The Lucy Ghosts Read online

  The music, piped, surged up as the first pair of ushers and bridesmaids walked down the terrace from the glass doors to the Chuppah. They came in single pairs, the usher on the left, the white short skirted bridesmaid on the right carrying a posy of fresh cut flowers. When the first couple reached the canopy, they split, the usher to his left, the bridesmaid to her right. They waited there for the next couple to walk down the seventy foot long path.

  There were ten pairs in all, ten couples dressed identically and separating as they reached the Chuppah. When they had finished, and formed themselves in a gently curved row facing the audience in the way of the Jewish faith where men and women are separated at their place of worship, the close relatives of both families walked down towards the canopy and took their place at the spare seats on the front row.

  Then came the groom, escorted by two men, his father and his future father-in-law. They left him at the canopy, next to the Rabbi. Everyone turned expectantly. The bride would soon be making her appearance. Adam watched Trimmler, then kept his vigil. If someone was to strike, it would be when everyone's attention was diverted elsewhere.

  He saw nothing to alarm him.

  The bride came through the glass doors, accompanied by her mother and future mother-in-law, all three of them carrying lighted candles. She was a plump girl, in her mid thirties. Adam noted the small bump on her stomach, too big for the white wedding dress to hide. He watched them walk down to the groom and the waiting ceremony.

  When they reached the canopy, the two elder women went to their seats at the front whilst their respective spouses came forward to escort the bride on her last short journey. As the cantor started to sing 'Mi Adier', they led her round the groom and canopy seven times in the orthodox manner. They completed the last circle at the front of the Chuppah, where the bride joined her husband-to-be in front of the rabbi. The couple held hands as the rabbi recited his blessing over the cup of wine he held in his hand.

  The movement was slight, but unusual enough to catch Adam's eye.

  It was to his right, up on a third floor balcony at the rear of the hotel.

  The closed curtain had moved, not in the haphazard way that one would expect as a result of a sea breeze, but in a deliberate manner, as if someone was holding the curtain edge stiffly so as they could see but not be seen.

  It was then he saw the black shiny barrel slide out from the curtain. It was only out for a few seconds before being withdrawn.

  By the time Adam had left his seat and was through the big glass doors he had worked out which room the sniper was in. Behind him, surprised by his sudden movement, Billie and Tucker decided to follow him.

  The rabbi continued his blessing.

  The guests and Heinrich Trimmler sat still and excitedly watched the ceremony unfold.

  Adam didn't take the lift, but found the service stairs and climbed them, two at a time. When he had reached the third level he stopped at the steel door and waited. He heard the other two rushing up behind him.

  'Quietly!' he shouted down the open stairwell. 'Quietly.'

  He heard them slow down as he pulled the Browning 9mm from his shoulder holster. He didn't want their noise warning whoever might be on the other side of that door, any look-out who was in the hallway. When they had reached him, he motioned them to be quiet, then slowly turned the round knob and pushed against the door.

  The hallway was empty.

  He came along the hallway towards the room he believed the sniper to be in.

  'What the hell's going on?' asked Tucker quietly as he followed Adam.

  'I saw something. In one of these rooms.'

  'What?'

  'I don't know. Maybe a rifle barrel.'

  'Shit. You sure?'

  Adam had stopped outside the room door, his hand-gun ready for any quick response. He listened, and when he was satisfied that there was no movement from inside the room, he tried the handle. It was locked, as he had expected.

  'Let me get a passkey,' whispered Tucker behind him.

  'No time,' answered Adam as he stepped back and fired the hand-gun at the lock, smashing it from the wood of the door and out of its latch. He lashed at the door with his foot and kicked it open, fell into the room rolling across the soft carpet with the Browning cocked and ready to fire. The room was empty but the balcony glass door was open, the curtain stretched across it and flapping outwards. As Adam came to his feet, a man stepped through the curtain, a long nosed black cylinder in his hand. He was wearing a morning suit and Adam recognised him as the usher who had let them into the wedding.

  'He's got a gun,' screamed Billie behind him.

  The shriek startled the usher who stepped back out onto the balcony as Adam lunged across the room and dragged him down, ripping the tube from his hands and holding the Browning muzzle to his head.

  The usher screamed and started to sob uncontrollably.

  The wedding ceremony came to an abrupt end as the rabbi, the couple and all the guests looked up to where the scream had come from.

  That was when Adam realised the usher had been holding a long lensed camera, a Nikon F4 with a 300 mm lens, in his hand.

  He'd been taking pictures for the family album from the vantage of the balcony.

  Shit.

  Adam put the gun into his holster and stepped away from the sobbing man.

  'It's a fucking camera,' said Phil Tucker as he looked through the curtain.

  Adam looked down on the assembled guests, saw them all looking up at him. He shook his head and turned away, stepped through the curtain and back into the darkness of the room.

  'A camera. That's all it was.'

  'Great trick, tough guy,' said Billie. 'What's next? Take out the groom?'

  Behind him, from the other side of the curtain, he heard Tucker trying to calm the hysterical usher. He looked at Billie and grinned. She'd forgotten to keep her chin forward.

  'Wimping bloody Californians,' muttered Adam as he walked past Billie and went down to wait for the others in the car park.

  Nice one, Marcus. Welcome to the American Dream.

  The ride back to the Mirimar Air Base was in equal silence to the one they had made to the wedding. This time Trimmler didn't ask Tucker to turn down the air conditioning.

  The police had arrived at the hotel, but Tucker had taken control of the situation and explained they were there on agency business. The wedding had continued, albeit without the usher who had retired to his room in a state of shock, and Trimmler had left immediately after the ceremony.

  'I will contact your superiors,' Trimmler barked when he climbed out of the car at the Mirimar Air Base. 'I will not be put in such an embarrassing position again.'

  The trio watched him storm off to his temporary quarters before returning to Billie's apartment.

  'You'd better stay here,' said Tucker, 'until someone tells me what to do with you.'

  'House arrest, eh?' said Adam.

  'Look, just cut out the humour. Okay. Damn it, you could've killed that guy.'

  'But I didn't.'

  'What's that mean?'

  'Think about it,' answered Adam and he went to his bedroom.

  'But I didn't.' Tucker mimicked Adam. 'The guy talks in riddles,' he slammed at Billie.

  'He's just telling you he was always in control.'

  'Some fucking control. Jeeze, what a mess. They'll love this at the Agency. Send Tucker out into the big wide world and he shoots up a wedding. That'll look great on my record sheet.'

  'It could've been a rifle.'

  'It wasn't.'

  'But it could've been. And that's what you've got to tell Washington.'

  Tucker considered her advice, it made sense. 'Okay. So we support him. But if he blows again...Damn it, he's not stable.'

  'He's another breed. Not like us. He's a professional. Just did as he was trained. We're in his office, in his space. We're the amateurs, Phil. And that's a fact.'

  Ch.22

  CIA Headquarters

 
Langley

  Virginia.

  The Deputy Director of Administration read the faxed report that Tucker had personally sent the next morning. Next to him, the DDI, not a man known for detailed study of written matter, sat back in his chair and waited for his colleague to finish. He had already skimmed the report and sensed events were turning to his advantage.

  Phil Tucker, was in on the meeting, linked through a conference phone linked to the local office in Southern California, placed at the end of the table. They sensed his nervousness as he waited for the ordeal to begin. Tucker knew someone was going to nail him to the cross.

  'Not good,' said the DDA, finally looking up from the typed sheets in front of him.

  'Damn right it's not good,' came in the DDI, his patience snapping as he moved in for the kill. 'Who the hell okayed his hardware?'

  'I did,' replied the DDA calmly.

  'That wasn't very clever, was it?'

  'The British wanted their man armed. We had to agree to that.'

  'We?'

  'The Exec Director and myself.'

  'Hell, I should'a been consulted.'

  'Bring that up with the Exec Director.'

  'Some professional. Shooting up a damn photographer.'

  'Nobody fired a shot.'

  'But everyone saw him. Jeeze, calling the damn British in.'

  'Come on. We have to keep this thing under wraps. We still have a rogue computer out there.' The DDA turned to the intercom phone. 'Phil, have we got any further on that?'

  'Not yet.' Tucker had already checked with the two programmers before calling on the conference line. 'There's a consensus that we should put it out to some private specialists. In Silicon Valley.'

  'That's great. Bring in the whole world,' snapped the DDI.

  'Why?' asked the DDA of Tucker.

  'There're people out there we trust,' replied Tucker's metallic voice. 'Good programmers. Some of the best in the world. And they've done confidential work for us before. Government specialists. It won't get out.'

  'Okay. But make sure they understand the confidentiality of this one. Otherwise they lose all government contracts. Make sure they understand that.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Set that in motion now. I'll contact you if there's any change.'

  'What about Trimmler?'

  'Continue as before. Just...uh..tell the Brit to make sure he keeps his hands in his pocket a bit longer before jerking off next time.'

  'Yes, sir.' They heard Tucker click off the line.

  'Clerks should be pushing pens. Not running field operations as important as this.' The DDI referred to Tucker.

  'It's what we decided.'

  'We?'

  'The Exec Dir....'

  'Why are you having these meetings without me there ?'

  'Don't ask me, ask the Exec.' The DDA knew his colleague wouldn't, nor was he prepared to admit that he waited early each morning for the Exec Director to get in so that he could give him the daily reports personally and ingratiate himself with his superior. It was a simple tactic, but effective as it convinced the other heads of departments that he had a special relationship with the Exec. It was a relationship the Exec also fostered; he had always been a firm believer in partnerships of tension between his subordinates. It helped keep them on their toes and protected his own position.

  'Time to push the Brits out,' said the DDI. 'And put our own people in.'

  'Can't do that.'

  'For Christ's sake, he pulled a gun in public.'

  'We'd look stupid. You can't ask for help in the first place, then send him packing because he was trying to protect Trimmler.'

  'What about New Orleans?'

  'They'll have to go. Including the Brit. Maybe when that's over, maybe then we'll have a clearer idea of what's going on. Maybe then we can send him home.'

  'Shit. Nothing's going for us. Nothing.'

  The DDA felt a glow of satisfaction. His colleague was right. Nothing was going right for him. But for the DDA, things were certainly looking rosier by the minute.

  'Well,' he shrugged. 'We just need time. Things'll come right. They always do in the end.'

  Ch. 23

  La Jolla

  California.

  Adam was sitting on the balcony minding his own business when he heard the doorbell ring.

  'Billie, it's for you,' he heard Muscle call.

  'Coming,' he heard her reply from the kitchen.

  A minute later he heard her shouting, screaming obscenities, then slamming the front door.

  'What the hell's going on?' he heard Muscle yell.

  'That bastard!' she screamed. 'That bastard's served a writ on me. For a fucking divorce and no settlement.'

  'What the hell else did you expect of the shit.'

  She stormed out onto the balcony waving the legal sheaf in her hand and went to the balustrade, leant over to catch a view of the process server. Muscle came out after her.

  Then she saw him.

  'You shit,' she screamed over the railings at the bright yellow Bentley Mulsanne parked there, the driver's face grinning up at her. 'Too yellow to do your own dirty work.'

  It was Peter. Her husband.

  'Get up here, just come up here,' Muscle joined in over her shoulder.

  Peter waved, arrogant and mischievous, enjoying her discomfort.

  'You said you'd wait,' she continued shrilly. 'That you wouldn't leave me high and dry. You lying shit.'

  The process server climbed into the passenger seat as Peter switched on the engine.

  'I'll fight you for every cent. You promised me a fair share. Every fucking cent I can get.' Her words were lost as he waved a final indolent farewell and drove out of the car park.

  She swung round, wild fury still in her eyes. Then she saw Adam, saw that he had seen her at her weakest moment.

  'What're you staring at?' she hissed at him.

  'Nothing,' he replied warily. Now was not the time to get involved in a domestic squabble. Over her shoulder, Muscle challenged him, dared him to respond. He saw the car pull into the front out of the corner of his eye. 'I think Tucker's back.'

  She turned and saw the Granada pull into the lot. Tucker got out, waved at the group on the balcony, unaware of the drama that had just taken place, and entered the condominium.

  'Let him in, Gary,' she told Muscle who left to open the front door. 'Don't laugh at me, mister,' she warned Adam.

  'I'm not laughing,' he replied. 'We all have our problems.'

  'And I don't need your bullshit.'

  'You're not getting it,' he said as he got up from the chair. 'If Tucker wants me, I'll be in my room.'

  'Hey.' Her tone suddenly changed. 'Don't go,' she appealed to him. 'I'm sorry. I just don't like...people seeing me with my guard down. Hell, I never expected that from him.'

  'How about if I made you a coffee?'

  She laughed. 'No. this is still my place. Why don't I make it?'

  'Why don't we both make it?'

  'Deal.'

  He held out his hand and she took it, shaking it in mock welcome.

  'Good to see you both on the same side for once,' said Tucker, walking onto the balcony.

  'Where's Gary?' Billie said, pulling her hand away from Adam.

  'Said he was going to the gym. I told him we had business to discuss.' Tucker pulled up a chair and sat down, Billie joining him at the table. 'Dammed if I can get used to this heat at Christmas. Seems wrong somehow.' He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. Then he looked up at Adam, who now leant against the balustrade. 'You have caused big problems,' he stated flatly.

  Adam said nothing, just waited for Tucker to continue.

  'Even so, we have a task to finish,' Tucker went on. 'Important enough for us to stay together on this thing as a team. I have to say this...because I've been told to...that you're to take it easy on the gunplay.'

  'There wasn't any,' replied Adam.

  'You know what I mean. Hell, I've done nothing
but sort out police and agency people since you pulled that little stunt. Not to mention calming down two hundred wedding guests, the bride and groom, and the whole damn Sheraton management. Shit, there's only the Rabbi and the State of Israel left.' Tucker laughed at his own joke as he saw Adam smile. 'Look, you're on foreign territory, on official business. Just take it easy in future. Okay?'

  'The situation was always under control.'

  'All right. It was under control. You can even have the last word. This time. But just take it easier next time.'

  'I thought I was going to have the last word.'

  'Touché,' said Billie.

  'Hey. Don't gang up on me, you two.' Tucker shook his head. 'Anyway, we're still on the case, as they say.'

  'What next?'

  'New Orleans.'

  'New Orleans?'

  'Louisiana. Trimmler's off to a big convention with Russian and other Eastern scientists.'

  'When?'

  'Tomorrow.'

  'I can't go.'

  'Orders.'

  'Something's come up. I've got to deal with it.' Billie looked at Adam as she spoke and he knew she referred to the divorce writ that had been served before Tucker arrived.

  'It'll have to wait. Job comes first.'

  She stood up angrily. 'You'll have to carry on without me for now. I've got calls to make.' She stamped off the balcony, the papers in her hand.

  'What was all that about?' asked Tucker.

  'Divorce.'

  'You're kidding.'

  'No. I'd leave her alone for a while. You know what they say. Never come between man and wife.'

  'This isn't what I expected. Field operations. Damn it. It's like amateur night out, kindergarten stuff. Some fucking operation. I need to use the phone when she's finished. Ring Jean and tell her what's happening.' Tucker dreaded the call, knew his wife was going to bitch about his trip to New Orleans and his extended stay away from home. Especially with the New Year holiday looming the next day.

  From the sitting room they heard Billie switch off the television news programme and go on the phone to her lawyer. It wasn't a news item they were concerned with. It was about Berlin and the riots that had erupted and were now tearing that city apart.