“Gilbert, you don’t suspect foul play, do you?”
Now it was Gilbert’s turn to be surprised.
“Good God, Gwyn. What in the world are you talking about?! Our father would never harm a flea. He has no enemies. The police said nothing about anything suspicious . . .”
He stopped mid-sentence as Gwyn was clearly not listening. She was rummaging frantically through her bags.
“Gwyn, for heaven’s sake, will you tell me what is going on?”
She finally found what she was looking for and pulled out a manila envelope.
“The night we met at the airport, did you think Father acted strangely?”
“No, not really. Why?”
“Well, maybe it is just me, but he spoke of Mother more than usual, seemed very nostalgic and after you left, he gave me this. When I asked what it was, he said it was documents he had purchased recently, and which somebody seemed bent on obtaining. He asked me to put them in my safe deposit box. He said he had scanned them for himself, but wanted the original to be safe. It was all a bit strange.”
“That was all he said?”
“I pressed him on it, but he would say no more. He was unusually somber though and it seemed serious.”
“Do you think that his death could be related to this?”
“Oh, Gilbert, I don’t know what to think. I am just telling you what he said.”
Gilbert’s face hardened. Gwyn handed the envelope to Gilbert, who promptly opened the silver metal clasp that held it shut, pulling out two transparent, vinyl sheet protectors. There was a sticky note on the cover of the first one scribbled in her father’s hurried hand:
The original ass. order for G.S.?! G.O.B.?
Gilbert could see that the document was in a non-Roman script that looked like Arabic. He handed it to Gwyn so that he could look at the second sheet protector. As he did, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Gwyn picked it up. It was a hand-written note. At the top was a short sentence.
Translation of the pertinent section.
She didn’t recognize the handwriting of the paragraph that followed.
The council’s decision to cancel son of prophet and erase every trace remains among our most solemn duties. It will be a red English sunset on Suri-Strend with a golden sunrise in Tunis when the bird which has flown is brought back to Südde-i Saadet. Walk in the snow but leave no footprints. Assistance for the sendoff may be obtained from our ever faithful D. Hasten delivery.
13 Jumaada al-awal 1149
Gwyn looked up at her brother, who was staring a hole into the huge glass window looking out on the tarmac. She had seen this look of smoldering anger in his eyes many times as a child. When he spoke, it was low and measured.
“I intended to fly back to London with you. I booked two seats on a flight in an hour and a half because if we don’t take this one, there won’t be another flight until tomorrow afternoon, which would put us in London on Friday.”
“So, that is why you asked me to bring my bags?”
“Yes, and it’s a good thing you did, or you wouldn’t have had the envelope. There may be something to all this, but let’s not automatically assume that it’s connected. Whatever the case, I’m going to ask you to stay here, Gwyn. I’ll handle arrangements in London. Until we know what’s going on, I want you to keep a low profile. I hate it, but I have to go or I’ll miss this flight. You know what it’s like getting through security these days. First, it was take off your shoes, then they banned liquids, and now they have every pervert in the country applying for a job as a groper.”
Gwyn managed a weak smile at Gilbert’s sarcasm.
“What about Gary? We need to send him an email.”
“I’ve taken care of it,” he said quietly. “He will be in London tomorrow morning.”
“Really? How did you swing that?”
“Sent him an email and bought him a ticket.”
She could tell from his terse manner he was in no mood for conversation, especially about Gary.
“Gilbert, thank you so much for coming. I will talk to the funeral home and start making preparations. I suppose you want me to keep this folder?”
“Yes, there is no reason for me to carry it. Besides, I’ll have the digital copy on Dad’s computer to work with if necessary.”
Gilbert embraced his sister and she broke down sobbing again.
><><><
L
ONDON
“Salih, you have to see this.”
Salih looked up from the desk where he and a colleague had been poring over the Internet history and other files from Ian’s computer, looking for clues. He had not left the office for almost thirty-six hours.
“What is it?”
“We have Ian on a security camera that afternoon. Time 14:10. He is in Paddington Station.”
“What are the possible destinations?”
“We are cross-referencing that now.”
Salih felt the fatigue begin to melt away. His energy level rose. The hunt had turned back into a chase. They had just had their first real break.
“Now that we have a time frame and starting point, this should be quick. Send the data stream to Abdullah and Aziz.”
He began barking orders and the men sprang into action. In ten minutes, they had his destination—the airport.
Why the airport? Why would the professor visit the airport in the middle of the conference?
But, even as he asked these questions, a ball of worry and anxiety grew in his stomach.
Allah kahretsin
!
“Aziz, get us footage from the airport security cameras beginning at 15:30 hours. We have to find out who he met there.”
Twenty minutes later, they were looking at the passenger lists for every flight that left that day. A search of surnames solved the mystery. His son had gone to Washington, his daughter to Dallas.
Could one of them have the package?
If he had been a gambling man, he would have wagered a considerable sum right now. One or both of them might have already been informed that their father was dead. He had to know if that had affected their plans.
Two hours later later an encrypted message went out on the PGP key Hüdavendigar.
O’Brien went to the airport that afternoon. He met his son and daughter there. Son travelled to Washington, daughter to Dallas. Then, son followed to Dallas. Package probably with one of them. Communications intercept being initiated.
><><><
D
ALLAS,
T
EXAS
Gilbert approached the security checkpoint at D Terminal and readied himself for the routine that had become automatic. The purple light on the passport, the scrutinizing look from his photograph to his face and back to the photograph. Then came the partial disrobement—off with the shoes, belt and watch, out with the cell phone, keys, change and wallet. He took his laptop out of the bag and put it in a separate container, and then approached the security agent for the physical pat down. The security guard asked him to spread his legs. He shook his head in frustration.
Because of a few radicals, every day millions of totally innocent people who would never contemplate harming another soul were subjected to time-consuming search procedures that bordered on indecent.
What were the chances that terrorists would continue to target air travel in the face of such stringent measures?
The terrorists had already achieved an important objective. They kept thousands of security personnel pre-occupied and forced their enemies to spend billions of dollars to stop an attack that would never come. The stupidity of government bureaucracy never ceased to amaze.
The guard directed him to step into the ‘cabin’. There were two feet painted on the floor indicating where passengers were supposed to stand. Then, there was a computerized voice telling him that he would feel puffs of air and reminding him to stand still until the green light came on and the glass doors in front of him opened. This experience was like the glaucoma routine at the optometrist’s office. You knew it was coming, and yet it was impossible not to jump back in surprise every time. The only difference was that in this security cabin the entire body was knifed with puffs of air that come from all angles.
Five hours later, Gilbert was standing in the narrow aisle of the 747, stretching his aching back. He had crossed more than twelve time zones in the last two days, and jet-lag and exhaustion had begun taking their toll. He wanted to sleep on this flight, but knew it would be impossible. He had tried melatonin, but had never noticed any benefit. A friend of his swore that a study in mice had shown Viagra to have a positive effect, and that it was being used as an off-label treatment, but he couldn’t bring himself to try it. Popping Viagra for jetlag just seemed too weird.
CHAPTER
23
T
HURSDAY,
L
ONDON
“Metropolitan Police, how may I direct your call?”
“Hello. This is Gilbert O’Brien. I was contacted by a Mr. McIntosh yesterday regarding the death of my father Ian O’Brien. He told me to call as soon as I arrived in London.”
“Let me patch you through to his office. One moment, please.”
Gilbert continued walking to the exit, rolling his carry-on behind him.
“Mr. O’Brien, this is Tom Jones. Allow me to offer my condolences on the loss of your father. The Superintendent is away from his desk, but should be back within thirty minutes if you want to come down to the station. I’ll let him know you are coming.”
“Actually I am picking up my brother and we are going straight to my father’s house. I would appreciate it if he could meet us there.”
“I’ll let him know that you are coming. If his schedule allows, I’m sure he will do his best to be there.”
“Thank you, Officer.”
He closed the Blackberry and began scanning the crowd near the exit. Gary would be here somewhere. He looked out the huge plate glass windows on a perfect English summer day. A warm sun was shining out of a cloudless sky. The native Britons were dressed for a heat wave of 82° Fahrenheit, women in spaghetti straps and men in t-shirts and shorts. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so much pasty white flesh.
He suddenly had a flashback of his father quoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning in a similar situation when their great uncle had died on a perfect spring day.
But natural Beauty shuts her bosom to what the natural feelings tell!
Albeit I sighed, the trees would blossom. Albeit I smiled the blossoms fell.
The whole realm of nature, with the exception of a few domesticated animals, paid absolutely no heed to the ebb and flow of human emotion. For all her motherly qualities, Mother Nature seemed strangely oblivious to the pain and anguish inflicted upon her children, and the joys and celebrations experienced due to human triumph seemed to be of no consequence to her either.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see his little brother with a sheepish look on his face.