Christopher Reich - Rules of Vengeance

“The hard drive’s been defragmented,” said one of the forensics men. “Mind if I have a go?”

The tech took Kate’s place and began to tap away at the keys. “Whole thing’s shot. You’ll have to take it to the lab, but even then I don’t think you’ll have much luck.”

“What about the backup?” asked Kate.

“It’s ruined, too. Someone did this deliberately. Two independent systems don’t crash on their own. The hard drive’s one thing, but not the backup. If you ask me, I’d say someone ran a very powerful magnet over both drives. It’s like putting all your papers through a shredder at once, except worse. Not only is the stored data ruined, so is the hard drive holding it. Might as well have stuck a grenade inside the computer and set it off.”

Just then the large flat-screen television built into the wall came to life. Kate looked at the keyboard, wondering if she’d somehow activated it with her typing. “I thought you said it was broken.”

“Sshh!” said Cleak.

Activity in the room ground to a halt as all eyes focused on the screen, where a young woman sat in a dimly lit room staring into the camera. She was plain and disheveled, her brown, shoulder-length hair matted and uncombed, and she wore wire-rimmed specs and a black V-neck sweater.

“What the hell?” Kate looked over her shoulder.

“It’s a live feed,” said the computer technician. “Coming in off a DSL line. Must be independent of Russell’s rig.”

“Can she see us?”

“I don’t know. The rest of Russell’s computer is broken. I imagine that the camera is, too.”

“Rob, you there?” she said. “It’s seven. I know I’m early, but I had to reach you. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” She looked to her side, then back into the camera. “Are you there? I can’t see a thing. Don’t you have your camera on?” She paused, expecting a response, and for a moment everyone in the room-Kate, Reg Cleak, the forensics men- held their breath, praying that she wouldn’t terminate the connection.

“Tell me we have Russell’s cell phone,” whispered Kate.

Cleak shook his head, never taking his eyes from the screen. “Not yet. It wasn’t on his body when he fell. No one’s spotted it on the premises.”

“Damn.”

On-screen, the woman drew a breath and her manner hardened. “Mischa’s in London,” she said, leaning closer to the camera, as if vouchsafing a secret. “The entire team is coming. It’s all very hush-hush. Some kind of under-the-radar visit to establish a new security protocol. Just the one seance, then it’s back home. Scheduled for tomorrow at eleven-fifteen. Sorry, but I couldn’t find out where. Whatever you said, it must have really scared them. God knows you’ve been right about this kind of thing before. Robbie, I’m frightened. The upgrades you talked about take months to implement. Seven days isn’t long enough to even figure out where to start. Are you sure that it’s going to happen so soon?”

From off-screen there came a bloodcurdling wail. The woman darted a look to her right.

“What the hell was that?” asked Cleak. “You think she’s in some kind of danger?”

The wail grew louder. Kate stepped closer to the screen. “I’ve no idea.”

The woman rose from her chair and disappeared out of the picture. She returned ten seconds later with a bawling infant in her arms.

“So much for your danger,” said Kate.

On-screen, the woman continued. “Call me and tell me if you were able to figure out the stuff about Victoria Bear. I have no idea what your friend was talking about. Asked everyone I know and came up empty. Tell him it’s about time he learned proper English. He’s been here long enough. Victoria Bear. Probably got the whole thing cocked up. Anyway, I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

The infant continued to fuss and the woman rocked it gently. “Call me if you learn anything more,” she said. “I mean, do I need to leave or anything? Just promise me you’ll be careful. And call. Don’t forget!”

The screen went black.

“What the hell was that?” said Cleak, folding his arms. “Did Mary Poppins just warn us about a pending attack?”

“I’m not certain,” said Kate.

“Well, she sure as hell is. Seven days, she said, and she looked like she was scared out of her wits.”

Kate turned to the computer technician. “Can you find her? I don’t care what toes you have to step on. Just tell me, is it possible?”

“Possible,” replied the technician. “But a long shot. First we need to learn which provider is giving Russell his cable hookup. From there, it’s a question of following the transmission back to its source. Everything leaves a trail. Like Hansel and Gretel and their breadcrumbs. Problem is that if someone doesn’t want you to follow it, there’s plenty of ways to gobble ’em up.”

Kate summoned Cleak. “Get on to Russell’s parents and ask them a few questions about their son’s profession, and if he happens to have a girlfriend, or if they happen to have a grandson, for that matter. But go easy. They’ve only just gotten the news. Oh, and Reg, ask them what time Russell left their place after dinner.”

As she waited, Kate leafed through more of the papers on Russell’s desk. There were titles like “Democracy in Estonia,” “Open-Source Coding for the Military,” and a whole pile dedicated to the Arsenal Football Club, which played out of North London. He’s a spy , she thought rather crazily. A spy with a football fix . But what kind of spy communicated with mousy housewives with newborn babies?

Ten minutes later Reg Cleak came back into the room. “Russell left his parents’ home in Windsor at eleven-thirty. Just after football highlights on BBC2.”

“Eleven-thirty?” Kate ran a hand over the back of her neck. “That leaves nearly three hours unaccounted for. Maybe he hit the clubs, such as they are on a Sunday night, or maybe he visited a friend. Either way, I want to know. His car’s downstairs. Send the plates to AVS. Ask them to run the number through their system and see if they get any hits.”

AVS stood for Automobile Visual Surveillance, a division of the Metropolitan Police that monitored the thousands of closed-circuit television cameras positioned in and around London. Advanced software scanned the stream of images every three seconds, identifying each passing automobile’s number plates and storing them in a temporary databank for five days. By searching for a given number plate in a given time period, it was possible to track a vehicle’s movements from camera to camera as it drove across the city.

“I’ll put some of the boys on it back at the nick,” said Cleak.

“Anything about the woman?”

“Nothing. Russell’s a bachelor. Parents don’t know anything about his having a girlfriend.”

“We’ve got to find her, Reg. She’s our first priority.”

Cleak nodded, all the while writing in his log.

“And what did the duke of Suffolk say about his son’s job?” asked Kate.

“He teaches,” said Cleak. “He’s a don at Christ Church College, Oxford.”

“A don with a Browning semiautomatic in his desk? What does he teach-marksmanship?”

“History. The duke wanted me to know that his son took a first when he was there.”

“I’m sure we’re all suitably impressed. Did the duke say what he studied?”

“Oh yes.” Cleak picked up the pistol and admired it. “ Russia.”

“How the hell did he get to London without us knowing it?” asked Frank Connor, Division’s newly appointed acting director, as he studied the photograph of Jonathan Ransom taken at the Terminal 4 arrivals hall of Heathrow Airport exactly three hours earlier. “The last you told me he was still at that godforsaken camp in Kenya.”