think of them as eco-warriors, fighting to protect the earth from the evils of pollution. Broadly speaking, they’re protesting against climate change, the destruction of the rainforests, the use of nuclear power, genetic engineering and the growth of multinational business. All very commendable, you might think. Their agenda is similar to that of Greenpeace. The difference is that these people are fanatics. They will kill anyone who gets in their way; they have already killed many times. They claim to respect the planet but they have no respect at all for human life.”
Webber clicked again and a photograph flashed up on the screen. There was a stir in the auditorium as the audience examined it. At first sight, they seemed to be looking at a picture of a globe. Then they saw that it was a globe sitting on a pair of shoulders. Finally they realized it was a man. He had a very round head which was completely shaven—including the eyebrows. And there was a map of the world tattooed on his skin. England and France covered his left eye. Newfoundland poked out over his right. Argentina floated around one side of his neck. A gasp of revulsion spread around the room. The man was a freak.
“This is the commanding officer of Force Three,” Webber explained. “As you can see, he cares about the planet so much, he’s rather let it go to his head.
“His name—or at least the name that he goes by—is Kaspar. Very little is known about him. It is thought he might be French, but we don’t even know for certain where he was born. Nor do we know when he acquired these tattoos. But I can tell you that Kaspar has been very busy in the last six months. He was responsible for the assassination of Marjorie Schultz, a journalist living in Berlin, in June; her only crime was to write an article criticizing Force Three. He planned the kidnapping and murder of two members of the Atomic Energy Commission in Toronto. He has organized explosions in six countries, including Japan and New Zealand. He destroyed a car manufacturing plant in Dakota. And I have to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, he enjoys his work. Whenever possible, Kaspar likes to press the button himself.
“In my view, Kaspar is now the most dangerous man alive, for the simple reason that he believes the whole world is with him. And in a sense he’s right. I’m sure there are many people in this room who believe in protecting the environment. The trouble is, he would kill every single one of you if he thought it would help him achieve his aims. That is why I’m issuing this warning.
“Find Kaspar. Find Force Three before they can do any more harm. Because with every day that passes, I believe they are becoming a more serious and deadly threat.” Webber paused as he turned another page of his notes. When he began speaking again, the subject had changed. Twenty minutes later, at exactly three o’clock, he finished. There was polite applause.
Coffee and biscuits were being served in the foyer after the session ended, but Webber wasn’t staying. He shook hands briefly with a diplomat he knew and exchanged a few words with some journalists, then moved on. He was heading towards the auditorium exit when he found his way blocked by a man and a woman.
They were an unlikely pair. There was no way he would have mistaken them for husband and wife, even though they were about the same age. The woman was thin with short black hair. The man was shorter and entirely grey. There was nothing interesting about him at all.
“Alan Blunt!” Webber smiled and nodded. “Mrs Jones!”
Very few people in the world would have recognized these two individuals, but Webber knew them instantly.
“We enjoyed your talk, Mr Webber,” Blunt said, although there was little enthusiasm in his voice.
“Thank you.”
“We were particularly interested in your comments concerning Force Three.”
“You know about them, of course?”
The question was directed at Blunt, but it was Mrs Jones who answered. “We’ve heard about them, certainly,” she replied. “But the fact is, we know very little about them. Six months ago, as far as we can see, they didn’t even exist.”
“That’s right. They were founded very recently.”
“You seem to know a lot about them, Mr Webber. We’d be interested to learn where you got your information.”
Webber smiled a second time. “You know I can’t possibly reveal my sources, Mrs Jones,” he said lightly.
Suddenly he was serious. “But I find it very worrying that our country’s security services should be so ignorant. I thought you were meant to be protecting us.”
“That’s why we’re talking to you now,” Mrs Jones countered. “If you know something, I think you should tell us—”
Webber interrupted her. “I think I’ve told you quite enough. If you want to know more, I suggest you come to my next lecture. I’ll be talking in Stockholm a couple of weeks from now, and it may well be that I shall have further information about Force Three then. If so, I’ll be happy to share it with you. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll wish you good day.”
Webber pushed his way between them and headed towards the cloakroom. He couldn’t help smiling to himself. It had gone perfectly—and meeting Alan Blunt and the Jones woman had been an unexpected bonus. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a plastic disc which he handed to the cloakroom attendant.
His mobile phone had been taken from him when he went in: a security measure he himself had recommended in his book. Now it was returned to him.
Ninety seconds later he emerged onto the wide pavement in front of the river. It was early October but the weather was still warm, the afternoon sun turning the water a deep blue. There were only a few people around— mainly kids rattling back and forth on their skateboards—but Webber still checked them out, just to make sure that none of them had any interest in him. He decided to walk home instead of taking public transport or hailing a taxi. That was something else he’d written in his book. In any major city, you’re always safer out in the open, on your own two feet.
He had only taken a few steps when his mobile rang, vibrating in his jacket pocket. He dug it out.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he seemed to recall that the phone had been switched off when he handed it to the cloakroom attendant. But he was feeling so pleased with himself, with the way his speech had gone, that he ignored this single whisper of doubt.
It was twenty-nine minutes past three.
“Hello?”
“Mr Webber. I’m ringing to congratulate you. It went very well.” The voice was soft and somehow artificial. It
