by Andre Baby
“Out of curiosity, who the hell are you?”
“None of your bloody business.”
“What do you want? Or does it matter?”
“I’ll make a deal with you, Dulac.” The man took out the envelope holding the USB stick from his pocket and waved it at Dulac. “Tell me who else knows about these transcripts and we’ll do you a favor. No pain. One bullet, with your own gun. Isn’t that considerate of us?”
“Fuck you.”
The man whacked Dulac with the pistol again. Dulac could feel the blood dripping from his nose.
“Suit yourself. You see Dulac, you’re going to give us the information sooner or later. My friend here can be very persuasive. Then you are going to commit suicide.” The man waived the pistol in Dulac’s face.
“Just like Bolding did,” said Dulac.
“He didn’t cooperate either. Now you’re going to tell us who knows about the transcripts.”
“You mean apart from the NSA, the CIA and by now, Scotland Yard?”
“Do not make fun of us, Dulac. In Pakistan, we have ways of making people talk which are infallible. Believe me, Mr. Dulac, you’ll be begging for that bullet, I guarantee you.”
He nodded to the bearded man, who leaned over the workbench and grabbed a pair of wire cutters.
“Crude but very effective,” said the gunman.
Suddenly the hangar door swung open. “Drop your gun, Mehta. You’re surrounded.”
Dulac recognized Wade’s voice and looked towards the door. He caught sight of Wade and another policeman as they separated and went for cover. The gunman turned and fired, then ran behind one of the stack of crates. The bearded man did the same. The policemen fired back, taking cover behind two large crates. Dulac heard the pinging of bullets bouncing off the steel pillar next to him. He swung his weight sideways and the chair tipped over. He was out of the line of fire. For now. Bullets flew as the gunman and his accomplice slowly backed their way towards a metal staircase at the side of the hangar.
Wade and his fellow officer worked their way closer to Dulac, alternating hiding behind crates, then firing.
“Are you all right?” shouted Wade.
“I’m okay!” Dulac tried to inch his way towards the open wire cutters that the bearded man had dropped. He couldn’t get close enough.
“Mehta, give up,” shouted Wade. “You don’t stand a chance.”
The bearded man leaned out and fired at Wade, then ducked back behind the crates. The policeman fired back at the crates. A scream, then the bearded man teetered out from behind the crates and collapsed forward.
“Cover me,” Wade shouted to his backup.
The policeman fired in the direction of the other gunman while Wade crept his way next to Dulac. He freed Dulac’s bound wrists.
“Thanks,” said Dulac. “Give me a gun.”
Wade didn’t answer. He shouted at Mehta again. “Your friend is dead, Mehta. Last chance.”
Mehta fired back from the base of the staircase. “Why don’t you go after the real criminals Wade, or have they bought you also?” he shouted.
“Bugger you. We know about your extortion racket on Hays and the other ministers,” said Wade.
“That money they’re funneling offshore through Miramar is our money, Wade! The taxpayer’s money. Yours and mine.”
“Last chance, Mehta, or—”
“Come and get me, Wade.”
Dulac looked up. The staircase led to a long metal passageway, which spanned the entire width of the hangar.
“I need a gun,” Dulac repeated.
“I don’t have—”
In a flash, Dulac was up and running to where the bearded man had fallen.
“Hey!” shouted Wade.
Shots erupted and Dulac hit the dirt, next to the bearded man’s immobile body. Wade fired at into the crates, covering Dulac, who grabbed the dead man’s gun and aimed at Mehta, who was starting up the staircase.
Dulac pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Damn. He fumbled in the dead man’s pockets, found another clip and reloaded. Mehta reached the top of the staircase and ran along the passageway, towards an open skylight at the far end. Dulac steadied his hands, aimed, giving himself a lead on Mehta. He gently squeezed the trigger. The man fell forward onto the passageway, his gun falling on the metal grating. Dulac waited, but the man didn’t move. After a moment Dulac went to the bottom of the staircase, then climbed carefully up the staircase and along the passageway. Mehta lay on his side, breathing with effort. When he saw Dulac, he tried to speak. Dulac leaned over, felt in the man’s pockets, took out the envelope with the USB stick and shoved it in his jacket pocket. Mehta, his eyes half glazed over and moist, tried to speak, but the words didn’t come out. Blood poured from his mouth. Dulac leaned close to his face.
“You ha— you have the wrong man,” whispered Mehta.
“Like hell I do,” said Dulac.
“It’s—”
“Who?”
“It’s—”
Mehta exhaled slightly and lay still.
* * *
“Are you okay?” Wade and the other officer joined Dulac in the passageway.
“Fine.” Dulac looked at Mehta’s inert body. “Who are these guys?”
“He’s Zabin Mehta,” said Wade. “Officially MI-6 counter-espionage section. The other one I don’t know.” He picked up Mehta’s gun from the grating, then searched through the man’s pockets. “Mehta’s a mole we’ve been tracking for two months. He works in the cryptology section. He’s the missing link in the hijacking.”
“He must be the guy using Hay’s unregistered phone.”
His face expressionless, Wade looked at Dulac.
“That’s what I was calling you about,” said Dulac. “Someone else involved in the hijacking was using Hays’s phone.”
“He didn’t have to. He’s been developing a new algorithm at MI-6 labs. Ever heard of cyber-transposition?”
“No.”
“With this algorithm, a person can attribute telephone conversations to any other telephone he or she wants, so to someone listening and tracing the call, it appears to have been made by that other telephone. Latest weapon in misinformation techniques of MI-6. Very sophisticated stuff.” Wade shot a side glance at Dulac. “So you have Hay’s transcripts?”
“By the way, how did you know where to find me?” said Dulac.
“When you didn’t show up at the hotel bar, we checked your hotel room and you and the transcripts weren’t there. We put two and two together and figured Mehta might have gotten hold of you. We activated a GPS emitter we’d planted in his car and that led us to the hangar.”
Something Wade said bothered Dulac, but he couldn’t put it in focus. His head ached terribly.
“So you knew they were coming after me?”
“We weren’t absolutely sure.”
“Great. Just pissing great. And all the while I thought I was playing you.”
“I know,” said Wade, a sly grin hanging from his ruddy cheeks.
“So why didn’t you pick Mehta up earlier?”
“We had to catch him committing a crime.”
“Like killing me.”
“Let’s go.” Wade motioned to his fellow officer.
“Aren’t you calling the morgue?” said Dulac.
“Plenty of time for that.” Wade looked at the bodies. “They’re not going anywhere.”
“Guess not.”
They walked out of the hangar and towards the black car parked diagonally across the entrance to the hangar.
“So where are the rest of your men?” said Dulac.
“Actually we were bluffing a little. We had to keep this low key.”
They got in the car, Wade’s fellow officer in the driver’s seat and Wade sitting next to him. Dulac sat in the rear.
The car pulled away along the docks, slowly gathering speed.
“I thought the Yard was north of here,” said Dulac.
“Too much traffi
c. This way is faster,” said the driver.
The road seemed to narrow. Dulac felt dizzy. His nose and skull were hurting. To add to his misery, that issue about what Wade said kept coming back, not quite in focus.
Then it hit him. Wade had said that when he saw the empty hotel room, they’d searched for Hays’s transcripts. Dulac was sure he hadn’t mentioned the transcripts. Jesus. Wade knew about them already.
Dulac looked outside to the right. The Thames was a shimmering glow of silver, a few barges cleaving ever-widening wakes in their paths. Dulac put his hand discreetly to the inside of his jacket. The envelope was still there, next to the gun he’d taken from the bearded man.
“So how does Hays fit into this?” asked Dulac. “Was he in on the hijack?”
“Negative.” Wade kept looking straight ahead.
Dulac felt perspiration trickle down his armpits and his pulse quicken. “That’s not what I heard on the USB stick.”
Wade turned towards Dulac. “So you took the transcripts from Mehta?”
“Funny isn’t it?”
“What’s funny?”
“I don’t recall mentioning the transcripts were about Hays, or the other ministers, or anybody else. As a matter of fact, I didn’t mention the transcripts at all.”
“Well, I… I think you must have.” Wade turned to Dulac. “In any case, they’ll be safer with me.”
“I don’t think so.”
In one swift movement, Wade drew his gun and pointed it at Dulac’s face. “I insist.”
Dulac felt a cold tingle creep up his spine.
“Woah! Take it easy.” Dulac put up his hands in protest. “So that’s it. You knew about them also. Probably hacking Mehta’s info as he did mine. But of course you couldn’t arrest Mehta on extortion because that would have brought up the whole issue of the ministers and Miramar, including Hays. Now you need a patsy, and I’m it.”
Wade’s face hardened as he looked down the barrel of his gun, trained on Dulac. “Congratulations, Dulac. You’re beginning to figure it out.”
“So when Mehta beat you to the punch for the transcripts, you followed him.”
“You don’t seem to realize that those transcripts can’t be seen by anyone, much less the general public.”
“You mean that bit about the ministers transferring money to Miramar? I suppose that might prove a little embarrassing.” Dulac felt his tension level rise by a few thousand volts.
“It’s a matter of National Security, Dulac. You went one step too far. Arlberg told you so and you chose not to listen,” said Wade. “Now hand them over.”
“What about the NSA, and the CIA? Surely they have an interest in—”
Wade shook his head. “I can’t believe how naïve you are, Dulac. Think for a second. Do you really think they can publicly admit making those transcripts? Eavesdropping into the very core of the British Government? It’s political dynamite. For them those transcripts don’t exist. Besides, the money transfers and Hays’s dalliances are the least of their worries.”
“What about Dickinson? Surely he knows about them.”
“As far as Dickinson is concerned, his only interest is getting the man who’s responsible for his wife’s death. That’s Zabin Mehta and he’s dead. We’ll send Mehta’s DNA and pictures of his body to the NSA, copy to Dickinson. End of story. Case closed.”
“Neat. So you get rid of Mehta and his accomplice without a messy trial, MI-6 doesn’t have the embarrassment of admitting having a mole, Tajar Singh’s confession is probably worthless without Mills’s corroboration so the Crown will not prosecute, and everything is how they say, hunky dory.”
“Exactly,” said Wade, his gun still trained on Dulac’s face.
“So what now?”
Wade glanced quickly at his watch. “When you hand over those transcripts, we get you on your flight merrily back home, and you confirm what we’re about to tell Arlberg. The case is closed.”
“Except for one small detail. Hays gets away with murder.”
“I don’t have time to argue, Dulac. Hand over the transcripts.”
“And if I don’t? Going to shoot me with your own gun, Wade?”
“You haven’t been paying attention, Dulac.” Wade grinned, the pistol in his hand still steady, still pointing at Dulac. “This is not my gun. It’s Mehta’s gun. If I’m forced, I’ll use it, trust me. Later, when they find your body at the hangar, I’ll regretfully confirm that there was a shootout and you were shot in the line of duty. So it’s your choice. The transcripts, or else.”
“Very clever. And of course without the transcripts, I have no evidence and no one would believe me. And no witnesses. That’s why you had no support.”
“You’re beginning to see the light, Dulac. Now hand over the transcripts. Slowly. Don’t even think about reaching for your gun.”
Dulac let out a sigh of resignation. “Why not?” Dulac reached into his jacket pocket.
“Easy. No sudden moves.”
Dulac took out the envelope and handed it to Wade.
For a split second, Wade looked at the envelope instead of at Dulac.
Dulac went for Wade’s gun with both hands and swung it towards the driver. The gun went off, and blood and brains splattered on the side window. The car suddenly shot forward as Dulac and Wade struggled for the gun. The car accelerated wildly, narrowly missing a fire hydrant. Dulac clamped both his hands on Wade’s trying desperately to keep the gun away. Another shot rang out.
“Jesus!” Dulac yelled as the car hit the curb. It flipped onto its side, slid and crashed into the hangar’s brick wall with its roof.
Smoke erupted from the bent, twisted hood of the car. Dulac was jammed against the front seat, pinning Wade forward and upward onto the car’s roof. Only the driver’s airbag had deployed and it was covered in blood. Wade’s head was wedged in an impossible position between the roof and the right door’s side pillar, his neck seemingly broken, his mouth agape. He was barely breathing. The USB envelope had fallen between the seat and Wade’s left hip. Dulac looked up. The right rear door was partway open. He reached down in front with his left hand, picked up the envelope and shoved it into his jacket pocket. He pushed with his feet and opened the door a bit further, then crawled out. He stood up slowly on wobbly knees.
Dulac looked up and down the road, which surprisingly was still deserted. He pulled out his cell and called 999 for an ambulance.
Chapter 69
Dulac walked away from the overturned car, down the narrow road, turned right onto a main artery and joined the flow of bustling pedestrians. Two corners later he took a cab for the Bristol Hotel. Upon arrival, he went up to his room, and gathered his things. He looked at his watch. 3.55 pm. With the late afternoon traffic, he knew it would be tight. His head hurt and he felt so, so tired. It would be so easy to lay down on the bed, which looked so inviting…
He thought of Wade and his driver and the inevitable complications of going to the Yard. No, he had to leave. He extracted four pills from the bottle of aspirin on the dresser, gulped them down with a glass of water, went downstairs and left the hotel.
* * *
An hour and ten minutes later, Dulac had missed the 305 Lufthansa flight, but was in line to book a ticket on the 6 pm. Air France flight to Paris when his cell rang. Arlberg.
“I’m at Heathrow. My plane leaves in twenty minutes,” said Dulac.
“I want a full report by 10 am. tomorrow. Meet me in my office at 2 pm.”
The line went dead.
Chapter 70
Interpol HQ, the next day
The next afternoon, Interpol’s General Counsel Ian Carruthers and Dulac sat next to each other in Arlberg’s office, waiting for her to finish reading Dulac’s report. Finally, she took her bifocals off and deposited them on her desk.
“Interesting stuff. You’ve been quite busy.” She looked Dulac up and down, assessing his condition. She turned to Carruthers. “Anything to add?”
The lawyer c
leared his throat. “We have a problem with the transcripts. In Britain, communications illegally obtained can’t be used in a criminal trial. Section 17 of the Regulation of Investigatory Powers 2000 Act of the UK, to be precise.”
“What about in the US?” said Arlberg.
“The law in the US is even stricter. It prohibits the use of all evidence obtained illegally.”
Arlberg grabbed a pencil off her desk and started to twiddle with it between her fingers. “So you’re telling me that with even this,” she pointed with her pencil at the USB stick, “that bastard Hays can’t be prosecuted?”
“Not necessarily,” said Carruthers. “The British Financial Services Authority doesn’t have the same restrictions. They can use illegally obtained evidence to open an investigation. Evidence obtained by them could eventually be used by the British crown prosecutors. The problem is Interpol doesn’t have jurisdiction. And as I was telling Dulac this morning, the contents of our file are logged, and will be locked away, and we really can’t help. Besides—”
“Fine, I get the picture,” said Arlberg.
“Sorry not to be more positive,” said Carruthers.
“Thanks anyway,” said Arlberg. “Well, I guess that’s it then.” She crossed her arms on her chest and reclined back in the chair.
Carruthers and Dulac got up to leave.
“Oh, Dulac, stay a minute will you?” Arlberg called Dulac back as Carruthers turned and left.
Arlberg waited, making sure Carruthers was no longer within earshot.
“I believe I owe you an apology.”
Dulac looked suspiciously at Arlberg. She was not in the habit of handing out apologies.
“What for?”
“I was rather rough on you these past weeks. Now I know you were right on staying the course.”
“Just doing my job.”
She looked conspiratorially at Dulac. “Just between you and me, I don’t….I don’t suppose you kept a personal copy of that stick, per chance?”
Dulac took in a deep breath, arched his eyebrows and smiled broadly.