The Unseen (41 page)

Waiting in the shuffling queue for security clearance to the departure lounge of Terminal 3, Richard Caswell sensed a growing state of anxiety. Throughout the day he had gambled and won, now the last hour seemed to drag for an eternity.

That afternoon he had sat in some grey building belonging to the Home Office. On the table between Richard and two bespectacled Home Office officials were the flash drives found as intended, and then stolen from the conference room by the MI5 woman.

Richard thought the woman clever to realise what he had done and steal the evidence from under the police, but not as clever as himself. No woman could outsmart Harry Woods. It was why he found them all such easy prey. Even now, his manipulation of her created deception and through it, he had outsmarted even the Home Office.

“We advise your immediate departure out of the EU. In reciprocation, we will look after this research until your safe return,” the balding man had said.

“I’ll need clothes, I’ll need documents,” Richard protested. “I’ll need … ”

“A suitcase has been packed from your flat, it’s waiting downstairs with your passport,” the woman cut in.

“Most convenient.” He tried a tight smile. “The contents of the files are under license from Starways. Until I hand them over they remain my property.”

The man had spread his fingers on the table. “Allow me to be explicit, Mr Caswell. The use of SPI on the public is illegal. The police are very thorough and if they had these files you would find to your regret that no person is above the law. However, in a few months when things have settled down and reasonable answers have been found for difficult questions, your presence may not be of such interest. Particularly if the police remain unaware of these files. Also, as they are in our safe-keeping, neither will the Secret Service be further involved.”

Richard had smiled with genuine pleasure. He was winning. “Starways will want their property back.”

“I’m sure we can come to an amicable arrangement,” the woman said.

“In other words, you want the goods while I piss off with nothing.”

The woman had cleared her throat.

“I’m sure you have assets, Mr Caswell,” the man said.

“I need to visit my bank.”

“Granted.”

Richard travelled by cab and removed all contents from his safety deposit box. They included five flash drive sticks containing the full and final results of SPI and the WorkWell programme, a laptop with copies of the programme on its hard drive, some cash, and the life of Harry Woods via passport and credit cards. The files on flash drive were for Oscar Wileman. He was a dangerous man not to satisfy. The laptop was for himself. The files left with the Home Office Richard shrugged off. They contained only traces of SPI, simple stuff first used at the hotels. It would take time for anyone to discover, ten, fifteen hours. But just in case, he intended to leave Richard Caswell in the departure lounge. All Richard had to do was get Harry Woods on an aircraft.

After half an hour on the tube ensuring nobody followed, he went to Heathrow’s Terminal 3. To hide the time of his departure he had previously spent a small fortune with American Airlines booking five flights to New York. He had also booked seats for Harry Woods on Virgin Atlantic to Boston. Watching the board, he saw all flights were on time and within close departure of each other.

The queue had gone when he finally made the American Airline’s checkin desk. With his boarding pass secured for flight AA107, Richard Caswell watched his case trundle up the luggage ramp and flop onto the conveyor belt. He hoped they had planted a tracking device inside, that way MI5 would know exactly where he was; where he was supposed to be. But they wouldn’t know where Harry Woods was.

“No luggage, sir?” the checkin clerk asked.

“Just cabin luggage.” Richard smiled, as he showed Harry Woods’ passport and received his boarding card for Virgin flight VS019 to Boston.

Sean was on the M4 when Victoria finished on the phone. “American Airlines know of Richard Caswell. He booked five flights, missed four but made the last one. His case has been checked onto flight AA107, Gate number 31. Richard Caswell is on the passenger list. Departure in thirty-five minutes.”

“I have him! How fast does this thing go?” Sean pressed his foot down on the BMW’s accelerator, shifting between lanes, taking any gap as he streaked through traffic, cursing when it closed around him. “Tell airport police to hold the flight and arrest Caswell.”

“Sean, we’ve got nothing with which to stop him. We may confront him, maybe get some information but we can’t hold him without reason.”

Sean glanced at her then back to the road. “For fuck’s sake, Victoria. Get on to Cobbart. He must have read that statement by now.” He banged the wheel as the traffic bunched in front. Victoria started on the mobile again. Cars on the inside thinned, allowing him to push through onto the emergency lane. He put the BM to a hundred.

“You’ve done it, Sean,” Victoria said. “Your boss is drafting an arrest warrant. He’ll fax it to the airport. He is not happy.”

“What about Alice?”

“She’ll know, like the evil witch you called her, she’ll know.”

Richard smiled politely at the woman on Passport Control. She smiled back, punched numbers on some hidden keyboard inside her booth and returned his passport. That was one obstacle down but it did not remove the unease as he shuffled forwards to the security gate and placed his laptop into the mouth of the x-ray machine. Neither did the shrill ring of the metal detector when he stepped through the arch. Two security men were immediately on either side. Compliantly, Richard raised both arms, turning as they frisked him then waved a handheld detector over his body. He swallowed and found his throat dry. Hands brushed over his jacket, over his two passports and two boarding cards. There was no reaction, no more electronic sounds.

The man nodded and stood back. Richard looked to retrieve his laptop.

“Something wrong?” he snapped at the security woman who had his computer half out of its case. Instantly he calmed himself and tried to smile. Losing his temper or showing fright would only cause suspicion.

“Fine, sir.” She pushed the computer back and squiggled a blue chalk mark on the exterior.

“What’s that for?”

“So we know it’s been checked.” She held the bag out, all smiles.

Richard contained his relief and walked slowly, trying to appear relaxed. In a corner of the departure lounge he sat and switched on the laptop. The screen eventually displayed the coded rows of numbers and letters. The same with two of the flash drives which were stored in the outer pockets of the computer case. He let the tension ease on a long whistle of breath. He had done it, Harry Woods was free with WorkWell and full SPI modifications, except he was uncertain about the blue chalk mark. Why him? It singled him out.

In a discount shopping arcade he bought a brown leather briefcase with gold trim, a type sold by the dozen, inexpensive and inconspicuous. He slipped the computer case inside along with the flash drives and entered the nearest public convenience. Locked in a cubicle, he removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeve and pushed Richard Caswell’s passport and boarding card under the trap of the WC bowl. Outside in front of the mirrors he washed his hands and straightened his tie. Now Caswell really was in the shit and Harry Woods left free to roam. The tannoy system announced the last call for American Airlines flight AA107, Gate 31. Ten minutes later whilst he sat in a coffee lounge, an announcement came for Richard Caswell to report immediately to Gate 31. It was followed by the boarding announcement for Virgin flight VS109. Richard picked up his briefcase and strolled with other passengers towards the allocated departure gate. Harry Woods was about to fly economy class to Boston. The flight monitor screens were now showing American Airlines Flight 107 as delayed. Richard smiled. Some arsehole had checked in his case than bunked off. Richard Caswell would not be well remembered.

Outside Terminal 3 Sean threw open the car door and entered the building at full run. Warrant card in hand, he pushed through Security and Passport Control. Uniformed and plain-clothed police began shouting, chasing behind with Victoria.

The waiting area for gate 31 was filling with disgruntled people leaving the aircraft. Sean went to the nearest stewardess.

“I’m looking for one of your passengers, Richard Caswell,” he said. “I have a warrant for his arrest.”

“We’re looking for him too, sir,” the woman said. “Because he’s not on the aircraft and he’s not in this room, but he’s sure causing us problems.”

Sean felt the whole of his inner body contracting into knots. Zoby had kept Helen Carter alive for three days. Three days of abuse. How long would he keep two schoolgirls alive?

Richard shuffled down the aircraft with other passengers and found his allocated seat in premium economy. Two Chinese businessmen occupied the window and middle seat. With passengers in the aisle still pushing and lifting bags into the overhead lockers, Richard sat with the briefcase in his lap. His adrenalin began to surge, he was out of there. He was going.

The black man who pushed up to the seat came with the last passengers and towered like a mountain, his body draped in a black leather jacket, his neck hung with gold. He looked down at Richard through wraparound shades.

“You’re in my seat, Mr.” He showed his boarding card and beckoned a stewardess.

She came across and stood with a set smile examining both boarding cards. “They’ve over booked,” she said and fixed her smile on Richard. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll find you an upgrade. Follow me.” She whipped the briefcase from his lap and pushed back into the aisle against the last incoming passengers.

“I’ll carry that.” He tried to reach for the case, but she was already ahead. Richard stayed close, his eyes on her every move until they reached the door and stairs which led to the upper deck. Other cabin staff, passengers and gantry crew were suddenly around her, all seeming to congregate as she pointed up.

“After you, sir.”

“I’ll take the case.”

“It’s OK, I can manage.”

Richard went up and turned immediately to watch her carry the precious briefcase. She indicated two empty seats side by side. “Take your pick,” she said, lifting the brown case into the baggage locker and closing it. “Please fasten your seatbelt. Our departure for takeoff is imminent.”

Richard felt the aircraft move and smiled for the stewardess while she fastened him in. He smelted her perfume and sensed her body. He was safe. No one could touch him now. He had even managed an upgrade. Reasonable, he thought, considering all the money he had spent covering every seat available for his unknown time of departure.

“He could be anywhere by now, anywhere!” Sean punched the dashboard and slumped back in the BM passenger seat, his mind jagged, his anger defeated by despair. Victoria took an envelope from a woman PC who passed it through the open window.

“Arrest warrant for Richard Caswell,” Victoria said. “If he’s still in this airport, they’ll find him.”

“He could also be helping Zoby cut up my children.”

She shook her head. “Don’t think like that. What I said before you left the warehouse, we can still do it.”

“Wait on Zoby to use his mobile?”

“That’s one way. Sibree maybe a witch, but she’ll do anything to save your daughters. If Zoby switched on and gave a signal lasting four minutes, MI5 could cross-reference the beacons and find the spot within five metres. It’s cleared with Thames House, they’re listening right now.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that, but I can’t just sit and wait.” He put his head back and stared at the roof. He felt his insides chewing up, felt utter despair.

“There’s an alternative. We check addresses from Travelpath.”

“Cobbart’s doing that already. He’s got two thousand nationwide, eight hundred in the Home Counties alone. In case they spook Zoby, each check has to be done covertly.” He closed his eyes. He felt tired, trapped.

Victoria touched his hand and twisted in the seat. “Has anybody considered that Zoby abducted your girls and attacked Danielle in a time gap under two hours? Time he spent driving a black van.”

Sean nodded, eyes still closed. “Probably had the girls in the back. Who knows where he is?”

The full weight of her punch to his chest brought him back to the car. Her eyes were glaring.