Under Fire: (A Dan Taylor thriller)

by Amphlett, Rachel

  ‘… he’ll destroy the Isle of Grain facility like he tried at Ras Laffan,’ finished Dan. ‘With Grant out of the way, there’ll be no system in place to prevent a hacker from making sure he causes as much destruction as possible.’

  David stood up. ‘Okay, finding Grant Swift has just become our number one priority,’ he said. ‘Philippa – speak to Kent Police, and get all the details they’ve got on his disappearance to date. Dan – do whatever you have to do to find him. The clock’s ticking.’

  Chapter 39

  ‘Let’s start with a view twenty-four hours before his vehicle was found abandoned,’ said Dan. ‘I want to see if his kidnappers had the sense to recce the area first. It was a bold move seizing him where they did, so they must’ve been absolutely certain they wouldn’t be disturbed.’

  He pushed his seat back and glanced around the room. Monitor screens filled the walls, feeding live images from various closed-circuit television cameras positioned on various roads around the country.

  The camera operator nodded, typed in a series of commands and the screens in front of them flickered to life.

  ‘The best I can give you is a camera positioned at the beginning of the exit ramp,’ he said, pointing to the screen, ‘so you’ll see the back of vehicles as they leave the motorway at that junction.’ He pointed to another screen. ‘This camera is in the underpass below the motorway – opposite the junction the exit ramp joins. It should give you a good cross-section.’

  ‘Okay, let’s try it,’ said Dan, leaning forward in his seat. ‘Keep the tape moving and stop it each time a vehicle appears – we’ll capture an image of each to try to read the licence plates.’

  The other man nodded and began to play the two recordings. Each time a car exited the junction and passed under the motorway under the cameras’ watchful eyes, the computer took a photograph of the vehicle and a close-up of its licence plate and printed them out, a date and time stamp etched in the lower right-hand corner of each. Dan began to collect the photographs and spread them out on a table next to the camera operator.

  After an hour of running through the recordings, Dan had a collection of ten vehicles.

  ‘At least that shows us it’s a quiet stretch of road,’ said Dan.

  ‘Certainly at that time of night,’ agreed the operator. ‘I took a look at it during daylight hours before you arrived – it seems to be busier during the school run than at any other time.’

  ‘What about the road accident that night?’

  The camera operator looked sideways at him. ‘Nothing – when the emergency services arrived on the scene, both drivers of the vehicles involved had disappeared. General thinking is that it was staged to make sure Grant Swift took an alternative route.’

  Dan frowned, and then pointed at the image on the screen. ‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘Are there any other angles?’

  The operator shook his head. ‘There’s usually another camera at the other end of the underpass but it was broken two weeks ago and we haven’t managed to get any of our contractors out to repair it yet.’

  Dan grunted. ‘What a coincidence.’ He sighed and sat down. ‘Okay, let’s look at what happened when our project engineer disappeared.’

  He chewed his bottom lip as the camera technician typed a string of instructions into his computer. The camera feeds then jumped to two hours before Grant’s car had been found abandoned. The operator glanced over his shoulder at Dan.

  ‘Okay. Play it. Not so fast this time though – we don’t know the exact time he was taken.’

  Twenty minutes later, Dan could feel the onset of eye strain after staring at the screens, hardly moving. He rubbed one eye, blinked and felt his heart lurch.

  ‘Stop there – go back,’ he said, standing up.

  The operator rewound both recordings.

  Grant Swift’s silver Mercedes swept down the exit ramp, its tail-lights flaring as he slowed towards the junction. A grey van suddenly lurched into view, its brake lights flickering, before the vehicle slammed into the back of the Mercedes, pushing it over the junction. Then Grant turned his car across the junction and out of the camera’s view.

  Dan’s head snapped to the next screen, the camera in the underpass picking up Grant’s car, the grey van in its wake. The Mercedes disappeared under the camera, with Grant’s face visible through the windscreen as he alternated between looking in his rear-view mirror to make sure the van followed him, and the road in front. As he passed out of view, the van behind his Mercedes slowed momentarily then slipped under the camera.

  Dan slammed his hand down on the desk in frustration, making the camera operator jump.

  ‘They’re wearing baseball caps,’ growled Dan. ‘They knew the camera would pick up their faces.’ He turned to the operator. ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Seven thirty-two.’

  Dan frowned. ‘Back up the tape – let’s see it again.’

  The two men watched silently as the recording replayed. Dan tapped a finger on his bottom lip, frowning. As the van disappeared from view a second time, he walked over to the table and began to sift through the photos which spilled across its surface.

  ‘There wasn’t a van earlier,’ said the operator.

  ‘I know,’ replied Dan. ‘That’s what’s bothering me. They knew the camera would pick up their faces, so they were familiar with the layout.’

  He picked up each photo in turn, peering at the vehicles as they passed under each camera. His heart skipped a beat when he looked at the twelfth photograph taken from the first camera. He looked over at the camera operator, who was still staring at the grey van on the screen.

  ‘Read out the licence plate on that van.’

  The operator recited it, then turned and frowned at Dan. ‘Why is that important?’

  Dan held up the photograph. ‘Because twenty-four hours before, it was on this.’

  In the frozen image, a white sedan had exited the slip road from the motorway, crossed the junction and turned towards the underpass, passing directly under the second camera.

  And the man in the passenger seat was staring up at the lens.

  ***

  Dan laid out the road map over the desk and flattened it with his palms. Turning to the others, he explained what the cameras had picked up.

  ‘What we need to do next is use the CCTV systems leading away from that underpass, together with the ANPR until we spot the van again, then track it to its final destination.’

  ‘What’s the ANPR?’ asked Antonia, leaning across the table.

  Dan managed to avoid looking down her shirt. ‘It’s the automatic number plate recognition system which the police use,’ he said. ‘The intelligence services monitor it, and it can link into the country’s CCTV network so we can track vehicles.’

  Antonia shook her head in wonder. ‘I’d heard the UK had more CCTV cameras than any other country, but I’d never believed it until now.’

  Mitch pulled the photograph of the white sedan across the desk towards him. ‘Do we know anything about this one yet?’

  ‘Philippa’s running a scan of his face through her computers. Hopefully he has a previous conviction or something,’ said Dan.

  David put a flash drive into a laptop and began to replay the CCTV recording. He glanced at Dan. ‘What else did you manage to get?’

  ‘A feed into the system’s intranet so we can piggy-back it and follow the two routes,’ said Dan. ‘They’ve given us access rights for twenty-four hours, so we need to get a move on.’

  David nodded and stood to one side, letting Dan stab the commands into the laptop. When he hit the ‘enter’ key, the intranet page appeared on the screen.

  ‘Okay, here we go,’ said Dan. ‘I’ll enter in the van’s licence plate number and the last CCTV camera location at the underpass. The ANPR should do the rest.’

  ‘How does this work?’ asked Antonia.

  ‘Each time a camera picks up the van’s licence plate, it’ll alert the ANPR. That way, we can
track the van – hopefully to its final destination.’ He broke off as the first activation appeared on the screen. ‘Here we go.’

  After twenty minutes, the team had plotted a route through north Kent, along the M25 and onto the M4.

  The van exited the motorway, setting off alerts as it travelled north-west through Reading.

  Antonia moved across the room to stand next to Dan, peering over his shoulder at the laptop screen. ‘What happens if the CCTV cameras don’t cover this area?’

  Mitch laughed. ‘Trust me – it’s very unlikely in that area.’

  Dan raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Hey,’ shrugged Mitch, ‘I should know – I went to school there.’

  Chapter 40

  Baqir wiped his hands on a stained towel, the soft material caressing his rough hands. Scraping a corner of the cloth under his fingernails to remove the blood, he glanced at the man slumped in the wooden chair in front of him.

  He dropped the towel and scalpel onto a workbench, stepped over to the figure and slapped Grant’s face until his eyes flickered, then opened, fear and pain etched across his face.

  ‘You have done well,’ wheezed Baqir. ‘But we are not finished here yet.’

  He let Grant’s head fall, turned and walked up the stone steps leading out of the cellar. He knocked once on the wooden door and waited as the bolts were drawn back, nodded at the guard then walked down the hallway and out the front door of the farm house.

  He squinted in the bright morning sunlight which reflected off the new layer of snow that had fallen during the night, and breathed deeply to clear the smell of shit and burning flesh from his nostrils.

  He began to cough, a deep wracking vibration which shook his body, then spat phlegm into the pristine white powder. Cursing, he turned back to the house in search of Hassan.

  He found him in the front room, pacing back and forth on the already worn carpet. The man looked up as Baqir entered, his face pale.

  ‘Anything?’

  Baqir smiled. The cellar was evidently not as sound-proof as he’d thought and it was as well they’d leased a property in a remote location. ‘They are in the final stages of implementing his anti-virus software,’ he said. ‘It’s not yet complete, but I shall find out if they can finish it without him.’

  Hassan nodded. ‘How much longer do you need with him?’

  Baqir smiled. ‘Not long. He’s done well to hold out this far, although I think that’s due to his natural stubbornness than to any formal interrogation training.’

  He coughed again, and lowered himself into a threadbare armchair. ‘You are returning to London?’

  ‘I have to. It’s too risky for me to stay here.’

  ‘Why this particular gas facility, Hassan?’ asked Baqir. ‘Why not Milford Haven or one of the others?’

  The other man smiled. ‘For all the same reasons the UK Government expanded the Grain facility,’ he said, pointing to a map of the British Isles spread out over a coffee table. A series of blue lines weaved their way across the counties of Britain. Hassan traced the web-like lines with his hand. ‘Their National Transmission System provides gas to homes and industry all over the UK depending on demand,’ he explained. ‘Using this, they can send it anywhere. Grain connects straight into it. Naturally, it’s also the first source of all power to London.’

  Baqir frowned. ‘But if you destroy Grain, they’ll still be able to draw on supplies through their other facilities.’

  Hassan held up a finger and smiled. ‘Not now their gas supplies from Qatar have been disrupted,’ he said. ‘True, they’d normally be able to obtain supplies from Europe through the Bacton-Zebrugge connector pipe under the English Channel or from America by ship. However, we’re in the middle of the harshest winter Europe has recorded in one hundred years. Countries such as the United States, the Netherlands or Germany are not in a position to help the UK without disrupting their own supplies.’

  Hassan took a pen from his jacket pocket and circled the area which housed the gas facility. ‘Finally,’ he said, stepping back and replacing the pen, ‘they have an enormous amount of gas stored here. All we have to do is take over their systems and start a chain reaction.’ He smiled. ‘Simply chemistry and physics will do the rest.’

  ‘And once their supply chain is broken, you can offer to divert gas from your new Persian-Kazakh pipeline,’ said Baqir.

  Hassan smiled. ‘It will be a very lucrative business venture for the Republic.’

  Baqir joined Hassan, his eyes searching the map. ‘It’s very risky expecting the submarine to travel undetected through the English Channel.’

  The other man nodded. ‘They know the risks. However, it will also work to our advantage. The English Channel is one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world,’ he said. ‘What better way to mask their approach than shadowing the existing shipping traffic until they reach their destination?’

  Baqir stroked his beard, his brown eyes flickering as he traced the route in his mind. He let his hand fall to his side and looked at Hassan.

  ‘I do believe it will work,’ he murmured. ‘They might actually be able to do this.’

  Hassan smiled, picked up his briefcase and headed for his car. ‘I have every faith in them.’

  ***

  ‘Shit!’ exclaimed Dan. ‘Where’d it go?’

  Philippa scrolled through the data on the screen, her finger tracing the van’s progress on the road map beside her. Sometime after leaving the border of Berkshire, the kidnapper’s van exited a major road and turned into the Buckinghamshire countryside.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘but I’ve run a search on major routes covering a ten mile radius from that last camera – they’re holed up somewhere in this area.’ She sketched a rough circle on the map.

  Picking up a photograph of the van’s passenger, Dan tapped it with his thumb. ‘Okay, here’s what I want you to do,’ he said. ‘It’s a long shot, but circulate this to all rental agents in that area. The kidnappers have obviously spent time planning this, so they’ve probably rented a property where they’re not going to be disturbed.’

  ‘Got it,’ said Philippa and took the photo from him, then glanced at her watch. ‘Can’t imagine any of these people are going to appreciate having to stay late at work this afternoon,’ she grinned, and left the room.

  Dan turned to Mitch. ‘Contact any petrol stations in the area – if I’m wrong about the rental property, we’ll find some CCTV images of the van at a garage and pick up their trail again.’

  ‘Copy that.’ Mitch picked up the road map, pulled up a chair to the computer and began searching for phone numbers.

  ‘What can I do?’ asked Antonia.

  Dan smiled. ‘Use your charm to help me convince David to rustle up some aerial surveillance at short notice,’ he said. ‘If we find the property, we’ll need to carry out reconnaissance before the sun goes down in two hours.’

  ***

  After convincing David to arrange the surveillance, Dan spent a frustrating half an hour helping Philippa’s team as they worked through the list of rental agents in the area the van had disappeared, until a junior analyst slapped his phone down, shouted once and high-fived the man next to him.

  ‘That had better be our agent,’ said Philippa, glaring over her glasses at the analyst.

  The man grinned, stood up and walked over to her, a notebook in his hand.

  ‘I can go one better,’ he said. ‘Prescott and Durcher, an agency in High Wycombe, rented a farmhouse five miles out of town to our suspect two weeks ago.’ He flipped to the next page. ‘The man provided references and arranged to pay up front for a six-month lease.’

  ‘Is the agent sure it’s our suspect?’ asked Dan, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table.

  The analyst smiled. ‘Yes – even better, after the agency was broken into eight months ago, it installed security cameras. The cameras run continuously to capture everybody who enters its offices. The agency is arranging to email us
an image showing our suspect right now.’

  Dan slapped the surface of the table. ‘Give me the address,’ he said. ‘Mitch, Philippa – start organising a surveillance team to get out there now. It’s remote, so be careful. We can’t afford to lose him when we’re this close.’

  ***

  Dan turned when he heard a knock on the door. Philippa walked in, carrying four rolls of paper under her arm and balancing a tray of coffee refills in her hand.

  ‘These are the plans of the house and surrounding land,’ she said, laying each document on the table and unrolling them. ‘The building dates from 1870 so we spoke with the local historical society which sent through copies of the original plans from its archives. The next set of plans,’ she continued, pulling the first set aside, ‘are from the local Council – the owner of the house carried out some renovations about fifteen years ago and says downstairs is significantly different from the original layout.’ She paused. ‘He did also mention he’d appreciate it if you didn’t cause too much damage to the property – he’s not sure his insurance will cover it.’

  She glared at Dan, who tried to maintain an innocent look and shrugged his shoulders. She shook her head, then leaned forward and pulled out the last two documents.

  ‘Finally, this is an aerial photograph of the area taken late this afternoon. We’ve also obtained a topographical map here which you might find useful,’ she said. ‘The building’s surrounded by woodland and is approached by a single vehicle dirt track. It should provide enough places to disguise your approach to the house.’

  As she left the room, Dan pulled the aerial photograph closer to him, together with the accompanying report from the team of analysts. ‘They’ve got a positive identification on the van in this picture,’ he said to Mitch as the other man walked around the table to join him. He stabbed a finger on the driveway in the photo, the road surface blanketed by snow with two deep scars running through it, churned up by the vehicle.