The Unseen

by James McKenna

  Sean drank the last of his coffee. “I don’t like it. Let me have Jan shadow you.”

  “Sean, I’m MI5, I’m trained. I have my mobile. I don’t want interference. I also need to solidify our covers. I intend to talk a million pound deal, that should draw Caswell in. I also want him to bring the papers round here tonight. Nothing will happen to me if I’m promising a million, so I don’t want you here, just be close.” She picked up her bag and hooked it to one shoulder.

  “Am I allowed to kiss Mrs Fagan goodbye?”

  She threw a kiss with her fingers. “We’ve had sex. Let’s not get involved with what follows. It’s called commitment. I’ll be in touch.”

  Sean put the plates in the dishwasher and left the frying pan in the sink. With a dirty coffee pot and cups, it made the kitchen domesticated enough to look normal. Upstairs he scattered yesterday’s clothes around the master bedroom and put his shaving gear in the bathroom. More than one cover house had been burgled by the opposition to check its authenticity. He never underestimated the enemy. Ten minutes later he was heading for the warehouse in London, constantly checking for a tail. Through the bank, Caswell now had their cover address and in Zoby’s circle, no-one could be too careful. No one.

  His mobile rang and Sean hooked it to hands-free. Steve Rawlings spoke.

  “Amongst the garbage spewed last night from PKL’s main server, we intercepted messages in a private chat room. Mission, code name Termination Road, Top Quality Females. Commencement immediate. Confirm mission acceptance.” Steve paused, rustling paper at the other end. “The reply read, Combat proficient and ready. Good to be working, Colonel. Then they swapped to another line of communication on which we had no tap. There were hundreds of other e-mails. Standard stuff, probably auto replies. But those stood out. I’d say your man is active.”

  “Females - plural,” Sean said. “Christ, this is getting out of hand.”

  “One other thing. The amount of activity they were generating last night may have been an automatic update to all outlets. At the same time, they could have been cleaning the systems. It’s just possible they’re taking evasive action.”

  “That makes our situation more urgent. Stay with it, Steve, and well done.” Sean pressed numbers for auto-dial.

  Victoria’s voice came softly in reply.

  “I’ve new info in,” Sean told her. “Zoby is stalking two women, possibly more. His control identified not as Crystal, but the Colonel. There are e-mails from the Colonel giving Zoby orders.”

  “Obey Crystal from PKL, obey the Colonel from Killing Fields. Split command sources to confuse. Could still be one person,” Victoria replied.

  “Take out his control and we stop him. Raid PKL now.”

  “No. If they’re active they’re more exposed. Let’s keep both fronts as agreed. You go after Zoby on the outside, I’ll go for his controller on the inside. Close PKL and everyone goes to ground. How do you prove murder by the Internet? Crystal, the Colonel, they’re here in PKL, I know it. Played right, maybe I can draw them out. If I need to be bait, so be it. Attention on me may distract Zoby’s controller from the other women.”

  “What if the Colonel calls Zoby to Shoreditch?” Sean asked

  “He kills by remote. It would make no sense to bring his hatchet home. If Zoby comes after me, he’ll do so when he thinks I am alone. It could be I am one of the women mentioned. I hope so, because I know you’ll be close.”

  “I can’t be that close. Not unless you accept backup.” He waited on her silence.

  “You’ll be close enough, Sean. Zoby’s on the streets stalking women. Shoreditch is full of staff during the day and though I didn’t tell you, I have an automatic pistol in my handbag, a small concession from Alice. And my MI5 mobile is constantly monitored for location. I’m perfectly safe.”

  “It could be they are aware and suspicious of us. They have a lot of Internet activity going on.”

  “Then all the more reason to strengthen our cover. The slightest slip up on our part and they’ll run. Having them believe in us will only be done by full barefaced bluff. You play your part, I’ll play mine.”

  “Just don’t end up dead.”

  Since winning prizes at Brighton, Sophie now went to the computer room before starting gym club. She went at lunchtime, three days a week. The other two days she practised martial arts. That way she both met her heroine and learned to fight. Julie was computer room prefect, sitting as usual with her laptop, always ready to help. Sophie now considered her a best friend, especially in the dorm where they both played PKL on Julie’s games console.

  “Can I check my e-mail?” Sophie asked. “Dad and Danielle send most days. So does Heidi, she works for Dad.”

  “OK, but quick because the seniors will be here any moment doing the same.” Julie sat at the desk beside her and switched on the computer.

  “I’ve brought your PKL.” Sophie held up the DVD. “I made level three after you left last night.” She leaned on Julie’s arm, resting her head as the PC checked its systems. The older girl briefly stroked her hair. Sophie closed her eyes. “What’s your princess doing?” she asked.

  “Level Seven, fighting the Meehong Dragon.” Julie nudged. “Come on, you’ve only a few minutes.”

  Sophie reluctantly sat up and clicked with her mouse to hotmail. She had two e-mails. First came from PKL prize department.

  Congratulations, Sophie and Rebecca Fagan. During your stay at Morrison Hotel, Brighton, your high scores have won you PKL sweatshirts. Please give your size and address so our special designer shirts with our PKL monogram may be despatched ASAP, and if you think that’s good news, then read on. You have also won a full set of PKL games which must be downloaded from the accompanying file. Please do this immediately.

  Sophie nudged. “I’ve won a prize. All the games, a sweatshirt, everything. We have to download.”

  Julie leaned across and checked. “Clever girl, do it through the disk writer.”

  “I haven’t got any clean disks.”

  “I’ve some by my bedside, go fetch them.”

  “There’s no time, I’ve gym in ten minutes.”

  “Shift your bum then.” Julie squeezed so they both shared the same chair. “I’ll download to hard drive and we’ll transfer after lessons.” She began to click the mouse. “Just don’t tell anyone or I’ll be in trouble.”

  “What about the sweatshirt? Can I give my address?”

  “You know school rules. Never give your private address over the Net. Not to anyone.”

  Sophie thought quickly. “But we can put the school down – have them sent to grumpy old Mr Farlane on the gate. When he checks the post tomorrow, they may be there.”

  “I suppose.” Julie tapped letters into the address box. C/o Gate Lodge, Primrose House, St Monica’s School, Ivinghoe, Bucks. “There. If it is a bomb, old Farlane can do the commando stuff he’s always on about.”

  The instant return e-mail showed it an automatic response. Congratulations again. In the nick of time you are now entered into the PKL Grand Draw. That’s a photo session with Princess Kay-ling herself, plus two thousand pounds cash. The draw takes place tonight – so watch this space.

  “That’s brill.” Sophie edged off the chair and hugged Julie, squeezing tight. “I have to tell Becky. This is brill.”

  Steve’s call was the deciding factor. If Zoby was in Travelpath, Sean needed to identify him without delay. If that called for pressure, so be it. In the team warehouse he called Diane who was acting as co-ordinator in his absence.

  “You get my message to pick up the manager of Travelpath?”

  “His name’s Stratton,” Diane said. “He never leaves except to close up. The first opportunity without alerting the staff will be tonight.

  “Then we take a chance. Phone and tell him who we are, emphasise the need for absolute secrecy. Instruct him to go out at lunchtime. We’ll meet him as he walks.”

  Sean listened to her confirm and put down his mobile. He
put the MI5 mobile that Victoria had given him into a drawer. He wanted them to know where Victoria was, but he didn’t want them to have a trace on himself. He had never trusted Alice Sibree. They didn’t call her the Wicked Witch for nothing and Victoria was her protégée. That morning in bed her hunger had surprised him and afterwards her warmth was all embracing, but she was still MI5 and as devious as they come.

  Heidi looked round the door.

  “We have a photograph from Ireland,” she said. “Car hire firm have CCTV over their compound. Bad image, but I have the photo lab doing enhancement.”

  “Try it for comparisons with witnesses’ description from the Bradshaw burglary. Check with Haggarty and Dublin Airport for security footage covering the hours before and after Zoby’s flight. Do the same at Luton airport this side. Anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Will do, boss. A small item just in. Steve Rawlings reports e-mail over your personal landline from PKL. It was one of thousands going all over the country.”

  “Danielle’s an agent, it figures.”

  “He asks if you want the line monitored.”

  Sean hesitated. One hint of domestic involvement and John Cobbart would have him out. That regulation applied to everyone.

  “Tell him yes, but unofficially. You understand?”

  “Read you, boss.”

  Sean scrolled his phone book and dialled Danielle. Her mobile was switched off so he left a message on voice mail. He shook his head over any possibility of connection. The Morrison Hotel registrar would give no clue he was anything but a genuine investor. Danielle was a genuine agent. The girls had won prizes, given their hotmail address to hotel staff as genuinely expected. Routine company e-mail was inevitable. It gave no way for physical contact, no location. The hotel register held a bogus address and their cover was still good. He shook his head. Even if they made a connection he was police, they’d be running, not closing. His girls were safe at boarding school and Danielle would be at uni. In his mind he realised the onset of a policeman’s phobia; the dread of criminal activity entering personal life. Unreal, he thought.

  “Shit.” He dialled on the mobile. “Jan, I’m looking for a personal favour. Need someone to baby-sit my housekeeper when I’m away nights.”

  Sean stayed close behind the target, a dapper, bespectacled man who strolled along the busy Holborn pavement. Immediately to his right Jan crawled the kerb in an unmarked car, the bonnet level with Chad and Simmy up front. Diane sat waiting in the back seat.

  “Now,” Sean said, over the mike of his body set. “I want him with no place to go.” Chad and Simmy stopped, so the target almost bumped into them and was forced to step towards the road. Jan pulled to the kerb, Diane throwing the rear door wide. The target again looked to side-step, unable to do so when Chad and Simmy boxed in the space. Sean was instantly behind him.

  “Police, Mr Stratton.” Sean showed his warrant card. “Please get into the car without fuss, all will be explained.” He placed a hand on Stratton’s shoulder, pushing down and sideways so the man’s crowded body was forced into the rear seat. He went obediently and without protest while Diane slid to the opposite door; Sean came in beside him while Chad went to the front passenger seat. A moment later Jan had them out in traffic.

  Sean again showed his warrant card. “Excuse this intrusion, Mr Stratton. I’m Detective Inspector Fagan, Serious Organised Crime Agency. Could you tell me where you were last weekend?”

  Stratton’s mouth hung wide. “At home with my wife.”

  “Can you produce an independent witness to verify that?”

  “Yes.” He looked between them. “The woman said one of my staff has been stealing.”

  “Unfortunately, Mr Stratton, Travelpath and members of your staff have entered our enquiries regarding a serious crime. Two of your recent customers have been burgled, Darley and Bradshaw. Who in your company would know they were absent from home?”

  Stratton’s brow furrowed and his jaw closed. “My staff are the best.”

  Sean grimaced. “Answer the question, Mr Stratton, please.”

  “I have thirty-one staff, we work shifts. Eight till eight or the last customer. Lots of different people could be involved.”

  “You make life difficult, Mr Stratton,” Diane said. “We have some photos of your staff, but not thirty one. You have company photos, staff parties, company outings?”

  “Yes, I suppose, somewhere.”

  Chad turned in the seat and smiled with pitted, white teeth. “Kind of you to let us have them, Mr Stratton.”

  “I’ll have to find them first.” He looked to Sean. Sean gave his best friendly policeman smile.

  “No hurry,” he said. “Finish your lunch. I’ll come to collect in one hour. Jan.” The car pulled over.

  Sean leaned back and stared at the padded roof. “When you return to the office, Mr Stratton, collect what photos you can. I want a list of all staff who had time off since last Thursday. I also want a list of every staff member who had dealings with Bradshaw and Darley. Circle them on the photographs. I also want all their addresses.”

  “Am I a suspect?” Stratton’s lip jutted.

  “’Course not. That’s why we’re being kind. We have an interrogation cell for suspects. But I do want your silence, Mr Stratton. If you mention a word of our conversation to anyone, including your wife, we’ll know. We’ll wonder why you did that, why you betrayed our confidence. Then you become a suspect.” He stood from the car, letting Stratton slide out. “We appreciate your co-operation, Mr Stratton. One hour.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Stratton looked at him.

  “We’ll be watching.” Sean smiled for the man’s departure. “Follow him, Chad. For all we know he’s Zoby and anything he provides is bullshit.” Chad nodded and climbed out, leaving Sean in the front seat. He lifted the car phone. “Heidi, ask Red Team for spare members, ask Cobbart for all the help he can send. I want every suspect followed home and put under surveillance.”

  “Everything as requested.” Stratton passed the package, glancing either side, his voice lost amidst the chatter of sales staff and customers in the busy, open office. “The group photo is a year old. Unfortunately, about five employees are not included. Two of those are presently absent. One with flu, one at his mother’s funeral. Including accounts, bookings and sales, six people in this office knew our clients’ itineraries. But most of the work is done from head office in Birmingham. I’ve no idea how many are involved there. I trust this co-operation results in total discretion?”

  “Absolutely, Mr Stratton,” Sean said. “As I also trust you will say nothing to any staff member until we have identified a suspect. Staff are loose lipped. Imagine the consequences if the press discovered someone in Travelpath sent clients on holiday, then burgled their homes.”

  Stratton showed teeth in an uneasy smile. “I am positive my staff are blameless.”

  “We’ll be very close, Mr Stratton.”

  On returning to the car Sean pushed into the back seat, squeezing Diane towards Simmy. On the kerb behind them, an unmarked van with a periscope surveillance camera held six members of Red Team. The three parking bays were suspended. Sean opened Stratton’s package.

  “We have two principal suspects, so we can eliminate from the top down.” Sean began to copy addresses. “One, Dave Hardy, Croydon, supposedly sick with flu since last Wednesday. I want him interviewed.” He handed the note to Diane. “Get down there immediately. If he can’t produce an alibi, bring him in. Chad, I want you up in their Birmingham head office, I want a list of all the people involved with our two files. I want their addresses; I want them questioned. Red Team works from here.” He handed Simmy the photos. “Four possible suspects are on the premises now. Have them identified and followed. If Zoby’s on a mission, he’s going to get active. Jan and I will check number two main suspect, Mark Harrison. Seems his mother just died.”

  During the drive to Holloway Road, Sean stayed within his own thoughts, grateful Jan ga
ve him space but knowing her questions would come eventually. She drove with aggression; her long, lean body laid back in the seat, her movements wafting a light, girlish scent. On her left index finger a silver Claddagh ring showed the heart turned outwards. No romance or partner. He revitalised his vision of Victoria’s soft nakedness, her body entwined in total surrender. He had no worry about Danielle and Jan. Jan was a professional. Danielle had a partner. But like it or not, he couldn’t shake his worry over Victoria entering Caswell’s web.

  “Sleeping at your place, boss, I should know what I’m watching for. You had home contact from the opposition?”