The Darkfall Switch (22 page)

Foster shook his head sadly, remembering the frightened youngster and his bewildered parents. ‘You know he left a note?’ he said, ‘For me?’

‘So that’s it!’ Worzniak exclaimed. ‘We wondered how you got on to it so fast.’

The tide had now reached its peak and the water was slack, enabling them to make good progress towards the city. The tender sped along, bucking and bouncing where it encountered the occasional eddy in the
stream. They rode along in silence for a considerable time and were at Chiswick Bridge before Worzniak spoke again.

‘My bosses have decided to pull the plug on the whole thing,’ he said. ‘I was told to stall you while it was all buttoned up. Then that idiot Matthews gave you the disk.’

‘With the evidence.’

‘Yes.’

‘So you decided to try and kill me,’ Foster said.

‘No comment! I’d just wanted us to back off, deny everything. But my bosses said that we couldn’t, not while there was any evidence to incriminate us.’

‘OK, though you deny it we all know that somebody tried to kill me – us, Janet and me. But it went wrong.’

‘That’s when the shit really hit the fan. Now I’ve found out that some bastard’s decided they’re goin’ to blame it all on a mad maverick and get him permanently out of the way.’

‘You!’

‘Yes, me. I was going to be made the fall guy. Of course, nobody told me, but when they tried to kill me I worked it out pretty damn quick.’

‘Kill you?’ Janet exclaimed.

‘Yes. Twice. First time it was dressed up like an accident. Someone tried to shoulder me off the highway – on I-95 for Chris’sakes! He’d come up behind real fast and when I pulled over, was when he did it. Turned me right over. Miracle that I got out.’

‘And the second time?’ Foster asked.

‘That clinched it for me,’ Worzniak said. ‘An auto crash I could just about accept as a random action of some joy-rider, but then they used a sniper to try and pick me off in my apartment.’

‘Slightly more direct than your try at me,’ Foster observed sourly.

‘I said I didn’t know anything about that,’ Worzniak grunted. ‘But you were a problem; a foreigner, and one with high-level connections. I can see that if anybody wanted to stop you they’d have to go very carefully. It would have to look like an accident. When you went horseback riding it was ideal; an accident, your bodies not being found for months or years. It would’ve been perfect!’

‘But it failed.’

‘Yes. And then everybody suddenly backed off. Denied being responsible for any of it….’

‘Like you’re denying it now.’

Worzniak shrugged. ‘Either way, they left me sticking up on the horizon, like a patsy. And now I’m in real deep shit.’ He looked around in silence. They were passing Barnes, and the trees that had formed a backdrop earlier were now being increasingly replaced by buildings. The occasional splash as their bow bounced into the water and the subdued burble of the outboards’ underwater exhausts formed a background to all their thoughts.

‘So you decided to cut and run,’ Foster said, breaking the impasse.

‘Yeah. I was a goner back in the States, so I thought I’d see what you could do for me.’

Foster stared at him. ‘Me?’ he said. ‘Why should I help? Anyway, what on earth do you think I could do?’

‘You’ve got connections, Foster,’ the American said, looking distracted. ‘And I can give your people something they want.’

‘What’s that?’

Worzniak took a deep breath and stared back along the river, watching their wake spread across the water and gently lap the banks. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts again.

‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘Here’s the deal: your people give me a safe place here, and in return I tell them everything. I’ve got written stuff too. Believe me, Foster, I’ve got enough to blow the whole thing wide open: names, everything. And there’re some real surprises for your people.’

Foster thought about it. Suddenly, when he’d just given up hope, here was a windfall, a chance to win after all. But there were still hazards ahead. For a start, he didn’t know if Ballantyne and his peers would agree to helping the American. They might just prefer to hush it all up, to avoid endangering the special relationship between the two countries.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s not in my hands. But if I can get help for you, what’ll happen then? You certainly won’t ever be able to return to your own country.’

Worzniak’s response was merely to shrug his shoulders.

Janet, sitting in the stern of the boat, had been listening to the dialogue. Now she spoke. ‘What about your family?’

Worzniak glared at her. ‘What family? I’ve got an ex in Washington. The bitch took me for everything I had when we divorced.’

‘No children?’ Janet asked.

‘Nope. That was the….’ He tailed off, looking at her suspiciously. 
Then he continued ruefully, ‘Fact is, there’s nobody back home who’d give a fuck. Sorry, lady.’

‘Property? House, car?’ Foster asked.

‘Nix. Apartment’s rented and the car belongs to the DoD. I’ll trade anything else I own for the chance to live, and I won’t last more’n a day or two back in the good ol’ US of A.’

‘Money?’

Worzniak grinned. ‘I learned a thing or two in my job,’ he said. ‘Made a couple of useful contacts. All my bank accounts have been cleared out. All offshore now.’

‘You can trust these contacts?’

‘You betcha!’ There was an evil grin on the American’s face as he gave the answer, making Foster believe that he must have had a very firm grasp of his
contacts
’ balls.

The long silence that followed was finally broken by Foster calling Janet to take over the wheel. She came over to it, but looked nervous. ‘Dan, I’ve never driven a boat before!’ she protested quietly.

He smiled and put her hands on the wheel. ‘Just keep us heading down the river, right of centre if you can. The throttle’s here. No brakes, I’m afraid; if you want to stop you have to put her in reverse – from the control column here. But don’t worry, I’ll be watching out for you.’

She did as instructed and gradually relaxed as she began to enjoy the experience. Worzniak took her place in the stern and settled down near the outboard motors.

Foster put his arm round Janet. ‘OK?’ he asked.

‘Super! I’m enjoying this.’ Her excited smile spoke volumes.

‘You’ll be able to open her up a bit soon. There’s an eight-knot restriction here but we can go faster once we’re past Wandsworth Bridge.’

‘How far’s that?’ Worzniak asked.

‘Three or four bridges to go yet,’ Foster replied.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ the American grumbled. ‘How many fucking bridges are there?’

‘A couple of hundred, in all,’ Foster said and enjoyed the amazement on Worzniak’s face before letting him off the hook. ‘But most of them are upstream of here, behind us.’

Janet broke in to ask, ‘How’ll I know when we get there? I haven’t recognized any of them so far: everything looks entirely different from the river.’

‘I’ll tell you,’ Foster replied.

They travelled on in silence and when they reached Wandsworth Foster opened up the throttles as promised. He watched the pleasure appear on Janet’s face as the boat surged forward, bouncing and slapping against the water. She gave a small turn to the wheel and they felt the boat sway as it responded.

‘That’s better,’ Worzniak said, confirming the signs of impatience he’d shown earlier. ‘Felt like we were on a joy-ride back there.’

The little boat sped downstream. The tide had turned now and was assisting their downward progression.

‘Can you park anywhere in London?’ Janet asked.

Foster smiled. ‘Boats moor, or tie up,’ he corrected. ‘It’s cars that get parked. And yes, there are a few places we can use, but I’ve got a pal who’s in the RNLI. He’s based at the Embankment. The authorities are pretty wary of strangers hanging round anywhere near the Houses of Parliament these days, ’specially on the river. But I’m sure he’ll let me moor up for a while.’

‘RN what what?’ Worzniak queried.

‘RNLI – that’s the Royal National Lifeboat Institution,’ Foster explained. ‘They provide lifeboat services around the coasts and on this part of the river.’

Worzniak gave a grunt and then lapsed into silence again. His silence lasted until they passed under Chelsea Bridge, when he repeated his earlier question, ‘How many of these bridges to go?’

Foster was reminded of children in the back of a car constantly asking, ‘How much further to go, Daddy?’ He thought about it, mentally counting them off before replying, ‘Another four, I think.’

‘Christ!’ Worzniak swore, before adding a grudging comment, ‘Still, this was a great idea of yours, Foster.’

‘What, using a boat?’

‘Yeah. Our people….’ He hesitated, as though he was just realizing that his old employers were now his enemies. ‘The opposition … they won’t be finding it easy. They’ll have worked out that I’m running by now.’

‘You think they know you’ve left the States?’ Foster asked.

‘Sure! Bound to.’

‘Do you think you were followed from Heathrow?’

‘Don’t know. But even if they did, they’ll have had to stop when we
got on this thing.’ He patted the gunwale beside him and grinned approvingly. ‘How long’ll it take them to hire a boat?’

Foster laughed. ‘A long time’ he answered. ‘If ever. It’s not too difficult to get a rowing boat up there, at Richmond. But something with an engine? I just don’t know. It’s past the summer tourist season, so even if they do manage to find a boatyard open they still won’t have an easy time of it. It’ll take an hour or so at least, probably much longer. Fact is, they might not be able to get one at all.’

‘Great!’ Worzniak said, smiling broadly.

Foster frowned at him as he said, ‘Quicker for them to get a helicopter.’

‘Christ!’ Worzniak swore, suddenly looking at the sky behind them. ‘Could they do that?’

‘I think it would be easier than finding a boat,’ Foster said. ‘And quicker to find us.’

Foster pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and started to key in a number when Worzniak leaped to his feet and snatched the instrument out of his hand. ‘What’re you doin’?’ he barked.

‘I need to speak to my contacts.’

‘Not on that you don’t,’ Worzniak said acidly.

Worzniak’s alarm indicated that Foster’s calls were being monitored. He thought about it: he had to tell Grant about this unexpected development. Then he remembered the American’s call from Heathrow. ‘You said you’d bought a new mobile,’ he asked, ‘have you got it with you now?’

Worzniak nodded and reached for his phone. ‘Yeah’ he said. ‘That’s an idea: I don’t know if they’ll have tracked it yet. They’ll have started the process when I called you, but I don’t think they’ll have had time to do it so far.’

He handed the phone to Foster and said, ‘OK, use this. But first turn your own phone off. Don’t want them tracking us. And, listen here, when you speak to your handler don’t say where you are: just arrange for us to meet somewhere. Somewhere real safe. And keep it short and snappy. You can say I’m in London, but don’t say I’m with you. Just say you want to meet. Right away.’ Then he returned to the seat.

Foster thought furiously as he keyed in Grant’s number. Just where would be ‘real safe’? He was also bemused by Grant being identified as his ‘handler’: this was the stuff of spy novels; he’d never thought of
Grant, or his predecessor Forsyth, as being handlers. This was a strange world to him. When the call connected he explained the unexpected new development of Worzniak’s defection and arrival. He said they were on a boat on the Thames and could be at the office in minutes.

‘Good God!’ Grant spluttered at the end of it. ‘Worzniak? Himself?’

‘Yes.’ Foster gave a quiet smile. He had remembered that the title ‘Himself’ was an archaic euphemism for the Devil, Satan. It seemed particularly apt in this case. ‘So what do I do now?’

A long silence followed, during which he could visualize the Scotsman spreading his hands in indecision.

Eventually Grant said, ‘I’ll call you back. Where are you?’

Foster ignored the question. ‘No. Don’t call me. It’s too dangerous. Come down to the IET at Savoy Place. Right away.’

He was hoping that the reference to ‘the IET’ would be like code to any American listening in. They couldn’t be expected to have heard of the Institution of Engineering and Technology, or know its location.

‘IET?’ Grant asked.

‘Yes,’ Foster answered. ‘Don’t ask. Your driver’ll know.’ Then, as an afterthought, he added, ‘By the way, there’re three of us to collect.’

He could sense the unspoken question in the short delay that followed before Grant replied, ‘OK. But are you saying that Worzniak’s at risk?’

‘I am. So we mustn’t talk for too long now.’

He cut the call and handed the mobile back to Worzniak. ‘It’s over to them now,’ he said quietly. Worzniak returned Foster’s mobile.

‘Let’s hope they aren’t hand-in-glove with my old buddies,’ he muttered. ‘One enemy’s bad enough.’

The tender slowed and circled until it was moving upstream and approaching the bright orange lifeboat tied up at the pier just below Waterloo Bridge. It was quiet here, the distant hum of the traffic on the road almost drowned by the gurgle of the water as it eddied past the pier supports. Nobody was in sight as they neared, but when Foster pulled in, a woman emerged, shaded her eyes with her hand and gave them a curious stare. Then she recognized Foster, and visibly relaxed. She was the RNLI Station Manager and she waved a greeting before coming forward to take the mooring lines from Janet.

After they had tied up, the woman helped them alight and Foster explained his need to stay there for a few hours, saying they had to attend an urgent meeting with a member of the government. The station manager stared levelly at him for a few seconds before nodding guarded consent. ‘But only for an hour,’ she said, ‘two at the most. The PLA’s pretty tight on casual mooring along here.’

They went up the steps leading to the Embankment, crossed over to the red and white Institution building on Savoy Place, and waited in front of Michael Faraday’s statue for whoever was coming. Although Foster was reasonably confident that he could trust Grant implicitly he could still turn out to be a foe. But even if his trust in Grant were to be misplaced, he felt sure nobody would risk carrying out murder or abduction in broad daylight in the middle of London.

They didn’t have to wait very long. Within a few minutes a black Mercedes drew up in front of them. The car bore the Stoof insignia, and
Foster was intrigued; he’d heard of these subtly but heavily armoured vehicles, but had never actually seen one. The driver emerged and walked slowly to the front of the vehicle, looking warily around before he opened the front passenger door to let Grant out.

Foster introduced his little group to Grant. He had not mentioned Janet before, and now he saw a puzzled frown cross Grant’s face. ‘A friend of mine,’ he explained. ‘Janet Coleman. She knows about all of this.’

Grant scowled briefly, but then he extended his hand to her. ‘Oh!’ he said and as he shook her hand he gave an appreciative smile. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Coleman.’

They entered the car and set off, Janet flanked by Foster and Worzniak, while Grant took the front passenger seat. While the car waited at the lights to join the traffic on the busy Embankment, Grant leaned over the back of his seat and asked, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you from Dan, Mr Worzniak. But tell me, what exactly is it that you’re wanting from us?’

‘I need to disappear. I can’t go back to the States now, and even here I’ll need protection.’

The lights turned green and the car pulled away. Foster could see the driver’s eyes in the mirror. They remained impassive, seemingly absorbed with carefully watching the surrounding vehicles as the driver threaded the car through the dense traffic. Foster was sure that what he was hearing now was only one of very many intriguing conversations that had passed his ears.

‘We’ll discuss that when we get to Westminster,’ Grant continued, ‘but first I’ll need to know what you’ll be bringing to the table in return.’

Worzniak glanced briefly at the back of the driver’s head before looking back at Grant. ‘Plenty: names, technical details, computer files, printouts of emails, in fact everything you’ll need. And, believe me, it’s a big packet. A lot of dirt. Plenty of surprises for you guys.’

Grant returned his stare steadily before replying. ‘Are you saying that you would be willing to swear an affidavit on this, and possibly stand up and repeat all of it – perhaps in a court of inquiry?’

Worzniak drew in a deep breath and looked out of the window before answering. ‘With proper protection, and with the right incentives, sure. I’ll spill all of it.’

Foster felt sure that those ‘incentives’ would have to be enough to
keep the American in clover for the rest of his life.

Grant eyed him for a long while before speaking. ‘Aye,’ he said afterwards. ‘All right. I’m taking you to meet Sir James Ballantyne.’

‘I met him once,’ Worzniak said brightly, ‘in Denver.’

By now they had reached Westminster Bridge and Foster could see Big Ben ahead. They would be at their destination very soon. Would that be the end of it?

As they arrived at Ballantyne’s office Grant went in alone, leaving the other three to wait with Sir James’s secretary in the corridor. After a few minutes he emerged and, as he appeared, the secretary stepped discreetly out of earshot, a few paces along the corridor. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Coleman,’ Grant said, giving Janet an apologetic smile, ‘there are matters here that are of some importance to the State. I’m sure that you will understand that I must ask you to wait. Sir James’s secretary will show you around and see that you are comfortable.’

As his voice tailed off Foster said, ‘Janet knows everything about this affair already, Grant.’

A scowl flitted briefly across Grant’s face. ‘Perhaps so,’ he admitted finally, ‘but I’m afraid I must insist.’

‘No. She stays.’ Foster saw surprise on Grant’s face as he added, ‘She was with me in Denver.’

There was a short silence while Grant worked out the implications of Foster’s words. Then Janet intervened, ‘Don’t worry about me, Dan. I don’t mind. Honestly.’ She sounded cheerfully resigned and her words eased the tension in the corridor.

Foster looked at her in amazement. Such meek compliance was entirely out of character with her usual feisty self-assertiveness. But she smiled at him reassuringly and said, ‘I’ve never been inside this place before. A chance to see inside the corridors of power? With a personal guide? That’ll be fine. Honestly, it will.’

‘Thank you,’ said Grant, clearly relieved that confrontation had been avoided. He beckoned to the secretary. She came over and, after a few quiet words with Grant, she led Janet away and as their voices receded in the distance Foster could tell that Janet was indeed looking forward to enjoying this personal tour of Parliament.

Grant stopped at the door with his hand on the knob. ‘Sir James is conferring with the relevant people at the moment,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve
outlined what you’ve told me.’

At their entry Ballantyne hung up the telephone and rose to greet them.

After the necessary introductions were complete they sat down around a long meeting table across the room from Sir James’s desk. Ballantyne cleared his throat. ‘This will be very difficult for us,’ he said, addressing Worzniak. ‘I understand that you have some important information for us and that you are looking to us to provide you with some protection.’

‘Yup,’ Worzniak said. ‘There’s some strong stuff goin’ on. They’ve tried to kill me twice now and they won’t give up easily, not even here.’

‘They?’

‘My old bosses.’

Ballantyne stared at him in open disbelief. ‘Mmm,’ he mused. ‘If what you say is true, I’m sure you will appreciate that we will come under extreme pressure from our transatlantic colleagues, Mr Worzniak, your old masters; the very people you say are trying to kill you.’

‘I know,’ Worzniak said. ‘But let’s cut the crap: will you or won’t you give me asylum over here?’

Ballantyne sniffed. ‘It’s not quite so easy, I’m afraid. You see, you could become subject to an extradition request from the US Government. In fact, I am perfectly sure that you will – we’ve seen some preliminary moves being made in that direction already.’

‘But your government wouldn’t allow that, would it?’ Worzniak said. ‘Not after I’ve told you exactly how your so-called allies were responsible for killing all those folks in London.’ But his bullish
self-confidence
had been shaken. There was a slight doubt in his tone. His voice was muted.

Ballantyne stared at him and said, ‘Mr Worzniak, you must understand that we have to abide by agreed procedures between our two governments. Procedures that have been in place for some time now.’ He clenched his jaw before continuing, ‘Specifically, there’s an extradition treaty in place between the British and American Governments. It removes the requirement on the US to provide
prima facie
evidence when requesting the extradition of people from the UK.’

Worzniak blanched as he considered the implications of those words. ‘You mean, the Feds can just ask for me and your government’ll … well, you’ll just hand me over?’

‘In principle, yes.’

Worzniak gave a bitter laugh. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘the deal’s off. I’ll take my chances somewhere else. Believe me, there are other countries that’d love to know about this. They’re much less palsy-walsie with the States. They’d have nothing to lose.’

But Foster could see the worried look that had come into his eyes and he wondered if any viable alternative would, in fact, be open to the American. Somehow he doubted it, and it was clear that Worzniak doubted it as well. Foster guessed that the American had worked out that if he was going to become a refugee for the rest of his days, he’d rather do that in a country where the native language bore a passing resemblance to his own.

‘But there may still be a way out,’ Ballantyne continued. ‘In fact, there are two definite possibilities we can think of so far.’

‘Which are?’

‘First: we make your presence here very public. You go on television and explain what has been happening. In that case your old masters would be exposed to the full glare of publicity, very unwelcome publicity.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Worzniak said, visibly relaxing.

‘It’s not quite so simple,’ Ballantyne continued. ‘For a start, if we followed that procedure it would impose severe strains on the special relationship that presently exists between our two countries.’

‘Well, the special relationship can go fuck itself then!’

Ballantyne pursed his lips. ‘The implications are enormous,’ he continued, ‘and very wide-ranging. I doubt that those commanding the ship of State would be prepared to steer her into such dangerous waters. What is more, such action might not even achieve its ends.’

‘Whattya mean?’

‘Your country could decide to brazen it out. Deny everything. Claim that you’re a deluded renegade – a madman. They could shrug off the risk of bad publicity and simply press ahead with demanding your extradition.’

‘Seriously?’ Foster interrupted.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Ballantyne replied. ‘Our American cousins can be quite cavalier about these things when it suits them.’ He looked down at his desk before saying, ‘And in any case I’m not at all sure that we would get that far. Involving the media, I mean.’

‘Why not?’ Foster asked.

‘Because nobody would be keen on rocking the boat that much.’

Foster stared at him and understood. It would be too damaging to expose the fact that the US Government had initiated and supported a scheme that had resulted in a major incident in the UK, and – albeit indirectly – killed Londoners. ‘Collateral damage’ was an unpopular concept with the public at large, and this news would be manna to the media and left-wing activists.

‘You mentioned that there were two alternatives,’ Foster said.

‘Yes. The second is that Mr Worzniak should simply disappear.’

Amazed at the idea, Foster stared at him and frowned. ‘Would that be possible?’ he asked.

‘It would indeed,’ Ballantyne answered. ‘As yet, nobody other than ourselves know that Mr Worzniak is here. Oh, the Americans will, of course, know by now, and they might even have followed him when you met him. But thanks to your brilliant strategy of using a boat, they’ll have lost his track.’

‘Surely that wouldn’t stop them from demanding his repatriation,’ Grant said.

‘Perhaps not. But as long as they are met with denials that he is here, how could they possibly make a fuss? After all, they’d scarcely want any information on his past activities to become public knowledge.’

Worzniak’s expression indicated that he liked this idea far better. ‘I’d need a new identity, a safe house,’ he said.

‘Indeed,’ Ballantyne reassured him. ‘That too would be entirely possible.’

As the American relaxed, working out the full implications, Ballantyne turned to Foster. ‘That lady, Ms Coleman – it’s very unfortunate that she knows about this. Some might say that you were not as discreet as you should have been.’

‘She was with me in Denver when Worzniak’s goons tried to kill me.’ He saw Worzniak bridle but pressed on, ‘She was going to be another victim.’

Ballantyne studied his face before saying, ‘I see.’ Then he seemed to reach a decision. ‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘But we need to be assured that she will be discreet.’

‘You needn’t worry about her,’ Foster answered.

‘Perhaps. But we are in tricky waters here. News of the Darkfall Switch
affair would be highly explosive if it were to leak out. The press would be prepared to pay handsomely for inside information on it,
very
handsomely.’

Foster glared at him and said acidly, ‘If you’re implying that Janet would sell out for a pile of cash, I’d suggest you look closer to home first. Your own people are scarcely past masters at keeping secrets from the press.’

Grant and Ballantyne exchanged bleak smiles.

Ballantyne took a deep breath. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘What’s done is done. We must now move on.’ He turned to Worzniak and asked, ‘Now Mr Worzniak, what can you tell me about this … this affair?’

Worzniak leant back in his chair and began to unravel the story.

The plan had been simple and devilish. As the technology of warfare advanced, with the possibility of weapons of mass destruction being used, it had become clear that speed of response would be critical in the event of nuclear war breaking out. In simple terms, it takes approximately thirty minutes from launch for a ballistic missile to reach its target, so a half-hour delay in launching an enemy’s weapons would allow the US to annihilate the launch sites before the button could be pressed.

One simple command, sent electronically to the enemy’s power stations would initiate the Darkfall routine. Chaos would follow as the entire country blacked out. Traffic flows would be disrupted, communications blocked. The missile launch mechanisms themselves could be jeopardized.