The Hornbeam Tree (51 page)

‘I hope no-one’s watching Katie like this,’ she commented, thinking of how vulnerable she and Molly were down there, on the edge of the village. The only near neighbours ready to call on were Judy and Dave, who were out of shouting range,
and
woefully inexperienced when it came to dealing with authorities at this level.

‘I don’t see why they would,’ Laurie responded, still typing. ‘None of us is there now, and they know her situation, so there wouldn’t be anything to gain. Besides, if there was a problem, she’d call.’

‘Mm,’ Michelle responded, experiencing a further stirring of unease as the two men strolled almost arrogantly across the road to lean against the park railings. ‘I think, for her own sake, we need to keep Katie out of this altogether from now on,’ she said. ‘In fact, I got the impression yesterday that she wouldn’t mind it going away, it’s just that she doesn’t want us to feel that she’s bailing out.’

Laurie was checking her email for accuracy. ‘Has she had the talk with Molly yet?’ she asked.

‘Not quite. Apparently she brought it up last night, but Molly blocked her. She’s going to try again over the weekend, when Molly doesn’t have school the next day, and after they’ve done a spot of retail therapy so Molly might feel less inclined to run out on her … How are you getting on there? They’re starting to edge this way.’

‘Oh hell,’ Laurie murmured, quickly rearranging the pages. ‘I’ve only got the ’97 version in so far. Did you lock the door?’

‘No, but I will,’ and moving swiftly to it, she turned the key.

‘Call Gino and ask him to come over,’ Laurie said. ‘We could do with some male back-up. He should be in the pub opposite. The number’s written on the board there, do you see?’

After making the call Michelle returned to the window and felt a cold hand of fear close around
her
heart. ‘They’ve gone,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t see them.’ A moment later she started as someone came past the window, then realizing it must be Gino, she went quickly to the door.

‘Is anyone around?’ she called out.

‘Can’t see anyone,’ he called back.

She turned to Laurie. ‘Have you got both versions in yet?’

‘Just about,’ Laurie replied, her fingers moving like crazy.

‘Hang on,’ Michelle said to Gino.

Two minutes later, after making absolutely sure she had everything right, Laurie said, ‘OK, it’s done. I’m just typing in the address now, then it’ll be ready to send.’

Michelle waited for the thumbs up to say the email had gone, then turned the key and gingerly pulled back the door.

‘What’s going on?’ Gino said, stepping inside. ‘Who’s supposed …’ The wind went from him as he was slammed out of the way and two men burst in behind him, brandishing badges and telling them all to move away from the computers, ‘NOW!’

Quickly Laurie hit the keys, trying to erase evidence of the message.

‘Laurie! No! No!’ Michelle shouted. ‘Leave it.’

Laurie looked up and to her horror saw a gun aiming straight at her.

‘Move away now,’ she was told.

Before she could respond, the other man grabbed her and hauled her out of the chair. ‘Over by the wall,’ he barked, shoving her forward. ‘And stay back, all of you.’

Minutes later the computer was disconnected
and
being transported out to the street. One of the men was on the phone, presumably calling for a vehicle, but that must already have been done, because almost immediately a police car was pulling up outside.

‘What the hell?’ Gino said, as the car drove away taking the computer and men with it.

‘It’s a long story,’ Laurie told him, finding she was shaking. She turned to Michelle. ‘At least I managed to send it,’ she said.

‘What about erase?’ Michelle asked.

Laurie shook her head.

Michelle turned back to the window, where there was nothing to be seen now except a few commuters hurrying back from the station, and a teenage couple heading for the park. ‘Then I guess,’ she said, ‘that all hell is about to break loose.’

‘This is it!’ Tom declared, staring excitedly at the screen. ‘Shit!’ he cried, thumping a hand on the table. ‘Does it get any better? The neo-cons might just as well pack up now and join history. They’re never going to survive this.’

Elliot was grinning widely. This truly was the breakthrough they needed, for there should be no credibility problems now. It all fitted. The remit was to employ all means necessary in order to hold on to power and further the aims of the 21 Project. Though they’d already known that, what they hadn’t realized was how explicit the original was in its stunning recommendations on how to speed up the agenda’s launch, increase defence spending, and export ‘American-style democracy’ to those parts of the world whose resources were vital to the
US
. It was all unfolding perfectly. ‘Talk about hoist by your own petard,’ he commented, going to fetch two glasses. ‘Definitely a cause to celebrate.’

Pushing back from the table, Tom reached for one of their better burgundies and started to open it. ‘Based on this, I’m going to suggest two different articles,’ he said, already going through it in his mind, ‘one for Europe, Asia and the Arab world, with the focus on P2 and the use of a staged terrorist plot as part of an election strategy, the other for the States, leading with the “cataclysmic event” that advanced the neo-con cause beyond even their wildest dreams.’

Elliot was nodding and holding out glasses for Tom to fill. ‘It’ll make sense for you to handle the States,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the rest of it.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘It’s Thursday evening now, we’ve got no food, so I say we stick to our plan to go to Beaujeu for dinner, then make a start on everything first thing tomorrow. It’ll give us time to discuss it tonight, then sleep on it before we get going. We should still be ready in plenty of time to submit edited highlights by Saturday.’

‘Which is a reminder,’ Tom said, ‘that we still don’t know which editors are up for it. Are there any other emails with that one?’

‘It was the only one that came through,’ Elliot replied. ‘We’ll check again when we get back, but Laurie will know how important it is to get that information to us, especially now, so she’ll be on it, no doubt about that.’ He raised his glass, and saluted Tom. ‘To you, my friend,’ he said, ‘and the greatest story of your career. Of anyone’s career.’

Tom grinned. ‘We’re in this together,’ he
responded
. ‘I couldn’t have come this far without you, so let’s drink to going the rest of the distance and staying this side of freedom.’

‘Not to mention the Styx,’ Elliot added wryly, and laughing they clinked glasses and drank.

It was seven o’clock in the morning, Washington time, as the Special Operations Executive gathered in a secure office of the Eisenhower Building, close to the White House, to discuss the information that had come in overnight. Clearly seizing the British reporters’ computers had paid off big time, for they confirmed that the worst-case scenario was on the brink of becoming a reality. Radical measures now needed to be agreed upon as to how to effect control of the situation.

‘Is there anything yet on Chambers’s location?’ Deborah Gough asked, setting aside her copy of Laurie Forbes’s email containing the damaging amendment.

‘Nothing confirmed,’ the CIA analyst told her. ‘The Brits have been operating on the assumption he was still in the country, but we’ve just heard they’re reassessing.’

‘Based on what?’

‘On the fact that the journalist, Elliot Russell, has close links with an ex-member of the SIS who could account for the tip-offs, and who apparently has a home in England’s West Country, and a private plane. As Chambers was last known to be in that area, there’s a good chance he’s been flown out of the country, probably to France, though I’m told that the aircraft’s capacity would allow for a much greater distance.’

Allbringer’s expression was not pleasant as he said, ‘So what you’re telling us is, he could be anywhere in the damned world by now.’

‘We have all possible resources on this, and the Brits are confident they’ll have the net closed by the end of the day.’

Deborah Gough’s patience was running thin. ‘You’re coming at this entirely the wrong way,’ she told them bluntly. ‘We’re never going to find them in that time when we don’t even know which country they’re in, so we need to take a look at what we do have and how best to utilize it.’

All eyes were on her.

‘First we need to get the Brits out of the picture,’ she said. ‘The leak’s clearly at their end, and since our own resources are more sophisticated …’

‘Not strictly true, not in all areas,’ the analyst told her.

Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘Well I’m not going to get into a pissing contest,’ she snorted. ‘We need to get our hands on Chambers and Russell, preferably within the next twenty-four hours, so now I suggest we agree on exactly how that should be achieved. I say we start with the women …’

‘Actually,’ the FBI chief came in, ‘just prior to this meeting I was handed a recording of a telephone call between Laurie Forbes and Nick van Zant, the reporter who’s soliciting European editors. I think you should hear it.’

Deborah Gough’s fingers were tightening around a pen as she watched him go over to the bank of hi-tech equipment that covered one wall and slot a small cassette into a player.

‘The call took place last night at eleven p.m.
British
time,’ he told them. ‘The voices are clear, as are the implications.’

As the playback started, everyone was still. Laurie Forbes’s voice was the first to come into the room.

‘Nick! At last. Where are you?’

‘Brussels. I got your message.’

‘We’ve been waiting to hear. How’s it going? Who’s on board?’

His voice was tight as he said, ‘Something came up, so I didn’t get started until yesterday.’

‘Are you kidding? Why on earth didn’t you tell us you’d been held up? We could have sent someone else.’

‘Laurie, I know this story means a lot to you and Elliot, but don’t expect it to mean the same to me. I had contacts of my own to see, for a story of my own.’

There was a brief pause before her angry voice said, ‘That’s no excuse for not keeping us informed, and you know it. For God’s sake, Nick, we have to get this off our hands and into print as soon as possible. It’s getting really tight now, so what are the chances of having a decent line-up by the weekend?’

‘At this stage, almost nil. You’ll have to delay.’

‘But I don’t know that we can.’

‘I don’t know that you have a choice.’

‘Nick, please tell me this isn’t personal …’

‘I’ll treat that with the contempt it deserves,’ he sneered. ‘You’ll have your editors and their private emails by Monday, Tuesday at the latest.’

‘Well, clearly the important point here, gentlemen,’ Deborah Gough stated, as the FBI chief
removed
the cassette, ‘is that Mr van Zant has very obligingly bought us some time. So now I would return us to my earlier recommendation, made during our last meeting, that we hold him – and Max Erwin – until we’ve pinned down Chambers’s location. Already too many editors have been informed of the impending story, and whilst a few can be persuaded into a change of mind, allowing the list to grow would be just plain foolish.’

‘If we’re talking about arrest, we’ll need charges,’ the FBI chief told her, ‘and I wouldn’t recommend the counter-terrorism route at this stage.’

‘Of course not, and I’m not talking about arrest. I’m merely suggesting a little hospitality at a secure location, such as the farm for Max Erwin, and the München estate outside of Frankfurt for van Zant. Unless someone has a better idea.’

‘Have you considered the kind of blowback we can expect if two prominent journalists just vanish off the scene?’ Allbringer demanded bitterly.

‘It should only be for a couple of days. Not long enough to cause any undue alarm.’

Allbringer was still far from happy. ‘I think we’re going down a very dangerous path here,’ he said darkly. ‘If we take out Chambers …’

‘Nothing’s been decided yet,’ Gough cut in, ‘the repercussions and ramifications of such an action are still being analysed and constantly updated. And don’t let’s forget, the evidence of his complicity in an act of terror is currently in his hands, so there should be no difficulty in connecting him with his own noose.’

Allbringer’s face was paling with anger. ‘And what about Russell?’ he demanded. ‘This email
confirms
he’s actually with Chambers, so do we give the order for him to be taken out too?’

‘If necessary,’ Gough responded with no hesitation. ‘Assisting a suspected terrorist to avoid arrest is a crime in itself, and carries its own penalty as does …’

‘For Christ’s sake!’ Allbringer exploded. ‘They’re members of the press. US and British citizens …’

‘…
as does harbouring a fugitive
,’ Gough pressed on, ‘and I’m sure there are several other more serious charges we could level his way too.’

‘We’ll never get away with this,’ Allbringer told her. ‘This isn’t the way to go …’

‘When you sit in this chair is when you get to call the shots,’ Gough reminded him sharply. ‘Until then, I’m accountable to my superiors, not this committee. If you have a problem with that, Mr Allbringer, may I suggest you step down now.’

Though he would have liked nothing better than to walk, Allbringer stayed right where he was, for he didn’t want to add to the suspicion that he, with some help from the Brits, was behind the leak of information to Chambers.

Gough continued to speak. ‘Our own press campaign is ready to go just as soon as I receive word. I’ve spoken personally to several editors, so they know it’s coming, and the instant they receive anything from Chambers they’ll forward it straight on to me. For the moment I’m recommending that we remain low key on the warrant for his arrest, because we certainly don’t want the rest of the world’s media helping us to find him. That should mean, when the explosion comes, we have everything well under our control.’ She looked around.
‘Is
there anything else we need to discuss, gentlemen?’

There was a general negative grunting, so starting to pack away her pens, notebook and the email from Laurie Forbes to Elliot Russell, she said, ‘OK. Let’s reconvene at the same time tomorrow to assess progress, unless something happens to warrant an earlier meet. Until then our priorities are to move aside the Brits and assume full control – I will speak to Sir Christopher and Michael Dalby personally to inform them of this decision. Meantime, let’s start finding ways to exploit the assets we have, namely the female contingent of this operation – not forgetting that Michelle Rowe is apparently pregnant. I’d consider that a sizable ace, wouldn’t you, gentlemen?’