The Cassandra Conspiracy (25 page)

When he got back to the car Janet asked, “Who did you call?”

“The airlines.”

“Did you book the entire trip from Harrisburg?”

“No, only the international leg. We’ll pay cash for the commuter tickets. They don’t take reservations anyway. That should give Wingate and his cronies something to think about.”

All the way to Harrisburg, Payton kept a wary eye on the rearview mirror. If anyone was following them, he couldn’t pick out the tail.

He desperately wanted to believe that if he couldn’t see them, they weren’t there. But Payton already knew that just because he didn’t see them didn’t mean a damned thing. Wingate’s men could be sitting two cars behind him. He hoped that his decision to withdraw from the scene of battle would throw his pursuers off their tracks–at least for a while.

When they got to the airport, they barely had time to park the car and pay for their tickets when the public address system announced the departure of the next commuter flight to New York. They had only carry-on baggage, which they carried with them as they rushed down the hall to the departure gate. They were the last to board before the cabin attendant secured the doors.

Their flight up to Kennedy was smooth and fast, but the noise from the De Havilland DHC Dash 8 twin turboprop engines made it impossible for Payton and Janet to talk. Instead, Payton used the forty minutes of flight time plotting out their next set of moves.

No matter how well he thought he’d done so far, Payton realized that he was playing someone else’s game. Worse, the opposition was a bunch of professionals. Payton was sorely outclassed. If Wingate threw out a big enough net, it wouldn’t take long for his people to locate them even in London. An accident can happen as easily in merry old England as in Pine Lakes. Payton found his thoughts unsettling, but no more so than sitting around Pine Lakes waiting for Wingate to drop the ax.

Besides, the clock was running. He only had two short weeks to fill in all the gaps before it would be too late–probably not enough time to put a lasting crimp into Wingate’s plans. Then there was the issue of Grover Albright’s death, and their meeting with Mark Albright. As usual, Payton had too many things on his plate.

Right on schedule, the pilot announced their descent for landing into Kennedy. Payton glanced over in Janet’s direction. From the look on her face, she must have been watching him as he silently reviewed their options. Payton gave her his best smile. The confidence he exuded was, in reality, a thin façade.

The commuter terminal at Kennedy was, of course, nowhere near the international departure terminal for their flight to London. They headed for the shuttle bus stop in the front of the terminal. Only a few minutes passed before the inter-terminal shuttle arrived at the bus stop. Within ten minutes they were standing in line for their tickets to London.

They bought the tickets, and checked what few bags they had through to London.

“We’ve got a few hours until boarding so we might as well try to keep out of sight. There’s no sense taking any chances.” 

They located the Ambassador Club, Payton presented his card, and they went in to wait for their boarding call. Figuring that they’d have plenty of time to read on the flight, they found a couple of chairs, made themselves comfortable, and watched television.

The news was on, airing a story about the President's economic program. As part of the report, they showed a video clip of the President meeting with his advisors. Payton and Janet were shocked to see their immaculately dressed nemesis, considerately identified by CNN, seated at the table beside the President.

“So that’s what he looks like,” Payton said, his blood boiling. Steve’s grip on Janet’s hand tightened considerably and his face burned with anger as he watched Wingate. “This man thinks he’s so powerful that he can do anything he damned well pleases. He’s not going to get away with it, damn it, he’s not.” 

When their flight was finally called for boarding, Payton and Janet left the Ambassador Club and cleared security. Less than half an hour later, they were ensconced in their first class seats. Their flight took off on schedule and for the first time in days, Payton relaxed.

Before takeoff, the stewardess had served the passengers their first of what was going to be many glasses of champagne. Payton finally decided he’d had enough, and pressed the button that allowed his seat back to recline. He plugged in the stereo headphones, found a classical music channel, and let his body unwind.

In Pine Lakes, others found their stress level on the rise as Parker and his people realized that Payton and Janet Phillips had indeed given them the slip.

CHAPTER 23

Bill Parker didn
’t know why, but he became angrier each passing minute the jetliner carrying Steven Payton and Janet Phillips moved further away from the United States. Wingate had directed him to keep a close tether on the Phillips woman and Payton. Instead, his men had lost them. To make matters worse, Payton and Phillips hadn’t resurfaced.

When Wingate had first decided to maintain surveillance on the couple, Parker had their man in Baltimore do a detailed biography on the lawyer. There was nothing in the report that even hinted that Payton had the talent to lose a novice private eye, much less a trained surveillance team. He had never worked for any intelligence agency,
and had never been a cop. Nonetheless, he had somehow managed to shake the tail Parker had put on him. One minute everything was fine and the next, puff, they were gone!

Wingate’s security chief pondered his situation. It had finally gotten to the point where if you didn’t do the job yourself, it got all screwed up, and Parker didn’t like to fail. He didn’t fail when he was in Vietnam, and since his return he had never let old man Wingate down.

Now the whole mission was a walking, talking disaster. No word on the couple, and already he had two men out of commission. Earlier he had recalled the men stationed at Baltimore-Washington International Airport so that they could act as his liaison with the other field teams.

By now, if Payton and the Phillips woman had made it to BWI airport, they were long gone. It didn’t make any sense to leave his best team of operatives marking time halfway to Washington.

None of his people had been given any reason why it was necessary to find Payton and Janet Phillips. They could do their jobs without an explanation. Each team member knew only what he needed to know to get the job done.

The government called this compartmentalization, and it worked. If a leak did occur, the damage to the overall operation was contained to the limited information known by the compromised person. No single individual could blow the entire operation.

The two men recalled from the airport sat in Parker’s makeshift office waiting for their marching orders. “I want you guys to get on the network, and send out an encrypted message to all stations. Tell them we need the location of Payton and the girl ASAP. Make sure they understand that they’re not to interfere with them in any way–only report their current location, and then keep them under tight surveillance. And I don’t want our people spotted. Is that clear?”  The men nodded their understanding and headed for the door.

Parker knew he couldn’t take any chances with his instructions. An overeager security type could blow his entire operation. He knew how the old man handled problems within his organization, and Parker had no intention of meeting his maker soon.

The security team had taken over a guesthouse already equipped with multiple phone lines, fax service, and provisioned for overnight and longer stays. Only the tables and chairs needed to support the computer systems now in use trying to track down the errant couple had been left in the living room. They were all on borrowed time, whether they knew it or not.

.   .   .   .   .   .

The Boeing 757 touched down on the runway and took up most of its length winding down its massive engines. As the plane slowed, the whine of its Pratt and Whitney JT9D engines diminished. When the engines shut down, everyone, as usual, rushed to get off the plane, filling the narrow aisles from the front all the way to rear. Payton motioned for Janet to remain seated.

After most of the other passengers had disembarked, Payton rose and stepped into the aisle. They had checked through what few pieces of luggage they had, and were not carrying any other bags besides Janet’s purse. They got off the plane and began the hike toward the main terminal.

Payton had Janet clear immigration first. She watched as everyone stood behind a yellow line painted on the dark tile until the immigration officer motioned the passenger forward. When her turn came, the officer asked her the routine questions:  why she was in England–vacation; how long she would be remaining in the country–a week or two; and if she knew where she’d be staying. Payton had told her to tell them the London Hilton. She did. The officer told her to enjoy her stay, then waved her through.

Payton followed, and they headed to the baggage-claim area. With their suitcases in tow, they handed their declarations to the customs agent under the sign of Nothing to Declare,
and then left the terminal.

Out front, Payton hailed a taxi. As soon as their luggage was on board, and the doors closed, Payton said, “The Hilton at Park Lane, please.”

Janet immediately started to question his instructions. Albright’s E-mail message had been specific–they were to stay at the Hyde Park. Before she had a chance to say anything, Payton whispered, “I know.”

Traffic was heavy going into the city, and the taxi crawled at a snail’s pace during most of the trip. All the way into London, Payton kept glancing out the back window. He figured that they had the jump on Wingate. But for how long was questionable.

After nearly an hour, they pulled up to the front of the hotel. One of the two London hotels that share the marque, the Park Lane Hilton was tall, modern, and elegant–a favorite stop over for the Middle East sheiks and businessmen who want to spend their petro-dollars in a world-class hotel.

Maybe the doorman was wide-
awake and raring to go, but Payton wasn’t. He held on to their luggage. Used to dealing with foreigners, the doorman couldn’t understand why this man refused to allow him to take their things. It couldn’t be simply to save the cost of the tip.

Rebuffed, he headed over to another taxi to assist the Hilton’s more gracious guests with their luggage. Janet started to tell Payton that although he might be tired, that was no way to treat the doorman, when he beckoned her to follow him. Instead of proceeding inside, Payton headed down Park Lane toward Knightsbridge and the Kensington Road.

“Aren’t we supposed to stay at the Hyde Park?” Janet exclaimed as she struggled to keep up with him.

“We are. But if Wingate’s people question the cab drivers, I don’t want to chance any of them remembering us and where we’re staying.”

Janet looked off to her left and saw that they were walking parallel to one of London’s larger parks. “I get it, we’ll make less of a splash in the local newspapers if we stay in the park, right?”

“Keep the faith,”
Steve said smiling.

At Kensington Road, they used the pedestrian tunnel to cross under the busy thoroughfare, then continued past Hyde Park Corner. Janet figured that they probably looked rather strange, but no one paid much attention to two American tourists, suitcases in hand, walking down one of London’s main thoroughfares.

Just before they came to the section of Kensington that marked the start of the gigantic Harrod’s department store, Payton stopped at the foot of the steps to what looked like an old Victorian building. The highly polished brass plaque to the left of the door said Hyde Park Hotel.

“Your hotel, madam,” Steve said, gesturing to the white marble steps leading up to the entrance foyer. As the doorman took their bags, Janet followed him up the steps and into the lobby.

After registering, they followed the bellman through the maze of halls, finally arriving at their room.

“It’s beautiful!” Janet exclaimed as soon as the bellman had pocketed his tip and left. “I can even see Hyde Park.”

Suddenly the combined effects of their escape from Pine Lakes and the long flight caught up with her. The siren-like call of the queen-sized four-poster bed made it doubly hard for her not to succumb to catching a few winks. A double chest of drawers stood in front of a wall-mounted mirror across from the bed. Set off against the far side of the room was a sitting area consisting of a small, dark, wooden coffee table with lion-claw feet and two wing-backed chairs. A nineteen-inch television sat in the corner of the room.

The bathroom was something out of an old Victorian romance novel. The tub, supported by its four cast iron feet, stood against the far wall of the room, and ran the entire length of the wall. Janet guessed that its top was at least three feet from the tile floor.

If nothing else, they would at least have the chance to take a few baths together. A metal shower-curtain rod looped around the ceiling over the tub. Clipped to a bracket on the wall was a flexible metal hose with a spray attachment.

She hoped Payton could make do with
the tub and its clip-on showerhead. A pedestal sink with a large enameled bowl stood next to the toilet. On the wall across from the sink, a heated towel rack held four large bath towels, at least four more hand towels, and a washcloth. On a shelf stood guest-sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion. The Hyde Park certainly didn’t skimp on amenities. Janet turned on both of the tub’s spigots, and set the rubber plug.

She then went back into the bedroom, where Steve was unpacking his suitcase. “I could fall in love with this place. But it must be old.”

“I think the building goes back to the late nineteenth century. Before the fire in the early nineteen hundreds, the Hyde Park was an apartment house for the well-to-do. Afterward, the Brits reopened it as a hotel. Been one ever since.”

Janet began to peel off her clothes. She had a choice: a long, hot bath or the bed. She opted for the bath.