King Solomon's Curse

34

‘Nice place,’ said Eddie of the West Kensington apartment building to which a taxi had delivered them. ‘Wonder how this Roy can afford it on a spook’s pay?’

‘Maybe he really is as good as Peter says,’ Nina replied, surveying the street. It was now after seven in the morning and people were up and about, but none seemed interested in them. ‘Let’s see, number twenty-four…’

She pushed the intercom button. A short wait, then a man’s voice came from the speaker. ‘Yah?’

‘Roy Boxley?’ she said. ‘You were told to expect us.’

‘Oh, yah, yah. Come on up.’ They were buzzed in.

There was a lift, but they took the stairs, not wanting to be sealed in an enclosed space. Their destination was on the fourth floor. Eddie knocked on the door, which was quickly answered.

Roy Boxley did not match their mental image of an MI6 techie. He was in his mid-twenties, tall and broad with the hefty build of a rugby player. Tight ginger curls topped a big, ruddy-cheeked face with an expression of affable curiosity. ‘Mr Alderley sent you, yah?’ he said in a languid, upper-crust voice.

‘That’s right,’ said Nina.

‘Great, great. Come in.’ He stepped back to let them enter. The apartment was compact but clearly expensive, bright and minimalist with lots of polished marble surfaces. The huge flat-screen television dominating one wall confirmed it as the home of a young and well-off bachelor. Considering what Eddie had said about SIS pay, Nina imagined Roy had received no small financial help from his family. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee?’

‘No, that’s fine, thanks.’ He gave her an odd look. ‘Something wrong?’

Roy tapped his large chin thoughtfully, then pointed at her. ‘Nina Wilde! You’re Nina Wilde, aren’t you? I knew I recognised you.’

‘That’s me,’ she said warily. If the security alert about her and Eddie had gone to all MI6’s employees…

‘Love your show!’ he said enthusiastically, holding out his hand. ‘Fascinating stuff, Atlantis and all that. Are you doing another series?’

‘We’ve just filmed another one,’ she said as his huge fleshy palm enveloped hers.

‘Great, great! And I’ve got the Blu-rays of your films too.’ He pointed proudly at a black shelf unit filled with discs of mostly action movies, including the full James Bond oeuvre. ‘How close are they to what actually happened?’

‘Not even remotely.’

‘Oh, shame.’ Roy greeted Eddie, then peered at the computer Nina was holding. ‘That’s the laptop you want me to recover something from, yah?’

She put it down. The young man’s eyebrows rose when he saw the bullet hole. ‘Yes. There’s a video file that… well, let’s just say it’s a matter of national security. It should be the newest thing on there chronologically.’

‘And Mr Alderley thinks I’m the man to retrieve it for you? Well, I’m flattered — although I really am,’ he added with false modesty. ‘But why bring it to my flat? I could have done it at SIS, and probably much faster.’

‘The video’s of someone from SIS confessing to a major crime,’ said Eddie. ‘Alderley wants to expose them before they can hush it up.’

Roy’s eyes went wide — but with intrigue rather than alarm. ‘Ah, sounds sauce-ay! Well, if Mr A. wants me to help bust them, I’m in.’ He reached for the laptop. ‘May I?’

Nina nodded. ‘Please do.’

He took it, peering at her through the hole before going to a door. ‘Okay, let’s see what we have,’ he said, gesturing for them to follow.

While the rest of the apartment was clean and fastidiously neat, this room appeared to be occupied by Roy’s Mr Hyde. A second bedroom had been turned into a makeshift electronics lab, tall shelves covered in dismantled computer components and no fewer than three working machines on an equally untidy desk. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said as he sat and switched on a powerful lamp. ‘My hobby. Learned at an early age that I was very good at dismantling things — like all kids, ha ha — but fortunately turned out to be even better at putting them back together. Useful for my job — I’m sort of the Africa desk’s unofficial Q.’

‘Can you fix this?’ asked Nina.

‘Find out in a mo.’ He opened the laptop and pushed its power button. When nothing happened, he rummaged through a drawer for a set of small screwdrivers. ‘Have to open it up. Make yourselves comfortable, this could take a little while.’

The only potential seating in the room other than Roy’s chair being precariously stacked boxes, the couple retreated into the living room. ‘What do we do if he can’t get it working?’ Eddie asked quietly.

‘I’m not sure,’ said his wife. ‘Try to reach Macy, I guess. Oh, God.’ She gazed disconsolately at the carpet. ‘All this, and we haven’t even been able to let her know we’re okay. And we don’t even know if she’s okay. What if Brice already sent his people after her?’

He held her. ‘Have to hope he’s got other things on his mind right now.’

‘Blowing up the Houses of Parliament isn’t really a spur-of-the-moment thing, no.’ She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘How do you think he’s going to do it? From a boat, like you said?’

He shook his head. ‘Changed my mind about that. You’ve got to aim the Shamir, and standing on a boat in the middle of the Thames pointing something weird at Parliament’s going to draw attention. There’s a ton of security around there. They’re watching out for RPGs, car bombs, mortars…’

‘So where could he attack from?’

‘I dunno. If he really is getting help from the top, he could theoretically get security clearance to walk right into Parliament. But it’s more likely he’s got enough to get close without making anyone suspicious.’

‘In disguise, maybe? As a cop or something?’

‘Maybe. But he’s still got to carry the Shamir with him — and that lead box, or he’ll be blowing up buildings left and right.’

‘He’d need a car to move it in, then. Or a truck.’

Eddie nodded, but before he could voice any more thoughts Roy reappeared. ‘Okay, I’ve got, as the saying goes, good news and bad news.’

‘Let’s get the bad out of the way first, huh?’ said Nina.

‘Ah, a pessimist. Well, the bad news is that your laptop is completely shot, no pun intended. The bullet damaged a load of critical components — including the SSD, the hard drive.’

‘I’m finding it hard to see how there could be any good news after that.’

‘Oh, ye of little faith. The good news is that I was able to take out the SSD and connect it to one of my computers. There’s still data on it — the problem is that the directory’s been corrupted. At the moment, it’s just gibberish. But what I can do is clone it on to my own machine, then try to rebuild the directory and recover the files. It’ll take a while, but I’m sure it can be done.’

Eddie checked his watch. It was after seven thirty: less than four and a half hours before Parliament would be packed with MPs for Prime Minister’s Questions. ‘How long? An hour, two, three?’

‘Hard to say, chap. Depends how corrupted the files are, and how much data’s missing. Based on the size of the drive, at least two hours, though.’

Eddie and Nina exchanged concerned looks. ‘Can you do it on a laptop?’ Nina asked.

‘Yah, but it’ll be slower. Why?’

‘You might need to work on the move,’ Eddie told him.

‘What? Why?’

‘The thing is,’ Nina began, trying not to sound too alarming, ‘the person on the video has got watchers out looking for us. Peter’s put himself on the line to help us, but sooner or later, this person’s going to realise that he has. Once he does, he’ll check Peter’s phone calls and find you’re not at work. So the first place he sends watchers to check—’

‘Will be here?’ Roy said in dismay. ‘Wait, am I doing something illegal by helping you? Oh, bloody hell! That’s a great start to my career; I’ve only been at SIS for six months!’

‘You’re exposing something illegal,’ she countered. ‘And maybe stopping something even worse. That’s why we’ve got to recover this file — and why we can’t let anyone from SIS catch us first.’

Roy made a sound of anguish. ‘They’re the people I work for! Ugh. Okay. Let me think. I need to talk to Mr Alderley.’

‘They’re monitoring his calls,’ Eddie warned. ‘If you let on anything’s happening, they’ll be straight round here.’

That did not help Roy’s mood. ‘Peter was sure you could help us uncover the truth,’ said Nina. ‘Please, Roy — you’re the only person who can do it.’ She glanced towards the DVDs. ‘Working for MI6 probably isn’t like a James Bond movie, but you can still be a hero and save the country. And you don’t even need a gun, just a computer.’

‘Save the country?’ Roy echoed. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘Something big,’ Eddie told him. ‘And we’re running out of time to stop it.’

‘I really should talk to Mr Alderley again…’ he said, but his eyes had followed Nina’s towards the shelf of movies. ‘Is there anything you can tell me? At all?’

‘The man on the video admits to a terrorist act,’ she said, deciding to give him something more concrete in the hope of swaying his decision. ‘And we think he’s about to commit another, here in London — and we only have until noon to stop him. But without the video, we don’t have any evidence. It’s our word against his, and right now, he’s a lot more likely to be listened to by the authorities.’

‘And you say he works for SIS? He’s gone rogue?’

Eddie nodded. ‘He’s responsible for killing a lot of people. And he might be responsible for a shitload more.’

Roy thought hard before finally making a choice. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘all right. I may come to regret this, but… I’ll help you. If anything goes wrong, though, I’ll say you forced me at gunpoint.’ He chuckled.

Eddie opened up his leather jacket to reveal the automatic. ‘That’s plausible.’

‘Oh my God. Is that real?’ The Yorkshireman’s stony expression assured him it was. ‘I see. Well, I suppose that means you could have forced me at gunpoint if you’d wanted to, but you didn’t, so… Okay. Let me set things up on my laptop.’ He went back into the computer room, pausing in the doorway. ‘You know, in an odd way this is actually rather exciting! Terrifying, but exciting.’

Eddie and Nina followed him in, both to see what he was doing and to make sure he didn’t try to warn MI6. ‘Maybe for you, but I’ve had way too much excitement lately,’ she said.

Her husband patted her on the back. ‘Love? I’ve got some bad news about the rest of the day.’

Brice looked over the vehicle waiting for him in a lock-up a mile from SIS headquarters. It was a white Ford Transit van with a pickup rear body, its paintwork dirty and scuffed from years of solid use. In no respect was there anything noteworthy about it… which made it perfect for his purposes.

He checked the pickup bed. SIS’s quartermasters had also provided him with suitable props: various tools, warning signs and road cones were stacked in the rear. He hopped up to clear a space for the Shamir’s lead box. The ancient weapon was currently in the boot of an equally anonymous car, but he needed to transfer it to something that could stop anywhere without drawing attention from traffic wardens or police officers.

The Transit would fit the bill. Its doors bore the coat of arms of the City of Westminster, the central London borough that was home to many of the city’s most famous buildings — including the Houses of Parliament. Anyone looking closely would notice that the vinyl decals were brand new, without the patina of diesel particulates speckling the rest of the van; there were limits to what SIS’s people could do on short notice. He doubted it would receive such an inspection, though. A council van working on its own streets was so unremarkable as to be effectively invisible.

He was about to collect the Shamir when his phone rang. ‘Yes?’

‘I have some good news for you, old man.’ Ellis, the senior technician. ‘About your laptop.’

‘What did you find?’ Brice asked cautiously. Ellis’s people had been ordered not to watch the incriminating video should they recover it, but it was inevitable that someone would have viewed at least parts of it, if only to check that the picture and sound were intact. ‘Did you recover the recording?’

‘We recovered lots of recordings,’ Ellis replied cheerily. ‘The thing is, though, they’re all audio files, not video.’

The spy felt a rising sense of unease. ‘Had anything been copied off the hard drive and then deleted?’

‘Doesn’t look like it. Even if they’d used a secure delete command, we’d still be able to tell that something had been deleted.’

Brice’s discomfort grew. Something was very wrong. ‘There’s nothing at all from the drone?’

‘There isn’t even anything related to a drone, old man. Apart from the standard system software, all the applications are audio-related. Sound recording, editing, filtering, that kind of thing. Professional-grade software, by the way. I’d say our having this means a sound man’s lost their livelihood.’

‘A sound woman,’ he corrected, all the puzzle pieces suddenly slotting together.

‘Considering the bullet hole, maybe they lost more than that! But I don’t think that you—’

Brice cut off the call. Fighting back anger, he entered a new number.

It was the private secure line of C himself. A reply soon came. ‘Armitage.’

‘Sir, it’s Brice. We have a situation. The laptop we took from Chase and Wilde at Heathrow — it’s not the one they used to make the drone recording. They switched it for an identical computer.’

The response was terse. ‘Then where’s the real one?’

‘They must still have it. Maybe they got someone else on the plane to bring it through for them. Sir, Ellis just recovered the data from the laptop in our possession. If Chase and Wilde have done the same with the real one—’

‘That would lead to very unwelcome consequences,’ C interrupted, making it perfectly clear upon whom said consequences would fall. ‘You need to find them, and the laptop.’

‘I’m getting ready to start the mission, sir. I need help. If I can have your permission to activate GB63—’

‘You have it.’ The authorisation came with no hesitation, or emotion.

‘Thank you, sir. And there’s something else. Chase contacted Peter Alderley yesterday to arrange a meeting, but never showed up. But I think Alderley must be involved somehow. He knows something — he might even be helping them.’

‘I’ll call him in for a chat,’ said Armitage. ‘Now: is your mission in jeopardy? Will you have to abort?’

‘This is the only opportunity we’ll have before the election,’ said Brice, realising his boss was putting all the responsibility on him. ‘If we find Chase and his wife and get the laptop, there’s no threat to us.’

‘And what if they’ve already recovered the file and are disseminating it?’

‘GCHQ need to monitor for any signs that they might have done so. I can coordinate that through ops. But until I know that there’s a definite risk, I’ll continue as planned.’

‘Very well. Remember, Brice — you can’t afford anything to go wrong. Understood?’

‘Very clearly, sir.’ Brice lowered the phone, realising he was sweating. He rubbed his neck, then made another call, again to SIS. ‘Staite? Brice here. C has just approved the use of the Removal Men. Their targets are Eddie Chase and Nina Wilde.’ A small smile. ‘Turn them loose.’

Peter Alderley looked out from his office at the activity in SIS’s Africa section. His unexpected drill was being taken very seriously, his staff working flat out to meet the ten thirty deadline. He made a mental note to use the same approach again in future; it would keep them on their toes…

His desk phone rang. He answered. ‘Alderley.’

‘Peter. This is C. I need to talk to you. Come up to my office.’

Impromptu meetings with the head of SIS were far from common. ‘Sir, I’m just about to hold a staff briefing,’ he said, unsettled.

‘Now, Peter.’ He hung up.

‘Oh, boy,’ Alderley muttered. He had no doubts that the summons was somehow connected to his unexpected houseguests. Had they been caught?

A moment of hesitation — what he was about to do could end his career — then he called the number Eddie had given him. It went through to voicemail. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ he said, trying to sound casual for those monitoring. ‘I’ve just been called into a meeting with the boss, so no idea how long I’ll be. You should go on ahead. Bye.’ He hoped the recipient wouldn’t take too long to check his messages.

A quick apology to his staff for delaying the briefing, then he headed out and took a lift up to C’s office near the top of the building. Armitage’s secretary told him to go straight in. That in itself was ominous; on the few previous occasions when he had been summoned for a meeting, he’d had to endure the ritual of the powerful, waiting outside like a schoolboy until his superior concluded more important business.

C stood at the window, looking out across the Thames. ‘Ah, Peter. There you are.’ He did not turn around.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Alderley, joining him. ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Yes, I did.’ He continued to gaze at the river. ‘I want an explanation.’

‘About what, sir?’

‘Your contact with Eddie Chase and Nina Wilde last night. They called you.’

‘Yes sir, they did,’ said Alderley, knowing there was no point dissembling. C would have seen the telephone logs and quite probably listened to the call, GCHQ recording every phone conversation in the country as a matter of routine. ‘They said they wanted to meet me, but didn’t turn up.’

‘And are you in the habit of going out of your way to meet everyone who requests an audience?’

‘They’re… friends,’ he said, almost forcing out the word at the thought of describing Eddie as such. ‘I hadn’t seen them for a while.’

‘And were you aware that they are fugitives wanted on a matter of national security? That they instigated a gun battle at Heathrow and caused an enormous amount of property damage in their escape?’

‘They, ah, neglected to mention that, sir.’

C finally faced him. The intelligence chief’s expression was anything but reassuring. ‘I understand that you called members of your department in the early hours of this morning and ordered them to prepare a briefing concerning the Democratic Republic of Congo. Why?’

‘A drill, sir. I wanted to test their readiness for an unexpected event.’

‘Hardly your usual procedure.’

‘The world’s changing, sir. We have to change with it.’

C’s cold eyes bored into him. Alderley stood his ground, but could feel himself wilting — until to his relief the other man turned away as one of his desk phones rang. He crossed the room to pick it up. ‘Yes? I see. Send it to me. No, immediately. Alderley is in my office right now — I want him to hear it too.’

He sat behind his desk, beckoning his subordinate over as if he were an unruly child. Trying to cover his trepidation, Alderley stood before him. ‘Hear what, sir?’

‘I had our analysts check the phone calls you made this morning. They also back-traced any other calls received by your people.’ He turned to his computer and clicked the mouse to bring up a file. ‘One came from a previously unused mobile number. I’d like you to hear it.’

Alderley’s heart sank as he heard his own recorded voice. ‘Roy, it’s Peter Alderley again. Okay, listen. Don’t worry about the DR Congo briefing, I’ve got something more important for you to do. I’m going to send some people around to your flat with a laptop.’ His second call to Roy Boxley played through to its conclusion.

C had not taken his eyes from him. ‘Explain,’ he said. ‘Were the people you referred to Wilde and Chase? What was on the laptop?’

‘I…’ Trapped, Alderley hesitated before replying. ‘Sir, I was given information by a source I trust,’ he said, deciding that if he was going down, he would do so fighting. ‘This information regarded illegal operations in DR Congo and a possible conspiracy within SIS itself. In the interests of national security, I decided to begin further investigation on my personal authority as the head of the Africa desk.’

‘I see. And do you have the names of these alleged conspirators?’

‘Yes — but I don’t think it would be appropriate at this time to release that information to anyone but the head of an independent investigative enquiry.’

The two men stared at each other. C remained impassive for a long moment — then reached to his intercom. ‘Send security to my office immediately,’ he barked. ‘Peter Alderley is to be placed in custody. There is a man on his staff called Roy Boxley; have him brought up to me at once.’

‘Yes, sir,’ came his secretary’s alarmed reply.

‘So you’re just going to throw me in a cell?’ said Alderley angrily. ‘I know about Brice — that his resignation was faked so he could help break up the Congo deniably. And I also know he brought something back with him that can be used for a false-flag attack.’

‘I’d advise you to keep such conspiracy theories to yourself, Peter,’ said C icily. The door opened and a pair of large men in dark uniforms entered, batons and Tasers on their belts.

‘If Brice does what I think he’s about to, the damage to the country will be on your head. Sir,’ Alderley added in an acidic tone as the men flanked him.

The intelligence head’s response was a dismissive wave of one hand. ‘Take him away,’ he said, before responding to a buzz from his intercom. ‘Yes?’

‘Sir, Roy Boxley didn’t turn up for work this morning,’ his secretary told him. ‘Should I try to reach him at home?’

‘No,’ C replied as Alderley was led away. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

Fifteen minutes later, a black Range Rover skidded to a halt on the double-yellow lines outside Roy Boxley’s home. The four men who jumped out were unconcerned about parking restrictions. As part of their duties, they were exempt from them… as well as many other laws of the land.

They did not use the buzzer. The burliest of the group carried a solid metal battering ram, which he swung against the door hard enough to smash the jamb. The others rushed inside, guns drawn.

They pounded up to the other floor. The three armed men took up positions on each side of flat twenty-four’s door as the fourth readied the battering ram — and burst it open. His companions rushed in, weapons ready to shoot anyone they found—

Nobody was there. It took only seconds for the other rooms to be checked. ‘Clear!’ each intruder shouted in turn.

‘Control, there’s no one here,’ the leader reported into his headset. ‘I repeat, targets are not here.’

Brice was still in the lock-up, patched into the operation’s communications through his phone. ‘What about the laptop?’ he demanded.

‘There are two desktop machines in one of the rooms,’ came the reply. ‘No sign of any laptops. But there’s a space where one might have been.’

The MI6 officer held in an obscenity. ‘Withdraw and await further orders,’ he snapped. ‘Staite, Waterford: get on the CCTV network. If there’s a camera near Boxley’s flat, go back through the video and see when they left, then track them. You have authority to call on any and all extra resources you need.’ He glanced at the van; while he wanted to oversee the manhunt, he also knew he would soon have to leave to reach his target in time. ‘As soon as you find them, call me. But find them!’