Code Shield (32 page)

“You got the contract. You're the torpedo. Is that why you needed to take a vacation break in Singapore, even before Tania's employment pass came through?”

Benjamin clutched his chest, his eyes shut tight and tears squeezed out the corner of his eyes. Then he opened his eyes, gritted his teeth and stared at her for several long seconds.

She stood upright, flung the plastic syringe at him and strutted towards the door as she tucked the yellow envelope inside her long coat.

Benjamin grabbed the syringe and with fumbling fingers, twisted off the cap, exposing a tiny needle. He stabbed the needle into his arm and squeezed the plastic capsule, sensing the cold liquid enter his bloodstream.

He gulped copious amounts of air and looked up as Tara stopped at the door and turned.

“That antidote,” she was matter-of-fact, “doesn't work…no cure for dart frog poison. Didn't you know that? Good bye Ben.”

She stepped outside, shut the door behind, drew deep and long of the chill night air. The night clouds had thinned and a faint glow of the moon fought to reach the earth.

A choking sound followed by coughs came from inside the shed…. and then silence.

She went back to the first shed, used her plastic instruments to let herself in and retrieved the thick wad of money from the white envelope. She replaced it with a short note for her informant. She also left behind a yellow envelope.

Returning about twenty minutes later with the BMW, she dragged Benjamin's body behind the steering wheel. She slipped into the passenger side, maneuvered the car the hundred metres to the jetty that overhung the riverbank. At the edge, she got out, released the handbrake and watched the black limousine topple over and smash into the ice.

The ice broke, parted and swallowed the car. She watched and waited until the car disappeared under the ice amidst popping bubbles and angry gurgles.

She trudged to a red brick factory, the black duffel bag that she had retrieved from the BMW in her hand. Pulling the shutter up, she smiled.

Plustarch had not let her down and as promised, a car waited in the silent darkness inside.

Taking a flashlight from the duffel bag, she tapped it to life and bent down to check the chassis. Next, she popped the bonnet and peered through the gap into the engine compartment. Not seeing or feeling any wires, she lifted the bonnet and checked the brake lines and other fittings. Satisfied, she slipped into the driver's seat, gunned the engine and glided out into the open.

The first few flakes of snow, the vanguard of the forecasted snowfall event, came floating down.

Chapter 47

The next morning the protocol attaché drove Tara to the airport. Colonel Plustarch and two heavy clones from the Interior Ministry met them at Departure. Clearing passport control, they walked brisk and important towards the gate.

“Thank you for my piece,” whispered Tara. “But I found only six rounds.”

“Interesting piece of engineering. Simple but effective,” smiled Plustarch, speaking under his breath as he looked straight ahead. “Thought I'll borrow one and adopt the design.”

“That will cost you,” she murmured. “But not to worry. I've a Christmas present for you to smother the pain.”

“Can you make it easy for me?” Plustarch's long legs easily kept up with her. “Where do I find your friend, Benyamin?”

“That's the present,” she stopped, turned to him with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

Plustarch smiled that broad smile of his and half saluted as she turned and walked into the channel without looking back.

When the aircraft taxied for take-off, Tara reclined in her seat. Closing her eyes, she saw in her mind Plustarch letting himself into their booby-trapped warehouse; retrieving the two envelopes, as usual the yellow one with the message and the white with a stack of US dollars.

The yellow envelope would tell him where to find the BMW but the white would not contain money but a note.

A fair trade – a copper round for a titanium kneecap. Now, a good man might walk again. Thank you for your generosity. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Plustarch, a broad smile covering his face, folded the envelopes and slipped them into his pocket. He stepped out of the shed and from the small rise, surveyed the Moskva River about a hundred metres away.

Yes, perhaps the water level had risen somewhat
.

Simonov had invited Tania into his private study in his dacha. He sipped his coffee, looking at her over the rim of the gold edged fine bone china. He had once toyed with the idea of having her join his bevy of mistresses, whom he maintained discreetly and clothed in the best from Paris and Milan. But he found her too…what he referred to as
dry
and had dropped the idea, preferring his women
wet and voluptuous
.

Tania sat upright with a cup and saucer in her hands. She surveyed her boss who reclined on his easy chair with a cigar between his fingers.

“And how long since you lost contact with him?”

“He was supposed to update me immediately after the job. It's been two days now.” Tania sipped her drink, placed her cup on the table, leaned back and crossed her slim legs.

Careful as Simonov was, he let his gaze wonder to her knees. He snapped out, got up abruptly and walked around the table, his towering height almost reached the top of the window.

“I didn't expect him to botch it. He must have had a backup plan.”

“He always does and I'm sure everything has been arranged.”

“For your sake I hope so my dear,” Simonov came around and sat on the edge on his heavy desk. He planted one foot firmly on the floor and braced an elbow on the other knee as he leaned forward.

“What about Singapore? He sponsored my application but now I'm unsure what they'll do with it.” Tania straightened her skirt to her knees.

Simonov noticed her pronounced act of modesty. “Oh, don't worry about that my dear.” He rose to his six eight height again. “Your visa will come through.” He walked around to his table, placed his Cuban cigar in his lips, and spoke,

“By now the Singaporeans would know that you work for an agency – GRU, FSB, SVR,” Simonov shrugged his shoulders. “What does it matter which agency. They'll let you in so they can watch you, watch us. You'll be perfect as our…what do they call that fish?” He snapped his fingers rapidly as though trying to dislodge the word from his memory bank.

“Red herring?”

“Right, you'll be our red herring.”

“Banks left for Singapore via Bangkok.”

“Leave her bloody well alone,” Simonov held the lighter for a prolonged time to the snipped off tip of his cigar. He puffed repeatedly until the flame took hold, clicked his lighter shut with a forefinger and continued. “She's taking a two-week vacation in Bangkok. If your man hasn't already arranged it there, you'll have time enough in Singapore.”

Bangkok was hot and humid. Tara slung the haversack behind her back. It contained three days' toiletries and change clothes. She found the small clinic in Patpong, hidden amongst massage parlours, girlie bars and shops selling Thai hand painted ceramics.

Tara buttoned her shirt and joined the middle-aged doctor in his office. He had just washed and was still wiping his hands in a towel, the ubiquitous stethoscope around his neck.

The waif like man again went over the possible complications and medications that she would have to take for the rest of her life. Noticing that she was determined to go through with the operation, he pushed a form. He had pencilled a cross where her signature was required.

“We can do it right now,” said the doctor.

“I'm ready,” Tara patted her haversack. “All my clothes are here.”

The doctor called out in Thai to his two female assistants. They replied and busied themselves in the small operating theatre. He turned to his patient,

“That'll be ten thousand U.S. dollars please, all-in including clinic stay for three days and one month's medication,” he smiled. “You pay now in cash please. We take some x-rays now. You come back in three hours and we have everything ready to start.”

“Once you take it out, I want it stored in ice,” said Tara. Seeing his puzzled look, she explained, “Religion, I must give it a proper burial…in Singapore.”

The doctor studied her face and then broke into a smile, “Of course, I understand.”

When she returned in the afternoon, the doctor was still peering at the x-ray. He asked Tara to lie on the bed, pressed her abdomen gently and asked,

“Any pain or discomfort?”

“No,” replied Tara.

“How about here?” The doctor pressed her lower abdomen.

“No, doctor.”

“Any heavy bleeding lately?”

“As a matter of fact yes, and some tightness too,” revealed Tara.

The doctor placed his stethoscope to his ears and listened. Removing the stethoscope, he asked, “Have you had this tightness before, during your menstrual cycle?”

“Not actually,” she said, realising where this line of questioning was leading.

“Look at this Ms Banks,” the doctor motioned to her to join him. He snapped the x-ray film into the viewer screen and switched on the dazzling backlight.

“See that,” he pointed to a whitish spot in her uterus. “This is the endometrium and here the myometrium. See this, lines are too straight, the corners too sharp.”

It looks like a chip
, thought Tara.

“Whatever it is, it's not natural,” the doctor echoed her thoughts as he leaned close to the screen and peered through his glasses. “Definitely man made. It's just as well you had wanted this operation or we would have never known.”

Tara guessed what it was and how it got into her body. She recalled the time she was a guest at Lubyanka Prison… compliments of Simonov.

“The body has its own defence mechanisms,” the doctor removed his reading glasses and bit on the earpiece as he spoke. “The cells build up and encase the foreign object. Meanwhile the patient suffers bleeding and thinks it has to do with her menstrual cycle. In time, if there's no infection, the foreign object is smothered with layers of tissue and you'll never even know that it's there.”

The doctor held his spectacles in his hand and waved it as he spoke,

“Have you had an operation lately or seen a gynaecologist for a check-up? Perhaps the person who did the procedure left something behind. These oversights are rare but do occur.”

“Whatever it is doctor, you say it's imbedded in my uterus?”

The doctor nodded.

“So it would all come out. Just save it for me with the rest of the stuff.”

Though the clinic was located in a nondescript back lane of Bangkok, nestled amongst the infamous Patpong red-light district, the doctor had a steady clientele from the region and beyond. A graduate of John Hopkins and an excellent O&B surgeon, his overriding assets were discretion and his utter disregard for record keeping.

“Doctor, I've changed my mind. After the operation, I would rather retire to my hotel.”

“Yes, I understand but the ten thousand does not include house calls.”

“I understand,” said Tara and handed him a money clip with hundred dollar bills. “I don't think I need house calls but in the event I do, will this cover it?”

The doctor smiled and smoothly pocketed the money in his white gown.

Chapter 48

It was ten minutes past the appointed time when Diana and her lawyer, Lim Gek Wee (
call me Ms Lim
) bustled into the meeting room, one of several in the Family Court.

Venkat and Michael greeted Diana and
Ms Lim
but both women pretended not to hear as they hurriedly conferred with each other and spread files and documents on the table.

The judge frowned and called the meeting to order.

Ms Lim launched into a blistering attack as she presented affidavit after affidavit to impress the judge about the defendant's utter lack of regard and
indeed, contempt, for all court orders
. She concluded by itemising in painful minutiae the amount of money owed by the defendant for child support and alimony, including the most recent judgement awarding costs to the plaintiff, her client.

Satisfied with her performance, she leaned back and mopped her brow from all that exertion.

The judge sighed, thanked counsel, and referred to Venkat, inviting his response.

Venkat handed photocopies of a medical report certified by the National University Hospital.

“What's this?” asked Ms Lim, before the judge can enquire.

“We received the first hints from the Russian hospital which treated my client,” Venkat addressed the judge.

The media had reported extensively on the kidnapping, the father's remarkable perseverance and their final rescue by the Russian police.

Venkat did not mention that his client actually received the hint from
a friend
in Moscow.

“Your Honour, these are DNA profiles of my client and the child, Liam Lai Fun, Annette Liam. It proves conclusively that my client is not the father of the child and we have reason to believe that contrary to the findings of the previous learned judge in the divorce proceedings, it was the plaintiff who had an extramarital affair, who committed adultery and…”

On the bench outside the meeting room, Annette sat holding hands with Yvonne.

“There is a high likelihood that you'll have to live with your mother and your real father,” said Yvonne.

“You mean my mother's lover?” corrected Annette.

“At least until you come of age, reach twenty-one,” Yvonne spoke in whispers.

Inside the meeting room, Venkat wound up his client's stand, “My client is willing to let all the child maintenance already paid to date, be.

“However, we humbly implore that Your Honour will find in favour of my client to recover all monies paid for the so-called alimony and with interest, and all the legal fees paid by my client on behalf of the plaintiff, again with interest…”