by Gabriel Kron
Table of Contents
The Locke Cipher
Owlbeech Lodge Care Home, Friday 2am. Day 1.
City of London. Friday 5.30pm Day 1.
Dulwich, London. Friday 7:25pm Day 1.
32a Westcote Avenue. Saturday morning Day 2.
Owlbeech Lodge Care Home. Four weeks earlier.
Stuttgart Airport. Saturday 8:15am Day 2.
Central London, Saturday 8:45am Day 2.
Wartburg Hotel, Stuttgart. Saturday 10:35am Day 2.
Road to Gaisburg. Saturday 10:45am Day 2.
Residence of Mark Stacey, Saturday Mid-day Day 2.
Wartburg Hotel. Saturday night. Day 2.
Wartburg Hotel. Sunday Day 3.
Wartburg Hotel, Sunday Afternoon Day 3.
Imperial College, London. Sunday Afternoon. Day 3.
Stuttgart. Sunday Evening. Day 3.
Wartburg Hotel. Sunday night Day 3.
The Den, London. Day 4.
The Locke Farmhouse. Monday 2:15am Day 4.
Room 407 Wartburg Hotel. Monday 3:16am Day 4
Wartburg Hotel. Monday 3:25am Day 4.
Wartburg Hotel. Monday 03:26am Day 4.
Room 407 Wartburg Hotel. 3:28am Day 4.
Wartburg Hotel Monday 3:31am Day 4.
Room 407, Wartburg Hotel Monday 3:32am Day 4.
Wartburg Hotel Lobby, Monday 3:38am Day 4.
Car Park Wartburg Hotel. 3:40am Day 4
Carpark Wartburg Hotel. Monday 4:15am Day 4
Taxi En-Route to Stuttgart Airport, Monday 4:30am Day 4.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 4:45am Day 4.
Derby Room, House of Lords, London 8:00am Monday Day 4.
Flight BAO918, Monday 9:43am Day 4
The Den, London. Monday morning Day 4
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:20am Day 4.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:25am Day 4.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:30am Day 4.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:31am Day 4.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:32am Day 4.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 11:00am Day 4.
Palace Gardens, Stuttgart. Monday 11:20am Day 4.
Stuttgart, Monday. 11:30am Day 4.
Palace Gardens, Stuttgart. Monday 11:35am Day 4.
Munroe’s Coffee Bar, London. 11:45am Day 4.
Palace Gardens. Monday 11:55am Day 4.
Palace Gardens. Monday 11:57am Day 4.
Palace Gardens. Monday 12:00noon Day 4.
London, House of Lords, Derby Room. Monday 12:30pm Day 4.
The Den Monday 9:15pm Day 4.
BKA Headquarters,Wiesbaden, Germany. Day 5.
Exhibition Road, London, Thursday 8:50am Day 7.
_________________
Friedmann’s Residence. Day 7.
Menwith Hill, UKUSA base, Yorkshire, England.
Science Museum, London. Thursday 9:00pm Day 7.
Science Museum, Thursday, 10:05pm Day 7.
The Den. Day 8.
Friedmanns Residence, Germany. Day 13
GCHQ, Day 15.
Friedmann’s Residence. Day 17.
Friedmann’s Residence. Day 24.
Sinclair Residence. 10:50am Day 31.
Wartburg Hotel. Day 31.
Friedmann’s Residence. Day 31.
Friedmann’s Residence. Dawn, Day 32.
The Locke Farm. 11:10am Day 32.
The Friedmann’s Residence. Day 32.
Locke Farmhouse.
The Locke Farmhouse, 3:06pm Day 32
Friedmann’s Residence. 7:00pm Day 32.
Route A44, 10:12pm Day 32.
Düren Police Station. 6:05am Day 33.
Calais, France. 7:10am Day 33.
The Den, 12:15pm Day 33
General Rourke’s Office, Day 33.
Sinclair Residence, 10:12am Day 34.
Folkestone, England. 8:30pm Day 34.
Sinclair Residence. Day 35.
Travelodge. Days 35 – 38.
The Translation
Travelodge. Day 38.
SIS HQ - Vauxhall Cross, London. Day 38.
BKA Headquarters,Wiesbaden, Germany. Day38
Westcote Avenue, South London. Day 38.
The Den. Day 39.
Victoria Cross, London. Day 39.
OTG meeting #2, Travelodge. Day 42.
Westland House, West Sussex, England. Day 43.
The Yard. Day 46
West Norwood Crematorium. 10:30am Day 49.
SIS HQ - Vauxhall Cross, London. Day 49.
Vauxhall Bridge, London. Day 49.
Evidence Room, Federal Office of Criminal Investigations, Stuttgart. Day 49.
The Yard. Day. 50.
SIS HQ, Basement Carpark. Day 51.
The Yard. 7:50am Day 51.
West Street Retirement Cottages. 8:30pm Day 51.
West Street Retirement Cottages 8:30pm Day 51.
West Street Retirement Cottages. 8:55pm Day 51.
The Yard. 9:00pm Day 51.
Potsdam Germany. 9:10pm Day 52.
Swanley Kent. 10:30pm Day 52.
The Yard. 10.30am Day 53.
The Den. Day 53.
The Garrett Club, Garrett Street London. Day 53.
The Yard. Day 53.
Westminster Palace, Parliamentary Archives. Day 54.
The Yard. Day 55.
Travelodge. Friday morning Day 56.
SIS Operations Room. Day 56.
Aberdeen, Scotland. Day 56.
Lines Foundation, Aberdeen. Day 56.
Helicopter. Day 56.
Devil’s Dyke, Brighton. Day 57.
SIS HQ - Vauxhall Cross, London. Day 57.
Friedmann’s residence. Day 58.
Lines Foundation. Day 59.
Chaterman Hall. Day 59.
Science Museum, London. Day 60.
En route to museums. Day 60.
Roof top, Princes Gardens Hotel. Day 60.
King Edward VII's Hospital Sister Agnes, City of Westminster, London. Day 61.
House of Commons. Day 62.
R&D Lab #3 - TekMet Research Facilities. Day 75
FACT
Message from the author
Contact the author
The cipher.
Contents
The Locke Cipher
Gabriel Kron
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2018 GABRIEL KRON
All rights reserved.
Cover design DMR Creative
Stock photo © Can Stock Photo / saz1977
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN-13: 978-1977543950
ISBN-10: 197754395
BISAC: Fiction / Thrillers
Dedicated to
Ann Burrows
Special thanks to
All the OTG members who appear by name only through out.
Mario Kragg and Angelika Rust, for their German.
Kevin, Jim, Lauren and many others for their support and encouragement.
In memory of
Jack Welch
“Is it possible that in over 170 years, someone hasn't invented a device that produces cheap, clean electricity? Or could it be that these inventions are considered too much of a threat to the economic stability of our nations?...”
“A nation that can't control its energy sources can't control
its future.”
President Obama of the United States
Owlbeech Lodge Care Home, Friday 2am. Day 1.
Despite the security light that lit up the communal grounds, the Operative made his way unseen round the periphery of the garden to the rear of the building. Once in the shadows, the light offered him more protection than it did the residents.
Owlbeech was more institution than home, typical of its age with Georgian-wired windows in metal Crittal frames. Thin vertical metal bars had been cemented into the brickwork. Whether they were to keep intruders out or residents in was hard to tell.
The entry system was the same as the front, a digital electronic lock, which even if the code was known would alert the sleep-in Warden of his presence. A small jemmy bar, to prise the lock keep back from the latch, was all that was needed. The frame gave just enough for the lock to unlatch itself and there was little if any damage to the cheap aluminium door and frame. Once inside, he gently let the door close itself without slamming.
There was the typical care home smell to the building: bleach, bottled oxygen, laundry, stale urine and deodorisers failing. Instinctively he checked for CCTV cameras, but couldn't locate one in this corridor. Not that it bothered him. The only danger was if it was being monitored live, and that was unlikely.
Silently, he made his way through the building. The green LEDs of the emergency lights provided more than enough light to navigate the corridors and communal areas.
His target's room was easy to find and as he passed by the other rooms he was surprised to see that each door had individual night latches. He hadn't expected the rooms to be locked as well. It wasn't a problem, he had come prepared.
From his trouser pocket he produced a small leather wallet that contained his lock-picks. Despite rarely using his picking skills these days, eleven seconds later the door was open.
The room was in darkness, so he switched on a red LED torch and entered, closed the door and dead-locked it. He didn't want to be disturbed.
He could hear the long slow breathing pattern of his target sleeping on a single bed in the far corner of the room.
His instructions on this sanction were more than just a hit. A question had to be answered first, if possible, but the sanction still stood.
Withdrawing an automatic pistol, he screwed a short stubby silencer onto the barrel. He had no intention of using it for the sanction. Its use depended on how cooperative the retired Army Captain decided to be. It was a tried and tested way of extracting answers.
The old man was asleep on his back, his mouth wide open. It was added risk to have to question him first, but his orders were specific.
He pulled a chair up to the bed, sat and switched on the bedside lamp before tapping the old man on the forehead with the tip of the silencer.
The old man's eyes opened sharply, but he didn't move as he focused on the gun being pointed just inches from his face.
“Shhhh,” the Operative said putting a finger to his lips. “I'm not going to shoot you unless you do something unfortunate. Do you understand?” he said, his accent distinctly German.
The old man just nodded and remained still.
“Good. It has been a long time, Captain.”
Staring directly into the old man’s eyes he saw recognition. “That was your rank wasn't it?”
The old man nodded and cleared his throat. “Retired, yes. Who are you and what's this about?” he croaked, his mouth dry.
“It really doesn't matter who I am. It's who I work for that should concern you, Captain. You dropped off the grid some years ago which wasn't a problem until recently. We don’t have much time, so just answer a couple of questions and we can conclude our business here.” He stood but kept the gun pointed at the old man's head.
“Can I at least sit up first?” the old man asked, his voice calm and measured despite the gun.
“If you have to. Answer these questions so we can keep this short. Don't deny anything, try to explain it or answer with a question. I hope you understand?”
Keeping the gun pointed at the old man, the Operative asked, “Who else have you told about the Lockridge device?”
“The what?” the old man said after a beat.
Without hesitation the Operative slammed the butt of his handgun into the target’s thigh. At the same time he thrust a hand across his mouth forcing his head back and muffling the scream.
The Operative leant in close and repeated calmly, “Don't deny, explain or question anything. Now, I’ll ask again. Who else have you told about the Lockridge device?”
He pointed the silencer at one of the old man's legs and slowly removed his hand from his mouth.
The Captain was breathing rapidly and groaned as his thigh muscle started to spasm from the vicious blow.
“No one... I told no one! Who the fuck are you?” he spluttered and gasped for air.
Without missing a beat, the Operative slammed the pistol butt into one of his knees, twice in quick succession with devastating force. His victim tried to cry out with each blow, but the Operative kept his hand firmly over his mouth, pressing with all his body weight.
“We know you told Bateman. Now, who else did you tell?” the Operative demanded as he removed his hand again.
“Arrghh. No, no. Just him. No one else. Please.” He clutched at the pulverised knee, his eyes fixed on the gun now just an inch from his forehead. "No one. No one else."
The Operative cocked the handgun and pressed it into his target’s forehead.
"No one else... Just him, just him. Please..."
"Okay, good, we are nearly done,” the Operative said, convinced the answer was genuine.
He unscrewed the silencer from the handgun, re-holstered it and then turned the bedside lamp off, plunging the room back into darkness.
~~~
The old man's heart had sunk at the mention of the Lockridge device — this was the second time in the last few weeks. Now his heart felt close to imploding. He groaned and tried to move, but felt his attacker’s hand clamp back over his mouth. He tried to breathe in through his nose but it was too late, both hands clamped his mouth and pinched his nose shut. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't breathe. His lungs burnt as he jerked in response to the lack of air. His muscles screamed and convulsed with pain as his body poisoned itself with carbon dioxide.
In his panic he remembered the emergency pull cord next to the bed. He reached out trying to grab it, but snatched at nothing. His hand thrashed around, knocking the lamp and bedside radio alarm clock to the floor.
He made one final attempt at clawing the hands of his attacker, but to no avail. The agony of not being able to breathe started to fade as finally the darkness of his tomb invaded his consciousness.
~~~
Although his target no longer struggled, the Operative held his death grip and listened to the silence that fell upon the room. Listening hard for signs of disturbance elsewhere in the building, he heard none. Finally, he released his grip and wiped his hand across the bedding.
As per instruction, this sanction wasn't meant to make a statement. Tucking the old man back into bed as if still sleeping and replacing the lamp and clock, he quietly backed out of the room and left the building.
It was late and despite phase one of this sanction being complete, he had a plane to catch before continuing business back in Stuttgart for the next phase.
City of London. Friday 5.30pm Day 1.
“Daniel Bateman. You’ve done it!” I said to myself as I logged out and turned off the PC. So far everything was running on schedule and by 5:30pm I had managed to finish the sign-over of all outstanding fault calls to Kevin, the late shift network manager.
We worked two shifts, with most of the day overlapping, and Kevin had agreed to cover both whilst I was on leave. Like most of us in IT, he relished the generous overtime package still available to us.
“Right, I’m off,” I said, locking the desk drawers and grabbing my trench coat. Kevin looked up
from the screen, glided backwards in his chair and checked his watch.
“You ‘half dayer,’ Bateman. Try and find one of those beer festivals and have a few for me!” He said and laughed at his own joke.
Each honk of his laugh was accompanied with a rise and sharp fall of his shoulders. It was something I had seen others in the office imitate behind his back.
“I’ll bring you back some Würstchen,” I said.
“Sounds good, is it strong?”
“Oh yeah, real strong if you like sausages.”
The office door closed behind me before I heard Kevin’s response of another round of honking laughter. I wondered if he really thought it was sausage-flavoured beer.
~~~
The 18:10 from London Bridge was on time for once. Being quite used to not finding a seat, I went straight to the guard’s carriage where parcels, luggage and bikes could be stowed. Although on these commuter trains they rarely carried anything other than the spill over from overcrowded carriages.
The caged area was empty, dimly lit and smelt musty so I pulled down the window and stuck my head out. I looked up the platform at the eight other carriages jam-packed with expressionless commuters trying their hardest to ignore each other. The doors were closing as the guard gave one long blast on his whistle.
As the train started accelerating out of the station, I sat on the small fold-out chair next to the guard’s door and pulled from my coat an envelope I had already looked at several times that day.
The guard closed his door as the train picked up speed. I knew him, not by name, but by virtue of seeing him often on the 18:10 from London Bridge.
“G’evening,” the guard said walking into the caged section, “where you off to this time?” He gestured towards the characteristic red, white and blue of the British Airways ticket.
I held up a colour ink-jet printout of a map. “Germany again. Flying out tomorrow morning.”
“Treasure hunting?” he asked.
We had been here before, having this same discussion several times over the last five years. The guard always had to wait until a couple of stops were passed before he could even get through the carriages to inspect tickets, so we often had little chats.