Chameleon

by Michael K Foster

  ‘How long have you worked at the school?’ Mason asked casually.

  ‘Thirty-five years.’

  ‘That’s almost a lifetime. What will you do with yourself when retirement day eventually arrives?’

  ‘God knows. I’m dreading the thought of it if I’m completely honest with you.’

  ‘It happens to us all someday.’ Mason nodded.

  The office was small and compact, crammed full of old filing cabinets waiting to be thrown out. A tottering stack of books were piled in one corner, many of the them tattered and torn. From the caretaker’s office window, he could clearly see the school playground, but the main gates were obscured from view. He made a mental note and took out his notebook and pen and placed them on the table in front of him.

  ‘We had a couple of police officers here earlier,’ the caretaker remarked. ‘They were asking about school security.’

  ‘Did they find anything?’

  ‘Not a lot. They asked a few questions and we had a quick look around the school.’

  ‘Anything of interest pop up?’

  ‘Nah, they seemed more concerned as to whether we’d had any break-ins lately. Broken windows, forced door locks, that sort of thing.’

  Mason cocked his head to one side. ‘Have you?’

  ‘None that I’m aware of, and there’s nowt in the report book to that effect.’

  He pointed to it.

  ‘I take it this place is alarmed?’ Mason asked.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘So, you would have known if anyone had tried to enter the premises without authorisation?’

  ‘Ah-huh.’ The caretaker leaned forward and flicked open the pages of a large maintenance log as if it were the be all and end all of everything important in the running of the school. ‘The security system was checked only last week, and the guy who came here installed some additional cameras and gave us a twelve-month clean bill of health.’

  ‘New cameras?’ Mason said, glancing up at the ceiling.

  ‘Seemingly, it’s a new scheme the school authorities are introducing. It’s due to a recent spate of arson attacks in the area – something to do with the school’s insurance policy.’

  ‘Closed circuit television cameras – were they?’

  ‘Yes, mainly external.’

  ‘I take it these new cameras are linked to a central control room and monitored 24/7?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Do you happen to have the security company’s contact details available?’ Mason asked pen poised.

  ‘They’re based over in Blackburn somewhere. I’ve rung them on several occasions in the past and always found them helpful.’ The caretaker screwed his face up as he ran an index finger over the maintenance log. ‘There you go,’ he said, reeling off the telephone contact details.

  Mason tapped the number into his iPhone and waited for a connection. ‘Hi. DCI Jack Mason, Northumbria police – can I speak to someone in authority please?’

  He swung to face the caretaker.

  ‘If someone did manage to break into the premises and set off the intruder alarms, I presume the security people would contact the police first or one of your chosen key holders here at the school?’

  ‘Ah-huh, that’s how the system works.’

  The moment Mason was transferred to one of the security managers, it didn’t take long to establish that something was wrong.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ the caretaker asked, sounding a little uneasy.

  ‘The engineers who run your intruder alarm system know nothing about fitting additional CCTV cameras.’

  ‘They must be a mistaken – surely.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Mason replied, pocketing his iPhone.

  ‘I could have sworn the guy who installed them said they were directly linked to the existing system.’

  ‘They may well be, but your security providers in Blackburn know nothing about these new installations.’ Mason tried to arrange a neighbourly smile as he stood to face a bemused looking caretaker. ‘Can you show me exactly where these new cameras are?’

  ‘Yes, of course. There’s three covering the front of the building, two at the rear, and one linked to a movement detector inside the main assembly hall.’

  ‘What about the ones at the rear of the building?’

  ‘One covers the loading entrance, the others are monitoring the kitchen and canteen.’

  Alarms bells ringing in his head, Mason made another quick call – this time to police headquarters. Something didn’t sit right, and whatever it was he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Whilst DS Savage and the rest of the team searched the building for hidden cameras, it had taken the tech boys all of five minutes to establish that someone had tampered with the school’s security system and installed a secondary monitoring device. Fitted with Wi-Fi to send video and audio signals to either a mobile phone or PC, it was the news that Mason had been fearing. The more he thought about it, the more he was resigned to the fact that Yavlinsky was determined to get to the boy. If there were any scraps of comfort to be gained from all of this, it was that he’d uncovered part of the Russian’s plan.

  He stared at the main control box and pondered his options. ‘Okay. Let’s skip the technical jargon, what exactly is going on here?’

  The senior technician, a man in his late forties, stared down from the top of a set of step ladders, notably dubious. ‘It’s a stand-alone system and has nothing to do with the school’s current security arrangements.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Whoever installed it, can view it from anywhere in the world.’

  ‘Spy cameras in other words?’

  ‘You could say that, yes.’

  Mason thought about it, but not for long. ‘And if we dismantle this rogue system, whoever installed it will instantly know we’ve cottoned on to them?’

  ‘In a nutshell, yes.’

  To do that would lose the element, Mason thought. He would need to focus on a new line of attack – something less drastic. Whoever was monitoring the school’s activities he didn’t want to spook them, but how could they get around that?

  Mason gestured around the room. ‘What are the chances of distorting the images to make it look like a system fault?’

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  ‘If it doesn’t work, someone may decide to come back and fix it.’

  The senior technician screwed his face up as he clambered down the step ladders. ‘We could fit a foil blocking device to deflect the radio waves, but it may affect the entire system.’

  Mason swore quietly to himself. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘I doubt anyone will return, though.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘If someone’s monitoring the school twenty-four-seven, they will have spotted us by now.’

  ‘True,’ Mason nodded, ‘but if it’s linked to a mobile phone or PC, they could be randomly monitoring the school.’

  ‘They could be––’

  Mason turned sharply. ‘That’s why I’m a copper and you’re a technician. I know how these bastards operate.’

  DS Savage joined them.

  ‘We’ve found a couple more cameras, boss.’

  ‘Where?’ Mason asked, swivelling on his heels.

  ‘One close to a rear fire exit door, the others monitoring the tradesman’s entrance.’

  ‘Two more cameras the caretaker knew nothing about.’ Mason’s stare hardened. ‘What are these people planning to do?’

  ‘The rear entrance seems the most obvious place to slip in and out of the building unnoticed,’ Savage confirmed, ‘especially with thousands of kids running riot around the place.’

  Mason caught Rob Savage’s apologetic glances and made a mental note of it. A tall man, around six-foot two, the sergeant wasn’t one for mincing his words. He levelled his eyes at him. ‘Any more vulnerable entry points?’

  ‘Non
e that I can see. Once the school gates are secured, this place is virtually in lock down.’

  ‘Good man.’ Mason nodded. ‘No doubt these two new cameras you’ve discovered are linked to the same system.’

  ‘I would have thought so,’ said Savage.

  The senior technical was quick to react. ‘We can soon determine that.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mason studied the school’s layout blueprints and thought about it. He knew that once the close protection officers had dropped young Martin Kennedy off at the school gates, it was down to the school to look after the boy’s security arrangements. Of course, he thought. Once inside the building the police had absolutely no control over the proceedings. There again, surveillance would have been an extremely costly option and there was no way the Area Commander would sanction additional manpower to cover the premises all day. Clever, he thought. Why hadn’t they thought of installing a CCTV monitoring system inside the building during the shutdown? It was all too obvious in hindsight, but with so many regulations protecting children’s rights these days no one had the balls to go there.

  Convinced he was on to something, they moved to the rear of the school. At least they were agreed on one thing – whoever had installed the additional CCTV cameras had wanted to spy on the children. But why? Was this the Russians doing, a paedophile ring, or someone else at work?

  Mason frowned. ‘I doubt someone is currently staring at a monitoring screen 24/7, it’s too time consuming. They’re probably using a laptop and randomly checking on the place.’

  ‘You could be right, boss,’ Savage agreed.

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Savage shuffled awkwardly. ‘There again, if it is the Russian, he’s obviously monitoring the kid’s movements.’

  Mason studied the new camera installations. Savage had a point; and a good one at that. The rear service door to the school was the most likely place to slip in and out of the building unnoticed. No keypad locks to worry about, quick access to a getaway vehicle, and less teacher contact. It was perfect. He checked the surrounding area and made a few notes. He would need to heighten his security arrangements, step up patrols, and cover every eventuality. If this was Yavlinsky’s doing, and he still wasn’t convinced, he would need to be ready and waiting for him.

  The question was – should he move the boy to another safe house?

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The moment Chameleon logged into his streaming account he could see the surveillance system wasn’t working. Annoyed, he smashed his fist into the bedside cabinet and glared at the computer screen again. It was useless. All he could see were ghost like images and sounds resembling sausages frying in a pan. Two days of nothing, and shit loads of grief to deal with just didn’t bear thinking about. He should have dealt with it himself, made a proper job of it instead of letting some asshole cock things up.

  Still furious, he made a quick call to the installation engineer and threatened to chop his hands off if the system wasn’t operational within the next twenty-four hours. Not the best of starts to his day, Chameleon got the impression it had been done on purpose. If there was ever a man he would need to deal with, it was him.

  Forty minutes later, after driving to Blyth, he parked in one of the side streets and prepared to jog to Seaton School. He was less noticeable on foot, and people never bothered you. His biggest nightmare was someone spotting the car, especially a hire vehicle. But all the time he was thinking. How to kill the boy, and where to dispose of his body?

  His phone rang. It was the installation engineer, and he sounded in a right old state. Not that it bothered Chameleon, just that he fixed the system.

  Now running on pure adrenalin, on nearing the school gates the Russian saw the streets were full of parked cars. It was the same every day, you could almost set your watch by them. Parents were creatures of habit but dropping your kids off as close to the school gates as possible was absolutely ridiculous. Not that he could blame them, not with individuals like him hanging around the streets.

  Ignoring the double yellow lines, a short woman with blue rinse hair and bright orange trainers pulled up in a bright green Mondeo. As her two boisterous kids shot out of the back seats and ran into the playground screaming, he gave them a once over. Next to arrive was a stout man in a rusty red Nissan and carrying a yappy black poodle in the back. It annoyed him intensely. If only he had a gun, he would fill it full of lead and put an end to its miserable life.

  Frustrated, he crossed the road and sauntered back along the other side, whilst keeping a watchful eye out for unmarked police cars. Which make or models he was looking for Chameleon had no idea as no two days were ever the same. This was never going to be an easy operation, he knew that, but he was convinced the police protection car would soon show up. Then, barely ten metres away, a rather tired black Ford Mondeo juddered to a halt and three young children clambered out of the back of it. If he’d have known that security was going to be this lax, he would have videoed everything.

  What to do next?

  Chameleon’s initial reaction was to storm the building, but knew it was futile. He would need to calm down and come up with a better plan. Then, through the main entrance doors, the sudden appearance of a male in a black coat gave him concern. He was important looking, late thirties with a thin-set face and mouse like eyes that scanned the playground as if he was looking for someone. Who was he? What was he doing there?

  Once the school gates were locked, this place would become an impregnable fortress again. He stared at his watch.

  Time fast slipping away from him, he pulled his baseball cap down over his face and felt like a juggler holding a whole lot of spinning plates in the air. Everything was heavily stacked against him. His surveillance cameras didn’t work, he still had the boy to identify, and he knew the police were out looking for him. But that wasn’t all, there was something much bigger niggling away at him – the Organisation were beginning to ask questions.

  Not wishing to hang around, Chameleon began to make tracks for Blyth. As his pace quickened, he let his mind drift. Then in a moment of inspiration another idea popped up in his head – and this one was watertight.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Dennis Fudge, Seaton School’s headteacher, peered out of his office window and onto the empty playground below. Many teachers considered summer was officially over once the children had returned to school. Not true, thought Fudge. September was usually the best month of them all. Shorter daylight hours, but still plenty of warm sunshine to look forward to. A much bigger issue, as far as Fudge was concerned, was the school had been under-performing lately and he’d come under a lot of pressure from the board of governors because of it. A bit of a dark horse, Fudge was hoping his new curriculum would improve matters for the better. But change was always difficult to introduce at Seaton School, especially among the older teachers who were too stuck in their ways and always put up resistance. Failure wasn’t an option this time, and he was determined to put the record books straight.

  His desk phone rang, and he picked it up.

  ‘Seaton School, how can I help?’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Fudge. This is Inspector Clamp, Northumbria Police. One of your pupils who is under our protection, is he in school today?’

  ‘Yes, he is. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Thank goodness for that. I need a favour, old boy,’ Chameleon replied.

  ‘How can I help, Inspector?’

  There followed an awkward silence between them – a gathering of wits.

  ‘We are holding an identification parade later this afternoon, and I’m instructed to pick up the boy at twelve o’clock and take him to Gateshead Police Station. Do you see a problem with that?’

  Fudge thought a moment before answering.

  ‘What’s the boy’s name, Inspector?’

  ‘It’s the young lad we chaperone to school every day.’

  Fudge wasn’t prepared to be pushed around that easily. Besides, he was in enou
gh trouble as it was with the educational authorities and there was no way he would release a child without proper consent.

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ said Fudge. ‘I would need written authorisation to do that.’

  Chameleon’s voice suddenly sounded hollow. ‘Why. . . he’s already under our protection?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. Those are the rules.’

  The phoneline went dead.

  Fudge thought about it, but not for long. Things didn’t add up, and the fact a senior police officer couldn’t remember the name of the boy he was protecting sort of backed that up. He rang reception, and seconds later he was put through to Gateshead Police Station.

  ◆◆◆

  Jack Mason was sorting through a pile of witness statements when his phone rang. He was having a shit day, and everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Covert policing wasn’t all it was cracked out to be, and the amount of paperwork he had to fill in was mind boggling at times. He’d often wondered what it would be like to be a prison officer and stuck in a cell block all day. At least criminals could walk free once they’d served their sentence – no such luck for prisoner officers, he thought.

  ‘DCI Jack Mason. . . how can I help?’

  ‘Good morning, Detective Chief Inspector. It’s Dennis Fudge, headteacher at Seaton School. Do you have a minute?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What can I do for you, Mr Fudge?’ Mason replied disgruntledly.

  ‘It concerns young Martin Kennedy.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I’ve just had a telephone call from one of your fellow officers informing me that Martin is required to attend an identity parade at your police station this afternoon.’

  ‘What time is this?’

  ‘He’s to be picked up at the school gates at twelve o’clock.’

  Mason made a note of it. ‘Identity parade, you say?’

  ‘Yes, I’m not trying to be awkward, but can you confirm if that’s your understanding of the situation please?’