by Wilbur Smith
"Don't worry about it." He tried to soothe her, but she shook her head with frustration.
"Not Casper, a name like that. I knew he was the one who really wanted to hurt me they were just doing what he told them. He was the one I was truly afraid of." Her voice ended with a sob, and she was sitting bolt upright in the seat.
"It's over now, darling." Peter swung into the verge of the road and braked to a halt. He reached for her but she was rigid in his arms and at his touch she began to shake uncontrollably. Peter's alarm flared, and he held her to his chest.
"Caliph!" she whispered. "That's his name. Caliph." And she relaxed against him softly, and sighed. The shaking stopped slowly.
Peter went on holding her, trying to control the terrible consuming waves of anger that engulfed him, and it was some little time before he realized suddenly that Melissa-Jane had fallen asleep.
It was as though uttering the name had been a catharsis for her terror, and now she was ready to begin the healing inside.
Peter laid her gently back in the seat and covered her with the angora rug before he drove on, but every few seconds he glanced across to make sure she was at peace.
Twice Peter called Magda Altmann from Abbots Yew, both times to her private number, but she was unobtainable and there was no message for him.
That was five days he had not been able to reach her, not since the Delta Strike which had freed Melissa-jane. She seemed to have disappeared completely, and Peter pondered the implications during the quiet days when he was almost always alone with his daughter.
Then Dr. Kingston Parker arrived at Abbots Yew, and Sir Steven Stride was delighted to have as his guest such a distinguished statesman.
Kingston Parker's giant personality seemed to fill the beautiful old home. When he put himself out, his graciousness was irresistible. Steven was delighted with him, particularly when he discovered that despite Parker's image as a liberal and his well-known concern with human rights, he was also a champion of the capitalist system, and determined that his country should take more seriously its responsibilities as leader of the Western world. They both deplored the loss of the BI bomber and the delaying of the neutron bomb programme, and the restructuring of America's intelligence agencies.
They spent much of the first afternoon in Steven's redwood-panelled study exploring each other's views, and came out of it fast friends.
When they emerged, Parker completed his conquest of the Stride household by showing he shared with Patricia Stride a scholarly knowledge and love of antique porcelain.
His concern and warmth for Melissa-Jane and his relief at her safety were too spontaneous not to be entirely genuine.
His conquest of that young lady's affections was complete when he went down with her to the stables to meet Florence Nightingale and prove that he was also a fair judge of horseflesh.
"He's a lovely man. I think he is truly an honourable man," Melissa-Jane told Peter, when he went up to her bedroom to bid her goodnight "And he's so kind and funny-" Then, lest there be any question of disloyalty, "But you are still my most favourite man in all the world." Her cure and convalescence seemed almost complete, and as Peter went down to rejoin the company he marvelled again at the resilience of young flesh and young minds.
As usual at Abbots Yew there was glittering and stimulating company at dinner, with Kingston Parker at its centre, but afterwards he and Peter exchanged a single glance down the length of Pat Stride's silver- and candle decorated table and they left them to the port and cognac and cigars and slipped out unobtrusively into the walled rose garden.
While they paced side by side on the crunching gravel pathway, Kingston Parker stoked his meerschaum and then began to talk quietly.
Once his bodyguard coughed in the shadows where he waited just out of range of their subdued voices, but that was the only intrusion and the spring night was still and balmy. Their conversation seemed utterly incongruous in these surroundings, talk of death and violence, the use and abuse of power, and the manipulations of vast fortunes by a single mysterious figure.
"It's been five days since I arrived in England-" Kingston Parker shrugged. "One does not rush through the echoing passages of Whitehall. There was much to discuss-" Peter knew that he had met with the Prime Minister on two separate occasions " and it wasn't just Atlas business, I'm afraid-" Parker was one of the President's confidants. They would have taken full advantage of his visit to exchange views with the British Government. "However, we did discuss Atlas in depth and detail. You know very well that Atlas has opponents and critics on both sides of the Atlantic. They tried very hard to squash it, and when they could not they saw to it that its power and duties were severely curtailed-" Parker paused and his pipe gurgled.
He flicked out the juices from the mouthpiece onto the gravel path.
"The opponents of Atlas are all highly intelligent concerned and informed men. Their motives and their reasoning in opposing Atlas are laudable. I find myself a little in sympathy despite myself. If you create a strike force such as Atlas, where enormous powers are placed in the hands of a single man or a small elite leadership, you could very well be creating a Frankenstein a monster more frightening than you are setting out to destroy."
"That depends on the man who controls it, Dr. Parker. I believe that they have the right man."
"Thank you, Peter." Parker turned his big shaggy head and smiled. "Won't you please call me Kingston." Peter nodded agreement, while Parker went on. "Atlas has had some spectacular successes at Johannesburg and now in Ireland but that makes it more danger--us. There will be a readier acceptance of the whole concept by the public; if Atlas asks for wider powers, it is more likely they would be granted. And, believe me, if it is to do the job it needs wider powers, Peter. I find myself torn down the centre-"
"And yet,"
Peter pointed out, "we cannot take on the most dangerous animal in the world, man the killer, we cannot do it without arming ourselves in every possible way." Kingston Parker sighed. "And if Atlas achieves those powers, who can say when they will be abused, when will the rule of force supersede the rule of law?"
"The rules have changed. The rule of law is so often powerless in the face -of those who have no respect for the law."
"There is another aspect, Peter. One that I have thought about half my life. What about the rule of unjust law? The laws of oppression and greed. A law that enslaves or deprives a man because of the colour of his face or the god he worships? If a duly constituted parliament makes racial laws or if the General Assembly of the United Nations declares that Zionism is a form of Imperialism and must be outlawed. What if a handful of men gain control of the world's resources and legally manipulate them in a manner dictated by personal greed to the detriment of all mankind, such as the Committee of the OPEC, the Shah and the King of Saudi Arabia-" Kingston Parker made a helpless gesture, spreading those long sensitive fingers. "Must we respect those laws? The rule of law, even unjust law, is it sacrosanct?"
"Balance," said Peter. "There has to be a balance between law and force."
"Yes, but what is the balance, Peter?" He abruptly closed his hands into fists. "I have asked for greater powers for Atlas, wider scope for its use, and I think these will be granted.
When they are, we will have need of good men, Peter." Kingston Parker reached out and took Peter's shoulder in a surprisingly powerful grip.
"Just men, who can recognize when the rule of law has either failed or is unjust, and who have the courage and the vision to act to restore the balance that you spoke of a moment ago." His hand was still on Peter's shoulder and he left it there.
It was a natural gesture, without affectation.
"I believe you are one of those men." He let the hand drop, and his manner changed. "Tomorrow I have arranged that we meet with
Colonel Noble. He has been busy breaking down and examining the entire
Irish operation, and I hope he will have come up with something for us to get our teeth into. Then
there is much else to discuss. Two o'clock at Thor Command, will it suit you, Peter?"
"Of course."
"Now let's go in and join the company."
"Wait." Peter stopped him. "I have something I must tell, Kingston. It's been tearing at my guts, and after you you have heard it you may alter your opinion of me my suitability for my role at Atlas."
"Yes?" Parker turned back and waited quietly.
"You know that the people who kidnapped my daughter made no demands for her return, made no attempt to contact me or the police to negotiate."
"Yes," Parker answered. "Of course. It was one of the puzzling things about the whole business."
"It was untrue. There was a contact and a demand."
"I don't understand." Parker frowned and thrust his face closer to Peter's, as though trying to study his expression in the poor light from the windows.
"The kidnappers contacted me. A letter which I destroyed-"
"Why?"
Parker shot at him.
"Wait. I'll explain," Peter replied. "There was a single condition for my daughter's release, and a deadline of two weeks. If I did not meet the condition by that time, they would have sent me parts of my daughter's body her hands, her feet, and finally her head."
"Diabolical," Parker whispered. "Inhuman. What was the condition?"
"A life for a life," said Peter. "I was to kill you in exchange for Melissa-Jane." Parker started, throwing back his head with shock.
"They wanted me?" Peter did not reply, and they stood staring at each other, until Parker raised his hand and combed at his hair, a distracted gesture.
"That changes it all. I will have to think it out carefully but it makes a whole new scenario." He shook his head.
They were going for the head of Atlas. Why? Because I was the champion of Atlas, and they opposed its formation? No! That's not it. There seems only one logical explanation. I told you last time I saw you that I suspected the existence of a central figure the puppetmaster who was taking control of all known militant organizations and welding them into a single cohesive and formidable entity.
Well, Peter, I have been hunting this figure. I have learned much to confirm my suspicions since last we met. I believe this person, or assembly of persons, does in fact exist part of the new powers I have asked for Atlas were to be used to hunt and destroy this organization before it does grave damage before it succeeds in so terrifying the nations of the world that it becomes itself a world power.-" Parker stopped as though to gather his thoughts, and then went on in quiet,
more measured tones. "I think now that this is absolute proof that it does exist, and that it is aware of my suspicions and intentions to destroy it. When I set you up as Atlas agent at large, I believed you would make contact with the enemy but, God knows, I did not expect it to come like this." He paused again, considering it. "Incredible!"he marvelled.
"The one person whom I would never have suspected, you Peter. You could have reached me at any time, one of the few people who could.
And the leverage! Your daughter the protracted mutilations I may have just misjudged the cunning and ruthlessness of the enemy."
"Have you ever heard the name Caliph?" Peter asked.
"Where did you hear that?" Parker demanded harshly.
"The demand letter was signed Caliph, and Melissa-Jane heard her captors discussing it."
"Caliph." Parker nodded. "Yes, I have heard the name, Peter. Since I last spoke to you. I have heard the name. Indeed I have." He was silent again, sucking distractedly on his pipe, then he looked up. "I will tell you how and when tomorrow when we meet at Thor, but now you have given me much to keep me awake tonight." He took Peter's arm and led him back towards the house.
Warm yellow light and laughter spilled out from the downstairs windows, welcoming and gay, but both of them were withdrawn and silent as they trudged up the smoothly raked path.
At the garden door Kingston Parker paused, holding Peter back from entering.
"Peter, would you have done it?" he asked gruffly.
Peter answered him levelly without attempting to avoid his eyes.
"Yes, Kingston, I would have done it."
"How?"
"Explosives."
"Better than poison," Parker grunted. "Not as good as a gun." And then angrily, "We have to stop him, Peter. It is a duty that supersedes every other consideration."
"What I have just told you does not alter our relationship?" Peter asked. "The fact that I would have been your assassin does not change it?"
"Strangely enough, it merely confirms what I have come to believe of you, Peter. You are a man with the hard ruthless streak we need, if we are to survive." He smiled bleakly. "I might wake up sweating in the night but it doesn't alter what we have to do. Colin Noble with his cheroot, and opposite him Kingston Parker with the amber meerschaum, seemed to be in competition as to who could soonest render the air in the room incapable of supporting human life. It was already thick and blue, and the temporary headquarters of Thor Command lacked air-conditioning, but within minutes Peter had become so immersed in what he was hearing that the discomfort was forgotten.
Colin Noble was going over the details of the Irish operation, and all that had been gleaned from it.
"The house, the Old Manse, was burned to the ground, of course.
The Irish constabulary had twenty men sifting through the ashes-" He spread his hands. "A big nix.
Nothing at all."
"Next the contents of the Austin and its provenance how do you like that word, Peter baby? Provenance, that's a classy word." Parker smiled indulgently. "Please go on, Colin."
"The Austin was stolen in Dublin, and refitted with the roof carrier. It contained nothing, no papers, nothing in the glove compartment or boot, it had been stripped and cleaned out by an expert-"
"The men," Parker prompted him.
ly of Gerald es, sir. The men. The dead one first. Name known as "Gilly", born Belfast 1946-" O'Shaughnessy, also As he spoke Colin picked up the file that lay on the table in front of him. It was five inches thick. " Do we want to read all of it? It's a hell of a story. The guy had a track record-" "Only as far as it concerns Atlas," Parker told him.
There is no evidence as to when or how he became involved with this business-" Colin sketched the facts swiftly and succinctly. " So we end with the contents of his pockets. Six hundred pounds sterling, thirty-eight rounds of .38 ammunition, and papers in the name of Edward and Helen Barry forged, but beautifully forged." Colin closed the file with a slap. "Nothing,"he repeated. "Nothing we can use. Now the other man. Morrison Claude Bertram Morrison celebrated abortionist and dedicated alcoholic.
Struck off the medical rolls in 1969-" Again he recounted the sordid history swiftly and accurately. " His price for the digital surgery was three thousand pounds half in advance. Hell, that's cheaper than the Blue Cross." Colin grinned but his eyes were black and bright with anger. "I am pleased to report that he can expect a sentence of approximately fifteen years. They are going to throw the book at him. There is only one item of any possible interest which he could give us. Gilly O'Shaughnessy was the leader from whom he took his orders, O'Shaughnessy in turn took his orders from somebody called-" He paused dramatically.
"Yes, that's right. The name we have all heard before.
Caliph." just one point here," Kingston Parker interrupted.
"Caliph likes to use his name. He signs it on his correspondence.
Even his lowliest thugs are given the name to use. Why?"
"I think I can answer that." Peter stirred and raised his head. "He wants us to know that he exists. We must have a focal point for our fear and hatred. When he was merely a nameless, faceless entity he was not nearly as menacing as he is now."
"I think you are right." Parker nodded his head gravely.
"By using the name he is building up a store of credibility which he will draw upon later. In future when Caliph says he will kill or mutilate we know he is in deadly earn
est, there . will be no compromise. He will do exactly as he promises. The man, or men, are clever psychologists."
"There is just one aspect of the Irish operation we have not yet considered," Peter broke in, frowning with concentration. "That is who was it that tipped us off, and what was the reason for that telephone call?" They were all silent, until Parker turned to Colin.
"What do you think of that one?"
"I have discussed it with the police, of course. It was one of the first things that puzzled us.
The police believe that Gilly O'Shaughnessy picked his hideout in Ireland because he was familiar with the terrain, and had friends there. It was his old stamping ground when he was with the Provos.
He could move and disappear, get things fixed." Colin paused and saw the sceptical expression on Peter's face.
"Well, look at it this way, Peter baby. He had a woman negotiate the lease on the Old Manse Kate Barry, she called herself and signed it on the lease so that was one ally. There must have been others,
because he was able to buy a stolen and reworked automobile he would have had difficulty doing that in Edinburgh or London without the word getting about." Peter nodded reluctantly. "All right, having the Irish connection helped him, Ad But there was the other side of the coin. O'Shaughnessy had enemies, even in the Provos. He was a ruthless bastard with a bloody record. We can only believe that one of those enemies saw the chance to make a score the one who sold him the stolen auto, perhaps. We have had the recording of the tip-off call examined by language experts and had a run against the voice prints on the computer. Nothing definite. The voice was disguised, probably through a handkerchief and nose plugs, but the general feeling is that it was an Irishman who made the call. The boffins from the telephone department were able to test the loading of the line and guess it was a call from a foreign country very likely Ireland, although they cannot be certain of that." Peter Stride raised one eyebrow slightly, and Colin chuckled weakly and waved the cheroot at him in a wide gesture of invitation.
"Okay. That's my best shot," he said. "Let's hear you do better.