Three Lives Down (A Dan Taylor thriller)

by Rachel Amphlett

  Dan stalked into the secure open office and hurried towards Melissa’s desk.

  The woman was engrossed in the data scrolling across the three computer screens in front of her. Her head bobbed up and down to the music that played through headphones, the treble bleeding into the air around her.

  She ignored Dan as he approached, turning her attention to the report next to her mouse mat and then back to the computer screen.

  He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge him. Instead, he reached out and flipped the headphones from her head.

  ‘Oi.’ Melissa caught the headphones before they tumbled to the desk. ‘Careful – they cost two hundred quid.’

  ‘Two hundred pounds,’ said Dan. ‘Come on. We’ve got work to do.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Now.’

  She sighed, locked her computer, and pushed her chair back. ‘Where?’

  ‘What’s the most secure meeting room in the building?’

  ‘Conference room.’ She jutted her chin in the direction of the corridor. ‘Along there.’

  ‘Lead the way.’

  ***

  ‘Don’t you usually get involved in work like this?’

  Melissa shook her head. ‘No. They normally leave me to do the computer stuff.’ She leaned forward and began to flick through the pages of the documents that had been sent to Sarah, her eyes widening as one of the crime scene photographs caught her attention. ‘This is way more interesting, though.’

  ‘Right. Here’s the deal,’ said Dan and pulled his chair closer to the table. ‘You cut the attitude with me, and I’ll include you in my investigation. Sound good?’

  Melissa’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ His mouth quirked. ‘I think despite the fact you’ve got a clear disregard for authority, you’re brighter than half the analysts sitting out there. David gave you this job, didn’t he?’

  She nodded and then quickly looked down at her hands. ‘I was in trouble.’ She cleared her throat and then frowned. ‘A lot of trouble.’

  ‘Yeah. I heard.’ He smiled. ‘That’s probably why we’re going to get on like a house on fire.’

  Her head shot up, her mouth open in surprise, and then a faint smile crossed her lips. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good. Let’s get started.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘There are going to be three rules. First, nothing you and I talk about in this room, none of the work I give to you, gets broadcast outside this room, understood?’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Second, if anyone asks you what you’re helping with, lie. All right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Great.’ He picked up one of the reports.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Melissa. ‘You said there were three rules. What’s the third?’

  Dan flicked the page and kept reading. ‘Don’t forget the sugar in my coffee.’

  ***

  Dan ended the call to the project office and cursed.

  The rest of the team had gone home for the night, and he and the analyst had the office to themselves. The automatic lighting had flickered off around the edges of the room from the lack of activity, the remaining spotlights pooling over Melissa’s desk.

  Dan squinted into the gloom and tapped the mobile against his chin.

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Nothing that’s going to help us,’ he murmured. ‘Apparently someone from the team ordered an extra set of storage equipment four weeks ago, which seemed unusual but not enough to raise any flags.’

  ‘Mark Harvey?’

  ‘Yeah. Signed for them at the gate when the delivery van got there.’

  ‘So he hoarded the supplies without the team finding out?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘He’d have easily been able to put the gear into his car without anyone questioning him.’

  Melissa spun her chair left and right, her hands gripping the sides, a frown on her face. ‘Surely they would have queried the extra costs when the invoice turned up, though. They’d have to account for it.’

  Dan tucked his phone into his back pocket. ‘Apparently their contract stipulates they can’t raise an invoice until the end of the month.’

  ‘Giving Mark a clear four weeks before the extra equipment was queried.’

  ‘By which time, he’d be out of the way.’

  Melissa turned back to her computer. ‘Clever.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Dan pulled a chair across to her desk and sat next to her. ‘They were planning this for a long time.’

  ‘Surely there have to be easier ways to get hold of a radioactive isotope,’ she said, wiggling her mouse so the screens flickered to life once more. ‘What about all the stuff used in hospitals – X-ray and MRI machines?’

  ‘There’re strict disposal controls in the health service because of that risk,’ said Dan. ‘Not to mention they’d be trying to steal it from a very crowded environment. More chance of being caught.’

  ‘How would it leak?’ asked Melissa. ‘I thought the case was concrete and lead-lined.’

  ‘Either a stray bullet clipped the case or one of the canisters inside was damaged.’

  ‘Bullet casings?’

  Dan shook his head. ‘They were too clever for that. The police forensics report confirms no bullet casings were found on the scene.’

  ‘But the security men at the site gate let them back through.’ Melissa frowned. ‘If they were wearing radiation suits, they’d be stopped.’

  ‘Or the security guards would be dead, too.’ Dan drummed his fingers on the desk and then stopped. ‘Unless they didn’t know they had a leak.’

  ‘So the box wasn’t damaged by gunfire,’ said Melissa.

  ‘Here’s a thought,’ said Dan. He pushed his chair back and began to pace the room. ‘We know the two legitimate project men were killed by the rogue engineer,’ he said. ‘What if it’s not the box that’s leaking, but what’s inside?’

  ‘One of the vials?’

  ‘Yeah. What if Mark Harvey pulled out a gun and Greg dropped a vial – in shock?’

  Melissa nodded. ‘That would work.’

  Dan held up his hand, a thought forming. ‘The two unidentified thieves wouldn’t know about the leaking vial. Mark would’ve put it back in the case before they showed up – they’d have been in a hurry to leave the area in case someone heard the two gunshots.’

  Melissa leaned forward. ‘And they shot him before he had a chance to tell them.’

  ‘Right, here’s what we’ll do. You start with all the hospitals within a fifty-mile radius of the project site. Phone and ask if anyone’s checked into accident and emergency in the last week showing signs of radiation sickness – vomiting, the lot.’

  ‘Won’t the hospital have reported it to the police if someone turned up with radiation sickness?’

  ‘They will.’ Dan’s eyes flickered to the closed door and the frosted glass that obscured them from view. ‘But I have a feeling we’re not being told everything about this case. Probably on purpose.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Sign out a mobile phone for yourself. When you phone the hospitals, give them your number and mine. If anyone checks in that raises suspicions, I want us to know about it first.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wait here. Don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Dan frowned but held his tongue as Mel scooted from her seat, ripped open the door to the meeting room, and headed back in the direction of the open plan office.

  He leaned back against the windowsill, forcing himself not to rush after her to demand what she was doing. The paranoia of not knowing who he could trust was beginning to wear him down. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, exhausted.

  He heard footsteps on the carpet outside approaching at a fast pace, and then Mel reappeared, her hands holding something wrapped up under her sweater. She peered over her shoulder before she kicked the door shut with her foot and hurried towards him.

  ‘Here. Take one of these.’<
br />
  Dan held out his hand and then laughed when she dropped the item into it.

  ‘Jesus, where did you find these? I haven’t seen a mobile phone like this for at least ten years.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Mel, pulling a second, identical phone from her sweater and tucking it under one of the reports on the desk. ‘That’s the point.’

  ‘What is?’

  Mel took the phone from him and switched it on. A melody played out across the room, its cheerful tone out of place within the sombre surroundings.

  ‘What’s the biggest problem with mobile phones these days?’

  Dan’s mouth quirked. ‘No matter how much your provider charges you, your signal still drops out anywhere near Shepherds Bush?’

  ‘No, and stop being obtuse,’ said Mel. She passed the phone back to him. ‘Every mobile phone these days is traceable. You can’t hide anywhere.’ She gestured outside. ‘Think how many people the security services have caught, simply based on tracking their location via GPS or hacking into phone records. All because we want smarter, faster technology to stay connected.’

  ‘So, no location emitter, no email, no GPS, no Wi-Fi connection – nothing.’ Dan turned the phone in his hand.

  ‘Right,’ said Mel. She leaned over to the table and picked up her identical phone. ‘They just make calls and send texts. If you want added security, you can remove the battery and SIM card, but at least if you forget, the police aren’t going to turn up at your door immediately.’

  ‘And we need these because?’

  ‘Because someone wants you dead. That’s why.’

  Dan waved the phone in front of her face. ‘How good are these? How sure can you be?’

  Mel crossed her arms. ‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t believe what the street value of these old phones are. All the drug dealers are buying them these days.’

  Dan’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ She turned back to the table and started collating the papers. ‘I’ll put these in a secure place, one only I have access to,’ she said. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll make some discreet enquiries. See if I can find out how sick these people are going to be based on the number of vials we know are missing.’

  Melissa nodded. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  CHAPTER 17

  Alan Wright groaned and rolled over, sweat bubbling on his forehead.

  The flattened cardboard that served as his bed reeked. He’d been violently ill, the convulsions so sudden that he hadn’t been able to make it across the room to the bucket that he’d set up as a crude toilet.

  Spasms had shaken his body, and he’d spent most of the time cursing the cheap meal he’d bought with loose change from the run-down cafe at the end of the road two days before. He knew he’d end up with food poisoning sooner or later eating there, but they were the cheapest in the area and meant the change he’d begged from strangers during the day would last a bit longer.

  He wiped his face with the flap of his shirt and shivered, his skin covering with goose bumps, and stared at the ceiling.

  Pipes criss-crossed above his head, their route dictated by old air conditioning ducts, toilets that no longer worked, and power-starved electrical conduits. To the far side of the mezzanine level, a large window allowed light to filter through its dirty panes, the edges of the framework rusty and covered in pigeon shit.

  The building was silent, save for his ragged breathing.

  He blinked, tears threatening his resolve.

  He’d been ill before, sure, but not like this. He pushed back the sleeve of his shirt and squinted in the faint light at the blisters on his skin, its surface red and raw.

  He swallowed, more of the blisters scratching at his throat.

  He lowered his arm across his eyes and wracked his memory. Had he had chicken pox as a kid? Wasn’t it dangerous if contracted as an adult?

  He wiped his face with his sleeve once more.

  He’d leave it a few more hours. If he didn’t feel better, he’d walk to the hospital. It was only a mile away, and the fresh air would probably do him good.

  ‘You’ve been cooped up too long, Al,’ he reasoned.

  A sudden urge to pee took him by surprise, his eyes flickering open as he tried to fight the exhaustion.

  He raised his head, eased himself up until he was sitting, his hands propping up his body weight, and fought the wave of dizziness that gripped him.

  He grimaced at the pool of vomit on the floor.

  As he shuffled on the cardboard to try to stand, his gaze fell to the jacket he’d bunched up to use as a pillow.

  He frowned, and then leaned forward and reached across, pulling it towards him.

  ‘What the hell?’ he muttered.

  A small clump of hair lay within the folds of the material.

  He raised his hand to the back of his head, his fingers working across his skull, and then stopped.

  A smooth exposed piece of skin appeared under his touch. He removed his hand and looked at his fingers.

  More hair.

  He swallowed, and then raised his eyes across the mezzanine floor.

  A wire fence enclosed the space, preventing anyone from falling to the abandoned warehouse below. He’d heard the double doors to the warehouse slide open on a squeaky mechanism yesterday, before a four-wheel drive vehicle had roared into the space.

  He’d crawled closer to the edge, keeping his head low, in time to see a man clamber from the driver’s seat.

  A second man had closed the warehouse doors and then joined the driver, before they’d moved to the back of the vehicle and opened the back door.

  They’d carried a metal box between them, and by the way they’d shuffled across the floor towards a second car that had been concealed beneath a tarpaulin, he’d assumed the contents were heavy.

  The men had left that morning, taking the car and leaving the four-wheel drive vehicle, stripped of its licence plates.

  Alan had waited until he felt safe they wouldn’t return and had made his way down the rickety staircase to investigate.

  He’d been lucky when the two men had turned up; he’d bundled up his collection of cardboard he used for a sleeping mat and had folded it up, shoving it up against the wall in a darkened corner before retreating to the shadows as their vehicle had entered the warehouse.

  He’d held his breath as one of them had shaken the stair bannister, praying the man wouldn’t find him, and had sighed with relief when the man’s companion had mentioned the rats.

  He’d strained his ears to hear what they’d said while they were cooking their food, his stomach rumbling so loud that he’d thought they’d discover him for sure.

  When they hadn’t, he’d resolved to find out what they were up to, more as a way to break up the monotony of his day rather than any inclination to be nosey.

  They’d been clever though, taking turns to sleep and guard whatever it was they had carried to their car, and so Alan had waited until they’d gone.

  When he’d reached the abandoned four-wheel drive vehicle, he reached out to open the driver’s door and then snatched his hand back.

  He had no idea what he’d find, and he didn’t want his fingerprints found.

  He’d pulled his sleeve down to cover his hand and had then opened the door, holding his breath.

  The vehicle was empty, cleaned of any sign of its previous occupants. He’d checked all the seats thoroughly, looking for loose change or anything else that could prove useful, and had given up after half an hour with a huff of disgust.

  He’d climbed out and made his way round to the rear of the vehicle, the back door swinging easily on its hinges.

  He’d sought out a clue as to what the men had been transporting. It had looked reasonably heavy, the way both of them had carried it across the floor to their replacement car, and sure enough, the upholstery showed signs of a heavy object, indentations still clear in the fabric.

  Frustrate
d, he’d slammed the door shut and returned to his bed, none the wiser for his investigations.

  Now, Alan stared at the clump of hair in his palm and wondered what the two men had really been up to.

  And what the hell was making him so sick.

  CHAPTER 18

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Malikov peered over the reading glasses he hated to wear and then pulled them from his face as Krupin closed the door to the office and hurried towards him.

  ‘I’ve been trying to contact you,’ he said accusingly and pointed at the mobile phone on the desk. He picked it up and frowned. ‘It’s switched off.’

  ‘You know I hate those things,’ snapped Malikov. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘I’ve just found out our assassin failed,’ said Krupin. ‘The government somehow managed to keep it secret. It’s taken until now for my contact to get confirmation.’

  ‘So, Taylor is still alive, is he?’ Malikov leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  Krupin perched on the end of the desk. ‘I’ve also received word that he visited the project site yesterday.’

  Malikov unleashed a torrent of curses in his mother tongue and then exhaled. ‘He’s onto us.’

  ‘I spoke with Paval. He arranged for the documents relating to the isotope theft to be given to Taylor’s girlfriend.’

  Malikov beat his fist against the arm of the chair, the beginning of a headache pulsing behind his eyes. He reached out for the small bottle of pills on the desk, unscrewed the cap, and threw two down his throat.

  ‘Was that wise?’ he gasped, beating his chest with his fist to force the pills down. He reached out for a glass of water, fighting down the urge to cough.

  Krupin ignored his discomfort. ‘It will divert attention away from us. Don’t worry.’

  ‘This changes everything,’ Malikov said, turning the bottle in his hand. He set it on the desk and raised his eyes to Krupin. ‘Doesn’t it?’

  ‘We could still take delivery,’ said Krupin. He checked his watch. ‘He still hasn’t located the isotope.’