The Gods' Gambit (20 page)

“It’s important. Do it quickly,” lama Tenzin said softly.

Nyma came to his senses. “Yes, master.”

Nyma went to fetch the phone and ran back. He placed the
portable satellite aerial on the ground and opened its foldable dish by
pressing a button.

Lama Tenzin asked him to dial a number from the phone book
under the name of Lao Boonliang and then he took the phone.

Nyma could hear the phone ringing. Eventually, he heard an
answering machine message.

Lama Tenzin said in English, “Lao, chairman Tenzin is
calling. I hope you and Pema are fine. Unfortunately, things don’t go well
here. My oldest son is ill. I will soon post you the prescription. You and Pema
will need to buy medicines. Call me once you get this message.” He tossed the
phone to Nyma and promptly set out for the monastery.

Nyma collected the portable aerial and ran to catch up with
him.

Chairman Tenzin! My oldest son!
As far as Nyma knew,
lama Tenzin wasn’t a chairman of anything. And he had always lived in celibacy.

Once again, the satellite phone hadn’t left Nyma
disappointed.

The Whiteway Estate, Hampshire, UK

“Her life is in no immediate danger. The operation to remove
the bullet went smoothly. She’s stable now,” the surgeon had said after Pema’s
four-hour operation.

Lao and Malee stayed with her. James went home. He intended
to wait there for Irina so they could discuss the Algerian findings.

Upon arriving home he felt as though he was visiting a
foreign place. There were police and media cars and an assortment of other
vehicles next to the stone arch. About ten reporters were waiting just outside
the area cordoned off with police tape. As soon as they spotted him, they
rushed towards him, pointing microphones and cameras. He had to slow down to
avoid hitting someone. He managed to get past them and continued slowly up the drive.

The detective in charge of the case had informed James that
he was going to provide him with a twenty-four hour guard and now a police car,
with one uniformed and one plain-clothes officer in it, was parked next to the
patio. James nodded to them and parked his car in front of the house. He tried
not to look at the bloody stain marking the place where the woman had died.

Irina arrived half an hour later. She looked tired. She
asked James about Pema and requested a cup of strong coffee. James showed her
into the conservatory.

She gazed at the trees coming into leaf and the large mowed
meadow that harboured islets of flourishing flowers and decorative bushes.
“Wonderful view. Calms the soul,” she said.

“Yes. It’s beautiful at this time of year. How are you
coping?”

Carried away by her thoughts, she didn’t catch his point. “I
just finished giving my testimony to the police.”

“I mean … what you did. Without you, Pema and I would have
been killed or kidnapped.”

Irina cast him a glance. “I hadn’t killed a man until today.
I know it was in self-defence. But it’s not that simple…” She paused. “An
occupational risk, one could say.”

“I’m extremely glad for your intervention.”

Irina changed the subject. “On my way here I tried to put
myself in your shoes. I’m sure it’s not easy for you either.”

“I feel like the sky has fallen on me.”

“What do you think could be the goal of those people? It was
a professionally organized operation. Only by pure chance that we’d fixed our
meeting at that particular time made them fail.”

James drew his hand over his forehead. He had been pondering
the same question. “It’s beyond all reason. Judging by their actions, they
didn’t want me dead. They had plenty of time to shoot me if killing me was
their goal. The man wanted me cuffed. Maybe they wanted to kidnap me. Ransom, I
suppose. That’s what I told the police.”

“Yes. That’s the most probable reason,” said Irina slowly
and thoughtfully. “I see two odd things. One is the determination of those
people; their readiness to die. The other is that in my estimation they were
not professionals. Their planning and organization were good, though. By the
way, are you rich?”

“I wouldn’t describe myself as rich. My financial state is
stable.”

“So kidnappers could get a large ransom for you.”

“That depends on your point of view, I suppose. But you
could say so.”

“That adds a question mark.”

“I don’t know what to think. My life’s been turned upside
down in the last few days. Without any obvious reason.”

“Answers will emerge when the bodies are identified. The van
and the green Audi were stolen. But we have two bodies which will be identified
very soon. Those people left traces. Soon more facts will be clear.

“I hope so. This uncertainty and lack of knowing what’s
going on is unbearable.” James was silent for a while. He took a sip of coffee.
“You know I was removed from the investigation into Costov’s murder?”

“I spoke with Peter. He thinks you delivered one hundred per
cent in your work on the case. He mentioned the new leads detective Stockton
has followed.”

“They think I’ve been compromised. They’re linking Elizabeth
with Islamic extremists. That’s pure madness.”

“I’m aware of the situation. Peter trusts you. He thinks
they’ve been over hasty. But things do not just depend on him.”

“I wanted to say this to you in person to avoid any
misunderstanding. I wouldn’t want to cause you any problems.”

“I don’t work for the British police. And I don’t share
their reservations regarding you. You did a great job in Algeria. I wouldn’t
have managed without you.” Irina reached into her bag, which she had hung over
the back of her chair. She pulled out a small thin notebook with a brownish
cover and several sheets of paper. “I promised sheikh Mussa I’d hand over Knut
Vebber’s notebook to you. He insisted on it. These papers contain the English
translation. Vebber wrote in the notebook in Arabic and here and there in
German.”

James was surprised. “The sheikh sent this to me?”

“He asked me to give it to you personally. He said you would
understand.”

James started to read the translation. “How did your meeting
with the sheikh go?” he asked.

“I got a better picture of what kind of person Vebber was.
The sheikh was not effusive. He allowed me to talk to two of his students who
knew Vebber. He was a pretty odd character in my opinion. An idealist with
interesting thoughts. I don’t get how he blended with the Islamic environment
there. Obviously, he had intended to. He was held in respect by the whole Sufi
school. No conflicts with anybody. He was a soft and polite young man, a bit
reticent. His murder left all who knew him there in shock.” Irina stopped,
seeing that James was engrossed in the text.

“Sorry,” he said and put the papers aside. “I got carried
away.”

“It’s okay. Take a look and then tell me what you think.”

Five minutes later, James lifted his head. “You’ve read
this, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Pretty interesting. Somehow … poetic.”

James was visibly excited. “I’m impressed. This man was a
philosopher. An original one. It’s a pity that his work has been left
incomplete.”

“Was he that good?”

“Incredibly. I think the title he gave his work – Philosophy
of the New Man – really corresponds with the writing.”

Irina stood up, walked back and forth a couple of times and
then sat down again. The signs of tiredness had disappeared and she now looked
animated. “That’s the Costov-Vebber connection!” she exclaimed. “Its lack up
until now has been confusing for me... That’s valid, of course, if Knut
Vebber’s writings are as significant as you say.”

James obviously did not catch her point, so Irina explained.
“In your report you describe the cult as opposed to progress. Costov was killed
because he was a prominent scientist – a carrier of progress. Vebber’s murder
also falls into this scheme. He had the potential to leave a trace in humanitarian
science.”

“That’s a good point. However, we don’t know anything about
the criteria the cult uses to choose its victims. Costov had a scientific
career. His achievements were publicly acclaimed. Vebber was completely unknown
in that sense.”

“He may have shared his ideas with somebody linked to that
cult,” Irina suggested.

“It’s possible. That man must have been somebody from
Algeria. That’s why he was killed there.”

Irina expanded on his argument. “If a German branch of the
cult was involved, Vebber would have been killed in Germany.”

“Vebber had a closed personality. It’s less probable he
would have shared his ideas anywhere else but in Algeria. They were his closest
spiritual companions.”

Irina suddenly smiled. “We make a good team.”

“It may sound immodest, but I agree.” It was the first time
for several days that a semblance of a smile crossed James’ face.

 Irina stood up. “In that case I preserve the privilege
to hire your expertise some day. That would be without the British police being
the middle men.”

“That’d be a pleasure.”

The MI5 building, Brighton, UK

“Detective Stockton is expecting you, Mr Whiteway. Third
floor, office 12,” said the woman behind the reception desk. She handed him a
visitor’s badge. “Scan it on the device when you enter and leave,” she said,
pointing to the square display of the checking-in/out machine.

Office 12 was one half of a large room, separated by a
transparent glass panel. In it were six desks with busy-looking police officers
behind each of them.

James spotted Stockton through the glass panel. His desk was
separate from the others in the far left corner. Stockton invited him to sit
down and continued to rummage among the papers on his desk. A minute later, he
lifted his head and said, “I already spoke with Miss Eden’s family. I shared
with them the facts we’ve gathered up until now.”

James once again felt an aversion to him.
You want to say
that I’m wasting your time,
he thought, but said, “I know. I talked to
them. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here. I was visiting my housekeeper in hospital.”

“I want you to know that your case was given to me, too,”
said Stockton. “Yesterday, I took a statement from Mrs Pema Boonliang. She
mentioned you had intruders at your estate a few days before the attack.”

James explained what had happened and added that it may well
have had nothing to do with the assault. He mentioned the gold Peugeot for the
first time.

Stockton took notes while he was speaking. “Why haven’t you
mentioned this before?” he asked.

“I’d forgotten it,” James admitted. “About this car – I’m
just guessing. I hardly saw it, so I can’t be sure it was the same car I saw at
the funeral.”

“Hmm,” murmured Stockton, devoting himself to typing
something into his computer with two fingers.

James started to lose patience. “Detective, I came here to
talk about developments in Elizabeth’s murder investigation. Let’s leave my
interrogation for another time.”

Stockton stopped typing and looked up. He pushed his chair back
from the desk and clasped his hands over his stomach. “As you wish,” he said
slowly, separating his words. “The killer’s name is William Leroy, nickname
Billy the Stain. Drug addict and drug dealer. He served a five-year sentence.
He got out a couple of years ago.” Stockton paused and looked James straight in
the eyes without blinking before continuing. “He was a member of the gang that
attacked you, by the way. We think their goal might have been to finance
radical Islamists. Four men and two women formed the gang. The women and two of
the men are already dead. We’re trying to establish the identity of the other
two men. We’re checking out the possibility that Elizabeth Eden could have
known something about these people—”

“Elizabeth would have told me if there was something like
that,” James interrupted.

Stockton raised his arm to silence him. “That’s only a
hypothesis... Now … the gangsters hired a house close to the Haslemere Centre
where Miss Eden taught a fashion course. William Leroy lived in it. His corpse
was also found there. His death occurred just a few hours after the death of
Miss Eden – a drug overdose. Drawings and the address of a rich family in
Southampton were found during the search of the house.”

“How was Elizabeth abducted?” asked James.

“The abduction was perpetrated by William Leroy and one of
the women from the gang. They attacked Elizabeth in a street behind the
Haslemere Centre. Five minutes after Elizabeth Eden finished her tuition
session her car was caught on the CCTV cameras of a nearby bank. Behind the
wheel was William Leroy. The car that followed him was driven by the woman shot
by Mrs Pema Boonliang…” Stockton went on to say that he thought Elizabeth had
been killed accidentally, probably when resisting or trying to escape. Leroy
had hit her with his handgun on the back of the neck. The gun was subsequently
found in Leroy’s house together with Elizabeth’s jewellery. After committing
the murder, William Leroy took cocaine together with a synthetic narcotic. The
combination proved fatal. His body was found a few days later. A postman
smelled the rotting corpse and alerted the police. “The gang decided to kidnap
you as well. They already knew you because of Elizabeth Eden,” Stockton
concluded.

“So, they planned that sophisticated attack only because
they were familiar with me?”

 “I believe they were after a ransom … and maybe
something else…” Stockton paused.

“What could that be?”

“We’re still working on it,” Stockton said evasively.

“I see. Can you at least tell me who the people in the gang
are, apart from William Leroy?”