by Andy McNab
'Excuse me, miss, can I help you?'
The voice was a little louder and more insistent, and Elena turned her head to see a man behind the reception desk smiling patiently in her direction. She had reached the front of the queue without even realizing it.
'Sorry, I've got a room booked.'
'Sure. And your name, please?'
'Elena Omolodon.'
The clerk frowned slightly. 'Can you spell that for me?'
Elena spelled out her name quickly, each letter making her more acutely aware of the vulnerability of her position; she didn't even have the protection of a cover identity.
The check-in clerk scrolled down his computer screen and found the reservation Black Star had made online. It was perfectly in order, and as far as the clerk was concerned, everything had been correctly booked and paid for in advance.
He smiled. 'Could I see your passport, please?'
Elena handed over the brand new passport and the clerk tapped a few details into his computer before giving it back, along with a thin sliver of credit-card-like plastic, which was the key card to Elena's room.
'The account's been taken care of. You're on the eighth floor – elevators are right over there,' said the clerk, pointing straight ahead. 'Welcome to New York.'
Elena smiled a thanks and picked up her suitcase, but as she turned away, the clerk spoke again. 'Just one moment, please.'
'What's wrong?' said Elena, fearing that she had made some sort of mistake.
'Nothing at all wrong, miss. I just have a note here that we have something for you.'
'For me?'
The clerk nodded, reached beneath the desk and took out a heavily taped padded envelope. 'This was left for you earlier today.'
'For me? Who left it?'
'No idea, miss. It was before I came on duty.'
Elena took the envelope and saw her name in large type on the front. She shivered. It was from him. Black Star. It had to be. She grabbed her suitcase again and walked over to the lifts, joining the others waiting to go up. No one spoke and no one looked at anyone else as they rose quickly from floor to floor: seven people in a confined space acting as though they were alone. With just their luggage and their thoughts.
Elena was the only person to get out on the eighth floor. She stepped out into the corridor and saw the sign indicating the direction of her room. She went along the corridor, and found her room, then noticed, further along, a double door with a window in it. Through the glass in the doors Elena could see a drinks dispensing machine and another loaded with different sweets and chocolate bars. Opposite them was an ice machine. Perfect.
She dumped her suitcase in the corridor and pushed through the doors. She went over to the drinks dispenser, looked at it for a few moments and then moved to the back of the machine and peered behind it. She sorted through the change she'd got from the bus ride, found some quarters and got a can of Fanta from the machine. Then she turned away, went back into the corridor and picked up her suitcase.
Elena returned to her room, slid the key card into the slot and heard the lock click open. Wearily she pushed open the door, flicked on the lights, heaved her suitcase into the room and dumped it on her bed.
Two seconds later Charles Pointer II got his first onscreen look at his new Angel.
It was 1:30 a.m. in Oxford and Dr Ruth Jacobson was sitting on the bed in Elena's old bedroom.
Hotel cleaning staff had already cleared the room of most of the things Elena had left behind; it was almost as though she had never been there. Only one item remained – her laptop.
Dr Jacobson was staring at the machine, which sat on top of a small writing desk. She should probably leave it at reception for Elena to collect on her return from America.
Dr Jacobson had spent the day at the hotel, finishing up, writing her final report for Marcie Deveraux. She decided there was nothing more for her to do, and tomorrow she would move on to another case: someone else's story, someone else's problems. But this process had to be gone through at the end of every assignment and sometimes she was far more satisfied with her work than others.
She couldn't help feeling that she had failed in her work with Elena. The girl had held up well to begin with, but by the time she left for New York she had been showing signs of anxiety and stress. She had lost weight, and had looked drawn with fatigue. Dr Jacobson's chief concern, which had been mostly ignored by Deveraux, was that Elena's state of mind was likely to get worse when she was working alone, isolated from her friends and any professional support.
The only light in the room came from the desktop lamp, which shed most of its light downwards, picking out and spotlighting the laptop computer like an item of scenery on an open stage.
Dr Jacobson finished her notes; there was nothing more to be done. Time to go. She got up from the bed and walked over to the desk. She reached down and picked up the laptop; as she did so, she saw a white envelope, folded in the middle, slip from underneath the machine. She turned over the computer and saw that the battery had been removed; the envelope had been nestling inside the empty compartment.
She put down the laptop, looked at the sealed envelope and unfolded it, so that the front was exposed. Written in black ink and capital letters was a single word:
DAD
23
Elena sat on the end of her hotel bed with the padded envelope in her hands. She was annoyed to see that her fingers were trembling as she twisted and snapped the tape securing the package. She pulled away the last of the tape, opened the top of the envelope and peered inside. Something small was enclosed in bubble wrap, and next to that was a thick wad of US banknotes. As she pulled them out of the envelope, she found a single sheet of paper taped to the bubble wrap, neatly folded twice so that it was almost exactly the same size as the package itself.
She dropped the dollars onto the bed, unfolded the sheet of paper and read:
Turn on the power.
The paper joined the banknotes on the bed as Elena began to open the bubble wrap, already guessing what was inside. She almost smiled as the brand new BlackBerry device was revealed. As usual, Black Star had thought of everything.
Without even removing her jacket, Elena sat down and powered up the BlackBerry. It opened straight onto a secure personal site in her name on a website she had often used in the past.
In his darkened room in The Hamptons, Pointer smiled as he watched Elena's face.
'Time to talk,' he whispered, his fingers moving across to his computer's keyboard.
Hi Gola, glad u made it ok. Thought this woz best way 4 us 2 b in contact now ur here. So how ya doin??? Room ok???
Elena almost dropped the BlackBerry. It was like he was there, inside the room with her, rather than just sending her an IM. She hesitated, uncertain how she should reply: she realized that this was the first time since the operation had begun that she had been completely alone when in contact with Black Star. Where she would normally have looked to Deveraux or Dr Jacobson for an instruction, now she had no one. She was really on her own with this thing, and if the operation was to succeed, she had to get it right. So many people were relying on her. She shivered. She was so tired. Her brain didn't feel capable of logical thought. And yet the one thing she knew she felt comfortable with was technology. A BlackBerry? A breeze! She took a deep breath, thought for a moment and then her thumbs began to move over the keypad.
Im ok, bit tired, long day. Is this safe?? Secure?
The reply came straight back.
Hey, Gola, u may b tired, but ur still thinking good. Normally it might not b safe, but 4 us its perfectly secure. We're just hitchin a ride on this site, they dont even know we're here. And they never will!!!!
Elena couldn't help but marvel at the hacker's incredible ability to go wherever he desired on the Internet without leaving a single trace. But before she could comment, Black Star came back.
So heres wots goin down tonite. First, I need you 2 tear that sheet of paper in2 small pieces and flus
h it down the toilet. Do it now!!!
Suddenly Elena knew for certain that somehow Black Star was watching her. She found herself glancing around the room, not knowing what she was looking for, only that somewhere there was a camera.
Do it, Gola, we have 2 stay safe!!!
Elena rested the BlackBerry on the bed and grabbed the sheet of paper. She was already ripping it to shreds as she walked into the bathroom. The pieces fluttered down into the lavatory bowl and Elena flushed them away. As she waited for the swirling water to calm, she had a sudden, cold thought. If Black Star was watching her in the bedroom, could he be watching her here too?
She went back into the bedroom and picked up the BlackBerry.
Done.
Great! Ya done good. Now, Im gonna tell you about ur cool nite out!!!
For a moment Elena felt herself panic. She hadn't expected to be going out that evening and she knew she still had to establish a DLB and then carry out a brush contact with Danny to pass on the details in just twenty minutes' time.
Nite out???
Sure, Gola, I want 2 give u the perfect example of exactly y we're doin wot we're doin. Show u the sort of people who run this world and dont give a shit about people like us!!! U up 4 it????
Danny checked his watch for the tenth time since arriving in his room on the eleventh floor of the Pennsylvania. It was time to move.
But there was a problem. Danny still hadn't made contact with his grandfather. He had checked in with Deveraux first, exactly as ordered, but since then he had been calling Fergus's mobile every few minutes and had got the voicemail every time.
He decided to give it one more go but the same thing happened. Danny didn't like it; it didn't feel right for the beginning of the operation to be rough at the edges. Maybe Fergus wasn't answering for the simple reason that the battery in his phone wasn't keeping its charge. But it wasn't like Fergus to let a situation like that persist; he'd just go out and get another phone.
Danny called Deveraux again. 'Look, I know I'm not meant to contact you again now, but I've been trying to get my granddad for ages and I can't. I'm worried.'
Deveraux's response was cool and unruffled. There's been a problem; he was lifted at Heathrow. We're doing everything we can to get him released and out here as planned.'
Danny was stunned into silence for a few moments, although his mind was racing as he attempted to figure out whether or not Deveraux was giving him the true story. He doubted it, but right then, there seemed little he could do. 'So who lifted him, and why?'
'He is still officially a wanted man, Danny—'
'But I thought his name had been cleared—'
'Yes, well. . . it all takes time. It was Special Branch, simply doing their job. As far as they're concerned, he's still on the wanted list. While we attempt to get him out, our job is to get on with what we're here for, which means sticking to SOPs. Your grandfather would tell you that himself.'
That much was true enough – Fergus would certainly have told Danny to stick to SOPs – but Danny wasn't naive enough to believe Deveraux was giving him the whole picture. It was just too convenient. Fergus didn't trust Deveraux and Danny didn't either. But there was still the mission, and Elena, to think of.
Danny suddenly realized that if Fergus never made it out to New York, he would have to take on the responsibility of ensuring that he and Elena got out, once the mission was completed. But how could he do that? His grandfather had been taking care of all the arrangements. 'OK,' he said. 'But you'll let me know as soon as you hear anything?'
'Yes. But don't tell Elena about this in any DLB messages. She has a job to do, and with or without your grandfather, the mission goes ahead as planned.'
'Yeah, all right.'
'And Danny, I repeat, stick to SOPs – no Fergus Watts-style heroics.'
Deveraux ended the call and Danny sat back on his bed, trying to weigh up what he needed to do in his grandfather's absence, and he realized immediately that there was another thing he couldn't do: he couldn't provide the powder that made mix thirty-nine safe. Fergus was meant to get it in New York, and Danny didn't even know what it was. He just had to hope that Elena would never have to make the PE.
The plan for the scheduled brush contact was that Danny would leave the hotel, go and buy a city guide and then be back in reception exactly on time. He and Elena would carry out the brush contact as she walked away from the lifts and he walked towards them. Simple, but as they both knew, simplicity didn't always mean success.
Danny left his room, took the lift down to reception, walked out through the revolving doors, turned to his left and strode purposefully away down the street. Fifteen minutes to go. He knew that for now, despite his worries about Fergus, he had to remain focused on the job in hand.
It was still light, but up above the towering buildings the sky was heavy with darkening clouds that threatened a downpour before the night was through. The pavements were heaving with bodies, the traffic was nose to tail, and everywhere was noise and movement.
Danny was overawed by the size and spectacle of Manhattan. It was just like the movies. Only bigger. To his right was Madison Square Garden. Danny's sport was athletics; he had run long-distance and cross country for his county. He had no particular interest in boxing, but even he knew that many of the greatest fights in the history of the sport had taken place in that arena.
Danny kept walking for five minutes, passing at least one store where he could have stopped to buy a guide, but he was using up time, taking in the sights like any normal tourist. Always have a reason for doing whatever you are doing; it was one of the golden rules, an SOP.
Danny smiled as he passed a metal grille in the roadway where steam poured up from somewhere below. Just like the movies. He checked his watch again as he reached another store: nine minutes to go. He went inside, plucked a city guide from a revolving stand and went up to the counter to pay.
He was back outside and retracing his steps with seven minutes to go. Four and a half minutes later he was staring at the front of the hotel. His natural impulse to be there on time had caused him to walk a little quicker than before. He stopped, took the guide from his jacket pocket and opened it, staring at a page as though he was refreshing his memory on some city site of special interest.
He looked at his watch again, knowing that this must be the final time. Anyone seeing him checking his watch every thirty seconds or so might become suspicious.
Danny slipped the guide back into his pocket and went back into the hotel reception with less than a minute to go. It was still busy, with new arrivals at the desk and others going to and from the coffee shop. But as Danny's eyes scanned the area, he quickly realized that Elena was not there.
He went to the reception desk and picked up a couple of leaflets offering guided tours of the city. As he stood and pretended to read, he was counting down the seconds. Elena had still not appeared.
The doors to one of the lifts opened and five people stepped out. But not Elena. She was late: something must have happened to her. Danny's thoughts were racing. He couldn't just stand there indefinitely; he couldn't go up to one of the desk clerks and ask them to call Elena's room; but he had to make a decision.
Danny knew that SOPs demanded that if Elena didn't show, he should go away and return exactly thirty minutes later to try again. But just like not being able to reach his grandfather on the phone, it didn't feel right, not so soon after their arrival.
