Philip and Bernard had completed their jobs, and stood aside. George sat by the console on the bridge. Spencer was at the crane’s controls. All eyes were directed at the admiral. A little to his left, they could see Patricia and Olaf looking on excitedly.
“Lower the plane into the water!” Admiral Stone’s command was loud and clear.
Spencer smoothly maneuvered the crane so that the UAV swung slowly off the starboard bow. Then it was let down delicately until it touched the water’s surface, where it rocked gently with the wavelets lapping around the floats.
“Detach the crane! Switch motor on! Taxi alongside the yacht!” The admiral barked the commands, and the team reacted immediately—each doing his part. Everything functioned like clockwork.
This was the moment they had all made the long trip for. They watched the light aircraft sailing alongside the yacht, bobbing and dipping in the ship’s wake. They expected the admiral to give the command at any moment. They could see him consulting his watch.
Timing was the most important factor, and the admiral had it all figured down to the second. The UAV had to arrive and activate Excalibur above the first military base in full coordination with the commencement of the festivities in the capital—that is, about five minutes after commencement. There should be no information of explosions prior to the leader’s speech, which was when the other prepared “surprises” were supposed to be activated. Later, yes—but not before! The UAV would then arc southward over the other two bases, with the hope of leaving a trail of exploding ammunition depots. The bases were too far for the explosions to be observed or heard on the yacht, but if the video-cams on board the UAV functioned as planned, they should be getting good imagery of what was happening.
“George,” the admiral said. “You know what to do.” Another glance at the watch. Then: “Do it now!”
George swiped his finger on the “throttle” on the monitor, and the UAV picked up speed. The onlookers held their breath. Water sprayed to the sides of the floats. George pulled the joystick and the aircraft took off.
Anne and Martin decided to visit Bernard Webb’s apartment after lunch. It would look like an innocent visit—after all, Martin was Bernard’s boss. Martin had broken into homes as part of his commando training, and though he was a bit rusty, he brought along the relevant gear—gloves, lock picks, a large ring of keys, etc. Entering would be swift and noiseless, he could always claim that Bernard had given him the key.
As it turned out, nobody noticed them entering the apartment. They put on surgical gloves, just to make sure they left no fingerprints in case they touched anything. Besides the small entrance hallway, there were two rooms—a large living room, which had a tiny kitchenette against one wall, and a smaller bedroom. All the rooms were spotless and tidy. Martin drew the curtains on the windows.
“Let’s begin with the bedroom,” Martin whispered.
Martin opened the clothes closet, while Anne examined the drawers of the dresser. Martin began going through the pockets of the three sports jackets he found.
“Martin!” Anne hissed suddenly. “Come and take a look at this!”
Anne had pulled out the third drawer halfway out of the dresser. She had piled the undershirts she had found to one side. On the bottom of the drawer were a little, flat wooden box and two small plastic bags. The bags contained what looked like gold coins with Arabic inscriptions.
Martin removed a coin and examined it closely.
“What do you make of it?” Anne asked.
“Looting museums,” Martin said, “was commonplace when we were there. Sometimes we were given circulars with pictures of stolen items. I remember that on one occasion gold coins were stolen—a valuable set from the Umayyad Caliphate.”
“Are you saying that Bernard looted a museum?” Anne asked horrified.
“Hardly,” Martin said grimly. “He probably took it off the body of a looter. This coin would be recognized as plunder by any numismatist. That is why it’s still here—Bernard must have found buyers for all his other stuff, but not for these few here. Or he may have a sentimental attachment to them. Who knows?”
He examined the other coins. They were all different, but all obviously of Middle Eastern origin.
“The pillaging bastard!” Martin hissed under his breath.
He heard a loud gasp. Anne had opened the wooden box. In it lay a golden amulet in the shape of a two-thumbed hand attached to a delicate chain. Anne clutched at Martin’s sleeve.
“That’s the one Tanya wore the last time I saw her,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m sure of it.”
Martin knelt down and picked it up carefully. It was speckled with dried bloodstains.
“You despicable sonofabitch, Bernard!” he muttered. “Lucien told us the truth. I have no doubt that forensic examinations will verify that those bloodstains are Tanya’s. The brute didn’t even clean up after murdering her.” He looked up at Anne. “I’m sorry, Anne. I know how much you loved her.”
He stood up and held her as she trembled uncontrollably. He led her to a chair, and then fetched her a glass of water from the sink. She took a sip.
“I’m all right now,” Anne said getting up determinedly. “Let’s see what that piece of excrement has in the bottom drawer.”
They found a brown envelope encircled with a rubber band. Inside were a few hundred pounds in bank notes.
“I think we have more than enough incriminating evidence,” Martin said. “Let’s go.”
“In a minute, Martin,” Anne said. “We might as well complete our search. Take a look in the toilet, while I check,” she stooped by the bed, “under the … Martin!”
Anne had not intended to shout, but that’s what came out.
“Shh, Anne,” Martin said. “Take it easy. You don’t want the neighbors coming down on us, do you?”
She pointed dumbly under the bed. Martin laid himself on the floor and let out a whistle. He reached in and dragged out a large blue traveling bag with two red carrying handles. He threw the bag onto the bed, and then brushed himself off.
“My bag!” Anne said softly with her hand over her mouth. She opened the zipper slightly, and then added, “Empty, of course.”
She looked at Martin. His face was dark, his brow furrowed deeply, and the muscles of his jaw twitched. His hands clenched and unclenched, and his breathing was ragged. She had never seen him so furious.
“So Bernard was not only a murderer,” Martin rasped, “but also a blackmailer who got half a million euro out of the association. By law, I expect he should be locked away for life. But according to the association’s rules, he shall be executed.” And I hope, he added to himself, that I’ll be the one to do it!
Anne shut her eyes.
“What now?” she asked.
“We get out of here,” Martin said, “and meet with Sir Cedric.”
“Don’t you think we should wait for the admiral to return, and get his opinion as well?”
“No. It will be too late then. We have to prepare ourselves to nab that murdering ghoul the minute he arrives. He should not be afforded the slightest chance of escape.”
The events that occurred during North Korea’s birthday celebrations for its Great Leader made headlines the world over. Never before in human history had such a humiliating debacle ever befallen a nation. The printed press carried the item in giant fonts on their first page, with pictures and first-hand reports of the colossal fiasco by on-the-spot journalists. Billions of people worldwide witnessed the first few disastrous minutes on television, after which communications were abruptly cut off.
A concise description of what happened could be encapsulated as follows: the Great Leader ascended the podium with half a million of his subjects cheering from the huge square and the adjacent streets. Sixty blocks of infantry, four-hundred soldiers to a block, marched in perfect formation toward the grandstand. Behind them, a column one kilometer long of giant trucks towing intercontinental ballistic missiles, followed by more co
nventional armor and artillery units. At the crucial moment, when the Great Leader lifted his hand for silence and began his speech, that was when all the loudspeakers of all the amplification systems emitted an ear-piercing, nerve-shattering screech!
As the saying goes, all hell broke loose! The multitudes covered their ears and ran—the direction didn’t matter, just as long they thought they were distancing themselves from the intolerable noise.
The geometrically accurate infantry blocks suddenly disintegrated into a jumble of apathetic soldiers who wandered aimlessly about, some sitting down, others hanging on to each other, a few vomiting by the roadside.
The column of trucks halted. Their drivers exited their cabins and, almost simultaneously, all the bonnets of the vehicles were raised.
The Great Leader, his hands over his ears, his eyes bulging in astonishment and horror, was obviously attempting to make himself heard—his face, now purple with fury, was contorted into a mask of lividity, and flecks of spittle flew from his mouth—but there was no one there to listen. Two generals, their faces twisted in pain from the continuous shriek from the public address systems, took him by the arms and escorted him off the podium.
Rumors flew that explosions had been heard from outside Pyongyang.
It grew worse. The crowd panicked. People were trampled by the stampeding hordes, and shots were fired by the helpless police, mainly in self-defense. The wooden reviewing stands erected for the public were smashed to pieces, shop windows were shattered and looted, and the dead and injured lay in their hundreds, strewn where they fell.
Pandemonium reigned in Pyongyang.
“Just wait until you hear what we found out,” Anne said breathlessly when a beaming Sir Cedric admitted her and Martin into his house.
“I believe it can wait a couple of minutes.” Sir Cedric pointed to his work desk, which was covered with every national newspaper in England. An ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne stood by the desk. Sir Cedric still had on the silly grin he wore when greeting them.
Martin and Anne each snatched up a newspaper, read the headlines with popping eyes, then picked up another paper. They looked at each other with wild joy, and then went into an ecstatic embrace. Anne let go of Martin, jumped into Sir Cedric’s arms and kissed him on both cheeks. Martin playfully pulled her out of her clinch with Sir Cedric, and exchanged a heartfelt hug with him.
Sir Cedric, still grinning, poured out three glasses of champagne.
“To us,” he said, lifting his glass. Anne and Martin repeated the toast, and took sips of their drinks.
“Are they all safe?” was Anne’s first question.
“I believe they are,” Sir Cedric said. “Admiral Stone called on the satellite phone a few minutes ago. They’re moored in one of the tiny South Korean fishing ports, and they’ll set off on the way back in a couple of days, when all the brouhaha has died down. Of course, no details of the operation were mentioned. Now, what was the important news you wanted to tell me?”
Anne looked at Martin. The mood sobered instantly. Sir Cedric looked quizzically at them both.
“Come on,” he said impatiently. “Out with it. Apparently you discovered something in Bernard Webb’s apartment.”
“We have,” Martin said. He gave Sir Cedric all the sordid details.
“That clinches it,” Sir Cedric said. “We’re dealing with an unscrupulous psychopath. But he’s smart—if he gets the slightest inkling of what we know about him, I have no doubt he will expose us in a flash. After today’s operation, we are no longer a bunch of harmless intellectuals. They’ll find us guilty of several crimes, and we’ll all probably end up in jail.”
“We’ve considered executing Bernard,” Anne said, “which, in principle, I support. However, that would leave poor Lucien defenseless. Sooner or later, the French police are going to get to him, and they’ll never believe his story. He’ll be tried, convicted and sentenced for Tanya’s murder.”
“Unfortunately, Anne,” Sir Cedric said, “there’s no way we can testify on his behalf. Only that son-of-an-unwashed-bitch could do that. Which, of course, he won’t!”
“Because I’ll kill him first,” Martin muttered.
Sir Cedric ignored him.
“We need to think this out very carefully,” he said. “This could turn out to be quite a dilemma.”
Martin looked out of the window.
“To think that I called that monster my friend,” he said aloud, but obviously addressing only himself. “We were together for twenty years—fighting together, living together, working together. It’ll be a blow for the others as well. How could we all be so blind?”
Anne went up to him and put her arm around his waist.
“Don’t blame yourself, darling,” she murmured in Martin’s ear. “Bernard probably has years of practice in fooling other people.”
“I remember once in Iraq,” Martin continued his musings, “I stopped him from taking something off a dead Iraqi soldier. I intended him to stand court martial. A few minutes later, he saved my life from an assassin, and I withdrew my intentions. I suppose that incident desensitized me to his faults. What a rude awakening!”
Anne brought Martin back to the desk.
“Let’s sit down,” she suggested. “I think the only choice we have is to make a deal with Bernard.”
“A deal?” Sir Cedric flared up. “With that cad? Never!”
“What kind of deal did you have in mind, Anne?” Martin asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Anne said. “Let’s think this out. If I were to meet him face to face, I’d probably say something like, umm, ‘we know you’re a criminal, we’ve got you now, we’re about to execute you, but we’ll give you one last chance to stay alive if you’ll clear Lucien with the French police.’ I don’t know, something along those lines. And Bernard would wind up in prison, but alive.”
“Where he would probably reveal all our secrets,” Martin said with some anger. “He’d have nothing to lose.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Anne said. “So what do we do?”
Martin stood up, and began pacing the room.
“I’m going to suggest something you probably won’t like,” he said. “But it could possibly be our only way out.”
Anne and Sir Cedric waited attentively. Martin stopped pacing and faced them.
“We can extend no moral behavior or decency to a monster like Bernard,” he said calmly. “He deserves to die, and it is up to us to see that he does. Soon. His apartment contains enough evidence to not only connect him with the Tanya Gerard murder case, but also to positively incriminate him as the murderer.”
“But how the devil will Scotland Yard know about this evidence,” Sir Cedric blustered. “Worse—even if they find it, how will they connect it to a homicide that occurred outside the UK?”
“Very good, Sir Cedric,” Martin smiled grimly. “I had asked myself the same questions. The answer is an anonymous letter to Scotland Yard. It will say that the body they just found is of the murderer of Tanya Gerard in Paris. That’s all. The identification of the body will be definite because he’ll be carrying all his identifying papers. They’ll get to his apartment, find the pendant with the bloodstains, contact the Paris prefecture, match the blood type with Tanya’s, match the body’s fingerprints with those on the razor—and Lucien is free, without even having to tell a story!”
“The plan has some merit,” Sir Cedric said. “You realize, of course, that the investigation will eventually arrive at Webb’s place of employment. Meaning that you and your lads will be questioned.”
“Correct,” Martin said. “We’ll need to brief the men beforehand, and have their stories more or less correlate. Just generalities—something like: they met Bernard in the army, and he worked with them. Yes, he was absent more frequently than the rest of them. Apart from that, there was nothing special about him. Everyone leads his own life, and there wasn’t much mingling. Certainly no mention of a recent yacht voyage!”
&
nbsp; “And then we’ll inform Lucien that he’s no longer—” Anne began.
“Certainly not!” Martin snapped, though not unkindly. “Lucien is not to be contacted by us again. He’ll read the papers and put two and two together. He might look you up, Anne, as he knows who you are, but I think that’s unlikely. If he does, congratulate him and deny any involvement whatsoever. Pure coincidence with a ‘crazy Tony who loves to shoot off his mouth.’”
Anne nodded.
“Martin,” she said, “I’ll leave you to work out the method and the … execution of Bernard Webb. I really don’t want to know.”
“Leave it to me,” Martin said. His voice indicated that this particular assignment would be carried out flawlessly.
Sir Cedric brought a bottle of whisky and three shot glasses to the desk.
“A bit more appropriate than champagne, I dare say,” he said. “I think we could all use a slug of this stuff.”
They drank in silence. All of them felt uneasy about the whole business of condemning to death someone they knew.
“Listen, my friends,” Sir Cedric said finally. “We have just completed a colossal international coup successfully. True, many people lost their lives in the square and in the military bases. But we should not feel guilty about this—we knew this would happen, and concurred with it. Our association’s laws have considered the price of human life, and have come to conclusions we have all adopted. This also includes eliminations such as Professor Allier and Bernard Webb. We cannot afford to be merciful softies—those are exactly the characteristics we accuse the democracies of having!”
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