The tone of the voice turned cold. ‘I don’t want them delivered. I want them placed and primed.’
‘I understand. In the same part of the world?’
‘Yes.’
‘When would you like us to travel?’
‘Tomorrow’ declared the voice firmly. ‘Full instructions will follow in the normal way.’
Sucking strongly again on his cigarette, the twin spoke, ‘That should not be a problem. Same terms as before?’
‘Yes! And no casualties. The client wants this to be done quietly and to look like an accident. Are you clear?’
‘Very clear, no problem! We’ll ensure your client’s instructions are carried out to the letter. Ok mon ami?’
The line went dead.
10
Parker took off from McCarran International Airport Las Vegas (LAS) bound for London via a connecting flight at New York JFK. Jane, his secretary was able to reschedule his business commitments over the following two weeks. However, he had one important business meeting in London the following day, which he couldn’t reschedule.
When all things were tied down, he texted Durand on his untraceable pay-as-you-go phone confirming his plans to meet up at the agreed venue at the agreed time.
He sat back and relaxed in his business class seat on board a Delta Airlines Boeing 787 while enjoying a cognac on ice. He pondered the events of the last twenty-four hours and tried to make sense of it all before succumbing to a short power nap.
Parker had an uneventful two hour wait at JFK before boarding a late evening Delta flight to Gatwick, London. Having queued for forty minutes on the taxiway, the plane finally took off at 12:30am. He tried to get more ‘shut eye’. Despite the fact he had a fully reclining seat, he always found it difficult sleeping on airplanes.
He arrived in London at 1.30 pm local time and went straight to his office for a scheduled meeting, which dragged on for an hour longer than he intended. After the meeting Jane handed him his travel documents for Paris for the next day. He eventually got back to his penthouse apartment in Earls Court at 5:30pm, his eyes by then needing match sticks to keep them open. He crashed out on his bed and fell asleep for three hours.
When he awoke he grabbed his mobile and saw a message from Durand, reminding him about the 9:30am meeting the following morning and confirming he wouldn’t be using his phone on the day. Instead he would be wearing a red scarf and advised he was 6’ 4’ so he would be readily identifiable.
Parker prepared himself a light meal and later poured himself a glass of his favorite tipple from his drinks cabinet, a Remy Martin champagne cognac. Feeling more refreshed after his three-hour power nap, he strolled around his enormous two-storey penthouse apartment, glass in hand, checking nothing was amiss while he had been away. His home was a stylish ultra-modern bachelor pad with Italian stream lined kitchen units, American walnut flooring and full-length corner windows offering a wonderful view of the leafy Earls Court Square.
A vast split-level living room with polished granite fireplace and stone walled alcoves teeming with books stored on shelves all came together to give a warm cozy feeling to the place. A giant Jacuzzi for four and a sauna with a deep plunge pool neatly fitted in to a palatial bathroom. Parker wandered around his living room while sipping his drink. Numerous paintings, artifacts and ornaments hung on walls or sat on small side tables placed discretely around the living space. He stopped and glared at a large framed photograph of his mother hanging on a wall beside a large bookcase. It was taken at the family’s summer retreat, Grasmere cottage in Cornwall, twenty years earlier.
‘Ah! So many happy memories of long sweltering summer months spent there with my parents and siblings.’
Another life-sized portrait of a beautiful blond-haired woman hung on the wall close-by. His eyes momentarily glanced at the figure before quickly passing over to another portrait, a photograph of himself in motorcycling leathers and crash helmet at the age of eighteen. He smiled when he remembered his uncle, a main importer and distributor of motorcycles for a large Japanese motorcycle company. His uncle had given him a present of his first motorbike on his sixteenth birthday. Parker and his ‘machine’ soon became inseparable and he quickly developed into a highly skillful rider. He took part in many motorcycling events when he was older, including motocross and road-racing while promoting his uncle's business. He was successful in winning a race or two in the ‘Superteens’ Championship for the British Motorcycle Racing Club. He gulped back his cognac and retired to his bedroom for a well-earned sleep.
The next morning the adventure loving Doctor boarded a 6:00am flight from Gatwick and arrived in Paris at 7:45am local time. He took a taxi to the Musee D’Orsay and arrived shortly before 9:30 am. He walked around the environs of the museum trying to look inconspicuous while he kept an eye out for the tall figure of Raoul Durand.
It was a beautiful April morning with a wonderful spring feel to the air. The sun was shining from an unblemished blue sky. The Musee D’Orsay, situated on the left bank of the Seine was formally a railway station, Gare D’Orsay and a Hotel. It was converted to an Art museum in 1986 and housed impressionist and post- impressionist masterpieces by Van Gough, Gaugin, Daumier, Cezanne, Manet and Degas covering the prolific period from 1848 to 1914. The Beaux-Arts architecture, and neoclassical style of the building was imposing, and Parker was distracted by its grandeur especially when he was trying to spot somebody with a red scarf he’d never met before.
A small crowd of tourists had gathered outside the entrance foyer, a single storey extension from the main building. They were chatting, taking photographs or waiting for friends to arrive.
Parker noticed a tall figure standing close to the entrance amongst the small gathering. He spotted the red scarf over a navy raincoat and quickly made his way across the courtyard in front of the building. He carefully studied Durand as he walked towards him, a tall well-built man with a dark complexion and refined features.
Mimicking how the famous explorer Livingstone was greeted by Stanley when they famously met near Lake Tanganyika in Africa in 1871, he extended his hand to greet his contact. ‘Raoul Durand, I presume?’
Both men firmly shook hands with one another. ‘Doctor Parker, it is a pleasure to meet you. Shall we go inside? I know a quiet corner where we can have coffee and talk.’ Running his hand through his hair, he followed the tall French man into the building.
Durand had already purchased two tickets to gain admittance. They passed through the turnstile and ascended the stairs at the front of the building to the upper level. He led the way to the Café located behind the huge railway station clock. He ordered two coffees at the counter before sitting down in a quiet corner and continued with small talk until the coffee arrived.
‘You said you and Nicole grew up together in Paris.”
‘Oui! We lived beside each other in modest little houses in Montreuil, east of Paris.’
‘Did you go to college together?’
‘No. When we finished high school, Nicole went to University at École Polytechnique in Paris to study science. I stayed on in the army following an eighteen-month stint of compulsory national service in the early nineties. I remained in the army for six years before becoming a Gendarme in the French Police force.’
A waitress arrived with the coffee.
‘Time-wise you say you are ok for the next week to ten days Dr. Parker?’
‘Call me Harry. Dr. Parker makes me feel like you’re one of my former patients.’
‘Former patients? You mean you are a Doctor and you have no patients?’
‘It’s a long story Raoul. I gave up clinical practice after I returned from a stint in a field hospital in Angola some time back. Besides, I’m kept extremely busy with my medical devices company.’
‘Interesting!’
‘I was able to reschedule my business appointments for the next two weeks as things turned out.’
‘Très bien. I think it is going to take at least that amount of
time to get things sorted out here. But this can only really be determined by Nicole.’
‘And what do you think we need to achieve over the next week, Raoul?’
‘Nicole hasn’t shared any details with me. My guess is you will have to gather Karl’s research data, which may be stored at several locations and piece it all together. This will require your superior medical expertise to prepare a dossier to support the sale of the new drug.’
‘No problem. Grist to the mill as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Nicole will then present the documents to the medical device company as early as possible and close the deal.’
‘What will you be doing over the next week or two Raoul?’
A waitress came over to clear the empty cups from the table.
‘Harry, more coffee?’
‘Why not!’ said Parker gesturing to the waitress to bring two more.
‘To answer your question Harry, I will take direction from Madame and do whatever is required. Our respective roles will become clearer in the next day or two after you meet up with her.’
‘Great!’
‘Now! I have two envelopes, one outlining where you can find Nicole. I have not looked inside so I haven’t a clue where she is.’
‘Understood,’ confirmed Parker taking the envelopes from him.
‘The fewer the people that know her whereabouts, the better.’
‘Understood.’
‘The other contains cash to cover your expenses while in France. One other thing; she wants you to know her date of birth, 15th March 1982.’
Parker put both envelopes carefully inside his jacket pocket while memorizing the date. They drank up and Durand settled the bill. When they got outside the French PI insisted on giving his new associate a lift back to his hotel.
‘My car is parked in an underground car park just around the corner.’
They were soon heading towards Parker’s Hotel along Rue de l’Université before turning right onto Avenue Bosquet. They crossed the Seine over Pont de l’Alma when Durand noticed a black Mercedes Benz following them.
‘I think we might have company. Let’s see. ‘
Durand turned sharply left and immediately right onto Avenue Marceau. The Mercedes followed them.
‘OK! We have company. Hold on!’
Durand accelerated along Avenue Marceau and drove straight onto the intersection at L’Arc de Triomphe, the Mercedes in hot pursuit. Durand raced the Peugeot around the very large roundabout, swerving and weaving in and out of heavy traffic. He made one complete revolution of the monument before speeding off down Boulevard Haussmann, one of twelve exits off this humongous junction. They got about two hundred meters down the Boulevard when Durand saw the black Mercedes reappearing in his rear-view mirror, rounding the corner on two wheels and following them at high speed.
‘They must have followed me to the Musee D’Orsay.’ He recalled several people with cameras standing around the entrance. ‘I hope nobody took any photos of you back there, Harry.’
Parker looked around to see the black car following them at top speed.
‘These ass holes probably think we know Nicole’s whereabouts, which means they won’t be too friendly if they catch up with us, n’est pas?’
Parker looked anxious. ‘Most likely not!’
‘Once they have a photo of you Harry, they can match it very quickly using software to any published photos you might have. Then your identity will be known.’
A traffic light just turned red. Durand accelerated through the junction and the Mercedes followed them through the red light five seconds later, narrowly avoiding a car starting to cross the intersection.
‘OK we’ll have to split-up. I have a plan Harry. When I stop, you jump out. Hopefully they won’t see you. I’ll drive on and act as decoy. You’re going to have to be extremely careful about being followed. ‘
‘I understand,’ nodded Parker, his heart pounding and adrenalin in full flow while Durand lurched the car left on to Rue de Rome. Immediately ahead, he could see another set of traffic lights. Just before the lights he saw a turn to the left. Accelerating rapidly, he swung the car tightly left around the corner. Up the narrow back street about fifty meters he saw a crossroads. Durand rapidly approached the junction and turned sharply right. He could not see the Mercedes yet in his mirror. Once around the corner and out of sight of his pursuers, he jammed on the brakes and his passenger, needing no further encouragement, jumped from the car, slamming the door behind him and ran into a Patisserie on the corner of the street.
Durand quickly accelerated away and quickly disappeared out of sight. When Parker was safely inside the shop he peered through the venetian blinds onto the street. Five seconds later the black Mercedes rounded the corner and accelerated past the Patisserie at high speed, its tyres screeching on the road, creating a puff of black smoke. Parker tried to see who was inside. The windows were heavily tinted, and he could see nothing.
‘Bonjour Monsieur’ exclaimed a puzzled shop assistant behind him. ‘Can I help you?’
The unintentional shopper gave a slight jump, not expecting the welcoming voice, turned to face the woman behind the counter.
‘Ah yes eh! My partner has me on a diet and I didn’t want her to see me entering the Patisserie!’
The woman raised an eye brow with good humored disbelief.
‘Voulez vous quelque chose a manger, Monsieur?’
11
Wing Commander Simon Hadley was sitting by his desk on the third floor of the MI6 building at 85, Vauxhall Cross, Albert Embankment in London. A large framed portrait of Captain Sir George Mansfield Smith-Cumming, the first director of the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS), hung on a wall behind his desk. Hadley was a tall powerful man with broad shoulders, green eyes and a well-tanned complexion. His brown hair was greying at the edges. In his mid-fifties he wore a dark navy suit and walked with a characteristic limp. Having spent fifteen years in the RAF, Hadley saw action in the Falklands before retiring from military service having lost his right leg below the knee during an Exocet attack on his aircraft carrier. He was offered a post in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office on his retirement from active service, which he took up without a second thought.
Hadley was talking on the phone to an MI6 Intelligence Officer (No.9) stationed at the Middle Eastern Region for Counter Intelligence (MERCI). The local intelligence officers (IOs) referred to it as ‘merci’, a euphemism for a thankless job.
‘What is the current location of the ship, No. 9?’
‘It’s docked here in Port Said, Sir. It’s caught up in a ship’s pilot strike.’
‘How widespread is the strike, No.9?’
‘We understand nothing has moved through the Suez Canal in the last three days, Sir.’
‘It’s extremely unusual for this ship to dock in a port in this region of the world No. 9?’
‘Yes, it is Sir.’ agreed the Intelligence Officer. ‘However, we gather the MV Asclepius developed some sort of engine trouble at sea, so they had no choice but to limp in here. Feed-back from Dockers attending her Sir, say there is very tight security onboard the vessel and nobody is allowed on without being thoroughly screened and accompanied by armed escort.’
‘Keep close to it No.9. It’s critical you report all developments immediately to me over the next forty-eight hours. I need photographs of who gets on, who gets off, what deliveries are taken on board, every movement that occurs no matter how insignificant it might appear. Understood?’
‘Understood Wing Commander. Over and out.’
12
After a ten-minute walk from the Patisserie, Parker arrived at the hotel that Jane booked for him the day before. His over-night bag had been dropped there by an Airport-to-Hotel delivery service.
He headed straight to a quiet corner of the residents’ lounge, got a coffee and opened the first envelope. He had expected to be reading this at his leisure, travelling to some exotic hiding place to meet the charming Nicole
Lehman. Whoever was tailing them certainly meant business. He hoped Durand had been able to give the thugs the slip.
He read Nicole’s instructions.
Dr. Parker, please take the Metro No. 12 line at Concorde in the direction of Mairie d’Issy. Get off at Porte de Versailles and just around the corner at street level, walk to the multi storey car park on Boulevard Victor. On the 3rd level you will find a silver colored BMW 3 Series. The registration number is on the back of these instructions. The car is unlocked. The parking ticket and keys are inside the glove compartment. The combination lock on the glove compartment door is my date of birth. Inside you will find more instructions. Double check you are not being followed. Good luck! Nicole.
‘Clever woman! Few people would know her date of birth.’ He looked in the second envelope and found a credit card and €5,000 in cash.
Deciding it might be better if he got out of town as quickly as possible, he went straight to the reception desk to cancel his booking and collect his luggage. If he had been photographed and identified by these thugs, they could trace him to his hotel. He contacted his office in London and spoke to Jane.
‘If anybody contacts the office looking for details of my whereabouts, don’t give out any information whatsoever, understood?’
Jane noted the anxious tone in her boss’s voice. ‘Yes of course Dr. Parker. Is everything ok?’
‘Yes! No need to worry. I’m working with a very confidential client. I will explain everything when I get back. That may not be for another week or ten days by the look of it.’
‘Good luck and be careful!’
‘Thanks Jane.’ He could trust her with his life. She was extremely professional and an exceptional PA.
He approached the desk nonchalantly. ‘There’s been a slight change of plan. I need to cancel my booking I’m afraid.’
‘Of course,’ replied the pretty Mademoiselle looking at her computer screen. ‘You have stayed with us twice before so no cancellation charge.’
The Karl Lehman Affair Page 4