The Unseen (21 page)

“How’s it going, Snibbsy?” Richard put a hand on his shoulder.

Snibbard rattled his fingers over the keyboard. “I’ve just sent a sample of our latest SPI over the pond by special courier.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

“No, just enough to keep them panting.”

“Little bit at a time, Snibbsy. Just like we did in Glasgow. Remember how we started at Glasgow University?”

Snibbard nodded and to Richard’s satisfaction lowered his head. Mention of Glasgow had become a deliberate goad. It reminded Snibbard of the female students and Richard’s intervention to save him from the police.

Richard looked down at his friend with Machiavellian benevolence. “The very start of SPI over the Internet. Three girls, Snibbsy, we got three out of five girls into the woods. And who was waiting there? Not the teddy bears’ picnic.”

Snibbard looked nervously across his shoulder to the open office door.

“A long time ago, Rich. And you set it up. You were watching, remember?”

“Assessing the experiment, Snibbsy,” Richard said. He patted Snibbard’s shoulder. “But now for the good news. Zellar’s going to put in a million. Providing, that is, I give her a good seeing to.”

Snibbard grinned, then frowned. “But you can’t. You’re …”

“Don’t say it, Snibbsy boy.” Richard pointed his finger. “They’ve got pills nowadays. But it’s all in the line of duty. Anything for our partnership.”

“What are we going to do about Faulkner?”

“He’ll have his cut of PKL.”

“He’ll end up in prison.”

“That’s why we’re leaving, Snibbsy, so we don’t. But someone has to take the blame.”

“Poor sod.” Snibbard tapped a key and swivelled in his char. “But then he shouldn’t be greedy.”

“Quite right, greed is a bad thing.” He moved his hand to the back of Snibbard’s head and gently stroked. “You still have only the one set of flash drives, don’t you?”

“In the main safe as agreed. Why do you ask?” Snibbard looked up through hooded eyes, clearly suspicious.

“I just want to make sure Faulkner can’t get a copy,” Richard said as casually as possible. “I don’t want anyone fucking it up. Bad murder, that one in Ireland.”

Snibbard’s eyes went wide. “It’s not me, not us.”

“She reached level ten. I told you, who did you tell?”

“Only Faulkner.”

“Best watch your back, Snibbsy. If Faulkner is using SPI to control another Zoby, then he’s a dangerous man. Especially as we’re about to drop him in the shit.” Richard winked and went to see Patricia, his secretary.

“Any punters today?” he asked her.

“Two A1 investors, Mr and Mrs Fagan from the Brighton hotel. You’re to meet them at Milton Keynes, eleven o’clock. Their contribution could be substantial. They’re lottery winners. After that you have Mrs Zellar again.”

Richard checked his watch. He didn’t want Zellar alone, didn’t want any repetition of what he had performed in her hotel room. The same time her promised millions were within his grasp, he had to keep her eager.

“If she phones, tell her I’m arranging shares and will be in contact.”

The Jaguar was brash, its metallic coating a hideous gold. Richard judged the Fagans suitable material. She was attractive enough to play with, he was all brawn and clearly out of his depth. He doubted Mr and Mrs Fagan had much brain between them.

“Richard Caswell. I’m MD of PKL.” He extended his hand, deliberately glancing over the husband before dismissing him. Only a numbskull wore a union tag in his jacket lapel. He smiled for her. She looked far more interesting, and by her direct eye contact, the one who led, and so ultimately controlled the money.

She smiled back and opened her jacket. He took that as a positive invitation.

“My wife thinks PKL is a top investment,” her husband said.

“And I’m always right.” She took a step forwards, lingering extra seconds on their handshake.

“Confidence is the sign of a knowledgeable investor,” Richard answered, and waved through to reception.

Sean followed behind, this is what they had agreed during the journey. Victoria would take the lead and Caswell’s attention whilst Sean concentrated on staff and the buildings. To authenticate their roles he wore a tie with yellow stripes, while Victoria displayed a yellow-ribboned bra beneath a tight fitted shirt. She had also given him an MI5 goodie; a metal lapel badge with an embossed cogwheel designed to tell any who cared to look that he was a member of the Amalgamated Engineers’ Union. Except that the embossment was in fact the miniature head of a digital camera, its lead pierced through the material of his jacket to a camcorder beneath. Victoria wore a brooch with a similar device pinned to the shirt above her platform bra. He was to play dumb and quiet, she was to play dumb and pushy.

Dangerous, he had told her, but she insisted. Until he was off the suspect list, she wanted Caswell’s undivided attention.

“You get a lot of investors?” Victoria asked.

“All the time. People like yourselves who recognise a good deal. They all come here, play on our machines, investors, distributors, journalists. We like to keep open house, keen to show our product. Seeking private funding from small to medium investors has allowed expansion without bank interference. The results are adventurous and impressive. PKL will revolutionise home entertainment. The games realise a five-fold return for investors.”

Sean nodded and tried to look impressed. Caswell half turned to look back at him while walking close to Victoria.

“I’d like to have a go, try out the product,” Sean said.

“Our viewing room is next door. Perhaps you would try an hour on PKL II? It’s impressive.”

“I’d rather look around.” Victoria smiled at Caswell.

“I’ll look at the games,” Sean said, knowing the sooner they split up the wider their surveillance pattern.

“No problem. While you play with the Princess, I’ll show Mrs Fagan our technical and administrative areas.” Caswell smiled white teeth.

“Call me Vicky,” Victoria said, and touched Caswell’s arm.

Vicky, she hated that name, Sean smiled inwardly. He just hoped Caswell wasn’t connected with Zoby.

In the main exhibition area Sean climbed into one of the twenty automated chairs.

“We’ll be back in an hour,” Caswell said and lowered the visor. Sean was left with the image of Princess Kay-ling striding towards him.

“Now, what can I show you?” He heard Caswell ask Victoria.

“Everything. How you put it all together.”

“My pleasure.”

Their voices faded and the sound of Princess Kay-ling’s battle hymn filled Sean’s ears. After several minutes he lifted the visor. The room was empty. Glancing round he saw no visible CCTV cameras, but that didn’t mean he was not being watched. Careful to maintain the behaviour of someone unaware, he walked up to the control desk, his expression disgruntled, as if he was searching to install a different game. The desk held a half dozen CD ports. He opened the port marked five that matched with his chair number and surreptitiously slid the game DVD inside his jacket pocket. If it contained SPI, he had enough to raid the place and make arrests. From a plastic case on the desktop he slotted a replacement disk into the port he had just emptied. The closed case he shuffled back amongst others. With luck no-one would notice. Still casual, he stood from the controls and went out to the corridor. No one from security turned up to stop him. Time to explore, he thought.

Victoria was conscious she bounced with each step, the movement beneath her blouse keeping Caswell’s close attention. His hand was often at her back when he opened doors and he stood close while they bent over computer screens. He had that confident, public school arrogance which patronised lesser mortals. He did all this with a sickly, white-toothed smile that at best was patronising and at worst, creepy. It created an overwhelming desire for her to knee him in the groin.

“You husband does not seem interested in the production or administration of PKL,” Caswell said.

Victoria flicked dismissively with her hand. “He’s a welder with a welder’s mentality. That’s tits and the sports page. You’d think five million would change his life, but not a chance.” She shook her head.

“Five million?” Caswell echoed, his voice dropping an octave.

“Split between us, of course.”

“And how much were you thinking of investing here, Vicky?” He opened the double doors for her and for once his hand did not touch the back of her bra strap.

Victoria put her head to one side and lifted an eyebrow. “I’m told by insiders you can quadruple my money in one year. On the surface, it’s too good to be true. But it is very tempting, that is, if I am tempted.”

“I have a special portfolio for high investors. Were you thinking much over a half million?”

“Talk right and it could be a million.”

His smile changed, becoming wide and extra toothy. “Just how can I do that, Mrs Fagan?”

“You could explain more about the business prospects, maybe over lunch or dinner?”

“And would Mr Fagan attend also?”

“I’m sure he’ll be too busy reading page three.”

“I’ll make arrangements, Vicky.”

She smiled at him, drew breath and strained the buttons on her shirtfront. Sean wouldn’t like her going off alone, but this man used SPI to make money. If he also used it to murder women, then she wanted him terminated.

The staff were mainly young, academic in appearance and absent in their expressions. No one paid Sean much attention, even when he stopped behind someone to covertly film their computer screens. Security was clearly minimal, until he went to the first floor. At the top of the stairs he was faced by double fire-doors and a sign which read “Research staff only. Keep out. That means you.” Sean walked right in. A front corridor led off to various individual rooms. Sean entered the nearest door.

Four computer terminals were occupied by employees older and clearly more experienced than those below. The deep hum of other electronic equipment in the room mingled with the rattle of keyboards beneath dextrous fingers. At the far end a young guard in a blue uniform was collecting a signature from a tall, shaven-headed guy. Sean was halfway down the room before they saw him.

“This area is restricted, sir.” The guard came towards him, his arms outstretched to apprehend.

“I’m looking for Richard Caswell.” Sean took a step back and played thicko. “He’s showing my wife around.”

The guy who had signed his signature came also. “My name’s Faulkner. I’m a director. Will you please go with security. He’ll find your wife.” He took hold of Sean’s arm.

“You mustn’t walk the building alone, sir,” the guard said, escorting Sean down to reception.

Within minutes Victoria came from the depths of the building with Caswell.

“Until tomorrow,” she said to him, and led Sean out into the sunshine as if he were some errant schoolboy. The whole visit had lasted forty-five minutes.

“Did you get to the first floor?” he asked, once they were in the car. “That’s where they keep the restricted stuff. I saw at least four staff. If they’re all working with SPI, prosecution witnesses will not be difficult.”

“We agreed not to deviate,” Victoria said, buttoning up her jacket. “Let’s concentrate on murder. We can deal with any SPI factors once we have Zoby and Crystal.”

“Ever thought that Crystal might be running Zoby through SPI?” He produced the stolen disk from his pocket. “We can’t ignore the technical implications. I’ll have this analysed. If we find evidence we can go back with a full team. We can raid the hotels at the same time.”

“Sean,” she swivelled to face him and he momentarily glanced from his driving. She was biting on her lower lip. From old days he knew that was a sure sign she was troubled, or about to be devious. “Let’s get this straight,” she said. “The person I want is Zoby, followed by his controller. So I’m deliberately pushing myself as bait. Caswell is very greedy for money, mine at the moment. When I turn him down he’ll get angry. We’ll see then what happens. We give it two weeks, OK? If we go your way and have them for fraud and SPI, Zoby and Crystal might slip the net. I can’t allow that.”