The Lucifer Code

by Charles Brokaw

  The problem was Cleena wasn’t the only voyeur.

  ‘Your professor-’ Sevki started.

  ‘So not my professor,’ Cleena interrupted.

  ‘Sorry. One of us was working while you were sleeping and may be a little fatigued at the moment.’

  ‘Spare me. I went three days without sleep working on something for you.’

  ‘And you were paid quite handsomely for it, as I recall.’

  Cleena glanced from the laptop monitor to the restaurant’s clientele. It was late afternoon before the early evening rush. Most of the clientele would be American tourists looking for a familiar meal, or Istanbul college and high school students wanting to sample food from an American chain restaurant.

  She had chosen the place as a base of operations because Taksim Square was only four kilometres from the professor’s hotel. If he went somewhere, she felt certain she could intercept him on the motorcycle she’d purchased from a black market contact. She also hoped that the men from the catacombs, if they could find the professor, would stand out in a place like Burger King.

  Sevki had also given her an earwig tied into an encrypted sat-phone that also functioned, like now, through WiFi hot spots. The device felt bulky in her ear, but she had been surprised at how small it was. Unless someone looked closely, no one would know she was wearing it. Except for the way I apparently keep talking to myself.

  ‘Anyway,’ Sevki went on, ‘as I was saying, the professor isn’t alone in there.’

  ‘I can see the woman.’

  ‘I know, and I must say she’s even better looking than her photograph.’

  ‘Focus.’

  ‘The room is bugged,’ Sevki said. ‘That’s why you’re getting video feed from inside the room instead of just the hallway.’

  Cleena was so used to Sevki producing technological marvels that she hadn’t even realized she was peering inside the hotel room.

  ‘Who bugged it?’ she asked.

  ‘Judging from the frequencies and the hardware, I’d say it was the United States Central Intelligence Agency. Or a similarly equipped corporate security team. It’s getting hard to know whose toys are whose these days. Corporate espionage has cutting edge stuff, some of it even better than the CIA’s.’

  ‘The CIA?’ Cleena pushed back from the laptop a little. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘As in, if the CIA has already got someone watching the professor, why do they need you? I started wondering the same thing when I locked into these feeds. I played with the idea that this might be the work of some corporation, but no likely suspects spring to mind. Why would anyone, including the CIA, suddenly develop an interest in the professor?’

  Cleena didn’t like the route her mind automatically took.

  ‘If this is the CIA’s handiwork, the only thing I can figure you for is a fall guy if things get sticky’, said Sevki.

  ‘Can they catch you spying on them?’ The idea that the CIA might even now be spying on them while they spied on Lourds was unsettling, to say the least.

  ‘Doubtful. But look at our professor. Looks like he’s got his hands full.’

  On screen, Lourds and the college professor were more amorously engaged than previously. Cleena wasn’t mortified, but she wasn’t interested in watching either.

  ‘Lech,’ she growled at Sevki.

  ‘Sticks and stones and all that rot.’

  ‘I was talking about the CIA catching you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sevki sounded distracted, and Cleena had to admit that what she was watching was distracting, and a little more intriguing than she’d thought it would be. Lourds was evidently a man of considerable skills.

  ‘The CIA,’ she reminded Sevki.

  ‘Them. No. I don’t think they’ll find us. I’ve masked all the work I’ve done to break in there. If they even find out we’re in there, it’ll be a miracle.’

  ‘Can you trace their video and audio feeds back?’

  ‘Already done that. The trail leads back to the United States embassy offices here in the city.’

  ‘And… the professor has no idea he’s being watched right now?’

  ‘Would you be doing what he’s doing right now if you knew someone was watching you?’

  Mild irritation swept through Cleena. ‘You really shouldn’t be watching this.’

  ‘Then who’s going to watch the professor and make sure he stays put?’ Sevki’s tone was mocking.

  ‘You said you have access to the video in the hallway.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then you can use that to keep tabs on the professor.’

  ‘And miss the show? I’ll make you a deal. You turn your computer off – and I’ll know when you do – I’ll do the same for mine. Up the ante, so to speak. Do we have a deal?’

  Cleena didn’t answer, but she didn’t cut the video feed either.

  ‘Are you using the audio feed?’ Sevki asked.

  ‘I’m in a public place.’

  ‘There’s a pair of earbuds tucked into the computer case.’

  Cleena hesitated only a moment, then opened the computer case and took out the earbuds. She attached them to the computer and adjusted the volume. The sound was good. It was as though she was in the room with Lourds and his professor lady friend. The idea was faintly embarrassing but more erotic than she would have thought.

  While on the flight over to Istanbul, she had listened to the audio-book version of Bedroom Pursuits. The narrative had been more compelling than she had imagined. And that type of entertainment definitely wasn’t her usual venue.

  ‘Ah,’ Sevki chuckled. ‘Aren’t you the dirty girl?’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Eserin Crown Hotel

  Sultanahmet District

  Istanbul, Turkey

  17 March 2010

  Lourds kissed Olympia as he unbuttoned her jacket. They stood just inside the room. No one else was there, but the scent of the strange perfume he’d noticed still lingered on the air.

  Breaking free of the passionate kiss they shared, Lourds gazed into Olympia’s wide-set brown eyes. ‘Do you smell the perfume?’

  ‘Yes.’ Olympia’s hand curled round the back of his neck and played with his hair. The sensation was incredibly delightful and Lourds knew she was aware of that. They’d been good lovers who had explored each other’s bodies well enough to know what worked and what didn’t.

  ‘Doesn’t that worry you?’ Lourds ran his hands under her jacket and the matching teal chemise she wore to unfasten her bra. He managed the feat with one hand, which brought a smile to Olympia’s beautiful face.

  ‘You’ve still got your touch, I see,’ she whispered.

  ‘The perfume?’ Lourds reminded.

  ‘And you still have a one-track mind.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Lourds closed his hands over the tender flesh of her breasts and gently tweaked her nipples. ‘I’m quite capable of multi-tasking when there’s a need.’

  A quiet moan escaped Olympia as she tilted her head back. ‘Oh, there’s a need. A definite need.’

  Lourds grinned and kissed her again. He slid his hands across her back and pulled her close to him. He felt the heat of her melding into his.

  ‘The perfume could have been from a maid stopping by to turn down the bed,’ Olympia suggested. She pushed free of Lourds and gazed up at him. ‘There is a bed, isn’t there? I specifically asked for one when I reserved this room.’

  ‘There must be one in here somewhere. I just haven’t seen it yet.’

  Olympia looked around the room. ‘If it were me, I’d guess it was behind that door.’

  ‘Well, then we’ll try that one. You do have a doctorate, after all.’

  ‘Three, actually.’

  ‘You’re obviously overcompensating for something.’ Lourds bent down and lifted her into his arms, then started for the bedroom door. Once inside he fumbled for and found the light switch. He turned it on and a soft glow filled the room.

  The bedroom was sp
acious and adorned with pastel-coloured curtains and bedding. The king-sized bed dominated the room. Lourds carried Olympia towards it and gently laid her on it. When he tried to crawl after her, she pushed him away.

  ‘You’re dirty,’ she said.

  Lourds stood at the side of the bed, only then remembering his current state. ‘You weren’t objecting a moment ago.’

  ‘A moment ago, we were in the living room, not in the bed where I expect to be happily entertained for the next ten or twelve hours.’

  Lourds cocked an eyebrow in mock surprise. ‘You do have grand designs, don’t you?’

  ‘A large appetite, thank you. And it’s already been kept waiting for two days while you’ve been off gallivanting around.’

  ‘I’d hardly call nearly getting killed – on more than one occasion – and getting interviewed by the local constabulary “gallivanting”.’

  ‘An imposition, then.’

  ‘Most impositions I’ve had don’t include getting shot at.’

  Olympia sat on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. She ran her hands across the flat planes of his chest and stomach. Years of playing soccer had kept him taut and lean. He ran his fingers through the shimmering waves of her hair, then bent down to kiss her. As they kissed, her fingers busied themselves with his belt buckle and trousers. A moment later they slid down his slim hips. He’d already been erect, and getting freed only promoted that. Her fingers closed round his erection and he shivered in anticipation. He cupped her breasts again and squeezed just enough to elicit a moan. She broke free of his lips then trailed kisses down his chest and stomach. She made him wait, his hands knotted in her hair, before she slowly, delicately, took him into her mouth.

  Lourds’ knees almost buckled at the sensation. His breath came in ragged gasps and he teetered on the edge of control. He was aware she knew that, and doubtless enjoyed being in a position of power. Olympia had always been a generous lover, but she’d also been an incredible tease. Just before he begged for mercy or permission, Olympia drew back and smiled wickedly up at him.

  ‘Go,’ she said sternly. ‘Shower. We’ll continue the frivolity after you’re clean.’

  ‘Of course, my lady.’ Lourds took her hand and kissed her fingers. ‘I won’t be but just a moment.’

  ‘You’d better take longer than that. You reek.’

  Lourds turned to walk away and very nearly tripped over his own trousers, which were down round his ankles, forgotten during the distraction. He unlaced his boots and stepped out of them, then the trousers. He glanced back at Olympia, who sat on the bed half-undone with one sleek leg tucked under her.

  13

  Washington Dulles International Airport

  Washington D. C.

  United States of America

  17 March 2010

  Vice-President Elliott Webster’s cellphone rang as his private limousine glided out onto the tarmac to the waiting military jet scheduled to fly him to Saudi Arabia. When he checked the Caller ID, he answered and said, ‘One moment, please.’

  The limo driver parked the vehicle in the shade of the jet. Webster raised the soundproof glass that separated the rear of the luxury vehicle from the chauffeur. Then he nodded at the three secret service men who were part of his personal detachment.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to take this call alone.’

  The three agents opened the doors and stepped outside. They stood watch while Webster relaxed in the back seat.

  ‘We’re alone, Colonel, and on a secure line. You may speak freely.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Colonel Anthony Eckart said. In his early forties, the colonel had been a Marine officer for twenty-one years before taking retirement. The retirement hadn’t entirely been his idea. His outspoken ‘America first’ policy as he’d pursued it hadn’t sat well with the Marines. The media had loved him for his volatile diatribes on who he believed America’s enemies truly were. His list included all the Middle East, to start with. After retiring from the Marines, Eckart had gone to work for Webster as part of his clandestine security group that was still secret from the press and the president. He’d served in that capacity for the last three years.

  ‘I assume you’ve heard about the deaths in Saudi?’ Eckart asked.

  Webster’s gaze flicked to the plasma television hanging from the limo’s ceiling. WNN News had been covering the story since early that morning. The footage of the flaming building in King Abdullah Economic City had been taken by a ship out in the harbour. Black smoke hung above the city.

  Currently, it was evening in Saudi Arabia. Arranging the trip had taken hours.

  ‘I have,’ Webster replied. ‘I’ve been expecting your call.’

  ‘Things here have become a little crazy,’ Eckart said. ‘After the attack, the whole city was blacked out – all ordinary communications are down. I didn’t want to use the sat-phone till after the media people had descended into the metro area en masse. Otherwise the Saudis might have tracked our signal.’

  ‘Understood. I take it you and your men survived?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We got lucky on this one. Both targets ended up at the same twenty. They were at the king’s grandson’s birthday party.’

  ‘I’d heard they might be negotiating oil disbursements with the Indian government.’

  ‘Those people were at the party as well. The hardest part was managing to take out the two primary targets without killing Khalid, the younger prince.’

  ‘That was done?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘So how is our young prince?’

  ‘Khalid was wounded, but sustained no permanent damage.’

  ‘I take it the prince – now king – is talking of retribution.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, he’s positively foaming at the mouth, sir.’

  Webster smiled. ‘Khalid was always hot-headed and looking for a fight.’

  ‘He’s going to turn that country into a hornet’s nest.’

  ‘As we’d planned.’

  ‘If our enemies destroy each other, sir, it saves a lot of our soldiers.’

  Webster knew the coming military conflagration would do more than that. He was counting on it.

  ‘There was some collateral damage,’ Eckart went on. ‘Some of the king’s servants and personal bodyguards and a few of the wives and children were also killed, but no one we’re going to lose any sleep over.’

  ‘That’s all perfectly acceptable, Colonel. You and your men did a good job.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll mention it to them.’

  ‘There’s been a change in plans,’ Webster said. ‘I want you and your team in Istanbul as soon as you can get there.’

  Eckart transitioned smoothly. He always did. ‘It’ll be a few hours before we’re able to move from here without alerting suspicion.’

  ‘That’s fine. For the moment I’ve got someone sitting on your target.’

  ‘May I ask who the target is, sir?’

  ‘A Harvard professor named Thomas Lourds. You’ve probably heard of him. He’s the man who was involved in the hunt for lost Atlantis.’

  ‘I have, sir. That story was all over the news.’

  ‘I don’t want Lourds terminated at present,’ Webster said. ‘I just want to talk to him.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll let you know when we’re en route.’

  ‘Very good. I expect to see you soon, Colonel. Until then, best of luck.’ Webster broke the connection and pocketed the cellphone. Then he unmuted the television to listen to the news anchor.

  ‘The Saudi Arabian government hasn’t confirmed who died in last night’s fiery attack in King Abdullah Economic City,’ the anchor said with sterling confidence. ‘But it’s clear several injured and several dead were removed from the rubble of the building that was struck by a missile weapon.’

  The television cut away from the anchor to the night scene of the attack. For a few seconds, the three-storey building stood overlooking the harbour, then in the
next moment an explosion blossomed in the centre of the building. At first, the building held and smoke poured from some of the windows near the blast site. Several people in the street had run for cover, but some of them started trickling back towards the stricken structure. They were caught flatfooted when the building shivered a final time and collapsed in a way that made Webster sit back in the limo’s plush seats.

  ‘We have unconfirmed reports that King Yousef and Crown Prince Muhammed were among those injured and possibly killed in the attack.’

  Images of the king and crown prince formed on the screen, overlying the destruction.

  ‘If those two men are casualties,’ the anchor continued, ‘many political analysts fear the changes that may take place in the Middle East. Here, for a special look at the situation, is Jane Keller.’

  Webster listened to the special report with zeal, for it agreed exactly with his assessment of what would happen.

  Georgetown University Professor Clarence Doolan looked grim and foreboding in the television studio. In his seventies, tan and withered, Doolan looked like a hanging judge about to pass sentence. Jane Keller, the young television reporter, looked as though she’d stepped straight from a Victoria’s Secret commercial.

  ‘Khalid isn’t like his father or brother,’ Doolan said to the perky young reporter. ‘If he takes the throne, that whole region may be in jeopardy.’

  That was precisely the reason Webster hadn’t had him killed.

  ‘What makes you say that, Professor?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘Saudi Arabia occupies a singular niche within the Middle East,’ the professor explained. ‘It’s a powerful country, and its impact on oil production is immense. However, the United States has depended on Saudi Arabia to maintain a non-aggression presence within that community. Sometimes the US has had to be heavily persuasive to manage that feat.’

  ‘Why is that non-aggression presence so necessary?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘You have to understand the fundamental differences in the Muslim world. There are two distinct religions within Islam: the Sunni and the Shia. They have differing interpretations of the line of succession regarding the prophet Muhammad, and they’re willing to kill each other over those differences when they come into conflict. Saudi Arabia has sometimes prevailed to cool the fires of war in the Middle East, but I’m afraid that Prince – now possibly King – Khalid doesn’t have a stable temperament.’