Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (177 page)

"There are some books I want to read and write," Peter said.

"Books. You have an important collection, and I have read those you have written. You are an interesting contradiction, General
Stride. The man of direct action, and at the same time of deep political and social thought."

"I confuse myself at times," Peter smiled. "So what chance do you have to understand me?" She did not rise to the smile. "A great deal of your writing coincides with my own conviction. As for your action, if I had been a man and in your position, I might have acted as you did." Peter stiffened, resenting any allusion to the taking of Flight 070, and again she seemed to understand instinctively.

"I refer to your entire career, General. From Cyprus to
Johannesburg and including Ireland." And he relaxed slightly.

"Why did you refuse the Narmco offer? "she asked.

"Because it was presented with the unstated conviction that I
could not refuse. Because the terms were so generous that they left a strange unsatisfying odour in my nostrils.

Because I believe that I would have been required to perform duties in line with the reputation I seem to have acquired since the taking of Flight 070."

"What reputation is that?" She leaned slightly towards him, and he smelled her particular aroma. The way perfume reacted upon that pet ally-smooth skin, heated by the exertion of the climb up the hill. She smelled faintly of crushed lemon blossom and clean healthy mature woman.

He felt himself physically aroused by it, and had an almost undesirable impulse to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth and glossiness of her skin.

A man who makes accommodations, perhaps, he answered, "What did you think you might have been asked to do?" This time he shrugged.

"Perhaps carry bribes to my onetime colleagues in NATO Command, to induce them to consider favourably the products of Narmco."

"Why would you believe that?"

"I was once a decision making officer in that
Command." She turned away from him and looked out across the special greens of an English winter landscape, the orderly fields and pastures,
the dark wedges and geometrical shapes of the woods and copses.

"Do you know that through Altmann Industries and other companies I
control a majority shareholding in Seddler Steel, and naturally in
Narmco?"

"No," Peter admitted. "But I cannot say I am surprised."

"Did you know that the offer from Narmco was in reality from me personally?"

This time he said nothing.

"You are quite right, of course, your contacts with the upper echelon of NATO and with the British and American high commands would have been worth every centime of the extravagant salary you were offered. As for bribes-" She smiled then suddenly, and it altered her face entirely, making her seem many years younger, and there was a warmth and a sense of fun that he would not have suspected, this is a capitalist society, General. We prefer to talk about commissions and introducer's fees." He found himself smiling back at her, not because of what she had said, but simply because her smile was irresistible.

"However, I give you my solemn word that you would never have been expected to offer or carry, no, since Lockheed were indiscreet, it has changed. Nothing disreputable could ever be traced back to Narmco, and certainly not to the top men there. Certainly not to you."

"It's all academic now, , Peter pointed out. "I've refused the offer."

"I disagree, General Stride. The brim of the hat covered her eyes as she looked down. "I hope that when you hear what I had hoped to achieve you may reconsider. I made the error of trying to keep us at arms"
length to begin with.

I relied on the generosity of the offer to sway you. I do not usually misjudge people so dismally-" and she looked up and smiled again, and this time reached out and touched his arm. Her fingers were like her limbs, long and slim, but they were delicately tapered and the nails were shaped and lacquered to a glossy fleshy pink. She left them on his arm as she went on speaking.

"My husband was an extraordinary man. A man of vast vision and strength and compassion. Because of that they tortured and killed him, -" her voice had sunk to a hoarse catchy whisper " they killed him in the most vile manner-" She stopped, but made no attempt to turn her head away, she was unashamed of the tears that filled both eyes but did not break over the lower lids. She did not even blink, and it was
Peter who looked away first. Only then she moved her hand, slipping it lightly into the crook of Peter's elbow and coming beside him so her hip almost touched his.

"It will rain soon," she said, her voice level and controlled.

"We should go down." And as they started, she went on talking.

"The butchers who did that to Aaron went free, while an impotent society looked on. A society which has systematically stripped itself of defence against the next attack.

America has virtually disbanded its intelligence system, and so shackled and exposed what is left that it is powerless.

Your own country is concerned only with its particular problems,
as are we in the rest of Europe there is no international approach to a problem that is international in scope. Atlas was a fine concept, limited as it was by the fact that it was a force that could only be used in retaliation and then only in special circumstances. However, if they ever suspect that it exists, the denizens of the left will mass to tear it down like a hunting pack of hyena." She squeezed his arm lightly, and looked sideways at him with a solemn slant of the emerald eyes. "Yes,
General, I do know about Atlas but do not ask me how." Peter said nothing, and they entered the forest, stepping carefully, for the path was slick and steep.

"After the death of my husband, I began to think a great deal about how we could protect the world that we know, while still remaining within the laws which were first designed to do that. With

Altmann Industries I had inherited a comprehensive system of international information gathering; naturally it was attuned almost entirely to commercial and industrial considerations, -" She went on talking in that low intense voice that Peter found mesmeric, describing how she had gradually used her massive fortune and influence to reach across borders closed to most to gain the overall view of the new world of violence and intimidation. " - I was not tied by considerations such as that of Interpol, forbidden by suicidal laws to involve itself in any crime that has political motivation. It was only when I was able to pass on what I had learned that I found myself coming up against the same self-destructive state of mind that masquerades as democracy and individual freedom. Twice I was able to anticipate a terrorist strike and to warn the authorities, but intention is not a crime, I was told, and both the culprits were quietly escorted to the border and turned free to prepare themselves almost openly for the next outrage. The world must wait and cringe for the next stroke,
prohibited from making any pre-emptive strike to prevent it, and when it comes they are hampered by confused national responsibilities and by the complicated concept of minimum force " The Baroness broke off. "But you know all this! You have written in depth of the same subject."

"It's interesting to hear it repeated."

"I will come soon enough to the interesting part but we are almost back at the house."

"Come," Peter told her, and led her past the stables to the swimming pool pavilion.

The surface of the heated pool steamed softly, and lush tropical plants were in odd contrast to the wintry scene beyond the glass walls.

They sat side by side on a swing seat, close enough to be able to talk in subdued tones, but the intense mood was broken for the moment.

She took off her hat, scarf and jacket, and tossed them onto the cane chair opposite, and she sighed as she settled back against the cushions.

"I understand from Sir Steven that he wants you to go into the bank." She slanted her eyes at him. "it must be difficult to be so sought after."

"I don't think I have Steven's reverence for money."

"It's a readily acquired taste, General Stride, she assured him. "One that can become an addiction." At that moment the children of both
Stride brothers arrived in a storm of shouted repartee and laughter,
which moderated only marginally when they realized that Peter and the
Baroness were in the swing seat.

Steven's youngest son, bulging over the top of his costume with puppy-fat and with silver braces on his front teeth, rolled his eyes in their direction and in a stage whisper told Melissa-Jane, Je t'aime, ma cliMe, swoon!

swoon!" His accent was frighteningly bad and he received a hissed rebuke and a shove in the small of the back that hurled him into the deep end of the pool.

The Baroness smiled. "Your daughter is very protective-" she turned slightly to examine Peter's face again or is it merely jealousy?" Without waiting for an answer she went straight on to ask another question. Against the background of shouts and splashes, Peter thought he had mis-heard.

"What did you say?" he asked carefully, certain that his expression had revealed nothing, and she repeated.

"Does the name Caliph mean anything to you?" He frowned slightly,
pretending to consider, while his memory darted back to the terrible micro-seconds of mortal combat, of smoke and flame and gunfire and a dark-haired girl in a scarlet shirt screaming: "Don't kill us! Caliph said we would not die. Caliph-" And his own bullets stopping the rest of it, smashing into the open mouth. The word had haunted him since then, and he had tried a thousand variations, looking for sense and meaning, considering the possibility that he had mis-heard. Now he knew he had not.

"Caliph?" he asked, not knowing why he was going to deny it,
merely because it seemed vital that he keep something in reserve, that he were not carried headlong on the torrent of this woman's presence and personality. "It's a Mohammedan title I think it literally means the heir of Mohammed, the successor to the prophet."

"Yes." She nodded impatiently. "It's the title of a civil and religious leader but have you heard it used as a code name?"

"No. I am sorry, I have not.

What is the significance?"

"I am not sure, even my own sources are obscure and confused." She sighed, and they watched Melissa-Jane in silence. The child had been waiting for Peter's attention, and when she had it she ran lightly out along the springboard and launched herself, light as a swallow in flight, into a clean one-and-a-half somersault, entering the water with hardly a ripple and surfacing immediately with fine pale hair slick down across her face, immediately looking again for Peter's approval.

"She's a lovely child," said the Baroness. "I have no children.

Aaron wanted a son but there was not one." And there was real sorrow in the green eyes that she masked quickly. Across the pool Melissa-Jane climbed from the pool and quickly draped a towel around her shoulders, covering her bosom which was now large enough and yet so novel as to provide her with a constant source of embarrassment and shy pride.

"Caliph," Peter reminded the Baroness quietly, and she turned back to him.

"first heard the name two years ago, in circumstances I shall never forget-" She hesitated. "May I take it that you are fully aware of the circumstances surrounding my husband's kidnapping and murder? I

do not wish to repeat the whole harrowing story unless it is necessary."

"I know it," Peter assured her.

"You know that I delivered the ransom, personally."

"Yes."

"The rendezvous was a deserted airfield near the East German border. They were waiting with a light twin-engined aircraft, a Russian-built reconnaissance machine with its markings sprayed over." Peter remembered the meticulous planning and the special equipment used in the hijacking of 070. It all tallied. " There were four men,
masked. They spoke Russian, or rather two of them spoke Russian. The other two never spoke at all. It was bad Russian-" Peter remembered now that the Baroness spoke Russian and five other languages. She had a Middle European background.

Peter wished he had studied her intelligence file more thoroughly.

Her father has escaped with her from her native Poland when she was a small child. "Almost certainly, the aircraft and the Russian were intended to cover their real identity," she mused. "I was with them for some little time. I had forty-five million Swiss francs to deliver and even in notes of large denomination it was a bulky and heavy cargo to load aboard the aircraft. After the first few minutes, when they realized that I had no police escort, they relaxed and joked amongst themselves as they worked at loading the money. The word "Caliph" was used in the English version, in a Russian exchange that roughly translates as "He was right again" and the reply "Caliph is always right". Perhaps the use of the English word made me remember it so clearly-" She stopped again, grief naked and bleak in the green eyes.

"You told the police?" Peter asked gently, and she shook her head.

"No. I don't know why not. They had been so ineffectual up to that time. I was very angry and sad and confused.

Perhaps even then I had already decided that I would hunt them myself and this was all I had."

"That was the only time you heard the name?" he asked, and she did not reply immediately. They watched the children at play and it seemed fantasy to be discussing the source of evil in such surroundings, against a background of laughter and innocent high spirits.

When the Baroness answered, she seemed to have changed direction completely.

"There had been that hiatus in international terrorism.

The Americans seemed to have beaten the hijacking problem with their Cuban agreement and the rigorous airport searches. Your own successful campaign against the Provisional wing of the IRA in this country, the Entebbe raid and the German action at Mogadishu were all hailed as breakthrough victories. Everybody was beginning to congratulate themselves that it was beaten. The Arabs were too busy with the war in the Lebanon and with inter-group rivalries. It had been a passing thing." She shook her head again. "But terrorism is a growth industry the risks are less than those of financing a major movie. There is a proven sixty-seven per cent chance of success, the capital outlay is minimal, with outrageous profits in cash and publicity, with instant results and potential power not even calculable.