The Gilgamesh Conspiracy (31 page)

‘I’m sure we will Colonel,’ he meekly agreed.

‘But for now we’ll send someone from the London station to get the gen on Morris. You seem to spend most of your time there Neil; who is there?’

‘I’d ask Gary Weitzman, Colonel.’

White’s phone rang. ‘They’d damn well better have that address,’ he grumbled as he picked it up.

Two hours later Gary Weitzman pulled up outside Steven Morris’s house in Chichester. There was no reply to his doorbell ringing or from his knocking on the front door but a neighbour helpfully informed him that Steven Morris had gone on a sailing trip several months back. Did she know when he’d be back? No, but why don’t you go down to the yacht basin and ask around there to see if anyone knew his plans.

At dawn the weather moderated. Steven repaired the rigging, hoisted the main sail and then replaced the storm jib with a larger sail and soon they were heading westwards again.

‘I’m wasted,’ he said. ‘Can I leave it with you for a while?’

‘Yes of course,’ she said.

‘Ok call me if the weather changes, and call me anyway before midday, could you?’ 

Gerry spent the morning practising steering the boat, sometimes making small adjustments to the sails and feeling pleased with herself when they seemed to work out well. She gazed out over the ocean dreaming of an alternative life where she could just sail a yacht to an unknown destination without this constant anxiety of what awaited her when she reached the land. She went below as the sun approached the overhead and for a couple of minutes she watched Steven stretched out on the saloon bed, his mouth just open, snoring gently. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to wake him up by kissing him, placing her own slightly parted lips over his but instead she pushed him on the shoulder and called ‘Wake up! It’s nearly high noon.’

While he took the watch, she found some spaghetti and decided to try and make the best pasta dish she could with the limited resources of Steven’s galley supplies.

After they had finished eating Steven stretched. ‘That was great, thank you. I really needed that sleep as well.’

She noticed he was frowning slightly. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked summoning up a smile.

‘I wish I could invite you out to dinner; to a restaurant or something, but I guess we’ll be eating together again anyway. It’s hard to ask you out on a date when we’re sort of thrown together in mid-ocean.’

Gerry smiled. ‘I was hoping that you would have at least found me a bunch of flowers.’

‘Well when we get to Bermuda perhaps I can do that.’

‘Are you going to ask me out, then’ she said raising her eyebrows and gazing directly into his eyes.

He looked back at her. ‘Yes I suppose I am.’ He took hold of her hand in his. ‘Will you have dinner with me in Bermuda?’

‘I’d like that very much! Thank you.’ Despite this invitation she felt lonely, knowing that they would inevitably have to part company in Bermuda.

Suddenly he looked rather embarrassed. She decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Do you want to make love to me, Steven?’ she asked, putting her other hand over his.

‘Yes I do. Very much. Sorry.’

‘There’s no need to be sorry. Here we are, a man and woman alone in a yacht, miles from anyone else.’ She smiled at him. ‘But when we reach Bermuda I still expect you to buy me flowers and take me out to dinner.’

He gave her an embarrassed smile but clearly he was still unsure of his invitation. Gerry leant forward and kissed him on the lips and after a moment their lips parted and they kissed more intimately. Gerry expected him to start tugging at her clothes but as he seemed to be waiting for her to take the lead she backed off and pulled her shirt over her head and smiled at him. He looked from side to side, and then at the deck. ‘Er… I’ve not done this since…er…since my wife …well it’s been eighteen months.’

Gerry turned her back to him. ‘Can you remember how to unhook a bra?’ she asked lifting up her hair. He did so and then somewhat gingerly he moved his hands round to cup her breasts. Then he let go and Gerry waited expectantly for him to slide his hands around her hips and unfasten her shorts, but he seemed to be hesitating. Before it became even more awkward she turned round to face him and kissed him again and hugged him, crushing her breasts against his chest and then she unbuttoned and unzipped herself and when her shorts had fallen to the deck she stepped out of them. Then she started to unfasten his shorts, wondering at his sudden reluctance, but soon he was naked and she felt the proof of his ardour pressing against her, but still he appeared slightly troubled. ‘What is it, Steven?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t made love to any woman but my wife for twenty-four years, and, well we‘ve only just met and I’m worried that I’m well, exploiting your vulnerability or something,’ he said.

‘Look, I like you and you definitely seem to want me and although we may not love each other, I really want you right now so will you please just lie down with me on this bed and shag me.’ And without waiting for his answer she fell back somewhat awkwardly on to the bunk pulling him down on top of her. He kissed her again and then began to kiss her breasts and then her stomach while she stroked his head and back.

‘Steven…’

He looked up with an anxious expression.

‘My name’s not Emily, it’s Gerry…short for Geraldine. Can you call me Gerry from now on?’

‘Gerry…of course.’

‘Ok now carry on where you were please.’

‘Message from London, General,’ said Jasper White. ‘Steven Morris in his yacht
Surprise
departed the Azores about two weeks ago, destination Miami, and given reasonable weather he should now be in the vicinity of Bermuda.’

‘Ok, so we can safely conclude that by some miracle Geraldine Tate survived ditching in the Atlantic and was picked up by Morris. Now where do you think she might persuade him to take her?’

‘Well if I was Tate I’d want to go to the nearest UK territory,’ said White. ‘She’d persuade him to take her to Bermuda. We could ask the Navy if they have anything out there that can start a search.’

‘It’s tempting but I really don’t want to explain anything to the Navy. First of all let’s find out if we have some asset in Bermuda, or if we should hire a boat. Have Samms and Parker fly out there and see if we can intercept this guy’s yacht,’ Bruckner ordered.

‘Yes sir, I anticipated that, and if you don’t mind I’ve found out that we have an old friend with an ocean going motor yacht moored up in Hamilton we could borrow.’

‘Jasper, if there were more like you we wouldn’t get into all this crap in the first place. Forgive the cliché but from now on I won’t believe Tate is dead until I see her head on a plate. Now have you got any news about Dan Hall?’

‘Sorry General, not yet. We’ve checked all house rentals, car thefts and car rentals nationwide, all credit card transactions; cell phone calls et cetera et cetera. We’ve questioned all Hall’s known associates, current and past, we’ve searched their properties, searched their beach houses and holiday homes. So far we’ve drawn a blank.’

‘How about the Canadians?’ Bruckner asked.

‘When we told them we were looking for a suspected terrorist then they were quick to cooperate. Their border crossing people are on alert.’

‘How about down south?’

‘Well we’ve not had so much success there. You know how chaotic they can be, but Hall doesn’t speak Spanish and there’s no record of him having any experience in Central or South America. I doubt that he’d go south.’

‘Ok, that makes sense but don’t totally discount it. Let’s hope we get a break soon. Is Samms using his best endeavours?’

‘Like his life depended on it General.’

‘Good! Maybe it does.’

The next morning dawned with a stiff breeze, the sea still swollen from yesterday’s storms, but the wind was now a steady north-easterly trade wind. Steven extricated himself from Gerry’s embrace and assessed the conditions. He hoisted the spinnaker and the yacht headed for Bermuda at a brisk eight knots. He rather regretted that the voyage would soon be over, but he knew that she was desperate to get there as soon as possible.

He was beside himself with curiosity as to the chain of events that had resulted in her being trapped on a yacht in the middle of the Atlantic. The only likely explanations he could come up with was that she was a member of the security services, or the unlikely opposite, that she was some kind of criminal, but that hardly seemed likely. He heard a noise behind him and a moment later she wound her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. ‘Good morning!’ he said, glancing up at the sail. ‘Shall we get some breakfast?’

She gave him a squeeze and said ‘not yet.’

He turned around and smiled at her and saw that she was still naked.

‘Why don’t you put the auto helm back in and come below?’ she suggested and then she grinned. ‘Come below, good pun…get it?’

Since his return to London, Richard Cornwall had read a fair amount about the ancient semi-mythical King Gilgamesh, but he was no nearer understanding what Vincent Parker had meant by it in his last report to Sir Hugh Fielding.  He had conversed with Felix Grainger on a number of occasions to try and find out what had happened to Dan Hall but his American friend had drawn a blank.

Cornwall had taken it upon himself to handle the matter of Gerry Tate’s disappearance. Today he was wrestling with the complexities of issuing a death certificate without having to report exactly what business Geraldine Tate was engaged in, and deciding to whom he should speak in the HR department who of course should have been dealing with the entire matter anyway. Her only close family was her brother who now lived in the USA. She also has three cousins but there was no record of her being close to them. He opened his e-mail files and began to write. Then he noticed a special in his personal coded inbox.

“Urgent. Please proceed to Bermuda as soon as possible. Geraldine Tate is on the yacht Surprise, owner Steven Morris. Attempts will be made to intercept and apprehend before their arrival in Bermuda. I found this out from Sandstar group files to which I still have access. Gerry attempted to enter MI6 and/or CIA web sites from the yacht.  Please ensure you do not, repeat do not use official channels. Daniel Hall”

Cornwall stared at his screen in amazement. So Daniel Hall was still at large. How come he still had access to the CIA website? Some sort of cock-up no doubt. But Gerry Tate still alive! He checked his records; just over a week since the plane had gone missing. Still alive; glory be! He printed off the e-mail and then deleted it. Now how could he justify shooting off to Bermuda? He drummed his fingers on the desk and called his PA. ‘Hello Jenny I’ve not much on next week, so I’ve decided to take Fiona to Barbados for a week.’

‘Oh, that’s very short notice sir.’

‘Ah yes Jenny, but I’m the boss; I can do short notice.’

‘Yes I know sir. I meant for Mrs Cornwall.’

‘Mmm yes…fair point, but she can pack pretty quickly for the beach in summer, I think.’

Good - that was his absence from the office and his pretence of Barbados would stop any alarm bells ringing if Jenny blabbed. Now he just had to hope that there was nothing in Fiona’s schedule that would militate against a trip to Bermuda. He read the e-mail again. Sandstar – now what the hell was that about? He wondered if he should write a reply to Dan Hall telling him that he was on his way to Bermuda, and advising him that there was a major search effort out to find him, and take maximum care to cover his own tracks. Maybe it would be best if electronic communication was kept to the absolute minimum.

‘It’s been ten days’ said Neil Samms. ‘If we could make it public; put it in the newspapers and say that a suspected terrorist is on the loose, then we might get somewhere.’

‘Well we could do that, but disregarding your idiotic suggestion that we alarm the public with the terrorist appellation, I think it’s best that Hall doesn’t realise that we’re searching that desperately for him,’ countered White.

‘Ok then, but we’ve nearly finished any possible leads from his known contacts; his details are at all ports and airports; the police in every state are after him and our tracing team are monitoring every lead. What more can we do?’

‘You’ve checked in with all police computers have you?’

‘Yes, but there records are not always up to date. The local forces take their time transferring everything to the central database.’

‘Stick at it and stop complaining,’ said White. 

Mary Travers, married with two children, worked for the USA Cruise Company, which hired out recreational vehicles from a site near Atlanta airport. She was a trained intensive care and theatre nurse and found her job in vehicle interior cleaning and prepping rather dull, but she told her friends that at least it was no worse than cleaning up after her police officer husband and school-aged children, and the part time hours could be fitted in with school and her husband’s shift work.

That morning she drove to the parking lot, passing a torched car that was being inspected by a couple of highway patrol officers who had parked their police cruiser just beyond it. One of them was peering into the vehicle while the other was calling in the incident on the radio. She recognised this officer from some social function she had attended with her husband, but as he seemed busy she did not think it a good time to renew their acquaintance and she continued a further quarter mile to the company parking lot. After the usual greetings she was sent from the office to clean a Winnebago Vista and after a fruitless search of the parking lot, she went back to the office and told the supervisor she couldn’t find it. ‘Look Sam, the key’s not on the rack either,’ she said, pointing to the keyboard behind him. Sam turned round, stared at the empty hook for a moment and then back at Mary.

‘Didn’t I give it to you already?’ He swung round to the mechanic who was leafing through the maintenance records. ‘Paolo, did you leave it in the van yesterday?’

‘Come on Sam, and have you chew me out?’ said Paolo. ‘’Sides, I never touched that one. It came in yesterday afternoon late and I’ve not taken a look at it yet.’ He slammed the filing cabinet shut. ‘It was you who must’ve taken the key off the people who brought it back. Maybe you took it home with you.’ Paolo grinned at Mary and stepped out.

‘Oh crap,’ said Sam, ‘that van’s gotta be out there somewhere.’

After a fruitless search of the premises, Sam called the local police and reported the theft of a one year old recreational vehicle, worth $85,000. He was worrying about how he would report the loss to his manager and part owner when he noticed the condition of the office door. He recalled a peculiar stiffness in the lock when he had opened it that morning and now he saw strange marks on the door frame around the lock.

‘Well I’ll be…’ He hurried back to the main gate and saw for the first time that the security camera had been destroyed, probably by being shot through. Obviously accomplished thieves had been at work, but why would they want to steal a used RV? At least he no longer felt guilty about the loss. He called the police again and told them about the signs of a break in.

That evening when her husband, Sergeant Lee Travers, reached home, Mary began to discuss the incident with him. Lee was a homicide detective so he was not particularly interested in motor vehicle theft, but when Mary went on to describe seeing their mutual acquaintance looking at a burnt out car near the USA Cruise site he drew a quick conclusion. ‘Seems to me that the guys who torched the car could have stolen the RV, he said. ‘I’ll mention it to Doris in vehicle theft in the morning, in case they didn’t make the connection.’

Doris Hadlow was feeling extremely irritable as she watched the burnt car being lowered down the trailer ramp and wrinkled her nose against the stench of burnt rubber and plastic. Her irritation was partly due to not having a cigarette all morning but mostly due to the phone call she had received which told her that unless there was evidence of a crime more serious than auto theft, her application for DNA testing of the vehicle was denied. However the fingerprint expert who would be sent out to the USA Cruise office later that day could also come and take a look at the car, although as she knew the recovery of fingerprints from a fire was a little haphazard. Hadlow bent down and examined the vehicle license plate mountings. The plates had clearly been levered off and no doubt been discarded a good distance from the scene. ‘Give me a hand with the hood, would you?’ she asked one of the recovery vehicle men. They managed to wrench it open and she noted down the vehicle identification number. ‘Ok, put it in the shed,’ she said to the recovery vehicle men, ‘and don’t touch the inside or the door handles, ok?’

‘Yeah Doris, we know,’ they threw back at her. She grunted and returned to her desk.  She entered the VIN into the computer and found the name and address and telephone number of the owners who lived in Jacksonville, Florida. She dialled the owner and her call was picked up by his answering service so she left a brief message.

Next she opened the file on the Winnebago. Selling a stolen recreational vehicle did not strike her as a profitable proposition as it was a specialised market. Perhaps the thief wished to use it for some other purpose. She sat back from her computer, lit a cigarette and gave the matter some thought. A free holiday? A place to hide out? A place to hide someone, or something, or to transport someone or something? Hardly likely, because a small freight truck would be less conspicuous.

‘Put that goddam cigarette out, Doris,’ growled a voice from the office next door. ‘I thought you were giving up?’

‘Yeah, so I had a relapse, but I’m down to ten a day,’ she replied. Her telephone rang and she took her cigarette out of her mouth and picked up. ‘Detective Hadlow.’

‘Oh, Ms Hadlow, Ted Deakins here.’

‘Who? Oh yes I called you yesterday about your car, left a message.’

‘Yeah, I just got back from St. Louis; turned up at the airport park and no car!’

After a few minutes conversation, Doris Hadlow had the details of how Ted Deakins had left his car in the Jacksonville Airport economy parking lot a few days ago and on his return yesterday evening he had discovered it stolen. Doris Hadlow had her confirmation of the make and model, although as she already knew the VIN that had been rather superfluous. She gave him a police crime reference number to pass on to his insurance company and wished him a good day.

She had a sudden thought; she remembered that a couple of days back there had been a nationwide special alert for a white male American and one British female who had escaped custody in Florida and who might be looking for places to hide out. Even the slenderest of leads would be welcome the message had said. That stolen car had come from Florida, and maybe a Winnebago RV would be a good choice for a hiding place. It was unlikely, but nevertheless she found the alert and sent off an e-mail.

Neil Samms printed off the report filed by Doris Hadlow and showed it to Vince Parker. ‘Do you think this could be a possibility? The timing fits in, and the first theft was in Florida and an RV might suit a guy on the run.’

Parker skimmed through it and shook his head. ‘Well there’s no visual sighting, but it’s about time our luck changed. Why don’t you call up this Hadlow woman and see if they’ve managed to get any prints from the theft site?’

‘Ok then, might be worth a try.’

He returned to his desk and telephoned the number at the bottom of the screen. ‘Hello could, I speak to Doris Hadlow please?’

‘Yuh, this is she.’

‘Ok, my name’s Neil Samms, Homeland Security special task force. You sent me a report on the theft of a Winnebago recreational vehicle yesterday?’

‘Uh…yeah, that’s correct.’

‘Yuh great…look, did you get any results from the fingerprint tests from the rental site where the vehicle was stolen from?’ he asked.

‘No we didn’t,’ Hadlow replied.

‘Oh!’ said Samms crestfallen. ‘Ok, never mind, well thanks for your time anyway, and if you get anything else then please send it on.’

‘But we might get a result from the burnt out Chevrolet,’ said Hadlow.

‘Really? That’s great!’

‘Yeah, they seemed to have wiped it down but one of my people found an empty diet coke can lodged under the seat. Course, we don’t know if there are any prints on it but it’s been sent on to forensics in Atlanta, but it was hardly a priority. I don’t know if they’ve filed a report yet. I’ll check tomorrow and ask them to expedite it and after they’ve taken a look we’ll maybe get you an answer by the afternoon.

‘Tomorrow?’ said Samms, trying to hide his irritation. ‘Can’t you do it today? It’s only ten in the morning, and that’s nine o’clock where you are!’

‘Duh…it’s Sunday. The only reason you got hold of me is I gave you my cell phone number. Mind you, there might not be any prints on it, and if there are they might be the car owner’s and not the thief’s.’

‘Oh, ok yeah, sorry, I forgot what day it was,’ Samms admitted. ‘We’re under a lot of pressure here. It‘ll just have to wait until Monday I guess. But thanks anyway; I’ll get back to you.’

‘What will have to wait until Monday?’ came a stern demand. Samms mouthed a silent curse towards his computer and then turned round to face Jasper White.

‘A possible lead, Colonel.’ He quickly explained the situation.

‘So Monday afternoon eh?’ White mused quietly.

‘Yes sir,’ Samms replied. Then he suddenly realised that White was on the verge of an explosion. ‘But maybe if I get straight down there I can sort of persuade them to get it done immediately.’

‘That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say in a while Samms. Get your ass down to Atlanta and check it out. After that the three of us are going out to Bermuda and you and Parker are going to take a boat out to that yacht. I want Tate brought safely back to Bermuda, not disappearing again.’

Samms drove home, quickly packed an overnight case and then picked up a cab and drove to the airport and took the first flight to Atlanta. He hired a car and drove to the forensics laboratory. After some cajoling and persuasion he had the Coke can retrieved and then with the promise of a two hundred dollar inducement the weekend duty supervisor found a lab technician willing to come out and share the proceeds.  

‘Yeah we got prints,’ remarked the lab technician laconically.

‘And are they any good?’ demanded Samms.

‘If you’ll just quit breathing down my neck I’ll have them on the screen just as soon as I can,’ countered the technician, who was beginning to regret volunteering to come out and assist this pushy guy. Samms literally backed away and stared at the ceiling.

Fifteen minutes later there were slightly smeared partial prints of three fingers and a thumb of a man’s right hand displayed on his screen. ‘It’s not very good,’ remarked the technician staring at Samms as if he was a minor artist who had submitted a work of dubious quality to the National Gallery.

‘Yeah ok, but do we have a match?’ Samms asked. The technician hit a button on his keyboard and a face appeared along with biographical details.

‘Daniel Edward Hall, former US Marines and now works for some security outfit,’ the technician declared.

By a huge effort in self-control Samms managed to avoid giving a whoop of triumph. ‘Ok give me back the can and scrub the file from the computer,’ he told the technician.

‘Why?’

Samms grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and pulled him close enough to feel his nervous panting. ‘Cos if you ever breathe a word about it to anyone I’ll come and find you and I’ll rip your fucking head off. Here’s your hundred dollars.’

Jasper White was mulling over the problem of how to use the full resources of the United States law enforcement in the mere search for a stolen Winnebago without drawing attention to it. Eventually he called up a friend in the FBI who owed him a favour and persuaded him to say that the Winnebago was being used by a man suspected of a bank robbery who had evaded capture but killed an FBI agent in the process. The apprehension of a criminal who had murdered one of their own would ensure their diligence.

Two days later his friend called back and told him that the vehicle had been found just to the west of the Allegheny Mountains in West Virginia. It was parked in a small camping site privately owned by a dodgy character named Brandon. He had sent out strict instructions to the local police and to the FBI that on no account was the vehicle or its occupant to be approached unless it showed signs of moving off, in which case they were expected to follow it discreetly, but in view of the reason the occupant was being hunted, he encouraged White to get there as soon as possible.

Two hours before dawn Joe Brandon was woken up by a knocking on his back door. He rolled his ungainly body towards the edge of the bed then heaved himself upright. He was willing to bet that one of those goddam elderly campers had some kind of medical emergency and wanted his help, not that he could offer any except phoning for a doctor, and what the hell, they all had cell phones and internet connections and all that stuff didn’t they? He switched on the bedside lamp and looked around for the clothes he had worn yesterday. They weren’t on the chair or on the floor; then he realised he was still wearing them. He ran his hand back through his hair and then across the three day stubble on his chin and staggered off towards the front door which received another knock just before he reached it.

‘Ok, ok I’m here, hold on.’ He undid the latches whilst preparing a small speech about how he wasn’t liable for providing any services to the people on his land except a fresh water supply. He was ready to deliver it as he opened the door but the door was shoved inwards and a man grabbed him spun him round and into an uncomfortable arm lock and shoved a gun into his cheek. ‘Are you Joe Brandon?’ the intruder demanded.