Bionic Agent (15 page)

It was near the Upnor Road jetty that one of the officers in the boat held up two items that looked like pale twigs. He said, “I think we’ve got human bones here.”

On its way into London, the train seemed to wait outside each station for an age before pulling up to a platform. Jordan used the time to do some more online research. He
wanted to know what sort of bomb had set off the World War Two ammunition. According to police files, the forensic team had found fragments that could have come from a remote-control device or
timer mechanism. There had been so little evidence left after the sequence of powerful blasts that a reliable result was impossible.

The Unit Red system did not have answers to Jordan’s most important questions. Was the supertanker’s cargo of oil being unloaded on schedule and was
Ocean Courage
arriving on
time? At least, he couldn’t find any records of shipping timetables. But he was sure that the operators of the Canvey Island oil terminal and the owners of
Ocean Courage
would have the
information he needed. A simple internet search brought up a newspaper article about the wrecking of
Ocean Courage
. According to the report, it was owned by the giant power company,
Energistics. Their head office was in central London.

Jordan’s research was interrupted by a call from Unit Red.

“I know it’s your day off,” Angel’s voice said, “but I thought you’d be interested in this.”

“What?”

“It looks like a body got caught on one of the legs of a jetty in the river, just down from Hoo Marina. Not much flesh left, mainly bones, ligament, tendon and hair. And some bits of
clothing. So it’s been there a while. Maybe a year or more. I’ll see if forensics can squeeze some DNA out of what the divers have brought up. That would tell us if it’s Salam
Bool.”

“It’d be good to find out for sure,” Jordan replied.

“Yes. It would bring closure.”

“I could tell Vinnie Dowd. He’d be pleased to hear how it turned out.”

“Where are you?”

Jordan avoided giving details. “On my way back to London,” he answered. “Won’t be long. Actually, I need someone to make a couple of calls about ships caught up in the
big bang.”

“Oh?”

“Just a minute.” Jordan left his seat and went to the space at the end of the carriage. Standing on his own, he explained his latest thoughts.

“Interesting slant,” said Angel. “I’ll put Winter onto it.”

When Jordan got back to Highgate Cemetery, he dodged round a group of tourists and tapped his code into the door lock of Unit Red’s house. He didn’t even make it to his room before
Winter intercepted him.

Smiling at him, she announced, “You might be onto something.
Ocean Courage
was half an hour ahead of schedule when it came into the estuary.”

Jordan nodded.

“There was chaos at the time. Result? The captain got no warning there was a terrorist threat in the estuary, so he just kept coming. Anyway, a ship like that’s not easy to turn
round or stop. It didn’t have much option but to keep to its course.”

Jordan hesitated for a moment and then said, “I want to go and see someone at Energistics.”

“Why?” Winter asked.

“Because I’ve got another question.”

“What’s that?”

Jordan didn’t want to tell her. “It might be stupid.”

“Well,” she said, “you’d better go and find out.” She told him the company’s address. “I’ll call the Head of Operations again and tell him to
expect you. Otherwise, they might chuck you out. Teenage troublemakers and all that.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t mention Unit Red,” she reminded him. “He thinks we’re MI5. That’s your cover.”

Jordan turned round and headed for the door.

Winter called after him, “Hope you’re having a relaxing day off.”

Jordan was used to seeing the wide river estuary near Lower Stoke. From high up in Energistics’ enormous building in the centre of London, the Thames was a mere strip.
The boats cruising the river or moored below him in Poplar Dock Marina looked tiny.

The Head of Operations kept him waiting for nine minutes before inviting him into a large uncluttered office. “Sit down,” he said, waving towards a chair. “I was warned that you
looked young, but... Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“It’s about
Ocean Courage
,” Jordan said. “I’ve seen a lot of information about it...”

“Before she was reduced to a very expensive pile of scrap metal.”

“Yes,” Jordan replied. “The captain was new. That’s what the report said. It was his first time in charge.”

“Correct,” the Head of Operations confirmed. “But his inexperience wasn’t the cause of the incident. It was irrelevant.”

Jordan could hardly believe what he was doing. Still only fourteen, he was a Unit Red agent, halfway to the sky in a posh London office, interviewing an executive of a multinational energy
company. And the time had come to ask his key question. “Why did the ship have a new captain? What happened to the old one?”

The businessman shuffled in his seat. “That’s all a bit embarrassing really.”

Jordan looked puzzled.

“We can’t have a vessel like that – any vessel – in the hands of someone who drinks more than he should.”

“So,” Jordan said, “the old captain was a drunk.”

“An alcoholic, yes.”

“What did you do about it?”

“He gave us no choice. We sacked him.”

Jordan nodded. “How did he take that?”

The Head of Operations shrugged. “Not very well. He stormed out.”

“He was angry?”

“Absolutely.”

“Did he say anything?” Jordan asked.

“Not to me. He muttered something to himself, though.”

“What?”

“I didn’t catch it. A threat, probably. I imagine most of his words were not for the faint-hearted.”

“A threat?”

“Probably,” he repeated.

“So,” Jordan said, “he might have threatened to get his own back on you, the company, the workers – or the ship.”

The Head of Operations sat bolt upright. “I didn’t think anything of it. We all get angry and issue threats. We don’t follow them up once we’ve cooled off.” He
gazed at Jordan for a moment and then asked, “Are you implying...?” He didn’t finish his question.

“I don’t know if he’s got anything to do with the explosion,” Jordan replied, “but you’d better tell me who he was.”

The company executive took a deep breath. “I can’t reveal personal details of employees – or ex-employees – but, under the circumstances... His name was Captain Norman
Lightfoot.”

“Norman Lightfoot,” Jordan said excitedly.

“Who’s Norman Lightfoot?” Angel asked.

“He’s in charge of Chalkwell Marina where Cara Quickfall kept her boat. I went there when I was in Southend. I was trying to find out who’d used it.”

“So you met him?” said Winter.

“Yes. I pretended I was after a job.”

Angel and Winter glanced at each other. “Well, let’s hope you didn’t scare him off.” Angel’s tone wasn’t critical. He was simply stating a fact.

Jordan defended himself anyway. “I didn’t know who he was then.”

“I realize that,” Angel replied. It took only a second for him to decide Unit Red’s next move. “I want both of you to go to Southend and find him. He’d got a motive
– revenge – and easy access to Cara Quickfall’s boat. Let’s see if he ticks any more boxes. I’ll find out where he lives and dig out his background while you’re
on your way. It’ll take for ever to drive out of London and along the A13. So, take the Tube to London Bridge and agree a strategy between you on the way. I’ll have a speedboat waiting
for you by the time you get there. Use the river.”

Jordan stood next to Winter, gripping the canopy, and wondered if there was anything she couldn’t drive. She’d jumped into the motorboat and taken off without
hesitation. She was guiding it expertly round the twists and turns of the Thames, weaving eastwards through London. Perhaps she could fly helicopters and planes as well.

Jordan also noticed that she was carrying a gun inside her coat.

As they passed City Airport, Jordan’s mobile vibrated in his pocket. He concentrated on listening to Angel’s voice over the noise of the wind and the outboard motor.

“Norman Lightfoot ticks
all
the boxes. He was a strong swimmer, according to his school reports. That means he could have survived when the estuary erupted – if it was him in
the Quickfalls’ boat. And his first job was in the navy. He was a diver and he dealt with underwater explosives.” Angel dictated Lightfoot’s address and then added,
“I’ll get back to you if I find out anything else significant.”

Raising his voice, Jordan told Winter what Angel had discovered.

She nodded. “I think we’ve got our first credible suspect. And we only need one – if it’s the right one.”

While they powered past Gravesend, Angel phoned with yet more news. “The man who owns Chalkwell Marina isn’t happy. He’s had to hire someone else to do Lightfoot’s job
because he hasn’t shown up for work since Tuesday last week. No explanation. You saw him that evening so it looks like you
did
scare him off. Just one more thing. He’s never been
married. There isn’t a wife, known partner or children. That’s all I’ve got. It’s over to you and Winter.”

The sun had gone down somewhere behind London, but the river was never truly dark. The lights on either side allowed Winter to see exactly where she was going. Gatecrashing the moorings next to
Southend’s funfair, she tied up the boat, strode onto Western Esplanade and hailed a cab.

Jordan gave Norman Lightfoot’s address in Rochford to the driver and sat back. He tried to look as relaxed as Winter, but he didn’t manage it.

They jumped out as soon as the taxi came to a halt outside the unlit house at the edge of Southend-on-Sea. Opening the gate, they walked up to the front door and Winter pounded on the brass
knocker.

There was no answer.

After a second try, she said, “We’ll attract less attention at the back door.”

Following her round the side of the upmarket house, Jordan asked, “What are we going to do now?”

“We’re going in,” she answered. “We haven’t got permission, but it’s urgent and important, don’t you think?”

Jordan nodded in the darkness. “Sure.”

“So,” Winter said, pointing at the door, “let us in.”

Luckily, there was nothing behind the house apart from a long garden and a golf course. The trees to either side protected them from prying neighbours.

“What if it’s got a burglar alarm?”

“There wasn’t an alarm box at the front, so I’m willing to bet it hasn’t got one. If I’m wrong, I’ll get Angel to hold the police off.”

“Okay.” Jordan breathed in, steeled himself and crashed through the door.

There was an unearthly silence after Jordan had wrenched the door from its lock. They both crept into the darkened house.

“I can’t see much,” Winter complained. “Use your night vision to find all the downstairs windows and close the curtains. Then we’ll risk turning the lights on and
have a look around.”

The air was stale. Jordan felt uncomfortable padding around someone else’s home, but he was surprised to feel a shiver of excitement at the thought of doing something unlawful.

Once he’d pulled the curtains across every downstairs window, he turned on the hall lights. Straight away, Winter bent down and grabbed the handful of letters scattered on the carpet by
the front door. Peering at the postmarks, she said, “He hasn’t picked up his mail for at least a week.” She dropped the envelopes and instead put Lightfoot’s phone to her
ear for a few seconds. “No messages,” she whispered. “Come on. Let’s get on with it. A diary would be great, but I’d settle for a computer.”

In the living room, the first thing to catch Jordan’s eye was a framed photo of Norman Lightfoot in uniform standing on the bridge of
Ocean Courage
. He held it up for Winter to
see.

She nodded. “That’s where you’d expect to see a picture of him and his wife. He was married to his ship.” Noticing some photo albums on the bookshelf, she took the most
prominent one and flicked through it.

Jordan stood beside her as she looked at pages and pages of Norman Lightfoot in exotic locations. Each shot had a neatly handwritten caption.

“I suppose that’s what happens when you’re a sea captain,” she said. “You get around. He took a lot of pictures in Norway. Trondheim in particular. I guess
that’s because of the North Sea oil industry – or maybe he takes holidays there.”

She replaced the album on the shelf, walked past the well-stocked drinks’ cabinet and went back into the hall.

Jordan pointed to a door on the left. He’d seen enough with his infrared vision to know what it was. “That’s a study,” he told her.

“Good.” She went in and felt around the wall until she found the light switch. Turning it on, she said, “Ah. Here we go. You get into the computer, Jordan. I’m going to
go through the desk and paperwork.”

About to press the computer’s on/off button with his left hand, he hesitated. “Does it matter about fingerprints?”

“Use your right hand if you want to avoid it, but don’t worry too much. Didn’t I cover this in briefings? Your fingerprints – and mine – are in a special file. If
the police come across them, they won’t ask questions.” For a moment, she stopped flicking through pieces of paper. “They leave us alone because they know we’ll give them
the bad guy on a plate, melt away, and let them take the credit.”

The monitor came to life in front of Jordan and he groaned. “It’s protected by a password.”

“Don’t let a little thing like that put you off. Take a guess.”

He sighed and then typed
password
, but the system did not let him in.
NormanLightfoot
didn’t work either. But his third guess,
OceanCourage
, opened the door.
“I’m in,” he said, his voice a little too loud. “It wasn’t the world’s cleverest password.”

Jordan clicked on
My Documents
and at once he had a list of folders and files. Immediately, he was drawn towards Norman Lightfoot’s C.V. It was a year old and it had been prepared
to apply for the job in Chalkwell Marina. Jordan skimmed through the document. “It’s all here. Just like Angel said. Years in the navy, an experienced diver and strong swimmer.
He’s good at a lot of modern foreign languages. Fluent in Norwegian.”