The Eagle's Covenant (21 page)

She shook her head and laughed a little. “No, nothing as bizarre as that. We drove past the apartments once and he told me he wanted to buy one for me. I didn’t like them, so he didn’t buy one. At least,” she corrected herself, “not for me it seems.”

She got up from the desk and stretched. “I’m hungry,” she declared. “And I suppose you are too.”

“I could eat the proverbial horse,” he told her. “But I didn’t think you would be willing to feed me.”

Her eyes, deep pools of pure joy in which Conor would happily have immersed himself, held his gaze.

“I’m not,” she said levelly. “But I can hardly eat on my own.” She picked up the phone and ordered sandwiches and coffee. “Well,” she said, putting the phone down, “while we wait for those, you might as well tell me how you intend getting my son back.”

They walked over to the chairs and sat down again. As Conor opened his mouth to speak, an alarm tone sounded from the computer. They both turned towards the direction of the noise. Conor was mildly curious but Joanna was far from being curious. She gasped and leapt from her chair.

“Some bastard’s hacking in,” she shouted, and ran across to the desk. She hurled herself into the chair and began tapping the keys furiously. From where Conor was sitting he could only see the screen changing. Joanna kept looking from the keyboard to the screen. Whatever it was she was doing, she was working with tremendous speed.

Conor watched transfixed as she ejected the disc from the drive. Then she opened a drawer in the desk and searched furiously for something. Suddenly she pulled a disc out and read the label. With a little body movement of triumph, she inserted the disc into the drive and loaded its contents into the computer’s memory bank.

Then she sank back in her chair. “Bastard!” she said again.

Conor was transfixed. Somehow Joanna had changed her character in an instant. It was almost as if he had witnessed a metamorphosis in which the desolate young mother had become a different person. A rage had filled her and her reaction had been swift and pointed.

“What was all that about?” he asked, surprise still colouring his face.

She turned sharply, and then looked back at the screen. “Someone was hacking in. I don’t know what they were after.” She typed in a few more instructions to the computer. “Might have been some computer nerds surfing. Seeing who was on line.”

“You weren’t on line though.”

She looked round again. “I was.” She looked irritated. “My husband always disliked having to instruct the computer to go on line, particularly if he was working on low grade stuff, so the computer is programmed to go on line automatically as soon as it’s powered up.” She gave a little giggle. “It only takes a few moments to go on line, but, that was Hansi; time was precious.”

“What was that disc you put in?”

“Oh, my retribution.” She was looking back at the screen now. “It’s another programme I wrote. It seeks out the hacker and plants a very nasty virus in his software.”

“Always?”

“Not necessarily. First you’ve got find him. Then you’ve got to hope he’s not as smart as you are, otherwise he would have built some kind of firewall in to protect himself against little nasties like that.”

Conor’s warring instincts were heightened by this sudden insight into conflict on the internet. “You’re quite happy to do that to each other?”

“Wouldn’t you?” she asked. Then she said with bland irony; “Well, maybe you wouldn’t. You would take a gun and blow their brains out.”

He ignored her jibe. “You know how to write programmes then?”

She gave him a withering look. “It’s what I do. I have an honours degree in Computer Science. I cut my teeth on advanced computer technology.” Her expression changed. It became wistful. “That’s how I met my husband; at Cambridge. He was there on some post graduate course.” She let the moment drift away.

A knock at the door made them both turn quickly. The sound had intruded on them, cutting through the irony of Joanna’s attitude towards the hacker. One of the staff came in and placed a tray filled with sandwiches and fruit on the table. Coffee came with it too. She made a little gesture and left the room.

Conor put old fashioned courtesy aside and attacked the food with relish. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. Joanna poured coffee and put some sandwiches on a plate for herself.

They ate in silence for a while until Joanna brought up the subject of the hacker.

“I hope they didn’t get anything?” she said to herself more than to Conor. His jaws were still rotating with a mouthful of food so he said nothing. “There was some pretty delicate stuff on those files.”

“Or indelicate,” he observed wryly. Then, as quickly as it had entered his head to say it, another, more worrying thought replaced it. He stopped eating. Joanna noticed it immediately.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

He put his plate down. “Shit!”

Joanna started getting worried. “What’s up?”

Conor put his hand to his forehead. “The hacker.” He nodded towards the computer. “The Dutchman knew the answer to Breggie de Kok’s whereabouts was in this house somewhere. It’s been puzzling me how he intended finding it. There was no way he was going to break in. Not with the protection you’ve got here, and with the Press outside.” He shook his head. “No way.”

Joanna locked on to his train of thought immediately. “You think that might have been the Dutchman?”

“It has got to be,” he surmised. “There’s no other way he would find out. And he must have known your computer would go on line automatically the moment you powered up.” He made a thumping gesture with his closed fist. “Damn.”

Joanna knew from Conor’s reaction and his body language that it could be serious. Indeed, it could be dangerous. “He may not have got the information he wanted,” she said, trying to calm her own, growing alarm. “He wasn’t in the system long enough.”

Conor held her fixed stare. He didn’t want it to be true, but he had to assume the worse. “How long would it have taken for the computer to detect someone was hacking in?”

She lowered her eyes. “It would depend how sophisticated his programme was. I once wrote a stealth programme that could get into most systems and lay undetected.” She raised her head. “It was only advancing technology that rendered it obsolete.”

He repeated his question. “How long?”

“I would say he would have had enough time to suck all the information out of the file that was open before he was detected.”

He leaned back and expelled a long breath in exasperation. “That means they know.”

“Know what?” The question was unnecessary. Joanna knew what he was going to say.

“The apartment in Koblenz. It means they know where Breggie de Kok has taken your baby.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was late and the open-plan office was filled with the police officers who were involved in the hunt for little Manfred Schiller’s kidnappers. At one end of the room a wall had been used to promulgate important features of the case. Photographs of suspects had been pinned up, notes, algorithms tracing possible avenues of thought. A blackboard and easel leaned incongruously amongst the high tech equipment, scrawled with the last thoughts of whoever had used it in chasing an idea. This was the incident room, the heart of the inquiry, where nerves jangled and tempers flared. It was where little bursts of excitement sounded occasionally and drew the attention of others searching for that moment where the smallest clue would bring the greatest success. This was where Hoffman co-ordinated his Fuhrungsgruppen, his leader group, and from where, if necessary, he could pull strings throughout the entire Federal Police force.

Hoffman was standing beside the blackboard. The room was quiet now as all his officers sat facing him. They were all clutching a copy of Hoffman’s brief. It was a summary of what evidence they had and pooled all the information that was posted on the wall. There was no formality. They perched wherever they could find room; on stools, on the edge of desks, on the floor. At least half of them in the room had been co-opted by Hoffman from other units in the Federal Republic and it gave him a power, albeit temporary, that few could dream of.

“Right gentlemen,” he began. “And ladies.” He smiled across at the two female officers in the room. “I wanted you all here so we could review our position and consolidate what we already know. Most of you have uncovered facts that might not seem to impinge directly on the kidnap, but which now, I believe, have a far greater significance than we have so far understood.” He nodded at Jansch who dimmed the lights in the room and turned on a stills projector. Immediately a face appeared on a pull down screen against the wall.

“This chap,” Hoffman said, pointing at the face,” has been identified by the people at Meckenheim as Conor Lenihan. He served in the British Army as a corporal in the second Parachute regiment. He later joined the SAS and distinguished himself in Iraq, Colombia and other areas where such forces conduct their operations, including Northern Ireland.” He gave a little emphasis to that last statement. “On discharge from the Army he returned to Ireland where he remained on the payroll of his
original
paymasters, the IRA.” His usefulness to them ended when a hit team from his former SAS colleagues failed to eliminate him in an assassination bid. His paymasters moved him to Germany where, we believe; he was allowed to operate as a free agent.” He paused and Jansch changed the picture. It was the one taken of Conor going through the gates at Joanna’s place.

“At this precise moment he is in Frau Schiller’s residence at her invitation. Naturally we do not know why he is there but strongly suspect Herr Schiller has employed him to get his grandson back. Now, so far nothing illegal has taken place, but—”

“Excuse me sir.”

The interruption came from one of the men in the room. Hoffman looked across at him. He didn’t know the young man too well, but he knew he was working with
Oberkommissar
Lechter.

“What is it?”

The man pointed at the shot on the screen. “That’s John Buck,” he said. “He lives in Cologne.”

Hoffman, who had been resting his hand on the top edge of the blackboard, let it fall as the surprise registered clearly on his face.

“He’s known to you?”

The young officer shook his head. “Not in that sense, sir, no. The inquiry you instigated on the counterfeit bills?” He more than had Hoffman’s attention now. “His name has come up as a suspect.” He explained the two addresses and the one hour chat he had with Frau Lindbergh. “At the moment we are very interested in him, but we are under orders not to move yet.”

Hoffman looked across at Lechter. “Otto?”

Lechter’s expression, his half hooded eyes giving him the look of someone half asleep, was unchanged. He nodded. “Preserve the status quo at the moment. He flits in and out of the picture. Just not quite enough,” he offered economically.

“Jurgen?” This was to the operations head of department KK11, the serious crimes division. “Could this tie in with what you have?” Hoffman asked him.

Jurgen heaved his shoulders and sat up. “It’s a little tenuous,” he replied quite non-comittally. “We had the two bodies turn up in the one flat in Cologne. One of them was a local hood, member of the Volkspartei youth group. The other was also a member but didn’t have any form. We managed to link him with Jan Kloojens, known as ‘The Dutchman’. Kloojens has strong links with the Volkspartei. We also turned up a source who has confirmed Kloojens’ connections with the Davidian group in the States.” He cast around as others reacted with growing interest to his revelations. “Karl Trucco, one of the dead terrorists, was a member of the Davidian cult. But,” and here he shrugged, “there’s no crime knowing the suspects and so far, none has been proven. We are working on it though. And, naturally, we will show more interest in this Conor Lenihan.”

Hoffman thanked him. The meeting progressed in this vein, trying to link the bones of one investigation with another, looking for a thread that would tie them together. The murder of Joseph Schneider was discussed and generally accepted that Breggie de Kok was responsible and had fled with the baby. Beyond that was a blind alley and they literally had no nowhere to go.

At midnight Hoffman brought the meeting to a close. “Apart from your own investigations gentlemen, we have little choice but to hang on to Lenihan. If Herr Schiller has hired him to find his grandson, we’re not likely to know about it. But my strongest guess is that Lenihan is talking to Frau Schiller for that reason and none other.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a specialist team from G9 watching the house now. When Lenihan leaves, we’ll be with him. Thank you gentlemen; that will be all.”

The meeting broke up. Some of the officers hung around for a while discussing elements of the case, but within fifteen minutes they had all left, except Hoffman. He waited just long enough to clear the desk in his own office before locking the door and leaving the incident room. As he passed the board displaying all the relevant information on the case, he paused and looked at the photograph of Conor Lenihan.

“Well, Herr Lenihan,” he muttered. “From your record I suspect you have a better chance of finding that baby than we do. Good luck to you.”

He walked away and prayed that the watching members of the G9 team would not lose him.

*

Conor checked again. The alarms on all the doors and windows had been armed. All that the security guard had to do now was arm the front door. Joanna assured him this would not be done before midnight. Then the dogs would be brought in to patrol the grounds. If Conor was to stand a reasonable chance of getting out of the house, he had to do it before midnight.

“Why can’t you go out the way you came in?” Joanna had asked him.

“My picture will be posted up in every police station in Germany by now,” he pointed out. “Whether they want me or not, they’ll pick me up for questioning.”

He explained to Joanna exactly what he wanted her to do. “When you throw the switch, all the lights will go out. The TV screens will go blank and whoever’s monitoring the screens won’t have a clue for about five seconds. The back-up systems will probably cut in fairly quickly. Given that both the back-up system and the guards will need time to react, I’ll be out of the front door and half way across the lawns. The floodlights won’t come on until the back-up power supply kicks in, and by the time you close the switch again, I’ll be over the wall.”

She faced him with a look of bewildered surprise on her face. “Are you sure?”

He smiled. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

She handed him the black stocking he had asked for which he slipped over his head. His nose squashed into his face and she thought he looked quite comical. As he was about to leave he reminded her of her promise. “I give you the baby and you stop Schiller.”

Joanna had been reluctant at first. Conor’s argument that the transfer of Schiller’s empire to the Israelis would provoke a Middle East war which would suck the Western democracies in did not hold water as far as she was concerned. But his persistent and cogent argument finally won her over.

“You believe you’ll never persuade him?” he had asked her.

She had shook her head. “Never. And certainly not if we have my son back.”

“But the key to his empire are those satellites, correct?” He was thinking furiously, several steps in front of himself. “Where does he control them from?”

“There are two control centres. One at his house in the Eiffels, which you know about,” she added acidly, “one at his business headquarters in Frankfurt. There is only one ever on line though.”

“What about satellite control officers?”

“They work at whichever centre is on line. At the moment it will be where my father-in-law is.”

“Could you hack into the computer’s systems?”

She smiled. “It isn’t simply a question of hacking in. Satellites are controlled by codes. These have to be keyed in to initiate a link with the satellite. You have to know the codes to get in. There would be all kinds of firewalls and security programmes installed to prevent any illegal interception and transmission.”

“What about all the companies he owns? Don’t they use them?”ߝ

She agreed. “Well, naturally. But all their transmissions are electronically isolated from the motherboards inside the satellites mainframe computer.”

Conor swore. “So it’s got to be that one. But you could do it, couldn’t you?” She didn’t answer but appeared to be hesitating over something. Conor felt elated. “You can. I know you can. And you can do it from here, right?” He pointed at the computer sitting on the desk.”

“It’s not that simple, damn you.”

“But it can be done, can’t it?” he pressed.

In the end Joanna agreed. “Yes, but only if you can get in at the precise moment. You can’t just walk in with a set of new codes and take over. You have to wait until the master codes have been keyed in.” Suddenly her eyes flared and she looked angry. “It’s a tricky operation, damn you again.”

“So is getting your baby back. I could wind up dead.”

She was silent for quite a long time. “I would have to write a programme. I can’t do that without hacking into my father-in-law’s systems first. If I’m not caught then, well....”

Joanna was recalling their conversation when he lifted the stocking from his face, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a momentary touch, a mere brushing of his lips on hers. “I’ll get your baby back,” he said, “and you stop Schiller.”

Joanna walked down the stairs to the cellar. It was quite empty and well lit. As Conor had explained when they had come down earlier, the distribution boxes were fed from the electricity company’s feeder cable which had its own main switch. All she had to do was pull the switch down, count to fifteen slowly, and push the switch up again. Then she was to walk back upstairs and return to her bedroom. He promised that in that short period of time, most of the security men would assume there had been a mains failure. Once the lights had been restored they would all settle down to another ‘normal’ night.

Conor eased back the handle of the front door but kept his foot against it so it didn’t move. He had been in the entrance hall for five minutes without lights. His eyes were now fully accustomed to the darkness. He could see a faint glow from outside filtering beneath the door and was going to use this to let him know when Joanna had pulled the switch.

It seemed as though an age had passed when the glow beneath the door vanished. He pulled the door back, stepped out on to the front porch, closed the door and sprinted round the side of the house. He broke away from the house and crossed the open lawns in complete darkness. Reaching the far wall he jumped as high as he could with his arms outstretched and grasped the top of the wall. His momentum gave his legs the inertia to carry them up on to the wall. He pulled himself over and dropped to the ground as the floodlights came back on.

Conor used that moment to cast around for signs of any movement. Seeing none, he sprinted for cover to trees on the far side of the road. He stopped there and regained control of his breathing. There was no noise to intrude on his hiding place save that of his own making. Two minutes after making the trees he stood up and walked swiftly and silently from the deep cover.

Ten seconds after Conor had cleared the wall; a member of the G9 surveillance team lowered the single lens night sight and nodded his head in thoughtful satisfaction.

*

Several hours later Conor was sitting in his car on the north side of the Mosel River just at its confluence with the mighty Rhine. He was oblivious to the water traffic on the river, the cruise ships, the smaller craft and the barges being towed out in mid-stream. Oblivious to the men fishing along its banks, to the dog walkers and joggers and to the mothers pushing baby buggies along the embankment while chatting with one and other. He was oblivious to all of that as he studied an apartment block through a pair of binoculars from the inside of his car, parked about 200 metres from the building.

And from another car, two men from G9 surveillance team watched carefully.