Alongside Treeborne sat another man. He was tall and large-boned with a kindly round face that, Aswa-da was sure, usually carried a smile. Only, at that moment, the man was close to tears. His eyes were full of despair and deep shame. He looked totally broken.
Treeborne moved forward, confidence radiating from him, and he proceeded to leverage the situation the man had unexpectedly found himself in.
Aswa-da smirked and initiated a query on the man via the Observation Screen.
Professor Paul Chambers, President of Washington and Lee College.
Aswa-da nodded subconsciously as he immediately second-guessed what was in play.
Treeborne eyed Chambers with smug superiority as he sipped at his bourbon.
The club owner wandered over.
“Any more drinks, sir?”
Treeborne waved him away with a dismissive hand. The club owner returned back to the bar and shooed his staff into the back to give Treeborne the privacy he desired.
Aswa-da knew, just by one glance at the club owner, that fawning wasn’t his modus operandi. He was a tough, callous and hard-hearted individual who did whatever he had to do to keep his business interests profitable. And therein lay the reason for his subservience toward Treeborne. He had obviously assisted the club owner in some way that had involved the use of his trinity of abilities. Aswa-da could hazard a guess that Treeborne had fixed a seemingly immutable problem that the club owner had been unable to resolve. Hence his preferential treatment of the young man.
With the staff and owner in the back and out of earshot, Treeborne turned back to Chambers, complacency oozing from his manner.
“So, we have a deal?”
Chambers remained motionless. He just stared with a mix of horror and revulsion at the photos splayed out on the table.
“Or would you like the College Board to see your holiday snaps?”
Treeborne smirked, picking up one of the photos.
“This one would make an interesting point for debate on perpetual motion.”
Treeborne laughed at Chambers’ horrified face.
“I mean just who was pushing and who was pulling?”
The college president looked away, his hand went to his lips and he drew it down, shaking his head.
“I can’t. I can’t…” he muttered.
Treeborne stopped laughing and glared at Chambers with a stern glint.
“What can’t you, President Chambers? Can’t believe you had, what do they call it? A sex sandwich with two of your brightest, loveliest students?”
Treeborne watched Chambers shudder, repulsed.
“What did you do?” hissed president Chambers, turning to face Treeborne. Anger burned in his shameful eyes. “I’ve never done anything like this in my entire life!”
“That’s amazing because from where I’m standing, those photos show you’re quite the expert. I’m sure Jenny and Kyle would agree. Your talents are quite comprehensive and far-reaching!”
Treeborne grinned. He picked up and examined more of the graphic, lurid photos. Every time he looked at one, his eyebrow rose a little higher.
“You dirty, little, blackmailing bastard,” whispered President Chambers, shaking with vitriol. He grabbed at some of the photos nearest to him and ripped them apart.
Treeborne revolved slowly to face him.
“For an educated man, President Chambers, you sure are doing some dumb things right now.”
Aswa-da, watching in Kudamun, smiled. He was beginning to really relish the moments in Treeborne’s life and the unique way Treeborne had taken hold of the opportunities afforded by the tablet.
Aswa-da twirled his finger and the dark walls of the club, replete with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, encased him. He observed as Treeborne decimated the college president with measured precision.
“Ok. This one…” Treeborne selected a photo, the contents of which caused even Aswa-da’s eyes to open wider. In the shot, Jenny was on all fours on a massive bed. President Chambers was taking Jenny vigorously whilst Kyle pleasured Chambers with an equally energetic action. Chambers’ face was a fusion of intense ecstasy and pain. By the bed, white lines of coke could clearly be seen, and vodka bottles littered the floor.
“…has to be for your Board. And this one…”
Treeborne picked up another photo that carried such an explicit shot Chambers heaved a little.
“…has to be for Mrs. Chambers. Don’t you think? I’m sure she’ll be completely fascinated to know what her husband gets up to.” Treeborne placed an inflection toward the end of the sentence, his eyebrow raised with sardonic enthusiasm. “And with whom.”
Chambers shook his head, his face turning a ghostly white. His Adam’s apple wobbled. .“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Not on my suit. It’s Armani,” cried Treeborne, and he maneuvered out of Chambers’ vomit range. Treeborne continued to speak as the college president, unable to keep it down, wretched onto the floor next to him. “I’m surprised, President Chambers, by your suddenly squeamish attitude. You are, after all, the star of each shot!”
Chambers took out a tissue from his inside pocket and wiped the residue of sick from his lips.
“As I said earlier,” continued Treeborne, “this is a mutual magic trick. You make those God awful E’s on my report disappear and I’ll see that these photos do a vanishing trick of their own.”
Chambers sat immobile, staring at the photos.
Aswa-da ran his eye across the photos, scanning their contents, and he smirked, proud of how corrupt and depraved his creation had become in a few short years of using the tablet. His experiment reflected a human’s propensity to gravitate toward the dark. Their innate comfort to remain there was recognizable in their behavior and by their need to lust after the things that shadowed their souls.
Treeborne stared at the college president, who had started to turn the shocking photos over to make them face down. Treeborne knew he was trying to rub out the images in his mind.
“What do you say? Is it a deal, President Chambers?” Treeborne issued a sick smile. He was loving every second of the torment.
“For one year,” answered Chambers, swallowing down his fury.
“No! Four years. Not one. Non-negotiable,” snapped Treeborne.
“Four years?” yelled Chambers. “You can’t really expect me to falsify your marks for the entire duration of the program? That’s insane!”
Treeborne shrugged then nodded. “You’re right,” admitted Treeborne. “It’s insane. It’s also insane if I don’t package up a complete set of these photos, including the ones you’ve just ripped up, and send them all to the College Board, your wife, the president of the golf club, and, not forgetting, your daughter, Millie. I’m sure she’d be interested to see her father’s definition of extracurricular study!”
Chambers’ face drained. He hung his head low. “Oh, dear God. No.”
“And I’ll be generous because I like you.” Treeborne tapped Chambers’ arm, smiling. “I’ll even throw in a movie too.”
Chambers’ head snapped back up abruptly to face Treeborne.
“Movie?”
“Ah, yes. Didn’t I tell you? I got a JVC video camera recently. I’ve been trying it out, finding decent subjects. You three proved to be subjects,” Treeborne sneered. “If not decent.”
Treeborne laughed and knocked back his bourbon.
The college president was virtually catatonic.
“So, I say again,” said Treeborne. “And for the final time. Do we have ourselves a deal?”
Chambers held himself tight. He shivered and his ghostly white face had now descended into a hue of pale green. Treeborne considered that the man was close to hurling again.
Then he detected the faintest of nods from Chambers.
“Excellent. I’m pleased we’ve reached a level of understanding commensurate with my needs.”
Treeborne reached across and gathered up the photos into a small pile. Then he pocketed them back into
his briefcase. He stood up and glared hard at Chambers. Not a shred of a smile graced Treeborne face.
“If you welsh on the deal, or I see any other grade than A’s and, of course, a small number of B’s to allay suspicions, I will reveal everything. And I do mean everything. Understand? Comprende? Capisce?” said Treeborne with a new level of roughness, and he gripped Chambers’ arm tight.
The college president looked down at the hand and then, slowly, he prized open Treeborne’s fingers. Then, through gritted teeth, Chambers responded, “I understand.”
Treeborne made to leave but Chambers tugged on his jacket. Treeborne clocked the confusion and anguish in the man’s eyes.
“I’ve been a family man and loving husband all my life,” said Chambers. “I’ve never, ever looked at another woman. And as for a man…” He stopped talking as he tried feebly to regain some composure. “Well, the idea is repulsive.”
Treeborne stood impatiently. He glanced at his watch and waited for Chambers to center himself.
“So, Jonathan, what I want to know is, how did you do it? How did you turn me into that disgusting, drug-crazed pervert in those pictures? And how can I barely remember it even happening?”
Treeborne smiled broadly. His eyes hooded and his face held a veil of mystery.
“Oh, President Chambers, I’m very sorry. But I can’t tell you. Didn’t you know a magician never reveals his methods?”
Chapter 44
Kinley always knew it would go one of two ways. He’d come to realize his reason for living: to make sure it went his way. From the moment he had planned his deep cover assignment with Sam, he’d been devoted to bringing down Salim Al Douri. He’d accepted the risks, even welcomed them, if it meant he could pull the pin on Al Nadir’s reign. He was so close to the conclusion he’d aimed for over the past four years. That was why he couldn’t believe they wanted him out.
A communiqué had come through the innocuous gardening website that had been set up to convey heavily encrypted messages from Sir Justin Maide. Kinley stared at the software app’s window, and watched as the powerful software Maide had supplied, pulled in the steganographic encrypted floral images and auto-decoded the message hidden in the binary changes of the image.
ABORT. LEAVE NOW.
Kinley really couldn’t believe it. He was so close. He selected reluctantly the daffodil graphic, an action that denoted to Maide that Kinley had read the message. The screen instantly refreshed with new overviews of spring flowers. Kinley targeted the central flower, and ran the app again. The software stripped out the binary change hidden in image.
FAILURE TO ABORT WILL INVOKE SIGN OFF.
Kinley understood exactly what “sign-off” meant. MI6 wanted him to leave immediately, otherwise they would take him out. This was total shutdown. After everything he’d worked on, all the risks he’d taken, it had all been for nothing. He couldn’t believe the decision that was being made. He recalled Operation Snowdrop. From that moment the state of his soul had been in question. The things he’d done turned his blood to ice. With Sabena and Salim, he’d been sucked into their world of total, uninhibited evil. And he hated himself. Hated every molecule that made up the body of Matt Kinley.
He’d been pleased he’d done the worst things under the moniker of Stuart Kingswood. The name Sabena had crafted with a nano-mask to shield his MI6 known face. Somehow, he’d been able to tell himself that Kingswood and not Kinley had done those things. It had helped his compartmentalization and just about kept his sanity.
But not his soul.
Ashton and Maide had bargained that off the moment they’d agreed to Snowdrop going ahead.
Angrily, Kinley clicked on the snowdrop to register his acknowledgement. How ironic Maide had chosen his flower as the confirmation icon for his agreement to total shutdown.
The screen refreshed again, and this time, a tulip took center stage. Kinley ran the software, and on the screen in the app window was his escape plan.
BOLLINGS. 15M. MX.
A plane had been prepped for him at Bollings Air Force Base. He had fifteen minutes. Maximum. No more time would be given.
He clicked on the bluebell to register his understanding. Maide responded with a final encrypted message in a pansy.
GOOD LUCK. GODSPEED.
Kinley swallowed down the irony of Justin’s double standards and clicked on the snowdrop again to confirm acceptance of the conditions. He looked across the hall into the lounge, where he could see Lotte and Angela curled up peacefully together on the sofa. They were watching some kid’s program. Angela felt Kinley’s eyes on her and turned her head. She caught a look in his eyes for a second, lost and frightened. Usually, she would have just called out, but this time she didn’t. Something was bothering her husband. Angela slipped off the sofa and went over to him in his study.
“Is everything alright, darling?”
Kinley flicked off the website and stood up to face Angela.
“We have to leave right now.”
“Leave? What do you mean? Why do we have to leave?”
Her astonishment was etched across her worried face. Kinley didn’t react with any sentimental additions.
“I can’t explain. Just get your things.”
Kinley barely looked at his wife as he grabbed his passport and briefcase. Angela stared dumbstruck, unmoving.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell is happening.”
He looked at Angela. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were rimmed with tears. But she was standing straight and strong. As always. Kinley gripped her hands together and held them. He looked directly into her eyes.
“Angela, I can’t explain right now. But I need you to trust me. Can you do that for me?”
Angela felt the pressure of his hands around hers. Completely encasing. Protecting. She looked at her husband, his blue eyes full of determination. But she also saw alarm, as much as he tried to shield it from her.
“I need to know more, Matt.”
“I know you do, darling.” Kinley softened his attitude. “But I can’t tell you now. I just need you to do what I tell you.”
Angela stiffened instinctively. He had given blind instruction. Do it and don’t ask questions. Her life had been full of such moments. One more didn’t matter. She nodded her submission.
Kinley let go of her hands. “Thank you.”
Angela registered the relief in his face. She turned back to Lotte, who was still caught up in her television program.
“I’d better sort her out. Some birthday, eh?”
“I promise you, darling, I’ll make this up to you. And her.”
Angela didn’t answer. She was already back in the lounge, switching off the television and collecting a protesting daughter.
“Don’t turn it off, Mummy. I’m watching!”
“You can see it later.”
“Are we going somewhere, Mummy?” asked Lotte, aware of the sudden frenetic activity erupting around her.
“Yes. We’re going on a little adventure. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Lotte nodded, and then called out, “I need to pee!”
She pulled away from Angela, slipped into the downstairs toilet, and shut the door before Angela could catch her.
Running after her, Angela called out nervously, “Be quick for Mummy, darling. Ok?”
Kinley watched the interaction between his wife and daughter, and then busied himself with wiping his hard drive. The demolish programme he’d invoked was impossible to piece together. Top forensic computing scientists had designed it to be unreconstructable. A swirling vortex like a hurricane appeared on his screen and sucked in all of Kinley’s desktop icons, folders and files. And then the screen went blank. Kinley knew his drives had been completely fried. No resurrection programme, no matter how good, would ever bring back what he’d just killed.
“Finished, Mummy,” called Lotte, emerging from the toilet.
“Good girl.”
Angela snatched at her bag, and spoke to Lotte without looking at her daughter. Lotte was in the hallway, standing by a long window that framed the steps up to their house. Maybe Lotte had said something, but Kinley and Angela were both too caught up in readying themselves to leave to have heard.
Lotte reached up and opened the front door. Kinley heard the latch click, leapt up from his desk and ran into the hall. Angela, in the same moment, turned around and dived into the hall to pull Lotte away from the door.
But both parents were too late.
The door swung open, spurred on by a sudden gust of wind.
To their amazement, Lotte jumped up and down with sheer excitement as the caller proceeded up the steps to their home.
Chapter 45
In the Terrace, Sam came out of his reverie as the door opened and he returned to the present. Quentin Ludlow, the British Foreign Secretary, walked in and nodded at Sam.
“Good afternoon, Sam.”
“Afternoon, sir,” he replied.
Quentin pulled out the heavy wooden chair and puffed lightly. He eased himself into the gap between the table and chair and withdrew his documents from a leather folder. Quentin was forty-seven going on fifty-seven. Of medium height, with a tiny head and extremely rotund body, he reminded Sam of those double level gourmet Christmas puddings. His steel-blue eyes reflected his unforgiving life. Denied of love, they had a persistent flicker of coldness to them.
Quentin finished inspecting his documents. His eyes locked on the door as it opened. Sir Justin Maide strode into the room. His confident walk announced he was his own man. No one owned him. Or that’s what he liked to imagine. He had started in the Service as a junior intelligence analyst after leaving Cambridge with a double first degree thirty-eight years ago. He had dedicated his entire life to The Firm. He’d never married, feeling that the burden of managing the ups and down of a continuous relationship would affect his performance. Instead, when the urge took him, he procured professional services. They served his unusual peccadilloes and somewhat perverted proclivities, and that suited him just fine.
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