The Talion Code

by Catriona King

  Craig leaned back against the kitchen sink, a glance telling Liam to cool his jets.

  “We’d like to talk to you, Mr Miskimmon.” He turned very deliberately to the girl. “And Ms Corneau. We’re hoping that you can help us with some enquiries.”

  Just then a familiar flash of blue light outside cast a glow across Miskimmon’s face. Reinforcements. He nodded Liam to go out and hold them there while he played out his scene. If Miskimmon had seen the lights he didn’t acknowledge them, merely yawned as if the whole thing was too tedious for words. The girl translated.

  “Ronan thinks this is boring, but do ask your questions, Superintendent.” Her eyes narrowed maliciously. “Although I’m sure there’s somewhere else that you’d far rather be.”

  Craig felt the bile rise in his throat but, whereas only hours before he’d been ready to kill Richard Jamison, a cold calm filled him now and with it came self-control. Miskimmon had run the game, set the scene and picked the time and the venue for this meeting; he wanted total control and they weren’t going to give it to him.

  Craig called Liam back in, nodding him to take out his cuffs.

  “We’ll be asking our questions at the station, Ms Corneau, so if you have a pet solicitor I suggest that you call them when we arrive.”

  There was no resistance as Liam cuffed them, just another yawn from Miskimmon and a cool shrug from the girl. It made Craig shudder; the only time he’d encountered such a lack of emotion before was with a Russian mobster. As they drove from the yard with their prisoners loaded into two cars he corrected himself. No, he had met it another time and then it had been accompanied by the arrogance that he’d just witnessed in them both. The man in question had been a banker, under investigation for fraud on a case in London’s Square Mile. Beautiful manners but a true psychopath, and so clever he’d arranged for every shred of evidence to be destroyed before his trial.

  Suddenly the vague idea at the back of his mind crystallised. He yelled “STOP” and leapt from the car, racing back to the house just in time to see the C.S.I.s starting to carry out evidence bags.

  “STOP! NOTHING’S TO LEAVE THE HOUSE.”

  The young C.S.I. who stood nearest stared at him in shock and held out the brown bag in her arms. “It’s only a handbag, sir.”

  “Anything inside it?”

  “Just some letters.”

  “Is it the first piece to leave?”

  She nodded nervously.

  “Good. Good.”

  He leaned against the front door in relief for a moment then entered the small farmhouse for the second time, turning round to gaze at the doorframe and then running his fingers around it inch by inch. He’d been right! There, tucked so deep into the thick oak frame that no-one would ever have seen it, was a wire that he recognised as a degaussing loop. The ultimate I.T. security tool. If they’d stepped over the doorstep with any computers or phones every single thing on them would have been wiped, and with it their whole case. Maybe that’s why Miskimmon had been so relaxed, although part of him said that he wouldn’t have relied purely on the loop. The force’s I.T. division would have to be careful trying to decrypt his computer; he would have firewalls and booby traps on it up to wazoo.

  With instructions to get a computer expert to check every floor, window and exit for more loops and not to move anything an inch until they’d ruled them out, Craig re-joined his slightly less smug captives for the trip back to town. Eighty minutes later he was in a viewing room watching Miskimmon through the glass, while Liam was in the next one along, watching Eleanor Corneau and grumbling down the connecting line.

  “My shoes are bloody ruined.”

  Craig ignored him. “What’s she doing?”

  “Nothing. Just staring into space. She gives the odd smile, if that’s important?”

  “Miskimmon’s doing exactly the same thing.”

  “It’s eerie. Like they’ve joined a cult.”

  “The cult of worshipping Ronan Miskimmon.” Craig leaned forward so that his breath misted the two-way glass. He searched Miskimmon’s face for some sign of fear or remorse but there was nothing.

  “Has she asked for a lawyer?”

  “Nope. Him?”

  “No. He seems totally unfazed by this, as if he’s sure that we’ll have to let them go.”

  Liam snorted. “We bloody will if forensics can’t get anything off their computers or phones.”

  Just then Craig’s door opened and he was joined by a man that he hadn’t expected to see. “I’ll call you back, Liam.”

  Sean Flanagan leaned towards the glass and stared at their prisoner for a moment before turning to look at Craig.

  “That’s him?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you enough to hold him?”

  Craig nodded. “For a while. They obtained two visas using false names, so we can hold them on that.” He glanced back at Miskimmon and sighed. “But I won’t lie to you, sir; unless we find something on their computers or get a confession, we’ll be-”

  “Screwed? That’s the modern term, isn’t it? We said stuffed in my day.”

  Craig smiled. “Either will do.” He shook his head heavily. “We’ve a lot of circumstantial evidence that puts Miskimmon in the right place at the right time, but…”

  Flanagan peered through the glass again before pulling up a seat. “Then I suggest you have at him, Superintendent.”

  Miskimmon’s ego would be stroked if he knew who they’d have as an audience.

  Craig glanced at his watch. “I just need to make a call, sir.” He pulled out his phone, walking until he’d reached the carpark before he hit dial. It seemed a long time before it was answered and he really hoped that it would be worth the wait.

  Des Marsham almost hadn’t bothered lifting the handset; he had work to get on with that didn’t include taking calls. When he did answer his “yes” sounded as grumpy as he felt.

  “Des?”

  The scientist reigned in his annoyance when he recognised the voice.

  “Marc? How’s Katy?”

  “Annette saw her thirty minutes ago. She’s off the respirator but still unconscious.” He swallowed hard and then gathered himself. “I-”

  Des cut across him. “Yes.”

  “Yes what? You don’t know what I was about to ask.”

  “I do. Are Warner Hamnet and Ronan Miskimmon the same man? Yes. The aged-up photograph leaves no doubt.”

  Craig parked the information and turned to his next question. This time Des answered it before he’d even opened his mouth.

  “No. We haven’t managed to access their computers yet and I’m not sure that we ever will. I’ve never seen encryption like it. Your man’s a computer God.”

  He managed to keep his admiration from his voice, but Craig knew that it was there and it didn’t make him happy. Genius abused wasn’t genius in his book.

  His sigh almost vibrated the phone. “OK, thanks, Des. Keep trying, please, and send that photo over to Davy when you get a sec.”

  His next call was to Ash. “Neil Dunn. Tell me about him.”

  Ash gave him what he asked for as quickly as he could.

  “OK, there are seven Neil Dunns in Northern Ireland and by a process of elimination we’ve got it down to two, one of which is the MLA. I’m digging deeper -”

  Craig cut in. “Do it now. I need to know which one authored that paper with Hamnet and Jamison.”

  The analyst went to hang up but Craig stopped him.

  “Now means now. While I’m on the phone.”

  No pressure then.

  As he listened to the analyst’s heavy breathing and computer taps Craig rubbed at a twinge in his neck and stared at his aged car. It was banjaxed, even he had to admit that, but he was fond of it in the same way that he was fond of his flat and his collection of old LPs. He didn’t much like change in his life; he got enough traumas at work without shaking things up on his rare days off. And although he wasn’t a superstitious man exactly, chang
ing things had always seemed to him like somehow tempting fate. After all, if something was working perfectly well then why replace it ‘just because’? He smiled to himself. The attitude probably boded well for his marriage if he ever took the plunge.

  He stared at the Audi again, totting up how much work it would take to get it through its next MOT. When he got to two thousand pounds he winced. Maybe Liam was right; time to put the grande dame out to pasture and treat himself to something new. As soon as he’d thought it he pictured Katy in the passenger seat and that made up his mind. Until she was well enough to help him choose he wasn’t changing anything in his life.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Ash muttering to himself.

  “What did you say?”

  “I was calling myself a prat.”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that my job? Anyway, why are you a prat?”

  “’Cos I could have given you the answer an hour ago if I’d just looked at it a different way. The Neil Dunn who discovered the algorithm is Neil Dunn MLA, Minister for Investment and all round business brain.”

  The twinge in Craig’s neck became a full blown ache.

  “OK, now I need you to tell me what he did with his share of the profit from selling the algorithm in ninety-three?”

  Ash tapped a few more keys before answering. “It looks like he started a business. A tech firm. It made a lot of money. In fact all his business ventures have. He was on the board of two blue chip companies until he entered politics in two thousand and six.”

  “Right, get his itinerary ASAP and phone it through to Jack. I’m off to do an interview.” He paused before hanging up. “And make a note that I didn’t call you a prat once.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  High Street Station. 7.55 p.m.

  Ronan Miskimmon was too calm. They were both too damn calm in fact. From the moment that Craig had entered the farmhouse the couple’s affects had been unbending and cold, and by the time he’d reached the interview room Miskimmon’s demeanour had changed to ice. Craig stared at the hacker, saying nothing; while Liam awaited his signal to turn on the tape. Too quickly and they could spook him, too slowly and the right moment might have passed.

  Craig’s blue eyes met Miskimmon’s brown ones and Liam cursed inwardly that they hadn’t been blue or green. Brown eyes, or at least eyes as brown as Miskimmon’s, made stress changes in pupil size almost impossible to see. There were other cues to heightened adrenaline of course: heart rate, blood pressure etc. but like Shakespeare said ‘The eyes are the window to your soul’ and autonomic responses manifested themselves best there.

  No matter. Craig was too experienced to rely on only one thing. Every silence and blink and shift of posture told him something, and right now they were all telling him that Ronan Miskimmon was playing for time. Time for what? The hacker wasn’t stupid; he was bound to know that they could hold him for seventy-two hours, so he was going nowhere fast. And he’d refused to let Jack call him a solicitor, so unless he liked being taped and talked at, or intended to keep silent for the whole three days, what the hell was he stalling for? He would have been tempted to call it a pointless stance if he hadn’t known just how smart Miskimmon was.

  Craig glanced at Liam and the D.C.I.’s expression said that he was wondering much the same thing. The man opposite must have known that the sooner he talked the sooner he’d be charged and likely bailed, so his silence was actually preventing him from being freed.

  Craig rose abruptly and motioned Liam to join him in the corridor.

  “He’s stalling.”

  Liam nodded. “Aye, but I’ve been trying to work out why. Is he waiting for a lawyer?”

  Craig shook his head. “Doesn’t want one. I think he’s playing for time because something else is going on-”

  Liam cut in. “And he wants to be here when it happens so he has an alibi! The clever bastard. Des said-”

  “What did Des say?”

  “It doesn’t matter now. But whatever this something else is, it must be something they really need cover for.”

  “Which means it’s happening soon. Damn!”

  Craig thumped the wall, ignoring the shooting pain in his hand. “He knows that everything except the visa fraud is circumstantial, so all they have to do is say nothing until they’re freed or out on bail.”

  “Then they’ll skip the country faster than we can spit.”

  Craig frowned as Liam said it. Something still didn’t fit. “So why be so careless over the visas?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a rookie mistake and Miskimmon is as sharp as a tack, so why apply for visas in false names instead of the ones they’d already registered as their own? And why list the jeep at their real address? And just today? He must have known that we’d find them there; he’s been ten steps ahead of us all along. Unless…”

  Liam finished the sentence. “The visa fraud was deliberate. To get them arrested and held long enough to provide an alibi for whatever else they’re up to. Miskimmon must have known that with the time difference, it would take hours for the Venezuelans to decide whether to charge them or not; long enough for something big to go down. But they had to be sure we’d find them in time to arrest them, so they used their real address for the jeep. Whatever they’re up to it’s big, boss.”

  Craig nodded, thinking. What was it? Another hack? No. Miskimmon would have known they’d seize his phones and computers and he wouldn’t be able to access them. Another hack set on a time delay? Maybe. But if that was the case, Miskimmon wouldn’t have needed a physical alibi. He thought he was unbreakable as far as computing went so he would never believe they could trace the hacks back to him, no matter how long they tried. If Des was right they couldn’t.

  Craig followed the idea through. If Miskimmon had found out they’d spotted his hacking then he would have guessed their next move would be to pass everything onto GCHQ, who would start watching online. Which meant that whatever Miskimmon was up to next had to be old-school. Sufficiently old-school and out of his comfort zone that he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t left a trace, hence needing the watertight alibi of sitting in a cell.

  He shook his head, half in despair and half in admiration.

  “Clever bastard. He guessed we were on to him but he still had something left to do, something that he couldn’t use computing to achieve so he’s used something he isn’t as comfortable with.”

  “OK. But what is it?”

  Craig turned towards reception, opening the viewing room door on his way past and beckoning Sean Flanagan out. “Could you join us for a moment, sir?” He added Jack to the posse as they passed and led the way to the staff room.

  “OK, we’re pretty sure Miskimmon wants to be here for a while, to use us as cover. That’s why he applied for the visas in false names, so he’d get arrested for fraud and it would give him an alibi for whatever’s coming next-”

  Flanagan interrupted. “Which is?”

  “Haven’t a clue, but whatever it is he did it hands on. This is nothing to do with computers.” He turned to Jack, who was busy making tea. “Has Ash come through with Neil Dunn’s itinerary yet?”

  The sergeant shook his head. “Sorry, not yet. He says Dunn’s special advisor is being a -”

  He didn’t need to finish. Stormont was being bureaucratic, as usual, but this time their red tape might endanger one of their own. Craig turned to find Liam already on his phone.

  “On it.”

  Craig nodded and walked towards the door. “I’m going to have another go at our man.”

  Flanagan’s deep voice stopped him. “Do you want some company?”

  Craig was tempted, but he knew the sight of Flanagan’s high gloss uniform would feed Miskimmon’s ego even more. He compromised. “Yes, but only if you remove your jacket and insignia, sir. He’s self-important enough.”

  One minute later he was facing Miskimmon again, with an older, shirt-sleeved man on his side of the desk. Craig knocked on the tape and
recited their names, leaving ranks firmly out of the game. Miskimmon smiled acidly.

  “Bring your dad to work day, is it? Nice to see the pensioners getting out.”

  Said pensioner could have flattened him with one punch, even if Miskimmon did have thirty years’ advantage. Craig rested back in his chair and stared into the hacker’s eyes, while Sean Flanagan relaxed against the wall. It was how they’d agreed to play it. Flanagan disarmingly harmless but watching everything, with Craig taking the lead as before.

  “We know why you messed up the visas.”

  It was said in a dry, disinterested tone and Miskimmon’s response was equally so.

  “Really? Do tell.”

  They’d agreed in the staff room that a calculated showing of their hand now might gain them a precious clue.

  “You wanted us to arrest you. And Ms Corneau.”

  Miskimmon’s eyes narrowed slightly and as soon as they did he tried to cover the reaction with a laugh.

  “Yeah, sure. We just love being banged up.”

  Too late, they’d already seen it; the slight squint that told them Craig had hit the bone. Good. The arrests had been part of Miskimmon’s plan, now they just had to find out why. Craig glanced at his watch, and like a yawn causing mimicry it made Miskimmon glance at the wall clock. Flanagan watched his expression as he did. No sign of relief, which meant that whatever he’d plotted wasn’t over yet.

  The computer genius saw Flanagan watching and smiled straight at him, then he folded his arms calmly and relaxed back in his chair. They knew exactly what the shift in posture meant. Whatever Ronan Miskimmon had planned mightn’t have happened yet, but he was confident they wouldn’t discover it before it did.

  After a few minutes silence Craig tried another tactic.