Nssm 200 - The Milieu Derivative
Sinking hands into a basin of piping hot water is never a good idea. He did it anyway.
“Jesus!”
“I told you to use the dishwasher.”
“They’re useless when fully loaded.”
The cold tap burst into life and he let the water run over his throbbing fingers before drying them with the kitchen towel.
“Apart from the dishes why else did you draw my attention to get me over?”
“This was a bad idea.”
“You said you needed to talk with these people, away from prying eyes and ears, did you not?”
“I do.”
“Then it was right to bring them here.”
The insipid smile he attempted to offer felt more like an unintended grimace.
“Pass me the first plate,” she said.
He obliged and she wiped at the uneven surface.
“This has to be hard for you.”
“Whatever needs to be done,” she said.
He kept his gaze on the task at hand.
“Were the family really pissed when you cancelled on them at the last minute?”
“A little offhand,” she said. “The new accommodation suits them better, however, closer to the beach.”
“How many properties did you say you had?”
“Seven. John wanted to add more. I assume the intention was to supplement his retirement income.”
“Where on earth did he find the money from?”
“I never asked how he paid for them.”
The conversation lapsed into silence. Matt struggled to think of a fresh subject.
“She is beautiful.”
“I like to think so. But I’m biased in all matters Grace.”
“And clever,” she said.
“She’s a lot smarter than me,” he admitted. “Then again, most other people are,” he added, attempting humility.
“I did not envisage her to be …”
“A German,” he said quickly.
“Yes, a German,” she said.
He offered the next piece of wet crockery.
“Have you known her long?”
“Long enough,” he answered.
“How did you meet?”
“By chance,” he said. “I was visiting some old friends and she happened to be there.”
“And your relationship started from there?”
“Yes and no,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “For me the physical attraction was instant, and then she smiled and I was gone. It never occurred to me she might feel the same way, have any interest in an ordinary guy like me.”
“Ordinary?”
“I run a small tourism business in Canada. Gratia, as she was known then, worked as a high powered executive for a multinational company based in Germany; complete and utter opposite ends of the employment spectrum.”
“As she was then?” questioned Maria.
“She was forced into leaving her job, changing her name and relocating, in order to escape who I thought were your late husband’s friends. Her official identity today is Grace, Grace Fox, but I prefer Gratia. It suits her better.”
“And she gave it all up for you?”
“Everything; lock, stock and barrel. I still can’t believe it myself at times to be honest. I work as hard as I can to try and provide as much as I can but whatever I achieve will never compensate for the lifestyle she surrendered.”
“It would be hard to lose such devotion.”
The comment made him uncomfortable, awkward. The fingers of her hand brushed the edge of his as she reached for the next plate. The contact rooted him to the spot.
“I’m sorry,” he said without thinking.
Her fingers loitered for what could have been no more than a split second, one heartbeat amongst thousands during any given day.
“Maria …”
“I will say nothing of your attempt at seduction.”
He nodded, after a pause for thought. Maria’s generosity should have provided him with some measure of reassurance. He still felt uneasy.
“You are satisfied you know all that you need to know about Gratia?”
Another curious question, he considered.
“Yes, why?” he asked.
The question failed to elicit a reply as Maria now appeared preoccupied, lost in thought.
“It can take many years to know another person, discover who they really are.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said defensively.
The questioning unsettled him and he worried Maria might see this as an opportunity to get a little of her own back, exact some form of revenge.
“You’re not going to …?”
“There are more important matters we must deal with, for the moment at least.”
She popped the last of the crockery into the cupboard and they joined the others. Grace’s warm smile did its best to disguise a recently furrowed brow and he guessed this was because she’d been watching the two of them talk, interested in the content of the conversation.
“My late husband worked with a woman called Gratia at one time,” said Maria.
“The name is not too uncommon in Germany.”
Maria smiled politely at the somewhat dismissive reply giving Matt cause for concern the two women would clash, though it seemed an innocent enough conversation piece.
“Perhaps you met him through your own work, possibly at one of the numerous European conferences he seemed to forever attend.”
“The name Costa doesn’t come to mind and I’m usually good with names.”
“Costa is my family name,” said Maria. “Tillman was my husband’s name, John Tillman.”
“No,” replied Grace. “I don’t recall the name, but then I used to meet a lot of people in my old job.”
The Portuguese woman stretched her arm over to the nearby chest of drawers and plucked up a picture frame. She smiled at the encapsulated photo and offered it to Grace.
“This is him.”
Jenna drew a chair up to her friend and the two women investigated the image, taking their time to examine the bold face beside that of their host.
“What did he do?” asked Jenna.
“John was a diplomat for the British Government though in what precise capacity I cannot be sure; something to do with the Official Secrets Act.”
“No, I’ve never been introduced to a man by the name of John Tillman,” said Grace, returning the photograph.
Maria replaced the item and then clapped her hands.
“Come children, it is time to retire,” she said.
The brood responded to their mother’s instruction without a murmur of discontent, waving goodnights to the recently arrived array of guests. Before departing Maria had one final question.
“I do like your perfume, Grace,” she said. “Perhaps you could let me have the name before you leave Portugal.”
The polite nod acknowledged the request and Maria smiled in return. They watched the family leave, Matt escorting them to the door.
“What lovely children,” he heard Jenna remark.
Grace agreed, admitting to holding some admiration for the manner in which Maria handled her offspring.
“A master class in motherhood,” said Matt.
“Somehow, I don’t think you asked us all to come over here for a lesson in parenthood,” said Grace. “What else is on your mind?”
He glanced at Will and his friend recognised the signal. Jenna, being the one member of the group oblivious to all that was going on, noticed the subtle exchange.
“What are you two up to?”
“Business planning,” he quickly replied, smiling into the almond shaped eyes of her part oriental face. “Throwing a few days holiday into the bargain as well seemed like a good idea.”
“Business, in Portugal?” she asked.
“Away from the eavesdropping ears of our competitors,” chipped in Will. “It never does any harm to be careful.”
“Sounds to me like paranoia,”
said Jenna.
“Why don’t you go and see if Maria needs a hand, While Matt and I talk numbers.”
“Yeah, like Maria needs our help.”
“Surface calm,” said Matt. “Looking after four kids every day has to take its toll. I’d bet she’d jump at the offer.”
“Unpacking makes more sense,” said Grace.
They waited for the ladies to disappear.
“What have you got?” asked Will.
“Tillman’s personal, and very secret, log.”
“Tillman kept a personal log! What’s on it?”
“There isn’t time to go into detail. They’ll be back soon and I want to run one or two things past you, things you might be able to help with.”
Matt retrieved the laptop from the coffee table and brought it out of hibernation. After showing the number sequence he typed them in to the computer.
“It’s blank,” said Will, puzzled.
“I know. I thought these numbers related to an IP address but clearly they’re not because this is all I get.”
“They might still be,” said Will. “Could be that particular site is cloaked.”
“Cloaked?”
“Disguised, camouflaged, hidden from view,” said Will. “I could use some other words to describe ...”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand the word cloaked but I thought the point of having a website was to promote your wares not keep them hidden from view. Why would anyone want to do that?”
“Depends what you’re trying to hide. There are all sorts of weird stuff out there.”
“Is it easy to cloak a site, I mean can anyone do it?”
“Like you said, it wouldn’t be normal.”
“What about these, do you know what they are?”
His friend studied the random set of figures now up on the screen; 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 18, 19, 20, 21, *,*
“They look like some sort of access code.”
“Okay, but access to what?”
“Probably to some sort of vault. I’m guessing the first line of numbers do indeed indicate an IP address and the next set are the access codes to gain entry.”
“I guess we’ll never know without uncloaking the web site first. Until that’s done I’m going absolutely nowhere with this damn thing.”
His friend started to laugh.
“Even if you did uncover the site you still need the values of the two quotients.”
“Quotients?” said Matt.
“Unidentified figures, variables numbering between one and God knows what.”
“What’s the point of that?”
“To stop anyone cracking the code,” Will replied. “Any average hacker worth his salt could come up with a program to uncloak a web site. Having an unknown or two on the end of access codes makes it virtually impossible for anybody to penetrate.”
“What makes you think it’s an access code anyway?”
“Eleven numbers. Tillman was born on the eleventh day of the eleventh month and used to encrypt all his personal files with the same number of entries. Everyone has their own little quirks.”
“Why would Tillman only leave part of the information he wanted me to have rather than all of it?”
“What makes you think he left it for you?”
“There was an accompanying letter, addressed to Maria, asking her to hand it over to me when I turned up.”
“Tillman left instruction she should give it to you?”
“I know. It surprised me as well.”
“Why didn’t he leave it for one of us?”
“According to the letter he didn’t trust all of you.”
“We were his team.”
“I know, but something spooked him.”
Matt allowed a brief silence to fall, giving his friend time to take stock.
“Does she know …?”
“Yes,” said Matt.
“Christ!”
Another silence, more time to reflect.
“There’s something not right about this, Will.”
“You’re telling me?”
“And these numbers are the key to unlocking the mystery. So how do I get in?”
“What about the text underneath?” Will asked. “Doesn’t that give you the clue you need?”
“Have a look, see what you think.”
Three in need of enlightenment follow a master into the light of dawn before retiring into the lunar light.
“Any ideas?” asked Matt.
The resultant silence told him there wasn’t. Matt jumped up in frustration, almost toppling the chair. He paced to the half open French windows and looked up at the bright moon as his mind sought to make sense of the puzzle.
“There has to be a way,” he muttered to himself.
“There might be.”
“You’ve thought of something?”
“No,” said his friend. “When I said virtually impossible to access I meant by the likes of you and me.”
“So who could get access?”
“Toby Rowe is your man. He’s a bloody electronic genius. If anyone can get into Tillman’s vault it will be Toby.”
“Shit!”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve lost them, Rosa and the rest of your old team.”
“You were looking for them?”
“They’ve got hold of some of the virus and Catherine wants me to get it back.”
“What!”
“Ironic isn’t it, me helping Catherine.”
“I thought Maria had paid for the boat. Doesn’t she know where they are?”
“She had a burglary a few months back and didn’t notice the credit card was missing. And the address is out of date. Christ!”
The full-bodied black moth hovering outside the French doors almost became the victim of Matt’s frustration.
“I could get in touch,” said Will suddenly.
He tempered this news with a degree of caution. Tillman had written he could trust no-one.
“How?” he asked.
“There are ways to make contact.”
Will’s returning, immovable gaze offered no insight as to how contact would be achieved. Time ticked slowly by as Matt mulled over the options.
“Do it.”
Will nodded.
“But once you’ve set up a meet you back away.”
“They’re my friends.”
“I don’t care. You back away, right?”
“I could help to …”
“No,” said Matt sharply. “I don’t want you involved.”
Grace and Jenna reappeared to curtail the conversation and he smiled in an attempt to reduce the tense atmosphere.
“Jenna, when I invited you here,” said Matt, grinning. “I forgot to mention it was a working holiday.”
“Working, at what?”
“Childminding,” he said. “Maria has got important work to do for me and needs a kindly individual with the patience of a saint to watch over the kids while she’s working. As a trained paediatric nurse I thought you’d be ideal.”
“You are not serious!”
Chapter Nineteen
Pillow Talk