Seventh (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 1)

by Lewis Hastings

  Cathay flight CX239 held in a pattern for ten minutes, drawing a bright green circle on Cade’s in-seat TV screen and then another in an almost perfect figure of eight. The shape and colour reminded him of Elena’s eyes; either that or he was genuinely much more tired than he dared believe.

  Below him the wealthier suburbs of London were waking to a new day, leafy streets and multi-million-pound properties in isolated bliss only miles from poverty, chaos and heartbreak.

  Richmond gave way to Hounslow as the Triple dropped through the sky, now flying along the path of the Staines Road. Droplets of condensation energetically rushed backwards across the portholes, providing a reminder that although the aircraft felt as if it were almost stationary it was still travelling at over a hundred and fifty miles an hour, but now slowing at a mile per hour, per second.

  Three hundred, two hundred, one hundred, seventy, fifty, thirty, ten and she was down, her rear wheels contacting with the concrete and throwing thick plumes of acrid rubber smoke into the air. The crew began to reverse the engines as the massive wing spoilers combined to bring the aircraft under control.

  Within minutes they were taxiing towards their air bridge and Gate 24. He was back on British soil and for the first time he felt lost and vulnerable.

  As he left the aircraft, the familiar twang of a Londoner brought him back to earth, he instantly felt less isolated and strangely empowered by one simple greeting.

  “Alright chief, you look lost, do you need an ‘and’?”

  “No, I’m fine thanks pal, just getting my bearings, been a while, but nice to be home. How are The Gunners doing?”

  “Awful mate, but better than United, so it can’t all be bad!”

  Whoever he was, he had made Cade’s morning, there was some sense of belonging that he hoped gave him an advantage on home soil. His comfortable feeling changed in a heartbeat when a swarthy-looking male collided with him as he raced to get to the baggage carousels.

  “Hey mate, steady, got a plane to catch?” Cade offered to the rapidly disappearing individual.

  The male turned and stared at him, long enough to unsettle him but short enough to avoid colliding with an oncoming golf buggy that was being used to carry an elderly lady to a Monarch Airlines flight.

  Cade hadn’t seen the male on his flight and to be fair Heathrow was massive. He could have come from anywhere, and importantly be heading anywhere. He decided to switch off his overactive, tired mind and switch on his cell phone.

  ‘Welcome to the United Kingdom’ announced the text message as other notifications started to broadcast their presence. Three missed calls were also showing.

  He ran his finger over the screen and entered his PIN. The first voicemail was a courtesy call from his local bank manager, offering various ways in which Cade should invest his money. The second was from Elena.

  “Hi Jack Cade, just me phoning to say I am missing you and can’t wait to be with you again later, even though you drive like girl I think I love you. Ciao, baby.”

  It stopped him in his tracks. He moved to the side of the terminal walkway and paused, took a deep breath and tried to continue, but the voice and the nature of the message tore him in two. Despite this, he listened to it again. He realised that the call had been made prior to her death and that somehow it had been drifting through cyber space ever since.

  The last call was from JD.

  “Right then Young Jedi, by now you should be in Blighty and safe and well. Check your emails, dear heart and let us know you are safe. Lynne asks if you’ve still got your pen and to tell you she misses you terribly. Me on the other hand, I don’t miss you at all you miserable little shit. Catch up soon lad.”

  It was good to hear from the old bastard.

  He deleted the first and last messages but saved the second into his vault.

  He passed through the Smart Gate passport control without incident and set out towards the Baggage Hall at a fast pace. If nothing else it was a chance to stretch his legs.

  Heathrow was its usual self: busy.

  He collected his luggage, did a sweep of the baggage hall for the male he had bumped into earlier and satisfied that he wasn’t anywhere to be seen moved off to join the building torrent of passengers who were heading towards the final hurdle, the UK Border Agency checkpoint.

  He had nothing to worry about and nothing to declare – other than enough stolen passports to keep him in an interview room for days.

  He left the Customs Hall and walked out into the main arrival’s area. He was met by a sea of faces, all shouting and gesturing for attention, waving pieces of card or professionally made notice boards. None were for him and none were expected.

  Cade estimated there to be around five hundred people, most legitimate, some clearly not, milling around looking for an opportunity to strike, to steal from the unwary, the tired and vulnerable.

  Cade, in true law enforcement style, hated the lot of them.

  He walked briskly towards the Hertz car-rental desk, with a computer print-out in hand. As he was about to arrive at the desk, he became aware of footsteps approaching quickly, and then heard a voice behind him.

  He stopped, suddenly very aware of his surroundings, watching the girl behind the counter to see if her facial expression changed – to see if her obviously false eyelashes so much as twitched; was it unexpectedly attentive enough to provide Cade with a warning?

  He was ready, the minute hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his right hand discreetly balled into a fist.

  He turned around and instantly released his grip from his suitcase, let out a breath and begun to laugh. Stood in front of him was a forty-year-old European male, about five foot eleven with a good head of blond hair, cut short but thick enough to allow a gentle quiff at the front. He had grey-blue eyes and a clear complexion, almost pale, no doubt the result of many years of being on a strictly vegetarian diet that evidently consisted mainly of chips, crumbs of which were clinging precariously to his chiselled chin.

  The male wore a grey suit, white shirt and black, rather superb brogues, but his ensemble was finished off with an orange tie, as bright as the navel orange Cade’s grandmother used to give him each Christmas. The tie had a double Windsor knot and sat almost halfway up his chest in homage to a bygone era.

  The male was chewing the arm on a pair of silver framed, blue-tinted Ray Bans.

  “Alright my son, fuck me you look rough, anyone would think you’d had a long flight. I bet you’ve spent the last few days up to your nuts in Chinese hookers? Fancy a cup of Rosie me old China?”

  Cade put his hand out, which was immediately greeted by the warm hand of Detective Chief Inspector Jason Roberts, or as he was affectionately known, Ginger.

  “Do you know what? That is the single best offer I have had in days!” replied Cade.

  “Good, well come on then you great Nancy, some of us are busy, and if you think I’m paying for it you’ve got another one coming!”

  As they walked towards the rear of the terminal Cade realised he hadn’t collected his rental car.

  “Leave it. I’ll get you some wheels, besides we’ve got some catching up to do my old mate, rather a lot as it happens. How’s JD?”

  “Fine, same as ever, living comfortably on his pension and running a nice little business in a stunning location. What more could you ask for?”

  “A shorter bloody flight!” replied Roberts with his hand held out in front of him in an aircraft shape.

  Roberts slapped Cade across the back and plipped the remote on his Ford Mondeo which was double parked in a bus bay.

  “Sling your case in there but watch out for the radio kit – very sensitive that my son. Doubt you’ve seen anything like it where you’ve been. I hear they have carrier pigeons over there still.”

  “You know, I’d like to say you’ve lost none of your acerbic wit but I’d be lying, by the way Andy Tsang sends his best wishes.”

  “Andy Tsang! Bloody hell, well take me back in time, w
hy don’t you. What’s he up to now, apart from his nuts in a Far Eastern whore?”

  “Eloquent as ever, Ginger, eloquent as ever. Actually, he’s likely to be the next Commissioner of the Hong Kong Police.”

  “Fuck off is he. And I’m likely to be the next Queen of frigging England. Get away with you; honestly you’re pulling my bleedin’ chain.”

  Cade replied, “Trust me on this Jason, I’ve just spent a few days with him in Hong Kong. His team managed to iron out a few creases and direct me along some paths that I hadn’t considered beforehand.” He sighed; it had been a long flight.

  Through all the banter, Roberts could see his colleague was exhausted.

  “Listen to me old China, what say I drop you off at your hotel and you catch up on some kip and we’ll meet tomorrow? Where are you staying?”

  Cade pointed to the hotel across the dual carriageway, “Just there as it happens!”

  “Nice, bit upmarket for you, isn’t it?” replied Roberts as he skilfully hurtled across both lanes and into the main car park.

  He exited the car and tossed the keys to Cade.

  “Don’t break it, it’s one of our old ones, but if you ruin it, I’m in the doghouse. He flicked his fingers together in a style often displayed by Afro-Caribbean men and turned on is heels across the car park and got into another equally anonymous vehicle, a grey Ford Focus with a well-built Jamaican sitting behind the wheel.

  Cade knew he was tired as he hadn’t seen it at the terminal.

  The Focus pulled up alongside Cade as he emptied the boot of the Mondeo. The passenger window slipped silently down into the door frame.

  “Jack, meet Dave Williams, good lad, first black lad on my team in fact, joined me back in 2004 and I’d have plenty more if I could get them, great dancers all of ‘em.”

  Cade placed his tanned hand into the larger and darker palm and greeted Williams.

  “Dave, ignore your senile boss. We’ve already met, back in Oh Four if my memory serves me well?”

  “We did boss, we did. I try to humour him. But often fail. It’s a miracle that we’ve stayed together quite so long.”

  Roberts threw back his head and laughed, “Christ, has it really been ten years David? Where does the time go? No, really, where does it go? Clearly I am an amazing boss or you’d be back on Traffic by now…and don’t forget I can make that happen like that.” He clicked his thumb and finger for effect.

  “Anyway, Cadester, see you tomorrow ten o’clock sharp – you know where we are? You all over it?”

  Cade nodded and shook hands with Roberts once more before walking into the foyer of the Sheraton Heathrow and checking in.

  Minutes later he walked into his room, closed the blackout curtains and made the mistake of lying down on the king-size bed which consumed him in a matter of seconds.

  He woke six hours later, took a blisteringly hot shower, slapped on some Givenchy Neo and staggered to the restaurant for breakfast only to learn that it was four in the afternoon. Jet lag was indeed a bitch.

  He grabbed a light snack and read the local national papers whilst drinking a pint of Theakston old peculier, a beer he had not tasted for a very long time.

  The headlines were no different from the rest of the world; chaos, mayhem, sleaze, political posturing and gossip, but on page three he noticed an article on an Eastern European crime syndicate that had been identified by the Nottinghamshire Police, a force about two hours north of London and one dear to Cade’s heart.

  The article explained how the group of Romanians had arrived into England a year before, initially set up their operation in London but then relocated to the East Midlands when the local police became too proactive. They then commenced a widespread series of thefts of personal data via Automated Teller Machines or ATMs and electronic point of sale terminals – often called EFTPOS.

  The victims were generally, blissfully unaware that they had been targeted and often failed to act until their accounts had been stripped bare by which time the offender had long gone, often leaving the donor country with the data held on computer portable devices and posting them via courier to their own countries for use or sale to the highest bidder.

  Technology was changing at such a pace that it was always difficult to keep up – but it was one thing the financially motivated crime syndicates did well.

  ‘Staying only one step ahead of us would be a luxury’, a senior police spokesman was quoted as saying the Telegraph.

  The syndicates recruited from within their own society but also had great success in exploiting low-income students who were, as luck would have it, incredibly gifted in the world of Information Technology.

  Paying them one US dollar per transaction seemed like slave labour however, things were put very much into perspective when the sheer amount of transactions were considered.

  These relative ‘kids’ were tasked with number-crunching, literally taking the account details obtained by the onshore teams and feeding them into the internet to buy goods which would then be sold on at a profit. Ten thousand here, five there, it all amounted to a multi-million-dollar operation.

  From deep within a provincial city, bang in the middle of England, a group of students did just that and within no time their operation became so fruitful that they divided into cells and soon their associates were setting up the same operation in Leicester and nearby Derby. Each cell in turn spawning more cells until practically the whole of the United Kingdom could almost reach out and touch them – but they were always more than one step ahead.

  Because they were students they lived en masse, either in flats or in ‘two up – two down’ accommodation, often sharing wi-fi connections or even better cruising around the city streets until they managed to either find an open system or hack into one. Once online they would conduct their transactions with the original victims none the wiser and the international banks banging their collective heads against a hypothetical wall.

  The article elaborated on the police operation, causing Cade to shake his head as he took another sip of the hop-laden brew. Surely the last thing the authorities should be doing was play their hand?

  But Cade also knew the power of public opinion and education. If a few victims passed on good practice techniques to keep their accounts safe, then perhaps they too could become as viral.

  For the authorities, it was now about prevention.

  On the very next page, next to a dubious article about Prince Harry, Cade saw another crime-related report, this one related to Boiler Room scams. He found himself shaking his head once more. It was literally everywhere. These types of victimless crimes abounded, and who could blame the offenders, really? Why would you conduct an armed robbery on a jeweller for a few Tag Heuer watches when you could rip off an online dealer for far more and at far lesser risk?

  He continued to read the article.

  Police could not provide the number of prosecutions or investigations linked to the reporting, saying such investigations were long term ‘and may take many years’ quoting the shadow justice spokesman Andrew Lamont, ‘And given the sheer number of transactions that are being reported, thousands of innocent people are being affected. Quite what the government are doing about it is a matter of great conjecture.

  On the opposite page was an article about technology which discussed the virtues of ‘contactless’ smart debit cards. The system was spreading across the world and whilst it would take a long time to reach third world countries, it was already having a huge impact upon retail spending habits – and crime trends.

  The cards worked via a radio frequency chip and meant that the legitimate owner could quite simply buy something and pay for it with a wave of the card over a reader at the checkout. In principle it was a great idea, simple in fact and for the financially motivated teams yet another opportunity to exploit as they set about working with their own intelligence gatherers and engineers to work out a way to extract critical data from the cards – some were even reporting successes by using
the newest breed of smart phones to hack into the data held within the heart of the cards.

  Cade finished his drink and wondered back to his room. As he did so his phone started to vibrate in his pocket.

  “Jack, my boy, how’s things in the motherland?” It was JD, and he was as ebullient as ever.

  “Have you met up with Ginger yet? How’s the weather? Good flight?”

  “Christ JD, how many questions? But off the top of my head, yes, not bad and great, glad you spent my money wisely. Hey John…”

  “Go ahead over.”

  “What do you know about the passports? Any news? Anything out of our old friends? Other than what I found out from Andy and his team?”

  “Bloody hell, what a hypocrite I counted at least three questions then too! OK, in chronological order: the passports are confirmed stolen, they are legitimate and they have links to every despot country you can think of, but as yet no-one knows why they would have been in Elena’s possession. Two, I’m pretty sure Mr Tsang’s findings reflect ours and three, you know bugger me Jack I can’t remember what the third question was!”

  “Senile old twat!” replied Cade lovingly, “you were going to provide a link between the documents and Elena.”

  “Thanks, it’s the middle of the frigging night here remember, I got up to use the bathroom and decided to ring you. Glad I did with comments like that! Anyway, I’ll get onto that. You’ll be pleased to hear the weather here is sublime, cracking sunset last night. What’s your plan for tomorrow?”

  “Wake up, eat breakfast and head into town in a dubiously loaned section car.”

  Daniel laughed as he put two and two together and came up with the correct number. His own days as a chief inspector came flooding back to him, and if he were in the same position as Roberts he’d have ‘accidentally’ leant him a car too.

  “OK my friend, take it easy and report back for Christ’s sake or her indoors will kill me. By the way, check your emails. Out.”

  And with that, Daniel was gone.

  After a night of fractured sleep Cade woke, showered, shaved and splashed on some Givenchy Gentleman; the sting soon passed, but the fragrance would last all day.