The Cassandra Conspiracy (27 page)

They shot a trial photograph, then unloaded the small memory card from the camera’s control electronics unit, and inserted it into the imaging system. In seconds,
the image appeared on their laptop’s screen. A few simple adjustments and they had a picture good enough to print in any magazine. Had the laptop been connected to the telephone lines, that same picture could have been transmitted anywhere in the world.

Now that they knew everything was working, the men got busy capturing shots of everyone coming into or leaving the hotel. Working four hours on and four off, they switched teams three times each day. The back
-up team was responsible for sending the digital images back to the States.

Parker told his men that the meeting between Payton and the unknown informer would likely go down soon after Payton and Phillips got to London. It didn’t make sense for the informer to wait any longer than he or she had to before making contact with Payton. The longer their contact delayed getting in touch with Payton, the better the chances were that Wingate’s security would locate him first.

On the other hand, Parker figured that whoever Payton was planning to meet would wait at least until he or she was certain that the two were not already under surveillance. He gave them two, maybe three days at most, before contact would be made. This time he was right.

CHAPTER 25

October 22nd

Early Sunday morning, Payton's room phone rang. He had it before the second ring. Across the street, the reels on a slow-speed tape recorder began to move.

“Hello,” Payton said, anticipating hearing his friend’s voice.

“Steve. I’m glad you made it,” Mark Albright replied.

Payton breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thanks.” Albright’s grief was almost palpable. “We need to get together–and soon.”

“What’s this about Wingate?”

“I’d rather wait to tell you. It’s a long, complicated story that’s best explained in person.”

Payton realized that his friend was terrified of Wingate’s power. Nonetheless, Payton had to tell Mark about their situation. “I’m afraid Wingate’s already on to us, Mark. He bugged the house we were renting in Pine Lakes and has had us under round-the-clock surveillance, but we were able to get away.”

“Does he suspect that you’re here?” Albright asked apprehensively.

“I don’t think so,” Payton replied, then added. “At least not yet.”

“Good, but the sooner we meet, the better.”

“Just tell me when and where.”

“Your hotel’s too risky. I’d like to meet someplace that’ll give you time to shake any surveillance–that is, if there’s any on you. How about tonight, say midnight at the Wapping tube station? Do you know where it is?”

“No, but I’ll find it. See you then.” As Payton hung up, the
recorder’s twin reels stopped.

Before Janet could barrage him with questions, Steve said, “We’re going to meet Mark tonight at one of the Underground stations.”

“How did he sound?” Janet asked, a concerned look on her face.

“Scared, and I can’t blame him, what with his father’s murder and all.”

“I hope he’s got what we need to tie this mess up and hand the whole thing over to the authorities.”

“He must have. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be running,” Payton replied. “Well, we’ve got some time to kill. Want to stretch your legs a bit?”

“Aren’t you tired?” Janet wondered how he kept going after the long flight.

“Tired, yes. But my head’s going a mile a minute, and I’d rather be doing something–anything–than sitting here staring at the four walls.”

“What’s wrong with the four walls if I’m in them?” Janet asked teasingly.

“Good point,” Steve said as he reached for her.

CHAPTER 26

Payton awoke almost two hours later to find Janet snuggled next to him. His movement woke her. She yawned and stretched simultaneously. “I’m starving. What’s for dinner.”

“Anything, M’lady’s heart desires,” Steve said with a flourish. After all they were in London.

“I’m ravenous. Maybe we can find something off the tourist beat–something Italian or French.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

“Really?” Janet asked, poking him in the ribs.

They dressed and Payton shaved for the second time today, scraping the five o’clock shadow from his face. When he was done, a new person looked back at him from the bathroom mirror.

“Better wear shoes you’ll be comfortable walking in. I’m not sure where we’ll end up eating, but it might not be close to the hotel.”

They left the main entrance, crossed over Knightsbridge, and followed Cromwell Road down toward the Victoria and Albert Museum. All along the busy thoroughfare quaint side streets branched off. At each intersection, they looked to see if any restaurant sign caught their attention. If something looked promising, Payton and Janet walked down for a closer look.

One member of Wingate’s security team always kept the couple in sight, but following instructions, maintained a loose tail. He had been standing outside Harrod’s for almost half an hour when Payton and Janet left the Hyde Park. Obviously they were going out for dinner. As they crossed Knightsbridge, Parker’s man took up position half a block behind the couple.

After twenty minutes of checking out menus posted in the front windows of various restaurants, they selected a small Italian bistro that served excellent pasta, fantastic garlic bread, a generous antipas
to, and an equally good Chianti. They finished off two bottles of the Chianti, eating as if it were their last meal.

.   .   .   .   .   .

With the London team in position, surveillance photos were coming over almost around the clock, which wasn’t surprising since it took nearly a minute to transmit each image back to the States. Parker waited until the last of the digitized photos were stored on his portable computer’s hard drive before heading up to the mansion. They had recently received the set of over seventy images from the team. Because of the time difference, the group would most likely be the last that they’d get tonight. By nine o’clock London time, the image stream would tail off as most of the guests were in for the evening.

Wingate, eager to locate the one person who could pull all the pieces together for Payton, stopped his work as Parker walked into the room. The industrialist carefully studied each picture as it was displayed on the built
-in LED.

Before ruling out anyone, Wingate was going to be certain that the person had no connection with him or the Committee. They quickly eliminated most of the photos. Halfway through the group, Parker’s portable cellular phone rang. He listened for a few minutes,
and then returned the phone to his pocket.

“Payton just received a call from someone named Mark,” Parker told Wingate.

Wingate’s mind clicked. “Sonofabitch, Mark Albright. I knew we’d get him if we kept at it. They’re going to meet and I want that meeting stopped. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,”
Parker said. There was no need to read between the lines about the instructions Parker would send to the team.

When Parker got back to the guesthouse, he walked into his office, picked up the phone, and dialed the  Savoy Hotel. When the team leader answered the phone, Parker told him to activate the encryption unit. With the line secure, Parker went on.

“For confirmation, I’m going to send you a photo of the target. Take him out, and do it before he has a chance to pass any information on to Payton.” With Albright out of the way, Payton would be left with no leads to follow and nowhere else to go.

“What do we do about Payton and the woman–the same thing?” his man in London inquired.

“If you have the opportunity to get rid of Payton and the Phillips woman, make certain it looks like an accident. Otherwise don’t bother.” The last thing Parker wanted was to have three mysterious deaths, each attributed to foul play. Even the London Metropolitan Police would find that odd.

“And no matter what you do, make sure that no one can tie the couple to the target. So far, the two of them are in the dark. As long as they don’t talk to the target, we’ll be all right. I want you to get back over to the hotel and find out if the target left Payton a message
–either in the room or at the desk.”

Parker replaced the telephone handset in the cradle. Things were finally going his way.

CHAPTER 27

Throughout the rest of the evening, time passed as if each second were coated with a thick layer of molasses. Around nine, Payton decided that it was time to sit Janet down for a chat.

“When we get to the station, stay clear until I’m sure there’s not going to be any trouble.”

“Steve. . . ,” Janet started in protest.

“No, hear me out. I know we both feel this meeting is aboveboard. But if this is really one of Wingate’s traps, I don’t want him to net both of us. If anything goes wrong and something happens to me, it’ll be up to you to get to the authorities.”

“And if it’s not?” Janet asked, disappointed but not surprised at the way he wanted to approach the meeting.

“When I’m sure it’s safe, I’ll signal you. In the meantime, watch the platform. If you see anything or anyone acting suspicious, get my attention any way you can. If things sour, get out of there. Don’t wait for a train
. Don’t mess around. Go up the steps and out of the station. Grab a cab back here. If I get away, I’ll meet you in the room. If I’m not back in two hours, go to the police.”

Janet didn’t like having Payton hung out there, exposed, but she knew that his plan made sense. His approach wasn’t fail
-safe, but it gave them a chance of coming out on top.

“If I give you the all clear and you join us, let me do the talking. I listed the things we need to know about Wingate. If Mark can throw some light on this situation, we’ll be in good shape.”

.  .  .  .  .  .

At eleven forty-five, they left the hotel and started over to the Underground station at Knightsbridge. The sign over the platform indicated that the next train due to arrive was going toward Wapping Station. Ten minutes later, they exited the Northern line. Although there were only a few passengers, Payton waited until the platform emptied before looking for Mark.

As planned, he left Janet halfway up the platform, where she could quickly spot anyone coming up behind him, but close enough to the steps leading up to the street level. Then he walked down the platform in the direction that the train had come. Before he had gone far, he spied Mark Albright sitting on the last bench.

As Payton edged closer, Albright appeared to stare straight ahead. Things weren’t right. His heart beating faster, Payton looked around the area, paying heed to his gut feelings. He turned to check on Janet; she was where he had left her, watching his progress intently. Payton broke into a run.

“Mark, it’s me,” Payton said as he reached the bench.

Albright’s eyes fluttered. “Wingate...killed my father.”

“I know,” Payton said, desperately trying to ascertain what had happened. Payton tore open Albright’s topcoat, and then unbuttoned his suit jacket. Right over his heart, blood dribbled from a small puncture wound, a small caliber bullet or an ice pick, probably the latter.

Payton glanced over his shoulder. “Get out of here, Janet.” He waved her toward the steps. “Get out!”

Janet hesitated. “Get out of here,” Payton yelled again, his voice reverberating like a boom box within the tile-covered walls. As Janet ran toward the steps, Payton cradled Mark Albright’s body. The dying man’s lips quivered as if they had another message to deliver. Payton moved closer.

“Go ahead, Mark. Tell me.”

With ebbing strength, Albright said, “He’s going to assassinate the President. Wants Darby to take over.” Albright’s eyes glazed. Blood seeped from between the lips that had spoken the words Payton dreaded.

Slowly, he eased Albright’s body back against the bench. Death was in Albright’s unseeing eyes.

Payton's mind raced. He hated to leave his friend lying there on the cold concrete, but what choices did he have? His mind began to search for another alternative. Then it hit him: this whole thing was a setup, a carefully conceived trap.

Payton took a deep breath, then turned. The stench of urine and stale tobacco caused Payton to hurry down the platform and away from the rancid air. He had to get out of there. He could chance trying the street, but Wingate’s henchmen might be waiting for him to join Janet. If they stood any chance of thwarting the assassination, Payton had to play the odds. If they were waiting for Janet, he had to take an alternative route back to the hotel.

Suddenly, Payton heard the faint sound of a train. As the high-speed behemoth came closer, he felt the train’s vibration through his feet. The tracks were relatively straight coming into Waterloo Station.

By moving closer to the front of the platform, Payton could make out the light from the train’s headlamp reflected off the blackened tunnel walls. The huge cavern amplified the engine’s roar as the train approached. From his position, Payton couldn’t gauge the train’s speed, but it had to be at least
fifty miles an hour.

Suddenly Payton's peripheral vision detected a furtive movement behind him. It froze him in place.

In spite of everything that happened to them so far, Payton's reflexes weren’t honed well enough to sidestep the attack. He started back from the platform’s edge just as the killer plowed into his legs.

Payton tried to maintain his balance, but his feet refused to cooperate. The man’s momentum propelled him over the precipice at the platform’s edge, and down toward to the tracks. He was falling, going over the side. If he landed on the electrified track that powered the trains, he was dead.

Payton tucked his arms and legs in close to his body, and brought his knees up close to his chest trying to make himself as small a target as possible. If he was lucky and didn’t land directly on the live rail, he’d die when the arriving train turned him into a bloody pulp.

Payton's body hit the tracks at an angle, feet first. Pain exploded up from his right ankle, but this wasn’t the time to worry about it. The train’s roar was deafening, too close to bother trying to see where it was. It was already there, nearly on top of him. The mass of air pushed ahead of the speeding train tried to drive him up the tracks into the tunnel, but he wouldn’t give up. Though Payton's mind desperately tried to find some way to safety, there was no time to think. To survive, he had to react. Anything less would be his death.

The tracks were too low for Payton to jump up onto the platform, not that he could have. His ankle was throbbing. In spite of the pain, he constricted his muscles as much as he could. With what would probably be his last act, he pushed off from the tracks with every ounce of energy left in his battered body.

Payton glanced up; he was facing the platform. Its edge overhung part of the train bed, allowing passengers to board the train without stepping across a large gap between the platform and the floor of the car. In the fleeting seconds before the train reached him, Payton realized that his last chance to live depended upon reaching the area beneath the overhang.

Payton clutched at the side of the platform, praying that there was enough room for his body to share the tight space with the train’s side carriage. As he wrapped his arms around his legs trying to protect himself, the screech of multiple air brakes deafened him. Payton closed his eyes and waited for the impact he knew was sure to come. He had given it his best.

After what seemed like an eternity, the screeching and hissing ceased. Slowly Payton pried open his eyes. There were no bright lights, no celestial openings through which angels beckoned him to pass. He was alive. The train had stopped inches from where he sat scrunched up against the platform
, trapped between the mass of concrete and the train. Holding his claustrophobia in check, Payton counted the seconds, waiting for the train to leave. While part of him rejoiced that he was still alive, the other half desperately wanted the train gone.

Payton knew that all hell would break loose if any of the departing passengers noticed of Mark’s body. But because of the late hour, no one exited the train. After what seemed like an eternity, the train slowly pulled out of the station, building up speed as it re
-entered the far tunnel.

With the tracks temporarily clear, Payton needed to get a handle on his predicament. The rail nearest the platform was not electrified, so at least he was safe in moving out from underneath the overhang. It was only after Payton stood next to the deserted platform that he thought about the man sent to kill him.

Payton peered over the platform’s edge. The benches now sat empty. No shadows lurked near the back wall of the station or around the concrete pillars nearer to the tracks. He was alone.

Payton placed his hands on the edge of the platform, and tried pulling himself up. The platform’s design presented no hold for his feet, and Payton's cut hands and bruised arms weren’t able to pull his weight onto the platform. He knew what he needed to do.

He had to swing one leg up and onto the top of the platform in the hope of using it as an aid to climbing off the tracks. If he tried using his left leg, all his weight would be on the right. That wouldn’t work. On the other hand, if he propelled himself up using his left, he’d be transferring his weight to his injured leg as he pulled himself up. He’d have to chance it.

Payton heaved off the tracks, shifting his weight to his good leg. On his first attempt, his right leg crashed into the side of the platform and pain coursed through Payton's leg. Using his arms to cushion the rebound, Payton eased himself back down.

Again, he swung his damaged right leg up and over the top of the platform. Before his foot hit the platform surface, Payton twisted so that the hard rubber of the heel would land first, and he hoped, prevent his foot from slipping. By pressing down, he was able to keep his leg stationary. Again the pain was excruciating. Using the remaining strength in his arms, he pulled himself up.

Once back on the platform, Payton wanted to get as far from the tracks as possible. Slowly he got up, and edged away from the precipice over the tracks, still afraid that his killer would come back to make sure that he was dead. Payton took stock of his situation. Gingerly, he put weight on his right leg, silently praying that the ankle wasn’t broken. It was painful, but he could walk.

Payton looked over to where Albright’s body lay slumped against the old scarred bench. He didn’t want to leave his friend lying there like some piece of refuse. Yet everything inside him cautioned against calling the authorities. Besides, adding his demise to Mark’s would be a sheer waste. Nonetheless he was torn.

Finally, logic took precedence over emotion and Payton glanced toward the steps. On second thought, if Wingate’s people were outside watching, he’d invite a second attack. This time they’d make certain that he was dead. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to wait for the next train. This time, when it left, he’d be on it not under it.

Ten minutes later, a train pulled into the station. As soon as the doors opened, Payton jumped aboard, drawing a few puzzled looks from the sparse group of late-night riders. Dirt and grime from the tracks smudged his face. His hands were filthy, and he limped. The sleeve of his suit had ripped near the shoulder, and his pants were torn along the calf.

Any other time, Payton would have been appalled at his appearance. Tonight he didn’t give a damn. He had faced death and beaten it. What difference did it make if he got a few cuts and bruises, and looked like hell?  He was alive.

What about Janet? Had they gotten her? Had she made it back to the Hyde Park? The unanswerable questions flooded Payton's consciousness like storm water over a dam. Eagerly, he watched the station signs slip by. If they had her, what would he do then? Was she safe? Payton tried to ease the angst by assuring himself that Janet had made it back safely. If only he knew for sure.

When the doors opened, Payton raced from the train and up the steps. The anxiety that permeated his very being numbed the pain from his injury. He knew that the men who had killed Mark Albright and who had tried to murder him could be waiting for him. He didn’t care; he’d kill them
barehanded. At one point as he sprinted across Knightsbridge, Payton almost hoped that he’d run into the sons-of-bitches.

Beads of sweat took shape on his forehead and along the front of his neck. The more alarmed Payton became, the more he perspired. Rivulets of sweat dripped down his face, clouding his vision. By the time he limped back to the hotel, his shirt collar was wet, his breathing was harsh and irregular, and he was sure he could feel his heart pounding. He made it through the Hyde Park’s lobby in a blur,
and then took the steps not having time to wait for the elevator. When he reached the room, Payton held his breath while he pounded on the door. No answer.

Payton raised his fist and was about to hit the door with everything he had when it opened. Dressed in her robe, Janet stood there.

She immediately threw her arms around Payton. “Thank God you’re all right,” she exclaimed. “What happened?” Janet had taken one look and drawn the right conclusion.

“Albright’s dead. Somehow Wingate’s people found out about the meeting, and got to him first.”

Payton told her about the abortive attempt on his life, keeping his narrative down to the bare essentials.

“Do you think that Wingate’s people followed us?” Janet asked with fear in her eyes.

“They didn’t have to. They knew where we were going, or at least where Mark was meeting us.” Suddenly it dawned on him. Payton put his finger to his lips, and then guided Janet into the bathroom. He closed the door, and then turned on the shower full blast.