News agencies—the Internet
Copenhagen, Denmark—The Danish police have arrested eight Muslims last night in Valby. They were charged with belonging to the Al Qaeda organization and planning to plant a bomb somewhere in Copenhagen during the next forty-eight hours. The Chief of Police did not indicate the site of the intended bombing, but stated that this was the first time that the police had uncovered a direct connection between Al Qaeda and Denmark.
Sources in the USA have revealed that North Korea will remain on the list of countries that fund world terrorism. This was in response to a North Korean claim that she would be removed from the ‘black list’.
TWENTY-ONE
The date for Tanya’s funeral was set for Sunday. Anne decided to attend, of course, but she also requested Martin to accompany her. He agreed willingly. It turned out to be the very day he returned from his trip to Scotland with Admiral Stone.
A large crowd had assembled for the funeral. There were Tanya’s colleagues from the theatre, stagehands, the bohemian crowd, and several admirers—they all loved and respected Tanya’s work, both as an actress and as a director. A number of columnists in the leading drama journals also attended. Anne approached the bereaved parents, who stood there with stony faces. She shook their hands silently and went on. Martin stood to one side and waited for Anne to join him.
Someone said a few words. Anne didn’t know or care who he was. But she was deeply moved by his passionate description of Tanya’s professional career as “a flower which a foul, criminal hand has so brutally plucked.”
“If the police won’t find that bastard, I certainly will!” Anne muttered to herself.
Martin overheard her words and they troubled him. He had already learned that his cousin didn’t “just say things.” What she thought and said shortly became action. The association was the most outstanding proof of that. If she had decided to find the killer of her friend, she’d go hunting for him. Martin was familiar with the uglier aspects of life—the underworld, the slums, the haunts of drug dealers, pimps and prostitutes, and other criminal elements. Anne only knew of the “nice” world—academics, diplomats, scientists, artists—where the rules were quite different. She wouldn’t know the first thing about human scum. Her obstinacy and methodic approach to problems would necessarily lead her to the underworld. Once there, if she did not abide by the rules of the game, she would get hurt.
He suddenly found himself feeling responsible for her safety. Why? He knew she was very dear to him, and that he would never allow anything to harm her. So, instead of listening to the eulogies, he began preparing a plan of action. Should he try to talk her out of her resolution? He would probably fail. So—what else? Obviously—get her to confide in him so that he could keep an eye on her. He should get her to talk about Tanya, show interest in the police case, and discuss her opinions on everything concerning it. If he could have been in Paris continuously, he would be around her most of the time and be a kind of bodyguard to her. However, he knew that he would be constantly on the move—so scratch that option.
He needed to become her ally and share her thought and doubts. He wanted to be able to give her advice. She should get used to consulting with him before taking any action, or at least giving him prior notice.
Martin began implementing these ideas on the way back from the cemetery. He asked her how the police investigation was progressing, and she told him about her meeting with Inspecteur Marnier.
“I got the impression,” she concluded, “that they were not really giving any priority to this case. So far, they’ve poked around only in the student community. I’m beginning to think there’s more than a fair possibility that Tanya’s murderer, this Lucien, is not a student but a hardened criminal—a drug dealer or addict whom nature has endowed with attractive features. He exploited this advantage to pose as a student and woo mature women. Some would be very flattered and would succumb to his charms. Remember, Tanya was past forty and was just this side of being a nymphomaniac. So I can easily picture her taking this fellow not only into her bed, but also providing him with a roof over his head, food and drink, and perhaps even a location for his drug business. Oh dear … I’m rambling….”
“No, not at all,” Martin urged. “I happen to be thinking along the same lines. Please go on.”
“Well,” Anne continued hesitantly, “the way I see it, the killer found her somewhere, right? He must have seen her at the Théatre du Siècle Moderne or thereabouts. Tanya told me many stories about how and where she met men, and most of them were in the vicinity of the theatre, which makes sense because that’s where she spent most of her time. So I guess this man hung around the theatre, marked her as a catch and found a way to meet her. Hell, Martin, what I mean to say is that it’s quite impossible that nobody saw them or knew nothing about them. We’re not living in a vacuum—and especially so in theatrical circles.”
“Don’t you think the police would take a similar approach?” Martin knew what Anne’s answer would be before his question was asked. But he had to make sure he had played his last card trying to convince her.
“Quite frankly—no,” Anne said. “They have their student suspect and that’s where their efforts will focus. So, I intend to go to the theatre and snoop around. I’ll probably get plenty of descriptions of men who were seen with Tanya—perhaps one will fit her description of Lucien, and I’ll get a few more details. Maybe I’ll discover how they met. And where they used to go.”
That was it, thought Martin. There’s no point in trying to convince her that she was undertaking a stupid and dangerous task. Not to mention illegal—this could be considered as impeding a police investigation. She won’t be swayed—she’ll go ahead and do it no matter what. So best would be to be on her side, as it were, and have her share her plans with him.
“That’s probably the best approach, Annie,” he said. “You’ve aroused my interest and curiosity. Like a thriller novel. I’d like to know how things proceed from here. And if you need any help, you can always count on me. Please, Annie—keep me up to date with what you’re doing.”
Anne felt encouraged by Martin’s words. I’m glad he’s offered to assist me, she thought. Who knows—perhaps I’ll actually need the help of a man like Martin during my investigation.
TWENTY-TWO
Back in London, Martin assembled his team after work hours and explained the essence of what the association was all about. He went through the recruitment procedure step by step in accordance with the admiral’s instructions, though he knew that with these boys it was superfluous. It went off without a hitch, and the team of five unanimously and eagerly consented to cooperate by whatever means necessary.
The association’s successes seemed to pile up on each other. Both financial donations were deposited.
An empty warehouse on the outskirts of London was leased, and equipment was being purchased.
Martin and the admiral had found a vast isolated area in Scotland, with several access paths, which carried no traffic whatsoever during the night hours they were on watch. It was decided they would use this location for testing the fertilizer outdoors after completing the indoor tests.
They had also returned from a weeklong reconnaissance trip to Tunisia, where not only did they find suitable testing grounds in the Sahara desert for the irradiation experiment, but they had also thoroughly enjoyed themselves. They had observed that there was a wide variety of vehicles for rent in Tunisia. Martin suggested that the participants in the test team fly in with their movie gear and rent the necessary transport locally.
Negotiations for the purchase of an executive jet were under way.
Sir Cedric and Emilio Rosetti had set up a meeting in the near future to examine the latter’s progress with the communications jammer.
The association’s members all clearly felt that their visionary concepts, which not so long ago were mere ideas, were being put into practice. But the more practical things became, the more they felt concern
about the moment when their plans would be implemented in the dictators’ countries. That would be by far more difficult than finding the resources for the project. There would be real danger there. They would need to overcome problems such as entering the country—and with suspicious equipment and materials to boot. These countries, in particular, were more security-minded than others, and their border checks were very exacting. Stratagems would need to be devised. And then, after the operation, there was the need to exit the country safely.
They were all aware that they were now facing a series of complex debates and planning sessions in which they would be making critical decisions. They also had no doubt in their minds that Martin Cooper, with his vast military experience and his outstanding resourcefulness, would be of extreme value. They were now approaching the stage wherein, as they say, “operations will now lead the way.”
Emilio Rosetti paid Sir Cedric a visit in London. He brought a present with him—the most modern, state-of-the-art food processor, made by a leading German firm. At first, Sir Cedric was somewhat flustered, and his inquiring look seemed to ask “what in the world …” But then he caught Rosetti’s sly smile and he understood: the fiery Italian genius had built his acoustic-electronic device into the food processor.
“When you test it,” Rosetti beamed, “you will notice that it may be set for a delay of up to twenty-four hours and also for the duration of its operation. All you need to do is to place it in a kitchen anywhere within a kilometer of your target, plug it into the power, making sure you have the right voltage, set the time and duration, and walk away. At the preset time, all electronic audio instruments inside the device’s range—every radio and television broadcast, every line and cellular telephone, every public address system outdoors and indoors—will emit an ear-piercing shriek. The televisions picture will not be affected, but the sound will. This interference will stop after the duration period that you have set elapses. Even if the authorities begin a house-to-house search for the transmitter, they will never find it, as it is disguised as a normal household appliance.”
Sir Cedric shook Rosetti’s hand warmly.
“I can hardly wait to test it, Emilio,” he gushed. “It seems too good to be true! I’d like to cover your expenses. You know, production, shipping, or—”
“Forget it, my friend!” the Italian boomed. “It’s on the house! But please note—this is just a prototype. The device may be built into any other electric appliance, such as a radio or a baking oven. You might need a number of devices if you want to cover larger areas. Just let me know, and I’ll try to provide you with what you need.” He winked at Sir Cedric. “At no extra charge.”
Sir Cedric thanked him profusely and promised to inform him of progress during testing. Before parting, they shook hands again and wished each other luck.
Perhaps there was truth in the old saying that success follows success. Conrad Hoffman, the Viennese nanotechnologist, called Sir Cedric saying he needed to show him something of interest, and that he could not say anything about it over the phone. Sir Cedric informed Anne that he was flying to Vienna on the first flight out.
Anne understood that something of importance was in the offing, but this was a realm in which she was a total ignoramus. She hoped she would be able to recognize the value of whatever it was if and when it was presented to her. No matter, the association had by now a number of tools that, if used wisely at the right time and at the right place, would certainly get significant results.
TWENTY-THREE
Sir Cedric was so excited about what he had learned in Vienna that he requested a board meeting immediately. As Anne was the one most tied to a schedule, they decided to hold it in her flat in Paris.
When they had assembled, Sir Cedric produced a matchbox from his pocket. He opened it and shook out three green peas onto the palm of his hand.
“These peas are, in fact, capsules that dissolve in kerosene, petrol and diesel fuel. Each of these capsules contains millions of bacteria-like microorganisms that for years have been known to be ‘consumers of fossil fuel.’ They are mostly used to clean up oil spills, where they break up the oil into harmless material. Our friend in Vienna, Conrad Hoffman, is not only a nanotechnologist—he is also an expert in microbiology. And he has used his expertise in microbiology to bestow an additional attribute to these little rascals. One pea dropped into a fuel tanker lorry or reservoir will cause all the fuel contained in it to lose its combustive qualities. In other words, that fuel will never drive another engine or motor. Friend Conrad has also provided me with a chart indicating how many peas are needed per various volumes of fuel.”
“Very interesting,” murmured the admiral.
“Yes, I find it quite fascinating,” Sir Cedric went on. “Of course, I’ll need to test the stuff in our new workshop. But how do we make use of this invention? Let’s assume we find a sailor on an oil tanker and let’s assume he’ll actually dump a handful of these legumes into a couple of oil compartments. Now, when this tanker arrives at its destination the oil will be distributed throughout the country, and many private industries and quite a lot of civilian transportation will be heavily, and adversely, affected. That is not what we had in mind.”
“I believe you have answered your own question, Cedric,” the admiral said. “We do not recruit a sailor on board a tanker. Instead, we try to recruit someone who works on a military base, preferably one that is a fuel depot. Whether or not this is at all possible, if our target countries employ civilians in their military facilities—even only as sanitarians—well, there still remain many unanswered questions.”
“And if it is feasible,” Anne said, “then I suppose we should aim at central depots where chances are highest that the fuel will serve military parades and such. Or am I wrong, Patrick?”
“No, Anne, you’re not,” Admiral Stone said. “That certainly makes sense. I’ll try to pry into some classified intelligence stuff and see if I can come up with something clearer on this topic for next time.”
The rented warehouse was registered as a workshop for the repair and maintenance of electric appliances. They nicknamed it “the cowshed.” The proper furnishing and equipment were purchased—not only for the sake of a plausible cover but mainly to be used in the course of work called on by the association. It had a huge empty space in its center, and the various machines and tools were stored or stacked along the walls—most of them mobile on trolleys, tracks, or overhead beams.
Their first test was to immobilize an ancient, second-hand truck that John had bought. Some of the fertilizer was spread over the floor in the empty space and the truck was driven slowly over it. A few meters further, the engine sputtered and died. The truck was pushed into a work corner and the carburetor was dismantled, thoroughly cleaned, and replaced. The engine coughed into life immediately. Conclusion—fertilizer damage was local and temporary.
Excellent, thought Martin. I can imagine a convoy crossing over a patch of fertilizer and halting. Suspicion will fall on the fuel—perhaps diluted with water. The carburetors will never be considered. One, perhaps—but several? Whoever heard of multiple carburetors conking out simultaneously? This will buy precious time!
Now we need to make the open-air test in Scotland. We’ll take two lorries, just to double-check, and spare carburetors so that we needn’t waste time cleaning up the damaged ones—we’ll just replace them.
Martin began delegating various tasks to his men. Bernard, who knew a couple of figures in the underworld, was assigned to the acquirement of explosives. He was instructed to get small amounts—not more than a kilogram or two—of as many different types that the market had to offer.
Spencer was familiar with vehicles. Martin requested him to buy a large, ten-ton truck and a closed jeep. Both needed to have replacement carburetors, and an additional carburetor was required for the truck they already had.
George Graham had already begun taking flight lessons on an executive jet. He was also assigned to buy a script fro
m a film student—perhaps a cinema academy exercise. Martin asked him to browse through the script first to see if modifications, such as a setting in the desert, were easy, and if the script called for a young heroine. George smiled at this.
“If you’re looking for an actress, I could ask my sister, Patricia. I think she’d be suitable. She’s divorced now, you know.”
Martin grinned.
“She’s exactly whom I had in mind. I remember meeting her at one of our parties. If she’s still the tall and glamorous blue-eyed blonde I saw then, she’ll do just great.”
Bernard managed to get five different types of explosives—dynamite used for civilian purposes such as mining and quarrying, military charges, explosives used in mortar and artillery shells, explosive cartridges for propelling the shells, and a package of old-fashioned black gunpowder.
Next on his agenda was the purchase of supermarket-type food cans to contain the explosives. They had yet to figure out a method of doing so without leaving traces of tampering on the cans, and—of course—they had to be selective about the types of cans bought. For instance, food for babies or household pets was out. The cans they took with them had to make sense—they had to be suitable for a long trip into the desert.
Martin still had an item on his agenda that bothered him. Assuming that all the preparations worked out optimally, how were the cans of dummy food to be brought into the target country? Explosives would certainly be discovered at the airport control—perhaps they even had dogs that could sniff them out. Conclusion—movie gear, food, and the jeep would have to be shipped by boat. The bogus cans would be at the bottom of a pile of bona fide cans and would escape detection. This would slightly complicate the timetable but would not be of significant hindrance. He could already imagine Philip and Patricia on the boat with the rest of the stuff, meeting up with the other team members with perhaps a day’s difference in arrival. Then they would all head south.
Global Conspiracy Page 14