The Unseen

by James McKenna

  The queue had gone when he finally made the American Airline’s check-in desk. With his boarding pass secured for flight AA107, Richard Caswell watched his case trundle up the luggage ramp and flop onto the conveyor belt. He hoped they had planted a tracking device inside, that way MI5 would know exactly where he was; where he was supposed to be. But they wouldn’t know where Harry Woods was.

  “No luggage, sir?” the check-in clerk asked.

  “Just cabin luggage.” Richard smiled, as he showed Harry Woods’ passport and received his boarding card for Virgin flight VS019 to Boston.

  Sean was on the M4 when Victoria finished on the phone. “American Airlines know of Richard Caswell. He booked five flights, missed four but made the last one. His case has been checked onto flight AA107, Gate number 31. Richard Caswell is on the passenger list. Departure in thirty-five minutes.”

  “I have him! How fast does this thing go?” Sean pressed his foot down on the BMW’s accelerator, shifting between lanes, taking any gap as he streaked through traffic, cursing when it closed around him. “Tell airport police to hold the flight and arrest Caswell.”

  “Sean, we’ve got nothing with which to stop him. We may confront him, maybe get some information but we can’t hold him without reason.”

  Sean glanced at her then back to the road. “For fuck’s sake, Victoria. Get on to Cobbart. He must have read that statement by now.” He banged the wheel as the traffic bunched in front. Victoria started on the mobile again. Cars on the inside thinned, allowing him to push through onto the emergency lane. He put the BM to a hundred.

  “You’ve done it, Sean,” Victoria said. “Your boss is drafting an arrest warrant. He’ll fax it to the airport. He is not happy.”

  “What about Alice?”

  “She’ll know, like the evil witch you called her, she’ll know.”

  Richard smiled politely at the woman on Passport Control. She smiled back, punched numbers on some hidden keyboard inside her booth and returned his passport. That was one obstacle down but it did not remove the unease as he shuffled forwards to the security gate and placed his laptop into the mouth of the x-ray machine. Neither did the shrill ring of the metal detector when he stepped through the arch. Two security men were immediately on either side. Compliantly, Richard raised both arms, turning as they frisked him then waved a handheld detector over his body. He swallowed and found his throat dry. Hands brushed over his jacket, over his two passports and two boarding cards. There was no reaction, no more electronic sounds.

  The man nodded and stood back. Richard looked to retrieve his laptop.

  “Something wrong?” he snapped at the security woman who had his computer half out of its case. Instantly he calmed himself and tried to smile. Losing his temper or showing fright would only cause suspicion.

  “Fine, sir.” She pushed the computer back and squiggled a blue chalk mark on the exterior.

  “What’s that for?”

  “So we know it’s been checked.” She held the bag out, all smiles.

  Richard contained his relief and walked slowly, trying to appear relaxed. In a corner of the departure lounge he sat and switched on the laptop. The screen eventually displayed the coded rows of numbers and letters. The same with two of the flash drives which were stored in the outer pockets of the computer case. He let the tension ease on a long whistle of breath. He had done it, Harry Woods was free with WorkWell and full SPI modifications, except he was uncertain about the blue chalk mark. Why him? It singled him out.

  In a discount shopping arcade he bought a brown leather briefcase with gold trim, a type sold by the dozen, inexpensive and inconspicuous. He slipped the computer case inside along with the flash drives and entered the nearest public convenience. Locked in a cubicle, he removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeve and pushed Richard Caswell’s passport and boarding card under the trap of the WC bowl. Outside in front of the mirrors he washed his hands and straightened his tie. Now Caswell really was in the shit and Harry Woods left free to roam. The tannoy system announced the last call for American Airlines flight AA107, Gate 31. Ten minutes later whilst he sat in a coffee lounge, an announcement came for Richard Caswell to report immediately to Gate 31. It was followed by the boarding announcement for Virgin flight VS109. Richard picked up his briefcase and strolled with other passengers towards the allocated departure gate. Harry Woods was about to fly economy class to Boston. The flight monitor screens were now showing American Airlines Flight 107 as delayed. Richard smiled. Some arsehole had checked in his case than bunked off. Richard Caswell would not be well remembered.

  Outside Terminal 3 Sean threw open the car door and entered the building at full run. Warrant card in hand, he pushed through Security and Passport Control. Uniformed and plain-clothed police began shouting, chasing behind with Victoria.

  The waiting area for gate 31 was filling with disgruntled people leaving the aircraft. Sean went to the nearest stewardess.

  “I’m looking for one of your passengers, Richard Caswell,” he said. “I have a warrant for his arrest.”

  “We’re looking for him too, sir,” the woman said. “Because he’s not on the aircraft and he’s not in this room, but he’s sure causing us problems.”

  Sean felt the whole of his inner body contracting into knots. Zoby had kept Helen Carter alive for three days. Three days of abuse. How long would he keep two schoolgirls alive?

  Richard shuffled down the aircraft with other passengers and found his allocated seat in premium economy. Two Chinese businessmen occupied the window and middle seat. With passengers in the aisle still pushing and lifting bags into the overhead lockers, Richard sat with the briefcase in his lap. His adrenalin began to surge, he was out of there. He was going.

  The black man who pushed up to the seat came with the last passengers and towered like a mountain, his body draped in a black leather jacket, his neck hung with gold. He looked down at Richard through wraparound shades.

  “You’re in my seat, Mr.” He showed his boarding card and beckoned a stewardess.

  She came across and stood with a set smile examining both boarding cards. “They’ve over booked,” she said and fixed her smile on Richard. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll find you an upgrade. Follow me.” She whipped the briefcase from his lap and pushed back into the aisle against the last incoming passengers.

  “I’ll carry that.” He tried to reach for the case, but she was already ahead. Richard stayed close, his eyes on her every move until they reached the door and stairs which led to the upper deck. Other cabin staff, passengers and gantry crew were suddenly around her, all seeming to congregate as she pointed up.

  “After you, sir.”

  “I’ll take the case.”

  “It’s OK, I can manage.”

  Richard went up and turned immediately to watch her carry the precious briefcase. She indicated two empty seats side by side. “Take your pick,” she said, lifting the brown case into the baggage locker and closing it. “Please fasten your seatbelt. Our departure for takeoff is imminent.”

  Richard felt the aircraft move and smiled for the stewardess while she fastened him in. He smelted her perfume and sensed her body. He was safe. No one could touch him now. He had even managed an upgrade. Reasonable, he thought, considering all the money he had spent covering every seat available for his unknown time of departure.

  CHAPTER 22

  “He could be anywhere by now, anywhere!” Sean punched the dashboard and slumped back in the BM passenger seat, his mind jagged, his anger defeated by despair. Victoria took an envelope from a woman PC who passed it through the open window.

  “Arrest warrant for Richard Caswell,” Victoria said. “If he’s still in this airport, they’ll find him.”

  “He could also be helping Zoby cut up my children.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t think like that. What I said before you left the warehouse, we can still do it.”

  “Wait on Zoby to use his mobile?”

  “That’s one
way. Sibree maybe a witch, but she’ll do anything to save your daughters. If Zoby switched on and gave a signal lasting four minutes, MI5 could cross-reference the beacons and find the spot within five metres. It’s cleared with Thames House, they’re listening right now.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that, but I can’t just sit and wait.” He put his head back and stared at the roof. He felt his insides chewing up, felt utter despair.

  “There’s an alternative. We check addresses from Travelpath.”

  “Cobbart’s doing that already. He’s got two thousand nationwide, eight hundred in the Home Counties alone. In case they spook Zoby, each check has to be done covertly.” He closed his eyes. He felt tired, trapped.

  Victoria touched his hand and twisted in the seat. “Has anybody considered that Zoby abducted your girls and attacked Danielle in a time gap under two hours? Time he spent driving a black van.”

  Sean nodded, eyes still closed. “Probably had the girls in the back. Who knows where he is?”

  The full weight of her punch to his chest brought him back to the car. Her eyes were glaring.

  “Will you fucking listen to me. Don’t give up. The van’s not been seen since. If he dropped the girls first and came back for Danielle, he’s within thirty, forty minutes drive of the crime scene. I’ll be brutal, Sean. He’s sadistic, your girls will scream. He’d need isolation.”

  “He gags his victims.”

  Her eyes never faltered, locked to his, no mercy, only frustrated rage. “I’ve talked to expert psychiatrists. All agree he would enjoy it more if he heard their screams.”

  He wanted to hit her. Every nerve in his body was tense again. She kept eye contact while fishing in her handbag before producing a folded sheet of A4.

  “Printout from Heidi’s computer. Travelpath list. Three remote properties are within forty minutes drive of your home. Zoby could be using one of them. It’s a chance good as any. That and the mobile location may find them. You going to sit there?”

  He knew she was right and was thankful for her strength. He raised a hand to touch her, then fastened his seatbelt instead. “Let’s go.”

  “There’s a map in the glove compartment.” She turned on the klaxon and headlights, then drove out into the airport traffic, cutting light through darkness.

  Once the aircraft had levelled, Richard listened to the background whisper of the engines. The seatbelt light went off and moments later a trim stewardess passed by on her duties. Richard stood and removed his briefcase from the overhead locker to place it on the seat beside him. He had to check, to be certain.

  The laptop case remained inside. The blue chalk mark on the front told him it was real. The flash drive files from WorkWell sat in their pockets. Everything was as it should be except something, he wasn’t sure what, but something made him slide the computer from its case and open it on his lap. For a few moments he tapped the keys then sat staring at the screen. Mickey Mouse stared back.

  The numbing cloak of hopelessness which had coiled round Sean’s mind slowly loosened its intensity. It didn’t go away but he began to think rationally again. Urgency became paramount, so did news. He called Jan first.

  “How’s Danielle?”

  “At my place. Sexually molested but no penetration. Got stitches in her leg. Mood swings from anger to tears. Needs a lot of re-assuring.”

  “Does she know about the girls?”

  “I’ve said nothing.”

  “Don’t. I want to give her good news.”

  “I know you been pushed into touch, boss, but it you want me out there, I’m kind of available.”

  “I appreciate it, but stick with Danielle, she needs you. This guy is still loose.” He switched to redial then had a better idea. “I’m going to text Zoby and lay bait.”

  “Use this.” Victoria reached to her door pocket and extracted a silver mobile. “It belongs to the department. They have constant monitoring locked onto the mobile number found in Harrison’s flat. You’ll find his contact number sent by e-mail to the Colonel, it’s top of the address list.” She turned on to the M25 and began to weave through traffic, her full attention back on the road.

  For moments Sean watched her profile, the small sweep of her nose and delicate chin. Her eyes glowed like black refection of the night. He knew then that his daughters were part of her vengeance, part of her silent fury and determination. She was formidable now, and for that he gave back his trust. He switched on the mobile and began to text.

  Location and sit rep. Note my new contact no. and report.

  “If he answers we keep him on line,” Victoria said. “So long as he’s switched on, so long as his phone pulses for four minutes we have him. Base can also re-route any calls he makes to reach the mobile you hold.” She checked her watch. “First address thirty minutes.”

  They drove for twenty before a bleep sounded on the silver backed instrument Sean held in his hand.

  Where’s my money?

  “We have contact.” Sean pressed buttons.

  Money ready. What location? Col.

  He watched the message send, watched the screen flicker, then fade to save.

  Victoria slowed to the inside lane and pressed to his shoulder, glancing down at the tiny screen. He sensed her energy and strength and again drew comfort from it. He waited, keeping his eyes on the phone as it lay in the palm of his hand like the dead husk of some giant beetle. Nothing happened. “He’s gone.”

  “But we made contact. We know he’s there and using that number. Think positive. The moment he switches back on the office will bleep our phone. I’ll turn off the klaxon. Try him on voice. I know it’s dangerous, he may not recognise you as the Colonel, but we have to risk it, we have to draw him out.”

  She leant to the glove compartment, searching with one hand to produce a small, sealed packet. One hand still on the steering wheel she ripped open the cellophane with her teeth, stuck a button mike over the back of the silver mobile and clipped the receiver behind her ear. “MI5 goodies. I can listen up to a hundred metres,” she paused. “And Alice gave back my automatics.”

  Richard stared at the screen in dumb horror, realising somewhere, someone had switched laptops. He extracted a flash drive from its case. It appeared to be the original. He started to slot it into a port then stopped. If this was not his laptop, then it might be programmed to corrupt the master files. He sat in hesitation as full realisation dawned. If they had swapped briefcases when he mounted the stairs to first class, then they knew which aircraft he was on. They knew of Harry Woods.

  He sighed despondently, the same time a passenger in front stood in the aisle and turned to him.

  “Hallo, Richard. Remember me?”

  Richard looked at the legs, the short, tight skirt and strutted hip. He remembered her all right.

  “Stella. As if I could forget.”

  “Mr Wileman sent me to make sure you had a comfortable trip, to make sure his files were OK.”

  “How did you know I was on this flight?”

  “Business efficiency, Mr Caswell. It’s my job.” She reached for a black laptop on her own seat then sat next to him, juggling her skirt to semi modesty before resting the computer on her thighs. Finally settled, she undid her jacket to display a stretched blouse. Small, rimless spectacles perched on her nose and the same loose hair hung in wisps against one check. “You don’t mind if I try them?” she asked, extracting a flash drive from Richard’s briefcase.

  Richard stared out the blackened window into the darkness of night and listened to her try each file in turn. Eyes closed he pondered over his best way out. They had cheated him, stolen his work. SPI could have made him a multi-millionaire. By remote hypnosis, he could have killed any person, anywhere; had a dozen Zobys following his directions. He felt satisfaction over the killing, watching from the sidelines, knowing it was his work. He had money still. He would survive. He snorted breath thinking of Zoby with two schoolgirls, wondering what he’d do to them. Serve the coppers right, al
ways interfering.

  “These are real good, Richard,” Stella said, pushing the flash drives into her own computer bag and then replacing it on her seat.

  “They are?” He sat up in surprise.

  “Perfect. Mr Wileman will be real pleased.”

  “You understand them?” he said, doubting her capability.

  “Perfectly. I have my doctorate in computer science now. Recently I tried your early research on our own staff. Efficiency improved by fifteen percent and job dedication by twenty. We’re on to both a commercial and political winner.” She hesitated and gave a tight smile. “Providing it’s kept secret. Under the circumstances, I’m to ask if you would like to rest up at Casco Bay. The house is empty except for a maid. I have encryption facilities in the Beach House. We can make copies of the master files and then insert them into our main programme.”