The Bergamese Sect (35 page)

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Matt woke gradually out of a deep sleep. There was shuffling somewhere in the room and it was pulling him free of his slumber. He opened his eyes and peered above the blankets.

He heard the door closing quietly. He shot up, crept over to the tiny window. Peering out, he saw Clara walking purposefully down the trail. There was a palpitation in his chest. The inkling of doubt over Clara returned.

Quickly, he grabbed his clothes and pulled them on, watching as Henric stirred in his sleep. Within a minute, he was out the door, following the girl into the blackness of the night.

She descended half a mile into the gully where two arms of the peaks came down and narrowed the trail. The trees crowded down toward the constriction, forming a black tunnel over the rough path.

Matt crept after her, close behind, gingerly stepping along the rocks at the edge of the trail.

Suddenly, Clara stopped. Matt instantly jumped behind a fallen tree trunk, peered over the wet wood, but Clara didn’t turn around.

Then, out of the murk beyond, another figure appeared, coming toward the girl. She didn’t react, just stood still as the shadow approached.

A lump formed in Matt’s throat. Dark agents of democracy were about to extinguish their mission. He rose up, about to rush out from his hiding place and throw Clara to the ground, protect her, run with her into the shelter of the trees.

But Clara didn’t flee. The figure stopped in front of her and spoke calmly. ‘Everything okay?’ It was a man’s voice, deep but soft.

‘
No,’ Clara replied. ‘What the hell were you doing on that train?’

The man didn’t answer. He raised a hand to his ear, feeling something. Clara began to speak but the man silenced her with an outstretched hand. He was listening to a voice updating him. He dropped his hand. ‘You’re still being followed by the government men,’ he said.

‘
Shit, I thought we’d lost them in Poland.’

‘
No. They were on the ledge up there earlier on, but they’ve disappeared now. My men are up there looking for them. We will eliminate them shortly.’

Matt strained to see the man. He was covered from head to foot in thick mountain clothes; a dark jacket was pulled up to his chin, the hood leaning over and covering his face. Over his shoulder, a huge automatic weapon was slung.

‘
Will there be repercussions?’ Clara asked.

‘
No, they’ve taken steps to discredit them. They’re fugitives.’

Matt was listening intently. This must be one of Clara’s hidden protectors; the people he’d seen her talking with on the train. But those men had attacked them, shot at them, not defended them against the federal killers Matt had seen clinging to the speeding train as he’d fallen toward a watery impact.

But they were talking about those killers now, promising to dispose of them. Matt was confused, struggling to understand the relationship between Clara and these mysterious protectors.

‘
Are you going to explain the mess you made in Warsaw?’ Clara asked.

‘
We were told to eliminate the accomplices,’ the man said, his whisper emotionless.

‘
You shot the target.’

‘
Is he okay?’

‘
Yes, the bullet hit him in the arm. He’ll survive. I thought I told you I need the others. I don’t have the technical skills. I thought we agreed; you’d separate out the other one. There was no need to kill him.’

‘
We don’t have the resources to take prisoners. Besides, our orders were to get rid of them both. In fact, that’s what I’m about to do. Where is he?’ The man stood to the side, looking up the trail, and removed the gun from his shoulder.

‘
He’s in the cabin with the target,’ Clara said. ‘Look, I don’t care what your orders are, I may still need him.’

‘
Has he deciphered the message?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
And do you have the location?’

‘
Yes, but there’s no guarantee the renegade is there. It’s just a room in a hotel. Miami.’

The man replaced the weapon on his shoulder and looked Clara in the eyes. ‘Which hotel?’

‘
It’s in the airport terminal building.’

‘
Okay, so there’s no more use for him.’

‘
Wait a minute,’ Clara continued. ‘We don’t have the renegade yet. Until we do, I need both the target and Henric.’

‘
No, it’s too dangerous. We want no complications afterward. He must be deleted. The bastard shot one of my men on that train.’

‘
He was protecting the target, as he’d been told. You shouldn’t have attacked us. I thought the incident in Warsaw was just a mistake. I would have made other arrangements if I knew the accomplices had been ordered dead.’

‘
I have my orders. We got one on the train, now I’m about to finish the job.’

‘
Wait, let’s get confirmation first.’

The man paused for a moment. ‘Okay, hold on.’ He pulled out a satellite phone from his jacket and punched some numbers on the display.

‘
Hi, Zulu Ten,’ he said once the connection was made. He listened for a moment. ‘Yeah, a hotel room in Miami Airport… no… sure, she wants the remaining accomplice kept alive. Technical skills, she says.’

An unheard voice was giving instructions to the man. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he said at last, switching off the phone. ‘Your man has a stay of execution. Take him with you to Miami. But be careful; keep your eye on him. Don’t let him jeopardise your mission. If he compromises my protection, I’ll kill him, no questions asked. Remember, he’s not one of us.’

Matt was shocked. So that was it. Henric was the threat, a colleague of the government men on their trail. Clara’s instability was because she knew of his treachery. She was relying on a man who would eventually betray her, destroy her only hope of redemption. Ruin the cause that drove her very existence.

Matt felt a warm pride in his blood. Suspicions lay everywhere, but his had been vindicated. Henric was part of that conspiracy, an infiltrator. Perhaps that was why Henric knew so little of Clara’s superiors, was ignorant of the protectors that hung in the shadows.

The mystery contact had also been right; to distrust everyone, including the people who’d vowed to protect him. He shivered with the revelation.

‘
Do you need anything?’ the man asked.

‘
No. Just keep off our backs for a while.’

‘
Sure, we’ll be busy with the government men anyway. I guess we’ll see you in Miami.’

Without another word, the man turned and strode back into the murk of the trees.

As Clara watched him into the distance, Matt took his chance and bounded back up the trail. Before Clara returned to the shack, he was back beneath the blankets, feigning sleep.

Chapter 20

A voice croaked out of the dirty intercom. ‘Yeah, what’d ya want?’

‘
It’s Tobias; I’ve come about the puppies,’ Lewis said into the box.

A buzzer sounded and the NSA men pushed open the door and descended a dark set of stairs into the building’s basement. They stopped at another door with a large glass window. Through it, they could see a dimly lit corridor stretching out of sight and the light spilling out of a couple of rooms along its length. A man stepped out of one of the rooms and walked casually down to the door. He punched a few numbers on a security panel and pulled the door open.

‘
Hi,’ said Lewis, stepping in. ‘Remember us?’

‘
Sure,’ the man said. ‘What can I do for you guys? Ran out of bullets?’

The two NSA men had been here before. This is where they’d got their weapons that first night in Calgary. The CIA guy, a man called Walter Hughes, had been very helpful. He’d given them a pass phrase and told them to come back if they got into trouble.

‘
It’s more serious than that,’ said Linsky. ‘Do you have access to a doctor?’

‘
A doctor? Someone sick?’

‘
Not exactly. We’ve got cranial implants. We need them taken out.’

The grin on Hughes’ face dropped. ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Yeah, sure, I’ll get on the phone right away.’

Lewis and Linsky were shown to a small room at the far end of the corridor. Inside were several chairs and an examination couch. The walls were covered with labelled cupboards. Bottles of antiseptic and anaesthetic fluids were lined up along the shelves.

Hughes left them to make the phone call but returned within a few minutes.

‘
I’ve called our surgeon in,’ he said, then went silent. He looked at the two dishevelled agents. ‘You guys wanna tell me what’s going on?’

Lewis and Linsky looked at each other.

‘
There’s not much to tell,’ said Lewis. ‘We’re tracking a target. We’ve got a spike on them; they’re up in the mountains. Last night we discovered our implants were revealing our presence. We need them taken out.’

The CIA man didn’t ask for more explanation but disappeared again to make mugs of coffee. When he returned, another man followed him into the room.

‘
This is Agent Weber,’ said Hughes, placing the hot coffees on the counter.

Lewis and Linsky nodded an introduction and made a grab for the drinks. The other agent seemed genial enough, obviously wondering who had intruded on this lonely federal outpost, but he didn’t stick around for long. He watched the two men for a few moments then left the room, closing the door behind him.

‘
He’s a bit cranky,’ said Hughes. ‘He’s just heard his vacation is cancelled. There’s a summit in Vancouver; they need our ears and eyes.’

Lewis and Linsky nodded again.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door and another man came in. He was short, slightly dumpy, with a pair of thick-framed spectacles on his pointed nose. A curtain of thin, grey hair skirted around is head, emphasising the bald pate. He took off his coat and hung it on a hook.

‘
Phil,’ said Hughes, ‘this is Agent Lewis and Agent Linsky. NSA.’

The doctor didn’t say a word, just strode over to where Lewis was sitting on the examination couch and lifted the short black hair at the back of Lewis’ head. He murmured something to himself, stepped over to Linsky who was standing against the counter, and repeated the inspection. He turned back to Lewis.

‘
Lie face down,’ he said, his voice calm and authoritative.

Lewis turned over and buried his face in the squeaky black plastic of the couch.

The doctor pulled a ring of halogen bulbs down from the ceiling, switched them on and angled the bright beams onto Lewis’ neck. At the sink, he washed his hands and grabbed a pair of surgical gloves from a dispenser on the wall. He pulled them on, noisily slapping the white plastic over his cuffs, then opened a drawer and took out an enormous hypodermic syringe. From a bottle on the counter, the doctor drew up a clear liquid into the syringe. He placed it on the counter then opened another drawer. He took out a razor, a scalpel, some suture cord and needles, two needle holders, towels and bandages. He picked up the syringe again and glanced briefly at Hughes and Linsky, his face emotionless, a picture of the methodical surgeon.

‘
Okay,’ the doctor said to Lewis, ‘you’ll feel a small jab.’ He leant over Lewis’ nape and parted the hair with his thumb and forefinger, squeezed the skin into a ridge. He stabbed the needle into Lewis’ neck and squirted in the anaesthetic. Lewis felt a strange, cold, tingling sensation seeping from the back of his head toward his eyes. Putting the syringe, still half-full of liquid, back on the counter, the doctor picked up the razor. Stooping over Lewis again, he carefully shaved off a small patch of black hair.

Peeking just above the surface of the skin was a tiny radio antenna. It was a shiny button, like a droplet of mercury. Underneath, a small, square bulge slipped freely beneath the layer of thick skin.

The doctor waited a minute then grabbed the scalpel, stuck the tip in Lewis’ neck and said, ‘you feel that?’

Lewis indicated that he couldn’t.

Immediately, the doctor drove the blade into the skin, slicing two insertions across the subcutaneous object. Blood welled up and dribbled over his fingers. Flaps of fatty skin split apart revealing dark crimson muscle below. Reaching in with the point of his instrument, the doctor flicked the implant out. It clinked onto the floor.

A spray gun hissed as the doctor doused the wound with antiseptic. He dabbed the seeping incision with a towel, then took a needle, deftly threading it with the suture cord, and with the needle-holders began to sew up the gash. He finished it quickly and taped a small dressing over it.

‘
Okay,’ the doctor said, ‘you’re done. If it hurts tomorrow take some codeine.’

Grabbing a small metal dish from the counter, the doctor bent over, picked up the implant with a towel and dropped it into the dish with a metallic clatter. He handed the dish to Lewis who jumped off the couch.

Lewis took a towel and picked up the object. It was about the size of a thumbnail, a black plastic chip containing a simple transmitter. An array of specialised satellites could detect its incredibly faint radio pulse 40,000 miles above the Earth. A pulse that said, ‘I’m Jeff Lewis. I am here.’

Lewis wiped the blood from the implant and put it on the counter. He looked around, then grabbed a large metal fire extinguisher from a wall bracket and slammed it down on the device. It shattered, the microelectronics flattened into a mush of silicon and copper.

On surveillance screens around the world, Agent Lewis of the NSA simply winked out of existence.

‘
Happy now?’ asked Hughes with a glimmer of a smile.

‘
Sure,’ said Lewis. ‘That thing was like a lighthouse in the night.’