by Jack Higgins
But he still heard Jade’s shout from the kitchen, where she’d gone to empty the ashtray into the bin: “What is this? You are one seriously weird guy.”
Rich clicked off the telly and followed Chance to the kitchen. Jade had the fridge door open and was unloading its contents on to the side. Bottles of beer.
“Is that all there is?” Rich asked.
“No. There’s this too.” She pulled out two bigger bottles and put those with the beer. Champagne. “I mean, where’s the butter? Milk? Eggs? Food of any sort? Anything at all really?”
“It’s down the road,” Chance said. He gently eased Jade to one side and started to repack the fridge.
“What do you mean, down the road?”
“I get a takeaway or I eat at the pub. They’re down the road.”
“And that’s how you live?” Jade was aghast. “No wonder the kitchen’s so clean. At least you do the washing up.”
“Eat out of the cartons usually,” Chance said casually. He turned and winked at Rich, who stifled a smile.
“You are so gross,” Jade told him. “Just don’t expect us to sink to your level.”
Chance shrugged.
“What about a Chinese?” Rich asked.
They ate Chinese with the telly on. It meant they didn’t have to talk to one another. Jade took herself off to bed almost as soon as she’d finished her egg-fried rice and spring roll. Rich pushed his sweet and sour chicken around the plate, not really hungry.
“I’m tired,” he said awkwardly. “I think I’ll get to bed too.”
“That’s OK,” Chance said. “I’ve got work to do anyway. Some calls to make. Don’t worry – I’ll tidy away. And wash up.”
Rich gave a weak smile and headed for the bedroom.
Jade was already in bed. She hadn’t turned the light out and she was just staring at the ceiling. She frowned at Rich as he came in.
“Hey,” he said.
She turned over, facing away.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “I haven’t done anything.”
She pulled the pillow over her head.
Not listening.
So Rich pulled her duvet away instead.
“Give that back!” she said.
Jade was out of bed and grabbing back the duvet. Rich let it go and went for her pillow instead. They faced one another, each brandishing bedding.
“Peace?” Rich suggested.
“If you give me my pillow back.”
“Fair enough.” He threw it to her.
Jade dropped the duvet and caught the pillow. Then she started hitting Rich with it, driving him back on to his bed.
“Hey, hey, hey!” He tried to fend her off.
“That’s for ganging up on me.”
“We’re not – I wasn’t. When?”
“In the kitchen. Getting a Chinese.”
“Yeah, as opposed to what?” Rich wanted to know. “There’s no food in this house. Just beer, champagne and cigarettes. Which did you want for dinner? At least now we’ve been and got some milk.”
Jade flopped down on her bed, dragging the duvet back up over herself. “I’m sorry. It’s all just so… sudden. So unfair.”
She started crying again. Rich sat beside her on the bed.
“It is a nightmare,” Rich agreed. He looked over at the bedroom door. “He’s a nightmare. Maybe boarding school will be better.”
“Oh, look,” Jade said, sniffing between her tears. “Out the window.”
The curtains were drawn and Rich frowned. “What?”
“Thought I saw a flying pig,” Jade said.
“Maybe you did,” Rich told her. He grabbed his pyjamas from under his pillow and headed for the bathroom.
In Krejikistan, the cut glass of a chandelier glittered as the light reflected off its facets. Electric bulbs had replaced the candles that once provided the light, but the ceiling above it still retained an original mural – a pale blue sky with delicate clouds drifting across.
The room below was enormous, with a floor made up of black-and-white marble squares. The space was made to seem even bigger by large mirrors that hung on the walls. The furniture – a highly-polished wooden table that had been made for Louis XIV of France, high-backed chairs patterned in gold leaf that had been a gift to a tsar, and a series of seventeenth-century side tables – were almost lost in the huge space.
Viktor Vishinsky sat in one of the antique chairs. In front of him was a single place setting for dinner – heavy silver cutlery, an ornate bowl filled with stuffed olives and a glass of white wine. He was looking intently at a large screen that his technicians had set up at the other end of the table. The image was grainy and unclear.
“Is that the best you can do?” he asked. He took one of the olives from the bowl in front of him and rolled it between his finger and thumb.
“We have enhanced it as much as possible,” Pavlov, the chief technician, assured him.
Vishinsky settled back in his chair and let them explain. To him, the images still looked crude and fuzzy. He pushed the olive into his mouth.
“You can see where the man at the back of the laboratory is opening the canister,” Pavlov said. He froze the image. It was projected from a laptop computer on to the large screen. The hi-tech set-up looked out of place in the tsarist splendour of the huge room.
Two other technicians were standing nervously at the side of the room. Whether they were there in case Pavlov needed their own specialist expertise, or simply to give him moral support, Vishinsky did not know or care. His whole attention was focused on the speckled images on the screen.
Pavlov used a laser pointer and ran the red dot of light round the figure just visible by the shadowy shape of the canisters. “If we had images from an infra-red camera—” he began.
But Vishinsky cut him off. “We do not. We must work with what we have. What can you tell me, apart from the obvious?”
Pavlov let the video run on. “As you can see, just, he is reaching inside the canister. As his hand comes out – there.” He froze the video again and indicated the man’s hand with the pointer. “He is holding something. Something which we must assume he dipped into the fluid and filled. It is not very big. We can tell from his hand that it is about the size of an eggcup.” Pavlov paused for a moment, before adding, “It is not an eggcup, I should point out.”
“I said omit the obvious. Is it something he found in the lab?” Vishinsky asked, taking another olive. “Or is it something he brought with him?”
“We can find no indication that any container of that size was in the lab. Unfortunately, there is nothing left of the lab, so it is impossible to be sure if anything was taken. But earlier in the sequence we see the man looking round, we think for a container. He finds nothing useful, so uses whatever he brought with him. See, here…” He wound the footage back at high speed before letting it play again. “He seems to take something from his pocket.”
“Something that he had in his pocket,” Vishinsky said.
“He may have come prepared, and then looked to see if there was a more suitable or larger container to be found in the lab.”
“But there was not.”
Pavlov nodded. “All sterile glassware. Fragile, if you have to make a hurried escape.”
The video was running forward again as they spoke, at normal speed.
“There!” Vishinsky said suddenly. He leaned forward. “Go back – slowly.”
Pavlov let the images play backwards at a tenth of their normal speed. He froze the playback as soon as Vishinsky said: “Stop it there.”
Vishinsky got up from his chair and walked slowly along the length of the table. His eyes never left the screen. The image showed the dark figure as his hand emerged from his pocket. The fingers were wrapped round whatever he was holding – the receptacle he was about to fill with liquid from the canister. In that single frozen frame, it was angled so that it caught what little light there was – perhaps a faint glow from the display of near
by equipment.
Vishinsky stood close to the screen. “Close in on his hand, on the thing he is holding.”
Pavlov moved his fingers carefully across the laptop’s track pad and the image zoomed in on the container in the man’s hand.
Just barely visible was a shadow or a mark. Something on the container that was catching the light. “What is that?”
“I’m not sure.” Pavlov tried to trace the mark with his pointer, but it was not distinct enough. “A maker’s mark perhaps? Maybe it’s just a shadow, a reflection – an artefact of the enhancement process.”
Vishinsky nodded. “Find out,” he said.
“But, sir,” Pavlov said, “we have already enhanced the image as much as we can. Any more and we risk introducing things that are not actually there.” He hesitated and licked his dry lips.
“Don’t trouble me with details,” Vishinsky said. “Just find out what that mark is. You can do that, can’t you? For me?”
He raised a grey-white eyebrow as if asking a simple favour of a friend.
Pavlov swallowed. “Of course, sir. We’ll do what we can. But—”
“Find out!” Vishinsky roared. He waved his hand in sudden, abrupt dismissal and Pavlov quickly disconnected his laptop and hurried after his colleagues from the room. “And tell someone to bring me my food,” Vishinsky said. “Before it gets cold.”
3
The sound of a telephone woke Rich in the middle of the night. Instinctively, he fumbled for his mobile, but it wasn’t the same ring. He and Jade both had mobiles, though Mum had made them pay for their own top-ups. Probably he was out of credit anyway.
The phone stopped and, now that he was awake, Rich could hear the low sound of Chance speaking. Rich’s mobile showed the time when it wasn’t being used – it said 04:32. Who was ringing up at half past four in the morning?
He needed the toilet now he was awake, so he tiptoed to the door and opened it. Rich paused. Chance’s voice was muffled and indistinct through his closed study door, but Rich couldn’t help catching a few words when he pressed his ear to the door.
“…No, not here… better not meet yet… dangerous… leave it for me… usual place… I’ll collect… soon.”
The sound of Chance’s voice stopped. If he had to be somewhere soon, he’d be in a hurry, Rich realised. He darted back into his bedroom and pushed the door almost closed. The study door opened and through the crack between the door and its frame, Rich saw Chance hurry into the living room. He was still dressed.
Maybe he slept in his clothes, Rich thought. Maybe he didn’t sleep at all.
Rich climbed back into bed, his need for the bathroom forgotten. When he woke again it was morning, and the events of the night seemed as vague as a dream.
Jade appeared in the bedroom door. She was still in her pyjamas and carrying two mugs of tea. “He’s gone,” she said.
Rich didn’t need to ask who she meant.
He told her about the night-time phone call while they drank their tea. They went through to the study, where the computer was on. It showed a standard screensaver and there was a password to get out of it and back to the main screen.
“Who needs a password when he lives alone?” Jade wondered.
“Maybe it’s for our benefit,” Rich said. “Or maybe he takes the laptop to work. Maybe he’s gone to work already.”
“It’s not seven o’clock yet,” Jade pointed out.
“Long commute?”
“Or a long meeting. I wonder who called him.”
“Let’s find out,” Rich said, lifting the phone. “1471 – gives the number of the last caller.”
“Probably withheld or unavailable,” Jade said.
Rich tried it anyway. The dial tone was replaced by the beep of the buttons as he pressed them. But then, instead of a voice, he heard an electronic screech. It was so loud and shrill that Rich dropped the phone.
Jade could hear it too. She picked up the handset to replace it in the cradle. But then she hesitated, pointing at the plastic box attached to the phone. Lights were flashing on the side of it. She hung up and the lights went out.
“I don’t like this,” Jade said quietly.
Before Rich could reply, they heard the sound of the door to the flat slamming shut. They rushed to the living room.
Chance looked tired. He was holding a few letters which he dropped unopened into the kitchen bin. He closed up the cupboard where the bin was kept and turned the kettle on.
“Lucky we got milk,” Rich said from the doorway.
“I drink my coffee black,” Chance replied, without looking round. “You’re up early.”
“We all are,” Jade said, pushing past Rich into the kitchen. “Where have you been?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk.”
The kettle was boiling and Chance made his coffee. “I’ve got some work to catch up on. I’ll see you later. Help yourselves to breakfast.”
“I guess he means the beer,” Rich said, when Chance had gone. “Unless there’s some cereal hidden away.” He opened a few cupboards, but found nothing. Having tried all the others, he opened the cupboard under the sink. This was the cupboard with the bin. As the door opened, it raised the lid of the bin inside.
“Hang on – look at this.” Rich was staring into the bin.
Jade joined him and saw what he was looking at – the letters that Chance had just dropped.
Rich lifted out the letters. “They’re all the same,” he said, showing her. There were five letters – bills and junk mail. The address was the same on them all – Second Floor Flat – and the number and street. And they had all been sent to the same person.
But that person wasn’t John Chance. It was Henry Lessiter.
“Remind me,” Jade said quietly. “How do we know that this man who says he’s called John Chance but gets someone else’s post, who gets phone calls in the middle of the night and goes to ‘meetings’ until dawn—”
“How do we know,” Rich finished for her, “that he’s actually our John Chance at all?”
Chance told them he was working from home that day. He was happy for Jade and Rich to explore the area, and they went to the shops. For lunch they got a sandwich in a little internet café, and Rich spent an hour mucking about on the web. Jade emailed her friend Charmaine in America.
They found a small supermarket within easy walking distance and Jade bought bottled water, grapes, oranges and a spray air freshener. Rich bought crisps and coke. They thought about getting some food for the evening, but neither of them fancied cooking and they doubted Chance would offer. So they grabbed a few ready meals that would microwave.
When they got back, Chance was in the living room, talking on his mobile. He hung up as soon as Rich and Jade came in. They exchanged glances, sure it was for their benefit.
“Can I ring my friend Charmaine?” Jade asked.
“Of course you can,” Chance said. “You’ve got a mobile.”
“I’m almost out of credit.”
“Me too,” Rich said.
“Give me your mobile numbers and I’ll get them topped up.”
“I’ll write them down for you later,” Rich said.
“Just tell me. I’ll remember. I’m good with numbers.” He smiled. “Really.”
Rich reeled off his mobile number. Grudgingly, Jade told him hers too. Chance recited them both back perfectly.
“Charmaine’s in New York,” Jade said, as Chance offered his own mobile. “It’ll cost a fortune on that.”
“There’s the phone in the study,” Rich suggested.
“Maybe later,” Chance said.
“I need to call her now, before she leaves for school. You know – the time difference?”
Chance sighed. “All right, all right.”
Jade didn’t wait for more, but headed straight for the study. Chance hurried after her and Rich followed.
“Hang on,” Chance said. “I need to set this up.” He fiddled with the plastic box atta
ched to the phone wire.
“What’s that for?” Rich asked.
“Oh, it’s… It’s a security thing. Like a phone lock.”
“There’s only you here,” Jade said. “Or was.”
“The company insists. I deal with a lot of sensitive stuff in my job.”
“Like what?” Jade asked.
“Like I can’t tell you.” He finished working on the box. “That should work now. I’ll leave you to it.”
Rich followed him out. “Why did you throw your letters away?” he asked. “Junk mail?”
“Probably,” Chance said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“They were for the previous tenant of the flat. He didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
Rich nodded. “And no one writes to you?”
Chance smiled. “That’s me – Johnny No-Mates.”
The phone worked fine now, but Jade just got the answer phone at Charmaine’s house, so she rang Mrs Gilpin instead.
Mrs Gilpin seemed pleased to hear from her. “How is everything?” she asked.
“Oh, fine,” Jade lied. “There’s some shops nearby and a little park. And… Dad is sorting out school for us. We’ll be OK.”
“You must come back and visit us.”
“Thank you. We’d like that.” There was something funny with the phone – probably something to do with the plastic box. Jade could hear a clicking every now and again. But she thought nothing of it.
Three streets away from where Jade was making her phone call, an unmarked black van was parked in a side road.
Inside the van, a man wearing dark-framed glasses and a long grey raincoat was sitting in front of a sophisticated audio monitoring system. He wore headphones, listening intently to every word Jade said.
4
At Heathrow, Stabb was meeting a woman who had just arrived on a scheduled flight. As they walked to the short-term car park, Stabb told the woman how things were going.
“So you’ve achieved nothing,” the woman said with a smile. She was beautiful, with long, straight, jet black hair.
“It is difficult until we can get back the sample,” Stabb said. “We can’t risk losing that, and Chance could have hidden it anywhere. The only way to be sure is to get to Chance as he hands it over. He must still have it or there would have been some fallout by now.”
