07.00. Sunlight has
begun to illuminate his room. The man turns from the computer screens and looks
around. It is a total tip and he knows he will get a visit shortly. Only a fool
would not suspect him from being part of this mess and they are not fools. Will
anyone believe he just fell asleep and that’s where the missing time went or
will they choose to believe that he deliberately let them get away by leaving
his report until later. He looks at the magazines on the bottom shelf. Too late
to get rid of them and probably the last of his worries now.
07.05. The young
policewoman turns to her colleague as two vans draw up. “These aren’t our SOCO,”
she says as eight people in almost uniform black clothes step out and instantly
survey the area. The tallest is making his way towards them. “PC Groom and
Ellis I presume?” Before they can reply he has started speaking again, “We will
takeover from here, your Commander has asked us to be responsible.” He turns
and looks up at the wreckage on the hill. “Have you touched anything?” “No
Sir,” says the young woman, “just taped the area off.”
07.10. As they get
into the police car she turns to her colleague. “We never even asked for ID.
Bloody hell we must look like yokels.” She reaches her hand for the door handle
but is prevented by her older colleague. “Better yokel than unemployed,” he
says quietly. She turns to him as if he is mad. “Don’t you get it, that’s Security
Services not SOCO, something odd has happened here and the less we know the
better for us.” As he finishes the radio burst into life telling them to come
into the station for a meeting. “We know nothing, remember,” he says as he
slips the car into first gear. The policewoman slides her hand into her pocket
and rubs her fingers around the metal object she had picked up.
07.15. They arrive at the town
and get off the bus opposite a coffee shop where they now sit with one latte
and a double espresso. As they sip at the hot drinks they begin to map out the
events of the morning. Faith is doodling as she speaks. It is clear to them
that the organisation believes that they are involved in the theft of the
package and they know what that means. Suddenly she says, “turn off your
phone,” as she switches her own off. “They can use them to track us. Until we
know what’s going on we need to keep off the radar.” I don’t need to turn mine
off as it already was. First time I haven’t felt guilty about failing to charge
the battery.
07.20. “Let’s get back
to London,” says Faith. We can find out more from there. We can learn nothing
from the scene and they’ll be all over it by now. Our only hope is the shop
where the scarf was bought. Where’s the receipt again?” As I put my hand into my
pocket I feel physically sick even though I know it must be in there. I feel so
useless compared to her that I am convincing myself that I must have lost it. I
almost scream with delight when my fingers touch the paper. As I take it out
she lifts it from my fingers and stares it at afresh as thought I can reveal
more. I feel relieved inside, she can take responsibility for it.
07.25. He is sitting,
sweating, staring at the screen. No news from the second red dot yet so he
decides to try their phones again. There is no reply and both go straight to
ansaphone but for a brief moment on another screen there is a green flash
signifying location. It dies almost as soon as it appears but he uses the time
function to fix it the location. He calls the second red dot. “Forget trying to
find a taxi, just get to the ‘Ground One Coffee Shop’ in Betcherton NOW and let
the crew know.”
07.30. Working in
almost silence the team capture the scene with video and photographs and then
load the vans with all the metal and physical detritus that they have bagged.
Within less than half an hour it is only scorch marks and ground damage that
show anything has happened here. With the vans full they siting talking about
the operation when they get the call “get to Betcherton now, Ground one coffee
shop.” The engines burst into life. Quietly the caller asks what they found at
the scene. “Nothing,” says the leader. “Good nothing or bad nothing?” the voice
asks. “Bad nothing,” he says and hangs up. “Get to Betcherton fast,” shouts the
leader. One of those watching at the police tape takes a photo of the vans driving
off.
07.35. The man puts
his head around the door and is surprised to see the Minister look up. “The
committee will be here at 8. Do you want me to book a room and coffees?” “No,
don’t worry Michael,” he says from behind his desk, “We’ll meet here, and don’t
put this meeting in any of my diaries. That will be all and …. thank you.” The
man shuts the door and goes back to his desk in a state of shock allowing the
words ‘thank you’ to echo in his head. He sits at his computer, clicks on the
diary appointment ‘CRISIS Meeting’ and clicks delete. ‘Surely it won’t matter
that it was there for a few moments,’ he thinks.
07.40. Faith and I
leave the coffee shop and make our way to the station. As we walk we see two
dark vans driving up the road. Automatically she strides on turning her head to
a shop window and I hold back and pretend to look at my phone. We know the vehicle
type and it means they are on to us. We have to get away on the first train to
London. How did they track us so quickly I think and as if she can read my mind
Faith says, “Must have been my phone before I turned it off.” As we cross the
road Faith stumbles into a cyclist. There is a brief altercation as he swears
at her and we lose a few precious moments on the way to the station.
07.45. The owner of a
small coffee shop is delighted with the uplift in trade as eight men all
dressed in black come through the door. “Gentlemen,” he says in his best voice,
“Take a seat and I’ll come over and get your orders. I’ll just finish this
Latte.” The men have already read the room with their eyes. Two existing
customers, one an old man clutching a large cup and a younger man in a suit
waiting for his coffee. Four men sit either side of the table where the young
man waits. The leader glances over the empty tables and sees two empty cups on
the one place that can’t be seen from the window. A man and a woman walk in and
sit by him at the next table. The acknowledge each other by eye contact.
07.50. PC’s Ellis and
Groom sit in one of the interview rooms at the station on the side of the desk
they have never occupied. A giant bear of man with a beard and a softly spoken
voice is asking them once again what they saw. Their answers remain consistent
and amount to nothing useful. The man questioning them is unknown but judging
by the way everyone at the Station is behaving he is extremely senior. He
pushes his hands against the desk and turns to the local Commanding Officer.
“Get me a private office with a direct line ready and clear for 8 o’clock.
07.55. He stares at
the screens in front of him and tries to calm himself. Apart from falling
asleep he has done nothing wrong. If they hadn’t cut numbers of personnel he
wouldn’t have to work such stupid hours. Suddenly the green flashing light is
back on the screen. One click starts his call. In the Ground One Coffee Shop
the leader’s phone goes. “Get up.” he shouts, “We’re moving.” Recently
delivered full cups are pushed away and the café is rapidly emptied. The young
man stares at the coffee shop owner who shrugs his shoulders. “The old man
sighs as he get up. “They were in a hurry,” he says picking up two of their
drinks.
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