“Offered, not insisted.” Fabian sent him another glare.
“You’re here, either way.” Lewis smiled sweetly at him. “Would you like another refreshing drink?”
“Don’t enable his addiction,” Jack said out of the side of his mouth as he pulled up a list of files Fabian had just sent him.
“It’s not enabling, it’s bribery. He is doing this out of the goodness of his heart and soul, you know.”
Fabian muttered something under his breath and ducked behind his screens.
“I know.” Jack opened the first video and hit play. “And I really appreciate the help, from both of you.”
They worked in silence for the next quarter hour, going through the videos by order of location, starting with those along Bathurst Street and working out in concentric circles. On his second computer, Fabian had facial recognition software running, but the program wasn’t fool proof, hence the manual checking as well. Jack had no hopes of the computer finding Ethan. The man knew how to avoid being picked up by such programs. The most Jack was really aiming for was to recognise the body, the walk, the gestures. Anything more would mean Ethan was being very sloppy.
“Got him.” Lewis squinted at the screen. “At least I think it’s him.”
Jack got up and moved to Lewis’s side, leaning over his friend to get a closer look. The video was paused on the image of a man who had the same build as Ethan. He was caught in mid-step, shoulders hunched, hands tucked into the front pockets of his pants. Despite the summer night, he was wearing a knee length black coat that looked like a suede one Jack had seen in the closet at Bathurst Street. If only he’d thought to check for missing clothes before leaving.
“Is it him?” Lewis asked.
The face was turned away from the camera, the body language not typical of Ethan and the lighting poor enough that even if he didn’t have the other issues, it would still be a challenge.
“Maybe. Let’s follow him. Where was this footage from?”
Fabian tapped madly for a moment, then answered. “ATM surveillance camera on Wilmot Street. Two blocks over from your starting address, heading south easterly.”
“It’s a high probability it’s him.” Jack was almost convinced. He had no doubts Ethan would have several ways out of the penthouse that avoided camera coverage. The only worry was that Ethan had been caught on camera at all.
Using the ATM and subject’s apparent direction as a new starting point, they focused their search more intently and found more footage of him on George Street, then at the intersection with Goulburn. Afterward, they merely caught glimpses of him until he reached the Haymarket.
“Do you really think it’s him?” Lewis asked Jack when searching beyond the Haymarket didn’t net them any more footage of the subject.
“Has to be. If it was a random person, their face would have been captured at some point on camera. This guy’s good at looking casual but is obviously avoiding easy recognition.”
Fabian made a soft, disagreeing sound. “No one can know where every camera is over such a long distance.”
This time, it was Jack and Lewis’s turn to give the tech the look.
“This is Ethan Blade we’re following,” Lewis said, tone patient. “He infiltrated this building, twice, and got out unscathed both times. He led the local cops on merry car chases across most of this city, twice, and wasn’t caught, either time. He singlehandedly killed a troop carrier full of special ops soldiers, and no one knows how he did it. Do you really think he wouldn’t know where all the cameras are on a route he clearly planned as an escape path from his own home?”
Eyes wide, Fabian looked between them, like he wasn’t certain Lewis was telling the truth and thought Jack might confirm his suspicions. When he didn’t get the results he wanted, he frowned, looked back at his screen, at them again, then at his screen. “Fine. He knows where all the cameras are. So why did he let himself be seen at all?”
“Precisely.” Jack sat back down at his own computer. “Can you compile all the footage into a single stream for me?”
Fabian grunted a positive and not long later, Jack had a single video that tracked their subject across several blocks. It was barely a minute of footage and he watched it over and over, looking for something meaningful, something that told him what Ethan was up to.
He was certain it was Ethan now. The way he walked and how he occasionally reached out and touched the walls of the buildings he was passing. Jack would know those hands anywhere, even in the often fuzzy images captured by cheap surveillance cameras.
It hurt, seeing Ethan walk away from the penthouse, away from what Jack had believed they were finally starting to build together. Hurt like the knife Two had rammed into his back and twisted. Ethan was unhurried but purposeful as he made his way as directly as possible to the Haymarket. He’d left a note but “soon” had variable meanings when Ethan used it. It had already been nearly ten hours since he left the penthouse. “Soon” could mean he was already back there, wondering where Jack was. Or it could mean he would be gone for months. If “soon” wasn’t an outright lie.
Jack hoped Ethan had a fucking solid reason for leaving. Especially today.
Birthdays. Fuck ’em.
“There’s a pattern here.” Jack watched the same footage of Ethan once more.
Lewis groaned and dropped his head back so he stared at the ceiling. “We’ve been over it I don’t know how many times already. Fabes has run it through every analytical program he has and we’ve found nothing. Maybe we need to get a psycho-physical analyst.”
“I’d rather we didn’t involve too many others just yet,” Jack said.
“He’s been gone for how long now? Ten hours?” Sighing, Lewis looked back at his screen. “Face it, Jack, we’ve done all we can with what resources we have. Fabes is either going to slip into a coma or have a heart attack from too much caffeine. He shouldn’t be here. You’re not even supposed to be here. If you want to take this any further, you have to make it official.”
His friend was right, but Jack couldn’t quite make himself agree aloud just yet. Making the search official would mean involving Director Tan of ETA, Ethan’s nominal superior. Tan had proved to be honourable in his dealings with Jack, yet the man had a ruthless reputation stretching out behind him a mile wide, and the fact he’d eagerly bent over backwards to get one of the top ranked assassins in the world on his team didn’t make Jack feel any less wary of his motives.
Lewis groaned as he got to his feet. “While you stew in your own stomach acid, I’m going to get something to eat. Hopefully Lyds left something for me in the fridge.” He left, twisting his torso so his spine popped as he went.
Jack looked across the table at Fabian. The younger man didn’t appear as if he was going anywhere soon, but he did have a tendency to suddenly decide he needed to be somewhere else and just go without any preamble.
“Is there nothing else you can do?” Jack asked, half hopeful, half resigned.
“I can expand the parameters of the search. We lost him at Haymarket but that doesn’t mean he didn’t leave the area. Lewis mentioned that he was involved in a couple of car pursuits and didn’t get caught. Chances are he got into a vehicle.”
Jack mentally kicked himself. “Fuck. Of course.” Even though Victoria had been left at home, Ethan probably had another car waiting somewhere, or could steal something no worries. “Let’s go through stolen vehicle reports from this morning. List the more expensive sports cars first, then more standard models.”
“I’ve already started it. There were only two cars reported missing in that general area, a Toyota Prius and a Nissan Skyline.”
“Dig into those reports, find out what you can. I’ll look for either of them in the Haymarket footage.”
By the time Lewis returned with an armful of drinks and snacks, Fabian had ruled out both stolen cars—the Prius had been taken by the owner’s daughter and the Skyline was found wrapped around a light pole in Paddington, driver curre
ntly in hospital with minor injuries. Undeterred, Jack told Lewis their new parameters and his mate sat back down before his screen.
They worked in silence, bar the sipping of drinks and the crackle of packets of biscuits and chips, for nearly fifteen minutes. Jack found himself going back to the video stream of Ethan’s journey from Bathurst Street, the niggling feeling that there was a pattern to his hand movements not letting him concentrate on the car angle.
The answer came to him when he stopped fixating on Ethan and looked more at what he was touching.
“Fuck me. He left a message.”
Lewis jerked, as if he’d been on the verge of sleep. “What?”
“Come here. Look at this.” Jack waited until Lewis had scooted his chair around the corner of the table and leaned in beside him. “See how he touches the walls every now and then?”
“Yeah? I mean, it’s a bit unhygienic, but nothing—”
“No. Look at what he’s touching in particular.”
Lewis had one of the best minds for deciphering hidden meanings, and as Jack played the video through at a slowed down speed, enlightenment dawned on his friend’s face.
“Shit. Shit. How did I miss that?” Lewis all but clambered over Jack for a pen and notepad, then sat down again, at the ready. “Start it over. Slow it right down. We can’t miss a thing.”
For the first time since realising Ethan hadn’t just stepped out for some air, Jack felt a spark of excitement. Perhaps Ethan was letting them know where he’d gone. Or why he was going. Either way, he was suddenly very grateful for the overwhelming amount of Christmas decorations in the storefront displays, because Ethan was spelling out words with his touches as he went.
“V,” Lewis said as they watched for every touch. “I, E, T, P, A . . . Did he have a stroke? This isn’t making much sense. N. Wait, go back a bit, I think we missed one.”
“R,” Jack said, reeling the video back second by second.
“R.” Lewis wrote it down. “Are you sure about that one?”
“Fairly. The footage isn’t great, it’s right at the start of that clip and the next one doesn’t start until he’s almost at the corner.” Jack looked at what Lewis had written so far. VIETPARN. It didn’t make any sense. “Maybe this is in code, too.”
“Maybe. Let’s keep going, it might be more obvious with more letters.”
Jack wasn’t sure as they added T, M, I, and R, but as the next ones were revealed, A, M, A, T, I, he worked it out.
“Jesus Christ.” All of the blood rushed out of his head, leaving him lightheaded and queasy. He stared at the screen where Ethan kept spelling out the name of his niece.
“What is it?” Lewis demanded.
“My sister and niece. Meera and Matilda. They’re in danger.”
Lewis looked from Jack to his notepad and back again. “I see the names now but how do you know—”
“We got the letter wrong. The one we weren’t sure off. It’s I, not R. Viet paint. Fuck!” Jack shot out of his chair and was halfway to the door when Lewis grabbed his arm.
“Jack, slow down. Explain.”
Jack forced himself to not break free and sprint for the garage. The most important thing right then was getting to his family, but the best chance he had of saving them was with Lewis’s help.
“After Harry’s funeral, I went to Vietnam to be with Ethan. We stayed in a house owned by one of his associates. She paints, Lew. That’s what he means. A fucking assassin is going after my family.” A new thought hit him like a bullet. “Dad. Maybe they’ve targeted him as well.”
Lewis was more than familiar with situations exploding into action on a moment’s notice and he took it in stride now. “Get to your sister and niece as fast as you can.” He shoved Jack towards the door. “I’ll get some protection for your dad and mobilise a strike team to follow you and get it out on channels.” Meaning he was going to alert the local police that something was going down and to stay the hell out of it. The Office kept tabs on the immediate family of their assets, as a matter of protection, so all the details Lewis would need to direct the strike force were on hand.
Trusting Lewis to do everything he could, Jack went after the most immediate threat—the one against Meera and Matilda. He flew through the middle of the eighth floor, dodging co-workers and cubicles as he went. Rather than waste time in the lift, he slammed through the door to the stairs and headed downwards. The Office had several choppers but they were kept at the airport unless required and it would take too long for one to come here or for Jack to go to them. Instead, he threw himself into Victoria and rocketed her out of the garage in a move worthy of Ethan.
And immediately ran into inner city Sydney traffic.
“Fuck.” Jack slapped the steering wheel and searched for a quicker route through the mass of cars. This was where the bike was superior to Ethan’s sleek supercar, but going back to Bathurst Street for the Ninja would waste too much time. Even signing a bike out from the Office garage would take too long.
Slower than he had patience for, Jack made his way out of the CBD and thankfully got onto the M1 before he started smashing into other cars in sheer frustration. Once on the motorway, he let the Vanquish fly.
Meera had moved out of Sydney when Matilda started school, wanting to raise her daughter in a smaller community. They’d ended up in Helensburgh, about forty-five kilometres south. Far enough away they didn’t have to deal with large city problems but close enough they could easily visit. An hour’s drive, on a good day, was still longer than Jack would have preferred right then.
With the road ahead clearer and what traffic there was moving at a decent rate, Jack took a moment to dredge up his sister’s phone number and called her through the implant, only to go straight to voice mail. He tried again, and again, and on the third try connected. But the call was disconnected before it was answered. Jack kept trying for another five kilometres, then gave in and called Lewis.
“I can’t get through to Meera.” He slid Victoria from one lane to another and planted his foot to get past a semi. The car responded beautifully, gliding across the bitumen as if it had all the friction of smooth ice and easily outpacing the huge truck.
“Yeah,” Lewis agreed. “Fabian’s monitoring her phone and it’s been in pretty much constant use for the last hour or so. Your niece is seventeen, right? Maybe she’s on the phone to a friend.”
“On Meera’s phone? I doubt it. She’d have her own. And she should be in school at this time of day.” If she wasn’t being held hostage in her own home by a woman who would probably have few regrets about killing a teenaged girl.
“We’re checking with her school now . . .” Lewis trailed off and then came back with, “And she didn’t show up today. When they called Meera she said she wasn’t aware of Matilda not going today. Either she’s ditched or . . .”
Not even sparing a breath to swear, Jack just pressed down further on the accelerator. Victoria jumped forwards like a restless racehorse. Everything outside the tinted windows started to blur.
“You need to interrupt the call. Get through to Meera and find out what the fuck’s going on down there.”
“Fabes is already on it. Strike team is about fifteen minutes from getting airborne. We lucked out and caught Sturges’s team as they came back from training in the hills. They were kitted out and pretty much hopping out of their chopper when I called for a team.”
One thing going right for them, at least. If they got a bird in the air in the next fifteen minutes, they would beat Jack to Helensburgh, but depending on where they could land, he might still get there quicker. A chopper landing on a suburban street, disgorging six combat-ready, gun-toting personnel would alert Ethan’s associate. If she was already in the house, they couldn’t risk it and Jack told Lewis as much.
“Sturges is all over it, don’t worry, Jack. We’ll get them out safe.”
Throat tightening, Jack could only nod, even though the gesture couldn’t be seen. Trusting his friend and the
entire Office to back him up, he just concentrated on the road ahead. Naturally, he picked up a police car near Hurstville, but after barely half a minute of sirens and lights in his rear vision, they disappeared as the cops were called off by Lewis. That, more than anything else, would draw the directors in like flies to a fermenting carcass.
Jack was just passing Heathcote, where Matilda should have been at school, when Lewis contacted him.
“The strike team is about to land near a fire trail on the outskirts of the town. In other good news, we got through to Meera. She won’t talk to us though.”
“Sounds about right,” Jack muttered. “Did you tell her to answer my call?”
“Sure did! She’s looking forward to hearing from her little brother.” The fake enthusiasm in Lewis tone wasn’t lost on Jack. He could guess at much of the conversation that had taken place between him and Meera. Probably very much like the last one Jack had with her. Though he would have hoped a missing daughter would change her attitude somewhat.
“I’m about halfway there. As soon as I’ve spoken with Meera, I’ll get back in touch,” he told Lewis, disconnected and called Meera.
“Jack?” she answered, her tone tight but not particularly distressed.
“Hey, Meera. We’ve been trying—”
“I don’t really appreciate having my conversation being interrupted by some government lacky. What’s so important you couldn’t wait?”
The chances that the assassin was in the house were pretty thin considering the bitterness coming down the connection. Surely if someone had a gun pointed at her or her daughter, Meera might have tried to be a bit more diplomatic. Not that Jack had ever seen much reason in his sister’s opinion in the past.
“Your life and Tilly’s life. Is that fucking important enough?” He was already on edge, but Meera’s voice triggered his ire on top of it.
There were several moments of silence on the other end and Jack started to wonder if the assassin was there. Then Meera caught a breath sharp enough Jack heard it.
When Death Frees the Devil Page 10
