The Milan Contract

by Stephen Franks

  “Did he return to Skyguard?”

  “Yes. The company was floated on the German stock market in 2001 and took the name Skyguard Defence Industries. Josef Schuman became even richer. Until fairly recently, he was a major shareholder, but continues to act as chairman to the board.”

  “Do you think he knew Stolz worked for Skyguard?”

  “I think it would have been impossible for him not to know. Lukas Stolz was a big player at Skyguard. Known all over the world. I think we can assume Josef knew.”

  “And do you think Stolz knew Schuman was the head of Skyguard?”

  “He must have done. There’s a two-metre-high portrait of Felix Schuman in the reception of Skyguard’s headquarters. Stolz would have seen it every day. In Potsdam, Lukas and Josef knew each other well enough for Josef to tell Lukas about his father’s spying. It wouldn’t have taken Stolz long to work out the head of the company was his old schoolfriend.”

  “But I guess Stolz thought he was safe as long as Josef Schuman never found out he’d told the Stasi about his father’s spying,” Conza concluded, almost to himself.

  “You’re missing the point, Raffy. In 1990, Schuman was angry enough to threaten to murder Stolz, but in 1994, Stolz started working for Skyguard. By then, Josef Schuman had known for four years that Stolz had betrayed his father.”

  “Surely that exonerates him doesn’t it? He told Katherine he was going to kill Lukas almost thirty years ago. He never followed through with his threat. He even let Stolz work for his company.”

  “So it would appear. Even if he didn’t know Stolz was hired in ’94, he would have found out soon after. But he didn’t get Stolz sacked or expose his Stasi dealings to the press or anyone else for that matter. Don’t you find that odd?”

  “I agree, it’s strange. From what Katherine told me, Josef Schuman doesn’t sound like the forgive-and-forget type. You’d expect him to be vindictive, at least angry. He certainly wouldn’t let Stolz anywhere near Skyguard. And in truth, who could blame him? Stolz destroyed the Schumans’ life, the whole family could have been executed.”

  “But he did nothing. He allowed a man who he knew had betrayed the Schuman family to join his company. It doesn’t add up. Which is why we’re going to Berlin. We need answers, Raffy.”

  74

  Hatchmere Woods, Cheshire, England

  The house was built into the side of a shallow valley. Clumps of trees littered the banks, and the yellow brickwork of the main building was designed to blend in with the clover covered grass that ran up to the three-metre-high walls that encircled it.

  Max found a vantage point near the top of the hill just off a bridleway that cut across the valley at an oblique angle. The fields were used mainly for grazing, and the fences were dotted with stiles and kissing gates.

  For much of Friday, he skirted the perimeter, never closer than two hundred metres from the high stone wall. He counted his paces and made notes at regular intervals.

  He found a lean-to stable that backed onto woodland about three-quarters of the way up the valley side. When he lay on the roof, he had an unobscured view of the estate. The backdrop of trees also meant he wasn’t sky-lined and couldn’t be seen from further down the valley.

  He climbed down and counted the steps back to the main bridleway. Using a small magnetic compass, he memorised the directions and practised finding the stable from a fence post on which he fixed some lime-green tape.

  He’d found his observation post.

  75

  San Carlo, 60 km East of Milan, Italy

  Alexander Kurti packed his few belongings and locked the door. Within an hour, the apartment would be cleaned, sanitised and every trace of his brief occupation would have been removed. The Oldsmobile was already back in storage. He’d been in Camogli for just three months. Never longer than three months; anywhere. He was sick of moving around and looked forward to spending his time away from everyone and the phone. He would get to drink his wine in relative peace.

  After arranging for Zeffirelli to meet Fanucci, he’d driven out to the barn in San Carlo to disconnect the cameras. Fanucci had said they were switched off, but he didn’t trust Fanucci, and he hated cameras.

  He parked the car on the far side of the village and walked across fields of scrub until he reached a position from where he could watch the barn.

  Zeffirelli was cautious. Two cars drove past the barn a number of times, before a lone figure was deposited at the gates. ‘Reconnaissance,’ thought Kurti.

  Eventually, six men were dropped off in the yard and the cars emptied of guns and ammunition.

  Fanucci arrived with Stefan Puz just before seven. ‘No Max,’ thought Kurti. It irritated him but wasn’t fatal.

  The six-second ripple of automatic gunfire scattered a brace of plover from the gorse. The sound reminded Kurti of cave clearing in Afghanistan. Two more shots. ‘Finishers,’ thought Kurti with satisfaction, ‘job done.’

  When it was over, he watched six men climb back into their cars and drive off in opposite directions.

  The shit was back in its box. Time to leave Italy.

  76

  Chambers of Harry Chase, Bournemouth, England

  Chase went for a walk through the ornamental gardens that ran down towards the sea. Holidaymakers thronged the beach, and the promenade was busy, so he sat on a wall to eat his ice cream.

  Not for the first time, he wondered why he’d entered the thankless world of criminal law. He despised the system, which he saw as paying lip service to justice. No one ever tried to stop bad things happening, it was all about dealing with the misery afterwards. ‘Litter-picking.’ The establishment’s futile effort to hold back the rising tide of petty criminality, anti-social behaviour, and general short-sighted hubris.

  He didn’t make a difference anymore. He wondered if he ever had. He couldn’t. Most of the time, he was paid a pittance to spend a few minutes trying to establish excuses or explain away whatever crime had been committed. Innocence was a luxury he no longer wasted his time on.

  Qualifying as a barrister had meant something – then. He was convinced Britain without law would descend into anarchy. He’d joined a system that upheld that belief. But he’d stopped believing. Anarchy was already here, not in the absence of law, but despite it. Too many people had withdrawn their consent to be ruled under it. ‘Vox populi,’ and the voice was growing louder.

  But the call with Raphael Conza had awakened something. Maybe because the Stolz case wasn’t petty, it was new and exciting and complex. He’d started to think of the law again like he used to – as a solid and unshakeable structure around which everyday life revolved and evolved.

  Raphael Conza. Now there’s someone who still cared, still trying to make a difference, hadn’t had his spirit crushed. It made Chase feel guilty, ashamed of himself and the cynic he’d become.

  He returned to the office and looked up the number of his friend Jimmy Appleton.

  “Bloody hell, Harry. Good to hear from you.”

  Jimmy was a cheerful soul, well-liked, funny and ridiculously clever. He also possessed the uncanny knack of making people feel special. The product of an expensive public school and Oxbridge, Jimmy exuded confidence. He was a half-decent rugby player too. When he was out drinking, he kept his front teeth in a pocket so he wouldn’t lose them. The dentures being the result of a particularly feisty match against the Royal Navy. His blond curly hair, red cheeks and toothless grin always reminded Harry of a very happy and carefree scarecrow.

  They hadn’t spoken for a couple of years, but as is the way with ex-forces people, they talked as if they had seen each other yesterday. They reminisced for a while, chatting about scrapes they’d been in together and people they’d known. The conversation followed a familiar pattern. They’d engaged this way many times before.

  But Jimmy had never been naïve.

  “Come on then, Hatch, you’ve never done anything in your life without a reason and as much I dearly cherish talking
to my old mate, I’ve a feeling you didn’t pick up the phone because you missed me!”

  “Never could fool you Jimmy, and by the way, it’s strange being called Hatch again. Brings back memories.”

  “What’s it all about? Something exciting I expect.”

  “I won’t spin you a line, Jimmy, it’s a personal favour.”

  “Oh, OK. That sounds ominous. I don’t have the number of that air trafficker from Gütersloh any more you know.”

  “Bloody hell, I’d forgotten about her. No, it concerns a chap who works for Skyguard, Lukas Stolz. Do you know him?”

  “The guy who was killed in Milan. Yes, his murder’s been a hot topic here all week. Caused quite a stir. I only met him once. Bit of a stiff fish, God rest his whatsits and so on.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Very high up. Worked with numbers. Hush-hush. Designed the encryption code for our data link system. Weird sort of chap, loner. Can’t say I know much more than that. Why the interest? Is it a case you’re working on?”

  “Sort of, but unofficially. In truth, I’m trying to help a friend. Do you happen to know why Stolz was in Milan?”

  “No, I didn’t know he was over there, but I wouldn’t. Different department. He works out of our head office in Warwick. I could probably find out though.”

  “Thanks Jimmy, but I don’t want the world crashing down on your head.”

  “Don’t be daft, Harry, he’s the dish of the day at the moment, half the company is asking questions about him. I’ll interrogate a few trusted friends, discreetly. No one will know. Everyone loves Jimmy, you know that. If you’re asking, it must be important. Leave it with me.”

  “There’s one more thing, Jimmy. May I read out something found in Stolz’s notebook, my friend is trying to work out what it means, if anything.”

  “Go ahead Harry, ready to receive.”

  “OK, it’s DLR-EAC1–”

  Jimmy interrupted him.

  “DLR. That’s easy Harry. Stands for Data Link Remote. It’s the system we use to update software in our black boxes. ‘EAC1’ will be the line number. Read the rest out to me.”

  “4D, 9C and 555.”

  “Give me a second, Harry.”

  Chase suddenly became nervous and when his friend returned, stopped him.

  “Jimmy, wait. Isn’t this stuff secret? Are we talking about confidential information here?”

  “No, not really. I grant you, you wouldn’t find this stuff on the internet, but the line of data you just gave me is just one of millions. Stolz was a stickler for security, kept most of the really important stuff very close to his chest. The fact he had this in his notebook must mean it’s not of vital national importance.”

  “OK, as long as you’re sure this conversation isn’t going to get you in trouble.”

  “We’re fine Harry, they won’t shoot me, I promise. Everyone loves Jimmy! Now, what you read out to me is just hex.”

  “What the hell is hex? Is it computer code?”

  “Nothing as complex as that. All computers work in binary, they must have taught that in the crumbling comprehensive you went to?”

  “Yes Jimmy, noughts and ones. And it was a grammar school, so sod off!”

  “Hexadecimal. It’s just a different way of counting. It’s used to represent lines of binary digits. Everyone uses it, standard practice. Decimal is nought to nine and hex, nought to fifteen. Ten to fifteen uses the letters A to F instead of digits.”

  “So in hex, you count 0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,A,B,C,D,E,F – is that right?”

  “Spot on. Fifteen is F and sixteen is one, zero. Hold on a tick.”

  Chase heard Jimmy tapping on a keyboard.

  “You could do it yourself on any scientific calculator. The line number translates to 60097 and the groups 77, 156 and 1365. No secrets divulged. All I did was convert hex into decimal.”

  “But what are they used for?”

  “Now that is nearing the dark side. However, I can tell you those numbers are commands to bits of kit in the system.”

  “Without telling me anything they can arrest you for, explain that in terms a simple comprehensive schoolboy would understand.”

  “OK, but you can watch a film about this on our website. The Skyguard II system uses two distinct data links. Just clever radios really. One is the ‘DLO’, ‘Data Link Operational’. That distributes sensor data gathered from all the platforms on the link.”

  “Ground radars, airborne radars, that sort of thing?”

  “You’ve got it, plus a whole load more. The idea is that everyone on the same datalink can help build and see the same air and ground picture.”

  “And I’m guessing the data is encrypted, the stuff Stolz designed?”

  “Right again. But the hex strings you just gave me refer to the ‘DLR’, the ‘Data Link Remote’. It’s a sort of admin feed. All platforms on the same network are signed on to it whenever they power up.”

  “So what’s it for?”

  “We use it to synchronise the platforms. In effect, making sure all the radars, tanks and aircraft use the same time frame. Time is critical in a data link system.”

  “It acts like a speaking clock.”

  “Yes, something like that, but it’s also used to record missile firings and update system software. If we need to make a software change, we distribute it via the DLR.”

  “OK, I get it, so Stolz’s numbers are commands to the system on the DLR.”

  “That’s right. Think about your car radio. You can switch it on or off with a knob. The function of the knob is set by the manufacturers. If you wanted to turn the on-off switch into a tuning knob, you would have to remove the radio, open it up and reconfigure the electronics. In essence, we can do the same thing without leaving the office. We send reconfiguration instructions to the address of the on-off switch. The groups of numbers you gave me relate to particular functions of the system.”

  “Very clever. But isn’t that kind of dangerous? It means you could really screw things up with just a bit of code.”

  “Welcome to my world, Harry. But functionality changes require two hundred signatures and months of testing. Stolz is the only person who can give final sign-off authority and he’s a stickler for protocol. There have been one or two screw-ups over the years, but nothing significant, Stolz wouldn’t allow it.”

  “What sort of screw-ups?”

  “I’m not part of the inner circle, so much of what I hear is just rumour and gossip, but there was an almighty flap around this time last year. A goodwill deployment of Skyguard II to Latvia, hugely political. NATO showing the Russians they’re ready to repel borders on behalf of the Baltic states.”

  “And something went wrong?”

  “Truthfully, I don’t know. There was a tale going around that a missile had been fired by accident. Personally, I think the Russians were trying to stir up trouble. The story appeared in the papers at the time, but it died as quickly as it started. The Russians stopped bleating and the British media didn’t do a follow-up, which should tell you something. It all went away.”

  “What do you think happened, Jimmy?”

  “I’d put my house on the accidental firing stuff being a load of bollocks. As soon as the Russians made their complaint public, the bigwigs flew out to Riga, but nothing happened. No one was put on the carpet, no internal investigation and nothing was ever said.”

  “What was the Russian story?”

  “They said a civilian aircraft flying from Moscow to Stockholm was intercepted by a NATO missile fired from Latvia. The aircraft took some minor damage and turned back. There were photos in the Russian papers showing an engine casing with a small hole in it, but you know the mess a missile causes. This hole was tiny. My guess is the damage was caused by a piece of debris from the runway, and the Russians created a fairy tale around it.”

  “But they dropped the accusation?”

  “Like a stone, almost as soon as it was released. No retraction
of course. The story just died.”

  “So nothing to do with Skyguard in Latvia then.”

  “No, but something did happen out there, I just don’t know what. Maybe the British Army cocked something up and Skyguard was told to keep quiet. The army had only been operating the system for a few months and it would have been a disaster for the MOD, and NATO, if it transpired ordinary soldiers were incapable of operating a sophisticated system like Skyguard II.”

  “So you don’t think some overly keen corporal pulled the trigger when he shouldn’t have?”

  “Definitely not. Skyguard II isn’t like firing a rifle. Missiles only launch if the target meets certain parameters. It’s fail-safe, designed to prevent trigger-happy corporals from shooting something down they’re not supposed to.”

  “What parameters?”

  “Skyguard II analyses every contact on the network. It looks for friendly and hostile criteria. If a radar contact pops up doing three hundred knots, it receives a high points score. If it’s a fast-moving, low-level contact coming from the direction of the enemy, it loses a load of points. If it’s travelling on a known civil air route, it gets a zillion points. Basically, the missile can’t launch unless the points score falls below a pre-set threshold.”

  “That’s really clever.”

  “And that’s why I think the accidental firing stuff is rubbish. The system just wouldn’t allow a missile to suddenly run up the rails. Too many things have to happen first.”

  “But something did happen in Riga?”

  “Tilza actually, it’s a small town near the border. No one’s allowed to mention Tilza round here. Dirty word and guaranteed to result in your marching orders. But yes, something happened, but it wasn’t a missile firing at an airliner, of that I’m certain.”