Chameleon

by Michael K Foster

  ‘If we knew the answer to that, we’d all be national heroes.’

  The Area Commander eased forward in his seat. ‘Whoever’s responsible for this reckless and discriminate act needs to be brought to justice. But that’s a matter for you people to sort out. Our task is to protect those caught up in the future trial. We know of at least two individuals who have been murdered, but how many more are out there?’

  Officer Jay smiled. ‘Now you see the full extent of the task we’re faced with.’

  ‘So, what’s our next move?’ asked Gregory.

  ‘Most chemical weapons have a footprint to them, so we’re able to trace where they were manufactured. Not that it is any of your concern, but we now have a possible radiation trail that leads us back to a Girona flight into northern Spain.’

  ‘So, Rice could have been poisoned in England in other words?’ Mason argued.

  Superintendent Gregory sat back thinking. ‘Either this was a deliberate act by the Russian Federation, or during the breakup of the old Soviet Union, they lost control of one their catastrophically damaging nerve agents and allowed it to fall into the wrong hands.’

  ‘There is another theory, of course,’ Officer Jay pointed out. ‘When a country uses a chemical on another country’s soil, it never uses its own chemicals. It uses the chemicals of another country to throw investigation teams off its trail.’

  ‘Is that why you think the Russian Mafia is implicated?’ the Area Commander added.

  The Special Branch officer adjusted his position. ‘Who knows. This could all come down to a political trade off in the end.’

  ‘What, plea bargaining?’

  ‘Isn’t that how the police handle some affairs?’

  ‘Yes, but on a much smaller scale and one that doesn’t involve national security.’

  ‘You’d be surprised at what goes on behind closed doors.’ Officer Jay smiled. ‘Especially where international diplomacy is concerned.’

  ‘Nothing surprises me anymore,’ Mason said, shaking his head.

  ‘Think of it as two sides locked in a deadly game of Russian roulette knowing there can only be one outcome.’

  The Area Commander cocked his head to one side, and then said, ‘What about moving the boy to another safe house?’

  ‘I would think it unadvisable at this late stage. . . perhaps you should talk to Central Intelligence. It’s my view the further you move the boy away from his natural environment, the more stretched your lines of communications will become. It’s a matter of holding your nerve. Now that Rice is out of the equation, we still don’t know how these people will react.’

  Mason checked himself. ‘If Yavlinsky’s a loose cannon, then who else is he in bed with?

  ‘Your task is to ensure the British public remains safe. Whoever’s behind this money laundering scam will no doubt be looking for a replacement for Rice – someone in the banking industry with insider knowledge who knows how the international banking system works. Let’s hope we’ve scared these people off enough for them to move their operations to another country.’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Mason groaned.

  Officer Jay made the funny tongue clicking noise again as he pocketed his pen. ‘Before we go making assumptions, let’s see what the bigger picture throws up.’

  Wise words indeed, Mason thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Chameleon rose at 6:30 am, excited about the day ahead. According to the latest news bulletin, the London-based hedge fund auditor Stephen Rice was lying in a Spanish mortuary having died from toxic poisoning. Believing Rice was poisoned on Spanish soil, the British government was playing events down – hiding behind the mask of uncertainty whilst covering their own tracks. He knew that some chemicals were highly radioactive and extremely toxic materials to handle. Even so, it wasn’t the kind of death that he would ever fancy. These were slow and silent killers that attacked the blood cells, followed by the liver, kidneys, bone marrow, gastrointestinal tract and central nervous system. It would be virtually impossible to trace it back to him, as he’d used a third party to lease the Spanish property using Rice’s personal banking details.

  It was amazing what a fresh pot of tea could do to a person, though!

  Thrilled with his findings, Chameleon switched on his laptop and Googled Sky News Live for the latest news updates. Now that the case against the Russian bank was beginning to collapse, he was starting to look at life differently. With one less witness to worry about, he decided he might as well abandon his clean-up operation at the Bristol Premier Inn. It was too risky. Besides, Rice had died in a Spanish hospital and it would be weeks before the authorities got to the bottom of it – by which time he’d be long gone.

  The boy was Chameleon’s biggest concern, and he was high on his priority list. There was some good news on that front, and his undercover networks had been working flat out to get to the bottom of it. Having picked up on a ten-year-old boy who had moved to a school near Seaton Sluice, he’d heard the police were providing close protection. It had to be him, and he’d paid good money for someone to install surveillance cameras covering the school grounds.

  Staring down at his computer screen, he changed the SIM card in his pay-as-you-go phone and fired off a few text messages. Next, he pulled up the Google map of Seaton Sluice, and began to work out a plan. Concerned about driving north, he checked the train times to Newcastle and booked a single room at the Marriott Hotel in Gateshead. With British intelligence involved, he needed to think differently.

  After logging into his streaming account, Chameleon looked into the benefits of installing additional surveillance cameras inside the school. They wouldn’t come cheap, but money wasn’t an object in this game. Next, he scanned the school perimeter fence and made a mental note of all the exit points. He was looking for escape routes, a place where he could kidnap the boy and make a quick getaway. He preferred busy roads, with potential for weaving in and out of heavy traffic. If the police were to give chase, he would need to know where the safest escape routes were – and he’d already worked out a plan.

  Thinking about this, a whole raft of school blueprints appeared on his computer screen and he began to study them. Knowing that most school authorities were mad hot on security, it would be a difficult nut to crack. One possibility was to use the tradesman’s entrance at the rear of the building. It wasn’t foolproof, but it had plenty of potential, nevertheless. He made a quick call to the installations engineer and gave him a load of new instructions.

  After he’d finished his coffee, he showered and shaved, then threw a few things into an overnight bag. This was purely a reconnaissance trip, a means of gathering information. Nothing could be rushed in this profession – everything had to be meticulously planned. If there were flaws in the police’s security arrangements, he would uncover them. Only once had he ever spontaneously killed a person on active service, and that was in self-defence.

  Closing the zip on his overnight bag, it was time to make tracks. In many ways, Chameleon was looking forward to his trip north. Two days away from the capital and a chance to get his head around another mission. What could be better than that?

  ◆◆◆

  The city was bathed in sunshine as the train screeched to a halt at Newcastle’s Central Station, but it hadn’t been the best of journeys. Full of noisy cricket fans, who drank their way to Durham. Much quieter now – easier to think straight. Chameleon could never get to grips with the rules of cricket. One man throwing a ball at a guy with bat in his hand whilst trying to knock his stumps down. Crazy game, he reasoned. It was like watching paint dry. He preferred the contact sports, more physical, much easier to get excited about.

  Easing his way through the busy station concourse in heavy disguise, he made for the taxi rank. He loved this part of the world, and Geordies were very friendly people. No one had any time for you in the capital cities these days; it was the same the world over.

  As he slid into the back of a tax
i, the driver pulled out of the rank. The interior smelled of fir trees and something a little stronger. Cannabis. As his thoughts began to drift, he wondered who the previous occupants were, and what they got up to during their day. It was strange how your mind worked when you entered unfamiliar territory, you always looked at things differently.

  A talkative man, Raj the taxi driver told him everything he wanted to know about the city. The best places to eat, the liveliest dives to drink, and where to have the most fun. There were some bars he wouldn’t be seen dead in at night, let alone frequent.

  Now caught up in heavy traffic, the taxi crawled along Neville Street. The town was crowded, and at the junction with St James’ Boulevard, Raj turned left and drove towards the Redheugh Bridge. Chameleon always felt at ease here, it reminded him of home. Wherever that was!

  The moment the taxi pulled up outside the Marriott Hotel opposite the Metrocentre, he gave Raj a twenty-pound note and told him to keep the change. The hotel lobby was buzzing. Mainly young people settling their accounts and checking out. The receptionist was jovial enough, smartly turned out in a clean-cut blue uniform and wearing a large pink cravat, reminding him of an undercover agent he’d once met in Japan. Her fingernails were painted an unusual rust colour, which sort of matched her hair. She handed him a check-in slip and he started to fill it in. When he explained that his credit card had expired a couple of days earlier, he paid for everything by cash. Much safer that way.

  Even numbers to the right, odd to the left, he placed the electronic pass key against the door lock and waited for the green light to flicker. Seconds later he was inside his room and checking for hidden wiretaps, which was standard procedure nowadays. The room was ‘T’ shaped, bland. It had an en suite, sliding wardrobe, and a table with coffee making facilities. The Queen-sized bed looked inviting, sending his mind spinning in other directions.

  Little time for that now!

  Closing the room curtains, he threw his overnight bag into the corner of the room and changed into tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirt. Feeling a prickle of unease, he fired off a couple of text messages and signed out of Outlook. Next, he logged into his streaming account and checked to see if the surveillance cameras were working. Apart from a few glitches around the school perimeter fence, everything looked fine.

  The school had a relatively modern layout. High roofs, good security, and plenty of quiet corners where a person could get lost in. He took a screenshot of the perimeter exits and considered his options. The best way to move around the area would be to pose as a wannabe jogger. Nobody took much notice of joggers these days, it was as if they were invisible. The only drawback was you could never stop long enough to weigh things up. Not that the streets around Seaton Sluice would be busy this time of day, but they might be at school finishing time.

  Closing the lid on his laptop he popped it into his overnight bag and peered out of the hotel window. The carpark was empty, and there were not many people about. The tourists were doing what tourists did best – looking at sights of interest. Many of them were Americans, the men in loud checked shirts and a thick wodge of money stuffed in their back pockets.

  Time to get going!

  Down at reception Chameleon picked up the Hertz hire car keys and made a mental note of the mileage. Next, he eyeballed the hotel security arrangements and noted the pulsating lights on the side of the main control panel. If he did have any problems during his stay here, he knew how to deal with it. Not that he was expecting trouble, but it was always best to err on the safe side.

  ‘Will you be wanting a full English breakfast tomorrow morning, Mr Twining?’ the receptionist asked.

  Chameleon shuddered at the thought. In your dreams, sweetheart.

  Never start your day on a full stomach, especially when moving in for the kill!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  It was a bright, sunny day, and apart from a man out walking a golden Labrador, there wasn’t a soul in sight as Jack Mason strolled along the clifftops close to Old Hartley village. His mind now in turmoil, matters had taken a turn for the worse and there wasn’t a quick fix. One thing for certain though, Grigori Yavlinsky was a slippery customer to pin down. Neither he nor Special Branch knew of the Russians whereabouts, and that worried him. He’d plugged a few gaps, tightened up on security, and generally made his presence felt. If Yavlinsky was about to try anything stupid, he would be ready and waiting for him.

  Well that was the plan, and Mason was sticking to it.

  It was still early morning, and a calm warm breeze was generating small ripples of shimmering light over the North Sea. It was a beautiful sight, but Mason had more important things to think about right now. This wasn’t the first time he’d come up against a problem such as this before, and he’d always found a way round it. He’d taken on some dangerous assignments over the years, especially during his days with the Metropolitan Murder Investigation Team (MIT). Some operations invariably carried a high element of risk with them, and those were the ones that always left a nasty taste in your mouth.

  His phone rang, and DC Carrington’s number popped up on the screen.

  ‘Morning, Sue. What can I do for you?’

  ‘We’re receiving reports of a stranger seen hanging around the school gates.’

  ‘From who?’

  ‘A young woman on her way to the shops.’

  ‘Did she give you a description?’

  ‘She thought he was a jogger – middle aged, five-six, wearing a blue T-shirt and black tracksuit bottoms.’

  ‘What else did she tell you?’

  ‘She didn’t get a good look at him as he was wearing a baseball cap, but thought he was acting suspiciously.’

  ‘What do you mean – acting suspiciously? I thought the school was shut for summer holidays?’

  ‘Well, he was touring the school’s perimeter fence as if checking on the building. She thought he might be a paedophile and that’s why she rang the police.’

  ‘Something’s not right.’ Mason admitted. ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Shortly after ten.’

  It was uncanny, the Chief Inspector thought. One-minute things were relatively quiet, the next they were up in the air.

  ‘Did he have a car?’

  ‘No, he was on foot.’

  ‘Ten o’clock, you say!’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mason was having to think on his feet. The children would still be on holiday, so what was the suspect up to?

  ‘Any thoughts?’ he asked.

  ‘He could be genuine. . . but I’m not convinced.’

  ‘Okay,’ Mason replied. ‘If he was seen hanging around the school perimeter for any length of time, he’s probably up to no good.’

  ‘Those were my sentiments, boss.’

  ‘The trouble is, there must be dozens of men answering to that description in the area. Get hold of uniforms, let’s run a few checks to see if anyone answering to that description has been acting suspiciously near the school gates lately. When you’ve done all that, have a word with the school caretaker and get him to look at his security arrangements.’

  ‘What are we looking for?’

  ‘We need a list of anyone who has entered the school premises during the summer shutdown. Maintenance men, contractors, cleaners, that sort of stuff.’

  ‘Do you think it could be Yavlinsky?’

  ‘I’ve absolutely no idea, but we know what he’s capable of. It could be nothing, of course, but we need to respond to it – and quickly.’

  ‘I’ll set the wheels in motion, boss.’

  ‘Good.’ Mason made a little grimacing gesture. ‘When you talk to the school caretaker, set up a meeting with him for me. Sometime later this afternoon.’

  ‘What shall I say it’s about?’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be looking at their security shutdown arrangements. Try keeping it simple. I don’t want him to go around thinking we have a problem, that’s the last thing we need.’

  ‘Will do.’ />
  Mason pocketed his iPhone as he made his way back towards the surveillance house. He’d started with a clear diary that morning, and now it was filling up. If a Russian hitman had arrived in the North East, he could only be here for one reason. Safe houses were easy buildings to secure but protecting a vulnerable child witness was a totally different matter. Martin’s case was slightly different, though, as he’d been chased through the woods by someone who didn’t want to be identified. If this was Yavlinsky seen hanging around the school gates, then how the hell did he know the boy was here?

  ◆◆◆

  The school caretaker was stood waiting for him, when Jack Mason pulled into the teachers’ car park. A gaunt, hard-faced man, with a bright red nose, Harold Carpenter was just shy of his sixty-fifth birthday. Not the sharpest tool in the box, he walked with a limp as if he had a nail in his shoe and retirement couldn’t come fast enough.

  A radio was playing in the background as they entered the school rear entrance, along with a strong whiff of paint. He watched as a man dressed in white overalls and carrying a tin of paint moved freely around the corridor, and guessed he was one of the decorators. Mason had never cared much for school himself and had always considered it stressful. Classed as a slow learner by the age of ten, he was always in trouble over it. Not that he didn’t put his back into studying hard he did but his classmates were much brighter than him and he was always having to play catch up due to his dyslexia.

  ‘Busy times, I see,’ Mason said, pointing to the dust sheets scattered along the corridor.

  ‘We’re all but done here, Chief Inspector.’ The caretaker smiled. ‘The kids are back to school on Monday, but there’s still plenty of finishing off to be done.’

  Mason’s mind turned to other thoughts.

  Ever since he was first involved in the case, kidnapping was Mason’s greatest fear. Nothing was ever straightforward when it came to be protecting vulnerable children, and he could never quite get to grips with it. But he trusted his team, and not one of them would hesitate should the occasion arise.