A standard set up, simple.
‘Any deviation from this plan,’ William had heard the informant say during the recorded call, ‘and I will have no choice but to disappear for good. The consequences will be so grave for all of us that it does not bear thinking about.’
Research by F-Branch technical specialists revealed that the call was made from a phone-box in Moscow. It was unlikely he was a local as the man’s accent was English. Voice analysts assessed that it was his genuine accent, neither put on nor digitally altered, and a scan of the voice pattern on known terrorist suspects drew a blank. Asclepius, William was told, was the name of the ancient Greek god of medicine. He wondered if his informant was a doctor, or some sort of medical professional.
William reached his target in central Vienna in good time. From the road he looked up at the Wiener Staatsoper, it was an impressive building. It radiated with a golden yellow colour from the night-lights that were focused on its stone façade. William made his way to the busy main entrance and stood outside for a few minutes pretending to wait for someone. He checked his watch and phone occasionally to keep up the ruse. Groups of men in dinner jackets and women dressed in elegant ball gowns poured out of sleek executive taxis and polished chauffeur driven cars into the building. Passersby talked loudly and cheerily as they went, he heard a half-dozen different languages being spoken. Wealthy looking men went arm in arm with attractive younger women who were barely wearing their tiny designer dresses. Some of the girls regarded William with interest as they passed him. One, a tall slender blonde of eastern European appearance, held his steely gaze for a moment until she disappeared into the building.
William never forgot a face, a talent that had come in useful many times in his military career – twice it had probably saved his life. Despite being highly trained in both armed and unarmed combat, the best and first option was always to avoid it. A few people he recognised from the hotel had entered the building and two or three he recognised from the airport too. But he judged that there was nothing suspicious about any of them. It dawned on him that he had no idea what the informant looked like, he knew nothing of his age or race. He looked at his watch one final time and then walked into the main reception hall.
Seated in the upper slips, William was pleased to be close enough to the stage to see without requiring the world’s most powerful binoculars. His chair was comfortable too. A glass of champagne was brought to him by an attractive waitress, a cheerful brunette who wore tight black leggings and a white blouse that hung loosely just below her tiny waist. William read her name tag and guessed that she was either Austrian or German. He thanked her in German; she smiled back but said nothing. William settled into his seat and sipped from his champagne flute.
The great hall was almost full, everyone was seated save for a few stragglers who bustled past all hot, flustered and embarrassed. But the seat to William’s immediate right remained resolutely empty.
The lights dimmed, the audience settled down. The low rumble of two-thousand excited voices vanished as the orchestra began the composition with a low base that gained in volume to a dramatic crescendo. Huge curtains rose to reveal an elaborately dressed stage. Act 1 of Don Giovanni by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart began with The Garden of the Commendatore. The seat to his right was still empty. He shook his head. What a waste of time, he thought.
Almost an hour into the performance, William was considering leaving when a balding, short, overweight man, sweating and out of breath, squeezed his way noisily along the row. He took his seat next to William.
William rolled his eyes. ‘So much for a discreet entrance,’ he said quietly under his breath.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ the man whispered to William. With a sausage like finger, he pushed his round glasses into place on his nose and settled himself into the seat.
William said nothing and looked straight ahead at the stage.
The fat man’s head recoiled back and he cursed under his breath. He tilted his head to William. ‘Is your mother here or is she still at home with Asclepius,’ he said without even attempting to make the code-phrase sound like a question.
‘Neither. She is in London with my niece,’ was the whispered reply. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes, just a bit late in getting ready,’ the informant said with a sheepish smile. He wiped the sweat off his reddened, chubby cheeks and forehead with a crumpled white handkerchief.
From the corner of his eye, William regarded the little man. He suspected he was in his late fifties, married as he wore a thin gold wedding band, and, interestingly, he had a gold signet ring on his right pinky. He wore glasses, the little round type that reminded William of an overly camp university lecturer he once knew. His dinner jacket was old and ill fitting; the man was bursting out of it. The bow-tie looked like a real one and it sat loose around his wide, flabby neck. An ordinary looking person in every way, an academic most likely. He looked harmless.
‘I’m William. Here’s a contact number for you,’ William whispered, ‘it’s manned permanently and untraceable. There’s also a Web site on there, you can contact us from the site’s feedback page or the instant messaging tool.’ William knew that when he logged on to the site his computer would be scanned and bugged using techniques that would make a hacker weep with joy; but he thought it best not mention that. He handed over the plain white business card. ‘Please make sure you contact us somehow when you return home, just to check in. Let us know you are safe. You did the right thing, you’re with us now.’ William offered his hand to the informant, who accepted it.
‘I’m in grave danger, William. We all are. I have done something terrible, something unforgivable. But I’m here to make amends.’ The informant shook his head; tears welled up in his beady little eyes. He dabbed at his face with the handkerchief.
‘Don’t worry. Help us and we’ll help you,’ William reassured him. He knocked back the remainder of his champagne. It was a good one, he thought, but not quite as good as the vintage bottle that he had acquired from a drugs baron in Colombia a couple of years previously. Nothing would ever beat the sweet taste of that one, he mused to himself. He looked around for the waitress and motioned for two glasses to be brought over.
‘You didn’t say your name,’ William asked.
The informant hesitated for a moment. ‘Can you really protect me, if I help you?’
‘Of course we can. That’s what we do.’
The informant sighed; he sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. ‘My name is Professor John Barry,’ he said after a long pause. There was no going back now, he knew. ‘I’m Head of Viral Research, at the University of Strasbourg.’
Rapport building mission successful, thought William. ‘Relax. You’ve done the right thing.’
Act 1 ended with a rapturous applause. The curtains lowered. When the lights came on, two-thousand excited voices erupted into a roar as if a switch on their voice boxes had been flicked on all at once.
‘So, John, just what kind of trouble are you in?’ William probed.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’m in no hurry.’
The informant took out his handkerchief and cleaned his glasses. ‘For the last twelve years I’ve been a leading figure in the gene mapping of various Level 4 viruses. Namely Ebola and Influenza strain H5N1, better known as Bird Flu. I also worked on a Level 2 virus, Human Immunodeficiency Virus – HIV as it is better known. The objective of my research was to sequence their entire genomes and identify the genes that made up each virus. Each gene was then analysed to see how it worked and what it did. My results were published online periodically so that the international virology community could conduct further research into cures and vaccines.’
‘Sounds like rewarding work.’
‘Yes, it was.’ The professor drifted off in thought before getting back on track. ‘Despite the challenges, I made significant headway and published several papers, all of which were widely praised.’ He s
miled as he recalled the successes, but the smile quickly faded. ‘That’s probably what got them interested in me in the first place. The papers I published.’
‘Them? Who?’
‘A man and a woman approached me one evening after an industry charity event that I was speaking at. They took me aside and asked me if I’d like to join a very private club of theirs. They said it would help me further my career, network, I’d have close contact with various people of influence in my field.’ The informant held out his hand and pleaded with William. ‘Look, I never knew what it was all about to begin with. If I had done, none of this would have happened. Anyway, it is of no concern now, too late for regrets. Once they had what they wanted on me, what they had clearly planned from the beginning, they blackmailed me into working for them.’
‘Blackmail? What with?’
The professor smiled and shook his head. ‘What makes the world go round William?’ he asked.
‘Money?’
The professor laughed. ‘No, William. It’s what makes every human tick, every animal, every living thing on the planet. You know what I mean.’
With a wry smile, William nodded his understanding.
‘What’s important,’ the professor continued, ‘is what I found out about these people much later on.’ He looked around suspiciously, and then shifted in his seat to face William. He leaned in close to William’s ear and spoke quietly.
‘It is an organisation . . . no, they are more like a secret society. One so old and so powerful it defies belief. They have people in very high places all around the world. Governments, intelligence agencies, you name it.’ The professor sat back and studied William’s face for a reaction.
William looked into his eyes, the windows to the soul.
‘I’m not paranoid, if that’s what you think,’ the professor said defensively. ‘I have substantial proof.’
Their conversation was interrupted when a slender and elegant woman of East Asian appearance, Chinese perhaps, brought over their champagne flutes on a silver tray. She bent down and smiled as she served them showing a row of perfect white teeth. William looked for her name badge, but didn’t find one. He thanked her in English and took the drinks from the tray.
‘Thank you, William. Boy do I need this,’ the professor said. He guzzled half of the glass in one. He sighed and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out an opera programme and placed it on the arm of William’s seat.
‘Perhaps the gods will see to forgive me.’ He tapped the programme. ‘This is my salvation. Take it back with you, inside is a micro memory card. Give it to your defence laboratories. I knew some of the scientists there a few years ago. They’ll know what to do with it. But they must act quickly. You must act quickly too. Time is of the essence.’
‘Why?’
The professor once again looked over his shoulder. He leaned into William and whispered. ‘You don’t have long, a week maybe, possibly only days.’
Flicking to the centre pages of the programme, William saw a tiny black memory chip taped to the middle of the page. It was so small that it was barely noticeable.
‘Impressive, well done,’ he said sliding the guide into his own inside jacket pocket.
The professor coughed hoarsely into his hand a few times. He downed the rest of his champagne to clear his throat. ‘The files are protected. To open them you need . . .’ Another wheezy cough. ‘… the password which is the name of this . . .’ The professor wheezed, his face reddened. He struggled to take a breath. ‘This . . .’ He tried to speak again, but his voice was a mere hiss.
William frowned and grabbed the man’s shoulder. ‘Professor? Professor?’
But there was no answer; he appeared to have fallen asleep – with his eyes and mouth wide open. White bubbles of champagne and saliva dribbled out from his mouth over his fat chins and onto his shirt.
Crowds of people started to return to their seats, Act 2 was about to begin.
‘Professor,’ William prompted one final time. He shook the man’s arm. The champagne flute slipped through his fingers and rolled onto the floor where it smashed. He clasped the man’s wrist. There was no pulse.
William sat back and tried to remain cool as the theatre lights dimmed. He wondered if the champagne had been poisoned. He picked up his own glass from the floor and was thankful he hadn’t drunk any of it. Whoever was watching the professor would likely be watching him. Calmly, he looked around the seating area. Most people had returned to their places. The waitresses were stood by the doors chatting, but he noted that the Chinese girl was nowhere to be seen.
Time to leave, he thought.
As the curtains opened for Act 2, William calmly slid out of his chair and, still holding his full champagne glass, headed for the nearest exit. Swiftly making his way down the marble stairs and through the reception hall, he hastily left the Wiener Staatsoper and walked into the night.
*
After pouring most of the contents of the champagne glass out onto the pavement, William pushed his handkerchief down the flute to soak up the remaining liquid. He hid the glass away carefully in his inside jacket pocket; a gift for the forensics team back in London.
Headed for his hotel, William took a circuitous route. After a few hundred metres he stopped and looked innocently into a jeweller’s shop that had large, conveniently reflective windows. With a quick glance up the street he memorised who was walking behind him. He noted their hair, their type of clothes, and particularly their shoes. Shoes were often overlooked by amateurs following a target – while the untrained follower might change their wig, hat, or jacket, their shoes usually went forgotten.
He continued up the road to the next junction and turned the corner. Abruptly, he about-turned and walked back the same way he came. Again, he kept a sharp look out for anyone behaving oddly on the street, and for anyone he recognised from earlier.
It all looked clear.
After repeating this manoeuvre several times, he felt that the road was clear of any unwanted attention. He was just about to take a shortcut back to the hotel, when . . .
Someone coughed from close behind him. It was a dry cough with a distinct sound to it and was immediately followed by a loud sniff. Immediately it grabbed his attention, he was sure he had heard it before, and very recently. Or was that just his imagination? He feared the pressure of the day was playing tricks with his mind.
On the main road there was a gap in the traffic, he turned sharply and crossed over the road. While looking out for the traffic as he crossed, he used the opportunity to look behind him down the street he had come from. A red haired woman and a short fat man in a grey suit walked arm in arm, a young man in blue jeans stood outside a shop smoking, a group of youths staggered along pushing each other and laughing.
Nothing out of place.
At the next crossroads he turned the corner and waited with his back to the wall. He cursed that he no longer smoked, it made anti-surveillance look so much more natural. Turning around, he walked back up the street he had come from, all the while carefully observing every pedestrian he passed.
It came to him in a flash; he’d figured out where he’d heard the distinctive cough before. It was in the queue for his seat on the upper floor at the Wiener Staatsoper. It belonged to a man who must have sat somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t picture his face. Maybe he’d also had enough of the opera and was going back to the same hotel. Coincidence? Probably not, he feared.
Chancing a quick glimpse behind, he looked around . . .
As quick as a thought, the blow to the back of his neck came from nowhere and sent William stumbling forward in a daze. Before he could steady himself a pair of gloved hands grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him with frightening strength into a back alley.
A quick and hard punch to William’s solar plexus forced the air out of his lungs. Winded and dazed, William lost his balance and fell over on to the filthy ground. Instantly his assailant was on top of him, punching and kicking w
ithout mercy.
Blindly, and acting on instinct, William defended himself by curling up into a ball. His attacker leaned down closer and threw punch after punch at his face. Swiftly, William grabbed the man’s wrist and tried to pull his attacker into an arm lock, but he only succeeded in pulling the man to the ground. They rolled around together exchanging blows and grappling with each other. Then, in a move that was more luck than skill, William soundly elbowed the man in the ear. The attacker recoiled and stalled his assault momentarily. It was just long enough for William to roll away and spring to his feet.
But the attacker was nimble and he quickly stood to face William. The man wasted no time and launched himself at William.
Standing defensively, William blocked a series of punches using moves that were second nature to him. Frustrated by his lack of progress, the man leapt onto William and wrapped his arms around him. William tried to shake him free. The man’s rough hands quickly found their way around William’s neck. They grappled with each other for a second, and then William head-butted his aggressor in the face. There was a satisfying crunch and a sharp intake of breath from him. The moment of shock was enough for William to get a small advantage. He took a swing, a powerful right hook, in the direction of the man’s head.
But his target had seen it coming. He ducked and grabbed William’s arm as it swung past, then twisted it around William’s back. The force spun him on his unsteady feet and his assailant pushed him up against the alley wall in a firm, painful arm lock. His face was pushed hard against the rough sandstone; he tasted the grainy material as it mixed with the blood in his mouth.
The Secret of Hades' Eden Page 3