Eternity's Sunrise (A New Doc Palfrey Thriller)

by Richard Creasey

  A new set of paperwork would be drawn up to describe how Father had been stabilized, that he would soon be transferred from intensive care to this private ward and from here to his home.

  Elaborate plans were set in motion to make sure that this was believed

  And soon my life was no longer my own.

  Only a month, a week, an hour earlier I’d have blindly followed Father. Now I was just pretending. A look-alike for Father was lying in his hospital bed. I rushed out in tears, into the gardens of the Clinique des Grangettes, knowing that Benadir was following me.

  I don’t know what kicks in, but in the days between death and the funeral a new strength overwhelms you.

  That is what happened when Mum died.

  The tears, the emptiness caused an infinitely expanding vacuum that fills every waking minute is postponed because there are so many decisions to take, so much to arrange, so much to take your mind off the horror of permanent departure.

  And so I calmed down and left Clinique des Grangettes for Father’s home. Benadir driving, me in the passenger seat, Doc in the back.

  The front door of Dad’s house was open. Inside I could see a crowd of people who Doc acknowledged with a wave.

  “What’s going on? Who are they?” Eyes blazing I turned on Benadir for the first time.

  “They’re ours.” And gently she put her hand on my arm and I allowed Doc to help me out.

  “Yours?”

  Z5 men and women discreetly acknowledged Benadir and Doc.

  A temporary ‘Fish Tank’ was already being installed in Father’s old study.

  “Let’s get a drink.” Doc moved into the main room, which was across the hall from the madhouse that Father’s study had become.

  “You’re a strong person.” I got the impression Doc meant it.

  He poured me a generous glass of Father’s Cragganmore and opened a can of lager for himself. Benadir shook her head to both and allowed me to start our discussion.

  “What is this charade about?”

  “Your father’s dead and we’re very sorry. But we can’t let him stay dead.”

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  “That would have shut down our options. This way we have time to think. We can work out what we do next.”

  I shook my head. “So what do we do next?”

  “I don’t know about Benadir, but I’m hoping you’ll escort me to Dubai.”

  “Escort you”

  “I’ll be pretending to be your father, of course.”

  “You? You’re crazy. You’ll never get away with it”.

  “He’s just thinking out loud.” Benadir couldn’t hide her surprise.

  The wall screen came alive and Max’s voice grabbed my attention.

  “Max?” A tingle of excitement leapt up my spine, moved through my neck and flushed my cheeks.

  “Why don’t we let Lucille and Max get reacquainted while you and I discuss your blossoming acting career?” Benadir gave Doc a weary look before taking me into Father’s transformed study, through the opaque rocket-proof, glass cage where the giant screen dominated the room.

  On the screen - a close up of Max.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Sofia opened the elegant oak front door of her mother’s Milan house, took a deep breath, exhaled her day’s work and closed the door with a swing of her hip. An expectant smile froze on her face as she waited.

  Seconds later two stampeding pairs of identical feet clattered down the grand, central staircase and launched her twins Gemma and Alda straight into their mother’s open arms with loud, cackling laughs of joy. They were both wearing green Halloween masks.

  It had become a ‘Mum’s back’ ritual enjoyed as much by Sofia and the twins as it was by Granny and Nanny.

  “Hi Gemma, hi Alda,” she cooed into each of their ears.

  Alda pushed herself back from Sofia. “How did you know it was me?”

  Sofia put her arms around each twin: Gemma on her left, Alda on the right, and walked with them across the hall to the stairs. “Well, you sound like Gemma and Alda.”

  “I haven’t said anything yet.” Gemma joined in.

  “You feel like Gemma and Alda. But you certainly don’t look like Gemma and Alda.” She let them go, stood back and peered at them. The twins were in full, witches’ fancy dress. “Are you Gemma and Alda?”

  As if they were one, both twins tore off their masks, happy that their disguises had worked. “Yeeaahhh!” They giggled happily, charged back into Sofia’s outstretched arms and started the gentle climb to the half landing where, as always, Gemma tugged Mum left while Alda was determined to go right, up the divided stair case to the next, spacious living-room floor.

  Sofia led them left.

  “Ohh!” Alda’s predictable groan took into account they’d gone right last time. Sofia always alternated.

  “Can we play hide and seek? Please.” Alda pleaded.

  “Yes.” Sofia’s reply delighted them both. Gemma realized that Mum hadn’t even looked at the clock, which she nearly always did this close to the witching hour.

  But Sofia knew she had time before talking with Marion. Time to play with the twins and eat pasta with Granny.

  *

  Marion’s view was that Doc going to Dubai, pretending to be Schobinger was utter madness. Sofia tended to agree with her, but Doc had convinced Benadir that it was at least worth considering, and Benadir had convinced Sofia to try to talk Marion round.

  So Marion had reluctantly agreed to a secure audio call at nine o’clock.

  It was nine now. Sofia’s iPhone came to life. Marion plunged straight in.

  “They have gone too far. I am not having it.”

  “Marion. I agree. There is no way, however good his disguise, Doc can expect to fool Jean-Pierre Durand or any of the trustees in Dubai.”

  “So why is Tom fooling around with this nonsense?”

  “He says that if Durand and the trustees are sure Schobinger is dead, the emergency AGM in Dubai is likely to be called off.”

  “Why? They’d need a new Chair, which would be even more reason to have the emergency meeting.”

  “With Schobinger dead, Durand is de facto CEO and Chair. If I was him, the last thing I’d want is a meeting to select a new one.”

  “It’s not up to Durand, that’s a board decision.”

  “But if Durand doesn’t attend the board then, at worst, he’ll ignore its decisions and at best he’ll buy himself time. If we’re right in concluding his endgame’s near, that’s important.”

  “And if Durand concludes Schobinger is alive, you think he will attend the board?”

  “The argument is that it’s most unlikely Durand believes that Lucille’s father is still alive, but if we say he is and Durand can’t prove otherwise, he’ll have to go to Dubai to find out.”

  Marion stayed silent. Sofia contined.

  “In order to ensure Durand does go there, Tom will have to maintain the pretence that Schobinger is alive right up until the last minute. A good disguise and false passport might fool airline security and persuade immigration to let him into Dubai.”

  Marion couldn’t disagree, Z5 agents regularly travelled on false passports.

  “The chauffeurs will presume Doc is Schobinger. The hotel staff, and informants should also be taken in. That’ll unsettle things sufficiently.”

  “And what happens when Doc attends the board as Schobinger?” Both Sofia and Marion knew the answer as soon as Marion’s words were out.

  Doc, like so many Z5 agents before him including Sofia’s late husband Jack, was deliberately walking right into the enemy’s den.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Daily Telegraph

  http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/politics/lawandorder/6023428/Graff-jewel-heist-40m-robbers-wore-disguises.html

  Two robbers who pulled off Britain’s biggest jewellery heist, stealing £40m from Graff in London’s Mayfair, hired a make-up arti
st to give them latex disguises, police believe.

  The pair of smartly dressed men walked into the jewellers wearing suits seemingly making no attempt to protect their identity from CCTV cameras.

  But yesterday it emerged that they had hired a professional artist to disguise their faces using liquid latex just hours before they carried out the £40 million raid.

  An unsuspecting 29-year-old artist, who notified police and has now been placed in a safe house, altered their hair colour and skin tone in a four-hour session, for which he charged a £450 fee.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Get the fuck off!” Joy shrieked as she was wrenched from a nightmare into reality and on to her feet by a wretched guard. Her head cracked against the low ceiling.

  “You’re wanted!” growled a foul-smelling voice through clenched, decaying teeth.

  “What the hell?” snarled the guard as his bloodshot eyes took in two bats; Jack and Jill flapped out of reach of his sweeping hand.

  “Bring her here! Now!” commanded a giant of a man who saw Jack and Jill made good their escape.

  As Max gently lifted Joy from hell, an overwhelming tiredness stole over her and she quickly dropped into an oblivious sleep. A deep and dreamless sleep that just minutes before she had been convinced she’d never ever experience again.

  Max bribed his way out of the mine’s holding zone, just as he had the way in, before striding out into a fearful whiteout.

  His tracks swept clean by a forty mile an hour wind, Max, carried Joy unnoticed down the hidden spiral staircase where, just a few days earlier, Joy had first met Max and Lucille.

  Max’s infinite care and her deep sleep ensured Joy’s complete recovery.

  *

  The late winter storm took three days to pass. At dawn on the fourth day after her rescue Joy, dressed for the cold, struggled into a calm, cloudless morning and shuffled towards the hidden snowmobile. Her nerves were shattered by the terrible experience of the recent past, her mind wracked with the terror of what would happen if Durand caught up with her again. But as they raced away from the tortuous mines the purity of the blue sky and the crisp white snow swept away her fears.

  Thirty minutes later the smoke from the tin stack of the chief of the reindeer village appeared on the horizon, rising straight into the windless sky.

  Sasha was working on the UralAZ truck as they arrived, a never-ending job as the engine ticked over twenty-four hours a day to keep the freezing temperatures at bay.

  A brief introduction: “Sasha, Joy, Joy Sasha,”

  Max then suggested Sasha made breakfast and Joy cleaned up while he caught up with Z5 business.

  Sasha watched Max climb into the back of the container to make contact with the outside world, and motioned Joy towards the dome tent.

  He’d be there in a trice.

  Joy peeled off several layers, stood in front of the mirror and shook out her hair. Snow was on the boil creating a gentle fug that slowly warmed her chilled body

  She saw the expression on Sasha’s face as he caught sight of her on entering the tent.

  “Breakfast?”

  They ate in silence, as their bodies thawed. But the spell was broken by Max as he entered the dome tent, and hurriedly ate his waiting oatmeal and piping hot coffee.

  “How’s Lucille?” ventured Joy.

  A smile swept across Max’s face.

  Joy’s blood warmed at the response and Sasha’s heart leapt as he realised he had no competitor for Joy.

  Max sipped his coffee in silence.

  “You can trust me, you know,” ventured Joy, when Max had finished and Sasha had left the fuggy tent with the cups and plates to clean up in the snow.

  “Let’s check out how well Jack and Jill have done.”

  “Jack and Jill?”

  “The bats that found you.”

  Max slipped on his reindeer coat and watched Joy struggle into her white ski suit, designed to look good on sun-filled Alpine slopes not stand up to a long winter’s worth of wear and tear in Siberia’s deepfreeze.

  He stepped out of the tent and called over to Sasha.

  “Ask the chief if he has a fur coat for Joy. And put up a third tent.”

  “No need for the tent,” Joy said. “I’ll bed down with Sasha.” She exchanged a glance with him. “But I would like the coat.”

  Sasha was speechless as he watched Joy and Max climb up into the out-of-bounds container.

  The cockpit was designed for just one but Sofia had built in a folding stool just behind the ‘pilot’s’ seat. Joy perched behind Max. The glass screen flickered on as he clicked the master switch.

  “Hi Joy.” Sofia’s face filled the giant glass screen and shone into the darkened room. “You’re looking a bit better than when I last saw you. And how are you Max? More importantly, how are Jack and Jill?”

  “Still in the holding zone where they found Joy. They like it there.”

  “Let’s have a look at how they got there.”

  A detailed map of the vast gulag mine replaced Sofia on the screen. In the middle of which was the sulphur lake, the holding zones that Joy had survived and a network of tunnels that ran north towards the Chukchi Sea.

  Many areas of the map were excellently contoured. The gaps had been filled in by computer graphics. Heights were marked in some areas but again gaps were evident. There was no logic to which areas had been accurately mapped and which had been ignored.

  “Where did you get that from?” asked Joy.

  “Mapped by bats. Another Z5 first.”

  “Jack and Jill?” Joy was astonished.

  “And their forty-eight companions.”

  “So that’s why so much is missing?”

  Max raised his eyebrows and Sofia’s face leapt into the top right hand corner of the giant screen.

  Joy pointed to the holding zone that was north of the mine and the network of tunnels that were north of the holding zone. “Everything north of here,” she pointed to the centre bottom of the screen, which was patchily mapped, “follows the course of an underground river, which like the Kolyma flows out into the Chukchi Sea. The holding zone, as you politely put it, I call it ‘fuckhole’, is fed by submarines that dock here.” Joy pointed to the northeast.

  “Submarines.” Sofia’s dawning understanding came quietly, just on top of her breath. “Of course”

  “Former Soviet nuclear submarines.” Max nodded as another jigsaw piece slotted into place. “And what are the missing elements?”

  “Bats don’t mix well with healthy human beings, so there’s nothing on what’s going on.”

  “And what is going on?”

  Joy paused. “I don’t know.”

  “You must have seen something.” Sofia sounded exasperated.

  “Hey, I’m just Madam Joy. I was brought in to run the brothel.”

  Sofia tried again. “What about pillow talk?”

  “With them? Look it’s a uranium mine, so I presume they’re flirting with radiation. I haven’t seen or heard anything about what they’re making.” Joy was becoming tetchy.

  “Rockets? Bombs? Grenades?” Max ventured.

  “None of that. Either in the mine or in the ‘fuckhole’. If they were, they’d be shipping stuff out in the submarines.”

  “And they don’t?” But Sofia already knew the answer.

  “No.”

  “What happens south of the mine?” Max knew it was time to think laterally.

  “Whatever it is, Jack and Jill aren’t likely to find it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s closed, secret, clamped. Nothing can get through the wall.”

  “Why are you so sure Jack and Jill won’t get through?”

  “Because some rats did and Jean-Pierre, I mean Durand, stopped work and had every miner seal off the area. Mind you I’ve seen some rats since.”

  “Why did Durand seal it off?”

  “Max, everything I say is guesswork. I’ve got no idea what they’re making. I ju
st presume whatever it is goes south. I’ve no idea if bats can or can’t get there. You guys are the experts. I’m working from the odd phrase from Durand when he was off guard.”

  Max summed up. “Submarines are shipping in the slaves, via the Chukchi Sea. It appears to be a one-way system, we have no idea what’s produced or from where it’s exported. Our priority here is to find out what happens south of the sulphur lake,” he concluded. “All help gratefully received.”

  “I’m working on something.” Sofia always was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sitting uncomfortably beside Doc, masquerading as Father on Swiss Air’s A-340 Airbus, I felt pretty down. Rephrase that, I felt totally depressed. I might have felt differently had Benadir been with us but Doc wanted Durand to believe I was travelling with Father, with no connection to Z5.

  As the plane lifted through the clouds I was also scared about Doc being found out. Of course they’d see through the disguise. Anyone could. Surely?

  No one had at Zurich airport, just half an hour earlier, but it had been maddeningly difficult. The liquid latex was good, I had to admit, but Doc has a slight limp which he can’t always hide. Doc and I walked arm in arm to disguise his minor infirmity.

  What the hell was I doing? Father wasn’t yet buried and here was I on my way to Dubai in first-class luxury, hating it.

  Doc, I could feel, knew exactly how I felt and gently let me be.

  Three hours later, the Silver Cloud Rolls Royce whispered us along Dubai’s Jurmeirah Beach Road, in through the gatehouse of the seven-star Burg Al Arab Hotel, up its palm tree drive to where the spinnaker-like architecture invites its guests into a world of make-believe.

  As I stepped into the hotel I gazed upwards to take in the overwhelming 600 feet high atrium that spires up from the lobby.

  Doc murmured our suite was at the top. “Guests who are keen not to be seen, arrive by helicopter, there are helipads on the upper floors,” he added.

  Doc and I, still arm in arm, walked slowly towards the elevators.