MERCURY'S SECRET

by Tobias Roote

  “What's going on? Where are you taking the girl, she needs debriefing,” Tobler demanded.

  Fletcher turned to him, his cold unrelenting look told Tobler all he needed to know. Maybe things weren’t going to go quite so well after all, he mused.

  “She is going somewhere safe from you and Dubianko, and you will get your own debriefing back in London, Sir!” Fletcher walked away to the other side of the boat where the other dinghy was revving its outboard while pulling alongside.

  Fletcher squatted holding onto the railing, he leaned over the side, listening to the report from the men in the other dinghy. He looked at the bundle retrieved from the water and sighed, giving them instructions. He then ordered two of his men with him on deck to put the bodies into it and then it too roared off into the night, following the other inflatable to an unknown destination.

  The new crew of Alice II started the engines and within a few minutes it too made its way towards the shore where they could disembark without attention and a clean up crew placed on-board to go through the boat with a fine tooth comb.

  CHAPTER 34

  Fletcher was really not having a good night of it! His teams, having driven like maniacs from France to Italy to get there in time to pull the fat from the fryer, had managed to arrive too late to help rescue Charlie and the others. Now all he had was Tobler, a responsibility he could well do without right now and a damaged girl that needed his protection, from just about everyone.

  He received a final outline report from Jarvis, one of his men who had been supervising the aftermath, an excellent forensics guy, trained by the best of Scotland yards crime scene investigators. It didn’t sound too good. Why was Tobler loose with a gun? It didn’t sound like something that Charlie would have allowed.

  Checking he was not near Tobler, he spoke into his earpiece giving last minute instructions to the departing boats. They would hear him up to a distance of five miles, less he thought with the interference from the engines. He nodded imperceptibly as he received confirmations.

  He looked despondently at the GREY phone he held, just now retrieved from Charlie's waterproof jacket by his team. He dialled the saved number thinking about the conversation he needed to have.

  “Hi Brett, it’s me Fletch. “

  “OK Fletch, give me the low down as quick as you can, there's things happening here too.”

  “Charlie is down, I don't know if he will make it. He is in a very bad way. I have the girl heading to a safe house in preparation to getting her to the UK. But, Brett... there is something funny going on here, there was the girl, her two parents and Charlie along with Tobler. Looking at the position of everything and checking the weapons, she did all the firing, Tobler never took a shot, his gun hadn’t been fired.”

  “Things are not what they seem Fletch, Alice is a deep plant for Dubianko. I discovered the information and got it to Charlie seconds before the shit hit the fan. I don't think he had time to do anything about it.”

  Fletcher suddenly remembered Tobler's smile and he finally understood. He also realised how it must have gone down. Tobler must have activated her when she went to check on him, wasn't that what she said she did, the very last thing she remembered.

  “Brett, I think she is a 'Sleeper', in fact I'm certain of it. Tobler must have activated her,” Fletcher said, suddenly excited from the realisation. A Sleeper was someone who had been deeply conditioned with drugs, trained to do a job, then re-conditioned to forget it all unless activated by a set of codewords.

  “Damn! That means she killed her own parents and even shot Charlie, he would never have shot back, he would take the hit. It also explains why Tobler hadn't fired a shot. He hadn't needed to. He must have deactivated her again when he saw us coming.”

  “He will use her again, Fletch,” Brett barked into the phone, he sounded harassed. Fletcher heard a lot of noise in the background. “Is she separated from Tobler? If she is, you probably don't need to worry, we can get her into the safe house.” Brett was thinking out loud now.

  “I will get someone to meet you there and we can see what's happening, our people have successfully disarmed these sleeper agents before. We will see what we can do with her once she is neutralised. Tell your team to keep her away from any weapons.”

  “Okay Brett, I have Tobler, I am bringing him in myself.”

  “Good! Gotta go, Fletch, things are hotting up here too. Debrief later,” and he was gone.

  Tobler was standing at the rear safety rail watching the plumes of water from the engines ploughing a straight unwavering trough through the sea just visible in the early dawn. He didn’t need to hear the phone conversation to know that he was sunk, the body language and excitement of Fletcher was evidence that something was up.

  He knew they would interrogate him. He contemplated jumping into the sea and taking his chances, but he never was a brave man. He also knew he would tell them everything. He held the memory stick in his hand, so much power in one little chip yet nothing that would save him now. All he needed was a few minutes to make his getaway and make a dash for Charlie’s safe house. He could be gone in less than a day. He would await his opportunity.

  CHAPTER 35

  When Brett had told Fletcher that things were hotting up he had meant it. Somehow, Butler had found out his involvement and was at this moment trying to use the MI5 teams to break down his doors. Brett had called in reinforcements, but they would be a while in getting to him. If the Russians, via Butler, got hold of his systems here, it would be all over for British Intelligence.

  Unbeknown to everyone, Brett's operations were an official department of the Ministry itself. The trouble with that was, he had no authority outside his own department. It was a closed system, it had to be. When each Prime Minister was elected Brett had to present himself to them and produce a document for the PM to sign and afterwards they were shown previous authorities to act on various matters in 'defence of the realm'.

  No further information could be divulged to the PM and it was not part of any bilateral agreement with any other country; if the US had any knowledge of Brett's operation they would wet themselves. He had his fingers right up the butt of the NSA's headquarters and mainframes. Brett’s section dealt purely with cyber warfare and he was right up there in the front line. It was amazing how many instances of ‘friendly fire’ had occurred in his domain. Hence the utmost secrecy which was the greatest defence the British government had.

  He was accountable to no-one, but himself. This was the price the UK government paid for having him on their side. They got a regular intelligence brief, assistance when required, usually when COBRA met up and warning of attacks along with likely sources.

  Now this was under threat and from a source that made the waters very muddy indeed. Brett had no idea how the information about who and where he was got leaked to MI5, specifically Butler, but there had to have been a leak at the highest level.

  Brett was, for the first time, genuinely concerned not just for his safety, but the safety of the Realm. The fact that this was on the back of the operation to recover Charlie and his data led him to think that the information itself was the target or, he paused as the thought hit him, that not the information itself, but protection of the identities it would uncover. Someone, possibly close to the PM, was in those files.

  It was an unfortunate fact of life that knowing Butler was a Russian mole who was at this moment using the country's own intelligence and secret services to try to obliterate him, was not enough to prove that he was. The only thing that would do that was on a disk in his computer and its validity would be suspect unless its provenance could be painstakingly proven.

  This was a direct and brutal attempt to silence the source of that material before that could happen and with the original parties now assassinated it would be unlikely in today's climate that they could be unmasked. This, then left Brett in a no-win situation. All he could now was to extricate himself and his people from the fight outside and reconstitute in
another backup location.

  Brett was a singularly paranoid individual. As a result everything he did was duplicated and triplicated. He wasn't about to tell anyone where all his data was managed, but allowing for the fact that his GREY system allowed him to piggyback on ANY kind of network he could hold his data anywhere in and out of the world and it would be virtually untraceable.

  He began the process of cleaning up here and instructed the network to proceed with its coded WIPEDOWN which would destroy every data node on the network. While that began its operation of byte for byte copying of all data including the CCTV progress of the battle outside, he began to make calls getting people into position for his disappearing act. He wasn't about to sit and wait for a black hood and set of matching plastic cuffs and a short jet hop to the former USSR. He would be gone before they got past the outside defences.

  He set the timer on the local node of his GREY communication system that formed the backbone of his operations and sat back and waited for the programs to complete. He wasn't happy leaving it all behind and would wait until the last minute before vacating the premises.

  A knock came at his door, his two protectors were standing outside. He waited patiently. No-one must come in here until everything was complete.

  A command line flashed on his screen in front of him.

  [WIPEDOWN COMPLETE] Press [DEL] key to finalise program.

  He pressed the key and the scrubber began to complete its tasks. He had built the software himself and no amount of recovery operations would bring it back. The local drives would be factory sterile in a few more minutes.

  The GREY Node began flashing, its wipe down proceeding, He didn't want to be here when its detonation triggered. There was enough Semtex in there to demolish the whole room.

  He went to the door and pressed the release, it clicked open and the guards pushed it open and grabbed him, closed the door again and made for the escape route already planned and, just as it had been practised every month for the last two years, he and his team departed, like ghosts.

  When the room detonated, the sound of the explosion reached them, but they were already in another building, well clear of the scene.

  Brett hesitating briefly, looking back one last time, thought to himself 'Oh well, Plan B it is, then.'

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  The black BMW slowed at the turning as if unsure it was the right one. Looking a little frazzled after a long journey, the young woman turned her car hesitantly off the recently repaired potholed road and onto a dirt track. Vaguely remembering the way from memory then realising it was the right turning, she confidently drove fast up the dusty, rutted trail running into the olive groves. The track was longer than she remembered although much smoother as if the ruts had been evened out.

  Finally, after a further four hundred yards she slowed, driving it carefully over onto the remembered concrete drive, she parked in the cleared area right by the cottage.

  It had been nearly five years since she was last here. Nothing appeared to have changed.

  Now, here today, her face reflected sadness and regret indicating some of the inner turmoil she experienced in coming back to this place where so many memories and so much hurt lay in wait for her.

  Letting out a long sigh, a sound laden with the deep emotion of the moment she switched off the engine and looked around at her surroundings.

  As the engine died, the only sounds were the pinking of the manifold as it began to cool. The grove was otherwise eerily silent. She sat there momentarily drawing on the inner strength she needed to exit the car and re-enter her past.

  She could see the main house from where she was sitting. It hurt her to know it was empty, her parents no longer there. It was still filled with their possessions, just as though they had only left yesterday. The photographs sent by the Agent showed all the rooms as they were left. It would be necessary to have all their things removed and shipped back home, or disposed of, she thought absently.

  She could not face that obstacle yet, but noticed the tidy and cared for gardens and drive area. The paintwork was fresh, the whiteness of the walls glared through the olive trees wherever the branches and leaves thinned out.

  The gardener was long gone. She paid him for two days work a week. Now, she had the place to herself for five days. She wondered briefly if she would be here that long. She had never met him, only taken a recommendation from the Agent. They conferred by email and regular photographs of the place sent by camera phone.

  Glancing over towards the cottage, her home for the next week, she noticed the motorbike. Someone had returned it and it was now on its stand in the shelter of the orange tree. A cloth over the saddle and handlebars kept most of the dust off it. It looked cared for. She guessed the gardener must be keeping it clean.

  Her mind momentarily drifted back to a time of sitting on the pillion, racing through the rutted tracks hanging on for grim death. The thought brought with it a flood of painful associations, she shook her head, breaking the track of her thoughts before they collapsed her resolve.

  Getting out of the car, she managed to laugh lightly as a small terrier leapt past her and bounded off up the path barking and snuffling with the joy of remembering. He was soon gone from sight and she could hear him racing through the undergrowth revisiting old haunts. She didn't have to call him back, he knew the tracks and would be within whistling distance anyway.

  Walking to the back of the car and taking the handle, she opened it and as she did so a pair of legs in shorts leapt out much the same as the dog. As the legs exited the car, the little boy attached to them shouted with glee at being released from confinement and he and his little legs ran around the clearing while he took in the surroundings and excitedly called to the dog.

  “Here Boy!” he shouted, his short blonde curls bouncing as he bounded over small branches and roots. His little four year old frame, not able to take on the wild growing undergrowth and grasses yet, practically disappeared before she called him back. It was still a little early for snakes, but you never knew.

  The keys to the cottage were suddenly in her hand. She hadn’t remembered taking them out of her bag and as the little boy returned running at full pelt like all four year olds, she caught him in mid flight, lifted him up, and swung him onto her hip. Together they walked up to the door of the cottage and pushing it open she left the key in the lock and stepped over the threshold into the kitchen.

  She checked out the rooms. Nothing had moved or been changed in five years, only dusted by the housekeeper. The old Greek lady had been doing it faithfully since they had left and there was nothing out of place that she could see.

  Letting her son down to romp around the cottage she wandered aimlessly through the rooms remembering the man who had lived here and who had left it all behind for her. She came to the fireplace and took down the picture of a couple with a young girl.

  It was him with his dead wife and daughter, her breath caught as the realisation hit her that she had no similar pictures to place anywhere. Her eyes welled up and she looked down at their son, Dan, as he rooted through odds and ends looking for a suitable toy, already seeing in him the likeness of his Father.

  Her feet took her to his bedroom, she had never been in there before. She felt a sharp pain in her chest, of loss, her grief still a physical thing. The double bed was made up with double pillows, an embroidery edged sheet, and a thin summer duvet.

  She looked at the bedside table, and seeing something she vaguely recognised, walked to the table picking up the small keyring. It was one of those plastic key fobs that you can place a photograph inside. She remembered having one just like it.

  Turning it over, she gasped in surprise as she recognised the picture of her parents. The single key on the ring was the one her Mother had put on and told her to keep safe. She had lost it at his Gite in France.

  She cast her mind back to their last morning there. The sheer passion and intensity of their union, remembering how she had felt then, fe
eling the shortness of their time together. The knowledge that it would end soon held deep inside her forcing her to give all of herself and take everything of him in that moment. The memory opened up the floodgates and she sobbed briefly, catching herself quickly so as not to attract her son's attention.

  She sat on the bed for some time, unmoving, hand covering her mouth, her eyes betraying her uncertainty, her fears overtaking her, feeling numb from the unexpected and unanswered question.

  How did it get from the bedroom floor in France to here?

  Outside the evening began to draw in on itself deep into the hill and shade of the olive trees. Mercury followed his nose. He had tracked the familiar scent all around the property, across gardens, now into the garden shed, sniffing all of the tools recently used. Finally his dog senses sorted a newer trail from the older ones and then he was off, chasing across the garden, picking up even fresher spoor as he ran.

  He had been trained for this, skilled and confident, Mercury was in his element. His small wiry body was fast and close to the ground. He didn't need to stop he could pick up the scent on the run.

  Back out into the groves where the grass was high, the route he now followed was narrow but well trodden. It was a small track that he knew well and his small yips and frantically wagging tail showed his growing excitement as his senses took over the hunt. His small lean body flew across the ground, eating up the distance, unhindered by the undergrowth that towered above him.

  After a few minutes he knew he was gaining on his quarry, the spoor was fresh and thick where the quarry had stopped and watched the car's arrival. Far enough away not to be seen, but close enough to observe.

  Another few hundred yards further on, he finally stopped and sniffing the air one last time, looked up towards the top of the grove and then shot off to the summit. He remembered this place. His quarry was there, he knew it.

  All of a sudden reaching the source of the scent that he had followed, one he knew like an old friend, he leapt into waiting arms, licking the face and excitedly yelping as the voice welcomed and calmed him, rewarding him with reassuring words as he squirmed excitedly, overjoyed at being reunited with his Master.