Алистер Маклин - Prime Target

When he had covered half a kilometre he crossed the road and went into the park again. Keeping to the far side of the trees and bushes he walked back towards Scharweber Strasse. He located the cane where he had left it sticking in the ground and re-mounted the assimilator, positioning its viewfinder on the lock plate of the door at number 17a. Then he sat down to wait.

At 5.00 a.m. Central time, C.W. Whitlock rose, showered and shaved, then got dressed. Breakfast came to his room at 5.45.

When he had eaten he set up his Macintosh PowerBook on a writing table by the balcony window. He plugged the cord from the internal communications card into the telephone socket on the wall. When he had dialled the UN server number and tapped in the UNACO password for Mailbox Access, the screen showed him a picture of a padlocked box. He put in his personal access code and the lid of the box opened. An information balloon appeared and told him there were two messages. He opened the first one. A facsimile of a note on FBI notepaper came up on the screen. It was from Special Agent Tim Webster, confirming that business and social links between Harold Gibson, Don Chadwick and Emerett Pearce were being exhaustively researched as a matter of priority; all relevant information would be posted to that address no later than forty-eight hours from the date and time of the note.

The second note was from ICON Administration in Zürich, Switzerland. It was addressed to All Agencies Concerned:

A third breach of ICON data protection has been reported. Clocked records show that a break-in occurred at 4.17 p.m. Mid-European time on 21st March, 1996. The files were uncloaked for only a microsecond before alternative encryption routines cut in. It is clear that although the unprotected period is small, it is possible for an intruder to make substantial transfers of data with the aid of ultra-speed electronic-capture apparatus recently developed and soon to be marketed by Preceptor Systems of California.

It is estimated that Andreas Wolff will complete testing of the new generation of safeguard modules for ICON within a few days, a week at most. When the new safeguards are in place, the system will be secure for the foreseeable future.

Whitlock picked up his mobile, switched on the scrambler circuit and called Philpott at the Fairmont. He came on the line at once.

‘You sound fresh for the time of day,’ Whitlock said.

‘Texas air. It’s full of fizz. I could never live out here full time. I’d burn myself out in a year. What’s up?’

Whitlock read him the note from Zürich.

‘We do have a responsibility there,’ Philpott said. ‘I can’t begin to imagine the ramifications if ICON falls down. Can you get a signal to Mike?’

‘If he’s operational his phone will be off. I could leave something for him in the skyhigh mailbox. He checks it twice a day, when he can get to a terminal.’

‘Let him know what’s happened. Tell him that when he’s finished in Berlin he’s to go to Vienna, post haste, and make a personal evaluation of Andreas Wolff’s security.’

‘Vienna?’

‘Wolff’s staying there to work on the ICON software. It’s a superstitious thing – Vienna is where he devised the secure systems in the first place. The address is on my Rolodex. Call my office and they’ll give it to you.’

‘Who’s laying on Wolff’s security?’

‘The Austrian police, of all people.’ Philpott sighed. ‘He’s an Austrian national, he’s one of their treasures, and what with one thing and another, they insist it’s their duty as well as their privilege to look after him. The thing is, they’re not too hot on anti-terrorist stuff, although they seem to think they are.’

‘We could override them.’

‘I know, but we should try diplomacy first. I don’t want to tread on any Austrian feet unless there’s a clear indication that Wolff is at serious risk. So get Mike on to it. Tell him he has carte blanche to sniff around, and if there’s any comeback I’ll handle it.’ He paused. ‘Or you will, if I’m otherwise engaged.’

‘Very good.’

‘Anything else to report?’

‘Nothing important. The FBI have prioritized a detailed search on Gibson, Chadwick and Pearce. And I have a headache. I think it was the beer in that place Russ Grundy took us last night.’

‘Can’t say I feel a thing. Take an aspirin, do all the little things you have to do, then get yourself ready for the big performance.’

Whitlock thought for a moment. ‘The funeral,’ he said. ‘I was up so early, I was thinking it was tomorrow.’

‘You haven’t forgotten what to do?’

‘Of course not.’ Whitlock looked at his black tie and Nikon camera hanging on a chairback by the balcony door. ‘I’ve got the props, I’ve got the motivation. If I need anything else I’ll let you know.’

‘Jolly good. I’ll catch up with you later in the day. Best of luck.’

‘Thanks,’ Whitlock said. ‘Pray I don’t get lynched, won’t you?’

It was after one o’clock before the door at 17a Scharweber Strasse opened and Erika Stramm came out. This time Gregor was with her. She locked the door with the sonic key and they moved off, heading northwards on foot.

Mike waited five minutes then stood up, brushed the wet from his thermal suit, snatched the assimilator off the cane and crossed the road with it. This time when he entered the apartment he put on the lights straight away and went directly to the sitting room.

The speaker attached to the wall at the place where Erika had looked was screwed tightly into the plaster and brick. The front grille was not the removable kind and there was no gap between the casing and the wall. He put his hands on either side of the case and tried gently to shake it. The speaker was firm as a rock.

He took out his torch, tipped out the batteries and gave the case an extra hard shake. A stubby ultrasound unit fell out on his palm. He stood back, pointing it in the general direction of the speaker and the chair. After a moment it produced a note, a steady whine. He moved it nearer the speaker and the note rose. Near the back of the chair it dropped. The shift between the metal of the speaker and the wood and cloth of the chair produced exactly the transitional note he expected. There was no blip, no intermediate signal to indicate something unseen.

He dropped to his knees and put the ultrasound unit at floor level. Keeping it pointing forward, he slowly raised it from the floor. When it was level with the seat of the chair there was a blip, a distinct moment of very high pitch. He edged closer and moved the unit upwards in a straight line again. Once more it blipped. A third attempt, inches from the front of the chair, produced the sharpest blip yet. Something unusual was hidden there, somewhere in the area of the padded seat.

He felt the seat, prodded sides and back, felt underneath.

‘Ah…’

Something slender with hard corners. He slid his fingertips around the underside of the cushion and found a stud fastener. He opened it and the object dropped on to the carpet. It was a computer floppy disk.

The computer set-up was in a small office next to the bathroom, and the computer had been left switched on. Mike sat down and put in the disk. After a moment a message appeared on the screen:

ARCHIVE OPEN.

Erika Stramm was hot for electronic keys. The floppy was for unlocking the files section of the hard disk. He clicked on the archive symbol and it opened on to a row of ten different-coloured labels. One jumped up at him: JZ: Verfassung und Zielen.

He opened it. The file was only ten pages long. He closed it again and searched the hard disk for a compression program. He found one, made a drag-copy of the file and compressed it.