Right now, however, Scotland was first on the list of tests. After that would come tests with the food processor.
TWENTY-FOUR
On the dawn of Saturday, a convoy of three vehicles made its way north. The two trucks were driven by John Carmichael and Philip Brown, and Martin drove the jeep, with the admiral at his side. All vehicles had spare carburetors and a full range of mechanic’s tools. A sack, half full with the fertilizer, lay in the back of the jeep.
It was over seven hundred kilometers to the test site. They had decided they would spend the night in Glasgow and leave early the next morning, so as to arrive at the site before noon. They stopped only once on their way, to eat something and refresh themselves.
Early on Sunday morning, after a two-hour journey, they arrived at a pastoral field. Not a single house or person had been in sight for the last half hour. There were no cultivated fields or woods anywhere nearby, and it seemed that civilization had overlooked this area since time began. They were certain they would not be interrupted by anyone here.
John and Philip were very curious regarding the identity of the “old man” who had joined them. However, Martin did not introduce him, and they knew better than to inquire.
The place Martin had chosen for the test was on a slight upward incline. The men used scoops to spread all the fertilizer they had along the dirt road, covering about fifty meters, while the vehicles waited further back. Martin and the admiral stood by the treated stretch of road, and then Martin signaled the trucks to move. They rumbled over the fertilizer—and about twenty meters into the treated area their engines died.
The admiral laughed and clapped Martin on the shoulder. The drivers put their vehicles into neutral gear and the trucks coasted back down to where the jeep was parked. This was necessary, as there was no point in replacing the carburetors while still in the “infected” area.
After replacing the damaged carburetors, they picked a few branches off nearby trees and, good citizens that they were, diligently swept the remnants of the fertilizer off the road so as not to damage any other vehicles that may pass that way. Then they headed back to London.
The entire round trip had taken them three days.
Anne and Sir Cedric were updated by phone with just one word: “Success!” As pre-arranged, the admiral issued an order for fifteen sacks of the fertilizer to Gustav Lemke. These would be stored at the “cowshed.”
It was now time for the acoustic tests with the food processor, nicknamed “Paganini.” Martin described his plan to the team. They would find a small, remote township that had a couple of hotels and a disco club. Philip would take Paganini with him to one hotel while Bernard settled down in the other hotel. They would synchronize their watches, and at a given time, Philip would operate the device for exactly two minutes. His laptop computer would be tuned to a local radio station. Bernard would be at the bar of his hotel watching television. If there was a noticeable interference, Bernard would try to call John on his cellular phone and Philip would try to reach Martin on the hotel phone in his room. That way they could trace most of the effects of Paganini on the spot, whereas the disco club could be investigated a short while later.
At the same time, Anne had logged into the university’s computer. She brought up the roster of students and requested a search of all those named Lucien who had registered during the past three years. She was presented with a list of several hundred candidates.
Anne honed down her query to those who had stopped their studies for whatever reason. She was convinced that even if Lucien was a student at one time, that he was not a student today. A drug addict could not possibly have finished his studies—he had to drop out at one stage or another. Furthermore, after committing a murder and knowing that the police had his description and fingerprints, he surely must have gone into hiding.
Anne focused on the dropouts. There were a few dozen of those, and Anne scanned the reasons for their quitting. Most had perfectly legitimate reasons, such as a prolonged illness, moving to another country, going into a family business, etc. Only three had no reason at all for quitting. Their surnames were: Dupond, Laval and Charpentier. Now what? She thought. I have their addresses from the computer, but can I just go and barge in on them? I need to give this some more thought.
That evening, Anne paid a visit to the Théatre du Siècle Moderne in the quartier de la République, where Tanya had worked. She knew a few people from the times she had visited Tanya there, because Tanya was always surrounded by friends and admirers. Though she didn’t know most of them by name, they remembered her and were glad to talk about their mutual friend, who had met such a tragic fate.
Anne did not reveal what she was really searching for. Essentially, she was just reminiscing about the good times she had with Tanya and wanted to hear stories about her past from her close friends. She would disguise her queries in terms of: “I cannot understand what she could see in such a young boy,” or “I’d give a lot to meet the chap face to face … I wonder what he looked like.”
Anne got descriptions. They all matched the police description. And one additional little detail that she couldn’t have known before: one of Tanya’s friends remembered that Tanya’s companion had a red and blue tattoo on his left forearm—a snake or a lizard.
Anne had what she wanted now. She was searching for a tall, blond man in his early twenties, an ex-student with a red and blue tattoo of a snake or lizard on his left forearm and answering to the name of Lucien Dupond, Laval or Charpentier.
TWENTY-FIVE
George Graham was now a qualified executive jet pilot. His next task was to purchase a suitable plane for the association.
At the same time, attempts were being made at the workshop to open and close tin cans without leaving traces of tampering. At first, the damaged cans were simply tossed into the garbage. But then the team became worried that if anyone saw these tins, suspicion would rise—why would someone first attempt to open them in an irregular manner, and then dispose them with their contents intact? They therefore decided to separate the tins from their contents—the latter could be dumped normally in plastic bags. The tins themselves, however, would have to be distributed in multiple, remote dumpsters.
It was a lot of hard work accompanied by frustrating failures. However, they finally hit on a method that worked. First, the labels were carefully steamed off the cans and laid out to dry. Then the tops of the tins were carefully cut off. The tins were then emptied and cleaned. An explosive charge, wrapped in a plastic bag, was placed inside, and the tin tops were resealed with by ultra-fine spot welding. The labels were then stuck back onto the tin, covering the cut. It wasn’t perfect, but the tins could not be distinguished from genuine ones by sight, weight or touch.
Philip Brown went on the script-purchasing mission. It soon became evident that the supply greatly outweighed the demand. Thus, it didn’t take him long to find a banal love story in which the girl and her current beau were being chased by her previous boyfriend. All it needed was for the couple to flee to the desert and continue the chase there. Philip couldn’t have cared less regarding what happened next in the script. To the greenhorn author’s astonishment, he was paid a thousand euros for the script. He also signed an affidavit transferring total ownership and copyright to the newly established film company: International Film Promoters—or IFP for short. This new company also had rented office space, phone and fax lines, business cards, letterheads, etc.—everything necessary for a bona fide outward appearance.
The team did not have the faintest notion of what equipment a film company worked with. Martin sent Spencer Partridge on a crash course on cinematography—mainly to familiarize himself with the professional jargon, and to get an idea of what gear was necessary and how to acquire it.
The trip to Tunisia was scheduled in just a couple of weeks, and the excitement was rising. George managed to buy the recommended aircraft, for IFP, with about as much trouble as he would have bought a car—of course, paying
the entire price up front, without haggling, helped expedite the transaction. He tested the plane by flying it to Berlin, from there to Athens, and then back to Paris, its home base.
Martin found a solution for camouflaging “Excalibur,” the irradiation machine, as an accessory of the jet, so as not to draw attention or suspicion. It was inserted into a container that normally would be used for the automatic developing of exposed film. The power to operate the machine would be provided directly from the jet’s electric system.
Martin finished a few extra tasks he had on his agenda: he assigned John to join George on long flights—just to be on the safe side. Martin also took special pains to plan the exact timing between the completion of placing the charges in the desert and the jet’s take-off from Tunis to Lagos. This meant that the aircraft should be on standby in Tunis a day or two earlier. Furthermore, Martin supervised the purchase of a satellite phone, with a large, chargeable battery—as they were preparing for a desert trek, this would not arouse suspicion.
George contacted his sister by phone.
“Hi, Patty, how are things?”
“Boring as ever, George. Your call is like a ray of sunshine on a bleak morning.”
“Well, maybe what I have to suggest to you will break that boredom. How would you like to star in a movie?”
“I’m listening,” Patricia said carefully, not wanting to sound too eager.
“There’s this old geezer with millions to burn. He’s even more bored than you are, and he’s decided to make a movie. He needs an actress for a short scene. If you apply for the part and get it, you’ll have a wonderful trip to Tunisia and get paid for it.”
“I won’t do nude scenes …”
“No, no,” George said hurriedly. “It’s not that kind of movie. Everything is in full costume.”
“All right—I’ll do it.”
TWENTY-SIX
Philip and Patricia boarded the ship in Marseilles with the jeep and all the rest of the movie and camping equipment. At the same time, Martin, Spencer, and Admiral Stone flew to Tunis on a regular commercial flight. They expected to meet the boat at the Tunis port two days later.
Meanwhile, they checked into a hotel and then went about being the perfect tourists. Tunis was a large and beautiful city, situated in a bay bearing the same name on the Mediterranean. If you included the suburbs, its population numbered around two million. They sauntered along Habib Bourguiba Avenue and Independence Square. They marveled at the sight of the nineteenth century Saint Vincent de Paul Cathedral, the magnificent seventeenth-century al-Zaytuna Mosque and the Bardo Museum.
The next day they rented an off-road vehicle—an ORV—and went to meet the ship at the Tunis port. The unloading was smooth and uneventful and a few hours later the reunited team was on its way south.
After an overnight stay at a very modest hostel in Gabes, the ORV with Martin, Spencer, and the admiral arrived at the designated test site, followed by the jeep with Philip, Patricia, and all their equipment. Though they had several hours of daylight left, they still had to stay there overnight to give credence to their cover story.
Patricia had not been told the real reasons behind the trip. Conversation in her vicinity was mainly about the film, Tunisia, and the weather. She found it strange that the film seemed so unimportant to the rest of the crew, but she didn’t ask any questions. She and Philip spent a day going over the part of the script in which she participated, with Philip as her co-star, while the others went in search—so they told her—of a suitable location for shooting.
Martin led “the others” to the site that he and the admiral had picked during their reconnaissance trip. There they diligently buried ten charges, two of each type of explosive, approximately fifty meters apart from each other.
The location and type of each charge was accurately marked on a low-scale map and their GPS coordinates recorded in a table on Martin’s laptop computer. Martin called George in Paris on the satellite phone and told him to be at the Tunis airport by tomorrow, arrange the details of his flight plan to Lagos with the authorities and be on standby starting at noon.
Then they set up camp to spend the night in the desert.
The morning hours were dedicated to the making of the movie. Spencer ran the camera and shouted “action” and “cut,” and Philip and Patricia acted through the scene they had prepared. It was easy to satisfy the director, and they soon wrapped it up.
Martin supervised the dismantling of the campsite and the loading of the vehicles. When all was ready, he called George.
“You’re in Tunis I assume,” Martin said.
“Yes,” George replied. “John and I are itching to get moving.”
“Flight plan and other arrangements ready?”
“All shipshape.”
“We’re just about to move out. In exactly four hours from now I want you take off and go through the routine we’ve practiced. No changes in coordinates. Say hello to John for me.”
“Right! We’re all tanked up and we’ll take off on time. Wish us all good luck!”
The two laden vehicles lumbered back north to Gabes. They arrived at their hotel tired and hungry. But, even after a hearty meal, the admiral had difficulty falling asleep. Had Excalibur operated properly? Had the charges gone off? How many of them? Would they need to repeat the experiment? Tossing and turning in his bed, he finally dozed off as dawn was breaking.
After breakfast they all said goodbye to Patricia, who took a train back to Tunis and from there flew to London.
The team staged a bogus commotion at the hotel. It seemed that one of their film canisters was missing. As it couldn’t be found at the hotel they needed to make the trip to the desert again, hoping it had survived the extreme weather conditions. No one at the hotel showed any signs of interest.
Back at the test site, they inspected every charge they had buried. All of them had detonated, except for the black gunpowder. The admiral was delighted, of course, as he saw yet another piece of the master plan jigsaw puzzle fall into place, and the gunpowder was the least important of all the explosives. Martin and his lads were also very pleased—they had been assigned a complicated task and had accomplished it successfully.
The return trip was routine. The men flew from Tunis to Paris, and from there to London. They took the exposed film canisters with them, because it seemed the natural thing to do. The jeep and equipment were shipped to Marseilles with instructions that they be forwarded to Paris by professional movers.
TWENTY-SEVEN
There was some deliberation regarding the location for the acoustic test. The British Isles was a bit “too close to home” for Martin and his team. If a remote place in France were chosen, any hullabaloo resulting from either success or failure of the test would probably cause less trouble.
Paganini, the food processor—not a common piece of luggage—would have to be smuggled into a hotel. They found a large suitcase and buried the appliance among shirts and other articles of clothing. As planned, Philip and Bernard were given this assignment.
They chose a small township, named Auxerre, a hundred and sixty kilometers south of Paris, as their target site. It had about forty thousand inhabitants and did not boast of any major tourist attraction outside its picturesque architecture. Martin would have preferred a smaller town, but the chances of finding one—with two or more hotels that also had the required telephone and television facilities and a nearby disco club—were rather slim.
Philip and Bernard entered their hotels separately—if anyone tried to connect them, all he would find would be the proximity in the time of their registration and that each had registered for one night. But so had dozens of other travelers and tourists—in these and in other hotels. Bernard’s hotel was adjacent to a nightclub which promised “dancing and girls every night.”
Philip took Paganini into his room. Bernard watched television in the lobby of his hotel with a few other patrons. Back in London, Martin and John were waiting for phone calls. Ph
ilip set Paganini’s timer to start at 11 p.m. and turn itself off two minutes later. People would be watching television all over the town and the nightclub would already have some customers dancing. He turned on his room TV to the news channel, and the portable FM radio he had brought with him was tuned to a dance program.
The news came on the television at exactly 11 p.m. The announcer reported on another Al Qaeda bombing in Iraq. Philip looked at Paganini anxiously—was there anything wrong with it?
Suddenly an earsplitting screech filled the room. The television screen still showed the commentator but his words were inaudible. Philip had to cover his ears as he rushed to the television set and turned it off. But the intolerable din continued. Philip remembered the radio and hastily turned it off, too. The room quieted—but from other rooms, and even outside, he heard the muted screech mingled by people yelling and cursing.
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