Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (195 page)

"Balance," said Peter. "There has to be a balance between law and force."

"Yes, but what is the balance, Peter?" He abruptly closed his hands into fists. "I have asked for greater powers for
Atlas, wider scope for its use, and I think these will be granted.

When they are, we will have need of good men, Peter." Kingston Parker reached out and took Peter's shoulder in a surprisingly powerful grip.

"Just men, who can recognize when the rule of law has either failed or is unjust, and who have the courage and the vision to act to restore the balance that you spoke of a moment ago." His hand was still on
Peter's shoulder and he left it there.

It was a natural gesture, without affectation.

"I believe you are one of those men." He let the hand drop, and his manner changed. "Tomorrow I have arranged that we meet with

Colonel Noble. He has been busy breaking down and examining the entire

Irish operation, and I hope he will have come up with something for us to get our teeth into. Then there is much else to discuss. Two o'clock at Thor Command, will it suit you, Peter?"

"Of course."

"Now let's go in and join the company."

"Wait." Peter stopped him. "I have something I must tell, Kingston. It's been tearing at my guts, and after you you have heard it you may alter your opinion of me my suitability for my role at Atlas."

"Yes?" Parker turned back and waited quietly.

"You know that the people who kidnapped my daughter made no demands for her return, made no attempt to contact me or the police to negotiate."

"Yes," Parker answered. "Of course. It was one of the puzzling things about the whole business."

"It was untrue. There was a contact and a demand."

"I don't understand." Parker frowned and thrust his face closer to Peter's, as though trying to study his expression in the poor light from the windows.

"The kidnappers contacted me. A letter which I destroyed-"

"Why?"

Parker shot at him.

"Wait. I'll explain," Peter replied. "There was a single condition for my daughter's release, and a deadline of two weeks. If I
did not meet the condition by that time, they would have sent me parts of my daughter's body her hands, her feet, and finally her head."

"Diabolical," Parker whispered. "Inhuman. What was the condition?"

"A
life for a life," said Peter. "I was to kill you in exchange for
Melissa-Jane." Parker started, throwing back his head with shock.

"They wanted me?" Peter did not reply, and they stood staring at each other, until Parker raised his hand and combed at his hair, a distracted gesture.

"That changes it all. I will have to think it out carefully but it makes a whole new scenario." He shook his head.

They were going for the head of Atlas. Why? Because I was the champion of Atlas, and they opposed its formation? No! That's not it. There seems only one logical explanation. I told you last time I
saw you that I suspected the existence of a central figure the puppetmaster who was taking control of all known militant organizations and welding them into a single cohesive and formidable entity.

Well, Peter, I have been hunting this figure. I have learned much to confirm my suspicions since last we met. I believe this person, or assembly of persons, does in fact exist part of the new powers I have asked for Atlas were to be used to hunt and destroy this organization before it does grave damage before it succeeds in so terrifying the nations of the world that it becomes itself a world power.-" Parker stopped as though to gather his thoughts, and then went on in quiet,

more measured tones. "I think now that this is absolute proof that it does exist, and that it is aware of my suspicions and intentions to destroy it. When I set you up as Atlas agent at large, I believed you would make contact with the enemy but, God knows, I did not expect it to come like this." He paused again, considering it. "Incredible!"he marvelled.

"The one person whom I would never have suspected, you Peter. You could have reached me at any time, one of the few people who could.

And the leverage! Your daughter the protracted mutilations I may have just misjudged the cunning and ruthlessness of the enemy."

"Have you ever heard the name Caliph?" Peter asked.

"Where did you hear that?" Parker demanded harshly.

"The demand letter was signed Caliph, and Melissa-Jane heard her captors discussing it."

"Caliph." Parker nodded. "Yes, I have heard the name, Peter. Since I last spoke to you. I have heard the name.
Indeed I have." He was silent again, sucking distractedly on his pipe, then he looked up. "I will tell you how and when tomorrow when we meet at Thor, but now you have given me much to keep me awake tonight." He took Peter's arm and led him back towards the house.

Warm yellow light and laughter spilled out from the downstairs windows, welcoming and gay, but both of them were withdrawn and silent as they trudged up the smoothly raked path.

At the garden door Kingston Parker paused, holding Peter back from entering.

"Peter, would you have done it?" he asked gruffly.

Peter answered him levelly without attempting to avoid his eyes.

"Yes, Kingston, I would have done it."

"How?"

"Explosives."

"Better than poison," Parker grunted. "Not as good as a gun." And then angrily, "We have to stop him, Peter. It is a duty that supersedes every other consideration."

"What I have just told you does not alter our relationship?" Peter asked. "The fact that I would have been your assassin does not change it?"

"Strangely enough, it merely confirms what I have come to believe of you, Peter. You are a man with the hard ruthless streak we need, if we are to survive." He smiled bleakly. "I might wake up sweating in the night but it doesn't alter what we have to do. Colin Noble with his cheroot, and opposite him Kingston Parker with the amber meerschaum, seemed to be in competition as to who could soonest render the air in the room incapable of supporting human life. It was already thick and blue, and the temporary headquarters of Thor Command lacked air-conditioning, but within minutes Peter had become so immersed in what he was hearing that the discomfort was forgotten.

Colin Noble was going over the details of the Irish operation, and all that had been gleaned from it.

"The house, the Old Manse, was burned to the ground, of course.

The Irish constabulary had twenty men sifting through the ashes-" He spread his hands. "A big nix.

Nothing at all."

"Next the contents of the Austin and its provenance how do you like that word, Peter baby? Provenance, that's a classy word." Parker smiled indulgently. "Please go on, Colin."

"The Austin was stolen in Dublin, and refitted with the roof carrier. It contained nothing, no papers, nothing in the glove compartment or boot, it had been stripped and cleaned out by an expert-"

"The men," Parker prompted him.

ly of Gerald es, sir. The men. The dead one first. Name known as "Gilly", born Belfast 1946-" O'Shaughnessy, also As he spoke Colin picked up the file that lay on the table in front of him. It was five inches thick. " Do we want to read all of it? It's a hell of a story. The guy had a track record-" "Only as far as it concerns
Atlas," Parker told him.

There is no evidence as to when or how he became involved with this business-" Colin sketched the facts swiftly and succinctly. " So we end with the contents of his pockets. Six hundred pounds sterling, thirty-eight rounds of .38 ammunition, and papers in the name of Edward and Helen Barry forged, but beautifully forged." Colin closed the file with a slap. "Nothing,"he repeated. "Nothing we can use. Now the other man. Morrison Claude Bertram Morrison celebrated abortionist and dedicated alcoholic.

Struck off the medical rolls in 1969-" Again he recounted the sordid history swiftly and accurately. " His price for the digital surgery was three thousand pounds half in advance. Hell, that's cheaper than the Blue Cross." Colin grinned but his eyes were black and bright with anger. "I am pleased to report that he can expect a sentence of approximately fifteen years. They are going to throw the book at him. There is only one item of any possible interest which he could give us. Gilly O'Shaughnessy was the leader from whom he took his orders, O'Shaughnessy in turn took his orders from somebody called-" He paused dramatically.

"Yes, that's right. The name we have all heard before.

Caliph." just one point here," Kingston Parker interrupted.

"Caliph likes to use his name. He signs it on his correspondence.

Even his lowliest thugs are given the name to use. Why?"

"I think I
can answer that." Peter stirred and raised his head. "He wants us to know that he exists. We must have a focal point for our fear and hatred. When he was merely a nameless, faceless entity he was not nearly as menacing as he is now."

"I think you are right." Parker nodded his head gravely.

"By using the name he is building up a store of credibility which he will draw upon later. In future when Caliph says he will kill or mutilate we know he is in deadly earnest, there . will be no compromise. He will do exactly as he promises. The man, or men, are clever psychologists."

"There is just one aspect of the Irish operation we have not yet considered," Peter broke in, frowning with concentration. "That is who was it that tipped us off, and what was the reason for that telephone call?" They were all silent, until Parker turned to Colin.

"What do you think of that one?"

"I have discussed it with the police, of course. It was one of the first things that puzzled us.

The police believe that Gilly O'Shaughnessy picked his hideout in
Ireland because he was familiar with the terrain, and had friends there. It was his old stamping ground when he was with the Provos.

He could move and disappear, get things fixed." Colin paused and saw the sceptical expression on Peter's face.

"Well, look at it this way, Peter baby. He had a woman negotiate the lease on the Old Manse Kate Barry, she called herself and signed it on the lease so that was one ally. There must have been others,

because he was able to buy a stolen and reworked automobile he would have had difficulty doing that in Edinburgh or London without the word getting about." Peter nodded reluctantly. "All right, having the Irish connection helped him, Ad But there was the other side of the coin. O'Shaughnessy had enemies, even in the Provos. He was a ruthless bastard with a bloody record. We can only believe that one of those enemies saw the chance to make a score the one who sold him the stolen auto, perhaps. We have had the recording of the tip-off call examined by language experts and had a run against the voice prints on the computer. Nothing definite. The voice was disguised, probably through a handkerchief and nose plugs, but the general feeling is that it was an Irishman who made the call. The boffins from the telephone department were able to test the loading of the line and guess it was a call from a foreign country very likely Ireland, although they cannot be certain of that." Peter
Stride raised one eyebrow slightly, and Colin chuckled weakly and waved the cheroot at him in a wide gesture of invitation.

"Okay. That's my best shot," he said. "Let's hear you do better.

If you don't like my theories, you must have one of your own."

"You are asking me to believe it was all a coincidence; that O'Shaughnessy just happened to run into an old enemy who just happened to tip us off twenty-four hours before the deadline for Melissa-Jane's hand to be amputated. Then it just so happened that we reached Laragh at exactly the same moment as O'Shaughnessy was pulling out and making a run for it. Is that what you want me to believe?"

"Something like that,"Colin admitted.

"Sorry, Colin. I just don't like coincidence."

"Shoot!" Colin invited. "Let's hear how it really happened."

"I don't know," Peter grinned phicatingly. "It is just that I have this feeling that Caliph doesn't deal in coincidence either. I have this other feeling that somehow Gilly O'Shaughnessy had the death mark on his forehead from the beginning. I have this feeling it was all part of the plan."

"it must be great fun to have these feelings." Colin was prickling a little.

"But they sure as hell aren't much help to me.) "Take it easy." Peter held up one hand in surrender. "Let's accept tentatively that it happened your way, then-"

"But?"Colin asked.

"No buts not until we get some more hard evidence-"

"Okay,
buster." There was no smile on Colin's face now, the wide mouth clamped in a grim line. "You want hard evidence, try this one for size-"

"Hold it, Colin," Parker shot in quickly, authoritatively.

"Wait for a moment before we come to that." And Colin Noble deflated with a visible effort, the cords in his throat smoothing out and the line of mouth relaxed into the old familiar grin as he deferred to Kingston Parker.

"Let's backtrack here a moment," Parker suggested. "Peter came up with the name Caliph. In the meantime we had picked up the same name but from an entirely different source. I promised Peter I would tell him about our source because I think it gives us a new insight into this entire business." He paused and tinkered with his pipe, using one of those small tools with folding blades and hooks and spikes with which pipe smokers arm themselves. He scraped the bowl and knocked a nub of half-burned tobacco into the ashtray, before peering into the pipe-the way a rifleman checks the bore of his weapon. Peter realized that Parker used his pipe as a prop for his performances, the way a magician distracts his audience with flourishes and mumbo jumbo He was not a man to underestimate, Peter thought again for the hundredth time.

Kingston Parker looked up at him and smiled, a conspiratorial smile as if to acknowledge that Peter had seen through his little act.

"Our news of Caliph comes from an unlikely direction or rather,
considering the name, a more likely direction.