Going Dark

by Neil Lancaster

  Ignoring the lift, Tom ran up the stairs two at a time, pulling out the stack of business cards as he did so. A golden rule of surveillance is having a reason to be in the location. With the hi-vis on and a stack of business cards in his hands, Tom now had that reason: a delivery guy who would attract no attention and would cause no gossip on the walkway.

  Reaching the fourth floor, he began going door-to-door, posting mini-cab cards through letterboxes as he went. Before he reached the Brankos’ flat he came across a fire-break between the flats which was lit by daylight from a corridor window overlooking City Road. He took out his iPhone, still in airplane mode, and quickly took a series of pictures from all angles, capturing the skyline of the buildings around him. He noted a large tower block of modern flats directly in front, just fifty metres or so away.

  He returned to his delivery task, putting a business card in each letterbox, including number thirty-seven where the Brankos lived. Stealing a quick glance through the letterbox, he was able to see down the hallway and into the lounge. No one was visible and no sounds came from the flat, but he was able to see the yellow floral curtains of the front room. Satisfied, Tom retraced his steps and descended the staircase, continuing back out into the quadrangle.

  *

  Pet was sat in a booth in the corner of the Café Nero, her laptop in front of her and a large, empty cup in her right hand.

  ‘More coffee?’ Tom asked as he walked over to her table.

  ‘Why not? It’s not like I’m jittery enough, is it?’ she said, her eyes wide.

  Tom bought two cappuccinos and sat opposite her.

  ‘Nice vest,’ she said. ‘Got a new job?’

  ‘Urban camouflage,’ said Tom. ‘You got 4G on the Mac?’

  ‘I have more than you would probably understand, Detective,’ she smiled with mock smugness.

  ‘Good. Can you get me the name of the large block of flats in the tower block up the road? It’s modern and brand new by the look of it.’

  Pet’s fingers tapped at the keyboard, and Tom could vaguely see the reflection of the screen in her spectacles as she typed.

  ‘I assume from what you’ve said it’s Canaletto Tower. It’s a thirty-one-storey building, finished recently. It was in the news a lot as most of the flats were sold to foreign investors; half of them are never lived in.’

  ‘We need to get in there: it’s going to be perfect for our purposes. Are there any we can rent or am I going to have to break in?’ he asked.

  ‘Hold on, Detective, I’m sure we can come up with something,’ she said, tapping at the keys. ‘It’s fully managed with twenty-four-hour concierge and looks busy. You want an easy option?

  ‘Of course. Easy options are my favourite.’

  ‘There’s one to rent with Airbnb. On the sixth floor. We can get in by three this afternoon.’

  Tom paused. There would definitely be an appropriate vantage point within the building, even if it wasn’t in the flat they rented. Once safely inside he would have free rein to find the perfect location. The surfeit of empty properties left vacant by foreign investors would work well for Tom’s purposes, if not the capital’s housing crisis.

  ‘Book it. We need somewhere to stay in any case.’

  She tapped on the keys some more.

  ‘Done. I’ve booked two nights and my employers are even going to pick up the tab. We are lucky that Mike has access to some deniable funding that won’t attract anybody’s attention. Don’t ask how much it cost.’

  *

  Tom and Pet walked into the reception of the stunning thirty-one-storey building, marvelling at the sweeping glass and steel structure stretching up more than a hundred metres above London. Tom lugged a holdall in which he’d secreted the laser device, together with his grab-bag and a few items of clothing.

  The reception was all sleek surfaces and polished teak, with a shiny marble floor and a hushed atmosphere of style. Even more of a bonus had been the underground car park he’d deposited the Passat in, keeping it off the street and out of sight.

  Pet approached the receptionist and collected the keys while Tom watched the flat-screen TV on the wall, which was showing the rolling news.

  Pet came over. ‘Room 618, overlooking City Road. One of the least desirable apparently, but it will have to do.’

  They took the elevator to the sixth floor and then Pet unlocked the heavy wooden door to reveal a small, one-bedroom apartment. It was sparsely but stylishly furnished with a cosy leather corner couch and a bright, modern kitchen. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave a fine view over City Road and across to the Brankos’ block of flats.

  Tom pulled the sliding doors open and stepped out onto the balcony, feeling the late afternoon chill and hearing the roar of the rush hour traffic below him.

  Pet joined him. ‘Is this okay?’

  ‘The angle’s too steep. I won’t be able to bounce the laser back to here without mirroring it somewhere else, which we don’t have time for. I need to be two floors down.’

  ‘So it’s useless then.’

  ‘Not exactly. We are in and past security. I just need to site the laser and receiver further down and then feed the wire up here. Let’s go and eat. I can think about it and then do some more research. I think there’s a café on the twenty-fourth floor.’

  He rummaged in the holdall and took out a small leather pouch, which he tucked into his jacket pocket.

  They left the apartment and took the lift to the twenty-fourth floor, where they followed the signs to Club Canaletto: a very sleek café with a large balcony which gave an incredible view across London. The lights were beginning to spark up as the city moved to evening time.

  They sat inside, and both ordered open sandwiches and beer.

  ‘So what’s next, Detective?’

  ‘We eat this and then I’m going to find a vantage point to site the laser,’ he said through a mouthful of sandwich.

  ‘How are you going to do that?’

  ‘I’m going to test the theory that half of these apartments are empty because of foreign investors.’

  ‘How are you going to manage that?’

  ‘By knocking on the door, of course. How’s the sandwich?’

  ‘It’s a good sandwich, but you’re being deliberately obtuse.’

  Tom said nothing but kept chewing and took a swig of his beer. He was going to try to do something he hadn’t done since Iraq. He needed to hear what the Brankos were talking about if the next part of his plan was to work. He was getting bored of being hunted.

  It was time to go hunting.

  *

  They stood outside apartment number 418, Pet clutching her computer bag. Tom confidently rapped on the door and stood waiting patiently. He waited for a further minute before knocking again. There was only silence from within.

  He produced the small leather wallet from his pocket and unfolded it to reveal a set of lock picks. Selecting a torsion bar and medium pick, it took him less than one minute before the door swung open, revealing a dark interior within. He took a torch from his pocket and swung it into the property. Sure enough, the apartment was completely unfurnished: just blank walls and an untouched kitchen. There were deep carpets everywhere but not a stick of furniture.

  Switching off the torch, he walked to the balcony, slid the door open, and took out some binoculars from his jacket pocket. Putting them to his eyes, he located the Brankos’ flat by its floral curtains.

  ‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Wait here. I’ll go and get the kit. I’ll knock three times.’

  He disappeared from the apartment, leaving Pet alone in the gloom. She sat on the floor, taking out her laptop and a small metal box and connecting them together with a small cable.

  Tom returned within five minutes, carrying the holdall, which he began to unpack as soon as he was inside. Leaving the sliding door to the balcony partially open, he erected the two tripods and then, using his binoculars, aimed the laser at the far corner of the Brankos’ window.

  ‘
Same again, Pet: tell me when you see the laser behind you.’

  He made fine adjustments with the tripod until a single, small, red pinprick of light appeared on the kitchen unit behind them.

  ‘Now,’ said Pet.

  Tom moved the photodiode and tripod into the laser beam and screwed the platform securely into place once the beam hit the component’s centre.

  ‘Okay, you have the laptop ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Come on now, Detective, you don’t think I’m just sitting here in the dark, do you? This is my bit.’

  Pet connected the small metal box into the leading cable from the photodiode and extended two stubby antennae.

  ‘I’ve used this to hook into the building’s Wi-Fi. I’ve bounced the signal to come direct into my computer without the need for us to sit here or trail wires up. We may as well get comfortable.’ She busied herself on the Mac for a minute longer before saying, ‘I’m done. We’re good to go.’

  Tom nodded and they left the apartment, closing the door behind them.

  Back in apartment 618, Pet sat on the corner sofa, snapped open her laptop, and tapped at the keyboard. Lines began to dance slightly across the screen, but no discernible sounds emitted other than a hiss of static.

  Tom went to the window with his binoculars and focused in on the Brankos’ window, which was in total darkness.

  ‘No one’s at home just yet,’ he said, looking at his watch, which showed it was just after 7pm.

  ‘So what do we do now, Detective?’

  ‘We wait, I guess.’

  He sat down on the sofa and said, ‘Thank you, Pet. I couldn’t have done any of this alone.’ Pet looked a little embarrassed and there was a short, awkward silence.

  ‘No problem,’ she said, finally. ‘I get paid well. What are you trying to achieve, here?’

  ‘Just to find out who is doing this to me.’

  ‘Are you sure that is all?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘No desire for revenge?’

  He shrugged his shoulders and kept his face impassive.

  ‘Tom, I’ve been working with Spooks and soldiers for a while now. One thing I have learned is that revenge doesn’t often satisfy those who seek it.’ She spoke earnestly while staring straight at Tom, who averted his gaze up to the ceiling.

  ‘I don’t know, Pet. I just need to unravel this situation. I can’t just leave it now. The only way back to my old life is to keep ploughing on.’ He let out a deep sigh of exasperation and rubbed his face with his hands.

  The moment was broken by a burst of static from the laptop, followed by a curse in Serbian and a rapid-fire burst of indecipherable voices over the laser-bug. They sat up, Pet scrabbling for the laptop and making speedy adjustments on Wavepad. The static cleared, and a voice spoke from the computer’s tinny speaker.

  ‘Mother, we need food!’ in Serb. Aleks.

  Tom couldn’t make out the reply but heard a loud gale of laughter from at least two other males.

  A voice he didn’t recognise said, ‘What has the solicitor said?’

  Aleks said, ‘He’s shitting himself like a baby. Father’s told him we’re on it.’

  ‘What’s the pig saying?’ the voice asked.

  ‘No one knows where Novak is; he’s disappeared. Apparently he has his phone intercepted, emails, bank, everything, and the bastard is still doing nothing,’ Aleks replied.

  ‘He’ll come soon; he has to. All the police are looking for him and they probably think he killed Ivan. Lucky that we got to Filip before the police got into the house, but it was far too close. Father sent him to Sarajevo, so he’s safe.’

  Tom sat up at this news. Was he now a suspect for the murder of Ivan?

  ‘Is this recording, Pet?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, straight onto the hard drive,’ she said. ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘Filip got away, the bastard,’ Tom said.

  A commotion seemed to be occurring inside the flat as new voices were heard.

  A gruffer voice came across the speakers, older than the others.

  ‘Papa, when’s the pig going to come up with something? This is taking too long,’ Aleks said.

  ‘As soon as Novak puts his head up. He will call me. He’d better, anyway, or he’ll have me to answer to,’ the gruff voice replied.

  Tom went to the sliding doors and raised his binoculars towards the window. The curtains were still partially open and he could see the movement from within. As he watched, the figure of Zjelko Branko came up to the window and looked out onto the street before him. He paused for a minute and it felt to Tom that he was staring straight at him in the half-light of apartment 618. Branko pulled the garish, flowered curtains fully shut, and the moment passed.

  Tom paused. He had to prompt a response, or nothing would be accomplished. He had to force the corrupt officer out and he could think of only one way to do that without compromising their position.

  ‘Pet, I need you to do something for me.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, a little suspicion entering her voice.

  ‘Take my phone. Take a train a few stops from Old Street to, say, Moorgate, then come up to the street. Go where you can’t be seen, disengage airplane mode, and let it appear on the network. That will prompt contact. I need to stay here because of the language.’

  ‘I can do that. I’ll be an hour.’

  Tom tossed her his iPhone, told her the PIN code and said, ‘Call me on the burner phone before you spark my phone up so I’m ready for whatever happens.’

  ‘Sure thing, boss man.’

  ‘And, Pet,’ Tom said as she was heading to the door.

  She paused and turned to face him.

  ‘Be careful. Don’t engage with anyone; these are dangerous people.’ Tom spoke with a genuine concern which surprised them both.

  Pet just smiled, turned on her heels, and left the apartment.

  Tom continued to listen to the laser-bug feed, but they seemed to have quietened down and were watching a sports game by the sounds of it. An occasional cough or comment was all that ensued, giving him confidence that the listening device was still working.

  About thirty minutes later his burner phone buzzed with a message from Pet.

  ‘Phone going live now, Pet.’

  Tom sat patiently and waited but nothing seemed to change immediately. The sports game continued with the muted crowd noise and Aleks was heard saying, ‘The referee is a donkey, Papa,’ which received a grunt in reply.

  Ten minutes later, Tom heard a faint electronic ringing sound followed by a ‘Yah,’ from Zjelko.

  ‘When? … Where is he? … How long ago? What? Not even a phone call? So, he just switched his phone on and received messages. What were they? What do you mean, you don’t fucking know? What are we paying you for, Mr Pig?’

  ‘Right. We’re on it. Make sure we’re not interrupted and make sure—’ He stopped abruptly, the call obviously over.

  Zjelko said, ‘Novak is moving; he’s close to Moorgate Station. Come on, let’s go. I’ll call Dedic.’

  A further pause beset by static. ‘Dedic, Novak is moving. The Shard, London Bridge Station. See you there.’ The voices faded and were replaced by the tinny sounds of the television.

  Tom stood and looked out of the window, down to the junction with City Road. After about three minutes, a dark Range Rover Evoque appeared and turned right onto City Road at speed. Tom could see Zjelko’s buzz-cut hair at the driver’s seat. He noted the registration number of the vehicle and then sat down to wait for Pet to return.

  *

  Pet returned forty minutes later with a soft triple knock at the door and a smile on her flushed features.

  ‘All go okay?’ she asked, walking back round to her laptop.

  ‘They got the call minutes after you switched on and dashed out to go to London Bridge. We now need to know the number who called them: that’s our bent cop.’

  ‘Back to work, Detective. Let’s see what we can find,’ she said
as she began attacking the keys with renewed gusto, concentration etched on her face. ‘Okay. Zjelko on 219 was called by a number ending 109 just after I used your phone. Zjelko then called a new one ending 659 immediately after that,’ she said.

  ‘That would be Dedic; he despatched him to London Bridge after the call. We need cell sites and call history on 109. Can you also do open source and anything else you can think of on that number in case the bent cop has used it elsewhere, assuming it’s a dirty phone?’

  ‘I’m on it,’ said Pet, tapping away at the keys.

  Finally, we’re making progress, thought Tom. They had the number for the dirty cop, and so they were one step closer to identifying him and blowing the whole thing wide open. None of what they were doing was evidential, nothing could be used in court: the bug was unauthorised and the phone data hacks that Pet was doing could never be admitted to either. Tom was effectively riding roughshod over the law. He just wanted to get to the bottom of it; he could figure out how to make it evidential later.

  ‘Okay. 109 is an unregistered pre-pay with no details attached to it at all. A typical burner phone. It receives a call from 079—which was your NCA man—just after I disabled airplane on your phone. That must be to your primary bent cop who is receiving information on the intercepted calls from the NCA agent. He’s made and received several calls recently to Zjelko and the 079 number; he also made other calls to other numbers a little while ago which I can look at,’ she said. ‘I’m running 109 through an open source software package which will find any time it’s been entered into the Internet.’

  Tom said nothing, impressed with her skill.

  ‘I have a couple of hits. One is on a “sexual encounters” website. There’s no photo, just an email address and a description, calling himself “Big Toni”. “Forty-three-year-old, slim, professional male lives in London. Email address listed here.” He sounds nice!’ she said, sarcastically. ‘Big Toni has also been on a freelance escort site. He’s used that email to write a review on a girl he’s used in the past. He was very impressed, which is nice, although he seems a bit fixated on how “young and fresh” she was. Ew!’