The Drone

by Adrian Magson

  ‘Personal protection, paperwork and a nightmare – in that order.’ Ruth knew what Vaslik was really asking: after they’d finished working together on the child kidnap case in London, she had gone to Australia to recover from a damaged shoulder and to try rescuing a dying, three-year relationship. Her partner, Lisa, had applied for an exchange program with the Sydney police and she wasn’t sure if she would be coming back. The meeting had been fine, the shoulder healed well and she had topped up her sun tan, but the relationship was still in limbo.

  ‘Sorry to hear that.’ Vaslik sounded genuine. ‘This job’s hard on any kind of personal life.’

  ‘Yeah. How about you?’ Last time she’d heard Vaslik was single.

  ‘Same thing. Worked some assignments, including one over here, got to see my family… and now this.’

  They paused long enough to eat, after which Ruth pulled out her smart phone. It was time to get back to work. She showed Vaslik the summary notes on James Chadwick. It was deliberately short on detail and left lots of potential gaps, but clients of Cruxys were only obliged to provide certain essential facts relevant to their general work. If they chose to be economical with the truth, short of checking international databases for criminal activities, there wasn’t much Cruxys could do but take the contract and pray the client wasn’t involved in serious organised crime.

  James R. Chadwick – b. 1972. Son of a stockbroker in Chicago, married (Elizabeth) with a son (Benjamin Ian). Attended university (1991-1996) – maj. In economics, business and finance, recruited to NY investment firm and posted to London (1998-2003). After a successful few years and discovering he preferred working with people he joined the US Air Force (2005-2011). Left with a good record and joined StoneSeal (2012 -), a security and economic consultancy in New Jersey, offering advice and commercial vetting intelligence to start-up corporations and others.

  Travels extensively between US and Europe, lectures on economics and corporate security for small and medium-sized ventures and NGOs (non-governmental organisations).

  Hobbies: not known. Interests: not known.

  Vaslik put the smart phone down on the table and shook his head. ‘There’s got to be more to him than this. If he cheated somebody on the stock market, it’s been a long time coming back to bite him. And I can’t believe it has anything to do with his college days. It doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘And why take out a Red Alert contract? There’s nothing to suggest he was in any danger with his work.’

  ‘Unless it was something to do with his military service in the USAF.’

  ‘That’s a stretch. What could he have done there?’

  ‘If he was operational I guess he might have flown combat jets. But there’s nothing to suggest he did that.’ He took out his cell phone and excused himself. ‘I’ll be a second.’

  He was gone a few minutes. When he returned he said, ‘I’ve put out feelers. My contact promised an answer by morning. If there’s anything there, he’ll find it.’

  ‘What about MacInnes? Are we going after the itinerary?’

  ‘There’s no point. I don’t have the authority to make it happen, and it would take days to get a request for possession through the system any other way. They could just stonewall us on the grounds of confidentiality or secrecy.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure we’d find anything.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘MacInnes is a bully. He’s on top of his pile and likes everybody to know it. As he made it clear, he’s a contractor with his fingers in lots of pies, and one freelance business consultant, good as he is, isn’t going to lose him any sleep; he can replace him tomorrow. Besides, I reckon the company probably makes more money through government contracts than MacInnes was letting on. The business side would be small change in comparison.’

  They paid the bill and Vaslik took Ruth to a small boutique hotel to rest up. It had been a long day and she felt ready to drop.

  * * *

  Vaslik was back by nine the following morning.

  ‘What have you got?’ Ruth asked as they walked to his car. She felt a little stiff in one arm where she’d been bruised, but other than that and the redness under her eye, she felt good to go.

  ‘It’s official: Chadwick wasn’t a combat pilot. That leaves out any kind of retribution-revenge thing from air strikes or collateral damage. No obvious misdemeanours, reports of bad behaviour or disciplinary action, nothing like that. In fact he completed officer training top of his class and finished up a captain. Smart guy.’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  He gave a dry smile. ‘Well, not exactly. It’s what my contact couldn’t find that’s interesting.’

  ‘Couldn’t?’

  ‘Chadwick’s service record got mysteriously pulled just over a month ago.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘It was marked ‘Restricted Access’, too, so whoever did it had some juice. There’s no way of finding out who pulled it or why… but there were some bits they left behind.’

  Ruth stood by the car and glared at him across the roof. ‘Christ, Slik, are you going to get to the point or not?’

  ‘Absolutely. My contact said there was an addendum to Chadwick’s service history that had been left on a separate file, buried in among some assessment summaries. All it said was that on completion of officer training he was encouraged to apply for a transfer to another branch of the service. He has two other languages and great grades from university, and they must have liked the sound of him.’

  ‘Who’s ‘they’?’

  ‘Air Force Intelligence. It seems that back in the day, James Chadwick was a spook.’

  11

  Ruth climbed in and shut the door. ‘Why does that revelation worry me just a bit?’

  Vaslik smiled. ‘You and me both. It doesn’t mean he was into anything bad. And there’s nothing left on his file to show he was operational or involved in anything left-field. Most people working in military intelligence are analysts, researchers and the like.’

  ‘So he was a desk warrior.’

  ‘Probably.’ He started the car. ‘Where to now? We’ve got two key pieces of evidence in the trunk, don’t forget.’ He was referring to the hardhat and the knife, which would both have fingerprints all over them. ‘I can call some favours and get them evaluated to see what they show up.’

  ‘They’ll keep,’ Ruth replied. ‘I vote we go back to StoneSeal.’

  ‘Really? That didn’t go too well yesterday, remember.’

  ‘I’d like another crack at Janna Conway. I think she might talk to me. I got the feeling she would have been more help if MacInnes and his armed goons hadn’t come bowling along when they did.’

  ‘What are you thinking of asking her? That’s if you even get inside the building without getting your butt kicked.’

  ‘Think positive, Slik. We girls have our ways. Yesterday we didn’t get a chance to ask about friends or work colleagues. There must be someone he was friendly with. He might have been freelance but he couldn’t have worked in a total vacuum.’

  Vaslik thought it over and his expression showed it had given him an idea. ‘It would help if we got a look at Chadwick’s job application. It might fill in some of the gaps about him. And you’re right – it would be good to find out what kind of social life he had outside of work.’

  ‘Assuming he had one. It might show what made him take out the Cruxys contract.’ They drove along in silence for a while, then Ruth asked, ‘Do you think StoneSeal is on the level?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Elizabeth Chadwick didn’t like them. She was bitter, I got that, but I also got a sense that she was talking from intuition. And did you pick up any kind of atmosphere about the place? I couldn’t make it out. There was a lot of space but not much activity. And why all the weaponry?’

  ‘I know what you mean. I asked my contact if he’d ever heard of them. He had but he wasn’t sure what service sector they were in. But as an approved contr
actor to the federal government, they would have authority to employ a heavier level of security than most companies. Which throws up another possibility.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Their staff would have undergone standard vetting procedure before being allowed anywhere near any government facilities or systems. StoneSeal should have kept a copy of that procedure, and that might throw up some leads.’

  Ruth sat back and mulled it over. She knew enough about the world of military intelligence to know that it wasn’t all James Bond, being mostly unglamorous work involving communications intelligence and analysis, cryptography, security, surveillance, counter intelligence and reconnaissance. But that was one side. On the other it was murky and in the shadows. If an officer had any kind of restriction on his military record, it meant he or the section he’d worked for had been involved in highly classified activities that would probably never see the light of day.

  Yet somebody had possessed the clout to move Chadwick’s file very recently. Was that for hiding even deeper or for another reason?

  Vaslik pulled up round the block from the StoneSeal building. ‘You go in alone. I’ll wait here.’

  Ruth walked into the building and was met by the same empty space, the same receptionist but two different guards.

  ‘Good morning. How may I help you?’ If the receptionist recognised her, she gave no indication.

  ‘I’d like to talk with Janna Conway in Human Resources,’ said Ruth, and gave her name.

  She smiled as she spoke, but it drew no response, save a brief double look, no doubt because of her accent.

  She and Vaslik had agreed that if Conway was like most HR people, she would know more about the company’s employees than was on their files. If not, she would certainly have an ear for any rumour floating around. And changing the focus of the questions and the person making them might promote some useful answers.

  ‘One moment, please.’ The receptionist tapped some keys and spoke briefly, then made a signal to one of the security guards, who walked over and handed Ruth a visitor’s pass. ‘If you go with Germaine, he’ll show you upstairs.’

  She was escorted back to the third floor, but this time to an office on the sharp side of the wedge-shaped building, with a pleasant view both ways overlooking the road intersection outside. Mrs Conway was waiting for her in the doorway and invited her to sit. The room was pleasant, functional and the only personal item on show was a photo of a man and teenage girl, their smiles as alike as two peas in a pod.

  ‘Your husband and daughter?’ said Ruth, indicating the photo.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Michael and Rainna.’ She smiled, plainly proud of her family, then added, ‘You’re not American, Miss Gonzales.’

  ‘Please call me Ruth. No, I’m British. I’ve been assigned to work with Mr Vaslik on this matter.’

  ‘I see. In what way are the British involved?’

  ‘I was tasked to liaise with James Chadwick’s wife, Elizabeth about his disappearance. She’s British and lives in London. Part of my remit is to ensure they have every assistance in finding out what happened to him. As you might imagine his son, Ben, is very upset. He’s about the same age as your daughter and has taken it very hard. In view of his father’s apparent disappearance while working over here, it was decided to extend the search to the US. I was asked to come over and help.’ She added, ‘I’m sorry for bursting in on you again like this, Mrs Conway, especially after yesterday. I hope we didn’t get you into trouble.’

  ‘No. It was fine. And please call me Janna. Mr MacInnes is very sensitive about the government side of our work, that’s all. It’s a tough business to be in at the moment and we’re all aware that contracts are never guaranteed to last.’ She hesitated, then added carefully, ‘I mean he may have over-reacted to your visit.’

  ‘Yet you’re still willing to see me. I’m surprised I made it past the front desk.’

  Janna gave a brief laugh. ‘The security guards look tough, but they haven’t shot anyone recently.’ She sat back and waited.

  ‘Well, I thought of some further questions you might be able to help with, if you’re willing.’

  ‘Of course.’ Janna glanced at the photo of her husband and daughter and frowned in understanding. ‘It must be awful for his family, not knowing what’s happened. How can I help?’

  ‘I understand that as a consultant or employee working for an approved government contractor, James would have undergone a fairly rigorous vetting procedure, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes. We would have run our own vetting procedure, but his background would have been subject to a federal agency vetting, too, even if he wasn’t necessarily engaged on government-related contracts.’

  ‘Would it be possible to take a look at those records, please? I know it’s asking a lot, but frankly, anything I can find about him might help locate his whereabouts.’

  Janna frowned. ‘I wish I could help you – and normally I would. But I’m afraid it’s not possible. The files have been removed.’

  ‘Who by?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was asked to send the complete employee record to Mr MacInnes. It would have included everything, his vetting summary, assessments, assignment details, personal data – everything. That was the last I saw of them.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Janna hesitated and her voice dropped slightly. ‘Yesterday, not long after you left.’

  ‘I see. And I don’t suppose it would be worth asking him?’

  ‘No. He will probably repeat what he said yesterday.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m so sorry about this, Ruth, really. I’m not sure what else I can tell you. But I’m sure Mr MacInnes will do all he can to help.’

  ‘What about friends?’ Ruth switched the focus and tone deliberately away from the negative. ‘Did he have any that you know of?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Work colleagues socialise. James must have forged some relationships. Was there anyone in particular?’

  ‘Well, he was a married man…’

  ‘I’m not implying anything untoward. But he must have had some colleagues closer than others. Was there anybody he had drinks with or with whom he shared interests or activities? Anybody in his private life, for example?’ Ruth hesitated. ‘I’m sure you want to help, and your discretion is admirable. But we need to find him. Nobody vanishes so completely like this unless there’s something very wrong.’

  Janna hesitated and dropped her gaze for a moment. ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

  ‘Whatever you know… whatever you’ve heard,’ Ruth persisted gently. ‘Anything, however remote or unlikely, please tell me. If it gives me a lead it could be of enormous help to James and his family.’

  There was a long pause, then Janna said, ‘There was a rumour about Valerie. I didn’t give it any credence, personally… but she and James seemed fairly close, I heard.’

  ‘Who’s Valerie? Do you have a surname?’

  Janna blinked. ‘You’ve already met her. Downstairs. Valerie DiPalma – our receptionist.’

  ‘Could you ask her to come up here, please? I’d love to speak with her.’

  ‘Of course.’ She reached for the phone and asked for Valerie DiPalma. She listened for a moment, before replacing the phone and frowning. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘What?’ said Ruth.

  ‘She’s not there. The security guards said she felt unwell and went home. Right after you arrived.’

  Ruth stood up. ‘Can you give me an address?’ She felt the press of urgency. It just seemed too coincidental, the receptionist leaving the building so suddenly.

  Janna tapped her keyboard and scribbled down the details on a slip of paper, and held it out. ‘She’s listed online, so please don’t tell her I gave you this information.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ruth took the piece of paper. It showed a Newark address. If DiPalma had been close to Chadwick, she was probably the only person who might have some idea about why he had gone off the radar and whe
re he might be now. They could only find that out if they got to her before she, too, disappeared. ‘Thank you, Janna. I appreciate your help.’

  12

  Tommy-Lee turned as the door opened and Paul stuck his head in. He didn’t say anything but checked everything with a look, then signalled for Tommy-Lee to follow him outside.

  The man on the bed watched them, unblinking and silent, then turned his back and huddled up close, like he knew something bad was about to happen.

  The evening air hit Tommy-Lee like a sledgehammer. It was warm and sweet and tasted of dust stirred up by the arrival of the van. But it was still a million times better than the foetid air he’d been breathing inside the box. He winced at the brightness of the light after the gloom, and shielded his eyes. It would have been good to have his shades, but they were back in Dougie’s place and he was hardly in a position to go back and get them.

  He took a deep breath and feasted his eyes on the open spaces. Wherever they were, the scenery went on for ever. He turned and looked at his temporary home. He hadn’t seen it in daylight before. It was an ancient shed, like a small workshop, with warped overlap wooden walls and a corrugated metal roof. A battered wooden door hid the inner door, and windows down the side showed the bare wood of the inner skin but nothing of the box inside.

  Damn, he had to hand it to Paul and his goons; you’d have to come right up to this place to see that there was more to this old place than first appeared. He turned and looked round and saw the two goons scuttling away towards the hangar, kicking up spurts of dust as they went. It looked like they were in a hurry and he guessed they must have been told to shake it and get under cover before a car came along. Donny was hauling his toolbox as usual and struggling to keep up with Bill, who kept looking at him and waving at him to go faster.