The Orlando File Omnibus : (Omnibus Version-Book 1 & Book 2)

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

The last thing he wanted to do was to go and ask his boss for help, but if he was going to track the Graham man down, he needed more information. In the end, the anger he felt towards Graham weighed heavier than the negative feelings to his superior.

  "Okay, I'll see what I can do," was all 'the asshole' had said, when Agent Johnson had explained to his boss what he needed.

  It didn't look hopeful, but an hour later he walked over to Agent Johnson's desk, and without saying a word, his boss slipped a piece of paper onto his keyboard. There were two words written on it: 'Chymera Corporation.'

  It took two hours for George to run through all the emails and phone conversations made to or from the Washington Post over the past two months, searching the contents of all the communications for any mention of 'Kerrin' or 'Kerrin Graham' in combination with the other keywords 'Chymera Corporation'. Yet, when the run was complete, Johnson was no better off. No communications had been found that simultaneously combined both sets of keywords.

  Frustrated and tired, Agent Johnson decided to sleep on it. It was late. Time to go home.

  The next morning he returned, determined to try again and kicking himself for not having done the obvious the night before: why had he not just initiated a search on the two keywords in isolation, searching only for any voice conversations or emails that contained the words "Chymera Corporation" by themselves without the connection to Graham.

  He looked at his watch. It was 8 a.m. It would take another two hours to run the search again. That would take him to ten o'clock.

  If that search didn't turn anything up, then he would repeat both searches, increasing the search period from two to four months.

  He edited the programme to include the new keywords, pressed the return key on his keyboard executing the search programme, and went to get a fresh coffee.

  --------------------

  11.30 a.m.

  Day Twenty-Three

  Washington D.C.

  The phone rang twice before Fiona picked it up.

  "Hi. Back from holidays. How's the weather?"

  "Fine. But I'm busy. We'll talk later."

  Kerrin watched from across the road to make sure that Fiona wasn't being followed, checking the cars and pedestrians around her for any covert surveillance as she walked into the pizza restaurant. Everything seemed fine. Nothing unusual, and no men in long, brown leather coats following in her footsteps. Of course, these days the FBI weren't anything like their stereotypical public image, so what exactly he was looking for Kerrin couldn't say…just something different…

  When he walked into the restaurant after her, he sat down in the booth next to hers and was pleasantly amused to see that Fiona hadn't recognised him in his wig, glasses and false beard.

  He stared at her.

  After a few moments, her head turned towards him and she looked across at him briefly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, before turning her attention back to the phone sitting on the edge of the counter, willing it to ring.

  Kerrin stood up and walked across to her booth, sitting down beside her. She looked shocked, said something and started to get up.

  "Relax…it’s me!" Kerrin said quietly. He turned, took the glasses off his face and winked at her.

  Fiona half-turned in her seat, covering her face with her hands and laughing out loud.

  "Good grief!"

  "Shoosh…sorry to surprise you, but I'd thought I take a risk and come and see you…"

  "Wow! It's incredible! Nobody would recognise you. Not even your mother!"

  Kerrin grabbed a couple of beers from the cold-unit opposite the counter, ordered a pizza and sat down again beside Fiona. He told her all about the trip to California, about his ideas on what Gen8tyx had discovered, and then confessed that he was short on ideas on how to proceed.

  Sensing a certain amount of desperation Fiona reached out and touched his hand gently.

  "It's my turn now. I think I've got some good news!" she said sitting up in her seat and excitedly relating what she had got up to in the past few days.

  "…So I checked out the companies who'd bought into Gen8tyx… researched their directors, got press cuttings, the works. Turns out the CEOs of Philadelphia Pharma and Sabre Genetics Inc. were both in the photographs from Spain…"

  Kerrin perked up a little, looking across the top of a piece of sliced pizza at her with a fresh twinkle in his eye.

  "…And totally coincidentally, yesterday's Post ran Ed Harper's latest article. It was a follow up piece of research done on the article he…sorry, you…wrote on the Utilities fraud…seems that as soon as the electricity company was exposed in the press, it went into receivership. Within hours another company had put in a bid for it, which was later accepted."

  "Who's the buyer?"

  "Small Holdings!"

  "Interesting."

  "That's not all. Ed did some research and showed that Small Holdings have bought five other power and water companies in the past two years…all at knock-down prices in interesting circumstances…And there's some nice photographs of Nigel Small, the owner, on the front page. And guess what? You can see Buz Trueman in the background, standing just behind Small!"

  "So it looks like there could be a definite connection between Small Holdings and Buz Trueman and the Chymera Corporation?" Kerrin suggested.

  "It's not clear cut by any means, but it's too much of a coincidence for there not to be."

  "I agree. Anything else?"

  "Maybe…but I'm not sure. What was the name of your sister's husband who got killed in the plane crash?"

  "Martin Nicolson. Why?"

  "I have a parcel from him. It was sent to you, and arrived while you were in South Africa…I didn't notice who it was from, and didn't really even give it a second look until the drawer I keep your mail in got so full I had to move some of it elsewhere. Kerrin, you've got so much mail…I've got nowhere else to store it now…every morning I empty your post before anyone else picks it up and stick it into my desk drawer or a box I keep in one of the cupboards. I put the bills and commercial trash on your desk, just to make sure people think you're still getting mail…just in case the boys in brown come back to search your desk again…but anything that looks personal or interesting I hide!"

  "So how do you know it's from Martin?"

  "He wrote his name on the back of the parcel. One of the guys in the mailroom signed for it, and it arrived with all your other mail. You get so many big parcels delivered that I didn't think it was anything special…what is all that other stuff you get sent to you?"

  "Oh, I don't know…stuff…mostly correspondence or research material I send off for…So how big is the parcel and when was it sent?"

  "It's quite big…about this size…" Fiona lifted her hands up in a classic fisherman's pose, holding her palms out about one-and-a-half feet apart. "…And it's quite thick and very heavy. It was postmarked the day after his plane crash. He probably sent it to you just before he tried to fly to the Bahamas to meet your sister."

  Kerrin's heart started to beat faster. The parcel had to be important. Very important.

  "Have you shown it to anyone else?"

  "No. No one else knows it's there…"

  "Where have you hidden it?"

  "In my bottom drawer. Most of your other stuff is in the stationary cupboard in a big brown box, with my name marked on the front of it…on the shelf beside the window…But I don't think there's anything there that's worth looking at just now. At least, nothing of real importance. Were you expecting anything?"

  "No, but I think you're right. From what you're saying, this parcel could be really important. Can you go and get it for me now?…"

  Chapter 34

  Day Twenty-Two

  Sector Nine Alpha

  NSA Headquarters

  Alabama

  The search programme had just finished, and Agent Johnson switched out of the other application he was working on, and opened up the results of Search Pattern 192871.

  The
search results contained a single file.

  He opened it up. It was a phone conversation. Using his mouse, he hit the play button on the search file and started to listen to the phone conversation through his headphones.

  It was a conversation between two women:-

  "Fiona, hi it's Sheryl. I've got something for you…it's not much, but it's all there is. Ready?"

  "Go for it…what have you got?"

  " 'C.C.' stands for the Chymera Corporation. There are no files on it, nothing. No list of directors, no annual reports, nothing, nada…zip. But there are a few rumours about it…best as I can make out, the company is registered in Buenos Aeries. The company funds some of the government officers down there, and basically, they can get away with murder…the whole company is shrouded in secrecy, operates as a law unto themselves…don't post results, or record their interests. The government there doesn't challenge them. I bet they don’t even pay any tax there. I can't find out anything about what they do, or who runs it. Total information shut-down. It's very weird."

  "Well, that's a lot more than we knew before."

  "There is one thing though. About a year ago I heard that a reporter across at The Post was trying to run an article on the Chymera Corporation. Apparently he died before the article was finished. Maybe his death wasn't a coincidence?"

  "Who did you hear that from?"

  "Sorry, Fiona. I can't say. I shouldn't even have told you what I did!…"There was a pause at the other end of the line…"Anyway…Does that help? I have to go now…"

  "Yes, it does! What can I say, you’re a star! I owe you one now…see you at Thanksgiving."

  "Don't mention it." There was a pause. "I mean it Fiona, don't mention this to anyone, okay?"

  "No problems. I protect my sources too…"

  While he listened to the conversation Agent Johnson made a few notes on the Word file he had opened up on the screen in front of him. After he had listened to the conversation four times, he checked the stats file that went with the call. The phone call had been made from a phone from someone in one of the government offices in Washington. The Calling Line Identification number of the call had been initially withheld by the dialling party, but as with all the telephone calls George listened to, he disregarded such trivialities and automatically provided the telephone number of the phone from which the call had been placed.

  Agent Johnson ran a search on the telephone number, and within seconds he had traced the call to the desk phone of Sheryl Mather in the State Department of the United States. A few minutes later he had pulled her personal file. Agent Johnson often wondered what the average Joe on the street would do if he knew that the United States of America kept a file on each and every one of its citizens, recording and maintaining a record of almost anything they did during their life that could be of interest to the government.

  Returning to the stats file, the search results also told Agent Johnson the number Sheryl Mather had dialled. A few minutes later Johnson had tracked it down to the desk phone of Fiona Cohen, who, according to her personal file, was a Junior Researcher at The Post.

  Working methodically, Agent Johnson scanned Fiona's and Sheryl's files, downloading copies of the photographs in their driving licenses, and any other recent photographs which would help in making a positive I.D. on the suspects.

  An hour later Agent Johnson knocked on the door of his boss and walked into his office, carrying the file he had just compiled from the information gathered from Search Pattern 192871.

  --------------------

  Two minutes after Fiona had left the pizza restaurant, Kerrin ventured out onto the street, and keeping a respectable distance, followed her around the corner as she headed back to the office to pick up Martin's parcel.

  Kerrin was excited. Whatever was in the parcel was something valuable. Why else would Martin have sent it to him, just before he was killed?

  As he rounded the corner to the street of the Washington Post he looked up at the big building and wondered how long it would be before he was free to set foot in his place of work again.

  It probably wouldn't be a good idea to go any closer just now, so watching Fiona cross the almost empty road in front of him, he stepped back and leant against the wall of the insurance company opposite the Washington Post.

  There was the sudden loud screeching of brakes and two black Fords swept into the middle of the road from the edge of the sidewalk, effectively blocking Fiona off from the other traffic as she stood in the middle of the street.

  Fiona looked up in abject terror as men in black uniforms jumped out from the cars, pointing guns at her and shouting at her to lie down on the ground.

  "Down…don't move… Hands out in front of your head…!"

  On each side of the two cars, the traffic screeched to a halt, and people started running away from the pistol waving uniformed men in the middle of the road.

  Fearing it was another terrorist attack, the people in the road dived for cover behind parked cars, or in the doorways of the buildings along the street. A woman beside Kerrin screamed, picking up her child from a pushchair and running through the door of a nearby bank.

  Fiona fell to the ground, and Kerrin watched helplessly as one of the assailants stepped onto her back with one foot, pressing the barrel of the gun against the back of her neck, while another of the armed men handcuffed her hands behind her back and ran his hands up and down her body, checking her for a weapon.

  Another of the assailants started shouting something which Kerrin couldn't quite make out, and then suddenly the two men beside Fiona pulled her to her feet and dragged her into the back of one of the cars which had blocked off the road.

  Just before one of the men forced her head down and pushed her through the car door onto the back seat, Fiona turned towards Kerrin and their eyes met, the look of terror on her face an image that Kerrin would find hard to forget.

  The two cars swept around and drove off, one following the other. Kerrin watched in disbelief as he saw them disappear out of sight around the corner.

  They had got Fiona.

  --------------------

  Divisional Director of the CIA

  Florida

  1.10p.m.

  Day Twenty-Two

  Cheng Wung had authorised the immediate arrest of Fiona Cohen and Sheryl Mather as soon as he had read the report that had been emailed to him by one of his agents in Washington, who had himself received it only minutes before from one of his contacts in Fort Dixon.

  It was time to step up the operation. He had promised Buz results, and Cheng intended to deliver.

  Fiona and Sheryl had already been picked up and within the hour they would have them both in one of their secure interrogation houses, where the business of debriefing the suspects would begin immediately. Cheng hoped they would both cooperate fully, but if they didn't, he was confident that their modern methods of information retrieval would ensure that they soon knew everything they needed to know.

  Of course, the arrest of both Sheryl and Fiona would not be officially recorded. He had personally asked for all records to be sent to him for storage, and that meant that outside of the recovery team, no one else would ever hear of the event.

  The police would suspect terrorist involvement, but even if they didn't, they would never be able to track it down to the CIA. Cheng had made sure of that.

  Thankfully, there was at least one good thing that had come out of the botched attempt on Sonderheim’s life. It gave Cheng the perfect excuse to put out an All Points Bulletin on Kerrin Graham and his wife. The fact that Kerrin had not fired any of the shots aimed at Sonderheim was beside the point. What was important was that Kerrin had been present, and as such he was now a criminal suspect in an attempted homicide. Furthermore, since Kerrin's wife was in association and hiding with him, she was now also a criminal suspect. Cheng would be entirely within his rights to bring them both in.

  He had already had one of his agents prepare the bulletin, and it was sched
uled to be issued within the next hour. With the entire US police force, the CIA and the FBI all looking for them, Cheng was almost certain that within the next twenty-four hours he would have both Kerrin and his wife in custody. The case would soon be closed.

  --------------------

  The Durham Bar

  George Town

  Washington D.C.

  Kerrin sat at the back of the bar, his head down, staring at the half-drunk beer in his hands.

  He couldn't forget the look of terror on Fiona’s face as she was being bundled into the car. She had trusted him, had been willing to risk her life to help him, and now the bastards had got her!

  After the cars abducting Fiona had disappeared out of sight, Kerrin had made his way back to his rental and driven across town. There was little else he could do.

  He had found a quiet bar in George Town and ordered a beer. He needed to think. He needed to understand what had just happened.

  And he needed to stop shaking.

  He was scared.

  Across the room, a television set was playing loudly on a shelf above the bar, and some of the early afternoon drinkers were watching CNN, and commenting loudly about each of the news items. A fat man in a grey suit swore loudly at the recent decision to increase the interest rate, and when he had finished cursing at the government's ineptitude at being able to handle the economy better, he downed his beer and ordered another.

  Kerrin turned his attention back to the TV screen, a surge of panic erupting within him.

  Two photographs were being broadcast on the news bulletin.

  The one on the right was a photograph of himself, and the other one was of Dana, both copies of photos they had used for their driving licenses. While the photos dominated the screen, the CNN newscaster read a news story about two suspects wanted urgently for suspected terrorist activity, and a recent attempted homicide of an important businessman in California. The picture switched back to the studio, and the camera zoomed in to the lady newsreader who read out the names of the two wanted suspects, urging the public to contact the police or the FBI if they had seen either of the two people in the past forty eight hours.