Three hours later, we drove along 1930s urban sprawl as we entered Birkenhead. It looked as grey as the rest in the mizzle. We left the car in Hamilton Square, a grand Victorian plaza looking a little run-down at the edges now, and walked towards the street of dirty brick row houses. I left Michael to buy a paper. My East American accent would be remembered.
As we made our way toward the docks area, the day brightened and a light breeze brought the salty tang of the sea along with the smell of maritime fuel. I called Fausta to check for progress. Before I could ask her anything, she confirmed her earlier report that Christopher Newton as the most likely colleague, a 74% score on her 3D crossmatch; he’d been on three missions with Nicola.
We checked watches and Michael disappeared down the back alleyway behind the street I started walking along. I stopped at the ninth house. A white plastic door matched white plastic windows whose glass was slightly distorted. A satellite dish sprouted from the front wall along with an unlit Santa light decoration coated with a beige sheen of pollution. I checked my watch and knocked on the door.
‘Christopher Newton?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Who?’ He shook his head. ‘No, sorry.’
He was good, but spoilt it by not looking puzzled enough.
‘Don’t mess with me, Christopher. Let’s go inside and talk.’
He nearly shut the door, but I was a second too quick for him. I had my foot in the gap and body-slammed it back open. As I came through, my carbon fibre knife was in my left hand. I jabbed it in his face. He recoiled instinctively.
Within nanoseconds, he recovered and barrelled toward me. As he slammed into me, I kneed him hard in the groin. He gasped and curled up groaning in agony. Before he could catch his wind, I chopped the back of his neck with my right hand. He collapsed in a heap on the floor. I waited a couple of breaths then sheathed my knife, fished cable ties from my jacket pocket and secured his hands behind his back.
Michael burst through, Sig Sauer in hand. I jerked my head up and he rushed upstairs. I checked the rest of downstairs. There was only the lobby, living room and knocked-through kitchen. Nobody there. Michael clattered down the narrow stairway. He shook his head. I left him to heave Newton onto a chair.
I checked the answering machine. No light flashing for new messages. Juno! It was ancient and used plastic tape. I ran it back. One from a male asking him to go for a pint, then a marketing call for insurance. But the last one was in a female voice. No soft tones as Quintus described, but three abrupt words, ‘No food. None.’
I stared at the machine and pressed the repeat last message button. No mistaking the words, or the speaker, but what did they mean? Was she holed up somewhere and had run out of supplies?
Michael shrugged and shook his head. ‘It’s not a code message we use. Not a clue.’
I continued checking; the unit drawers, papers heaped on the kitchen table, envelopes crushed together in a metal frame balancing on the mantel shelf.
Michael pulled the understair cupboard open and half disappeared into it. ‘Look what I’ve found.’ And waggled a black padded bag in the air. ‘Now I wonder why it was hidden at the back behind the Christmas decorations. The router’s in there as well.’
He fired up the laptop, but it refused to go past the login page without the password. He tried once more, but nothing.
‘No, leave it,’ I said and brushed his hand away. ‘If it’s a standard system, it’ll lock up if the third attempt fails. Let me make a call.’
I picked it up off the table, walked into the kitchen, shut the door and called Fausta.
‘We’ve found this laptop,’ I said when she paused for breath. ‘Can you hack into it?’
She broke into convulsive laughter. ‘You have to be joking! Of course I can. I thought you wanted me to do something difficult.’
Sometimes Fausta sounded like too much of a smartass. She talked me through the set up and I called Michael in.
‘Fausta thinks she can crack this, but you’ll have to be her fingers.’ I laid my phone down by the scanner and laptop and handed him the earpiece. ‘Play with it while I have a little conversation with our friend out there.’
‘Remember there are rules.’ He gave me a long, steady look.
‘Sure.’
XXI
Michael had blindfolded Newton and tied his legs to a dining chair.
‘Now, Christopher, you and I are going to have a little talk. You know how it goes – hard way or easy way. Your choice.’
He opted for the silent routine.
I sighed and smacked one of his kneecaps hard with a steel ladle from the kitchen.
He grunted and flinched.
‘Last chance. Ten seconds not to get me annoyed.’
I tapped his shoulder ten times as I counted the seconds. Nothing.
I was annoyed.
*
‘What have you done to him?
Michael’s voice was sharp. Newton was unconscious, but he’d come round in about ten to fifteen minutes.
‘He’s having a little sleep.’ I shrugged. ‘I gave him a standard relaxant. Like we gave your Lieutenant Wilson on the exercise.’
‘Well?’
‘He admitted he’s been in contact with Nicola, she’s staying nearby, but she won’t tell him where. He says that he has to wait for her to contact him. He went a little vague when I pressed him about an emergency contact number for her. He was trying very hard to conceal it. Or the relaxant was making him ditzy. What have you got?’
‘We’re in and I haven’t found anything startling yet. Fausta’s downloading the entire hard disk to work on. She wants a couple of hours to run analyses on it. She says she’ll message you. A remarkable young woman.’
I grinned at him. ‘You sound like something out of an old movie.’
He gave me a reluctant smile back.
Before we left, we laid Newton on the couch in the recovery position and found a blanket to cover him. I prised the back off his cell, inserted a miniature tracker bug. I seeded bugs throughout the house including his landline phone, and two in the coat hung on the back of another chair. Michael relocked the back door and after cutting the cable ties around Newton’s wrists, we gave a last look around and left.
Back at the car, we drank coffee and ate sandwiches Michael bought at the subway station and waited as the rain folded over us again.
*
‘Nic?’
‘Sorry, wrong number.’
‘It’s Chris.’
‘Get off this line. Go to a public phone box.’
‘Round here? You’re joking.’
‘Meet at 302.’
The line went dead.
The tracker bugs in his coat were working perfectly until he dove into the subway at Hamilton Square. Gods, these tunnels had to be deep! Michael followed him. My screen showed Newton could take a train in any direction; this part of the network was underground, so untrackable. He could disappear and our lead would die. Hades.
It was a tense ten minutes until Michael called.
‘In the open now. Just passed Birkenhead Park. Out.’
I hit the gas on the rental car. Luckily, the road was straight and wide. No right turns, thank Juno.
My cell rang again. ‘Going north, Wallasey now. He’s heading for the terminus at New Brighton.’
I met Michael at the entrance of the red-brick station at New Brighton with an umbrella to shield us from the freezing rain. As I kissed him like he was an old friend visiting, I watched Newton out of the corner of my eye as he walked down the street, head hunched down, hands in his pockets. He was easy to mark; he had that soldier’s light rolling gait. He made for the promenade by the sea wall; it was completely open, no cover of any kind.
He dove into a decorated Victorian shelter, the kind with slatted wood seats to rest on, a sloping swayback roof, but sides open exposed to the sea air. Rain dripped off the pointy black ironwork edging the roof. Michael drove on and we parked up at the other end of t
he grey marine lake. I hooked my field glasses around my head and snapped off several shots of Newton and the figure he was talking to while we listened in on my receiver. It was Nicola Sandbrook.
‘What happened?’ Nicola.
‘Some American woman. She burst in like a bloody tank. I didn’t see her face, just heard her voice. And she was pissed, really pissed with me.’
‘Mitela.’
‘Who is she? CIA?’
Nicola didn’t answer.
‘C’mon, Nic, if she isn’t Company, what is she?’
‘Worse.’
A pause, ruffling cloth.
‘What the hell have you got me into?’
‘Don’t sweat it. How long was she there?’
‘About half an hour.’
‘Tell me in detail.’
After he finished, she told him to sweep his house; there’d be bugs everywhere. Through the glasses, I saw her pat him down and search, her hands into every pocket, under the shirt and jacket collars, into his belt. She made him take his shoes off.
‘Got it!’
Her foot stamped down, crushing the tiny metal disc, causing a spike in one of the lines on my screen and then its death.
Michael looked worried, but I smiled at him.
‘Jesus, that’s small,’ came Newton’s voice.
‘Yeah, well,’ Nicola replied. ‘The people we’re up against are clever bastards.’
In the car, Michael looked puzzled.
‘Decoy,’ I whispered to him, still watching the two figures through my field glasses.
‘You’ve been out too long,’ Nicola said, her voice sharp. ‘You should have searched more thoroughly after being turned over like that.’
‘Don’t do the stroppy madam with me. I’m the one doing you a favour, remember.’
Newton stood up, walked over to the railing, crossed his arms and leant them on the top. He looked out over the grey waves, towards the old squat fort. Nicola followed him and wound her arm around his waist. He didn’t move away from the intimate embrace, but continued staring out to sea, like he was trying to ignore her. She bent her back, moving closer in and looked up into his face, ignoring the hair whipping around her head in the breeze.
‘Don’t be angry. I’m sorry, Chris. I need you so much.’
I snorted at her manipulative tactics, but my irritation was punctured by his next words.
‘Look, Nic, I can’t keep that bloke in my brother’s warehouse forever.’
‘Is he being trouble?’
‘No, he just looks like some wounded animal.’
‘That’s what he is.’
‘He’s going to die on us if we don’t feed him.’
‘And the problem is?’
‘Christ, you’re hard.’
My head exploded. I went to wrench the car door open. I was going to throttle her.
Gods, I’d been so stupid. Asking Newton direct about Conrad hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been so convinced Nicola was the key to finding Conrad, I’d concentrated on her. I struggled against the weight stopping me but it wouldn’t budge. Michael had both hands on my upper arms, bearing down on my radials. The pain woke me up.
‘No,’ he said.
I swallowed hard.
‘Focus.’ He shook me.
‘I’m good. You can let go,’ I said, and took a long breath
The scanner pinged.
‘Okay, Chris,’ came Nicola’s voice, ‘I’ll try and find somewhere else, but you know it’s not easy. If I can’t, we’ll just have to dump him.’
‘Dump him? No way, I’m not getting involved in topping him.’
‘You said you were going to help me.’
‘Not that.’ Newton said.
She sighed, a little theatrically. ‘Okay, Chris. Shame you’re no longer up to it.’
‘Just shut it.’
The lines on the scanner display dropped to the baseline. A beep, then silence.
‘Oh, shit,’ Michael whispered, ‘she’s walking this way.’
We dove into the wells in front of the seats, curling up as tightly as we could. Luckily, we’d left a few millimetres’ gap at the top of each window, so they hadn’t steamed up. I counted a full minute before peeping over the rim at the base of the window. Newton had stayed, looking out to sea. I could just see Nicola in the distance walking away at a smart pace.
Hades and all the Furies. I had around thirty seconds to decide whether to follow my instinct and go after her, or go for Newton who could lead us to Conrad.
XXII
Driving back to Hamilton Square, I concentrated through a red fog of worry and anger on the late afternoon traffic. My gut clenched hard. It didn’t help any being on the wrong side of the road and the vehicle. I cruised around until I found a space. I fed the meter then went to lounge on a bench in the square, pretending to play with my cell. Only it wasn’t a cell. The mini scanner showed Newton exiting the subway entrance. A minute later, he appeared around the corner.
I tugged on my green woollen hat and pulled the scarf tighter against the cold as anybody innocent would do. The rain had stopped, but the temperature was dropping fast. I held my breath as Newton walked past me, followed at a discreet distance by Michael who pretended he was looking for somebody. I waved at Michael and we greeted each other like a couple meeting up and set off arm in arm diagonally across the square to collect the parked car.
‘Are you okay now?’ he asked when we were inside, sheltered against the wind.
‘Sure.’
‘Humph.’
‘Don’t push it, Michael.’
*
‘Fausta’s sent me a report on the hard disk,’ I said, ‘email, porn, games, music – the usual. We have his brother’s cell but nothing else. We go back in and sweat it out of him.’
‘He was upset at Nicola leaving the man—’
‘It’s Conrad. I’m sure it is.’
I had to be sure after my decision on the seafront.
He coughed. ‘Well, after Nicola’s act this afternoon, Newton may feel guilty enough or sorry for him and go and check him.’
‘You’re such a romantic.’ I snorted. ‘We go in now.’
This time I had Michael take the front entrance. I parked up, glanced both ways, to check nobody was around and climbed over the gate leading to the back alley. At Newton’s house, light shone through the kitchen window. I crept across the small yard. The shadow of a figure through the dimpled frosted glass stood up, then faded, presumably to answer the door to Michael.
I pulled the pick set out of my bag and unfolded it. As I went to insert the tool into the door lock, I had the sudden urge to stop. A tingle in my neck. I pulled back and retreated behind the garbage can seconds before the lock clicked and the door swung open, letting the light flood out into the half-dark.
Nicola.
She stood on the back step and scanned around. My heart thudded. Had she seen or heard me? Or was it a reaction to Michael knocking on the front door? And what in Hades was she doing here now?
I wanted to grab her. But if I did, would I lose the chance of finding Conrad alive? If she ran true to the Tella type, she’d never give up where he was. Even pouring industrial amounts of relaxant into her, by the time we’d extracted the information, Conrad could be dead. No, Newton was the key. She’d have to wait.
She cocked her head like she was listening. I couldn’t hear any noise from inside except a faint sound from some soap on the television. No noise of anybody else, or shouting. No fight. After a minute, she went back in.
As I slid out through the gate at the end of the row, Michael was waiting for me. He pulled me around the corner and across the road.
‘What the hell happened there?’ I asked.
*
Around five meters from Newton’s house, Michael had seen a taxi draw up in front of it. Nicola jumped out and ran up the steps. He didn’t dare call or even text me, he said. The last thing you needed when you were covert was your cell phone soundi
ng, even with a tiny message ping.
But what was she doing there?
We took up station further down the road shielded by a camping trailer wedged into a front garden. Holding the scanner clear of the metal box, I switched it on. Nothing. The lines bubbled along the bottom of the display. They couldn’t have found every single bug and certainly not the thread bugs. I turned the volume up to max and heard cloth rustling, then a noise of wood against wood, a cupboard hinge creaking. They were searching in silence. I chewed my lip while we waited.
*
Five minutes later, the line on the display spiked as Newton’s exasperated voice blasted out.
‘Satisfied?’
I winced and hit the volume control.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Jesus, Nic, I know you’re anal, but this is stupid.’
‘I’m going now. I’ll be back tomorrow to settle this permanently.’
‘Why don’t you stay here instead?’
‘Security. Nothing personal, Chris. If you don’t know where I am, you can’t tell anybody else.’
‘Please your bloody self. Don’t expect me to sit in waiting. I’m going down the pub.’
*
As soon as she’d disappeared, Michael dawdled along the street past Newton’s house. He paused a metre or so beyond the door, took out a packet of cigarettes, put one between his lips and patted his pockets as if searching for a lighter. Right on cue Newton came out of his house, slammed the door shut and stomped past Michael, his head bent forward and shoulders tense. Michael turned and followed him.
I drove down Newton’s road and parked up between dull orange street lights thirty metres beyond him. I let myself out the driver’s door, opened the trunk, bent in and rummaged around like I was looking for something. I tightened my grip around the hilt of my knife and stood up as he came level with me.
A flash of panic crossed Newton’s face as he recognised me. He spun around, ready to run, but Michael grabbed his shoulders, jammed his knee into the back of Newton’s and rolled him into the trunk. I slammed the lid down.
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