Eyes glued to the watch the van pulled on to the road and he began to time. At the appointed check he banged at the side and they stopped.
“There should be a right turn,” he shouted through.
“Got it,” called his friend.
Matt returned to his watch.
“Ten minutes, maximum speed fifty,” he said.
The van lurched forward and picked up pace, mechanical pieces rattling as only old and dusty vans can. He hoped he’d remembered right. At the next appointed time they turned left and sped down a narrow lane, passing a set of farm buildings set off the road on the right. Traffic was virtually non-existent as they continued on the chosen path, minute after minute, mile after mile. Will suddenly pressed the brake pedal to bring the vehicle to a halt.
“Dead end,” he called.
“What?”
“We’ve run out of road.”
Cursing, Matt leapt from the back and joined his friend up front. This wasn’t right, didn’t look or feel right.
“Maybe we’ve missed a turning.”
It certainly looked like it. The poorly surfaced road had ended for no obvious reason. Nothing else for it, he thought, and jumped out of the cabin to clamber on to the roof.
“Anything look familiar?” Will asked.
There was nothing in sight, nothing at all. They retraced their steps, Matt double checking timings. When that didn’t work they elected to start again from scratch. This time he decided to sit up front, closing his eyes to replicate his earlier experiences of the journey. With painstaking methodology they redoubled their efforts, seemingly to no avail, and Will returned to where they’d started. On the point of giving up Matt suddenly called out.
“Wait.”
“What have you seen?”
“The dirt track, just after the next opening,” said Matt.
“It is what it is, a dirt track.”
Matt thought back. It was around this stage of the journey the van hit a particularly nasty pothole and threw him across the floor, on each previous occasion.
“Try it.”
His friend steered the van into the opening. Within seconds they came upon a crater-size hole in the road.
“This is it. Keep going,” said Matt.
Two stops before the journey’s end Matt asked his friend to pull over and he clambered back on to the roof.
“See anything?”
“Oh yes.”
“Nightfall will be here soon,” said Will.
“Yeah,” agreed Matt.
They scuttled under cover of the hedgerows, taking turns to dart unseen as they neared to the objective. Matt was first to arrive at the rear door and immediately began to pick at the lock. Within seconds access was granted. He felt a tap on his shoulder and saw his friend point to his eyes. Matt understood and donned the night vision glasses. There it was. The thin red beam straddled the entrance, three feet from the ground. One more tap and a hastily drawn picture of a small fuse type box was thrust in front of his eyes. He nodded and squeezed under the beam to locate the alarm, using wire clippers to disable the mechanism.
“The only reason you are still alive is because I have been given specific instructions not to kill you, but I shall if you make any sudden moves.”
Francine towered over his hunched figure, weapon pointed to his temple.
“And the only reason you are not dead is because Matt is wearing his favourite jacket and doesn’t want your brains splattered over it,” whispered Will from behind. “So I suggest you don’t make any sudden moves either.”
She relaxed her hold on the gun and Will removed it from her grasp. He ushered her to sit down on the floor, away from the door leading to the cosy lounge, and nodded to indicate he would hold her there. Matt held up three fingers, as much time as he would need to get the job done. Killing people never took long. He eased the door ajar. Dimly lit by a side light the fire crackled at the acceptance of a fresh log but the room was empty. There were two other options, either a bedroom or the kitchen. He pushed at the half open door and smelt the aroma of a beef joint cooking in the oven. Three pans of vegetables simmered on the hob.
A sudden sound of movement came from behind. He spun, raised the weapon, aimed and then … saw the bundle cradled in her arms, its lips caressing the nipple of an exposed breast. Sub-consciously his grip eased.
“Where is Francine?”
“Occupied,” he said.
“Will is with you?”
Matt strengthened his hold. Eyes fixed, betraying no fear, she moved defiantly towards the warm fire.
“You should put the weapon away before someone gets hurt. Ilsa, for example,” she said.
His fingers tightened, relaxed, and then tightened again. This wasn’t how he imagined.
“Put her to bed.”
“Ilsa needs to be fed. Or would you prefer she cry with hunger while you continue to point that weapon at me?”
His grip briefly relaxed then tightened again.
“I want some answers.”
She glanced toward him, eyes concealing her true thoughts behind an impenetrable mask of calm.
“Whatever it is will have to wait until Ilsa is finished.”
Another glance, first at him then the weapon, but she said nothing further.
“You don’t give a shit about anybody, do you? Everyone is just a tool to you, just another piece on a chessboard. How long do you think it will take for Ilsa to learn she has a snow queen for a mother?”
Her eyes shot him a fierce and challenging glare.
“You want to do this? Now, here, at this particular time I am feeding my daughter?”
“I hardly think she’s listening.”
Ilsa, hunger satisfied, released her hold. Catherine covered the exposed breast and lifted the child to her shoulder to pat the infant’s back while whispering softly into her daughter’s tiny ear.
“Why?” he demanded to know. “Why use us?”
She shot him another dark, uncompromising stare.
“You were independent,” she finally said.
“So it’s been said, but independent of who?” he asked.
“Charles Jessop.”
“Why is that important?”
“Jessop is the architect of the Milieu Principle, the man who masterminded the whole project.”
“That much is obvious from the files in the vault.”
“The project was conceived as a means of protecting future generations from environmental disaster through the effective management of global population levels. However Jessop’s true agenda was the removal of indigenous populations from mineral rich geographic areas thereby opening the door for he and his cohorts to access deposits in those countries, countries indisposed to the West. He planned to use an updated NSSM 200 as a pretext to implementing the plan.”
“I don’t see a difference. Both plans involve mass murder of innocent people no matter how you try and dress it up. There is nothing humanitarian about either approach.”
“Managing global population growth is necessary if we are to secure the long term survival of our species and is an issue for every sovereign state. It bears no resemblance to an illegal land grab, colonisation under any other name, for the purpose of individual gain.”
“If you say so,” he said.
“I do say so.”
“I don’t see what the problem is. Keller is President, and in his first term. The Vice President role counts for nothing if there’s someone else occupying the oval office. The VP role is notional at best, without substance. The real power lies with the President.”
“You will recall both men ran for the party nomination.”
“I know Jessop lost.”
“The race was a close run, evenly matched affair. Keller was the new man on the block, the fresh hope carrying no previous baggage. Up against him was the political goliath, the man steeped in the establishment and who had cultivated strong and powerful alliances throughout the years. The race was meant t
o be a foregone conclusion until Keller established a minimal lead and found favour with the party hierarchy. The contest turned from one of professional rivalry into a bitter feud and intense personal struggle, playing straight into the hands of the sitting president. Something had to give. The deadlock was finally broken after a meeting between the two candidates and the party grandees. A deal was forced onto the two men. Jessop was made to stand down and accept the Vice President role. In return he received additional responsibilities and a degree of autonomy in how he managed the specific policy options. Denied a shot at the Presidency embittered Jessop. It prevented him from both fulfilling what he believed was his destiny and from implementing his secret plan. All he could hope for was to use an upgraded vice-presidency role to covertly prepare for his succession.”
“The guy will be too old when Keller stands down.”
“Everyone has skeletons in their cupboard. Jessop found Keller’s. All that remained was timing to exact the ultimate revenge, having Keller ejected while in office.”
“And you’re trying to tell me the most powerful man in the world, had no idea what was going on?”
“Not until Jimmy told him.”
“Kimber, why would he suddenly break cover? The man’s in this up to his neck.”
“Jimmy believes the same as I. Global population growth must be addressed if the world is to avoid an environmental disaster. It is a conviction we both share. Jimmy has no need to make more money.”
“Touched as I am by the heart-warming story you haven’t told me why you dragged me into this. Keller could have just fired Jessop.”
“Lack of evidence,” she answered. “Without proof of any wrongdoing there was no basis to terminate the appointment. There is an old phrase. Keep your friends close but …”
“Keep your enemies closer,” said Matt. “It doesn’t explain why Keller didn’t use the CIA or other arm of government? He does have options.”
“Keller is new to the political elite. Charles Jessop invested his entire life cultivating both public and political alliances. Keller wasn’t sure who to trust.”
“Why would he come to you?”
“Jimmy organised a discreet conversation. He told Keller I might know of someone who could help.”
“And naturally you thought of me.”
“My preference was to use Will. Our agreement was that you would be left alone in return for your silence.”
That much was true. It was the basis of the agreement, the understanding they had reached; Gratia’s freedom and his stay of execution in return for silence.
“Marius advised the President about you.”
“Kronk?” said Matt in surprise.
“He was involved in the conference call, from his home in Atlanta.”
“Next you’ll be telling me none of this was your idea.”
“Marius knows a lot about you. It was he who advised the President of your potential suitability and as it turned out he was correct. You proved to be the ideal candidate. Helen Nash was indeed on her way to recruit Will as I had planned but her death changed everything. They had been close at one time in their lives so the murder meant Will’s emotional integrity had been compromised, leaving the door open for Marius to push your name forward.”
“I thought you were Kronk’s boss?”
“No.”
Matt had come in search of the truth. Instead Catherine had provided him with more unanswered questions.
“You don’t expect me to believe a man like Kimber would turn on his own people.”
“Did you not wonder of the coincidence? That Jimmy so happened to be on a cruise up the Alaskan coast at the time you were breaking into the vault? The others wouldn’t suspect him as he was incommunicado. And if the perpetrator of the theft is a known enemy then his hands would be clean, the perfect cover.”
“So what does good old Jimmy get out of betraying friends and colleagues?”
“He has been promised amnesty.”
“And you?”
“Nothing, other than the chance to prevent the profiteering of evil men,” she said. “I got involved because I believed in a cause. And it wasn’t to steal from others.”
“Just murder people,” he said.
She blinked twice.
“Think what you will.”
“So it’s true what they say about politicians, they’ll jump into bed with anyone to get their way, irrespective of who gets hurt or killed in the process.”
“I knew you would not understand.”
“You’re damned right I don’t. People, good people, have died because of the games you people play!”
“People died. Nobody said they were good.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Toby Rowe and John Secker found life in the civilian world something of a struggle. Eventually they resorted to the illegal weapons trade. Secker used his knowledge and contacts to buy and sell ordnance to anyone who would deal. Rowe raised the money for the enterprise by using his gift for electronic theft, illegally procuring millions from banks. After years of petitioning, the UK police reluctantly re-opened an old murder enquiry on behalf of a widow. Fresh evidence, in the form of DNA sampling, revealed the killer of the husband to be none other than the man’s own daughter. Lily didn’t run from home to avoid an arranged marriage. She left because she murdered her own father. The judicial net was closing on all of them. The gunrunner, the thief and the murderess; this is how you define people to be good?”
“And what of Helen?” asked Will, pushing Francine into the room. “What was her supposed crime?”
“Gambling debts,” said Catherine. “A host of unpleasant people were after her regarding outstanding debts. It was the reason Nash was selected. For her it was a means to raise cash to pay off the dubious characters vying for her attention.”
“How did she know who to contact?”
“She received the goods through an intermediary, someone posing as a disaffected employee and able to provide contact details. Nash was easily persuaded, seeing the potential of this get-rich-quick plan, and contacted the others. Unfortunately for Nash one of her more unsavoury contacts appears to have caught up with her during the ferry crossing.”
“Helen wasn’t like that,” insisted Will.
“Helen Nash was exactly like that,” said Catherine with an icy tone. “They were renegades all and none will be missed by the world at large.”
“We’ll miss them,” snapped Will, narrowing his eyes.
“And Rosa?” asked Matt. “What was her character flaw?”
The rapid blink, almost imperceptible to an untrained eye, suggested the question had struck a nerve. For the first time he noticed in her expression something other than the complete emotional control he normally associated with Catherine.
“Rosa wasn’t supposed to be with you.”
“But she was with us. And she died because of it.”
The blink reappeared, the effort to suppress the involuntary action seemingly more difficult. Catherine made no attempt to debase Rosa’s reputation in the same way she had done with the others leading Matt to his next question.
“Why was Rosa involved?”
“She was the unwitting lure, the means through which we could draw you into the operation.”
“Unwitting?”
“We had not explained the complete strategy to her.”
His subsequent gasp told its own story.
“Is no-one safe from your machinations, nobody you aren’t prepared to use in order to meet an objective?”
“We all have to make sacrifices.”
“From where I’m stood you’ve forfeited nothing, nothing at all. Good people lost their lives because of your incessant manipulation, including John Tillman!”
“You are a fool,” she said imperiously. “John Tillman was an instant believer from the moment they approached him, happy to sell his soul in return for the promise of a privileged life for his children. He was no saint
.”
“What about the letter he sent his wife.”
“Letter!” she said. “He was more likely to send a postcard to you than write to the woman he called the Spanish ball and chain shackled around his feet.”
“Portuguese,” said Matt.
“What?”
“Maria is Portuguese.”
“Iberian,” she replied. “They are much the same.”
Again, things weren’t quite adding up for Matt. Maria may well be Iberian but the Portuguese people regarded themselves as being distinctly different from their Spanish neighbours and were proud of it.
“You didn’t need to hurt that woman with the log,” said Matt, returning his attention to the issue.
“The log was necessary to guide you down the right path and had to be uncovered so it did not arouse your suspicion. Elements of it were true. Strange to think a man like Tillman would keep account of his sexual conquests.”
Matt refused to rise to the bait.
“Where do Baresi and Stone fit in?”
“A watching brief,” she said. “There to monitor events and provide support only if needed, such as your retreat from the lodge up the mountain.”
“So where were they when Rosa and I were being injected with the virus?”
“We lost track of your movements after the driver dropped you off at the service station. You were supposed to go to the airport where our surveillance teams were waiting. We didn’t pick up your trail again until Tillman’s widow managed to get in touch with Marius.”
Matt put the two sides of the equation together.
“You don’t know who injected us, do you?”
“It is time to put Ilsa to bed,” she said coldly.
He followed her into the nursery and watched as she gently lay Ilsa down. He had killed women before because he had to. This was different, different because he wanted to end her life, like nothing else on this planet. She may well be the mother of his only ever child but Rosa needed to be avenged, and that’s why she had to die. The simple exercise of putting an infant to bed seemed to take an age. He watched as she bent over to caress the sheets into place around the little bundle. And that’s when he saw it, hanging from around her neck. The pendant swung and rotated, magnetically so, urged on by Catherine’s maternal movements.
She stood and turned, eyes refusing to reveal the fear he believed she had to be feeling inside. The pendant fell against her chest and she scooped it in her hand and tucked it into the blouse, drawing his attention once more to the golden object. He had to know. With his free hand he reached forward and tore the top buttons of the garment before she could react and held it in his palm.
“Where did you get this?” he demanded.
She removed it cautiously from his hand and it fell back into place.
“Why are you wearing a pendant with Rosa’s initials?”
Her refusal to answer set his mind thinking as vulnerability took refuge in her eyes.
“RC, Rosa and Catherine,” he said suddenly. “She was the one feeding you information.”
The statement of fact seemed barely possible. She took her time to answer.
“Up until we could get you in place,” said Catherine. “She was meant to stop then and you were supposed to return her.”
“But not to Stefan.”
“Never to him,” said Catherine in contempt. “To him Rosa was no more than a trophy wife, a beautiful woman to drape over his arm so he could impress his colleagues and business contacts. I knew what he was like. I did not have to dig far to establish a true picture.”
“The man was in pieces when I saw him.”
“An act,” she spat. “Once he had left us Stefan went on to an evening business function and returned home with an Italian brunette.”
“Well why didn’t you tell her?”
“Tell Rosa Cain what to do?”
He knew what she meant.
“She could be a little headstrong.”
“I knew she had some doubt. That is why she went to see you, in Canada.”
“Rosa didn’t mention anything.”
“No, she believed you had found your peace and did not wish to disturb your new found equilibrium.”
He hadn’t found peace at all. In fact he felt the opposite, in desperate need of a confidante who could understand the mental turmoil he couldn’t shake from his mind.
“Jenna just happened to spend the night, as a guest, and Rosa thought something out of nothing.”
“Rosa had a habit of jumping to conclusions. If you had spoken things might have been different.”
“Rosa didn’t need my approval, on anything.”
“Yours was a unique relationship, because of what you had been through together.”
“She could have talked to you.”
“Rosa would not listen to me, insisting my judgement was clouded by personal emotion.”
“And was it?”
“My views on Stefan were entirely rational.”
“But not on the subject of Rosa?”
There was something she was hiding from him. Finally, he put it together.
“You were lovers, before she met him.”
The mask of impenetrable control started to slip away from her face, revealing an unexpected torment.
“Eva-Maria …”
“Found it difficult to accept,” said Matt. “Is that why she went to Marseille?”
“I didn’t know where she had gone. Rosa and I separated, in the hope it would encourage Eva-Maria to return. A short time later I was contacted by the Marseille police, to advise they had discovered a badly beaten body which they believed to be her.”
“A body they could only identify by DNA testing.”
Matt reasoned Eva-Maria had contacted her biological father, James Kimber, and he’d arranged the deception.
“How could you possibly think to involve Rosa, knowing she was seriously ill?”
“The physical symptoms she was experiencing suggested pregnancy, an erroneous initial assessment. When the truth of her illness was revealed she returned but became increasingly restless. Her impatience grew and her temper shortened as the news of her condition worsened. I involved her as a way of providing respite from the mental strain. She jumped at the chance. Her orders were to persuade the others to involve Will and return. It soon became clear she intended to stay. I readily consented to your involvement after Nash’s death, despite our agreement, in the hope I could use you as an intermediary to reason with her. I hadn’t counted on ...”
The moisture forming in her eyes started to thicken.
“You were meant to bring her back,” she whispered. “Rosa and the inventory, those were your instructions.”
“Rosa didn’t want to come back. I understand why.”
“I was going to look after her, be at her side and help Rosa through it. Instead she decided to stay away, remain out of my reach with them. Spend her last days with you. And for that I damn you. I damn you to hell, Matt Durham.”
Unconsciously his arm lowered and his thumb clicked the safety catch back into place.
“What do you need from me, for Ilsa?”
“Why would I need anything from you?”
“Rosa told me …”
“We had sex, once, to satisfy a basic and primal need. You are a man, not superman.”
Fire returned to her eyes. He thought about pressing her on the issue. It no longer seemed important. He turned to leave.
“Where do you think you are going?”
“Anywhere but here,” he said.
Matt made it to the threshold before she spoke again.
“I meant everything I said about Gratia. She is too good for you. If you thought of anyone other than yourself for a change then you should stay away, let her go free.”
He paused to take in her words then walked away, leaving her alone with her daughter in the darkened room.
“What’s going on?” asked Will as Matt reappeared
 
; “She’s out of bounds,” he replied.
Matt strode to the desk, ripped a sheet from the open diary and scribbled a short note which he stuffed into Francine’s hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Catherine emerged looking tired and drawn. She lifted up the bottle of red and filled the two glasses.
“He left this for you,” said Francine.
Catherine unfolded the note and read the message.
Eva-Maria is alive.
Matt slumped into the seat and sighed. The night hadn’t gone as planned. He rubbed fiercely at his brow in the forlorn hope this would elicit some sort of much needed clarity and insight to his weary mind. The key turned to ignite the diesel engine and it rattled into life. First gear engaged and the van chugged on to the single lane carriageway. Will accelerated through the gears, waiting until they’d built up speed before choosing to speak.
“So what do you want to do next?”
“You need to go home,” replied Matt. “After you’ve given Jenna the best night of her life you should set a date for the wedding and agree on the number of children you’re going to have.”
His friend smiled.
“What about you?”
Matt thought for a moment.
“I’ve got something to do and then people to see before I can return to the island.”
Chapter Thirty Eight
Identity Crisis