Alex King 18.The Enemy, page 21
part #18 of Alex King Series
Newman nodded a greeting, but even he was caught off guard by the Iranian’s tone. They followed Zahedi into the building, and Caroline noted how the man had looked at her. He stole more glances as they walked through a foyer and into a panoramic lounge that afforded two-hundred- and seventy-degree views of the Alps and valley below. A flurry of snow had crowned the distant peaks in the purest white imaginable.
“Drinks?” Zahedi asked. “My own faith does not permit it, but we do keep a well-stocked bar for visitors.”
“Too early for me, thanks,” Newman replied. “A black coffee would be great.”
Zahedi looked at Caroline, who glanced at Ahmadi, who in turn avoided her gaze. She looked back at Zahedi and said, “The same for me, please.”
“Make that three,” Luger added. He too had glanced at Ahmadi, and again at Caroline, who flashed a stare at him that accurately translated that she was aware of their predicament.
“This is all well and good, Zahedi,” said Newman. “But I require a demonstration if you require the remainder of your payment.” He paused. “And as I said at our earlier meeting, the people I work for won’t stand for being short-changed.”
The Iranian smiled as a young woman brought the coffees over from the bar. The cups were small, and the coffee smelled strong. They were offered cream and sugar, but all three declined. The coffee was arabica and so strong that it was thick and syrupy. Newman frowned as he sipped, but Americans were generally used to a weaker blend of coffee than Europeans and Luger smiled appreciatively in contrast as he drank his down. Caroline crossed her legs and sat back with the saucer in her left hand and the cup in her right. She sipped unhurriedly, taking the opportunity to glance at Ahmadi, who could not hold her gaze and looked away. Her curiosity was more than piqued, and she felt a mutual uncertainty between them that one of them would destroy their secret, like an adulterous couple whose lover was set to confess and unravel the other’s world.
Caroline looked back at Zahedi and caught him looking at her. Causally, she unbuttoned her suit jacket as she took her seat on the sofa. She hated herself for doing so, but she gave the man a good deal more to look at as he held court. His eyes lingered a moment longer than was decent and she knew that she had him. Silly man, she thought. Two hundred million at stake, and he’s more intent on looking at my tits…
Slowly, the man raised his eyes from the form of Caroline’s breasts under the sheer material and met Newman’s gaze. “Well, as you Americans say, let’s get this show on the road…”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
King had left the bedroom behind him, his mind concentrating on nothing more than stopping Caroline and Luger from sleepwalking into disaster, but he knew that it was too late. He could not wait for Big Dave and Peters, and he still did not know where MacPherson was, nor the man’s role in all of this. He had entered the building on what had turned out to be the second floor, and he walked the corridor, which was wide and airy, its wood-lined walls punctuated by large bay windows that looked down on the valley some three-thousand metres below. To his left the corridor abruptly opened out and formed a mezzanine over a cavernous room below, that because of the mezzanine’s height, must have been dug a complete storey underground. Only when King edged closer did he see the purpose of the room. He had already felt the abrupt temperature drop as he neared the edge. Lined with cooling racks stacked deep with motherboards and a thousand miles of wires, the room provided a cool environment for the computers to operate in, even if the three technicians checking the systems and cooling racks were forced to wear full skiwear to conduct their duties.
King watched, ducking back as Zahedi and his security entourage entered from an automatic sliding door. He could see Newman, cane in hand and talking to the Iranian. Behind him, Caroline and Luger followed, both carrying their laptop bags. When they stood around a computer terminal in the centre of the cavern Ahmadi slipped in and stood at the back of the room. King eased out the Sig P226 pistol, feeling outnumbered and outgunned. But his orders were to kill Zahedi and for that, he only required one shot.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Caroline followed Zahedi and Newman into the cavern, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature. Having Ahmadi walk behind her was unnerving, the pretence of her part and knowing that he played a part of his own was excruciating. The tiny hairs on the nape of her neck bristled and she knew it had more to do with the closing web of lies than the temperature.
“This room has been used for many things over the years,” Zahedi announced, his voice echoing around the cavern. “The natural acoustics has seen famous opera singers and the world’s finest orchestras play for billionaires, while scientific breakthroughs have been recorded within these very walls. But it was during the Second World War that it was both a wine cellar and vault for Jewish wealth and antiquities. A haven for the Jews fortunate enough to escape, you ask? No. Nazi agents stashed it to their own ends, enabled by members of the Swiss government.” He paused. “In war, as in peace, nothing is as it seems.” Zahedi waved his hand around the cavern. “Now, this place acts as a stronghold to strike at our enemies without firing a single shot…”
The cacophony of suppressed gunshots filled the cavern, the rattle of brass cartridges spilling onto the hard, slate floor sounding like reindeer bells above the heavy thud of copper-coated lead upon flesh and bone. Caroline ducked down, pulling Jack with her but it was all over so quickly that it was difficult to imagine it had ever happened. The smoke cleared, the stench of nitro-powder on the cold air. Ahmadi fired a single shot into a soul survivor’s head then calmly switched over the magazine. The blood-splattered bodies of the six security guards and three computer technicians lay still, blood pooling around them and seeping into the gaps between the tiles.
Ahmadi joined Zahedi and the two men smiled. “Those men were supplied by the Russian contingent of the Iron Fist.” Zahedi paused and shrugged like it was nothing. “Our business meeting will be best concluded without outside influence…”
Caroline and Luger stood up slowly, Caroline panting to suppress screaming, and Luger staring blankly at the bodies. Newman took a breath, then looking away from both Ahmadi and the bodies, nodded at the computer console. “Very well, Zahedi,” he said, keeping his cool and ignoring the bodies on the ground. “But I want a demonstration…”
The Iranian smiled. “Naturally…” He walked over to the keyboard and started to type in a series of keywords. Behind the screen a large, clear Perspex computer tower flashed and whirled, and as it incandescently leapt into life, the stacks of cages lining the walls of the cavern seemed to awaken in unison. “This is Chase UK, part of the US banking giant J.P. Morgan…”
“No,” Newman said abruptly. He walked over, favouring his leg, and using his cane, and handed Zahedi a series of cards with handwritten numbers on them. “The people that I represent want a demonstration of a degenerative agent form of artificial intelligence. They want these IP addresses targeted. No results, then no more money. And like I said before, they won’t just allow you to disappear into the sunset with their deposit, either.”
“As you wish…” Zahedi took the cards from him and started to key in the IP addresses, then typed out his instructions. “These organisations will be destroyed within the hour. Your experts will see irreversible changes and anomalies in minutes…”
“I will have to call my contact for verification,” Newman informed him.
“I thought as much…”
Ahmadi watched the screen, glancing at Caroline. There was a strange glint in the man’s eye, but he looked back at the screen as if he had never seen her before. Caroline caught hold of Luger’s elbow and tugged at him as she stepped forward.
“We need to verify as well,” she said, looking at the screen. She noticed that the instructions had been written in layman’s terms, no different to an internet search engine. “Once the drive is connected, what systems do you recommend being in place?”
Zahedi turned and looked at her breasts before staring into her eyes. “Cooling and power,” he said. “It uses around ten times the power of Bitcoin blockchain mining, and naturally the cooler the operating system, then the better it will work.” He paused. “Nothing the CIA, NSA or NASA don’t run already, but it would not pay to run this from an existing network as it could overheat with the other systems running.” He smiled devilishly. “Maybe I should have neglected to comment on that…”
Newman did not respond, but he took out his sat phone and texted Ramsay to inform him that the test was underway. Newman then nodded to Jack Luger, who removed the laptop from his case, opened it and put it on the table beside the console. “I will need to log into your Wi-Fi to transfer the funds,” he said.
Zahedi nodded and took out a plain business card with the Wi-Fi code and pass number that Newman would need. “You already have the banking details,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Newman nodded, then glanced at his phone as a text alert vibrated.
The programme is legitimate. Do not leave without it!
Ramsay had said that it may take an hour, but Newman guessed that he had seen enough. Even in his previous CIA circles, he had been aware of the man who shadowed the former directors of MI5 and was considered a formidable data analyst and logistical planner.
“We appear to have a deal,” Newman announced, pocketing his phone.
Zahedi nodded like there had never been a doubt. He checked a timer on the screen and said, “The spikes have been sent, the AI has started degeneration.” He paused. “When the timer hits zero, I can log off and disconnect the drive.”
There was fifty seconds to go, and as Caroline stood there, just metres from Ahmadi, and surrounded by bodies on the floor, it felt like hours. Eventually, Zahedi exited the programme and switched off the tower. He raised a hinged wall and disconnected the drive from a series of male and female clips. Somewhat triumphantly, he held the drive in his right hand and pointed at Newman’s laptop with his left. Ahmadi stepped forwards, raised the compact silenced Scorpion machine pistol, and fired a three-round burst into Zahedi’s face. The Iranian dropped like a stone, and before anyone could move, Ahmadi bent down and retrieved the drive.
“Change of plan,” said Ahmadi. He pocketed the drive and tossed a scrap of paper onto the keyboard of Newman’s laptop. “Zahedi has retired. You will be dealing with me from now onwards…” He looked at Newman, his eyes boring into him. “Foolish man,” he admonished. “Do you think the CIA would have found Zahedi so easily if it were not for me baiting the trail?” He smiled as it started to dawn on Newman. “Once I found out that Zahedi had my family killed in an effort to control me further, I simply guided him and left enough clues for the CIA and those fools at MI5 to decipher.”
Caroline glanced to her left as a man walked in confidently, dressed in what looked like an all-in-one ski suit. She frowned, but Jack Luger’s expression said it all.
“You alright there, young’un?” he grinned at Luger.
Luger seemed perplexed. The last time he had seen MacPherson it had been in Istanbul, the night he and the other three ex-SAS men had saved him, along with Rashid and Big Dave. He had destroyed Zahedi’s compound – burned it to the ground. “I don’t understand…” he trailed off, hearing how dumb his own words had sounded with the acoustics of the cavern.
“A double-cross,” Caroline said icily.
MacPherson shrugged. “More like a triple-cross, sugar tits…”
Caroline scowled but did not give the man the satisfaction of a rise.
“Scott here told me what Zahedi had done, how he had my family slaughtered to garner my loyalty in bringing down the British intelligence services,” Ahmadi said coldly. He brought up some phlegm in his throat and spat on Zahedi’s corpse. Caroline screwed up her nose in disgust and Ahmadi sneered at her, but his expression changed when he caught the movement behind her, but by then it was too late.
King made the drop from the top of the mezzanine, fast roping the forty feet in less than two seconds, with just enough grip on the rope to break his fall. He had tied the rope around the handrail as Zahedi and his entourage had entered. He had been ready to fire on Ahmadi when he had shot the guards and technicians, but when it was clear that he did not intend to shoot the others, King had watched to see how it would play out. He regretted not killing the man when he had had the chance. Ahmadi fired at King, blasting short bursts of automatic gunfire but never on target as King darted up the sunken steps at the bottom of the centre of the cavern. The place where orchestras and opera singers would have once performed. King returned a volley of gunfire, the cavern magnifying the unsilenced gunshots several times over and enough for everyone to grimace as the shots echoed and reverberated in their ears. Newman whipped the sword out from its cane scabbard and skewered Ahmadi through his side. King cannoned into the Iranian and yanked the drive from the man’s pocket, tucking it into his own. The Scorpion machine pistol clattered to the ground and slid to MacPherson’s feet. By the time King got to his feet a second later, he had the weapon aimed at Caroline and there was only ten feet between them.
“Easy!” MacPherson snapped, the warning echoing around the cavern. “My finger is about as firm on the trigger as you’d ever want it to be…” He closed the gap and grabbed Caroline’s arm, roughly pulling her towards him. “That’s better,” he said, jamming the muzzle of the tiny machine pistol into her ribs. “Now, let’s get this business deal concluded…” He nodded to Newman. “Transfer the funds to the new account.” He turned to Ahmadi, who was slowly and unsteadily getting to his feet, clutching his blood-soaked waist.
“You’ve killed me!” Ahmadi groaned at Newman.
“Never mind that!” MacPherson snapped. “It’s just a bloody flesh wound! Now, confirm the transfer of the funds…”
Gunfire sounded outside. Sustained bursts and the pop-pop of small arms.
“You’re a dickhead, MacPherson. But you were a fine soldier once,” said King, still gripping the 9mm pistol, but not yet aiming it. “What changed you?”
“Piss off! You’re not getting my life story, King. Now, drop the gun.” He paused. “Peters and that big lump of a Jamaican aren’t going to get past the guards. The guards knew they were coming. After all, I told them…”
“He’s a Fijian, not Jamaican…”
“Don’t be a smartarse, King. Now, drop the gun.”
“Never going to happen.”
“I’ll kill her…”
“And you know that half a second later you’ll be dead. Because you also know that in the time it takes to aim that weapon at me, I’ll take my shot.”
“You may miss and hit her.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Shall we find out?”
King said nothing. He could put a magazine full of bullets through the same hole with a Sig P226 at this range.
“It’s in!” Ahmadi said triumphantly and started to stagger towards MacPherson.
“You’re forgetting something,” MacPherson told him. “The hard drive…”
“Not just stealing the money, then…” Newman mused. “I could almost have respected that, but not someone willing to put that programme into the wrong hands.”
“There’ll be more buyers,” said MacPherson. “And they’ll pay more than a measly two-hundred million…”
“I hope you’re good at hiding. The CIA won’t quit and SEAL Team Six always get the people they’re sent to kill…”
“I eat SEALs for breakfast,” MacPherson sneered.
“We’ll see,” Newman replied. “Don’t forget to sleep with one eye open.”
Ahmadi stood before King, a tiny Derringer double barrelled pistol in his hand. He was staring at MacPherson and when he looked back at King, he froze looking at the muzzle of King’s pistol aiming at his stomach. King stared back at him, his finger tightening on the trigger. The Iranian clicked his fingers. “Give it to me!”
“When did you cook all this up?” asked King belligerently. “Back when Sir Galahad Mereweather tried to turn you?” He glanced at MacPherson for confirmation.
“Things were said,” MacPherson shrugged. “My army pension isn’t going to cut it for my retirement plans. The things I’ve had to do for my country, the sacrifices I’ve made… nobody should have to see what I’ve seen…”
“You’re preaching to the choir, pal,” King replied. “We’ve all done our bit.”
“No empathy, then?” MacPherson smirked. “Or sympathy, even?”
“If you want to find sympathy, then look it up in the dictionary,” King replied. “It’s somewhere between shit and syphilis…”
MacPherson stared at King, clearly unamused, then looked at Ahmadi and snapped. “Get the fucking drive!”
Ahmadi glared at King. “Give it to me…”
King looked at MacPherson. Caroline was squirming because of the force of the muzzle in her ribs. MacPherson saw that King was looking and he dug the muzzle deeper into her flesh, forcing her to gasp. King pulled the drive out of his pocket and held it up for Ahmadi, who snatched it from him and staggered over to MacPherson.
“This is how it works!” MacPherson bellowed. “I take missy here for a little walk. You stay where you are and nobody else gets hurt…” he added, backing away.
Outside, the gunshots were more sporadic and as MacPherson and Ahmadi left the cavern, there was a burst of suppressed gunfire, a short exchange of gunfire and a gut-wrenching scream. King rushed after them and Luger snatched up a pistol from one of the bodies on the floor and followed, checking the action and safety as he ran.
King saw Peters first. Cut down by a burst of automatic gunfire. There was no point checking him over, because two of the rounds had found his forehead. He must have hesitated when he saw his old boss and that had been enough for MacPherson.
