“Okay...” Mac nodded as he listened. A notepad and a pen had materialised within his hands and he had been scribbling obediently.
Emily continued. “We’re looking for a base of operations, somewhere significant. Mark off on a map all the recorded incidents; see where there are concentrations of activity. Look out for absolutely anything that might come across as peculiar. I expect there’ll be quite a few burglaries still to be reported what with it being a public holiday, but there’s plenty to start off with. You may need to call in Jez and Belle to lend a hand.” Jeremy ‘Jez’ Staff and Isa-’belle’ Horris were junior analysts brought in by Ryan to act as assistants. He often just referred to them in the singular as Jezebel.
“Right you are, though I doubt they’ll be happy with it being New Year an’ all,” replied Mac returning to his workstation.
“I’m not happy!” shouted Emily. Quickly she calmed herself. “Use CCTV footage, monitor traffic cams. Any surveillance footage that may give us a lead.”
“I’m on it.” Mac disappeared behind his desk partition.
“What about my brothers and sister?” asked Sophie solemnly, before adding a little belligerently: “You’re not going to bypass my needs in favour of the ‘greater good’ again are you?” She was referring to the decision Ryan had forced upon them in October. They had bumped the search for George Jennings in favour of destroying his work. It was a decision which Emily had regretted ever since, and which Sophie constantly reminded her.
Shaking her head, Emily replied. “No. The hunt to find Meredith, Stanley and Charlie stays with us. Nothing’s being left to chance. Not this time.”
Sophie’s face softened. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The starting point was back at the scene of the crime. Grandpa Theo’s house where Meredith, Stanley and Charlie had been kidnapped, where they’d all been drugged and where Ryan had been shot.
“What do we know about the caterers?” asked Emily. The two women were sitting around Emily’s desk, a computer flat screen was flashing up images ahead of them. The workstation around them was cluttered with computer printouts, loose sheets of paper, and sundry personal items belonging to Emily, including a bunch of keys, her mobile phone and a large coffee mug emblazoned with the legend I LOVE SPREADSHEETS glazed around its side in large black letters.
“Not much,” replied Sophie. “Theo booked them before I arrived for Christmas.” She was still living in the apartment in Chelsea and was visiting her family for the festive season. “He told me that he’d found them advertised in the Yellow Pages.” Moments earlier Sophie had called her grandfather to see how Camilla and himself were doing (that had been the pretext, and they assured her that they were ‘fine’), following up with some questions regarding the New Year’s Eve dinner, focusing in particular on the two individuals hired to prepare and serve it. “A company called Velvet Grape Catering Services, based in Norwich,” she added. “I took the initiative and called them. They checked their bookings diary and it turns out they had nothing scheduled for last night.”
“Oh?”
“That’s what I said. I went on to explain to them a bit about my reason for calling, but they couldn’t shed any light. Though they did mention that one of their vans had been stolen a week before; they reported it to the police at the time who recorded it on their national computer. I wrote down the details and asked Mac to run it through his surveillance tracker.”
Hearing his name, Mac piped up defensively and a little flustered. “I’m on it!” This translated, until then, as completely the opposite.
“Delegating now, are we?” Emily mused aloud, half a smile playing on her lips. “You’d make a good leader.”
Before Sophie could consider the idea further, Mac made a loud clap with his hands and a whoop of joy. “Girl… am I good or AM I GOOD!”
Emily twisted around in her swivel chair. “What’ve you got Mac?”
He stood up to look excitedly over his desk partition towards Emily and Sophie. “A van matching the one reported stolen was captured on a Highway Agency CCTV late last night heading north-west along the A47 towards King’s Lynn.
“Using image-enhancing software I was able to zoom in on the registration plate, but a quick check on the number gave me a mismatch. The DVLA had the number plate registered against a C4 Picasso, not a grey Ford Tourneo. The Picasso had also been reported stolen at the same time.”
“So the plates had been swapped... probably an attempt to throw us off the trail.” Emily stood up from her seat and walked around to the other side of the partitioning to stand beside Mac. Sophie followed her.
“Yea,” agreed Mac. “But it didn’t work. Using the highway cameras’ surveillance database, I was able to follow the van for miles. From the A47 they joined the A17, then the A1 where they drove continuously until stopping at a service station near Wetherby. There, a perfectly placed camera was able to capture a fantastic picture of both the van’s driver and his passenger.” Mac, still standing, stabbed his index fingers at a couple of keys on his computer keyboard. Two faces flashed up onto the large screen.
“That’s them,” said Sophie and Emily at the same time. They both turned to each other.
“I ran their images through facial recognition and, surprise surprise, we got a hit.”
“You didn’t expect to find something?” asked Emily incredulously.
“Actually, I was being sarcastic.” Not adding anything further, Mac carried on: “Hector Degiorgio and Natasha Vincent. I’m surprised you didn’t recognise them.”
“Oh?” Emily looked puzzled.
“They’re both listed as current employees of Kaplan Ratcliff. Isn’t that your old haunt?” Mac knew the answer so continued. “Both are former military with stints in the French Foreign Legion and private sector work; currently on assignment as field agents within KR’s Security and Intelligence division. It may not be a coincidence, but they were also part of Ryan’s task force sent into Nevada to destroy Project GYGES in October. They were under Dominic’s charge then...”
“And likely under his charge now,” finished Emily. “Damn it! I do remember them. I should have recognised them at the dinner party.”
“It’s not your fault,” Sophie reassured softly, her face hardening. “It’s DOMINIC!” she hissed, a rage building within her. She fisted her hands at her sides, the feelings of anger once again rekindled.
Shooting Sophie a sideward glance, Emily noticed the young woman appear to ‘shimmer’, like she was fading in and out like a pulsating light bulb receiving a fluctuating electric current. Emily laid a hand on her arm in an attempt to mollify her. The action seemed to have a soothing effect, but only barely.
Oblivious to Sophie’s distress, Mac continued:
“After the service station, they took the A66 at the Scotch Corner, where I was able to follow their route up into the north-west side of Scotland.”
“Do you know where the van finally stopped?” asked Sophie hopefully, now calmer.
“Unfortunately, no. The last sighting of the Tourneo was on the M74 just past Paisley. I can guess that they travelled up A82, but I can’t prove it, and beyond that is anyone’s guess. None of the cameras along that stretch of road were functioning last night... for some reason. And not knowing how far they went, or in which direction they took thereafter, it’s damn impossible to know for sure where their journey terminated.”
Emily clapped a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “No worries Mac, this is all good.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep on looking.... might get lucky.”
From over the desk partitioning, Emily’s mobile phone began to ring. She slipped past Sophie and sauntered across to her desk. Scooping up her phone, she didn’t recognise the number displayed. She accepted the call and pressed the phone up to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Ah, hello. Is that Emily Porter?”
“Speaking.”
“Hi Emily. This is Dr Morgan at Norwich and Norfolk University Hospital. It’s about your father, Ryan Barber. Is it okay to talk?”
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry to do this in a phone call, but I have some very bad news.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dominic
At first Dominic had thought Jennifer laughing at the other end of the phone was because she was pleased to hear that Ryan was dead.
“You wish he was dead,” she said in a cross between mirth and scorn, the amusement in her voice coming to an abrupt end. “Especially now... now that your motives are becoming clearer.”
“What d’you mean?” asked Dominic, slightly rattled. “The old fool avoided being drugged, got into a tussle and got shot for his endeavours. Twice!”
“Shot twice, yes... but not dead. You seem to underestimate how resilient he is. He’s still alive in a mid-Norfolk hospital.”
“Okay,” Dominic knew better than to argue with the woman. “I guess it’s of no consequence, we got what we wanted.”
“And, where are the children?” Jennifer asked curiously.
“They’re with Hector and Tasha still.” Dominic turned towards the Ford Tourneo where one of the three guards who had taken up positions around the vehicle stepped forward and helped Hector carry Stanley Jennings out of the back of the van. Natasha Vincent was standing in close proximity, watching. She still wore the waitress’s outfit from the previous night, looking very cold and trying to warm herself up by smoking a roll-up cigarette. “I’ve assigned them babysitting duties. They’re taking them to the island in one of our choppers shortly.”
“Good. And what about you, are you ready to foster the next stage of the plan?”
Dominic turned and started to walk away from the sight of Hector, Natasha and the three guards, hurrying towards a black Bell 206 helicopter. “Almost,” replied Dominic assuredly. “After a long night, I thought I’d take the rest of the day off. Maybe tomorrow too.”
“What about Sophie? She’ll be beside herself with worry about her family. We don’t want her to be a loose end for too long, you know how dangerous she is. “
“Don’t worry your pretty little self. It’s being dealt with.”
“You sure?”
“YES, Jennifer. Get me the address of Ryan’s hospital; I think his incapacity is going to serve a purpose. Now, leave me alone. I have a late champagne breakfast to attend.” Dominic disconnected the phone and returned it to his pocket. A glance at his watch confirmed that he was more than late for breakfast.
If anything he was also late for lunch too.
Elspeth was waiting in the bar area of Cuan Mor, a restaurant, bar and brewery that offered a stunning view of Oban’s bay. Nursing a glass of chardonnay, the ginger-haired woman looked bored and aggrieved when Dominic finally stepped into the establishment. She was tapping a foot agitatedly on the floor beneath her chair.
Looking around the bar, Dominic could only see one other patron. Everyone else was probably in bed still nursing New Year’s hangovers he guessed.
The setting was ideal for an argument.
“Fadalach... Yous late,” she admonished, raising her glass to her lips. The way she emptied its contents Dominic knew her mood was caustic and that he needed to tread carefully.
“There were a few stragglers,” he said by way of explanation, slightly airily. “Here... I got you something.” Dominic slipped a hand within his jacket. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”
“I’m in nay mood for wee games.” She placed her glass down hard.
“Just close your eyes woman!”
“Oka-yee!” Elspeth closed her eyes and held her hands palm outwards ahead of her.
“No peeking.” Dominic removed his hand from within his jacket, retrieving an item inside his fist. “Here.” He gently placed it onto the centre of her right hand. “This is the first of my two gifts. Now you can look.”
“Oh... Dominic.” The indignation in her voice along with her bad mood melted. “It’s pure barry,” she said lifting the Suzanne 18ct white gold diamond pendant up to give it a closer inspection. The 1.07ct diamond was fixed within a six claw setting and looked big and expensive. The necklace had been appropriated by one of the cadets during the night, stolen from a high-end jeweller and Dominic had fallen in love with it on sight.
“Of course, it’s not as nice as the Whisper of Persia,” said Dominic dismissively, “but it will look beautiful dangling from your pretty little neck nonetheless.”
Elspeth blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “Shame it’s stolen.”
After a lunch consisting of slow roast pork belly for Dominic and a hot smoked Cajun salmon salad for Elspeth, followed by a dessert of homemade apple and bramble sponge (served with creamy custard), Dominic settled the bill and handed Elspeth her second gift.
An A5 manila envelope.
“What’s this?” Elspeth raised an eyebrow.
“Open it and see.”
Elspeth tore open the envelope and poked a couple of fingers in. “And there I was a thinkin’ that yous only gettin’ me a Burt Bacharach CD this Chris’mas.” Pulling free her fingers, she retrieved a couple of tickets.
“Don’t be so ungrateful,” said Dominic playfully.
“Ah, Dom, yous special wee man.” In Elspeth’s hand were two tickets for the opera at Edinburgh’s Playhouse. “Die Fledermaus!”
“You’ve been banging on about the opera for weeks. I thought we could take a break.”
“To-deey!” she exclaimed upon seeing the date and time of the show. “Eight!” She pronounced it as ‘eat’. Elspeth looked at her watch seeing that it was nearly 3:00 p.m. A look of concern flashed across her face. “Will we makes it?”
“Of course we will. If we get going now!” he smiled, standing up.
Hastening out of the quiet restaurant, they walked across to where Dominic’s car was parked, a solitary vehicle in a large parking area. Even had it been packed, the flashy car would have stood out. A Mercedes SL Coupe Torino, metallic grey or what the salesman had defined as palladium silver.
It was a gift from Jennifer Ratcliff, and a replacement for the Mercedes SLS AMG which he’d wrapped around a tree last July. He had loved that Mercedes, but his affection was fast growing for the new one.
A couple of minutes short of three hours later (or 122 miles across country) Dominic was driving through Edinburgh’s busy city centre, following a steady stream of traffic that took him up Queen Street, then onto York Place. At the roundabout he turned right and drove down Leith Street.
“Yous do knows where ye are a goin’?” Elspeth queried, a little apprehensively.
“Of course. Ah, there... see. We’re here.” Dominic steered the Mercedes across Princes Street and pulled up outside the stately Victorian building that was The Balmoral hotel. “Come, let’s check in.”
The hotel’s doorman was dressed in traditional Scottish attire that included a kilt and sporran. Before the car had stopped, he had approached the new arrivals. Climbing out, Dominic had a quick conversation with the man where he arranged for the car to be parked within the hotel’s secure off-site parking garage.
“Spared nah expense!” Elspeth grinned walking ahead in through the hotel’s grand entrance where a large, bright room decorated in creams and light browns met her. A couple of other doormen stood in various spots to either end, and a concierge stood behind a long reception check-in desk to their immediate right.
“We can afford it,” said Dominic matter-of-factly, stepping up behind her.
Following a night at the opera and a lavish breakfast within the hotel’s restaurant, Dominic led Elspeth on a tour of the city. They visited a whis
ky distillery (where they drank a few too many samples), before heading to the castle at one end of The Royal Mile, staying for the firing of the one o’clock gun, which deafened them for a good ten minutes after. Before the afternoon was over, Dominic took Elspeth on a leisurely stroll to Holyrood Palace, linking his arm together with hers.
“I might’ve knewn that you had more than one reason for whisking me ’ere,” said Elspeth impishly.
“Huh?”
“Don’ yous try the playin’ dumb wit’ me Dom’nic Schilling,” she said, giving him a hard elbow to the side.
“Honestly, I don’t know what you mean,” Dominic protested with a twinkle in the eye. Elspeth knew the truth of it though. For two months the man had talked nothing but getting his hands on the Whisper of Persia. It was almost an obsession with him for some reason. And now they were heading towards the place where she knew it was currently on loan and on display. When quizzed about his infatuation for the diamond, all he would ever say was: it’s complicated.
Holyrood Palace is the official residence of the British monarchy in Scotland, and like Buckingham Palace in London, has royal guards patrolling the premises at every turn, protecting its many treasures and on hand for when royalty or VIPs visited. When the Queen was in residence − like in London − guards would stand sentry outside the entrance, and the Royal Standard would be raised in place of the Union Jack; this only happened around once a year, usually at the beginning of summer when Her Majesty carried out a range of official duties and ceremonies.
Stepping into the palace via the central and only public entrance, Dominic was immediately taken aback by the sheer size of the building. Built in a quadrangle, he contemplated all the history that had taken place within those walls, most notably it being the home of Mary, Queen of Scots for a while.
The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3) Page 25