Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [152]
‘What do you mean?’
‘Everything. About Gehenna, about Incident Twenty.’
‘Tell me.’
Bond sat forward. ‘The original intelligence we had was that someone named Noah was involved in the event today – the event that would result in all those deaths.’
‘Yes.’ She sat next to him. ‘Severan Hydt.’
Bond shook his head. He waved at the boxes of documents from Green Way. ‘But I’ve been through nearly every damn piece of paper and most of the mobiles and computers. There isn’t a single reference to Noah in any of it. And in all my meetings with Hydt and Dunne there was no reference to the name. If that was his nickname, why didn’t it turn up in something? An idea occurred to me so I contacted an associate at MI6. She knows computers rather well. Are you familiar with metadata?’
Jordaan said, ‘Information embedded in computer files. We convicted a government minister of corruption because of it.’
He nodded at his phone. ‘My colleague looked at the half-dozen Internet references we found that mentioned Hydt’s nickname was Noah. The metadata in every one of them showed they were written and uploaded this week.’
‘Just like we uploaded data about Gene Theron to create your cover.’
‘Exactly. The real Noah did that to keep us focused on Hydt. Which means Incident Twenty – the thousands of deaths – wasn’t the bombing in York. Gehenna and Incident Twenty are two entirely different plans. Something else is going to happen. And soon – tonight. That’s what the original email said. Those people, whoever they are, are still at risk.’
Despite the success at Green Way, he was back to the vital questions once more: who was his enemy and what was his purpose?
Until he answered those enquiries, he couldn’t form a response.
Yet he had to. There was little time left.
confirm incident friday night, 20th, estimated initial casualties in the thousands . . .
‘James?’
Fragments of facts, memories and theories spiralled through his mind. Once again, as he’d done in the bowels of Green Way’s research facility, he began to assemble all the bits of information he possessed, trying to put back together the shredded blueprint of Incident Twenty. He rose and, hands clasped behind his back, bent forward, as he looked over the papers and notes covering the desk.
Jordaan had fallen silent.
Finally he whispered, ‘Gregory Lamb.’
She frowned. ‘What about him?’
Bond didn’t answer immediately. He sat down again. ‘I’ll need your help.’
‘Of course.’
65
‘What’s the matter, Gene? You said it was urgent.’
They were alone in Felicity Willing’s office at the charity in downtown Cape Town, not far from the club where they’d met at the auction on Wednesday night. Bond had interrupted a meeting involving a dozen men and women, aid workers instrumental in the food deliveries, and asked to see her alone. He now swung her door closed. ‘I’m hoping you can help me. There aren’t many people in Cape Town I can trust.’
‘Of course.’ They sat on her cheap sofa. In black jeans and a white shirt, Felicity moved closer to Bond. Their knees touched. She seemed even more tired than yesterday. He recalled she’d left his room before dawn.
‘First, I have to confess something to you. And, well, it may affect our plans for Franschhoek – it may affect a lot of plans.’
Frowning, she nodded.
‘And I have to ask you to keep this to yourself. That’s very important.’
Her keen eyes probed his face. ‘Of course. But tell me, please. You’re making me nervous.’
‘I’m not who I said I was. From time to time I do some work for the British government.’
A whisper: ‘You’re a . . . spy?’
He laughed. ‘No, nothing as grand as that. The title is security and integrity analyst. Usually it’s as boring as can be.’
‘But you’re one of the good guys?’
‘You could put it like that.’
Felicity lowered her head to his shoulder. ‘When you said you were a security consultant, in Africa that usually means a mercenary. You said you weren’t but I didn’t quite believe it.’
‘It was a cover. I was investigating Hydt.’
Her face flooded with relief. ‘And I was