by Anthony Fox
‘So I say we dump the bags and get some food. I’m starving,’ she suggested as they made their way to their hostel bedroom.
‘Whatever you say, boss,’ answered Charlie, who’d resorted to dragging his bag across the floor rather than carrying it.
4
Torrevieja, Spain
Paxman and the others turned to look at her.
‘Right, let’s see what we have here,’ Kemi said. ‘On first look, it seems copying the information has triggered some sort of security back-up. All the files have been wiped – sorry, but there’s no client list.’
‘Well, we expected as much,’ said Paxman. Although it didn’t make hearing the news any less of a blow.
‘It’s also removed all his program files and internet history – and done a pretty good job of it too.’
‘This guy’s working hard to cover his tracks,’ said Nina. ‘Far too hard not to be guilty of something.’
‘We don’t need to worry yet. These things are never completely deleted,’ Kemi reassured them.
Kemi began with internet searches, as they would be the easiest files to recover. In no time at all she found traces of the usual searches of sports results, celebrity gossip and world news, plus some general information on offshore bank accounts and company share prices that unfortunately weren’t linked to anyone in particular. ‘I’m just recovering all the information I can now and checking it online, but it’s all in fragments,’ she complained. She found a few bits that would raise questions of McAuley’s own online activities, but decided to ignore them. Patrick McAuley wasn’t the target here. When it looked like all her work was leading nowhere, she hit upon something.
Austria.
‘I’ve got internet mapping here with tags on all Austria’s international airports, plus searches of border checkpoints for rail and road.’
Nina scribbled down notes as Kemi spoke.
At the mention of Austria, Paxman, Connelly and Matthews all leaned forward.
‘OK, there’s traces of websites covering all transport for a city called Innsbruck in Austria, including car rental companies and local buses.’
‘Has Innsbruck got an international airport?’ Connelly asked.
A quick look online from Kemi told them it did.
Kemi continued. ‘There’s more links to car rentals and lots of map downloads for around Innsbruck airport. These searches are dated today.’
‘Right after his meeting with Luque,’ said Connelly. ‘But why Austria?’
‘It’s neutral ground,’ Nina reasoned. ‘Luque isn’t wanted and has no links there. Plus it borders eight countries. Lots of ways in and out.
‘And we’re confident McAuley isn’t going to Austria himself?’ Paxman asked.
‘He’s got nothing listed under his own passport, for anywhere, and he’s got a big meeting with board members booked in for the day after tomorrow,’ replied Connelly. ‘He ain’t going anywhere.’
Matthews appeared to be about to ask a question, but Paxman beat him to it. ‘Can you find anything on flights into Innsbruck?’
‘I can’t imagine we’d get that lucky,’ said Nina as Kemi continued to tap away at the keys. There was a new excitement in the air. Paxman heard a low rumble of street noise from the back of the building – cars going past sporadically, cicadas humming, but the five members of Operation Matterhorn ignored the sounds. This was real progress: signs they were on the right track. They seemed content with the sound of Kemi’s fingers working their magic.
‘If it were me, I’d book any flights I didn’t want traced from an internet cafe. And Luque is scary enough: you’d never want any of his business traced back to you.’
Paxman watched them all silently agree with this. Then another thought struck him.
Yes, Luque really is that scary, the man who kills his enemies with his bare hands, crushin’ their skulls, and we’re the fools who’re out here alone trying to track him down and catch him.
‘It doesn’t look like there’s much else that’s relevant,’ said Kemi in a slightly deflated tone.
They all looked at each other.
‘So is it enough to go on?’ Paxman asked.
Connelly cleared his throat, and Paxman saw his fellow American wanted to take early control of what was the team’s most important conversation to date.
‘We need to assimilate the information. Nina, Matthews, what d’you think?’ Connelly asked the team’s analysts.
Paxman smiled to himself for that little move. Rather than offer an idea yourself that could end up being rejected, Connelly gets the others to suggest ideas to him, giving him the power to accept or reject them.
Nina, possibly because she was the youngest in the group, seemed less wary of personal tactics and jumped straight in. ‘I think it’s the strongest thing we’ve had to go on since we linked McAuley to Luque. As far as we can tell, McAuley hasn’t met with any other big clients recently. We might have to accept this isn’t what we thought. Luque isn’t in hiding. Either he’s on the run, or he’s active. He’s working on something right now.’
‘And you, Matthews?’ Connelly asked, turning to face him.
Paxman also turned to look at Matthews, who was slumped forward, one elbow on the table and his chin cupped in his hand, so it partially covered the long scar on his neck.
‘Mostly I agree with Nina. Worth a shot,’ Matthews said flatly.
Paxman smiled. There was definitely something about Matthews that got under Connelly’s skin. Or was it Connelly getting under Matthews’ skin?
‘Innsbruck seems to be a decent guess for Luque,’ Matthews added. ‘We need to move fast. This’s already old news.’ He spoke as if annoyed at the rest of the team for taking so long to come to this conclusion.
For once Connelly ignored the chance to retort.
‘Well then,’ he said to the team, leaning back in his chair, ‘unless anyone’s got anything else to add, Nina and Matthews, you pack this place up, Bob and I will wipe the place down room by room, and Kemi, you keep working on that flash drive just in case something else comes up – but take a few minutes out and get us five tickets on the next flight to Innsbruck.’
Paxman stood with the others.
Luque, here we come.
5
Kemi was certain of one thing: if Luque is on his way to Austria there has to be a compelling reason for it. Why has he come out of hiding?
If the accountant, McAuley, made the searches on Luque’s behalf, the earliest Luque would be travelling to Austria would be the day after, but more likely in a couple of days, given the need for planning. In spite of being considered inactive for a number of years, Luque was still listed as a wanted criminal by agencies in Britain, France, Germany and the USA, as well as his home country of Venezuela for arms trafficking, murder and war crimes. Yet Luque managed to hide out in Europe without being found. A man that talented at keeping himself hidden didn’t just jump on the next available flight; after having McAuley look at his options, he would need the time to organise everything so he could arrive in Innsbruck and then slip away without a trace.
Kemi had also found what looked to her mind to be a line of code hidden deep in a file on the accountant’s hard drive. One line of code. Two numbers followed by three letters and then another seven numbers. The team had sat for half an hour unable to find any meaning to the sequence, then Kemi put the code through one of her decryption software programs. All they could do now was wait and see.
To avoid having any records that could link the whole team, Kemi booked their flights from Alicante to Innsbruck separately as two couples, with Paxman booking a lone seat. For extra precaution, she spread the booking across two different flights.
During her own flight she occupied herself by working on her laptop from which she was rarely separated, and from time to time took advantage of her window seat to gaze out across the rolling white clouds. Noticing the date on the screen Kemi was reminded it was her brother’s birthday tomorrow
and started to compose an email to him.
Hello dearest Brother, I miss you as always. I hope this finds you safe and in celebratory mood. I’m in the Scotland office at my desk with your picture staring back at me. Remind me, why is it you never smile in photographs? You always look so serious…
Kemi turned from her screen briefly and looked to her side. Matthews sat next to her and, as was his custom most evenings, listened to his iPod in silence, his eyes closed.
To Kemi, Matthews appeared to be in his mid-fifties, which would make him the oldest team member, although she’d never asked the man his age. Matthews wore loose, faded jeans and a blue linen shirt with the collar turned up, managing to hide some – but not all – of the scar that sliced down the left side of his neck from his ear to just below his Adam’s apple. He spoke unaccented English to her ear, and was much shorter than the other men in the team, at around five nine. Still, Kemi bet he was stronger than he seemed, looking at those hands and forearms. Although his movements often seem tired and heavy, like his voice.
Despite them living side by side for the past three months, Kemi was surprised there hadn’t been a bigger push to reveal personal information between the team. Perhaps they all considered it an unwritten code amongst mercenaries. Everyone has a past. We’ve all done things we wish to bury deep down inside. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.
So you let a person offer as much or as little detail as they wished. Some people opened right up. Others, like Matthews, preferred to remain something of an enigma. He didn’t offer any other name. He said his background was in British intelligence.
We know what we need to know. I’m the electronic and communications officer, which makes me the nerd. Matthews and Nina are the intelligence officers, which makes them smart but harmless. Connelly and Paxman, they’re the sharp end of the knife. Field men. Dangerous, but predictable.
Did it make things difficult, working under suspicion of one another whist risking your life? Of course.
But the easy jobs pay less. A lot less.
At the end of the day the White Wolf hired them all to do a job, not make friends.
The job was finding and capturing Luque.
***
The flight landed in Innsbruck on time. Kemi followed Matthews and Paxman as they collected their bags and went through to the arrivals area. Immediately she noticed that even though the sun was shining, it was far cooler and less humid than it was in Spain only a few hours earlier.
Innsbruck airport, despite being the largest airport in Tirol in the west of Austria, was small, with only one terminal and a tiny private airfield.
The cameras in Kemi’s bag were Swan PROs: a great night-vision camera with a highly sensitive image sensor. At this time of year dusk fell around 7pm, meaning they would still need to cover the commercial terminal through six hours of bad light until the airport closed for the day. It reopened every day at five in the morning.
Due to the unusual shape and design of the cameras a customs officer at Alicante airport asked what they were for, but Kemi managed to pass them off as wildlife cameras and herself as an avid birdwatcher.
Innsbruck’s small private airfield kept a detailed log of all private jets coming in and out. This log was stored electronically, which meant Kemi was able to hack in and access it. The team cleared the names of all the logged flights due to arrive. This avoided the issue of keeping an eye on the private airfield for Luque. They would only need to monitor the commercial terminal.
Matthews hired the car while Kemi and Paxman found an ideal spot to mount the two cameras. From that position they could easily cover the clear glass doors to the commercial terminals arrival area. The tiny cameras would remain hidden unless someone stood directly in front of them. Kemi got everything up and running while Paxman assisted and kept watch.
The wireless outdoor surveillance cameras held a battery with a life of up to twelve hours and inbuilt recording for twelve hours. Kemi linked the software through her laptop and the camera to the airport’s wireless network, disguising it as an office computer for the tourist information centre inside the terminal. In addition to allowing her to see what the camera could see, this meant she could increase the recording time and store the files directly on her laptop. Paxman tried to ask Kemi what she was doing but it seemed her reply was too technical for him. He quickly gave up.
Kemi installed a secondary battery and disabled the motion sensor, external light and sound. With everything running smoothly, it was time to leave. The two members of Operation Matterhorn walked back to where Matthews had parked the rented black Range Rover. They drove just one street away – to an airport hotel with three rooms reserved.
6
Zurich, Switzerland.
Assia and Charlie sat for breakfast at a modern cafe on the south-east side of the city next to Lake Zurich, just a short distance from their hostel.
The sun was jostling with the clouds and there was a slight breeze coming in from the lake, so the pair decided to sit outside and enjoy the views, but kept their jackets on. The café was busy and the waiters and waitresses fluttered expertly about the place like humming birds.
Today Assia swapped her ball gown and walking boots for skinny blue jeans with a tight white, long-sleeve top accompanied by a big, oversized fur coat that Charlie openly admitted made him completely embarrassed to be with her. The man in the charity shop she’d bought it from assured Assia the coat was a fake. Charlie said at the price she paid there was no way it could be otherwise. Again Assia felt a strange sense of freedom from wearing the unusual clothes. It meant she wasn’t just free of another person’s control, but free of social conformity, free of people’s judgement. She also wore comfortable deck shoes, giving away her small stature, which was accentuated by her narrow shoulders, a flat chest and slender hips.
Charlie, as always, was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Today the t-shirt was purple, with a shadow image of Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man in the centre of it. Assia viewed Charlie as being at the other end of the clothes spectrum to herself. He wore a t-shirt and jeans every day of his life because he had zero interest in clothes or shopping, period. She liked that about him, same as she liked that he didn’t bother with a hairstyle. Or bother that his eyebrows were beginning to meet in the middle. She watched one side of Charlie’s blond hair move in the wind as the sun shone on the pale, freckled skin on his face. To shield himself from the breeze he wrapped his worn brown duffle coat around himself.
‘This is brilliant,’ said Charlie as he aimed his chair at the sun. He looked over at Assia. ‘You look ridiculous, by the way,’ he said across the table, referring to the fake-fur coat.
‘But I feel fabulous, darling,’ replied Assia in an exaggerated Audrey-Hepburn kind of way, actions and all.
They both laughed.
‘You won’t be laughing when you lose the bet. Just think how ridiculous you’ll look,’ said Assia, reminding Charlie of their ongoing wager.
‘Well then, it’s a good job I’m not losing the bet,’ he replied.
‘Today could be the day. I’ve got the perfect pair of pink, lacy French knickers for you,’ she beamed.
‘I won’t lose the bet,’ he said, reassuring himself.
‘So Charles, what’s on the agenda for today?’
‘Let me see,’ said Charlie as he removed the hefty guide book for Europe from his bag. ‘And please don’t call me that, only my Grandmother calls me–’
‘Charles. Sorry, it just keeps coming out. If it upsets you that much I’ll stop.’
‘Cheers. Or I’ll have to start shortening your name to Ass.’
‘Very funny, douchebag.’
As Charlie flicked through the book Assia’s attention was drawn to one of the tables near them occupied by four men in business suits. They’d been having a heated discussion about the latest US presidential election. Rather than discussing the result of the election or either of the candidates, they were merely reflecting how poisonous the whole ca
mpaign was from both sides. Assia tuned in as the conversation progressed to climate change. She was reminded of a documentary she’d watched on global warming since returning from Thailand. It was made by a former UN ambassador, Bryson Marshall, a few years earlier, which won many awards and much critical acclaim. Thoroughly convinced by the documentary, Assia had searched the making of it online, and discovered ambassador Marshall, a former A-list Hollywood actor turned activist, was making a second film on the link to overpopulation, but it remained unfinished after his family were shockingly murdered one evening. Online reports said that immediately after the murders he’d resigned his position and no longer pursued any of these issues.
Charlie marked the section for Zurich and placed the Guide to Europe face down on the table as he spotted a waitress approaching with menus.
‘Guten tag. Good afternoon,’ said the waitress. Assia was delighted to see the girl had long hair dyed purple and a face that was all piercings.
‘Good afternoon,’ replied Charlie as they opened up their menu. It was two pages long, everything written first in German with the English translation underneath.
‘Can I get you anything to drink while you look?’ The waitress asked.
Assia waited as Charlie quickly scanned the drinks menu.
‘I’ll just have an orange juice and a water please,’ he said.
‘Beer, please,’ said Assia. ‘A big beer.’ She smiled at the waitress as the order was written down. Then Assia looked over at Charlie. ‘Two of them.’
‘Whoa, hang on there. A beer? Come on, Assia, I haven’t eaten anything yet.’