Operation Hurricane: The Evan Boyd Adventures #1

by Benjamin Shaw

‘You’re right. And, because that means the path is clear for me to utilise the Tork charm…’ Fitz pretended to lick two of his fingers and stroke them across his eyebrows. Then he smoothed his hair and sniffed at his armpits.

  ‘Wow.’ Boyd raised his eyebrows. ‘She doesn’t stand a chance, does she?’

  They both laughed as they walked around the corner and caught up with Skye. She was leaning against the wall and they couldn’t be sure how much of their conversation she had overheard. They both stopped dead. Fitz stifled a laugh and Boyd opened his eyes wide.

  ‘Who is this clown again?’ Skye asked.

  ‘Whoa!’ Fitz said, clutching his chest as if her words had hurt him.

  ‘This is Fitz,’ Boyd said.

  Fitz stuck out a hand. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’

  ‘And right now, he’s our best hope.’

  Skye rolled her eyes. ‘Wonderful. This way gentlemen.’ She led them down a set of stairs to a single door. ‘Lucky for us, it’s a basement flat, so we won’t be bothered while you work.’

  Fitz looked at them both. ‘So, let me get this straight… getting me suspended for breaking into the headmaster’s safe isn’t quite enough for you; now you want me to break into someone’s flat? Who even lives here?’

  ‘A guy called Bishop,’ Boyd said, shaking his head. ‘And don’t worry, he won’t be bothering us. He’s gone missing; he’s very probably dead.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s fine.’ Fitz exclaimed, his voice climbing up an octave. ‘Has it even crossed your mind he might be in there, decomposing in his recliner in front of Bargain Hunt?’

  Skye took a deep breath and spun around from the door. ‘Look, are you going to pick the lock or am I going to get Bruce Banner here to turn green and smash the door down?’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Boyd protested. ‘Was that aimed at me?’

  Fitz laughed. ‘She’s got your number, mate!’

  A hint of a smile flashed across Skye’s face.

  Fitz got on his knees in front of the door, eyed the lock and removed his backpack. ‘Okay, back up and give me a minute. We won’t be outside for long; it’s nothing complicated. Just keep an eye out up there for anyone walking by.’

  He slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and unrolled a leather pouch, which was full of what looked like small screwdrivers.

  ‘What are those?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘It’s my set of lock picks,’ Fitz replied. ‘Luckily, I rarely leave home without them.’ He snuggled up to the door of Bishop’s flat and regarded the lock.

  ‘You’re not going to be stubborn, are you? Not today, not for me?’ he said, peering down his nose into the mechanism.

  ‘Is this part of the Tork charm you mentioned?’ Boyd asked sarcastically. ‘Are you using it on the door right now? Because honestly, I think the picks would be a lot quicker.’

  Fitz selected two picks, looked at them individually and then gently placed them both in the lock. ‘You know, Boyd,’ he said as he started to gently turn the picks, ‘someone at some point made a grave mistake in telling you that you were funny.’ He continued to lightly tweak the lock. ‘And, as your friend, I see it as my responsibility to right that wrong.’

  The door clicked. Fitz turned the handle and it swung open. ‘Boom,’ he said as he rocked back and rested his back against the wall. He then raised his hand to gesture them inside. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

  Boyd went in first, then Skye; Fitz followed and shut the door. He reached into his rucksack and took out two more pairs of gloves. ‘May I suggest you both take these.’

  Boyd and Skye each took a pair of gloves and snapped them over their hands.

  ‘The alarm wasn’t set.’ Boyd lightly stroked the keypad in the hallway.

  ‘Of course not,’ Fitz whispered. ‘That’s because he’s in the lounge, stuck to his armchair, turning into fungus.’

  ‘No,’ Skye said seriously. ‘If he was, we’d have been able to smell him from outside.’

  ‘Comforting.’ Fitz screwed his face up. ‘And I don’t want to know how you know that.’

  ‘So, what exactly are we looking for?’ Boyd asked as they stood in the hallway.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Skye said.

  ‘I thought you had a lead or a tip-off or something we could use as a starting point? You said you had his bank records.’

  ‘We do. If there’s something in here, we’ll find it. Be patient.’

  ‘Not his strongest suit, unfortunately,’ Fitz said.

  Skye walked deeper into the flat. There were just four doors off the hallway and she pushed each one open. The first was the lounge. Fitz peered around the door to confirm that Bishop wasn’t sat in the armchair. In fact, after a quick look in the kitchen, the bathroom and the bedroom, the one thing they noticed was just how clean and tidy the whole place was.

  ‘Doesn’t look like anyone has been here at all, except a very thorough cleaner.’ Skye wiped her finger over the small table in the hallway and inspected it. Not even a speck of dust.

  ‘Maybe that’s the point,’ Boyd suggested. ‘You said MI5 knew he’d gone missing? From what I’ve seen in films, they’d turn the place upside down, then put everything back and scrub any trace that they’d ever been here.’

  ‘Well, let’s presume that whatever they were looking for, they didn’t find it.’ Skye pointed at Boyd. ‘You take the bedroom.’ Then at Fitz. ‘You take the lounge. I’ll do the kitchen and toilet. Holler if you find anything.’

  They split up and started work. 30 minutes later, Fitz and Boyd headed for the kitchen where Skye was finishing up going through the fridge freezer.

  ‘Nothing,’ Fitz said and let out a frustrated huff. ‘No passport, no computer, it’s just weird, like a show-home.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Boyd agreed. ‘Everything looks new. If he’s gone anywhere, he left most of his very dull clothes here.’

  ‘You want to see weird, you should see his fridge,’ Skye said. ‘It’s basically empty. The cupboards too, not a scrap of fresh food in the place, but his microwave has certainly seen some use.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s not so hard to imagine for a bloke living on his own.’ Boyd said.

  He and Fitz sat down at the small dining table, both looking around the room, racking their brains for inspiration.

  ‘Let’s go back to basics – what was it MI5 told you about Bishop?’

  ‘Hang on,’ Fitz blinked rapidly as he turned to Skye. ‘You actually spoke to MI5?’

  ‘Not me personally, one of my team. But our contact there didn’t give us any specifics, just that he suddenly went off-grid around the time of the surge and we should take a proper look at him.’

  ‘What could he have known that meant he had to disappear?’ Boyd asked, more to himself than anyone else.

  ‘If I had to put money on it, I’d say Bishop was a spy.’ They both looked at her quizzically. ‘Who doesn’t have a passport or a computer? Also, he has a new toothbrush and a new tube of toothpaste in the bathroom too; so, at a glance, it looks like he’s still living here, but why are they brand new? He wanted people to think he was still here but he’s on the run from something. You said yourself his clothes are dull, right? So he is someone who makes a point of trying to blend in; he doesn’t want to stand out. Put that together with MI5 talking about him like he’s a person of interest and I think we’ve got ourselves a spook.’

  ‘It’s strange,’ Fitz said. ‘But I’m suddenly reminded of how dangerous it feels to be sitting in his flat uninvited and we don’t seem to be making any progress. So, unless anyone has any bright ideas as to where he might hide his little spy bits and pieces, I am going to pinch one of the microwave pizzas he has in the freezer and suggest we make tracks out of here, pronto.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Boyd clicked his fingers – an idea had come to him. He opened the dishwasher; it was empty except for knives and forks. He walked over to the bin and pressed his foot down on the pedal, and the lid popped open. He stuck his hand down inside
and pulled out take away cartons and boxes for frozen ready meals.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Skye asked.

  Boyd moved over to the hob and looked at it carefully. Then he opened the oven door and pointed to the back of it.

  ‘Clean as a whistle,’ he said, again, almost to himself.

  ‘Right, we’ve covered this, someone has cleaned the place,’ Skye said.

  ‘But they didn’t empty the bins, or clean the microwave; so why take the time to clean the oven?’

  He got down onto his haunches and stuck his hand in the oven.

  ‘What are you doing, Boyd?’ Fitz asked.

  ‘The oven,’ he replied, still feeling around inside it. ‘It’s not been cleaned. It’s never been used.’ Then he stopped moving, his eyes widened.

  ‘What? You’ve found something? Tell us you’ve found something!’ Skye said excitedly.

  Boyd pulled and they heard a small ripping sound. He brought his hand out of the oven. ‘I’ve found something.’

  Lock And Key

  Boyd was holding a small piece of metal with a strip of brown packing tape hanging off it.

  ‘How did you know to look there?’ Skye asked him.

  ‘The guy doesn’t ever use plates. There are no pots or pans or oven trays anywhere and all he eats is takeaways or microwave ready meals. Plus, my dad always hides stuff in the oven when we go away. He says no thief ever thinks of looking there, so it’s like a safe you never have to lock.’

  ‘Maybe your dad’s a spy too,’ Skye said, not entirely joking. Boyd ignored it. ‘What is that?’

  ‘It’s an Allen key,’ Boyd held it up.

  ‘Like the things you use to put furniture together?’ Fitz said, confused. ‘Why the heck is he hiding that?’

  ‘Because whatever it opens is really important to him,’ Boyd said, looking at the key. ‘Okay, we go back to our respective rooms and we look for anything that has a hex-shaped screw on it.’

  ‘A what?’ Skye shook her head.

  ‘Any piece of furniture that is held together by a screw with a hexagonal head.’ He held up the Allen key. ‘This opens something in this flat and we need to find it.’

  They split up again and within two minutes, Boyd was calling them into the bedroom. He had taken the key with him and started to remove the legs from the bed. By the time he called them in, the mattress was against the wall and the bed frame was on its side with three legs missing.

  ‘What have you got?’ Skye asked.

  Boyd held two of the legs in his hands and tapped them together; the sound was exactly as you would expect from two pieces of solid wood being hit together. He put one down, picked up the third leg and repeated the exercise – the sound was different. He waved the third leg in the air. ‘The bottom of this one is hollow.’

  Boyd ran his gloved fingers over the leg, looking for a way to open it. Fitz and Skye got in close.

  ‘There’s a seam there,’ Skye said, pointing to a faint line in the wood.

  ‘Yep, he’s sealed it with glue or something,’ Boyd said.

  ‘He’s done a great job, really professional,’ Fitz pointed out.

  ‘Maybe he missed his true calling; maybe he should have been a carpenter. You should leave him a note, y’know, in case he comes back,’ Boyd said sarcastically.

  ‘Pass me that pen, I’ll write it now.’

  ‘Boys!’ Skye brought them back down to earth. ‘The sooner we figure out how to open this, the sooner you two can get back to your playdate.’

  Boyd looked at Fitz and shook his head. Fitz raised his shoulders.

  ‘What? She’s right. Come on Hulk, just smash it open.’

  Boyd gave a sarcastic smile and gently tapped the leg against the metal frame of the bed. Nothing happened. He gave it another tap, harder this time, and the piece of glued wood came away, revealing a screw with a hexagonal head.

  ‘Sometimes, a little force is just what’s required.’

  Boyd set to work and soon the screw fell to the floor and the bottom half of the leg came away from the top. He reached inside and took out a roll of papers, which he held out for Skye to take. She flattened them out on the chest of drawers and started reading. Boyd then pushed his fingers deeper down into the leg and took out another roll of papers, but this one was a thick wad of money with an elastic band wrapped around it.

  ‘Jackpot,’ Boyd said. ‘I think we can be pretty sure that our assumptions about Mr Bishop weren’t too far off the mark. Who keeps a wad of cash hidden like that?’

  Fitz raised his eyebrows at the cash, then turned to Skye.

  ‘What have you got?’ Fitz leant over.

  ‘A diary maybe? Lots of notes in code against certain dates,’ Skye replied.

  She handed the sheets over to Fitz. Boyd stood next to him and tried to make something of the scribbles.

  ‘Okay then,’ Fitz said, tapping the page in front of him. ‘Looks like he was having meetings with some fella called Vic right up until he disappeared.’ He pointed to certain days on the pages. ‘That’s the only pattern I can make out. So, who the heck is Vic?’

  ‘If this guy is a spy, that could be a codename, which means it could literally be anyone in London,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Doesn’t even have to be in London,’ Fitz said wearily. ‘He could have been calling them, they could be anywhere.’

  ‘No, wait a second.’ Skye held a hand up. ‘That name, Vic – that’s ringing a bell. I know I’ve seen it somewhere.’

  ‘Okay, so think,’ Boyd insisted.

  ‘Yes, great advice. Thank you, Boyd. I am trying.’

  ‘Then try harder. This is important.’

  ‘And it would be loads easier without you on my case,’ Skye snapped at him.

  Boyd looked at her coldly. Fitz pulled a face.

  ‘You two sound like my parents,’ Fitz said and laughed to try to break the tension. ‘Last month, my dad bought a hot tub on the credit card and my mum went ballistic; they spent two weeks arguing about it…’

  ‘That’s it!’ Skye’s eyes grew wider. ‘Credit card!’

  She took a thin file out of her bag and opened it up. She pulled out a bunch of papers that she had hastily thrown into the file and frantically started leafing through them. She picked up the Allen key and used it to go down through each entry, line by line, until she found what she was looking for.

  ‘Vic!’ Skye flicked the paper with her finger. ‘Gotcha! Fitz, you’re a genius!’

  ‘Finally, the recognition I deserve,’ Fitz replied.

  ‘Bishop’s credit-card statement shows that he bought drinks at The Old Vic theatre on the same exact dates in the diary. So Vic isn’t a person...’

  ‘…it’s a place,’ Boyd finished Skye’s sentence and exhaled deeply. ‘Looks expensive, maybe he bought two drinks - maybe he was meeting someone there.’

  ‘Well, if he did,’ Fitz said, holding the diary pages, ‘then he was due to meet them again today.’ He showed them the page, then checked his watch. ‘Matinee performance starts in an hour. Anyone fancy a trip to the theatre?’

  The Scalpel

  ‘SOLD OUT.’

  Boyd, Skye and Fitz stood staring at the sign on the pavement outside the theatre.

  ‘So, what now? We’re going in, right?’ Fitz asked.

  It had only taken them ten minutes to jog from the Oxo Tower on the Thames but now the clear blue sky of the morning was starting to fill with clouds as the first drops of a summer downpour fell. Fitz pulled the collar up on his rugby top, desperate to get off the street.

  ‘One of us needs to go in, obviously,’ Skye replied.

  ‘What, with a sign around our necks saying, “Are you here to meet Bishop?”’ Boyd said testily.

  ‘No, listen! He must have had a ticket to get in there and sit at the bar, right? No trace of him buying any on the credit card and no ticket stashed away in his flat. I bet you anything there’s a ticket sitting in that theatre waiting for him to collect it. He probably pa
id for it in cash.’

  ‘Well,’ Boyd said, ‘there’s only one way to find out.’ He started to walk towards the front steps.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Skye asked him, grabbing his arm.

  Boyd looked down at her hand. ‘I’m going in there to collect the tickets.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea, do you?’

  ‘She’s right,’ Fitz said. ‘This person Bishop was meeting could be anyone, could be one of the assassins who tried to hit you the other night.’

  ‘Relax, Fitz,’ Skye smirked. ‘It’s a London theatre on a weekday afternoon. Let’s keep the drama on the stage, yeah?’

  ‘So why is it not a good idea for me to go in, exactly?’ Boyd asked, agitated.

  ‘How can I put this without bruising your fragile ego?’ Skye tapped her finger against her lips. ‘Sometimes you need a sledgehammer…’ Skye gestured towards Boyd… ‘and sometimes you need a scalpel,’ she said, holding her hands to her chest. ‘Now is the time for the latter. This may require some diplomacy, and if things don’t go to plan, I am good at talking my way around a situation.’

  ‘And I’m not?’ Boyd’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘You said it, not me. Not only that but Fitz actually makes a good point: what if the person Bishop was meeting knows who you are? Then we get nothing. You need to wait here.’

  ‘No chance.’ Boyd shook his head.

  Skye turned to face him. ‘Listen, we are running out of time and I’m not going to argue with you; stay put and watch the entrance. I can handle this. I’ve got my phone if anything goes wrong, okay?’

  ‘She’s right,’ Fitz said, ruefully.

  ‘Fine,’ Boyd conceded. ‘Go on then. But be careful.’

  Skye smiled, then turned and casually joined the crowd heading for the front doors.

  ‘We should wait over there,’ Boyd pointed to some trees across the road. He put his hood up as the rain started to beat down onto the hot pavement. They crossed the street, and both tucked in under the trees.

  ‘This is better,’ Fitz said. ‘Whoever he or she is, we might even get a look at them from here.’

  ‘He,’ Boyd said through gritted teeth.