The Sacred Scroll (48 page)

‘Most clubs do.’

‘This took forever to dig up. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it, but I double-checked, triple-checked, and there doesn’t seem to be any doubt.’

‘Hit me.’

Lopez was on the point of replying when he checked himself. ‘This is a really big one, Laura. Maybe I’d better run this by Jack first.’

‘Have you tried him?’

‘Yes, and he’s not responding.’

‘And he isn’t here,’ Graves cried in frustration. ‘Surely you can tell me. And if it’s as important as you say, we should go straight to Hudson.’ She pressed on. ‘Is this the guy who may have the tablet? Who knows what it is, and who may be able to use it?’

Lopez spoke slowly, softly. ‘I believe there must be a connection, yes.’

‘Then tell me! You’ve given me all the rest of the shit, why not the punchline?’

Lopez seemed to have firmed up his decision. ‘Jack first,’ he said.

‘This isn’t the time for games, Leon.’

‘I was never more serious.’

The lock on the outer security door buzzed and the door clicked open. The two of them turned to see Marlow appear behind the glass inner door, which opened for him after another few seconds.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ said Lopez, the tension breaking out in his voice. He scarcely noticed how haggard his chief was looking, and how much more than usually unkempt.

But Graves said: ‘What’s happened?’

‘The trap’s set,’ Marlow said to Lopez.

He took a seat. He looked dead beat, but his eyes held a fire neither of his associates had seen there before.

‘What’s happened?’ Graves said again.

‘I’ve got a report to read. From Dr Shukman. Take me five minutes. But I’ll fill you in. What have you got?’

‘Leon has something – I think,’ Graves said drily.

‘Laura wanted to take this to Sir Richard,’ Lopez explained. ‘I thought, keep it in the family to begin with.’

‘That’s good.’

‘He didn’t want to tell me at all,’ said Graves.

‘Not before me?’ said Marlow, still preoccupied. ‘Better come out with it,’ he said, looking at Lopez and adding, in answer to the question in Lopez’s eyes, ‘Laura needs to be in on whatever you’ve got. Now more than ever.’

‘Question of trust,’ put in Graves acidly.

‘This is big,’ said Lopez seriously. ‘And I apologize to my colleague. Laura, you and I couldn’t have run with this alone. And it has a bearing on Sir Richard.’

‘Not my fault he’s been calling me into his office because I haven’t been at my desk here and he wants to check up on me. I’m not sitting on his lap, you know.’

‘OK, Laura,’ said Marlow. ‘Leon?’

‘I’ve got the Fourth Man,’ said Lopez.

‘Background?’ asked Marlow, and Lopez ran through what he’d told Graves.

‘So who is he?’

‘Take a look for yourself.’

Lopez swung the screen of the nearest terminal round
and touched it, pulling a text loaded with figures and references into view. ‘This is a digest of the paperwork,’ he said. ‘And it all points – here.’

He touched the screen again and dragged a picture into view – a large colour photograph of a smiling Rolf Adler.

Dr Ellen Shukman’s report on Dr Su-Lin de Montferrat was concise. ‘It’s partly conjectural,’ she’d said as she handed it to him, ‘but mainly based on observation. It bears out your suspicions, and I’m glad I’d already written it when you came to me with them. Otherwise you might be accusing me of reacting to suggestions you placed in my mind. I just hope it isn’t too late.’

Marlow, alone in his office, read Shukman’s report, half disappointed to have his worst fears confirmed, half relieved that his suspicions were, after all, well-founded.

Given your directive that the memory-loss may have been faked, we can confirm that, in certain circumstances, such a piece of acting could be undertaken by the subject in such a way as to be convincing even to herself. Thus the subject, if properly controlled by a dominant Other who understood enough of her condition to manage it, would provide a useful and almost wholly reliable tool in the hands of that Other.

The subject has, in the light of our interviews and researches, indicated that she has passed a psychological boundary, freeing herself from what we might call normal inhibitions – indeed that she is almost certainly incapable of experiencing or expressing normal emotions. [The last phrase struck a harsh chord with Marlow.]
In one sense the subject inhabits a grey area in which all moral aspects are blurred, and any rules are of her own making. Her goal is exclusively the furtherance of her own ends or those of her Controller. Nothing else, no other consideration, plays any role at all. Salient ‘qualities’ in this context include ruthlessness, callousness, selfishness, faithlessness and mendacity. These ‘qualities’, coupled with a highly developed manipulative function, enable the subject to function flawlessly within a world created by a flawed psyche. Downsides for such a subject include: humourlessness, friendlessness and isolation; such a subject is emotionally immature and shallow, and also, having physical beauty, vain. Such a subject will not suffer any sense of personal defectiveness or inadequacy. To sum up, we are looking at an aspective borderline personality disorder with high psycho-/sociopathic elements, among other dysfunctional strains.

 

Marlow read through the summary twice, sighed, and fed the pages of the report through his shredder. All he had to do now was watch and wait, and he didn’t think he’d have to wait long. He was certain that Su-Lin had not only picked up on the information he had fed her but, as he had hoped and intended, she’d decided that he suspected her, and would prepare to bolt.

All mechanisms were in place for her to succeed in escaping without realizing that her flight was being facilitated. Mechanisms were also in place to have her closely followed in whatever direction, and by whatever means, she might take. The computer to which she had had access was being closely monitored by one of Lopez’s assistants.

The blue telephone rang at four that afternoon. It was the commander of the watch squad on surveillance duty at the 48th Street safe-house.

‘Mr Marlow?’

‘Yes?’

‘Subject is on her way. Taxi to Kennedy at 15.55. Pursuit implemented.’

‘Keep her in sight, but don’t get too close. Seal the apartment until the forensic team arrives. Await advisement.’

‘Sir.’

The phone went dead. Marlow sat in thought. He’d wait until her destination was certain before he joined the pursuit himself. He tried not to think of the risk he was taking.

But there was not much time for reflection. An intranet message appeared from Graves asking him to contact her immediately. He made his way to the main section of Room 55.

She was waiting for him, her face rigid. ‘We may have a glitch,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘I’ve just had word from Hudson: there’s a delay on delivery of the Reinhardt letter. He asked me to relay. You’re to see him now.’

‘What’s the problem?’ Marlow asked on entering the cigar-and-eau-de-cologne-scented office.

Sir Richard, though impeccable as ever, nevertheless for once looked ruffled. ‘Nothing serious. Administrative, really.’

‘What?’

Hudson spread his hands. ‘It seems Homeland’s got wind of this operation. Worried it might affect national security. Need to vet the letter before forwarding it.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘They say twenty-four hours.’

Marlow felt cold. Jesus, friendly fire at this stage of the game. ‘Haven’t you told them what they’re jeopardizing? There’ll be more than fucking national security to worry about if we don’t get there first.’

‘Don’t worry. The letter’s perfectly secure.’

Marlow thought of the other copy, on the Swiss safety-deposit box in Bern. Christ, he hoped that was secure.

‘I’ll nudge them to get it to us more quickly.’

Marlow could have throttled the suave bastard. This wasn’t a fucking diplomatic game. This was gloves-off, blood-on-the-canvas stuff. ‘Do that,’ he said.

He made his way back downstairs, sweating. Once he regained Room 55 he went straight to a blue phone and rang the watch commander for an update.

‘She’s arrived at the airport. Following her in.’

‘Terminal?’

‘One.’

Marlow thought. Terminal One. Aeroflot, Air China, Lufthansa. Among others. Quite a choice.

‘Keep me posted.’

‘Sure.’

‘Soon as you know her flight, get someone on it. Get airline clearance for an inflight communications line too.’

‘On it.’

Marlow hung up. Su-Lin was a lifeline now. If her trail
led to Adler then, provided Marlow had the location of the tablet in time, he could spring the trap. But if he hadn’t …

And there was the ever-present possibility of third-party interest in the tablet. Marlow hadn’t forgotten the reluctance of Yale to play ball over translating the Adhemar manuscript.

Was Homeland Security really interested in the Reinhardt letter?

Why the delay
now
?

His mind raced. He saw Graves watching him, and gave her a tight smile. He didn’t want to talk.

Lopez entered from his lab.

‘Jack – Christ, I’m glad you’re here,’ said Lopez. He held a sheaf of papers untidily stacked in a blue file in his hand.

‘Tell me it’s good news.’

‘I don’t think it is.’

‘What?’

‘I thought you were in your office. I was about to ring.’

‘With Hudson.’ Marlow looked at Graves, including her. ‘Delay on the letter. Twelve hours min. Homeland.’

‘Shit.’

‘So tell me.’

‘I’ve cleared all sensitive info. from the electronic files. About to shred this stuff.’

‘But?’

Lopez shook his head. ‘Jeez, Jack, I don’t know how to tell you this.’

‘Go
on
!’

‘Someone got there first. Christ knows how they tapped
in. It was only unlocked for half an hour. My premier assistant –’

‘What did they get?’

‘Enough to know our thinking on Reinhardt.’

‘So they’ll have as close an idea as we have about the location?’

‘Not the precise location, but –’

‘Without the letter, they can’t know that.’

‘– but they will know the letter exists. And they’ll know about the copy still in the deposit-box in Bern.’

All my fault, thought Marlow. All my fault. Got to put this right.

The blue phone rang again. It was the watch commander at Kennedy, checking in.

‘News?’ Marlow barked.

‘No scheduled flight. Private jet. Long-haul. Gulfstream V.’

‘Got its flightplan?’

‘On its way.’

‘Fast as you can.’

‘On it.’

‘Know who owns it?’

‘Licensed to a big company. MAXTEL.’

‘Jesus, he must be confident.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

There was a buzzing on the line. ‘What?’ the watch commander was saying to someone else. Then he was back on. ‘Destination’s just come in,’ he said.

‘Hit me.’

‘Berlin, Germany.’

‘Good. I’m going there. Your contact here will be Graves. Liaise with me through her. I want registration, ETA, anyone travelling with her, everything.’

‘Got it.’

Marlow hung up and looked at his associates. ‘The game’s afoot,’ he said. ‘Laura, I want you to organize an INTERSEC long-range for Berlin as soon as possible.’

Graves looked expectant. ‘But I’m coming too.’

‘Not yet. I need you here. Leon, as soon as that letter comes through, gut it and send me the details ultra-secure – through Laura.’ Marlow looked at her. ‘OK with that?’

‘I’m here. Soon as you need me, just whistle.’

‘I’ll do that.’

Marlow looked at them both. ‘Walkdown time,’ he said. ‘Please God.’

Berlin, the Present

‘You have done well,’ said Rolf Adler, sitting on the sofa in his office in Berlin.

‘Thank you.’

‘Pity your cover’s blown – but then, you can’t have everything.’

Su-Lin, perched on the armchair near him – it was so large and deep it would have engulfed her if she had sat back – pursed her lips. ‘I have brought you everything you requested on this mission. I expect to be repaid, not criticized.’

Adler watched her. He was unused to being spoken to in such a way, but it amused him and, in Su-Lin’s case, he accepted that he was in the company of an equal partner. Su-Lin’s de Montferrat and Venetian connections had first brought him into contact with Doge Dandolo. His business connections with her late father had paid him an unexpected and incalculable bonus when he had discovered the daughter, an ambitious little mouse who longed to be a lioness. A stormy and short affair had ceded place to a much more satisfactory business partnership, and he had managed to identify and handle a capricious, ruthless and entirely amoral temperament. The girl was an ideal foot-soldier – she was entirely free of the slightest scruple.

Without her, he would be in ignorance of the great destiny life had prepared for him. Without her, he would not have the means to attain that which he now held virtually within his grasp. But he knew what she expected. The deal was that once the tablet was theirs, they would rule in unison. Adler did not trust her any more than he imagined she trusted him, but he knew her limitations, and he had a bone ready to throw her.

‘Five million Swiss francs are already lodged in your name in an account with Kleinwort Benson in Geneva,’ he told her. ‘As an initial token of my gratitude.’

‘But we are not there yet.’

‘We are, as the poet said, winning near the goal,’ Adler replied. ‘But we are, you’re right, not quite there yet.’ He paused. ‘This General Reinhardt,’ he continued. ‘I’d like to know how the tablet came into his possession.’

‘That’s immaterial.’

‘He was close to Hitler. It makes me wonder …’ Adler had pondered this already. Hitler had failed. But even Hitler had not had his detailed knowledge of the workings of the tablet. Hadn’t Hitler driven out the very Jewish scientists who might have helped him, had they not been relentlessly pursued and victimized, or driven into exile? It was ironic, and what a fool the man had been. All he had done, quite apart from his clumsy destructiveness, was create an enormous loss in Europe, and an enormous gain in the USA. To control people, you had to lull them into a state where they were unaware that they were no longer thinking for themselves.