The Spear of Atlantis (Wilde/Chase 14)

by Andy McDermott

  ‘Sounds like Macy and Olivia,’ said Eddie, hearing footsteps in the stairwell. ‘They must be going to Lobato’s talk.’

  ‘Do you think Macy managed to jam the door?’ Jared asked.

  ‘If she didn’t, I’ll have to come up with a plan B.’

  ‘You know the B doesn’t stand for “break things”, yes?’ Both men grinned. ‘So how long do we stay down here?’

  ‘Until Olivia tells us Lobato’s finished.’ He checked his watch. ‘He’s supposed to start at seven o’clock, and it’s ten to now. So we’ve got a bit of a wait.’ He sat down on the cold floor. ‘Got any games on your phone?’

  Almost unwillingly, Olivia found Lobato’s talk an interesting one. While the tech billionaire seemed nearly robotically devoid of personality in conversation, he became noticeably more animated once he took to the podium on a subject about which he was clearly passionate. She couldn’t fail to notice, however, that many of his proposed solutions to the looming problems of climate change happened to be illustrated with examples developed by his own companies. The event was as much sales pitch as soapbox.

  The combination of Lobato’s often technical discussion and her personal antipathy to the man who had put her mother on the run meant Macy was far less involved, however. ‘Is he done?’ she muttered when after forty minutes he stepped down and the Scuola’s upper-floor Chapter Hall filled with applause.

  ‘I think so,’ Olivia replied, taking out her phone. ‘You know, you should have paid more attention. I’ll be long gone, but your generation will be the one that has to save the world.’

  ‘Yeah, Grams,’ was the reply, in the dismissive tone of a much older girl.

  Olivia sighed. ‘You sound just like your grandmother. And your mother.’ She sent a text with just one word: Now.

  Eddie’s phone vibrated. He quickly checked the screen; it was the message he had been expecting. ‘Okay, Lobato’s just finished,’ he told Jared as he made a call.

  ‘Alderley,’ came the reply.

  ‘It’s me,’ said the Yorkshireman. ‘You ready?’

  ‘All set,’ Alderley told him. ‘Starting the phone ping . . . now.’

  The British intelligence services had ploughed a colossal amount of money into electronic surveillance technology, to the point that their spy agency, Government Communications Headquarters – GCHQ – was second only to America’s National Security Agency in its ability to penetrate other nations’ communication systems. In this case, the order Alderley had just given to MI6’s sister agency was aimed at Venice’s phone network. The cellular masts near the Scuola Grande now became tracking devices, every phone in range silently reporting its location and allowing GCHQ to triangulate their positions.

  ‘Okay,’ said Alderley, ‘there are, let’s see . . . one hundred and eighty-seven phones inside the museum, including yours. They’re almost all in the Chapter Hall. Lobato’s is there, and so is Olivia’s.’

  ‘How many in the rest of the building?’

  ‘Ah . . . seventeen in total, with four in the wing above you. That’s phones, of course – which might not be the same as people. Two of them look to be in one room, so I’d say they’re staff, and the others security.’

  ‘Are they patrolling?’

  ‘Have to wait for the next ping to see. Hold on . . .’ A pause, then: ‘Only one is moving. Let’s see where he’s going . . .’ Another pause. ‘Okay, he’s on one of the higher floors, moving west – away from you. He’s not in a hurry.’

  ‘How long between pings?’ The GCHQ updates were not in real time, and the longer the gap, the more chance there was of an unwelcome surprise encounter once Eddie and Jared left the cellar.

  ‘Ten seconds or thereabouts. It’s a trade-off between speed and positional accuracy, I’m afraid. And the faster the updates, the more chance there is of someone in Italy noticing we’re hijacking their bandwidth. I can tell GCHQ to speed up the pings, but I’d rather not draw attention – especially as this isn’t exactly an approved operation.’

  ‘Keep it as it is,’ said the Englishman, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. ‘Is Lobato moving yet?’

  ‘He’s still in the hall, but nearer the exit . . . Ha, looks like Dr Pinto’s buttonholed him. There’s a wall of phones in his way.’

  ‘He won’t hang around for long. All those non-billionaires breathing on him? He’ll be desperate to disinfect himself.’ Eddie opened the door and checked the stairwell. ‘Clear here. Let’s go.’ He collected his belongings, then he and Jared made their way up.

  The younger man stopped at the hallway ‘How long should I wait?’

  ‘Alderley, has anyone come back into the gallery?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘They’re just starting to,’ was the reply.

  ‘Give it a minute, then go through,’ the Yorkshireman told his companion.

  ‘I should warn you,’ Alderley added, ‘the guard is right outside the door.’

  Eddie relayed the information to Jared, who frowned. ‘So how do I get past him?’ he asked. ‘He’ll know none of the guests were in this part of the building.’

  ‘I think we can arrange a distraction,’ said Alderley.

  Eddie had his own ideas. ‘Just walk past like you own the place,’ he told Jared, ‘and if he says anything, tell him you were looking for the loo. In Hebrew. It’ll confuse the hell out of him, and by the time he gets his head back into gear, you’ll be gone.’

  The other Englishman was less than impressed. ‘Or we could arrange a distraction! Just tell me when.’

  ‘Go in a minute,’ Eddie instructed the Israeli again. ‘I’ll see you soon. I hope.’

  ‘Good luck, alter kocker,’ Jared told him.

  ‘You too, kid,’ Eddie replied with a smile as he resumed his ascent.

  Olivia and Macy slowly made their way downstairs from the Chapter Hall, letting others past as the guests dispersed through the Scuola. ‘Mr Lobato still hasn’t come out,’ whispered Macy.

  Her great-grandmother smiled. ‘I imagine Gregorio is trying to push all the Scuola’s benefactors in front of him before he leaves.’ They reached the intermediate level. ‘We won’t miss him, though. He has to come this way.’

  ‘I can’t see Daddy’s friend. Where is he? He’s supposed to be here.’

  ‘He will be, don’t worry,’ Olivia assured her. She looked back up the stairs as the level of ambient conversation became more excitable. Lobato was on his way. ‘Although he needs to hurry . . .’

  Eddie reached the uppermost floor. ‘I’m at the top,’ he whispered to Alderley. ‘Is anyone up here?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ the older man answered.

  ‘You don’t think? I thought you could pinpoint their phones to a couple of feet.’

  ‘In longitude and latitude, yes. Altitude is another matter. The system’s less accurate on the Z axis.’

  ‘How less accurate?’

  ‘About fifteen feet precision.’

  Eddie fought to keep his voice down in his exasperation. ‘So that guard might be on this floor?’

  ‘He’s stopped moving, but when he sets off again we’ll be able to get a better idea.’

  ‘You take your time,’ said the Yorkshireman sarcastically. ‘Not like I’m in a hurry or anything . . .’

  Jared reached the exit. He tugged his jacket straight, lifted his head high, then opened the door and strode out into the gallery.

  He rapidly assessed his surroundings. Few people in the room would pose a threat, the vast majority beyond both middle age and peak fitness, but the guard to his right, who had just registered that the man passing him was not a member of the museum’s staff, could be a problem. ‘Mi scusi, signore,’ the man said, starting after him—

  Jared waved a dismissive hand as he walked into the throng of visitors. ‘I was looking for the toilet,’ he said airily – in Hebrew. Faced with an unfamiliar language and somebody acting as if he had every right to be there, the guard hesitated. By the time he overcame his uncertainty
, the Israeli had disappeared from view amongst the chatting guests.

  Jared continued through the Scuola, occasionally glancing back until he was sure the guard was not following. A small smile at the fact that Eddie’s suggestion had actually worked, but within moments he was again all business.

  He saw Olivia and Macy, giving them a brief nod before looking up the stairs. Lobato was on the way down, surrounded by a gaggle of guests. The one beside him, based on Olivia’s description, was Pinto. He steeled himself and marched towards the descending group.

  ‘Tracking Jared’s phone – he’s moving towards Lobato,’ Alderley reported.

  Eddie opened the door and slipped through, heading for Pinto’s office—

  ‘Chase! Hide!’

  The urgency in Alderley’s voice warned him that the danger was immediate: no time even to ask questions. He looked around frantically. No doors nearby. His only choices were to run back to the stairs, or dart into an alcove containing a water cooler. He opted for the latter, squeezing into the narrow gap beside the incongruous dispenser.

  ‘The guard’s coming!’ the MI6 man continued. ‘He was on your floor.’

  ‘Thanks for fucking telling me now!’ Eddie hissed. He fell silent, listening.

  Old floorboards creaked faintly under the approaching man’s weight. The guard was in no hurry. Eddie hadn’t been seen – but if he didn’t get to Pinto’s office soon, the plan would fall apart.

  And he might still be found. Unless the man was missing an eye on the Englishman’s side, there was no way he could fail to notice the intruder.

  The footfalls drew closer. Eddie tensed. Taking the guard down would be straightforward, but assaulting a civilian hadn’t been part of the plan.

  He might have to do it, though. The man was now just feet away. Eddie clenched his fists—

  A phone chimed. The guard stopped, taking it out to read a text – then gasped and ran past the alcove without so much as a sidelong glance before rushing down the stairs.

  Eddie cautiously peeked out. ‘Dunno what just happened,’ he whispered, ‘but it was bloody lucky that it did.’

  ‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ Alderley said smugly. ‘I told you we could arrange a distraction. We drilled into his phone and accessed his text messages. Turns out he’s having an affair. So we spoofed a text from his wife saying she knows about the other woman and is leaving and taking the kids right now.’

  ‘I’m impressed. Didn’t realise you were so devious.’

  Alderley chuckled. ‘I know you have a rather low opinion of me, but I am the head of SIS, remember? I have done this kind of thing before.’

  ‘Wouldn’t want to be that bloke when he gets home.’ Eddie stepped into the hallway. ‘So there’s definitely no one else on this floor, right?’

  ‘No, we’re certain,’ Alderley replied. ‘You’re all clear.’

  ‘Good.’ The Yorkshireman continued to Pinto’s office. ‘Let’s see how Macy did . . .’

  ‘You’re putting a lot of faith in a seven-year-old, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, I am.’

  He slowly turned the handle, pushing at the door. A scrape of metal from the bolt as it caught . . . then popped open. ‘That’s my girl,’ he muttered with pride as he tugged out the mashed wad of paper. ‘All right. I’ll get into position. Just hope Jared can get Lobato in here.’

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Alderley reported. ‘Looks like they’re about to meet.’

  Jared approached Lobato and his hangers-on. With the tech billionaire’s bodyguards preventing anyone else from getting too close, Pinto was acting as an impromptu moderator, passing on questions from other guests.

  Lobato gave somebody a terse reply. More questions immediately bombarded him. Pinto looked between the other visitors to choose one—

  ‘Hey, Lobato!’ Jared shouted, voice echoing from the high ceiling. Pinto’s gaze snapped towards him, drawn by the disrespectful nature of the cry. Confusion crossed his face; he didn’t recognise the young man.

  ‘Lobato!’ Jared called again, holding up his phone. ‘Ana Rijo wants to talk to you!’ Lobato froze at the name.

  ‘I – I don’t know who that man is,’ said Pinto. ‘He is not a guest. I will have him removed.’

  ‘No, wait,’ said Lobato hurriedly. ‘Let me speak to him.’ He glanced at the curious faces surrounding him. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’

  Pinto nodded. ‘In my office. Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse us? I am sure Mr Lobato will return soon.’

  ‘This will not take long,’ Lobato said, regarding Jared coldly.

  Pinto led the way to the stairs. Lobato gestured for his bodyguards to follow, and whispered something that drew grim-faced nods in response. The Mossad agent assessed the pair. They were large, almost certainly ex-military, probably even special forces; Lobato could afford the best. He could probably take on one of them alone, but not both. He would need help.

  He hoped Eddie was in a position to provide it.

  Outside the Scuola Grande, a red speedboat puttered along the canal. Oleg Maximov was at the helm, the hulking Russian glancing back to make sure the cargo in the rear seats was still there before bringing his craft to the little piazza. Several of the boats that had transported VIP guests to the museum were tied up; he stopped beyond them and tossed a looped mooring rope loosely over a stone stanchion.

  Nobody seemed concerned about his parking there. He clambered out, leaving the boat behind as he lumbered west down an alley.

  Pinto led the little group to his office. ‘Please, come in,’ he said. ‘Shall I stay, or—’

  ‘I would prefer privacy,’ Lobato told him.

  The Italian nodded. ‘Of course. I will wait for you downstairs.’ He left, closing the door behind him.

  Lobato regarded Jared icily. ‘What do you want?’

  Jared moved to the windows, his face turned a golden-red by the sunset. He peered down at the piazza before facing Lobato. Pinto’s desk was between them, the bodyguards flanking it on each side to block the way to their boss. ‘Ana Rijo’s not happy about what happened in Morocco.’

  Lobato frowned. ‘She got what was agreed to. There is nothing more to say.’

  ‘Oh, she’s got plenty more to say.’ Jared started a video call, then turned the screen towards the billionaire. ‘You shouldn’t have double-crossed her. Now she wants more money – a lot more money – or we’ll go to the cops and the media and tell them how you set up Nina Wilde aboard the Atlantia.’

  Lobato’s features tightened. ‘What double-cross?’ he demanded as Ana appeared on the screen. ‘Ms Rijo. What is this about? We had an agreement – why are you violating it?’

  ‘You know why,’ Ana snapped. ‘You tried to have me killed!’

  He blinked. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know! You sent men to kill me in Morocco, and Eddie Chase too.’

  The thin man was now fixated on the image on the phone, as were his bodyguards. Behind them, a figure slid silently from beneath the chaise longue.

  ‘I did not,’ Lobato told Ana, indignation breaking through his usual affectless front. ‘Why would I? You did your job, exactly as planned.’

  ‘Then where is my money?’ she cried.

  ‘If you did not follow the instructions to collect it, that is not my problem.’ A frown. ‘You met Chase? What did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him everything! My loyalty to you ended when you tried to kill us.’

  Lobato stepped towards the phone as if to get closer to Ana. ‘And where is Chase now?’

  ‘Ay up,’ said the man in question from behind him.

  Lobato and his bodyguards whirled, shocked – only for one of them to be literally shocked as Eddie fired a Taser point-blank into his chest, dropping him to the floor. Before the other man could react, Jared vaulted over the desk and tackled him, slamming him against the wall and seizing him in a chokehold. The guard tried to thro
w the Israeli off his back, but the Mossad agent’s merciless grip quickly cut off the blood supply to his brain. A last strangled gasp, then he collapsed.

  Lobato remained frozen in disbelief during the brief explosion of violence. Eddie dropped the Taser and stepped in front of him. ‘Remember me?’ he growled. ‘You framed my wife. You’re going to tell me why.’

  ‘I can explain,’ said Lobato, now fearful. ‘What you think is happening is not—’

  ‘I didn’t mean this second, arsehole.’ Before the skinny man could react, Eddie stabbed the little injector into his arm. Lobato stared at it – then wobbled, eyes rolling, and flopped to the floor as if his bones had liquefied.

  Jared stepped over him. ‘These two won’t be out for long.’

  ‘Open the window,’ Eddie told him. Jared did so as the Yorkshireman retrieved his gear. ‘You fix up the rope, I’ll bag Marty Hopkirk here.’ He tossed the rope to the Israeli, then far from gently bundled the limp white-clad figure into the canvas sack.

  Jared looped one end of the rope around the legs of the heavy wooden desk, then pulled it with him to the window as Eddie tugged a cord to close the bag. ‘You sure this is the best way?’

  ‘We won’t have time for owt else.’ The Englishman dragged the sack to the window, then picked up the coil of remaining rope. ‘Go, quick.’

  ‘See you at the bottom.’ Jared waited for Eddie to brace himself before gripping the line firmly and climbing out of the window.

  Eddie grunted as he took the other man’s weight, then let the rope out, foot by foot. Jared descended towards the piazza. It only took seconds for him to reach the level of the floor below; three more to go until he was on the ground.

  One of the bodyguards moaned. The Yorkshireman’s eyes snapped to him. If he recovered while Jared was still too high up to survive a fall . . .

  He let out an extra foot of rope each time, the line burning his hands as he took Jared’s weight. The Israeli was more than halfway down. Another fifteen feet and he would be able to drop safely to the ground. ‘Jared!’ he called. ‘They’re waking up!’

  The shout drew attention, people on the canalside looking up in surprise at the descending man. ‘I’m going to jump!’ Jared replied.