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.”
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