Counterpoint (10 page)

“A bit like an expert system, then,”
said Paul.

“No! Like a human expert replied
Sam.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No! An expert system follows rigid,
predetermined rules programmed into the software, whereas a human
expert can work out an answer. In most cases, the answers from both
will be the same, but sometimes rare situations, not programmed in,
may produce no response from a computer and a correct answer from
the expert.”

Sam continued, “The Duke knew more than
anyone about it, other than Philippe and the designer. If it was
good enough for the Duke, then it must be good enough for us.”

“
That is not enough
for me,” shouted Paul. “I want to know what we are all getting
into.”

“It will have to be enough,” said Sam
icily; “We do it the Duke’s way.”

“He is dead you fool,” Paul snapped,
“He can’t help you now; you have to make your own decisions.”

“We will, as we work through the
current situation, but everything has been pre-planned for this
eventuality, scenarios discussed, and strategies attacked and
perfected, when time was on our side, free from panic and snap
decisions.”

“I suppose you have a plan if I walk
out now.”

“Yes we do,” said Sam, with disarming
confidence. “Go to your room Paul, get a grip on yourself and we
will go on to avenge the Duke’s murder and life will continue to be
good for everyone.”

Paul realised he was becoming emotional
and not thinking straight. His brother’s death had hit him hard,
and he had no time to grieve. The sooner Philippe was caught and
made to pay, the better he would be pleased. Yes, he would follow
his brother’s dictates, even from the grave; it always made sense
to stick with the winners.

Carla entered the room just after Paul
left. Sam asked how she was and how was Max doing. She knew Sam was
making small talk with the pleasantries and guessed what Sam would
ask.

She realised Philippe had recognised
her portrait and believed the Duke was killed for something she had
of Philippe’s, being bargained for or sold to The Organisation.
Perhaps it was in the briefcase, some crucial document that could
make or break a person, Corporation, or deal. Whatever it was, she
needed insurance now the Duke was no longer around. She had no
particular worth to the Organisation, just an employee. She had a
poor reputation for being a loner on her own deals, never
benefiting The Organisation.

The Duke had not cared as long as the
trail never came close to home; in fact, he admired her for her
audacity and skill. In a way, it made him think she was his and
Lana’s daughter. Only their child, could be so wonderful.

It is strange how even the most
intelligent or devious person, can delude themselves into a false
belief when it suits them.

She smiled back and went along with the
light banter, causing him to do the talking about nothing in
particular. Sam realised he was being manipulated by her and
inwardly annoyed, came swiftly to the point.

“Philippe says you have Project Oracle,
you stole it from him!”

Taken aback by the sudden change in
attitude she replied truthfully, she had never heard the name
before, was this why Philippe killed the Duke?

Sam pressed a button and after a
minutes silence when Carla and Sam stared at each other waiting for
the next move, in walked Paul.

Carla leapt up and ran towards him,
thinking it was the Duke, and then hesitated, something was wrong
here. The Duke was dead; this man has no recognition for her in his
eyes, no expression at all except puzzlement, about the girl.

Sam wanted to throw her off balance,
emotionally, get her to say something he could nail her with. She
spun round to Sam.

“Who is this?” She demanded.

“Paul, David’s brother, ” he replied
firmly. She knew the Duke’s Christian name but never used it.

Sam had taken control and was now
dealing with her like any other hired help that had probably
double-crossed The Organisation. Admit to anything now that she had
previously denied, or make a mistake and she was history.

“Paul has taken the Duke’s place to act
as front man for us, no one must know of the Dukes death. As you
realise, you are employed as an asset to The Organisation, I ask
you again, is there anything you have to tell us about the project
or did you take anything from Philippe?”

“No and no, ” she replied. “Apart from
my personal effects, when I escaped from him after the car crash I
set light to his car with Philippe in it. I don’t know how he got
away, perhaps the car did not burn, I did not see it
destroyed.”

She hoped Sam’s reply would hint to how
much he knew about what happened; surely, Sam and Philippe were not
speaking to each other?

Sam gave no helpful reply.

“That will be all for now, Carla.” He
dismissed her. She turned, looked at Paul as she left. Perfect
double, will never fool anyone though, she thought, but he did.

Sam decided to keep an eye on the girl
for now, Project Oracle was never a priority anyway, and until he
knew more about it why misdirect energy.

A month after his surgery, Max made a
full recovery; only the re-growing scalp hair showed he had recent
brain surgery. His repaired eye had better than normal vision now,
and he was pleased to discover they had done the other eye, as
well. Wearing glasses again just for the uninjured eye would have
been tiresome. He did not realise though, the stem cell procedure
was experimental work. From The Organisation’s point of view, Max
was there for the ophthalmic surgeon to practice on.

After thanking Sam Leighton for all his
help, making him well again, Max said he and Carla were planning to
go away together on holiday, to recuperate.

Sam said he understood and added,
“Would you like to do a small task for me at the same time?”

“Yes of course, what have you in
mind?”

“Well,” continued Sam. “Our man, Marcus
Dolby in Sri Lanka; Kandy, to be precise, has obtained a rather
unique and valuable statuette and we want it taken to our ship,
Ocean Raider, currently sailing in the Maldives. If you agree, you
can spend time aboard, with the facilities more or less at your
disposal. During that time, a client of ours will collect the
statuette, and that will be the end of the mission.”

“Seems simple enough,” replied Max
cautiously. “Why can’t FedEx do it for you?”

“Well, you should know by now that we
do not do anything without good reason. In this case, the source
and the client must be kept apart, unknown to each other at all
costs. The reason why it must be so confidential, should not
concern you.

We will arrange all paperwork with
customs and other Authorities, as necessary, so you will have no
worries there. Keep your wits about you, and the job will be
straightforward.”

“So, will you do this for me?” Sam
asked rather commandingly.

Max could hardly refuse such a job, a
bit of intrigue, free holiday and this was a way to pay back the
debt he owed The Organisation, for repairing his eyesight.

“Yes, it will be a pleasure.”

"Bon appetite," said Sam as Max left to
tell Carla, over lunch.

When he got back to the hideaway, Max
explained everything to Carla, who had a less than enthusiastic
reaction to the business part of the holiday. She had been there,
done that with The Organisation, herself. She knew they now owned
him as much as they owned her.

Later that afternoon, a clear briefing
with itinerary was faxed to the hideaway, their tickets to be
collected at the Airport on departure at 6.30am, the following
day.

“We had better get some new clothes,”
suggested Carla. “You can buy your own now you have got money, for
the sale of your Camper Van.”

“
Yes, I can, I hated
being a bought man.”

“Well, now you know what it feels like
to be a bought woman,” she retorted.

“So we go 50-50 in the future is that
right?”

“Yup!” She exclaimed.

On arrival at Colombo, the heat and
high humidity, so near the equator was overwhelming. Sweat ran down
Max’s face in just the short walk down the steps of the plane, to
the bus. Usually on a mission, they would have had fast track
processing through customs and baggage collection, but this time
they were just travelling like tourists.

The journey to the hotel in Kandy was
by air-conditioned minibus and took them about 1½ hours.

It was not such a comfortable ride
though, for the short, smelly fat man, who followed them
unobserved, in the traffic scarred Toyota Carina.

Next morning at 9.30, after a healthy
breakfast of succulent fresh fruits, cereal, toast and coffee,
their expected visitor, Marcus Dolby, arrived at the reception.

Marcus Dolby was the expert, hired by
The Organisation, to verify the authenticity of the statuette. The
shrivelled 65 year old had lived in Sri Lanka for the last 40
years, as testified by his dark brown wrinkled skin.

After the usual exchange of
pleasantries, a white Mercedes saloon arrived for them and whisked
them away in air-conditioned luxury, to their meeting with the
mysterious vendor of the statuette. The Toyota Carina was still
following a discreet distance behind, with its smelly, fat, and
extremely tired driver.

They eventually arrived at a small
modern house, surrounded by a high walled garden. Steel gates swung
open as they approached, and closed immediately behind them. Max
felt a chill run up his spine, and became extremely concerned for
his safety.

Tall, lush trees and shrubbery, making
the rooms inside dark and cool, shaded the house. No one with real
money lived here, probably middle management of a small local
company, Max supposed.

The three got out of the car, leaving
the chauffeur, and cautiously went towards the house. A young Sri
Lankan man walked into the hall from the room opposite, as they
entered through the open front door. He looked at the three faces
and glanced at the photos in his hand, of the three, to confirm in
his mind they were the people he expected.

“Please come this way,” he said in a
quiet voice, ushering them into the room. His English was perfect,
there was no doubt he was highly intelligent and well educated by
his manner.

“Please take a seat,” he said, pulling
out a chair for Carla, “I know who you are, my name is Abdul, I am
the agent for my client, in this transaction.”

He rather imperiously rang a small hand
bell and two men walked in carrying an ornate box of carved
hardwood, inlaid with ivory. The box was too small to be sensibly
carried by two men, but they did so with much ceremony, placing it
reverently on a crimson velvet cloth, at the centre of the polished
hardwood table, and stepped back.

A pair of tough Hombres or the Sri
Lankan equivalent thought Max; I bet they are not here just for the
ceremony.

Abdul spoke again. “Please examine the
artefact and confirm its authenticity, Mr Dolby.”

Marcus eagerly pounced on the box,
dragging it over the table towards him, on the cloth. He slowly
raised the lid as though dreading disappointment. His face lit up
as he finally saw it.

Max could also see it, and was
surprised at its beauty. He was not a lover of knickknacks and
ornaments or jewellery, but had to admit this was undoubtedly the
most exquisite piece of art he had ever seen.

The figure inside was of a beautiful
Sri Lankan girl, who as legend has it, was blessed with the gift of
foresight and prophecy. Her body was in unglazed, brown pottery,
the natural colour of her skin. The dress was of gold, with thin
gauze, gold sheet forming pleats and folds over the solid gold
under garment.

The fine sheets were laced and edged
with platinum, to form the delicate design of flowers. To give the
flowers colour and depth, the patterns were encrusted with precious
stones, individually so small as to be little more than the pixels
of brilliant light. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds and topaz were
matched for colour and each flower was different in intensity,
varying from deep to lightest, for the type of stone.

Her hair, neck, wrists, fingers, ankles
and toes were decorated with delicate jewellery all sized in
accurate proportion to the body. It was like a real princess in
miniature. Even down to her fine black human hair, ivory
fingernails, toenails, and teeth.

Her eyes had ivory whites inset with
the deepest green emeralds twinkling around black obsidian pupils.
It was startling to see them so alive and penetrating.

Marcus knew the legend surrounding the
object and had already explained it to Max and Carla, but Marcus
was sceptical. He said the spirit of the princess haunted the
statuette, denied the eternal peace of the hereafter, because she
had misused her powers to amass considerable wealth. It went on to
say; certain kindred souls could feel her presence if they touched
the figure, but no one had ever admitted to this, in case they were
cursed.

Carla got up and looked at the
statuette for herself. “Wow!” She exclaimed in awe, “I can just see
that on my hall table.” Max was shocked at the irreverent outburst
and thought she might have planned a double-cross, but then
dismissed it as ridiculous and in poor taste. She continued to
stare at it while Marcus completed his careful examination.

The statuette was replaced in the box
and the lid closed.

“I am satisfied this is the genuine
article,” said Marcus and then got up, and walked out to the
waiting car.

Abdul opened a cupboard exposing a
computer, apparently linked to a Bank somewhere in the world.

“Please type in the transaction
password that Mr Leighton gave you,” he instructed Max.