The Bergamese Sect (4 page)

‘
You think he’s got a clear purpose?’

‘
Sure, he’s a smart cookie. He’s not willing to risk exposure with a known operative. He’s also been clever in covering his tracks. He’s certainly aware we’re watching for him. But he’s clever enough to know we’d find it difficult, if not impossible, to track him down. His contact in London has no previous involvement in this area, just a guy on the street. He might not even know what’s been given him. That’s clever. This Sebastian knows subversive groups have been watching for him, that they’d be on his target’s doorstep within minutes. It’s exactly what they’ve been waiting for. Of course, these groups have no idea what he really knows.’

Walsh closed the file and pushed it back across the desk. He sighed again and leant back in his swivel chair, considering options. He had more options than most. At his word, machinery could be set in motion; machinery that would stagger those clowns in the CIA.

‘
Okay,’ he said at last, ‘we’ve got a guy who knows what’s really going on. He wants out, decides to tell all. But he can’t just drop by the
Washington Post
. So he sends an open invitation to some schmuck who doesn’t know squat about anything. He knows the people who’ve been after the truth for years will pick it up and get themselves over to his place for a chat. He’s just hoping they get to him first; before someone comes by and silences him for good. He’s sitting somewhere, beers chilling in the fridge, waiting for the party to start.’

Petersen smiled, but didn’t say a word.

‘
So what do we do now?’ Walsh asked, almost to himself.

Petersen leant over the desk, linking his hands. ‘We find the contact, retrieve the information and get to Sebastian before anyone else.’

‘
Sure,’ said Walsh. Methods and scenarios were racing through his mind. This was now much more than just a national security issue. There could be global repercussions. This time there were clever people willing to shoot their way to the truth. That scared him. It wasn’t their guns that scared him. It was their audacity, their fervour. His instinct took over; first stabilise the situation, then assess.

‘
We can’t afford to fail, Petersen,’ Walsh continued.

‘
No.’

‘
We also have to make sure the contact stays alive. He may be required.’

‘
Of course.’

Walsh stared at Petersen for a moment, a thin eyebrow twitching slightly. He turned away, opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a piece of paper. He started writing in a hurried scrawl.

‘
Use all resources,’ he said. ‘I want our best men on this. Pick up the target as soon as possible. Get a spike on them. I’ll authorise satellite surveillance. Let me know if you don’t get full co-operation at NRO.’ He looked up for a moment, weighing up possibilities.

‘
Tail them,’ he went on, ‘protect the contact; do
not
let them go public. Don’t attempt to recover the contact’s information; we may lose Sebastian permanently. Just keep on top of them. I want to know where they are twenty-four hours a day. I want to know who they meet and why. I want to know what’s in their groceries and what time they take a shit. Got that?’

‘
Sure,’ said Petersen, smiling again.

Walsh finished scribbling on the piece of paper and handed it over the desk. He reached up and scratched his chin, which was dark and rough with a day’s growth of whiskers. In his mid-forties, Walsh was slightly grey at the temples, with a bumpy complexion. His features were the kind that got noticed in the street, not because he was handsome, but because his face instantly made people feel at ease. Perhaps it was the dark, intelligent eyes, or the smooth curve of his jaw.

‘
Have you got a profile of the contact? What sort of guy is he?’ Walsh asked.

‘
We’ve not had much time to suss him out. His name’s Chambers. Average job; not married. Both parents are dead. We’re working on him. A schmuck as you say.’

The light-heartedness passed over the Assistant Director. ‘Chambers,’ he repeated, ‘okay.’ He went silent.

Petersen saw his prompt to leave and stood, straightening his jacket. He reached for the door.

‘
Petersen,’ Walsh said, ‘I don’t need to remind you about the security level here.’

Petersen paused, hand outstretched. ‘Sure. Even our operatives are unaware of the background. I’m going to drop Lewis at ground level, though. He’ll keep things within the boundaries.’

Walsh nodded, reassured. ‘Yeah, he’s a good man.’ Standing, he came round to the front of the desk. ‘Let’s get this job done quickly, Petersen. This Sebastian is a dangerous man, however you look at it. There’s a lot riding on this, and I don’t just mean our retirement funds. Let’s make sure we get to him first. Oh, and one last thing. Keep the Feds and the CIA out of this. We don’t want them fucking things up again.’

Petersen just nodded and gave a tight-lipped grin, reached for the door again. Walsh waved his hand in dismissal and the agent disappeared.

Walsh strode over to the door and locked it. Then, sitting at his desk, he pulled out a key on a thin chain around his neck and unlocked a bottom drawer. Inside lay a telephone with no buttons. He lifted the receiver and slowly raised it to his ear. A click sounded as the line connected, routed untraceably across the city. No voice answered, just a beep that told him his words were noted.

‘
Daedalus, Alpha, Sebastian,’ he said, and hung up.

He replaced the telephone, locked it away again and walked to a wooden cabinet set against the wall. Reaching inside for a bottle, he poured himself a healthy measure of bourbon. He swallowed it down in a single gulp but it didn’t wash away the lump in his throat.

Returning to the window, he squeezed his aching temples again and looked out toward Capitol Hill. The Washington Monument was still visible in the azure light of late evening. Below, lines of traffic meandered up and down Virginia Avenue; cars filled with ordinary people, people who led uncomplicated lives. With a twinge of envy, Walsh tried to imagine the bliss of their ignorance.

He would not allow its destruction. He would stop at nothing to prevent it.

Chapter 3

Deep sounds washed over him. Voices, but unintelligible. The words caressed him, brushing just faintly on his consciousness, but didn’t break through.

He was aware of movement, somewhere near, but his senses were numbed, his mind somehow severed from reality. A feeling that something was wrong, terribly wrong, reached through the oblivion toward him, forcing his senses to react, forcing him to wake.

A chink of light formed as Matt Chambers opened his eyes. He forced the heavy lids to rise and saw what looked like a dusty light bulb dangling on a long cable. He stared at it. It seemed perfectly spherical, filled with a soft, pearly glow – the faint outline of the cable disappearing out of sight in the gloom of the ceiling. It reminded him of a rising moon, yellow, hovering menacingly above his head. It stirred something terrible in him. The feeling of danger rushed through him again.

He shifted his head slightly and looked around. The room seemed large, most of it shrouded in darkness; the bulb’s light not penetrating into the dark recesses. He could see the outline of a window covered with a torn curtain. A few yards away stood a large wooden table. On it were some candles burning silently and a packet of cigarettes. A musty smell filled his nostrils.

He heard voices again, muffled, almost beyond the range of his hearing.

‘
Shame about Todd,’ said a man’s voice, faintly.

‘
Yeah,’ said another man.

Matt’s head was pounding and his limbs ached. It felt like he’d run a marathon, or worse still, been in a road accident. But he wasn’t in any hospital.

He tried raising his hand to calm his throbbing head but found he couldn’t move. Glancing down, he saw himself tied to a flimsy bed with thick, oily rope.

‘
They won’t be able to trace him, will they?’ the first voice said.

‘
No,’ came the reply, ‘they won’t have a clue who he is.’ There was a pause.

‘
Was
, you mean.’

‘
Todd was a hero, but he knew the risks.’ This time the voice was female. ‘He’ll be a mystery to the police. Just like those fucking Feds.’

Silence returned. Matt’s head was swimming with pain and confusion. His memory was clouded. He couldn’t remember where he was – or how he’d got there. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes again, concentrating, trying to recall.

―
§ ―

A busy street. The late afternoon sun. Men in business suits and well-dressed career women were striding in all directions. Commuters filed from orifices in tall buildings, swarming toward the tube stations and gathering by the kerbs. A large crowd stood at a bus stop peering along the street for signs of an overdue bus. Matt recalled the sweet and oily smell of the river wafting over the wharves, the warmth of the sun on his cheeks. He had left work, was strolling down Wapping High Street, reading the headlines in the
London Evening News
. He reached the tube, stopped and folded the paper, tucked it under his arm.

Two smartly dressed men appeared. They wore black suits, quite expensive ones, and each had a small pair of shades perched on his nose. They approached and one of them flicked a wallet open and held up a silvery badge. Some type of police badge. The man’s accent was faintly foreign as he asked Matt to hand over his laptop for them to examine.

Vaguely, he remembered a large, black Land Rover with darkened windows pull up in front of the tube station, screeching to a halt. Behind the two policemen, he saw a girl dressed in jeans and a loose jacket. She was with two youths, one with Rastafarian dreadlocks and a colourful hat, the other with an untidy beard and greasy trousers. They seemed to be edging toward him.

There was something deceptive in the police officer’s voice. Matt asked to see his badge again. But the man suddenly reached forward, trying to grab the computer. Just then, the girl and her two friends began running at them. Instinctively, Matt began to move, but in a flash they were careering into the policemen, sending them, and Matt, flying to the ground.

The bearded stranger was on top of him, screaming something to the girl. Matt struggled against his mugger, trying to elbow the youth. Suddenly, a deafening shot shook through his head, the air around him vibrating violently. Confused, he turned on his stomach and saw the girl standing over a policeman with a gun in her hand. Blood trickled from under the body and along the cracks in the pavement. The man lay motionless.

Screams. Confusion. The other policeman was also on the ground. He began reaching into his jacket. But the girl walked calmly up to him, aimed her gun, and pulled the trigger. His body jolted, a crimson spray shot from the back of his head, and he slumped onto the hard ground with a thud.

The girl shouted something. Terrified, Matt watched as she ran to the Land Rover, stopping to pick up his laptop. Her two friends grabbed him, one on each arm, and bundled him into the back seat beside her. The bearded one jumped in next to the driver and shouted to the Rastafarian outside. But as the car began to move, another shot shook the air. Blood splattered onto the car window and the Rastafarian crashed to the ground, his head thumping off the back of the car as it accelerated away.

Matt ducked and raised his arms as further shots rang out behind them. They careered down the road, swerving from lane to lane. Turning, he peered through the rear window. Three bodies lay in dark puddles in the street.

A terrifying car chase – a long journey into the night. The uneasy silence of his abductors. Dimly, he recalled a lonely farmhouse standing in the twilight and the yellow moon shining off its broken windows. And the darkness. But after that, all was blank.

―
§ ―

Matt’s brain throbbed. He winced. The voices were mumbling again, drawing him back to consciousness. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and saw the pearly globe of the light bulb still above his head. It wasn’t a nightmare; he was really lying there. The feeling of fear returned.

He tried again to raise his hand, but the metal-framed bed squeaked loudly. The voices stopped and he heard shuffling behind him.

A pair of jeans appeared. Matt looked up and saw the face of the girl. Recognition and panic surrounded him, his only thought of the murder he had witnessed her perform. He struggled helplessly as she knelt by the bed.

‘
You’ll feel a bit groggy for a while, Matt,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid we had to drug you.’

Matt tried to speak but could only groan. His muscles were sore from the fear that had been pulsing through them.

‘
Sorry,’ the girl continued. She reached forward and stroked his forehead tenderly, brushing back his hair. The girl’s touch was soothing. He stopped struggling, but his wide eyes continued to glare at the girl like a fox caught in the light of an approaching car.

‘
We’re not going to harm you, Matt,’ she continued. ‘We needed to put you out for a few hours, that’s all. In a moment we’ll untie you, but first we need to explain a few things.’

‘
You’re damn right,’ Matt said, but his words were garbled and the girl just smiled back.

‘
We need you to stay calm, okay?’ She gave a nod of encouragement.

Matt blinked several times. ‘Okay,’ he said, still slurring.

This time the girl understood him. She slid onto the floor by the bed, resting her forearm along his. She was close to him and he could detect a faint odour of perfume. She was young, perhaps twenty-five, had a head of almost white hair, very short and spiked. Her skin was perfect, her eyes a mesmerising blue, reassuring.