Ethereum

by N C Mander

  ‘Layla,’ Charlie called to his wife who had enjoyed a rare childfree lie-in.

  Layla appeared in the living room, looking bright-eyed. She was dressed in walking trousers and a cotton top. Her dark, wavy hair falling to her shoulders. ‘You boys put the world to rights?’ she asked, crossing the room, collecting a waxed gilet and putting it on.

  ‘Almost,’ Charlie grinned. ‘I’m going to take Eddie to the airport. Are you ok to look after the boys for a couple of hours?’

  Layla nodded then looked at Edison. ‘Please be careful,’ was all she said before turning on her heels and joining her children in the garden.

  ‘Ready?’ Charlie asked. He picked up his car keys and walked out to the car. As Edison emerged through the front door, the three boys rocketed across the lawn and threw themselves at him.

  ‘Goodbye, Uncle Eddie,’ they chimed.

  ‘Goodbye boys, enjoy the rest of your holiday,’ Edison replied smiling, ruffling Henry’s hair.

  Henry squinted up at him and said, ‘I hope your new girlfriend is as nice as Auntie Ellie.’ Edison smiled and put an arm around the small boy’s shoulders. A lump formed in his throat which he tried, in vain, to swallow. ‘I miss her,’ the six-year-old went on. The other two boys nodded their agreement.

  ‘I miss her too,’ Edison said in a barely audible whisper, the words catching against the knot in his throat.

  Charlie, already in the driver’s seat of the car, tooted the horn. ‘Got to go, boys,’ Edison said, collecting himself. ‘I’ll see you all back in London.’

  ‘Yes,’ Layla said, prising William away from Edison. ‘We’ll sort a date out as soon as we’re back.’

  He slid into the passenger seat. Charlie made quick work of the winding roads that led to the airport.

  ‘So,’ Edison turned to his friend as they both got out of the car at the drop-off area outside the terminal, ‘I had better get going.’ He shifted from one foot to the other.

  Charlie wrapped his arms around his friend, ‘You had better be careful, Eddie. I don’t want you getting into trouble.’

  ‘When are you back in London?’

  ‘We’re leaving at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. Depending on the traffic, we’ll be back mid-afternoon.’

  ‘Take care on the roads.’ Edison knew his friend had a passion for fast driving ever since he’d taken the advanced driving course in his early days as a police officer.

  ‘I will. Now, get home safe. No more lone-wolf heroics, interrogating dangerous suspects.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  0832, Saturday 8th July, Scotland Yard, Westminster, London

  Kat followed the familiar route into the depths of Scotland Yard. She was welcomed into the same observation room from where she’d watched the Jamie Dunn interview the previous day. Then, she had been feeling miserable. She had been sure that Jamie’s arrest had set them back and that Colchester’s insistence on bringing him in had been a monumental waste of time. Now, as she surveyed the scene behind the glass, she felt a palpable sense of excitement and optimism. She was getting somewhere. Jock and Natalie would secure Christoph’s computer, and then, on his return to London, Edison would work his magic on that to prove irrefutably that he was the mole at the bank. Anna was clearly an accomplice in all this. Running errands. Providing a link between Christoph’s shady digital dealings and the very real VIPERSNEST. All she needed now, was a location of the attack. And a lead on Yousuf. Could Colchester redeem himself and extract that from their suspect?

  In the interview room, she observed two women. Anna had blonde hair, neatly cut into a bob. She wore heavy-rimmed glasses and was drumming her coral pink, manicured nails on the table. She looked bored. Beside her sat a slim figure, neatly dressed in a dark grey trouser suit and a pale blue silk blouse. Her fine features were framed by an elegant hijab. She was talking quietly to Anna.

  Superintendent Colchester swept through, accompanied by Morley. He nodded at Kat on his way past.

  Both women looked up when the policemen entered the room. Morley dutifully administered the formalities that signalled the start of the interview, during which Kat learnt that the solicitor’s name was Samina Akram. Then silence descended. At length, Colchester spoke, ‘Ms Graham, you understand why you are here?’

  Anna’s solicitor replied, ‘My client understands the charges that have been brought against her, but what we both fail to see, is why you suspect my client of involvement with terrorism.’

  ‘It’s ludicrous,’ Anna spoke for the first time since confirming her name.

  ‘We have evidence that your client, Ms Akram, has been assisting in manipulating a trading algorithm at the bank where she works, Penwill & Mallinson.’

  ‘I have nothing to do with the trading platforms,’ Anna protested. Her solicitor laid a hand on her forearm.

  ‘I will handle this,’ she told her client. Akram turned a steely look to Colchester, who took that as an invitation to continue his exposition.

  ‘The money that has been syphoned from the fund has been traced to a bank account belonging to Barinak Holdings. It’s the same bank account from which Ms Graham withdrew two hundred and fifty pounds yesterday evening. Can you tell me how you came to be transacting on that particular account?’

  Anna shot a look at her solicitor who shook her head. ‘I’m advising my client not to answer that question.’

  Colchester raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Can you tell me how you know Kerim Dastan? Or perhaps you know him better as Murat Yousuf?’

  ‘Neither of those names are familiar to my client.’

  Another long silence.

  ‘And what of your relationship with Christoph Langer? You can’t tell me that you aren’t familiar with him, Ms Graham?’ The way Colchester over-pronounced ‘Ms’ each time was beginning to grate on Kat.

  ‘He is my flatmate. I’m not sure what that has got to do with this absurd charade.’

  ‘It has everything to do with it, Ms Graham. Is it purely a coincidence that he fled the country just thirty minutes after you were arrested?’

  ‘My client cannot be held accountable for Mr Langer’s actions.’

  ‘Well, let’s set your relationship with Mr Langer aside for a moment,’ Colchester suggested.

  Kat held her breath. She knew that Colchester was about to play the strongest card held by any counter-terrorism interrogator. The suspect’s response would speak volumes about their motives. You were probably dealing with someone acting on a misplaced but steadfast ideology. A hint of remorse and there was a ray of sunlight.

  ‘Anna,’ Morley spoke for the first time since the formalities at the beginning of the interview. ‘We believe that there is an imminent attack on London planned.’ He paused and offered Anna a sympathetic look. It was met with steel. He and Colchester had rehearsed this good cop/bad cop routine in the moments before the interview. ‘Such an attack will likely result in hundreds, if not thousands, of people losing their lives. People like your mum, your brother or your niece.’ The detective lowered his voice and said softly, ‘You can stop that from happening.’

  The words hung in the air. Anna held Morley’s gaze. Kat despaired.

  A cold, self-satisfied smile crept across Anna’s fine features. She hissed, ‘I could stop it,’ and paused, her fierce gaze fixing on Morley, ‘but I won’t.’

  *

  1056, Saturday 8th July, Limeharbour, Isle of Dogs, London

  Jock made a circuit of the apartment block and returned to where Natalie was watching the main entrance. ‘There’s an entry point where the bins come out at the back and an alarmed fire exit on the west side. What are your thoughts on the front door?’

  ‘It’s fob entry. No porter on a Saturday. We could tailgate, but we might be waiting a while. You were gone ten minutes, and no one came or went.’

  Natalie was feeling trepidatious about their assignment. The botched job at the internet café had hit her confidence, and Jock had spent most of the journey
to the Isle of Dogs on the DLR counselling her. ‘Got to get back on the horse, Nat. It’s par for the course that occasionally, things go south. Odds are, it won’t happen again,’ he’d told her as they’d walked from Crossharbour Station to their target address.

  ‘Don’t look now,’ Jock said, looking over Natalie’s shoulder, ‘but we may be in luck. Wait here.’

  A woman with three bags of shopping was struggling along the road, making a beeline for the block of flats. Jock skipped across the road to arrive at the door just as the woman had set down her bags and begun rummaging in her handbag for her keys. ‘Let me help you with those,’ Jock said, picking up one of the bags and grasping the door handle. With a grateful smile, the woman swiped her key fob, and Jock held open the door, offering her a gentlemanly bow as she lumbered past him.

  ‘Very kind of you,’ she said as Jock followed her into the building and deposited her into the lift.

  ‘I’ve just moved in,’ he explained cheerfully. ‘Trying to make friends.’ The doors of the lift closed before she had a chance to reply. Jock hot-footed it back to the door and beckoned for Natalie.

  ‘Quit looking like that,’ Jock warned her below his breath once he’d let her in.

  ‘Like what?’ Natalie hissed back.

  ‘Like we’re doing something wrong. You’ll draw attention to us, and that’s the last thing we need.’

  ‘We’re heading for the third floor,’ she said, painting a picture of calm on her face as best she could. ‘Stairs,’ she pointed at a door on the far side of the foyer.

  They passed two carbon-copy corridors on their way to the third floor where they were faced with white-painted walls and a hardwearing beige carpet. Doors with silver numbers led into each of the apartments. There was a faint hum of a vacuum cleaner coming from one and the sound of heavily bassed house music got louder as the Jock and Natalie made their way toward their target.

  With about ten metres still to travel, Jock placed a hand on Natalie’s arm, indicating she should stop. ‘Right,’ he muttered. ‘You go in, and I’ll watch. Usual signal if anything untoward, ok?’

  ‘Ok,’ Natalie replied as confidently as she could muster. Jock laid his hand out, and she hesitated.

  ‘Come on,’ he implored, ‘I thought you were tougher than this.’

  She forced a smile and dutifully low-fived him. She crept forward and inserted a skeleton key into the lock.

  Jock watched her disappear from view before pulling out a screwdriver and bending down to examine a nearby plug socket. One of the neighbours came out onto the corridor, pulling their door shut behind him. He skirted the handyman, giving him a nod then striding off toward the stairs.

  Barely thirty seconds later, Jock heard a strangled cry from the apartment Natalie had gone into moments before. He hurtled along the corridor and into the flat. After the gloom of the strip-lit corridor, the bright sunshine pouring into the spacious kitchen-living room caused Jock to blink. Through the blur, he made out the silhouette of a man standing against the window. He had Natalie in a stranglehold, his sinewy arm held tightly across her neck.

  Jock’s eyes grew accustomed to the brightness. The slimly built, wiry man who held Natalie captive was Murat Yousuf. He needed to think quickly. How to apprehend their prime suspect without risking his partner’s life.

  Yousuf edged around the room, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes on Jock. Natalie whimpered as the man’s arm tightened around her throat. Jock’s eyes fell on the knife block by Yousuf’s left elbow. He threw himself across the room as Yousuf’s grip closed around one of the handles. Jock led with the hand still holding the screwdriver. It was a useless weapon, he realised too late, as blood landed on him. Yousuf had drawn the blade across Natalie’s throat. She slumped to the ground. Jock was momentarily paralysed. He couldn’t take his eyes from his stricken colleague.

  Yousuf was advancing on him, and he dragged his focus back to the confrontation. On the sideboard stood an enormous bouquet of roses in a glass vase. Jock swept his arm across the work surface and the vase toppled to the floor, water cascading everywhere. He reached for the largest shard of glass and turned to face his attacker. He swiped at the man, but he was strong and agile. Jock inflicted just a few grazes with his makeshift weapon before Yousuf knocked him to the floor and plunged the knife into Jock’s thigh. Then he ran.

  Jock pulled himself up, blood pouring from the gash in his jeans and followed, hopelessly. In the corridor, he saw his quarry throw open the fire exit and disappear. The fire alarm sounded, and residents started to drift into the corridor. Jock turned back to the scene of devastation in the flat. There were trails of blood across the white-tiled floor. Natalie lay motionless where she’d fallen. A laptop sat closed on the breakfast bar.

  *

  1238, Saturday 8th July, Thames House, Westminster, London

  Kat’s face turned ghostly pale as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Colin looked over as she hung up. She stood, staring into the space in front of her. Colin held his breath, knowing this was not going to be good news.

  ‘Natalie’s dead.’

  Colin drew a sharp intake of breath.

  Kat shook her head and screwed her eyes up. ‘This can’t be happening,’ she whispered. She opened her eyes and looked around her as if she didn’t recognise where she was.

  ‘Where’s Jock?’ Colin ventured.

  Kat’s gaze finally settled on him. She looked like she was trying to place him. ‘In the Royal London Hospital,’ she said. There was a disquieting, faraway quality to her voice.

  Colin took control, ‘We had better get to the hospital then.’

  ‘Yes, that’s probably the right thing to do.’ She fumbled her phone into her pocket.

  Colin steered Kat into a taxi and got in after her. He gave the driver instructions to take them to the East London hospital then took Kat’s ringing phone from her. ‘That’ll be Edison,’ Kat said, still in an unnerving, dream-like voice.

  ‘Edison,’ Colin answered the phone.

  ‘Colin, is everything ok?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘What’s happened? Is Kat ok?’ A bolt of adrenaline shot through Edison who was sitting on a train bound for central London from the airport.

  ‘She’s fine, just a bit shaken up. Something’s happened, I don’t know exactly, but Jock is injured and Natalie is dead.’

  Kat turned from where she’d been watching the river as they travelled along the Embankment. ‘Tell him to come to the hospital,’ she said, her mouth dry, then looked away again.

  ‘Edison, we’re on our way to the Royal London – can you meet us there?’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  Once he’d hung up and switched the privacy switch so they couldn’t be overheard by the taxi driver, he ventured, ‘Kat, can you tell me what you know.’

  Kat sighed a shuddering breath. She didn’t look at him as she spoke. ‘There was someone in the apartment. When they went to pick up the tech. He attacked them. Natalie got a knife in the neck, and Jock has just had his femoral artery stitched up.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Jock thinks it was Yousuf.’

  The taxi skirted round the Victorian building on Whitechapel Road, the golden letters of the hospital name glinting in the heat of the July sun. It pulled up in front of the modern hospital development tucked behind. Kat bolted from the car. Colin paid the driver and followed her at a run toward the main entrance.

  ‘A&E,’ Kat demanded of the man staffing the information booth in the foyer.

  ‘Go right along to the end of the corridor. Take a left, and you’ll find it on your right.’

  Colin reached her just as she was haring off to follow the directions. They ploughed through the double doors that brought them into the melee of the accident and emergency waiting room. Colin spotted Jock first and hurtled toward him, calling his name.

  He was sitting a little way apart from the other waiting patients. One leg of
his jeans had been cut off around his crotch, and a dressing ran the length of his inside thigh. Blood stained the rest of his clothes. Clutched to his chest was a carrier bag containing something hard and rectangular. His face was ashen and shoulders bowed. Colin was almost on top of him before he looked up. Colin’s eyes flicked to the carrier and then to the bandage.

  ‘Twenty-three stitches, courtesy of the paramedics, under there,’ he said, his voice deadpan. ‘Waiting for a full assessment now.’

  Kat threw herself into the plastic seat next to him, and Colin crouched down on his haunches, his eyes level with theirs. The three spooks were silent.

  ‘Do you have any idea where he went?’ Kat broke the deadlock.

  Jock shook his head and gestured at his injured leg.

  ‘Kat,’ someone called from the opposite side of the room, and all three of them looked up to see Edison lumbering through the crowds. ‘Shit, Jock, what happened?’

  Jock didn’t answer the question but thrust the carrier bag at Edison, ‘I think you wanted this.’

  Edison took it and withdrew a laptop.

  ‘Jock McDermid,’ a nurse called from behind a desk. Jock stood and hobbled toward her. Colin, Kat and Edison followed. ‘Dr Webb asked me to tell you there’s a room available on ward 3F.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jock winced as he turned on his injured leg.

  ‘Can I get you a chair? It’s a bit of a hike.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Jock replied gruffly and hobbled toward the door, tailed by his colleagues.

  ‘Who’s Dr Webb?’ Colin asked.

  ‘Friend of a friend. They want to change this blasted dressing and make sure I haven’t got any internal bleeding. Didn’t fancy discussing HAPSBURG on an open ward, so I called in a favour when I found out I would need to stay for a bit.’

  The team were making slow progress down an empty corridor. ‘What about Natalie?’ Kat ventured, her voice quivering.