‘Three other sets of twins?’ Naomi said to him. ‘Why – why would they be taking them?’
‘Could it be to try to protect them?’ John asked.
‘Maybe to try to brainwash them?’ Humbolt ventured.
‘It seems positive, at least,’ Renate Harrison said. ‘If their agenda was to harm Luke and Phoebe, and these others, I don’t imagine they would have gone to these lengths of taking them away.’
Her mobile phone rang. She answered it, then a moment later said, ‘One moment, sir, I’d like everyone to hear what you have to say. Can we call you back on a speaker phone in a couple of minutes? Thank you.’ Ending the call, she said to John and Naomi, ‘It’s Professor Chetwynde-Cunningham with some information. I suggest we wait for Detective Inspector Pelham to return.’
A few minutes later, with a starfish-shaped conferencing phone on the middle of the table, Renate Harrison dialled the linguist’s number at Morley Park. ‘We have Dr and Mrs Klaesson, Detective Inspector Pelham and Detective Sergeant Humbolt listening, Professor.’
‘Jolly good. Good afternoon, everyone.’ He sounded very tired.
They returned the greeting, then waited.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any good news for you. It’s a bit disappointing at the moment. We’ve all been working around the clock on this, and I’m afraid we haven’t made much progress. You are probably aware from our conversations, John, that encryption techniques have moved forward enormously in recent years, with a great deal of research money being thrown at creating uncrackable codes for secure trading on the internet. Yes?’
‘Sure,’ John said.
‘What we have here is way advanced from the code your twins were using a while ago, of reversing speech and deleting every fourth letter. I’m afraid what we are up against here is something none of us has encountered before and it’s not decipherable within current capabilities. I’m not saying it won’t be possible one day, but it could take us a month, or many months, maybe longer. Without the keys, we’re stymied in the short term.’
Pelham leaned forward. ‘This is Detective Inspector Pelham speaking, Professor.’
‘Yes, hallo.’
‘Are you willing to keep trying?’
‘Of course, but I don’t want to hold out any promises – you need to be aware of that.’
‘We appreciate your candour, Professor.’
‘With your permission, I’d like to send copies of these hard disks to one of my former colleagues at GCHQ – the Government Communications Headquarters at Cheltenham. He’s willing to give his people a shot at it.’
Pelham looked at John and Naomi for confirmation, then said, ‘You have our absolute consent to explore any avenue you consider appropriate.’
‘OK. I don’t think there’s much more I can add at present.’
‘We’re very grateful to you,’ Pelham said.
‘Thanks, Reggie,’ John said.
‘Perhaps I can offer you and your wife one small crumb in this awful predicament. If your children are smart enough to be able to communicate in this code, then they must have quite extraordinary intelligence.’
‘Meaning what, exactly?’ John asked.
‘Well, just that. Perhaps their survival skills are equally honed.’
‘They are still only three years old, Professor,’ Naomi said.
‘That may be, but they’ve got more wits about them than most adults.’
After a long silence, John said, ‘We hear what you are saying, Reggie, thank you. We appreciate everything you and your team are doing.’
‘I’ll keep you posted.’
They all thanked him, then Pelham terminated the call.
‘Maybe we should take a break,’ the detective inspector said. ‘I think we could all use a little air.’
113
It was a perfect night. They could have waited weeks for conditions like this, months even. No moon, heavy cloud cover, a light swell. They cut the motor and drifted, and within seconds, operating on synchronized watches, all the other outboards on the fleet of twenty inflatables had been cut, too.
Sudden hush. Just the slop of the ink-black ocean, the splash of oars, the creak of rowlocks, the sound of nervous breathing, the rustle of tough clothing fabrics.
Twelve miles to the south, the lights of the ships were now no longer visible. Out there in the darkness on the edge of the horizon, two aircraft carriers, one belonging to the Greek navy, one to the United States, were hove-to, on full alert. Helicopters sat on both their decks, crewed-up, waiting.
With all electronic equipment switched off, and all conversation forbidden, the crew in the flotilla of shore craft rowed the final three miles in silence.
*
At half past one in the morning, Harald Gatward knelt beside his bed, face buried in his hands, communing with the Lord in a prayer vigil more intense than any he had held in months.
He felt like he had hit a wall with his worship, the kind of wall marathon runners face after the first few miles, the wall of pain and despair you have to get beyond, because when you do, when you muster your resources and force yourself through, soon the juices start flowing, and everything becomes easier.
Satan had put up this wall and he needed God to help him find a way through it.
Father Yanni, the Abbot, had come to his cell and spoken to him last night, told him in that wise, lugubrious voice that the other monks had noticed he wasn’t praying so well recently. Particularly the past couple of days. Father Yanni wondered if, perhaps, the American was sickening for something? Or having doubts?
‘The man who has doubts is condemned if he eats, because his eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin,’ Harald Gatward had replied.
The Abbott told him the monks would pray for his faith, then had said a short prayer with him, and left.
Gatward opened his eyes and stared into the darkness of his room. Soon it would be the drum call to matins and they would all see his troubled face. Might be better this morning to remain in his cell; he had to think through his problems, the ones he could not, dare not, share with the Abbot or any monk here.
Timon Cort.
Lara Gherardi.
What a mess.
Had Timon Cort said anything before he had died? Had Lara Gherardi? Was there anything in their possession that could yield clues to the enemy?
It had been a mistake sending Lara, and he was bitterly regretting it now. She had been a good person; he had acted out of panic, hadn’t thought it through properly, and had not given her time to plan. It would have been better to have sent someone not emotionally attached; her love for her fellow Disciple must have affected her judgement.
In five years, through meticulous planning and discipline, rigorously following the guidance of God, none of his Disciples had made one slip. Now, in the space of less than forty-eight hours, two were dead.
He closed his hands over his face, and began to recite from Psalm 73.
‘Oh Lord, when my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered, I was senseless and ignorant; I was a brute beast before You.’
Outside, he heard drumming. The sharp rapping of wood on wood, beginning softly, then rapidly rising in a frenzied crescendo, echoing across the flagstones below, and across the monastery walls.
The beat was getting louder.
As if a wooden gong was hammering inside his skull.
I’m coming, all right, yes, yes, to matins, I will come.
Louder still.
His door burst open. Shocked by the intrusion, he looked up straight into blinding white light. The next moment he heard a sharp hiss, smelled a sour reek like a perfume that had gone bad, then in the same instant, he was enveloped in a moist, acrid cloud.
It felt like acid had been thrown into his eyes. Crying out in pain, he squeezed them shut, pressing his hands back over his face, and now his throat and lungs seared as if he was breathing in flames.