Going Dark

by Neil Lancaster

  There was a long silence as they both looked at each other, the tension in the room dissipating palpably. Tom let out a sigh before breaking the impasse.

  ‘We should get some rest. It’s after two and there’s a lot to do tomorrow. I can run you back home if you like?’

  Pet paused for a second. ‘If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay here. I don’t fancy being alone and it’s late. I’ll take the left-hand bed.’

  Tom shrugged with a smile. ‘Fine by me.’

  Avoiding Tom’s gaze, Pet removed her jacket and cast it on the floor. She sat on the bed and removed her combat trousers and sneakers and climbed beneath the duvet, taking her glasses off and setting them on the bedside table. She snuggled down beneath the bedclothes and said, ‘Goodnight, Detective.’

  ‘Goodnight, Pet.’

  Tom removed his shoes, socks, and trousers, climbed under the covers and settled down. Once again, he considered his actions that day. Was Pet right? Was he really a cold, emotionless machine? It wasn’t a comforting thought, but he still felt nothing, despite seeing what he realised must have been horrifying sights. Resisting the urge to replay the day further, he relied on his military ability to sleep, whatever the circumstances. As expected, it came to him immediately.

  20

  Tom woke at seven, dressed quickly, and crept out of the hotel room, leaving Pet sleeping peacefully, her face almost child-like as she dozed.

  He walked to the local shops and bought toothbrushes and toothpaste for them both. He also picked up two large coffees and muffins from the nearby coffee shop.

  Key-carding his way back into the room, he found Pet dressed in a hotel towelling robe, her hair damp from the shower. She was sat in front of her laptop with an intense look of concentration on her face.

  ‘I’m just accessing the phone databases. I’ve searched for the 219 number that sent all the damning texts to your friend Martin Green, aka Bojan Dedic. Thanks,’ she said with a smile as Tom handed her a coffee and a muffin.

  ‘And?’

  ‘219 is an unregistered pre-pay, no top-up data. Nothing, nada, nix,’ she said, sipping on the coffee. She broke off a piece of the muffin and put it in her mouth.

  ‘I’ve got in-and-out call data with cell sites which shows limited use only, most of which we know about from Dedic’s phone. But the cell sites put it close to the City Road address you said the Brankos lived at, so I imagine that’s their base of operations.’

  ‘There is one other number it calls and is called by: one ending 079. That’s also a burner phone with nothing known about it. But that number made the call to 219 just before your photo got sent to Dedic by 219. That number has been hitting cell sites in SW1 when it calls into 219.’ She was obviously proud of the speed of her work.

  Tom thought it through. 219 received a call from someone at Scotland Yard about the warrant card. 219 then sent Dedic to get the warrant card. He then sent a photograph of Tom with his personal details after 219 received a call from the new number in London SW1, presumably despatching Dedic to intercept Tom.

  ‘Bring me up a map of the cell site in SW1.’

  Pet’s fingers sped across the keyboard and brought up Google Maps, with an arrow pointing at a street in Central London.

  Tom stared at the screen, a knot forming in his stomach.

  ‘That’s a National Crime Agency office. They run intercepts from there. Jesus, they’ve had my phone hooked up.’

  The realisation of the true scale of the resources being deployed against him struck home. Intercepts were only used in terrorism cases and the most serious of life-threatening crimes. They needed enormous resources to apply for and obtain the warrant, which then had to be signed by the Home Secretary.

  Just who was leading all this? Tom’s mind raced.

  ‘I need to hear what the Brankos are talking about. Can you sort an intercept?’

  ‘No. No chance. I just can’t get access to that; we don’t even have a back-door route,’ she said apologetically. ‘You could bug their house easily enough.’

  ‘No. Mira never leaves home, and we don’t have the resources to do it safely. I’ll have to improvise then, I guess. I’m going for a shower,’ he added, stern-faced.

  He went into the bathroom, stripped, and stepped under the needle-sharp jets, enjoying them beating against his tired body. As he dried himself a plan began to form in his mind. He was going to listen in on the Brankos by whatever means necessary. If he could do that, he’d be closer to finding out who the corrupt officers were.

  He dressed, becoming aware of the need for some fresh clothes, and returned to the bedroom where Pet was already dressed, sitting clutching her coffee.

  ‘So, what now, Detective?’

  Tom smiled. ‘Let’s go shopping.’

  21

  The senior police officer sat nervously in a café in a down-at-heel suburb of East London. His breathing was erratic, and he was sweating despite the morning chill.

  He was casually dressed in jeans, trainers and—ridiculously—a NY Yankees baseball cap in a poor attempt to fit in and look inconspicuous. He was practically shaking as he tried to drink the stewed tea which the unsmiling Eastern European waitress had dumped down in front of him a minute earlier.

  Madness being here, he thought to himself. But Branko senior had insisted, the edge of threat ever-present in his gruff voice.

  The door of the café opened and the big form of Zjelko Branko stepped in, surveying the scene before him. Making eye contact, he strode over and sat in front of the officer, the chair creaking beneath his weight.

  ‘Tea!’ he barked at the waitress, who nodded hastily.

  He fixed the officer with a direct and nasty stare. ‘So, my friend, what do you have to tell me? I’m hoping you’re about to tell me where Novak is.’

  ‘No sightings of him, I’m afraid. His phone is off, his bank accounts inactive, nothing on ANPR for his car, and he’s not been home. I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do. Also, the murder squad is looking for him because of Ivan’s murder.’ he said, his voice shaking slightly.

  ‘That doesn’t make me happy, my little porky friend. Your career and your liberty depend on you finding him. Have you tried his family?’ the big Serb asked.

  ‘He has no family; he’s an orphan, brought up with foster carers since he was about twelve. No wife, no kids. He’s known as a bit of a dark horse, ex-army type,’ he said, trying not to babble, almost close to tears.

  ‘Is he still close to the foster family?’ asked Branko.

  ‘He visits there regularly enough. They’re in Scotland, in the Highlands,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm. Get me the address and everything you can find out about them straight away. It may be just the place for a man to hide.’

  The senior officer paused, in two minds. ‘I may have something of use,’ he said tentatively.

  ‘What?’ asked Branko, fixing him with that unpleasant stare.

  ‘The address of where Jeta’s being kept safe. You know, the girl who Adebayo assaulted,’ he said, self-loathing coursing through his veins.

  He slid a small slip of paper across the table which Branko picked up, looked at briefly, and then tucked in his shirt pocket. He smiled at the officer, showing discoloured and uneven teeth, the scar vivid on his cheek.

  ‘Helpful, my little friend, but doesn’t get you off the hook. Just buys you a little more time. Now fuck off.’ He produced his mobile phone from his pocket and began tapping at the keypad, no longer looking at the man in front of him, the meeting finished.

  The senior officer stood and hurried from the café, not looking back.

  22

  ‘So where are you taking me, Detective? Dior, Mulberry, Hermes? What lovely designer items are you planning on buying me?’ Pet asked with her impish smile.

  ‘Tandy. Then, after that, I may treat you to a new T-shirt and pants from Asda.’

  ‘You’re too kind. It’s fine: designer labels are for the emotionally weak. Tandy
?’

  ‘Electrical supplier. I need to do a bit of DIY if the CIA won’t give me listening devices.’

  The Tandy outlet store was on the trading estate close to Asda and sold all types of audio, visual and electrical items. They entered the large warehouse-sized store and Tom busied himself in the self-service racks with a basket until he was satisfied.

  The only items Pet recognised were a half-sized mini camera tripod, a full-sized tripod, and a pair of binoculars. The other items were smaller and just looked like electrical wires and components.

  ‘So, what’s the plan then?’ Pet asked.

  ‘A little trick I learnt in Northern Ireland, once upon a time. We didn’t always have the resources we needed, so we learnt to improvise.’

  Tom went and paid for the items while Pet waited by the exit.

  ‘All done, Detective?’

  ‘Yep. I could just do with clean pants and socks and some stakeout provisions; it could be a long night. Do you need anything? My treat.’

  ‘From Asda? You are so kind. No wonder you’re single,’ she said as they deposited the items in the car and walked to Asda.

  They took a small trolley and Tom bought boxer shorts, socks, a plain grey T-shirt, a new baseball cap, and a selection of sandwiches, drinks and crisps. Pet shyly added some new socks and underwear and a tiny-looking Superman T-shirt to the basket, raising an eyebrow at Tom as she did so.

  ‘This is a weird-ass shopping trip, Detective.’

  ‘Stick with me, Pet, and I’ll show you a good time,’ he said, returning her smile.

  Tom paid for the items using his untraceable card and they left the store, got into the car and drove back to the hotel. Once there, Tom unpacked his purchases and began sorting through the electrical items.

  ‘You going to share the plan with me?’

  ‘I’ll show you once it’s done. You probably won’t believe me otherwise.’

  Tom took out a roll of cable with a jack plug at each end, the type that would be used to connect an electric guitar to an amp. He stripped one of the plugs and took a small electrical component from the bag.

  ‘What’s that?’ Pet asked.

  ‘It’s a photodiode, it focuses light into this sensor. Now, please let me work; I need to remember how to do this.’

  Pet feigned hurt and turned to her laptop screen.

  Tom got out a roll of lead strip and a soldering iron, which he plugged into the wall socket. He soldered the connection terminals onto the exposed jack plug wires, filling the room with the smell of scorched lead.

  He used insulation tape to secure the end of the lead where the photodiode was exposed, and taped the whole thing to the top of the full-size tripod. He then removed a small pen-shaped object from a blister pack and connected it to the smaller tripod using a plastic G-clamp.

  ‘A laser pen, before you ask. Do you have audio software on the Mac?’

  ‘Of course. It has Wavepad installed. I can record and manipulate sound however you like on it.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  He went to the window which looked out onto the main road. In direct line of sight was a row of 1930s semi-detached houses about a hundred metres away. Perfect for the test, thought Tom, picking up his binoculars. Fortunately, the weather was dark and overcast.

  He took the smaller tripod and set it on the window ledge, pressing a switch on the side of the laser pen. He began making slight movements while looking at the houses in front with his binoculars.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a Peeping Tom, Tom.’ Pet smiled at her own joke.

  ‘Look at the wall behind us and tell me when you see the reflection of the laser dot.’ He began adjusting the pitch-and-tilt function of the tripod.

  After about five minutes, Pet said, ‘It’s here now, four feet up the wall.’ Tom turned and saw the laser dot on the wall behind them, clearly visible. Perfect.

  He took the larger tripod and lowered it so that the electrical component was visible, facing forwards by lightly bending the connector strips upwards so it resembled a forward-facing torch. Tom carefully adjusted the tripod’s height until the laser dot hit the photodiode face.

  Holding the other end of the wire, he took a jack plug adapter from his bag, snapping it into place so it was compatible with the headphone port on the laptop.

  ‘Right, time to see if this works. Open Wavepad and let’s see what we’ve got. I reckon the window I have it trained on is a living room in an upstairs flat.’

  Pet looked at Tom with a slightly puzzled look. ‘Is this a bug of some type?’ she asked, realisation dawning on her face.

  ‘Hopefully.’

  The programme opened on the laptop screen and a hissing erupted from the speakers, the equaliser audio waves dancing across the screen. Pet played about with the on-screen controls, trying to filter out some of the extraneous noises. Tom saw that the laser dot on the photodiode was slightly off-centre and made a small adjustment until it was dead centre. Suddenly the hissing was replaced by the tinny tones of Jeremy Kyle haranguing some poor unfortunate individual.

  A broad grin split Tom’s face. ‘Bingo. Thank goodness for the unemployed daytime TV watcher.’

  ‘I have to say, Detective, I’m impressed. A listening bug from a laser pointer. You are a resourceful dude. How the hell does that thing work?’

  ‘Simple enough: the laser bounces off the window and onto the photodiode receiver, which is translated from light waves into sound waves from the speech inside the room vibrating the window pane. It’s all about getting the trajectory right so it bounces back at the right angle.’

  ‘Well, I’m impressed.’

  ‘We just have to find somewhere to set this up near the Brankos’ address. I also think we should get out of this hotel, Pet. We’ve been here long enough.’

  *

  They drove along City Road in the Passat, fully aware they were in the Brankos’ stomping ground. Tom felt safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be expected in that area, but nevertheless kept his senses honed for any unexpected sightings.

  He needed to fully scout the area around the Brankos’ maisonette so he could secure a suitable listening post in direct line of sight and on the same level. That way he could ensure that the trajectory would be appropriate to deploy the laser listening device.

  He parked the car on the opposite side of the estate, on a side street off City Road. He put on the cap and spectacles in the hope it would alter his appearance as much as possible.

  The premises occupied by the Brankos was in a small quadrangle. There were four storeys of dwellings, all accessible by a communal external door with lifts and stairs to each level. Each level opened onto a walkway with individual flats side by side. In the middle of all that was a neglected green space with a small swing set in the centre.

  The Brankos lived in the middle of the fourth floor, overlooking the quadrangle at the front and the hustle and bustle of City Road at the rear.

  There was no possibility of being able to utilise the device within the quadrangle, even if Tom could get access to one of the flats. It would be far too risky to attempt, as he had no idea what relationships the Branko family had with their neighbours. In any case, in his time at the flat while undercover he never saw them congregate anywhere other than the over-furnished lounge at the rear of the property, overlooking City Road.

  The listening point, therefore, would have to be in line of sight of the rear of the flats.

  He needed to get onto the fourth floor so he could identify an ideal location to site the laser-listener. That meant getting up close and personal with the Brankos’ flat, which could be dangerous but no more than other things he’d done before. It was behaviour, not presence, that caught the eye. If Tom acted like he belonged, no one would question why he was there.

  ‘Right,’ said Tom, fixing Pet with a stare. ‘I have to get out and recce now. I need you to go and have a coffee while I do it. I may need you in front of a computer, so I can find somewhere to s
et up, okay?’

  ‘Whatever you say, Detective. I could just go get a coffee, anyway.’

  ‘There’s a Café Nero just five minutes away by the Old Street roundabout. I’ll meet you there when I’m done,’ he said, getting out of the car. Throwing her the car keys, he said, ‘If I’m not back in an hour and you’ve not heard from me, get out of here and tell Mike.’ He turned and walked off towards City Road.

  He wandered into a Tesco Metro Store on City Road and made straight for the till area, where there was a rack of business cards for local enterprises in the area. He helped himself to a large stack for a local mini-cab firm and slipped them into his jacket pocket before walking out.

  Workmen were digging up the pavement on the approach to the estate, presumably working on subterranean digital cabling. The hole was protected with red and white plastic mobile barriers and the usual warning signs. A neon hi-visibility vest was draped over one of the barriers, discarded by a workman who was probably underground working on the unseen cables that kept the digital world turning.

  Without hesitation or missing a beat in his step, Tom casually snatched the vest and slipped it on: perfect urban camouflage.

  He walked across to the quadrangle, entering it through an alleyway from the adjacent side street. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pack of paper tissues. Balling up three, he stuffed them into his mouth and positioned them down between his lower molars and cheek. That had the effect of rounding out his fine jaw and making him look jowly and fatter-faced. He pulled his cap low over his eyes, rounded his normally-square shoulders and walked in a more loping manner than he was accustomed to. Those slight alterations to his appearance and gait, while not significant, had a far greater effect than they had a right to, and would hopefully be enough if Mira happened to be looking out of the kitchen window as he went past.

  Tom strode straight up to the stairwell door for the property, one of the new types with entry controlled by intercom buzzers for each flat. This door would be used by residents and visitors to flats 20-40, who could gain access with a magnetic fob or by pressing the correct flat number to be allowed access via intercom. It was a good, secure system if maintained well and not neglected: thankfully, this one was not. The door was slightly ajar, and the graffiti-daubed control panel had clearly not worked properly for some time.