The Geneva Trap

by Stella Rimington

  And then suddenly it was gone, and the pop-up window closed and the screensaver – a colour photograph from the Colorado Rockies that Cowdray had snapped during a summer holiday there – reappeared. Fielding realised his heart was beating like a metronome on speed.

  He took a deep breath and pulled up a chair, then went to work on Cowdray’s machine. The tool he used was called, ironically in the circumstances, The Mole, since it burrowed like the little velvet mammal deep beneath the surface of the transactions between Cowdray’s laptop and the unknown intruder, working back along the trace left by the foreign URL, moving in nano-seconds to isolate the particular machine that had been busy snooping here. It sped unimpeded into the generic network of the MOD, then effectively turned down a side lane, emerging into the collective LAN of the unit – how could he fail to recognise the tag? – run by Cowdray himself back in less stressful times when he had been just a boffin, if a senior one, at the MOD’s HQ.

  But there it stopped. No specific URLs came up on screen, nor any of the bespoke identifiers used by the MOD. Damn, it hadn’t got back to machine level; the intruder had been even cleverer than Fielding had feared. There was nothing of value now for it to steal, but what Fielding didn’t know was what it might have managed to extract before today’s invasion.

  He picked up the phone and rang Peggy Kinsolving.

  Chapter 35

  Cathy Treglown opened the door cautiously. She was relieved to find only René standing on her doorstep. He was wearing a blue denim jacket and rough peasant trousers. He smiled at her, sweeping a wave of brown hair off his forehead, and reflexively she smiled back.

  Then she remembered her father’s warning phone call. These are not your friends, he’d insisted, and for once part of her agreed. After all, her last meeting with René had been pretty unpleasant. When he had asked her for money for the commune, she had hesitated, and he had immediately grown angry. He didn’t seem to realise that though she remained committed to the cause, she had other things – in particular her little boy – to spend her money on.

  But now as he came in he exuded charm and bonhomie, handing her a bottle of Cahors red he had brought with him from France. Cathy led the way into the sitting room and René sat down on the sofa while she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Through the window she could see Teddy pretending to drive the toy truck her father had brought him on his last visit. He did spoil the boy, she thought crossly, then her mood lightened at the sight of her son enjoying himself. Her plan had been to send Teddy round to play with his friend Richard this afternoon, since she didn’t want him around when the French were visiting, but she’d forgotten to arrange it in time. So it was a relief that Antoine hadn’t accompanied René; it must mean they were no longer angry with her.

  When the kettle boiled she filled the two waiting mugs and carried them into the sitting room where she gave one to René. She sat down in the armchair while he sniffed the steaming mug suspiciously. ‘It’s tea,’ she said, and he shrugged, as if he expected nothing better from the English.

  They chatted for a while about the commune, with René answering her questions about the many friends she’d left behind. She missed the old farm near Cahors, and the camaraderie there’d been among the commune’s members, at least when she first went there. René seemed happy to answer her questions and give her news about the place. He told her that the vegetable garden she had started was thriving, but that they’d had to replace the bird feeder she’d put up when it had fallen apart in a recent storm.

  She was beginning to think that Edward had been wrong about René. Her old French comrade was being the soul of affability, but then, he had always been a charmer. Half the girls in the commune had slept with him at one time or another; not just because he was their de facto leader, but because he had charisma – the charisma that had made him leader. He wasn’t a big man, he wasn’t handsome, and sometimes he talked too much (she remembered the dreary political lectures he’d insisted on giving), but there was an appealing intensity about him which, coupled with the charm he could turn on when he wanted to, could sway even the most sceptical.

  ‘You know, Cathy,’ he said, ‘you are much missed at the commune. You could come back any time.’

  ‘Thank you. But you see––’ she began to explain.

  René waved one hand dismissively, and suddenly his relaxed mood seemed to have changed. ‘But that’s not what I’m here for. I told you last time, we’re feeling the pinch a bit. And we have plans – the G20 is meeting next month in Avignon. We aim to be there.’ He spoke as if he were planning a holiday. ‘But plans only get you so far if you don’t have the money to carry them out.’

  ‘What sort of plans need money?’ she asked. ‘We’ve been at G20 protests often enough in the past. They didn’t cost anything.’

  ‘And they had no impact whatsoever. We need to escalate our protest.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The bankers and the politicians are happy to use force to keep us down, so we’re more than justified in using violence ourselves. But taking up arms is expensive.’

  ‘Arms? You mean you want to buy guns?’ she asked, trying to sound comradely, though inwardly she was shocked. This was not something they had ever envisaged at the commune when she was there. Surely the others would also be appalled. Had things changed so much since she had left France? Maybe it was even worse than she feared. ‘Or is it explosives you mean? Are you planning to blow something up?’ Her voice quavered slightly, but she couldn’t help herself. This was truly frightening.

  René just looked at her, unwilling to answer. Then he said, ‘Never mind the exact objectives. The point is, you can help us realise them.’ His expression was half-seductive, half-intimidating.

  Cathy thought of what Edward had said. That friend of mine you met – you know, the one who came down to Brighton with me that day? As you might have suspected, she has good contacts with the police and . . . security people in general. I asked her to look into your friends in Cahors.

  Cathy had started to protest, angry he had brought someone to her house under such false pretences. But Edward had gone on: Now hear me out, Cathy, if only for Teddy’s sake. I’m afraid Liz didn’t discover much that was good about these people. This chap Antoine in particular is nothing but a thug. Please be careful if you have to see them again.

  She said carefully, ‘It’s a bit difficult for me right now. I’ve lost my job.’ A lie. ‘The benefits system is hopeless here, and I’ve got a son to raise.’

  ‘Ah, Teddy,’ said René with a smile that was only fleeting. ‘The petit garçon. He too is missed at the commune. Such a sweet boy.’

  ‘He is,’ she said, wanting to change the subject.

  ‘You know, it would be truly awful if anything ever happened to him.’

  She couldn’t bring herself to reply.

  ‘Tu m’écoutes, Cathy?’ he asked, and his smile was now rigid and unfriendly.

  ‘I hear you,’ she replied.

  ‘You know, Antoine doesn’t like children. It’s quite unusual – I mean, there are many people who don’t want children, and aren’t particularly keen on them. But Antoine actively dislikes them. I would never want a child of mine to spend time alone with that man. You know his temper . . .’

  Cathy felt fear wash through her veins like iced water; her arms ached and her legs suddenly seemed heavy and leaden. She struggled to stand up. She needed this man to leave, needed him to get out of here right away. At last, she made it to her feet.

  But René remained seated on the sofa. He smiled. ‘You’re meant to ask me a question now, Cathy.’

  ‘What question?’ she said, trying not to stutter the words.

  ‘How much money we need from you.’ He stared up at her, and there was nothing friendly in his unwavering gaze. ‘The answer is ten thousand pounds.’

  She started in surprise, but he said smoothly, ‘Come, come. It’s not all you have. You were very indiscreet the last ti
me we met. It will still leave you enough to feed the boy – enough indeed to keep you off the dreaded benefits.’ He gave a dry laugh.

  ‘It’s very difficult.’

  ‘I know it is, Cathy,’ he said in a voice so soothing that it frightened her even more. ‘But it’s hard for all of us.’ He leaned forward and whispered, ‘Remember the cause. It’s bigger than us all. That’s why I know you’ll make the sacrifice.’

  She nodded dumbly – anything to get the man out of her house. And she saw to her relief that he was finally getting up. She followed him out into the hall. He opened the front door, then paused in the doorway. ‘I will come in about ten days’ time, Cathy. I’ll ring to let you know precisely when. Have the money ready for me, all right?’

  She nodded, wanting only for him to go. As René started to pull the front door shut, he said quietly, ‘Don’t even think of going to the police. Not if you love your little boy. You wouldn’t want Antoine to pay you a visit, now would you?’

  Chapter 36

  The phone was ringing as Liz came into her flat. She fumbled for the light switch, dropped her bag and briefcase on the floor and made it across the sitting room just in time. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Liz, it’s Edward here. Have you got a minute?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. She looked around the room, which was messy even by her standards. She’d planned to tidy up this evening, so any diversion was welcome.

  ‘Cathy rang me from Brighton. She was in quite a state.’

  Liz remembered that the French anarchists were due to visit. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes – I mean, she hasn’t been hurt or anything like that. René came as planned, but on his own. Though that was bad enough; she’s very shaken up.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He asked her again for money. They want ten thousand pounds – a contribution to the cause, he called it. Apparently, they’re planning to disrupt the G20 conference next month in Avignon. Cathy thinks they’re trying to buy guns, and maybe explosives.’

  ‘Does she know any more – what kind of explosive, or where they’re getting it from?’ This was no longer just a family problem; now it was a professional matter.

  ‘No, she didn’t get much out of him. But for once Cathy saw sense and said no when he asked for money. She told him she’d lost her job.’

  ‘Good for her.’ Anything to get that creep off her back. ‘How did René take it?’

  ‘Pretty badly, I gather. But it’s what he suggested could happen next that upset her. He was threatening that Teddy might be harmed if she didn’t give them the money.’

  ‘What? Where is he now? Has he gone?’

  ‘Yes. He’s gone for the moment. But apparently there’s a violent sidekick. A thug called Antoine.’

  ‘I know – my French colleagues told me about him. Did René say Antoine would hurt Teddy?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘The police will take a dim view of that.’

  ‘I know, but the problem is, we’ve only got Cathy’s word against this chap René’s. And he’s probably buggered off by now, back to France. I don’t see what the police here can do.’ Edward paused, and breathed out noisily. ‘That’s why I rang you. I’m awfully sorry, Liz, and I certainly understand if you can’t help. It’s just––’

  I know, she thought, it’s just Teddy. But that and the mention of explosives were more than enough reason for her to get involved. She said, ‘Leave it to me, Edward. I think I can help.’

  Liz called Isobel Florian as soon as she arrived at the office the next day. She explained what had happened to Cathy, and what else René had told her.

  Isobel said, ‘That’s the first firm evidence we have received. We know he has been making trips to Marseilles, but we didn’t know exactly what for – Marcel, our source inside the commune, thought it was probably weapons, but now it sounds even worse.’

  Liz said, ‘Obviously the G20 summit has to be our priority, but I am worried about Cathy and her little boy. René threatened that if she didn’t help finance their plans, he would come back – along with this fellow Antoine.’

  ‘You certainly don’t want that. We’ve checked, and this Antoine has a criminal record a mile long. He’s very violent. But it seems to me that we could easily kill two birds with one stone. If we can find out when those two are going to England, I would arrange a raid on their commune. I’m sure we’ll find plenty there. That would allow us to issue an Interpol warrant for René and Antoine. The moment they set foot in the UK, they’ll be arrested. Until they’re extradited to France, the only part of Britain they’ll see is through bars.’

  Chapter 37

  At this time of the evening Queensway was crowded with after-work shoppers. The cold wind and rain which had lingered all week, a reminder that winter wasn’t long over, had now given way to a warm southerly breeze and clear skies. As dusk fell traces of pink mingled in the sky with the yellow of the streetlights.

  Andy Bokus found Ujin Wong waiting for him at a table in the back of the dim sum restaurant. Bokus had come straight from Grosvenor Square and wore a suit, but Wong was dressed trendily in a cotton jacket and black turtleneck – he could have been a film director, designer or the owner of an art gallery. To Bokus, as they shook hands, Wong was practically unrecognisable from the timid youth he had first known.

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ said Bokus, thinking of their last meeting in Washington. Wong had been seconded to the Agency as part of the exchange programme with close allies, and Bokus had been his mentor for a month. At that time the Korean had spoken poor English and had been very shy; it was difficult to know just what the hell to do with him. After a week, Bokus had been counting the days until he was shot of the guy.

  Bokus was also tasked with looking after his visitor outside work. He was damned if he was going to take him to the theatre, or lead him, uncomprehending, through the halls of a museum. Instead, almost out of desperation, he took him along to FedExField in Maryland to watch a Redskins football game – Bokus had season tickets.

  To his complete surprise, Wong had taken to American football at once, hollering for the Skins with the best of them, and cheering like mad each time they scored a touchdown. Most important, he had matched Bokus beer for beer, which for Bokus was always a good sign in anyone.

  After that, he took a belated look at Wong’s file, and discovered that the Korean had already experienced more misery in his life than Bokus was ever likely to. Both his parents had been killed by a North Korean incursion when he was little more than a baby; his childhood had been spent in an orphanage. But he was a plucky little guy, who was working hard to improve his English and was willing to pitch in with anything Bokus threw his way. By the time Wong’s secondment had ended, he and Bokus had become firm friends.

  ‘We must mark this occasion,’ Wong said now, motioning to a waiter. ‘Two Tsingtao,’ he ordered.

  ‘I heard you were coming here,’ said Bokus. ‘When did you arrive?’

  ‘Last month. They asked me to take things slowly – we’re pretty low-profile in this country. I was going to call you though.’

  They reminisced for a while and exchanged news of their respective families. Then Bokus said, ‘You’ll have to come out to the house for dinner one night. But I wanted to see you alone this time. I’ve got a little business I could use your help on. Strictly unofficial, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Okay. Tell me about it.’

  The waiter arrived with their Chinese beers and a trolley loaded with dim sum, and Bokus waited while they were each served. Then, after taking a large gulp of beer, he said, ‘There’s a guy from your agency seconded to the MOD here. He was vetted by us two years ago for a secondment to Langley. He was clean then . . .’

  Wong raised an eyebrow. ‘But now?’

  ‘Let’s just say we’re not sure. The Brits are convinced he’s up to something but they don’t know what or who with.’

  Wong nodded, pursing his
lips. ‘You said he’d been vetted two years ago?’

  ‘Yeah. But our vetting has to depend a lot on the information you guys supply.’

  ‘Meaning?’ asked Wong, bristling.

  ‘Ujin, relax. You guys are as good as we are at this sort of thing. Which means occasionally both of us slip up. I’m not saying that’s happened here – in fact, I’d put money on this guy being clean. But the Brits are on my case, and I need to know for sure, if I’m going to tell them they’re wrong. You can understand.’

  Wong nodded, a little reluctantly. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  Bokus poked awkwardly with his chopsticks at a dumpling, held it up slowly, then snapped at it before it could escape and started chewing. Between chomps he said, ‘I want you to get your people to take another look. I could do it through my channels, go to Langley, have them request it officially, then sit over here on my fat ass and wait. But I haven’t got time for that. Like I say, the Brits are pressing me. I have my own ideas about their problem, but they’re not going to listen to me until I erase their own suspicions.’

  Wong signalled the waiter for two more beers. ‘So who is it you want to know about?’

  Bokus reached inside his suit jacket and took out a small envelope which he put down on the table and pushed across to Wong. ‘His name’s Park Woo-jin. There’s a mug shot and enough personal details in there to find him in your database.’

  Wong ignored the envelope. ‘Is this a very senior guy?’

  ‘Not at all. He’s just a computer gnome working in the MOD’s systems division. He’s good – they wouldn’t have sent him here otherwise – but not a big cheese.’