The Bid

by Adrian Magson

  But it was the saved photos and web pages that immediately grabbed her attention. For some reason Chadwick had saved a number of Google Earth maps, most of them focussing on the central US states, like the folding map from the storage room back at StoneSeal. The site searches told her nothing by themselves to account for why he’d been looking at them other than having all been saved recently. Whatever his reasons, it showed a clear interest that seemed a lot more than casual. She moved on and found a collection of screen grabs showing what she instantly recognised as airfields, and links to a number of websites dedicated to looking at little-known, defunct, lost, or abandoned bases. One site in particular listed abandoned airfields by state, and a quick tap on the screen took her to aerial shots of old runways and roads, of taxiways and buildings, some encroached on by more modern building developments and facilities, others still clearly in use for other commercial purposes. More photos showed derelict hangars and support buildings, weed-strewn runways, rusting fuel storage tanks and rotting piles of brickwork and other rubbish. Then she found faded copies of original plans and black-and-white photos of buildings in their prime taken many years ago.

  She sat back, puzzled. Abandoned airfields mainly in the states of Nebraska, Kansas, and Oklahoma. But what was he looking for?

  She checked his history of Google searches. A few took her to websites showing details of Unmanned Aerial Vehicles, or drones, with photos of a whole range of machines including spider-like multi-copters. She didn’t know what to make of these; they could have been part of Chadwick’s general interest. But how could she tell?

  Other searches referred to “Freedom,” with links to towns in the US with that name. Then she found a list of searches that all had striking similarities and felt her neck go cold. They included entries for USAF, USAF Intelligence, Office of Special Investigations, and Quantico, Virginia.

  Ruth was holding her breath. She was thinking back to what Special Agent Brasher had told them. James Chadwick had been looking for somebody to contact about his fears; about a man named Paul. He’d probably started with the USAF he’d once known and worked his way through a number of searches, trying to narrow down the focus to a specific area, a specific office. No doubt things had changed a lot since his days in the service.

  She needed to show this to the others. Bergstrom probably not so much but definitely Vaslik, Reiks, and Brasher. She debated keeping it to herself and Vaslik but realised this had already gone too far; whatever had happened to Chadwick must in some way be related to the man named Paul, to drones, and to abandoned airfields.

  She looked up to find Valerie watching her with an air of sombre anticipation. “Did James ever mention a man named Paul?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Who is he?”

  “Maybe nothing. Just a name that cropped up.”

  “Is that it?” the young woman asked softly. She was clutching her hands tightly together, and Ruth felt guilty at having inadvertently zoned her out.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. To be honest I’m not sure what I’ve got here. But I think I’ll have to take this away for a more detailed look.” More than anything she needed a quiet space to do it in and to even get some techies involved as well for a little in-depth digging. Whatever Chadwick had been searching for lay in this device. The exact why and how they were all linked together was something else entirely, but either way, she had a gut feel that this might be their only chance of finding James Chadwick’s current whereabouts.

  Valerie nodded. “Of course. If you think it will help.” Her face was drawn and she looked ready to drop. “You’ll tell me if you find anything, won’t you? I didn’t realise …” She looked up at the ceiling as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I mean, I knew how I felt about James, but this … suddenly I know it’s a lot more than I realised and it’s driving me crazy. I don’t dare go anywhere in case he calls.” She brushed the tear away. “I’m so sorry—I must seem a mess. But I just want him back safe.”

  Ruth switched off the iPad and stood up. She could only guess how Valerie was feeling right now, but there was nothing she could say that would adequately allay the woman’s fears. If James was out there, they would find him. But it would be like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. “We’ve had talks with the FBI,” she assured her, “and they’re helping out. That’s a lot more manpower that we can use but until we get a lead to where he might have gone, we’re only guessing. If you can, I suggest you go back to work tomorrow; it would be better than sitting here waiting all day, I promise. You’d better give me a note of your cell phone number.”

  Valerie nodded and scribbled the digits on a piece of paper. Ruth thanked her and walked down to her car. As she stepped out of the front entrance, a man staring at the list of entry phone buttons suddenly turned and walked quickly away. She watched him go, puzzled by the move, but her mind on the contents of the iPad. The man was stocky, with a bald patch and short heavy legs, dark hair, and a moustache. He was dressed in a jacket and pants and carrying a small backpack slung over one shoulder.

  She shrugged. He could have been a potential tenant checking out the place or a man in town looking for a friend. She had to be careful not to get paranoid about this and start seeing shadows where there were none. It was an easy habit to slip into in this business, where faces and people seemed to crowd into the same arena while mostly having nothing to do with the case in hand other than simply being there.

  She walked to the car and jumped in, anxious to get back to West 31st Street to meet up with Vaslik and show him what she’d found.

  nineteen

  On the way back she used the time to think about Chadwick’s search for airfields. Why was he checking them out and why focus on fields in remote areas? Then came a related thought: Ben Chadwick had mentioned his dad flying a drone in a competition on an air force base. Was that the connection? Lots of space; flat, even terrain; and presumably no chance of overflying housing or built-up areas. It made sense but only took her so far. Without a definite lead she could end up going round in circles.

  She parked the car and hurried up to the sixth floor, where she was buzzed in by Walter Reiks.

  “Bergstrom’s gone,” he told her, “but Tom Brasher’s hanging on to see what you’ve got.”

  They walked along the corridor and joined the two men, and Ruth placed the iPad on the desk and showed them what she had found.

  “He was a busy man,” Brasher concluded, flicking expertly through the searched sites and opening photos and saved screen grabs in rapid succession. “And definitely interested in drones … and airfields.” He checked the gallery, which contained numerous photos of individual machines and their technical specifications; his son Ben, a good-looking but serious kid in his early teens; and a smiling Valerie DiPalma in numerous shots against New York skylines. He seemed about to give up when he sat forward. “Now, who’s this?”

  They all leaned over to see. He’d stopped on a thumbnail of a man walking along a quiet street. He opened it to a full-screen view. The photo had been taken from above and late in the day. The detail wasn’t perfect, with what appeared to be a glossy film over the scene shown, and a glimpse of nearby tree foliage filtering the available light into fragments. But it was clear enough to show a man of medium height, well-built with dark hair and a trace of stubble around the jawline.

  Brasher clicked on the next photo. It was the same man, but this time taken on a different street near a line of arched sandstone-­coloured structures.

  Reiks grunted and moved closer. “Hey, I know that place: it’s the East Orange Transit station on Main.”

  “Are you sure?” said Brasher.

  “I should be. I worked the area undercover when I was with the Bureau and spent more hours camped out around there than I care to remember.” Reiks pointed at the screen, where they could make out a green-and-white street sign in the backgro
und. “See, that’s the sign for North Arlington Avenue. But what was Chadwick doing there?”

  “He lives near East Orange General,” Vaslik said quietly. “I know the area, too. He could have been walking from home to the station to get into the city. It’s not far.”

  “Can you go back to the first photo?” Ruth suggested.

  Brasher did as she asked. “What about it?”

  “That’s outside his apartment. I recognised the street.” She didn’t need Vaslik to corroborate the fact, but he nodded. She pointed at the plastic bag Vaslik had placed by the side of the desk, containing the hard hat and knife. “The same place we got these.” She explained briefly where they had come from.

  Brasher leaned over for a closer look but didn’t touch the bag. “I can get them looked at.” He leaned back and flicked a finger under one eye, looking at Ruth with a smile. “I was wondering what the story was, but I’m too polite to ask. I take it the man you tangled with isn’t one of these faces.”

  “No. He’s a new one.”

  He turned back to the photo of the man in the street. “So where was Chadwick standing when he took this?”

  “Inside the building.” Ruth pointed at the glossy area where the light seemed fuzzy. “Probably through a window on the fourth floor; see where the light’s reflected off the glass?”

  “She’s right,” said Vaslik. “Can you go back to the station shot?”

  Brasher did so and zoomed in on the man, who looked as if he was turning away to go under one of the arches.

  “Looks Latino,” said Reiks. “Like a million others. Could be anybody. Are there any more?”

  Brasher brought up another photo, but it lacked definition and was darker, as if the camera had been in the shade. Even so it showed the man was now in conversation with another individual, this one bigger, heavier, and with the hunched shoulders of a bodybuilder.

  “Can we run prints of these?” Brasher looked at Reiks.

  “No problem.” He handed Brasher a business card. “We haven’t yet set up all our printers but if you send them to this email I’ll run some off in the other office.”

  A couple of minutes later they were all holding copies of the photos while Reiks excused himself to attend to a phone company rep.

  “This confirms it,” Vaslik said softly. “This wasn’t Chadwick’s imagination. He was being followed.”

  Ruth held her breath, but she wasn’t thinking about this photo. Her mind was racing back to the man checking name cards outside Valerie’s apartment block.

  Vaslik noticed how still she’d gone. “What’s up?”

  “How far is it,” she asked, “from Chadwick’s apartment to Independence Park?”

  Vaslik thought about it. “Not far. About four miles, give or take. Why?” Then he caught on. “You saw something.”

  “Yes. As I left Valerie DiPalma’s apartment there was a man outside checking the name tags. Mid-thirties, heavy, dark appearance. He looked … I don’t know—shifty. But I didn’t think more about it at the time.”

  The atmosphere became electric.

  “Damn,” said Vaslik. “We should have thought of this. If they’ve been watching Chadwick, they’ll have picked up on his relationship with DiPalma.”

  Ruth dialled Valerie’s number, her heart thudding.

  No answer.

  She shook her head. “She told me she wasn’t going anywhere tonight.”

  She headed for the door and Vaslik followed, throwing a look at Brasher. “Can you ask the local precinct to send a patrol car by? This could be an attempt to lift her as well.”

  “Will do,” said Brasher, picking up his phone.

  twenty

  This time Vaslik drove, pushing hard through the traffic with the expertise of long experience working undercover in this city. While he focussed on not killing anybody, Ruth kept trying Valerie’s number, quietly berating herself for not having reacted to the instinctive warning signals she’d picked up earlier about the man outside the apartment.

  Twenty minutes into the journey they received a call from Reiks. He sounded upbeat. “Brasher’s had to split for a meeting, but he got a patrol car to drop by DiPalma’s place. She’s okay. She said she was asleep and didn’t hear the phone. The responding officer believes she may have taken something like a sleeping pill, or it could be exhaustion. DiPalma’s promised to keep the door locked until you get there.”

  Ruth breathed a sigh of relief and disconnected. She relayed the news to Vaslik.

  “We need to move her,” he said. “If they’re tracking her to put pressure on Chadwick, it won’t be long before they make a move.”

  “Put pressure on him to do what, though?”

  “Well, if they want him but can’t find him, it would be a simple way to get him to show himself.”

  “And if they’ve already got him, they’ll use her as leverage to make him do whatever it is they’re after.”

  “Right.” He steered round a cab double-parked near a delivery truck. “It would help if we knew what it was this mystery guy really wanted.”

  Ruth said nothing. It was like looking down on a giant puzzle when they only had some of the outside pieces to work on. The rest was all supposition and guesswork.

  They arrived at the apartment block to find a patrol car standing outside and a black female officer chatting with a woman and small child. The officer nodded goodbye to the woman and turned to face them as they approached the entrance.

  “Sir, madam—you mind giving me your names and showing me some ID?” She had one hand resting on her hip and looked ready for anything. It was obvious that Brasher’s call must have lit a spark under the local police precinct and they were taking the issue seriously.

  Vaslik gave the officer their names and showed her his driver’s licence. “We know what this is—it’s a potential kidnap intruder scare called in by Special Agent Brasher of the FBI.”

  The officer nodded. “No problem. I already checked with the tenant, a Ms. DiPalma, and she’s fine. She looks pretty rough, but I gather she’s had some bad news and it’s worn her down. I don’t suppose either of you can see the guy in the area?” She gave a minute jerk of her head towards the street without looking round.

  Ruth had already been scanning the street and the park across the way, and she couldn’t see anybody resembling the man she’d seen earlier. But he could be using the trees or other people in the park as cover. Only a thorough search of the area would prove that.

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

  The officer smiled. “Damn, I love that accent. And no need to apologise, ma’am—it’s what we’re here for. Have a good one.” She gave Vaslik a more lingering look before climbing back in her car and driving away.

  “Christ, Slik,” Ruth muttered, almost laughing with relief. “Pull it in. We’re working here.”

  They went up to Valerie’s apartment and knocked on the door. She let them in with evident caution and looked at Ruth with puzzlement. “What’s going on?” she asked, stifling a yawn. “I asked the patrol officer, but she just said she’d been asked to check on the address after a nuisance call was made.”

  Ruth explained about the man she had seen downstairs, and that they had found evidence that James had indeed been followed by persons unknown. “I don’t mean to alarm you, Valerie, but if anybody is trying to get to James, they might do so by using you. We think it would be a good idea if you could go away for a few days, somewhere nobody would know about. Can you do that?”

  “I suppose I could take a few days’ vacation. But why? Have you found any trace of James? What about his iPad—has that helped?”

  “The iPad was very useful,” Vaslik said calmly. “You did the right thing calling us. We haven’t finished looking through it yet, but we’re being helped by the FBI and they’ll let us know the minu
te they find anything.”

  “Whoever this is,” she said tentatively, “whoever you think it is … there’s a chance that they already have him, isn’t there? Otherwise he’d have called me.”

  “We don’t know that,” Ruth told her. “The first thing is to get you to safety; I’m sure James would want that.”

  It seemed to act as the trigger they needed. They waited while Valerie went through to her bedroom and packed a small case, then checked the apartment was secure before accompanying her downstairs to her car. While Ruth kept her talking for a minute, Vaslik ran a check on the vehicle to make sure it was clean.

  “Keep your cell phone on you at all times,” Ruth warned her, “and don’t come back here until we tell you it’s safe to do so. And if you hear from James … or anybody else, call us immediately.” She handed her one of Walter Reiks’s business cards. “If you can’t reach us, call this man and he’ll do whatever’s necessary.”

  Valerie nodded and stowed the card away in her purse. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes welling up. “Thank you both. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  Back at the Cruxys office they found Brasher had returned. He pulled a wry face. “The consensus is that this Chadwick business is serious. I’ve sent the photos of the guy on the iPad to our technical people to see if NGI can pick him out.” He paused to explain, “Sorry—that’s our current facial recognition system. It’s called Next Generation Identification. If the face is anywhere on our database, there’s a good chance it’ll find him.”

  “How long will it take?” Vaslik asked.

  “Normally it shouldn’t take more than twenty to thirty minutes. But with all the activity we’re seeing at the moment, there’s a rush of stuff being pushed through, all marked top priority. I have to warn you, it’s not infallible; but it is a whole lot easier and quicker than going through millions of mug shots.”