The Karl Lehman Affair

by Jonathan R Hayes

  ‘How can Harry understand what I’m feeling? He never lost anybody really close to him.’

  Emotions welled-up inside her. ‘I shouldn’t be having feelings like this for Harry. I can never forget Karl?’

  A few minutes later she appeared at the door into the kitchen where Parker had started to prepare dinner.

  ‘You are a man of many talents, ace motorcyclist, cardiologists and a master chef to cap it all.’

  ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet!’

  He went and stood close to her. He held her gently around the shoulders and gave her a gentle embrace.

  ‘Wait while I get the champagne?’

  He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of chilled Bollinger, popped the cork and filled two glasses.

  ‘Voila!’ he cried holding up a glass for her.

  ‘Merci, Harry.’

  They sat down and had dinner, Fillet steak au Poivre. They chatted light-heartedly while finishing the Bollinger.

  Later, they retired to the living room where soft light jazz music was playing on the sound system.

  He went to the cellar again and popped open another bottle of bubbly. Soon they were settled beside each other on the sofa, totally relaxed, enjoying the tranquility and security of the house, sipping Champagne together in stark contrast to the hectic time they had endured in Paris.

  Nicole, now a little tipsy, slowly looked around and gazed deeply into his blue eyes.

  ‘You mentioned there was a woman in your life once. You revealed something about her the night we met in the château. You sounded so distant, almost troubled by it. Talk to me about her.’

  Parker did not return her gaze. He sat there with a strained look on his face, staring straight in front of him and uttering words in a whisper.

  ‘I know you lost Karl, someone very close to your heart. I feel your loss.’ He looked up and gazed into her eyes. ‘You see I too lost someone close to me. Sarah, my wife.’

  ‘You, Karl, never ever mentioned …’

  ‘I speak very seldom about her. We were deeply in love. Some nights I can’t sleep. I see her face in front of me. Sometimes I have this recurring nightmare of her trapped in a sinking car in a dark river at night. I try to rescue her, but she always slips away.’

  Nicole sat up and stared at Parker without saying a word.

  ‘Sarah was an MI6 intelligence agent. I met her at University. She was very bright, beautiful and extremely enthusiastic about her work. She was recruited by a Professor in the college to join the Secret Service. We got married the year after she graduated. Eighteen months later Sarah was sent to Angola to infiltrate a Russian backed Militia to gather intelligence about their operations. I took time out and went to Angola with her. I didn’t want her to go there alone. I ended up being an important part of her cover. She posed as the wife of a field hospital Surgeon who volunteered to support the humanitarian effort during an outbreak of hostilities.’ He bit his lip. A tear rolled down his left cheek.

  ‘She was betrayed by a double agent. They handcuffed her to the steering wheel of her jeep and rolled it off a bridge into a harbor near Luanda. It happened twelve years ago.’

  Nicole gasped and placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder without saying a word. He too had suffered the same grief, the same pain, the same loss. This gave her a strange comfort; united in grief with someone else.

  She leaned over and hugged him, gently kissing him on his cheek. The pair finished the champagne together hardly exchanging another word. There would be nothing more said now. She would probe more into this sensitive subject when the time was right.

  After another glass of champagne, far too much for Nicole, she fell asleep. He leaned over her and gave her a gentle kiss on her head. He put his arms around her, lifted her up and brought her upstairs.

  He was a little unsteady himself but managed the journey without mishap. He laid her down gently on her bed, pulled off her shoes and covered her with a Duvet before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.

  40

  Zoran Bartoch emerged from his private jet at Cairo International airport and hurriedly made his way inside. He was running late for his quarterly meeting with his ‘operations’ managers from five Continents. These global gatherings were held at different venues each quarter. This meeting was held in Egypt where one of his ships had been forced to seek refuge in Port Said. He rushed through passport control in a purposeful manner and flashed his passport at a female Immigration officer without bothering to stop.

  ‘Just one-minute Sir! Where d’yah think you’re rushing to?’ shouted the Immigration official.

  ‘I’m in a hurry. I’m late for a meeting,’ snapped the diminutive Hungarian barely slowing down and being deliberately provocative.

  ‘Stop right there Sir,’ shouted the official forcefully. A uniformed police officer standing in the vicinity looked around and instinctively put his hand on his gun while he zoned in on Bartoch.

  The gold rimmed spectacled man stopped reluctantly in his tracks, slowly turned around and walked towards the Immigration officer.

  ‘Hand me your passport Sir,’ demanded the official, her eye-brows snapping together with rage.

  She grabbed the passport out of his hand all the time glaring straight at him, a man in his early forties she estimated, not particularly good looking with a sinister pale complexion.

  ‘You are from Hungary?’

  ‘Yes’

  ‘What brings you to Cairo Mr. Bartoch?’

  ‘I have a business meeting here,’ replied the Hungarian in a condescending tone that further enraged the female official.

  ‘Well you won’t get there any faster trying to barge your way through passport control. Stand over there until I decide what to do with you.’

  She checked about a dozen people through while Zoran stood there stoically. She eventually typed his name into her computer and did a quick background check on him. She called him back to the counter.

  ‘It says here you’re the CEO of a large Import/Export company based in Hungary, but you’re domiciled in Switzerland?’ queried the officer with an unmistakable level of surprise in her voice.

  ‘Correct,’ snapped the Hungarian sensing her disbelief with growing resentment.

  She noted his round, chubby, insignificant appearance greatly understating his obvious position of power in the large multi-national company he controlled.

  ‘Your passport Sir,’ said the woman finally before she handed him back his travel document.

  Zoran took the document and quickly walked away without saying a word, a glimmer of a self-satisfied smile appearing on his round face. His passport was one month out of date. He had discovered this when he got off the plane.

  Thirty minutes later, a hired limousine pulled up outside a large building close to the 6th October Bridge in downtown Cairo, close to the banks of the Nile River. Zoran stepped out of the sleek black colored SUV and went inside. He was greeted by a small group of businessmen in the foyer before being led into the ground floor ‘Auditorium ‘, a large gallery where fifty or more people sat in total silence. The all-male attendees, dressed in top designer suits, waited nervously for Zoran to address them.

  An icy cold atmosphere pervaded the room. Tensions had been running high all week after it was revealed something had gone seriously wrong with one of their top-secret operations and the person responsible was going to be singled out. Zoran said nothing. He moved to the top of the long conference table and sat down.

  The Hungarian glared at the attendees seated around the table making eye to eye contact with each. Finally, he broke the silence in the room and spoke in a calm deliberate voice, his head bent down, gazing blankly at the table in front of him.

  ‘We have a huge amount of business to get through today. But first some important matters to be resolved.’

  Everybody around the table looked terrified. They all knew this meant only one thing. Somebody was going to be terminated, lights out, no esca
pe, not from this organization.

  ‘The MV Asclepius was forced to seek shelter in Port Said a number of days ago.’

  Palpable gasps of shock rippled around the room. Everybody present knew the significance of this disclosure.

  ‘It developed engine trouble and was forced to limp into Port Said. This has put the whole operation in jeopardy. British MI6 are active in the region and will have spotted our vessel. At this time, we don’t know what the consequences of this will be.’

  A Sea Captain in uniform sitting near Zoran Bartoch was sweating profusely, looking decidedly uncomfortable. The Hungarian looked up and directed his gaze at the distressed figure.

  ‘You!’ uttered Bartoch pointing at the man. ‘You were warned about fuel pumps on board the vessel nine months ago. The planned maintenance records show they reached their end of life SIX months ago and should have been replaced.’

  ‘I was told by the previous Captain they had been changed out.’

  ‘The previous Captain could not be trusted. You were made aware of this fact after we ‘removed’ him.’

  ‘Because you salvaged the situation at the eleventh-hour braking through the Pilots blockade, you will not be joining your predecessor. However, you are being removed from your post with immediate effect. You’re going back to Siberia.’

  Although a hell hole of a posting, a collective but imperceptible sigh of relief permeated the room.

  With perfect timing, a tall fair-haired officer with a dark beard entered the room.

  ‘Ah! Your replacement has arrived,’ announced Zoran

  41

  The next morning Nicole awoke at nine o’clock. It was Sunday. She showered, dressed and made her way down stairs. A wonderful aroma of fried bacon mingled with fresh coffee filled the hallway as she approached the kitchen. Inside, the intrepid Doctor stood at the range cooking breakfast.

  In his usual cheerful mood, he looked around with a welcoming smile. ‘Sleep well?’

  She stretched her arms in the air. ‘Like a log. I don’t remember going to bed.’

  He smiled at her saying nothing.

  After breakfast, they went for a long walk along the narrow country roads and bye-ways arriving in Polperro near St. Austell. It was a beautiful small Cornish fishing village with narrow streets flanked by hanging baskets, displaying a colorful array of early spring flowers. They had a light lunch in a quay side café and afterwards continued their journey taking in some hill walks around the cliffs before arriving back at Grasmere around five o’clock.

  When they reached the front door, he turned to her ‘I have a surprise for you. Do you get that wonderful aroma of roast beef? ‘

  ‘Yes, I certainly do. Where did that come from?’

  ‘I have a housekeeper, Cora. I asked her to come and look after us for the next couple of weeks.’

  ‘Wonderful!’

  ‘Cora is a local woman from St Austell, a lovely person. She has served the family well for years. By the way, what is your maiden name?’

  ‘Lejeune’ replied Nicole, her eyes slightly widening.

  They went through to the kitchen and he made the introductions.

  ‘This is Madame Nicole Lejeune,’ announced Parker.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ replied Cora cheerfully, unaware of any associations with the more news-worthy version of her name.

  ‘Bonjour Madame.’

  Cora smiled warmly although she didn’t understand a word of French. She was a motherly figure with a friendly smile, warm heart and a relaxed disposition, probably in her early sixties with a soft West Country Cornish accent.

  After dinner the couple stood in the moonlight outside on the veranda chatting. It was a beautiful mild evening with a soft gentle breeze, barely perceptible.

  ‘More champagne?’

  ‘Why not.’

  Parker’s started to uncork a bottle when his mobile phone vibrated, a message appeared on the screen.

  Nicole saw his facial expression change from placid relaxed lines to deep furrows forming on his brow while he read the message.

  ‘It’s Jane, my secretary. Some stranger has been stalking her since Thursday. An attempt was made to break into the office on Friday evening.’

  ‘Oh no! Could it be the same people stalking Raoul in Paris?’ suggested Nicole standing up from her seat and staring at him.

  ‘I don’t know. I hope not,’ replied Parker measuredly. ‘That could mean whoever is behind all this knows my identity.’

  ‘What should we do Harry?’

  ‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet. It could be all relatively innocent. I’ll have to go to the office in London first thing in the morning.’

  Nicole looking deflated and vulnerable, slowly sat back down again.

  ‘Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Cora will keep you company tomorrow while I go and sort things out. I’ll be back before nightfall.’

  42

  Philips boarded a plane at Nice International Airport with a connecting flight at Paris-Charles de Gaulle flying to Moscow. He convinced himself he was less of a target if he was moving around instead of hiding out in Villefranche. He had decided to go to Russia to meet Prof. Obolensky attached to the Moscow Medical Academy. Philips had contacted the Professor during the previous week and introduced himself on the phone. Obolensky undoubtedly had heard much about Karl Lehman but he never ever heard of Martin Philips, a fact that greatly annoyed and frustrated the molecular microbiologist. Philips had requested a face to face meeting in Moscow as soon as possible to discuss the possibility of collaborating on their research work.

  His plane touched down at 17:00 and Philips immediately checked into his hotel, the Ararat Park Hyatt located on Neglinnaya Ulitsa, a short walk from the Kremlin and Red Square. The hotel elegantly combined a traditional 19th century facade with extremely stylish contemporary interiors.

  The next morning, he took a cab to the Moscow Medical Academy and met Obolensky in his rooms in one of the older more elegant buildings on the campus.

  Professor Obolensky, a man of medium build with a short well-trimmed beard extended his hand to greet his visitor. A dedicated academic and not too fond of exercise that left him with a rather large pot belly, he had worked at the University for most of his career. He lectured undergraduates in Pathology and his area of expertise and research interests were in Epidemiology.

  Obolensky spoke with a heavy Russian accent ‘I was so sorry to learn of Prof Lehman’s death. Poor Karl. We met many times at medical symposia around Europe and in other parts of the world. We had many robust exchanges of views on controversial medical topics. He was a very knowledgeable individual and of course always a gentleman. It’s a tragedy dying in a car crash in a tunnel like that,’ reflected Obolensky.

  ‘Very tragic’ agreed Philips believing Obolensky knew nothing further than the initial media reports about the death published in newspapers a few weeks earlier.

  ‘Prof Obolensky, may I call you Dmitri?’

  ‘Why of course you can, Martin,’ replied Obolensky with a faint smile.

  ‘I am, what you call, a junior partner in Lehman & Philips SA. Since the untimely death of Karl and the devastating fire in our research clinic two weeks ago when we lost all our clinical records and equipment, I’m now unable to continue with the research work there. As you know we are studying antibiotic resistance of Superbugs and have developed a rather clever and innovative solution.’

  Obolensky nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘Karl was totally committed to this area of research as it is a growing cause of death in humans globally.

  ‘Yes of course Martin. Over use of antibiotics over the years have rendered them less effective. How advanced are you in your studies?’

  ‘Very far advanced’ replied Philips cautiously.’ We have discovered a new medical device therapy called iDrug.

  ‘Is this iDrug commercially viable?’

  ‘Make no mistake, Professor, my motivations to succeed in
this area of R&D are largely business driven. I’m not driven solely by philanthropic ideals like those of the late Professor Lehman. He was independently wealthy before he ever qualified as a Doctor. He came from a family of wealthy bankers in Switzerland. He could afford to indulge in pure academia while nonetheless having a genuine desire to help his fellow man.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with that is there Dr. Philips? The world would be a lot sadder place without men like Karl Lehman.’

  ‘The state of the world is not really my concern, Professor. I have spent many years of my working life working in academia helping and educating students to serve future generations of sick people. It’s now payback time for me. Academia was satisfying work, no question. However, it was never going to make me wealthy. So, I decided to forgo the secure life of a college lecturer and pursue a riskier career path in Research and Development in a private research company. I met Professor Lehman about four years ago at a medical conference in California while I was still a college lecturer there. We spoke for a long time together about the current state of medical science and discovered we both had similar academic interests in discovering new ways to combat infectious diseases.’

  Obolensky listened to Philips for quite some time getting a very clear picture of what motivated his visitor. Philips obviously remained suitably vague about the precise details of iDrug and would not be drawn on disclosing any meaningful data.

  ‘What I need are laboratory facilities including a nanno Electro-physics facility that are currently set-up and ready to go with trained research staff who can assist me to subtly modify the present iDrug device. I believe within a very short period I could change iDrug sufficiently to create a new and better device. Until we have agreed in principle to work together and a Non-Disclosure agreement signed, I cannot be any more forthcoming about my work and the current state of developments.’