Ark Angel (17 page)

“We’re going to arrest him,” Byrne replied. “I told you. We’ve been investigating him for over a year. But when you’re dealing with the really big criminals, Alex, it’s not as easy as you might think. I mean, look at Al Capone. He was one of America’s worst gangsters. Nobody knows how many people he had killed. But despite all the work of the FBI, in the end all they could get him for was fiddling his income tax. It’s the same with Drevin.

“He’s clever; he’s covered his back. A deal here, a deal there—he leaves no trace. We get whispers and hints that he’s involved, but it’s like trying to build a castle out of individual grains of sand. Witnesses are too scared to talk. Anyone who comes forward gets killed. Even so, slowly but surely, we’ve been building a case against him. The State Department has collected over two thousand documents. There are transcripts, tape and video recordings, photographs. There’s been a team of thirty people working round the clock for months; there still is. And they’ve all had to be protected. From the start, we’ve been afraid that Drevin might try to get to them. He might even send people in to destroy the evidence. Mercenaries. Suicide bombers. I wouldn’t put anything past him. So we’ve stored it all somewhere really safe.”

“Where?”

“That’s why I was interested just now when you mentioned Washington. The case against Drevin is lodged in probably the safest place in the United States. Inside the Pentagon.”

Byrne got up and helped himself to a bottle of water. All the talking had made him look more exhausted than ever.

“We plan to arrest Drevin one week from today. I hardly need tell you that this information is highly classified. The real problem is Ark Angel. The British government’s invested billions in the space station, and when we arrest Drevin, the whole project could collapse. That’s why we’ve had to wait. We’ve had to be absolutely sure that we’ve tied up all the loose ends before we make our move.

“Of course, MI6 know what we’re doing. There’s no way we could stop them finding out. We’ve shown them the evidence but they don’t want to believe it. They can’t afford to believe it. When Drevin goes down, there’s going to be a scandal that’ll rip the whole financial market apart. But that’s too bad. The man is a crook; he belongs in jail.”

“So why do you need me?” Alex asked.

Byrne sat down again. “Because something’s happened,” he admitted. “Something we don’t understand—

and you seem to be in the middle of it.”

“Force Three.”

“Exactly. Here’s a group of people who call themselves eco-warriors and who seem to have picked a fight with Drevin, supposedly because he wiped out a few bird species on Flamingo Bay. But we don’t know where they came from. We don’t know who they are. We even wonder if Drevin himself isn’t using them as some sort of diversion to distract us from our investigation. Your Mrs Jones is trying to get to the bottom of it right now—but we’re running out of time. I’m worried Drevin is going to pull some kind of stunt in the next seven days and slip through our fingers. Maybe he’s going to disappear. He could head off to South America, or there are parts of Australia where we’d never find him. A man with his connections wouldn’t find it difficult to build himself a new identity. We need to know if he’s planning to leave and, if so, where he might be going. That’s where you come in.

I’ve already got one agent inside his organization, but that’s not enough. Drevin’s too careful. He’s not giving anything away. But you’re different. You’re right in the middle of the family. You’re buddies with Paul Drevin. And the best thing is, they don’t know anything about you. You’re above suspicion. They certainly don’t know about your connection with us.

“Tomorrow they’re going to take you with them to Flamingo Bay. It’s like Skeleton Key all over again. We can’t get anyone in there. He’s got the rocket base on the south of the island and the whole place is protected by his own private security force. It’s not even American soil. The island is ten miles off the coast of Barbados and it just happens to belong to the British. Drevin leased it from your government when he built his space centre there. So we can’t go storming in.

“All I’m asking is for you to hang in there for one more week and report back if you see anything going on.

It’ll just be a vacation as far as you’re concerned. You’re Drevin’s guest—”

“I was Drevin’s guest,” Alex cut in. “I told you. I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

Alex shrugged. “What you’ve told me about him—I didn’t much like him anyway. And now I don’t want to go anywhere near him.”

“You won’t be in any danger.”

“That’s what you said last time, Mr Byrne. And I nearly got killed. Two of your agents did get killed.”

“And if you hadn’t helped us, thousands more people would have died too.” Byrne looked genuinely puzzled. “What’s the matter, Alex? Are you scared? Is it because of what happened with the sniper?”

Alex felt a twinge of pain in his chest. It happened every time anyone reminded him of his bullet wound.

Perhaps it always would. “I’m not scared,” he said. “I just don’t like being used.”

“We only use you because you’re so damn good,” Byrne replied. “And this time I’m not lying to you. You’re not working for MI6 and you’re not working for us. I just want you to continue with your vacation and if you see Drevin packing his suitcases or if a submarine turns up in the middle of the night, give us a call.

I’ve already told you, I’ve got an agent on the island and there’ll be a back-up team just ten miles away on Barbados. You’ll be watched all the time. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’m only afraid that somehow Drevin is going to get off the hook. Seven more days, Alex. Then we can make the arrest and you can go home.”

“What about Paul?” It was only now that Alex thought about Paul Drevin. He wondered if he knew the truth about his father.

“Nothing will happen to him. He’ll be well looked after. I guess he’ll go back to his mother.”

Alex didn’t speak. He wanted to refuse but something was stopping him. He didn’t want Byrne to think he was afraid. Maybe it was as simple as that.

“One week,” Byrne promised. “Drevin won’t suspect a thing. And just in case you do run into trouble, we’ve got someone here who might be able to help you.”

“Who?”

“He’s waiting for you outside.”

He stood up and Alex followed him out of the office and down a corridor to an open-plan area. There was a man sitting at a table and Alex recognized him instantly. It would have been hard not to. The man was enormously fat. He was bald with a black moustache and a round, smiling face. He was wearing a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt that couldn’t have looked more inappropriate among the dark suits of the CIA operatives. Alex had never seen so many flowers on one piece of material.

“Hello, Alex!” the man boomed.

“Hello, Mr Smithers,” Alex replied.

“What a great pleasure to see you again. You’re looking tremendously well, if I may say so. Mrs Jones sends her best wishes.”

“She knows I’m here?”

“Oh yes. We’ve been keeping an eye on you. As a matter of fact, it was she who sent me here.” Smithers lowered his voice, although it could still be heard across the room. “We thought you might like one or two new gadgets, and although the Americans do produce a few of their own, I rather think we lead the field.

Not that they’d agree, of course!”

“Gadgets…” Alex watched as Smithers reached down and lifted a briefcase onto the table.

“Absolutely. It wouldn’t be any fun without gadgets, would it? And I’ve come up with some quite interesting ideas. This, for example.” He produced an object that Alex recognized immediately. It was an inhaler, identical to the one Paul Drevin used. “Now, we happen to know that Drevin’s son has one of these,” Smithers explained. “So if anyone notices this in your luggage, they’ll simply assume it’s his. But it’s fingerprint sensitive and I’ve programmed it for your personal use. When you press the cylinder, it’ll send out a puff of knockout gas. Effective up to about five metres. Alternatively you can twist the cylinder round twice clockwise; that turns it into a hand grenade. Five-second fuse. I tested it on one of my assistants. Poor old Bennett … he should be out of hospital in a couple of months.”

He passed it across and dived back into the case.

“Eavesdropping,” he went on. “Part of your brief is to listen to anything interesting that Mr Drevin may be saying, and for that you’ll need this.” He brought out a slim white box with a set of headphones. Alex picked it up. It was an iPod. At least, it looked like one. “This uses microwave technology,” Smithers explained. “Point the screen at anyone up to fifty metres away and listen through the headphones. You’ll hear every word they say. You can also use it to contact the CIA. Rotate the click wheel three times anticlockwise and speak into it. I’ve got another version, by the way, packed with enough plastic explosive to blow up a building, but Mr Blunt said you weren’t to have it. Shame, really. I call it the i-x-Plod.

“And one last thing. Flamingo Bay is a tropical island with lots of creepy-crawlies. So this might help…”

Once again he reached into the case and this time came out with a glass bottle marked: STINGO

Jungle-strength mosquito lotion

“Mosquito repellent,” Alex said.

“Absolutely not,” Smithers replied. “This is a very powerful formulation and it actually does the exact opposite. It attracts mosquitoes. In fact, once you open the bottle, it’ll attract just about every insect on the island. You might find it useful if you need a diversion.” He closed the case and stood up. “I’m off to St Lucia,” he announced. “A little holiday—and it’ll give me a chance to test my shark-repellent swimming trunks. So I won’t be too far away if you need me, although I’m sure you won’t. Chin-chin!”

Smithers wandered off down another corridor. Alex was left with Joe Byrne.

“So will you do it?” Byrne asked.

Alex stared at the three gadgets on the table. “It looks like everyone’s already made up my mind for me.”

“That’s great, Alex. Thank you.” Byrne gestured and the blond-haired man who had brought Alex from the airport came over. “You’ve already met Special Agent Shulsky,” he said.

“Call me Ed,” the agent said. Without the dark glasses and the intimidating manner, he seemed a lot more pleasant. Alex guessed he was still in his twenties; he looked as if he hadn’t long graduated from college.

“Agent Shulsky will be heading the back-up operation,” Byrne explained. “He and a dozen people will be based on Barbados. That’s where you’ll be landing, by the way. Flamingo Bay doesn’t have its own airstrip.

The moment you call, they’ll come running.”

Shulsky smiled. “It’s a real pleasure to be working with you, Alex,” he said. “They showed us your file. I have to say, it’s more than impressive.”

“Is there anything else you want to know?” Byrne asked.

“Yes. There is one thing,” Alex said. “This all came about because I just happened to be in the room next to Paul Drevin at St Dominic’s Hospital. But it was no coincidence, was it? Mr Blunt put me there because he hoped I’d meet Paul and become friends with him.”

Byrne hesitated. “I can’t answer that for sure, Alex,” he said. “But I will say this much: Alan Blunt does have a knack of making events work his way.”

So it was true. Alex could have been taken to any hospital in London. But even as he lay there bleeding with a bullet in his chest, the MI6 chief had been planning ahead, engineering his next assignment. It was almost beyond belief. No. Where Blunt was concerned, it was to be expected.

“Shulsky will take you back to the airport,” Byrne added. “We’ll sort you out a temporary passport and Drevin will pick you up tomorrow. Good luck on Flamingo Bay.”

“Just don’t expect any postcards,” Alex said.

He and Ed Shulsky left together. Byrne shook his head and walked slowly back the other way.

The six-seater Cessna 195 seaplane circled the island almost lazily before it came in to land. Alex, along with Paul and his father, had been flown from New York to Grantley Adams International Airport on the south-east corner of Barbados. From there they had been taken by car a few miles up the coast to Ragged Point, where the seaplane had been waiting for the final ten-mile flight to Drevin’s private island.

Alex could see it now, his face pressed against the window with the single propeller buzzing noisily and the starboard wing stretching out above his head. From the air, Flamingo Bay looked as ridiculously beautiful as every Caribbean island, the colours almost too intense to be true. There was the dazzling blue of the ocean, the immaculate white beaches, the rich, elemental green of the pine trees and rainforest. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect for the coming launch. As the plane arced for a second time, tilting towards the stretch of water that would be its landing strip, brilliant sunshine blazed in through the window.

“There it is!” Paul Drevin leant past Alex and pointed. “You can see the launch site!” he exclaimed.

The island was about two miles long and shaped like a leaping fish. The rocket gantries stood where the eye should have been. There were two of them, right next to the sea, with about a dozen brick buildings, many of them surmounted with satellite dishes, about a quarter of a mile away. The ground in this area was quite bare, all the vegetation burned away, presumably by rocket exhaust. Alex remembered what Kaspar had told him when he had been a prisoner of Force Three. Four bird species had been made extinct on the island. He was surprised it hadn’t been more.

If the head of the fish was naked, the rest of it was covered with dense rainforest separated by a narrow track which ran the full length of the island. The track led to a tall fence running north to south, with a checkpoint and a series of wooden cabins near by. This was the only way into the launch site. There were watchtowers all over the island, making sure that nobody could approach unseen by sea.

Drevin’s house had been built on what Alex thought of as the fish’s tail. It was a simple white structure, and even from this distance he could see that it was ultra-modern with giant glass windows giving uninterrupted views of the sea. The arched belly of the fish was one long beach with palm trees leaning towards the water. As the plane dipped down, Alex saw a brightly painted wooden jetty, three motor launches and a couple of sailing boats anchored in the shallows. He couldn’t hear music from steel drums or smell the rum—but it was easy to imagine them.