The Eleventh Commandment (1998) (35 page)

‘No, he didn’t have a chance,’ replied Gutenburg. ‘I gave an order to block his cellphone the moment we discovered he was in Russia.’ He smiled. ‘We can, however, still identify who’s been trying to call him, and who he’s been trying to call.’

‘Does that mean you’ve found out who he’s reporting back to?’

‘Jackson has only dialled one number on that line since he landed in Russia, and I suspect he only risked that because it was an emergency.’

‘Who did he call?’ asked Dexter impatiently.

‘An unlisted number at the White House.’

Dexter didn’t even blink. ‘Our friend Mr Lloyd, no doubt.’

‘No doubt,’ replied Gutenburg.

‘Is Mrs Fitzgerald aware that Jackson is reporting directly to the White House?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Gutenburg. ‘Otherwise I suspect she would have tried to contact him herself some time ago.’

Dexter nodded. ‘Then we must make certain that she
never
finds out.’

Gutenburg showed no emotion. ‘Understood. But I can’t do anything about that until I’ve got my hands on the family video.’

‘What’s the latest status on that?’ asked Dexter.

‘We wouldn’t have progressed an inch if we hadn’t picked up a clue in an intercepted phone call. When Joan Bennett rang Mrs Fitzgerald from Langley at two in the morning to say she’d be with her in an hour, one of my people checked what she’d been calling up on the reference library’s computer. It soon became clear that she must have stumbled on something that made her suspect it was her old boss who was in prison in St Petersburg. But, as you know, she never kept her appointment with Mrs Fitzgerald.’

‘A little too close for comfort.’

‘Agreed. But when she failed to turn up, Mrs Fitzgerald drove out to the GW Parkway and waited for the police to dredge up the car.’

‘She probably saw a report on TV, or heard about it on the radio,’ said Dexter.

‘Yes, that’s what we assumed - the story led the local news that morning. Once she knew for certain it was Bennett in the car, she immediately phoned her daughter at Stanford. If she sounds a little sleepy, that’s because it was only five o’clock in the morning in California.’ He leant forward again and touched the ‘Play’ button on the tape recorder.

‘
Hi, Tara. It’s Mom.
’

‘
Hi, Mom. What time is it?
’

‘
I’m sorry to call so early, darling, but I have some very sad news.
’

‘
Not Dad?
’

‘
No, Joan Bennett - she’s been killed in a car crash.
’

‘
Joan’s dead? I can’t believe it. Tell me it’s not true.
’

‘
I’m afraid it is. And I have a terrible feeling that in some way it’s connected to the reason Connor hasn’t returned home.
’

‘
Come on, Mom, aren’t you getting a little paranoid? After all, Dad’s only been away for three weeks.
’

‘
You may be right, but I’ve still decided to move that video you made of his farewell party to a safer place.
’

‘
Why?
’

‘
Because it’s the only proof I have that your father ever met a man called Nick Gutenburg, let alone worked for him.
’

The Deputy Director touched the ‘Stop’ button. ‘The conversation continues for some time, but it doesn’t add a great deal to our knowledge. When Mrs Fitzgerald left the house a few minutes later carrying a videotape, the officer listening in realised the significance of what he’d just heard, and tailed her to the university. She didn’t go straight to the Admissions Office as usual, but dropped in at the library, where she went to the computer section on the first floor. She spent twenty minutes searching for something on one of the computers, and left with a printout of about a dozen pages. Then she took the elevator down to the audio-visual research centre on the ground floor. The officer didn’t want to risk joining her in the elevator, so once he knew which floor she’d stopped at, he went to the computer she’d been working on and tried to call up the last file that had been opened.’

‘She’d erased everything, of course,’ said Dexter.

‘Of course,’ said Gutenburg.

‘But what about the printout?’

‘Again, no clue as to what was on it.’

‘She can’t have lived with Connor Fitzgerald for twenty-eight years and not picked up something about the way we work.’

‘The officer left the library and waited in his car. After a few minutes Mrs Fitzgerald came out of the building. She was no longer carrying the tape, but she was …’

‘She must have deposited it in the audio-visual centre.’

‘Exactly my thought,’ said Gutenburg.

‘How many tapes does the university store in its library?’

‘Over twenty-five thousand,’ said Gutenburg.

‘We don’t have enough time to go through them all,’ said Dexter.

‘We wouldn’t have, if Mrs Fitzgerald hadn’t made her first mistake.’

Dexter didn’t interrupt this time.

‘When she left the library she didn’t have the video, but she did have the printout. Our agent followed her to the Admissions Office, where I’m happy to say her principles got the better of her.’

Dexter raised an eyebrow.

‘Before returning to her office, Mrs Fitzgerald called in at the recycling centre. She’s not the Vice-President of GULP by accident.’

‘GULP?’

‘Georgetown University Litter Patrol. She dumped the printout in the paper depository.’

‘Good. So what did you find on it?’

‘A complete list of the videos currently on loan and unlikely to be returned until the beginning of next term.’

‘So she must have felt it was safe to leave her video in an empty box, because no one would come across it for weeks.’

‘Correct,’ said Gutenburg.

‘How many videos are there that fall into that category?’

‘Four hundred and seventy-two,’ replied Gutenburg.

‘Presumably you’ve requisitioned every one.’

‘I thought about doing that, but if an inquisitive student or member of staff became aware of a CIA presence on the campus, all hell would break loose.’

‘Good thinking,’ said Dexter. ‘So how do you intend to go about finding that video?’

‘I’ve detailed a dozen hand-picked officers, all recent graduates, to check out every one of the titles on that list until they come across a home-made video in what should be an empty box. The problem is that, despite their being dressed like students, I can’t afford to leave any one of them inside the library for longer than twenty minutes, or let them go there more than twice in a day, if they’re not going to stick out like sore thumbs, especially as there’s hardly anyone around at this time of year. So the exercise is proving rather time-consuming.’

‘How long do you think it will be before they find it?’

‘We could get lucky and come across it almost immediately, but my bet is that it will probably take a day or two, three at the most.’

‘Don’t forget you have to be back in touch with Mrs Fitzgerald in less than forty-eight hours.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten. But if we find the tape before then, that won’t be necessary.’

‘Unless Mrs Fitzgerald also recorded her phone conversation with you.’

Gutenburg smiled. ‘She did, but it was erased within seconds of her replacing the receiver. You should have seen the pleasure it gave Professor Ziegler to demonstrate his latest toy.’

‘Excellent,’ said Dexter. ‘Ring me the moment you get your hands on that video. Then there will be nothing to stop us eliminating the one person who could still …’ The red phone on her desk began to ring, and she grabbed it without completing her sentence.

‘The Director,’ she said, pressing a button on her stopwatch. ‘When did this happen? … Are you absolutely certain? … And Jackson? Where is he?’ When she had heard the reply, she immediately put the phone down. Gutenburg noticed that the stopwatch had reached forty-three seconds.

‘I do hope you find that videotape within the next forty-eight hours,’ said the Director, looking across the desk at her Deputy.

‘Why?’ asked Gutenburg, looking anxious.

‘Because Mitchell tells me that Fitzgerald was hanged at eight o’clock this morning St Petersburg time, and that Jackson has just boarded a United Airlines flight out of Frankfurt, bound for Washington.’

BOOK THREE

A
T SEVEN A.M.
, the three thugs entered his cell and marched him off to the Chief’s office. Once they had left the room Bolchenkov locked the door, and without a word went over to a wardrobe in the corner. Inside was a policeman’s uniform, which he indicated Connor should change into. Because of his loss of weight over the past week, the clothes hung on him, and he was grateful for the braces. But with the aid of a wide-brimmed hat and a long blue coat, he managed to look like any of the thousand policemen who would be walking the beat in St Petersburg that morning. He left his prison clothes at the bottom of the wardrobe, wondering how the Chief would dispose of them. Still without saying a word, Bolchenkov ushered him out of his office and into a tiny anteroom, then locked him in.

After a long silence, Connor heard a door opening, then footsteps, followed by another door opening, which could have been the wardrobe in the Chief’s office. He didn’t move a muscle as he tried to work out what was going on. The first door opened again and two, possibly three, people rushed noisily into the office. They left a few seconds later, dragging something or someone out of the room and slamming the door behind them.

Moments later the door was unlocked, and Bolchenkov indicated that he should come out. They went through the office and back into the corridor. If the Chief turned left, they would be returning to his cell; but he turned right. Connor’s legs felt very weak, but he followed as quickly as he could.

The first thing he saw when he stepped into the courtyard was the scaffold, and someone placing a magnificent gilded chair with plush red upholstery a few paces in front of it. He didn’t need to be told who would be sitting there. As he and Bolchenkov walked across the yard, Connor noticed a group of policemen dressed in long blue coats like the one he was wearing dragging passers-by off the street, presumably to witness the execution.

The Chief moved quickly across the gravel to a car on the far side of the courtyard. Connor was about to open the passenger door when Bolchenkov shook his head and pointed to the driver’s seat. Connor took his place behind the wheel.

‘Drive up to the gate and then stop,’ said the Chief as he got into the passenger seat.

Connor kept the car in first gear as he drove slowly across the yard, stopping in front of two guards posted by the closed gate. One of them saluted the Chief and immediately began checking under the vehicle, while the other looked through the back window and inspected the boot.

The Chief leaned across and pulled down the sleeve on Connor’s left wrist. When the guards had completed their search, they returned to their positions and saluted Bolchenkov once again. Neither of them took the slightest interest in the driver. The vast wooden bolts were removed and the great gates of the Crucifix Prison were pulled open.

‘Get moving,’ said the Chief under his breath as a small boy ran into the prison compound, looking as if he knew exactly where he was going.

‘Which way?’ Connor whispered.

‘Right.’

Connor swung the car across the road and began driving alongside the Neva towards the city centre. There wasn’t another car in sight.

‘Cross the next bridge,’ said Bolchenkov, ‘then take the first left.’

As they passed the prison on the far side of the river, Connor glanced across at its high walls. The police were still trying to coax people in to add to the small crowd who had already gathered to witness his hanging. How was Bolchenkov going to get away with it?

Connor continued driving for another couple of hundred metres, until Bolchenkov said, ‘Pull over here.’ He slowed down and brought the car to a halt behind a large white BMW with one of its rear doors open.