the globe. The implication was obvious.
“So,” muttered Kurt, “they seem to have a foothold just about everywhere. I’ll make a list of the countries while you check out one of the computers, Dougal.”
“Aye, but we’d better not take too long.”
Dougal sat at the one marked USA, and saw before him a familiar menu, but with two differences. The first was the title, and the second the absence of password requirements.
NORTH AMERICAN ADMINISTRATION
NEW YORK
Administration F5
Covert Activities F6
Political F7
Financial F8
Intelligence F9
Scientific F10
He immediately pressed F5 for Administration, but instead of the expected list of documents, he was faced with the demand “Enter daily Headquarters Access Code within thirty seconds.”
“It’s asked for a code word or something!” Dougal called out to Kurt, who was still listing countries. “But I don’t have the password program!”
Further conversation was prevented by a loud noise that sounded like a siren. Dougal cursed, his voice completely drowned by the racket. At the same time, the main room light went out. Then he saw the monitor clear, and another message was displayed in large red letters.
EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN HQ RELOCATED
The siren stopped, and all the computers turned themselves off simultaneously, their monitor screens going dark. The ensuing silence was almost palpable.
“Hey, you guys! What happened?” Trilby appeared at the doorway, his face eerie in the orange light.
“The whole bloody place just shut itself down,” Dougal answered. “According to the last message, Headquarters has been relocated.”
“Try switching on one of the computers again,” Kurt suggested. “It might be some kind of bluff.”
“In a second,” replied Dougal. “While I’ve got the chance I’m going to take the hard drive out of this one. You never know, its files might still be intact.” He found the correct screwdriver in the leather holder attached to his belt, and started to take the cover off the computer.
“I’d better get back to the doorway.” Trilby disappeared from sight.
A minute or so later the drive was safely in Dougal’s pocket, wrapped in his handkerchief for protection. “Now then,” he said, “which one shall I switch on?” Without waiting for Kurt to answer, he turned to the adjacent computer, which was equipped with a cutout type power switch so it would turn itself off if overloaded. This was obviously what had happened earlier, so he snapped it back on and stood back. It was as well that he did so, since there was a brilliant flash of arcing electric current from within the computer, and acrid smoke came out of the vents in the case. Almost immediately the monitor imploded with a loud crack, bits of glass flying in all directions. Before Dougal could speak, a computer on the other side of the room self-destructed, then another, and another.
“Quick!” yelled Kurt. “Let’s get out of here!” But Dougal was already halfway toward the exit.
The sound of the imploding monitors alerted Trilby who immediately opened the street door, then the two nearside doors of the car. Kurt threw himself into the back seat, and opened the driver’s door for Dougal. They screeched off down the Mews to a side street a hundred yards ahead, but had barely rounded the corner when there was a fierce explosion behind them. Looking back, they could see black smoke and flames rising behind the buildings that now stood between them and the house on Praed Street. There were two loud bangs as small pieces of masonry landed on the roof.
“Fuck those sassenachs!” yelled Dougal at the top of his voice. “The bastards booby-trapped the place after all!”
By this time, they were barreling along the back roads in the direction of Baker Street.
“You’d better keep your speed down, Dougal,” Kurt admonished. “We don’t want to get stopped by the police. There’s plenty of time to catch the flight at Gatwick.”
“That was a nasty moment,” Trilby commented wryly. “We only just made it.”
“Aye,” replied Dougal. “And the place will be crawling with firemen and cops by now. It was a bloody big explosion, wasn’t it? I hope nobody got killed.”
The drive to Gatwick was a tedious twenty five miles south from central London. A brief stop enabled them to purchase a second hard drive to provide them with a receipt and a box for the baggage security check. Trilby carefully repacked the one Dougal had taken from the computer room. They dumped the other in a roadside garbage can.
Gatwick Airport was as busy as usual when Dougal dropped Kurt and Trilby at the entrance on his way to return the car. Luckily, no one spotted the dents in the roof. After rejoining them in the departure lounge, he decided his nerves required a whisky.
“I think I’ll have a double of The Glenlivet,” he said.
“What the hell’s that?” queried Trilby.
“The best malt whisky in the world, Joel. Want to try one?”
“Not on your life, thanks. But if you’re buying, an Appleton Special would be nice.”
“Sticking to your own poison, eh?” Dougal went over to the bar, and looked idly at the TV set on the wall while the barman poured the drinks.
There was a commercial running, but when it finished a female announcer came on. “News is just coming in of a powerful explosion near Baker Street. It demolished an entire house. A police spokesman said that no one appears to have been injured. While it looks like the work of the IRA, the usual warning was not received.”
The barman brought over Dougal’s order. “Bloody IRA,” said the man. “I know exactly what I’d like to do with them.”
Dougal returned to the others, who had been unable to pick up the announcement from where they sat. “The IRA’s a very convenient scapegoat if you ask me,” he commented after telling them what he’d heard. “That pretty well lets us off the hook, even if someone saw us.”
“I think we can definitely relax,” smiled Kurt raising his glass. “Here’s to a trouble-free journey home.”
When their flight was called, they passed through the necessary security check without incident. Exhausted, they spent the night in Hamburg and went on to Frankfurt in the morning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Christmas Eve, St. Barbe’s
Almost two weeks had passed since the Headquarters in London self-destructed, and the principal event during this period was a meeting in New York between the UN Secretary General and the US President. The only other participants were Anna, Judge Winchester and Meg. All three returned to the St. Barbe’s Holiday Inn immediately afterwards. Trilby had arrived at Anna’s request the day before Christmas Eve so he could be present when she gave a full report to the whole group. Unfortunately Dougal couldn’t come. He was too busy working from his home with the Thibald and Sörnsen Computer Department. They were trying to unravel some of the technical aspects of The Organization’s worldwide communications network.
There was an optimistic atmosphere when Jon and Cindy joined everyone at one of the several secluded, dimly lit patios, wh
ich were located in the hotel gardens.
“How about I give you all a rundown on what happened at the New York meeting?” suggested Anna. “I guess some of us are a bit tired after the flight, but it didn’t involve any jet lag so we should be able to survive for a while. I’ll keep it short, then we can relax.”
“Cindy and I can pass everything on to Norton Grinder and the Barkers,” Jon commented.
“I was going to call them,” said the Judge. “But that’s a better idea.”
“Our most important achievement,” began Anna, “is that we have convinced the Secretary General and the President that The Organization poses a grave threat. While its aims, as defined by Larsen, may seem fairly logical on the surface, their methods are at best inhuman. I told the meeting that Thibald and Sörnsen had screened a number of countries for Organization influence, and found that several were clean. Diplomatic approaches will be made immediately to alert them. When the President suggested that a special intelligence group be set up, the Secretary General insisted that it should only include personnel from those nations cleared of Organization infiltration, and no others. That, of course, excluded the US. It was also decided to build a training center for this group in Jamaica. It would eventually be used by UN peacemaking and peacekeeping forces.
“There was only one other decision. The UN Secretary General will describe The Organization at a meeting of the Security Council tomorrow. He will imply that intelligence operations by individual countries across the world have run most of the agents to ground, and there is no further threat. This isn’t true, of course, but the statement is designed to lull The Organization into complacency. Hopefully they’ll think that no further action will be taken to find their undiscovered and mostly intact infrastructure. I think it’s a safe bet they’ll let their guard down inadvertently and make it easier for us to locate their remaining installations. This will be done by the UN special intelligence group, which will take a little time to organize.
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