23 hours - the fifteenth hour

14.00. He stands on the pavement and looks casually, as a tourist would, at the magnificent building. They would not stint on making their head office as prestigious and grand as possible. Status and appearance is all to them. He gazes at the balconies and wonders which one would open from his office. This will be a long wait and he has to find a suitable place. He looks at the map he has picked up from a nearby hotel.

14.05. Within ten minutes the Minister’s department know that someone is running a search on the young police-woman who was at the scene of the crime. The Zurich team has left flat 17 with a laptop and other belongings. They are out of the back door and into the alleyway to the street as the other team force open the flat door. Within moments the silence is broken by the Leader shouting an obscenity. They know they have been beaten to it and they will have to let the senior know.

14.10. Faith and I contact the department through the secure email from a cyber café. We are vulnerable but it is the only thing we can think of doing. There is an email waiting for us. It takes us a moment to read and a moment to digest. “What do you think?” says Faith turning towards me. “What choice have we got?” I reply. She is about to send a response when I interrupt. “It asks for us both to go. What if only one of us went, we would still have some control.” Faith stares at me.

14.15. The Zurich team race with the laptop and other belongings to London and the office. The leader of the other team has spoken to his senior and both asked the same question, ‘How did someone else get their first.’ For the leader he can only assume that there is a leak or somehow there system has been hacked. Neither is palatable and once he has passed this through to the management group there is general dismay and anger. On top of this the Minister has called for another CRISIS meeting at 14.45.

14.20. The little old lady sit for a moment and wonders. After a while she calls the free helpline. The answer she gets doesn’t make her feel happy at all and so she calls the Police. The officer at the other end seems incredulous at her story of two teams of ‘British Gas’ workers going into the flats and British Gas knowing nothing about it. He is about to say she’s lucky to get anyone to come out when she gives the address of the flats and a warning bell goes off in his head.

14.25. Tracey-Rebecca is getting nearer to London and is having to consider what to do next. She needs to speak to someone and the only person she can think of is Pete Groom he police partner. He should be at home as they were on nights so she could risk a call when she gets off the train. He won’t mind, he’s kind of been like a father to her. Not that he will be happy with what she’s done but he might have some advice as to how to resolve it.

14.30. At the station the senior officer pieces together what they know. About twenty minutes ago they get a call from the Department to ask about PC Ellis. When he finds out she is off ill the Department demand more information. Now it seems she was out on the crash this morning, had been interviewed with PC Groom by someone from outside their station and now her phone at home and mobile are not being answered and the desk sergeant has reported strange activity at her block of flats. Two cars are despatched to investigate.

14.35. The man has booked a room with a window overlooking the building. He sits and waits for his target to appear in one of the windows opposite. He knows the target is one of the most senior people in that particular office so it is likely he will have one of the windows with a balcony. He can see all four. It is possible that his office may be so big that it has two of the balconies. He has a particularly good view of the middle two.

14.40. Police are called to a lovely mews cottage where they find a woman shot dead on the living room carpet. The irony of dying in the living room is not lost on the senior policeman. “Call it in Purves. Tell ‘em we need SOCO and murder squad.” He picks up an envelope from the hall table. “And they can start doing a search on a Mr & Mrs Singleton. You can bet the husband did it. See if they can get a trace on him”. The call is put through and the gate is closed and taped off.

14.45. The CRISIS team are meeting. If you wanted a definition of tension you could show a picture of the room. The Minister opens the window to the balcony to let in some air. He goes back to his chair and the circle is complete. The door to the outer office is shut quietly and the Minister speaks. “Right,” he says with more conviction than he really feels, “What do we know?”

14.50. Faith and I arrive outside the building. We are both nervous. We have decided to go in together because any other action may suggest some form of guilt and involvement. Once we go in that’s it. We look at each other and I think we are both wondering how so much could have happened in just one day. At a window opposite a man goes to an envelope and takes out two photographs. He can hardly believe his eyes. Three of his targets are in or near the same building. This could make the job harder.

14.55. On the radio come the first reports of a woman shot dead in her home in central London. Although no names are given the broadcast says the Police are looking for her husband. The suspicion is that it is a domestic incident. The news has already come through to the two different organisations hunting for the USB stick. They know who the woman is and both now suspect that the other is responsible for the ‘hit’. Both are wrong. In a hotel room opposite a man adjusts the sight on his rifle. He now knows for sure which balcony is attached to the man’s office.

Seedy

A packet of seeds free with a magazine. Stuck to cover so that in trying to free them it rips the packet spilling the tiny dusts of life onto the carpet.

A burst of the vacuum and nature is back in its place, a bag. But not all. Underneath the sofa a germination. Hidden in the dark the plant grows strong before making a break for the light.

Wrapping around a leg for support it climbs up and secures its tendrils against the body. Drawing its moisture and food from the host the plant grows big before dropping its seeds to the carpet below and falling upon the cover of the magazine ‘Country Life’.

23 hours - the fourteenth hour

13.00. She sits quietly drinking her coffee. She is listening to the few words that are spoken whilst keeping her head down. It is only her good memory that meant she recognised the man who had ‘taken over’ at the crash site. She is sitting with her back to him. It is clear that they are waiting for further instructions and she has picked up a reference to locating the ‘object’. The USB stick glows hot in her pocket. They don't know where to look but it is clear that they will soon. She decides to get back to the flat quickly and pack a few things.

13.05. In a dark van the message comes through to the Zurich team that the computer must be located within Oldfield House, there are approximately fifty flats to visit and search. They leave the van where it is to avoid too much presence and walk towards the flats. They know they may be only minutes in front of other search teams and they must be quick and effective.

13.10. We have sent the email that details what we know and the telephone number of the man who took my briefcase and who he works for. We must now move again to keep safe. We have told them we will contact again in one hour to see if we have further instructions or if we have been cut adrift. I pick up a copy of the early evening paper and see that the helicopter crash warrants a few paragraphs on page 5. It’s funny how geography and celebrity make such a difference to news coverage. I expect we should be grateful.

13.15. She leaves the flat with a large holdall containing clothes, money and passport. She has no idea why she is reacting like this but she can sense she is in deep trouble. The impulse to take the USB stick was certainly the stupidest thing she has ever done and now it has turned her stomach and her life upside down. She goes straight to a cashpoint and withdraws the maximum her account will allow. Now what?

13.20. The Department now has the same area location for the USB and the team from the Coffee Bar once again leap up and leave their tables. On this occasion Ed has been expecting it and they tip well. The leader has the information on the names the flats are registered to and none are bringing up any links or cross references. They are about twenty minutes away. As they walk briskly ahead of them the Zurich team are already inside the building.

13.25. “Ah, good afternoon,” the smartly dressed man says to the elderly lady who opens her door. “I’m from the Gas Board,” He flashes identification into the gap between the edge of the chained door and the frame. “We have had reports of a gas leak in the building and we have to check every flat I’m afraid. From her view into the corridor she can see another man standing at the door further down the hall. The pushes the door to and slides the chain out before opening the door fully and letting him in.

13.30. The man leaves the Zoo and makes his way toward the Underground station. He boards the train going south on the Northern Line and finds a seat. He checks around him and notes the fellow passengers. All occupied many with the tell tale wires for ear pieces. He takes the envelope from his pocket and slits it open with his finger. He doesn’t bother to count the £50 notes, they wouldn’t dare short change him. He takes out the photographs and stares at the portraits. These are the bungling amateurs who have messed up everything.

13.35. Tracey-Rebecca gets to the train station and uses a public telephone box to call the police station to say she is ill and won’t be in for a couple of days. She puts on the pathetic washed out voice of people calling work pretending to be sick and then hangs up. She boards a train and sits back facing forward. If she sits with her back to the direction of travel she feels sick. On this occasion she now feels sick already. Her mind is racing with thoughts of how she can escape this situation.

13.40. Faith and I have had a bite to eat and are working on the form of words we will use when we contact the department. We have one chance and we have to get it right. Finally I have the upper hand as my skills in communicating seem to have her respect. It’s amazing how close to someone you can get in less than eight hours. It’s stupid but I feel I could spend the rest of my life with her, if we have any life in the future. These people don’t play games.

13.45. The man’s wife opens the door and finds herself violently pushed up the hallway and into the front room. Within the seconds the light stain from coffee that is still visible on the beige carpet is subsumed with a rich blood red. The man moves from room to room searching and leaves within moments with a plastic bag. As he walks up the path a motorbike pulls up and takes the bag before speeding away. The man lifts out the next photograph from his inside pocket. It is a face he recognises.

13.50. The old lady has told him what she knows about all the people in the flats. He has struck gold, she has knowledge and gossip to fill her empty life. As he mentally ticks off the flats with her identifies those that will be empty as the inhabitant will be out during the day and therefore they can break in. With every ‘safe’ flat he texts the door number to the team. “Flat 17?” he asks, “James Kent.” “Oh,” the old lady says, reveling in the fact that she has more knowledge than the gas board, “He sublets his flat.”

13.55. Back at the ‘office’ a search is run on Tracey-Rebecca Ellis and within seconds it throws out her background. No one can believe that it is an accident that someone who was on the scene of the crash could also have a flat in the building where the USB stick was activated. Within moments the man leaves the old ladies flat and the entire team enter flat 17 and start their search. As the door to the flat closes the team from the coffee bar enter the building. The leader knocks on the first door. A little old lady opens it slightly. “Hello,” he says showing a card, “I’m from British Gas.”