Treasonable Intent
Page 7
Lauren’s eyes widened, but her expression remained surprisingly calm. “Did he say why?”
“No,” Trent replied, clearly disconcerted, “but I would put money on it involving our Chinese friends.”
Lauren stared knowingly at Trent. “I bet that has made your day?” she smiled, fully aware of the implication the news heralded. He averted his eyes and stared fixedly at the phone screen. After another quick check of her make-up she snapped her compact closed and reached across to gently touch his arm.
“Be a darling,” she said, “and fetch me an orange juice from that chill cabinet. If the Chinese have got to him he will probably come seeking protection. He may even need some assistance on the journey.”
Trent nodded and reached across to fix the drink before he began making calls to his contacts in Amsterdam. Lauren sat looking out of the window at the sunset. In just over an hour she would be dining with the elite of the business community of Illinois and receiving another Business Woman of the Year award. She would concentrate on that for the time being and then turn her attention to whatever crisis had compelled Haller to suddenly fly across the Atlantic. She could do without problems from that quarter.
The Fairmont Chicago Millennium Park Hotel was the setting for the Illinois Business Awards. Its elegant tasteful decor was complemented by good service and attention to detail. Lauren and Trent liked the place so much they had even talked about trying to buy it. Both had luxury individual suites on the 15th floor. There they changed into their evening wear ready for the dinner and awards ceremony in the impressive, modern and chandelier festooned conference centre downstairs.
As the well-heeled gentlemen and beautifully adorned ladies gathered in the ante room for canapés and champagne cocktails it would have been easy to believe the hype around the economic boom being paraded by the Presidential administration in Washington. Nevertheless, overhearing the conversations, it was clear that most of those present were still guarded in their optimism and that even a gathering of the most successful private sector leaders had its fair share of horror stories to exchange. Much discussion was focussed on the uncertainties around the current approach to trade and import tariffs.
The effort spent in networking and glad handing before the meal almost matched that of the hundred staff that had prepared and served it. Once the five courses were completed, there were the usual slightly dull speeches of thanks before the keynote speaker was introduced. Avi Meerstein was a leading columnist with Time Magazine and his speech was a mix of prophetic challenge with humorous anecdotes. After twenty minutes he sat down to rapturous applause. The awards then followed with each winner being invited to say a few words.
Lauren was on the edge of her seat even although she already knew the outcome. As the citations for Business Woman of the Year were read out by the guest presenter, the Governor of Illinois, she checked herself in the mirror of her compact for one final time. As ever, she looked stunning and her makeup was flawless.
The Governor read carefully from the gold card in his hand “…and the winner is…Lauren Esterhazy, Chairwoman of Esterhazy Investment.” Applause filled the room as triumphant music blared from the speakers. It was more appropriate to a movie scene involving gladiators than a gathering of tuxedo wearing business luminaries. Still, she thought that was par for the course nowadays. Lauren took her time getting to the stage. She was stunning in a low neckline Vivienne Westwood dress, with a $100,000 sapphire and diamond necklace caressing her flawless skin. She carefully took hold of the cut glass crystal award from the governor and after a delicate kiss on either cheek, with a broad smile, turned to the microphone.
“Governor, colleagues and…may I say…friends?” Her voice seemed to ooze like warm oil across the tables and her audience settled quickly to a respectful silence. “I thank you most sincerely for the honour of this award. It is a tribute not only to myself but also to the great team we have at Esterhazy Investment. I am particularly thrilled that I have received it from the business community in Illinois, as this was the state where my late father founded his small insurance company many years ago. It is where I spent my earliest years. That connection is continued today with our firm having over 27 different offices in the state and turning over in excess of a billion dollars a year here. I am pleased to announce that as a result of our continuing growth and success we will be opening a further three offices in the next two years bringing over 120 well skilled jobs to Illinois. Once again many thanks.”
As she returned to her seat and the applause died down, Trent leaned towards her and whispered into her ear. “Marvellous. I especially like the fact you didn’t mention the eleven offices here we will be rationalising in the same period and the fact 80 percent of our investment is now in New England.”
Lauren smiled endearingly and whispered back, “Details Trent, details. Now let’s make sure we pin down those people from the Interstate Regulatory Commission on table six before this party comes to an end.”
With the conclusion of the event there was a further opportunity for networking as the guests moved through to a dance hall where a modern take on a six piece swing band was playing. Lauren wasn’t a fan of dancing, although she had worked hard in the past to become accomplished at both ballroom and contemporary. Her belief and determination was such, that anything she chose or felt she had to do, was practiced until it met her own exacting high standards. It was another tool in her armoury and she deployed it to great effect. By the end of the evening she had made sure that she had danced with most of table six, including the senator and the chair of the Business Federation. She even managed to persuade the ageing Avi Meerstein onto the floor and in the process earned a feature article on her expanding satellite communications portfolio. In every case the person in question genuinely believed they had made the move on her and were flattered by the response. That was her real gift in these social situations. When the event finished they both gracefully made their exit.
“My feet are killing me,” said Trent, as the two of them rode the express elevator to the 15th floor alone. Unlike Lauren, he quite enjoyed dancing although he was a little overweight and ungainly. He had spent a large part of the evening entertaining the two female members of table six and the chairwoman of a major retail chain.
“You should look after yourself better,” Lauren replied, “I just hope all of that effort was worth it. The last thing I want is a group of federal busy bodies trying to tie us in knots with anti-competitive legislation over this next set of mid-west acquisitions.”
Trent was still looking at his new shoes which had pinched terribly throughout the evening. He knew now it had been a mistake to wear them but somehow he had forgotten there would be dancing after the main event. “I don’t think you need worry, they can’t have missed all that stuff on job creation and frankly neither State Government nor Washington is going to run up against us if we are continuing to stimulate that amount of growth through our investments.”
“Perhaps,” she replied. Trent knew from this ambivalence that if he was wrong then he would get it in the neck later. A situation he always worked hard to avoid.
The elevator stopped and Lauren, still clutching her award in its presentation box, walked straight towards her suite. Trent’s phone rang, a slightly distorted version of Fur Elise.
“Trent…what is it?” he barked into the cell phone. “Hmm…fine… just remember I don’t want anything that will attract the attention of the authorities or cause a problem later.” He looked at Lauren and nodded.
Lauren closed the door to her suite behind her. Trent walked on to his room and the moment he entered, took off his shoes with a huge sigh of relief. He slumped into an easy chair and flicked on his remote control, filling the room with jazz by Miles Davis. His mind was, however, busy thinking through the implications of what had happened to Haller. After a few minutes there was a knock on the door. It was Lauren. “Don’t worry she said, I won’t keep you from your evening pleasures.”
Lauren stared out into the night. She seemed tense.
“Drink?” He asked. She shook her head.
Trent fixed himself a glass of Wild Turkey on the rocks. It was a hangover from the days of his youth spent running numbers in pool halls and clubs for small time racketeers and he still enjoyed the taste.
“Trent,” Lauren had turned back to face him. She remained immaculate and graceful even though she had changed into sandals, jeans and a dark blue roll neck sweater. “I just wanted to say thank you for everything you have done in the last few weeks. I know it hasn’t been easy and I know that at times I have made things more challenging than they could have been.”
Trent lowered his glass. His face looked unusually shy and bashful. These compliments were rare and when they came he treasured them all the more. He was devoted to Lauren. Had been ever since she plucked him from being a runner for gambling syndicates in Vegas and put him into her personal staff as a minder. She had used her influence to erase much of his criminal history and then put him through business school. When he graduated top of his class he was placed with her main finance house and had worked his way up to become her Chief of Staff. Thanks to Lauren he had grown and blossomed from high school dropout and petty criminal to become a powerful, if clandestine, figure in the world of corporate investment. He loved her as a sister, his own sexual preferences being younger men, but he was no less loyal or devoted for that. He consoled himself that, even if he had crossed to the other side, she was way beyond his class anyway.
“That’s nice of you to say” he replied, “but I am just doing my job.” She smiled but her eyes betrayed some deeper concern. “What is worrying you?” he continued.
Lauren sat down opposite him and leaned forward. “I am afraid our Chinese venture may have backfired. I am getting reports that the satellite deals our Beijing office were negotiating have been stalled. The chance to accelerate our research appears to have come at a price.”
Trent sipped at his glass. For a woman of such certainty in her everyday business, this admission of doubt was rare and in some ways disturbing. He reached across and she let him hold her hand. “Don’t worry. I can sort something with our sponsors inside the NSA if we need to. The Chinese can hardly complain, they got what they wanted. They are just getting greedy.”
She smiled but at the same time wasn’t entirely convinced. “I’m not sure it is just greed. They clearly feel threatened by the way this has gone.” Trent let her hand go and sat back to take another sip. He looked thoughtful and it was a full minute before he spoke.
“OK Lauren I understand. I will reach an understanding with our Chinese friends as well. In the meantime we need to get Haller back under our wing. At the moment he is a loose cannon.” She nodded and seemed to relax.
Little did they know, events were already in train that would throw their plans into chaos.
Haller reached the station after his walk from the flower market. He hadn’t spotted either of the people tailing him. He carried his laptop case casually slung over his left shoulder. The station was busy. He scanned the departures board and saw the next express to the airport left in nine minutes. Plenty of time to get to the platform he thought. He squeezed down the stairs to cross under the station but suddenly the man directly in front of him came to an abrupt halt. As he tried to move round him he felt a push from behind and his bag being snatched off his shoulder. He pitched forward and despite clawing at the coats of those next to him, he lost his footing and fell clumsily down the steps. In the ensuing split seconds he was aware of his right hand being engulfed in pain as he tried to break his fall. Then a commotion as people shouted and tried to pull him back to his feet. Finally, in shock, a shout as he realised his bag had gone with his assailant.
The Chinese girl had seen it all. There were two of them who worked the snatch. One blocked Haller and the other pushed him then snatched the laptop. Just her luck for Haller to be mugged by petty thieves. Ignoring the cascading figure of Dr. Haller she moved swiftly to follow the scruffy young man in the denim shirt who had grabbed the laptop. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man from the flower market frozen in place. Clearly he had orders to follow Haller and was in a dilemma about whether he could retrieve the bag without losing contact. Half a second later he had resolved to stick with the doctor and joined the crowd offering him help.
As she moved in on the snatcher she could see the young man glancing rapidly to see if there were any police. Unusually there weren’t. For a few seconds she lost him as he rounded the back of a bookstall but she spotted him weaving through the crowd on the main concourse. He had been joined by his accomplice and together they exited the station. The two men scurried across the tram lines towards a waiting blue Volvo car. The girl had less than twenty seconds to act. She reached into her jacket to pull out a taser. Suddenly sprinting forward she fired it at the bag carrier bringing him crashing to the ground in a twitching frenzy. His accomplice span round and with little hesitation lunged to try and recover the laptop. He never made it. A well-aimed kick dropped him to the floor and a punch to his throat silenced his scream. Within seconds she had disappeared back into the station with the bag in her hand heading for the airport train platform.
She expected to find Haller near to where he had fallen but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was injured badly in the fall she thought. Rushing back through the station she found the first aid room but there was no sign of him and enquiries revealed he had not been seen there. She began to have a bad feeling about this. There was no sign of his other tail from the flower market either. She returned to the platforms and then did a sweep of the station perimeter. Nothing.
She glanced at her watch. The only alternative was to go to the airport. His plane was due to board in ninety minutes and although he already had a boarding pass and his hold luggage checked through, he would still have to get through security. She had time to intercept him before the gate and return his bag to him. It was her sole objective to make sure he caught that plane and no harm befell him in the interim. Now she had lost him and she knew someone else was following him. She toyed with the idea of phoning Trent but decided to wait. No sense causing a panic.
The next train arrived just two minutes later and she took her seat. Only then did she think about the bag she was clutching. It struck her as odd that Haller should be the random target. There was also a nagging doubt about the ease of recovering it. Two fit young men fairly easily outmatched. And where were the police? The seat next to her was empty. She cautiously unzipped the case to look inside. It wasn’t clear what was in there. Holding her breath she slowly lifted it out. It was pretty much the same shape and weight of a laptop but it was a wooden chopping board. Evidently it was brand new, the only mark on it a discreet etching “Made in China.” It wasn’t Haller who had been mugged…it was her. She exhaled and reached for her phone.
Chapter Ten
Fawzia Wilkins looked at Ray’s face as the news images flashed across the screen. He was genuinely shocked. She nudged his arm. “If this is happening then it means the threat has moved into a new active phase. We had better crack on.” Ray knew that any tiredness they felt had to be put to one side. They had to be at their sharpest. Lives could depend on the security measures they approved.
Their walk across the parade ground was in the company of Captain John Forrester of 30 Commando. His voice had a distinctive West Country accent. “I’m afraid that for all the security and hype there is not a great deal to see.” He led the way into a section of the barracks which formed the operational headquarters for his unit. Their authorisation passes were scanned again at the entrance. Inside they were led to a small waiting room where they discarded all but their underwear and changed into anti-contamination suits and sterile slip on shoes with the assistance of two marine co
mmandos. Her tablet was scanned in an advanced sensor machine. Next it was a retina scan, a palm print and a full body sensor scan before a door slid open to a set of steps in a spartan grey stone corridor that led down into the cellars. Captain Forrester used a key on a chain around his neck to access the coded lock on the steel door at the foot of the stairs. He stared at the camera and punched in the request to open. Seconds later the locks were opened from the inside. The door swung open to reveal two rooms. Fawzia could hear the whirl of air conditioning units and remembered the elaborately protected venting system from her last inspection. There were just two desks in the first ante-room beyond which was a steel wall with a central glass door that looked at least 20 centimetres thick. A Royal Navy Commander sat at the desk to the right looking into a computer screen and as a mirror reflection a Royal Marines Lieutenant Colonel sat opposite doing the same. Both were in sterile suits with printed insignia showing their rank and nothing else. They stood up as the inspection team entered. “I’ll wait outside”, said Forrester, his escort duties done until the return trip off the base.
The two officers worked as a double act. Their short introduction did not give a lot away. Yes they could answer all the questions about physical security. No they couldn’t say exactly what the facility was for. Yes the room beyond was the full extent of the area that was secured. No Fawzia and Ray couldn’t enter it. “Why not?” asked Fawzia, guessing the answer would be beyond her clearance level.
The Commander smiled. “Simply put, we cannot open the door. It is controlled by Rose Garden itself. Even if we succeeded in forcing it open, an unlikely proposition given its build, then we would be frozen to death.” He tapped at the glass. “The room is filled with liquid argon at – 180 degrees Celsius.”
Ray stared through the glass. The Lieutenant Colonel piped up. “Nothing to see. We call it the cube because its actual name is too long and alphanumeric to trip easily off the tongue. Anyway that too is classified.”