Terminal Black

by Adrian Magson

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Let me know when you’ve got a desk and a location for me.’ He cut the connection before the other man could respond. Cramer would have already tried the most obvious avenues open to him to locate Rik, but had so far failed to turn up a single lead. That would have been enough to shred anybody’s nerves if they were under pressure to get the job done.

  His phone beeped thirty minutes later. It was a text from Cramer. Waterloo Court, Theed Street. Imminent. Name Davis. Call me on arrival. C.

  Harry texted him back. Got it. But ‘C’? Seriously? He left that for Cramer to take whichever way he felt able, and went in search of the nearest cruising taxi.

  Theed Street was a narrow street of homes, converted warehouses and neat lock-ups behind Waterloo Station. The overall colour of the brickwork was tan, and it was easy to detect the area’s history. It seemed too gentrified now for a location used by Five, with their desire to blend in, but he allowed them credit for finding somewhere out of the way. He found Waterloo Court at one end of the street, with a brick archway leading through to a courtyard. He dialled Cramer’s number and waited.

  ‘Go through the door in front of you,’ Cramer told him, ‘and up the stairs to the second floor. Davis will be waiting on the landing. I suggest you don’t get too pally; he’s just a tech body for punching buttons and I need him for other duties.’

  EIGHTEEN

  ‘It’s getting complicated.’ Hough was trying to rein in his anger at the decision Colmyer had made and wasn’t doing a very good job. The walk back to his office hadn’t done anything to cool him down, any more than his subsequent quick and dirty search of the records into one Garth Perry, late of the Intelligence Corps. Launching in to Cramer with a negative wasn’t the best way to brief someone, but he wasn’t feeling too rational. Not now.

  ‘Whassup?’ Cramer replied. ‘Trouble in the kitchen?’

  ‘Tate’s going to have company.’ Hough explained about Perry and the likely outcome if his suspicions about Colmyer’s plan were correct.

  ‘Ah, Jesus,’ Cramer muttered. ‘That’s not good. Do you know anything about Perry?’

  ‘Enough to know it doesn’t promise anything good. He’s former Intel Corps, saw service in various trouble spots including Kosovo, Iraq and Afghanistan among others. He was cashiered out after discipline problems and an inability to abide by the rules of the Geneva Convention regarding detainees. That was in Helmand Province. It’s a neat way of saying he’s a nasty bugger who likes throwing his weight around. He was saved from a prison sentence because of a diagnosis of PTSD. I won’t bore you with the details, but he’s thought to have been responsible for the deaths of two insurgents while being interrogated and has what one expert referred to as psychopathic tendencies.’

  ‘Great. Just what we want to help with the tricky problem of bringing in someone like Ferris.’

  ‘That’s the bit I don’t like,’ Hough commented. ‘If I read this man right, bringing Ferris in isn’t part of his remit.’

  ‘Do you think Colmyer knows that?’

  ‘I’m bloody certain he must. He chose the man. What worries me more is how it will impact on Tate.’

  ‘I’ll tell him to watch his back. Can we track Perry’s movements?’

  ‘I doubt it. He’s already been briefed, and with his experience and head start, he’ll have gone dark. My guess is he’ll be plugged into the system somewhere and be watching Tate to see where he goes. We’ll have to wait for him to pop up and make his move. That reminds me, how is Tate doing?’

  ‘He’s on the case but it’s early days. He’s pretty certain Ferris is out of the country by now.’ He explained about Tate’s request for technical back-up to search airline routes and the provision of Davis to help.

  ‘He doesn’t hang about, does he? Whose buttons did you push to get him his own personal techie?’

  ‘I went over to army rules,’ Cramer replied. ‘Do it first and fight the bureaucrats afterwards. Best you don’t know the sordid details.’

  Hough chuckled, and felt considerably lighter, although he knew it wouldn’t last. These things had a habit of snowballing out of control if the wind was in the wrong quarter. ‘Dare I say it, but good work. You’re developing some seriously bad habits.’

  ‘Thanks. Will you be able to find out what Perry’s doing? It would help us keep Tate out of trouble.’

  ‘If I can, but don’t hold your breath. I might have been Colmyer’s first go-to person but I think I’ve probably slipped onto his don’t-tell list.’

  NINETEEN

  Harry climbed the stairs, his footsteps echoing ahead of him. It reminded him of the main stairway at his old school, which he recalled being perpetually cold and unwelcoming, a gloomy trap for unwary boys at the hands of others with malice on their minds.

  He found a figure standing at the top.

  ‘Davis?’

  The man nodded. He was in his forties, rail-thin with a brush cut and rimless glasses. Dressed in chinos and a thick shirt with pockets on the upper sleeves, he seemed neither pleased nor sorry to see Harry. He gestured towards an open door and led the way inside.

  The air in the office had an overcooked quality of heat and machinery, and was being blown around by two large fans, one on either side of the room. A constant humming sound was coming from two sets of double monitors turned in on each other, and a stack of electronic boxes under a trestle table.

  Davis didn’t waste any time on small-talk, but sat down in front of a keyboard and a set of monitors. He gestured at a second chair before tapping on his keyboard and lighting up the screens.

  ‘I hear you’re looking for a face,’ he said without apparent interest.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Harry. ‘And a name from passenger lists. Rik Ferris.’

  ‘I got that.’

  ‘You have a match already?’

  ‘Three, actually. Heathrow, Stansted and Bristol. Is your Ferris Irish?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Why?’

  ‘Because it’s an Irish name, originally. Could he be going there – to family or friends? Easy to reach from any of these airports. Narrows the search field quite a bit.’ His voice was a monotone, the sound of an expert speaking to the unknowing. His fingers moved and a list of names filled the screen on the left. He filled a search box and hit Enter, and the name Ferris was highlighted in green.

  ‘No,’ said Harry. The screen was headed Stansted and the initial was H.

  Davis nodded. ‘You sure he doesn’t use another initial? People do all the time, but not for buying tickets; for that they have to match their passport.’

  ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘Good to know.’ Davis attacked his keyboard again and Harry sat back to wait. He didn’t even pretend to understand what the man was doing, and Davis didn’t seem inclined to explain. The screens were changing faster than Harry could read but he guessed Davis was inside a series of databases of flight times and numbers, and no doubt doing it in a way that most people wouldn’t even know how to begin.

  Davis finally tapped a button and sat back. Another list appeared, this one longer than the previous one. The name Ferris R was highlighted.

  Harry moved closer, picking up a hint of body odour from the technician and a smell of cheese and onion crisps. ‘Can you run passport details?’

  ‘Got it.’ A rattle of keys and the second screen opened up showing Ferris Rodney, a passport number, which meant nothing to Harry, save for the age, 53, and an address in Dartford, Kent.

  ‘Wrong one. Where’s this from?’

  ‘Heathrow. Two down, one to go. Bristol. After this it’s going to take a long time and I’m not sure Cramer will be happy if we spend too long at it. We’re under a bit of pressure since the Salisbury poisoning.’

  Harry nodded and sat back. He wanted to move the nearest fan to direct the air away from blowing in his face, but he had a feeling the techie would take umbrage. And right now he didn’t feel like beating him up until he played ball.<
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  Finding Rik Ferris, if he didn’t want to be found, wasn’t going to be a quick job, and Cramer knew that. But Cramer was under pressure and there would be a limit to how long other forces were prepared to wait. Throw in a recent brazen assassination attempt by the Russian Main Intelligence Directorate or GRU, on a former Russian officer, Sergei Skripal and his daughter Yulia, in the heart of the Wiltshire city, and separately, a number of cyber attacks across the world, and it must have been sufficient to send the intelligence and security services into a frenzy. The poisoning alone had highlighted, along with other similar incidents, just how far Moscow was prepared to go in the targeting of dissidents.

  Davis dragged his monitor round for Harry to see the screen.

  ‘Bristol airport,’ he said. ‘It’s a smaller structure and their systems are limited. My little daughter could run around inside this from her Micro.’

  Harry guessed he was expected to ask, so he said, ‘Her what?’

  ‘Micro. A kit for introducing kids to the joys of coding.’ He looked at Harry with a smile, although the proud dad moment was spoiled due to a fragment of crisp stuck to the far side of his face. ‘I upgraded it for her so she can do more stuff.’

  ‘I could have done with a dad like you,’ Harry said. ‘Mine was more into bricks and mortar.’

  ‘Estate agent?’

  ‘Brickie.’

  Davis said nothing and went back to the keyboard. Ferris R was revealed, and the familiar address in Paddington.

  Harry eyed the flight details at the top of the screen but Davis beat him to it. ‘Nineteen-ten hours flight with Stobart Air,’ he read off. ‘Landed Dublin twenty-twenty-five hours. Commuters, mostly, at that time. Easy to blend in, especially with his name. Does he do accents?’

  Harry looked at him, then realized he was serious. Davis had undoubtedly been chasing people this way for a long time, quite apart from all the other complex jobs he performed, so would know the score when it came to fugitives and targets and the tricks they used to avoid detection.

  ‘If he has to.’ Harry was developing a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Rik could have flown out from any of the London regional airports, including London City. Easier to reach than Bristol, already familiar with the layouts and more choice of destinations. So why Bristol and why fly to Dublin?

  ‘He’s dog-legging,’ said Davis, reading his mind. The man seemed to be warming up, getting involved in the chase. ‘Dublin’s a great hub for that kind of thing. Lots of outlets all over Europe and further, and easy to drop a tail if you grab whatever flight’s available. Means he can go anywhere he wants to as long as he uses cash.’ He looked round at Harry. ‘The passport might be a problem unless he’s got a spare, but no credit card trail to follow makes it that little bit harder for us to track him through his spending activity.’

  Davis was right. From Dublin he could leap off into the unknown, transiting through any number of airports and ending up anywhere on the globe, especially if he used railways or sea ports along the way to break his trail. It would take more than Davis and his dual screens to find him, especially if he chose not to be tracked.

  Whatever else Harry had taught Rik, not leaving a trail had been close to the top of the list. But why would he have gone using his own name? He was pretty sure Rik still had a couple of alternative passports, acquired when they were working under cover, so why not use one of them? No way would Five or Six have known of their existence. Rik wouldn’t have been careless enough to leave them lying around, and if Cramer’s men had found them he’d have said so.

  Davis nodded and hit the keyboard, opening a Dublin flight map showing destinations. It opened to a schematic of coloured curves shooting out of Dublin across Europe like a fibre optic lamp.

  ‘Christ,’ Harry muttered. ‘That’s a serious amount of dog-legging.’

  ‘Is he a friend?’ Davis queried.

  ‘What makes you ask?’

  ‘Just guessing. You’re concerned rather than desperate. Looking for rather than hunting.’ He grinned. ‘It usually shows.’

  ‘Do you get many of the desperate kind?’

  The techie scratched his face. ‘Quite often. Mostly, in fact. They’re usually scrambling to close the door after the horse has buggered off and are scared shitless they’ll lose their job. Anything else?’

  ‘How long would it take to extend the search further afield?’

  ‘Hours, probably. Longer. There’s no guarantee that the passenger records are available from foreign hubs, and if they don’t feel like cooperating it won’t even get started. I can begin with Dublin easily enough but the trail might run out at the next stop.’

  Harry thought about it. It had to be done; without following the trail they had no way of knowing where Rik had gone. But in the meantime the Westminster Inn kept popping back into his head. It was a link, he was certain. But how useful was it?

  ‘Can you access hotel security systems from here?’

  Davis gave him an owlish look. ‘If you mean CCTV, then yes. But I’d need authorisation. I can’t just go round nosing into private data—’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Harry said mildly. ‘Who would know?’

  ‘The good ones have alarms and firewalls if they know what they’re doing, which they don’t always. But if they’re happy to allow people to steal their client data, that’s their look-out.’ He paused, stretched his neck as if about to take a dive off a high board, then said, ‘Which one?’

  Harry gave him the Westminster details and Davis bent back to his keyboard, saying, ‘You wouldn’t like to go out and get a couple of decent coffees, would you? There’s a good place just round the corner. I need to stay wide awake for this.’

  Harry nodded. He could do with a caffeine kick himself. ‘Will do.’

  He walked back downstairs, leaving Davis to his box of tricks. He’d been prepared for a lengthy search but this had already moved further forward than he’d expected. If Davis could turn up something at the Westminster, he’d be even more grateful.

  He bought coffees and two slabs of cake from a boutique coffee shop the size of a small garden shed, and headed back to Waterloo Court. By the time he stepped through the door, Davis was sitting back staring at a screen. It showed the front lobby of a smart hotel, with clients, a luggage trolley and a receptionist handing out key cards.

  ‘This is from twelve hours ago,’ Davis explained, taking one of the coffees and giving a vigorous nod of thanks for the cake. ‘I just wanted to get a feel for the image quality. Some hotel footage is rubbish; you wouldn’t be able to recognize your own mother in most of them. But this stuff’s quite good.’ He took a sip of coffee and bit a large piece out of his cake. ‘What are we looking for – Ferris or someone else?’

  ‘Ferris. Can you go back several days?’ He remembered Adam, Rik’s neighbour, saying he hadn’t seen Rik for a week. If he was right, that was when the journey would have started.

  ‘Sure. This is a good system, so they probably have plenty of storage space.’ He worked fast and before long had a screen full of client data; time and date checked in, room number, package deal, home address and phone number.

  But no Ferris.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Absolutely. I did an alphabetical search. No name anywhere near it. Sometimes you get a typo error, maybe a couple of letters out, but not this time. I checked for credit card use, too, but nobody by the name of Ferris. Sorry.’

  Harry swore softly. A dead end. But why had Rik written down the hotel name if he wasn’t staying there? Unless he was meeting someone.

  ‘How about Nathalie Baier?’ He spelled the name.

  It took two minutes. She was a registered guest. ‘Can you print off the details for me? And run footage of the reception lobby from the same time?’

  Davis nodded. ‘No problem. Shout if you see something. I just need a while to set it up.’ He worked away for a few minutes, then sat back. ‘This is a week ago. It’ll take a while
to run through it, so don’t get your hopes up. The good bit is that the lobby’s not that big, so faces will funnel through like fish into a barrel.’ He hit a button and the screen jumped to reveal a moving image of the lobby, with figures moving back and forth. ‘I can’t use FRS on this system because it’s not compatible, so I’m afraid it’s eyeball-dependent only. I hope you don’t suffer from migraine too easily.’

  Harry began studying images of faces. Anyone who looked like Rik and anyone who looked like … a Nathalie. God he was getting desperate. After thirty minutes he was feeling the pressure on his eyes. After an hour his head felt like it had been in the drum of a spin-dryer.

  ‘Is it always this hard?’ he asked.

  ‘Not once you get used to it,’ Davis replied. ‘Without more information about times there’s no way round it.’

  Harry turned away from the screen. There had to be an easier way than this. ‘Will you be here later?’

  ‘I’m always here. Where else would I go?’

  ‘I was told you were on loan.’

  ‘I am. But this is my place of work. There’s usually a couple of others here, too.’ He switched off the screen. ‘What do you want to do?’