The Unseen (33 page)

Faulkner shrugged. “Sure, I’ll fetch the wallet. But be careful, it’s are only one.” he said and disappeared through an overlap gap in the screens. Caswell stood looking uneasy and restless which she guessed was his annoyance at having misjudged her character. The receptionist returned to typing, the clatter of her keyboard the only sound besides the London traffic. Behind the screen a phone started to ring. Only then did Victoria realise. There were no other sounds, no voices, no sense of movement, no people.

Faulkner returned through the gap. “The WorkWell master files, written by the professional, for the professional. If you can understand them you are welcome.” He raised a leather wallet.

“Mrs Zellar and Snibbard are in the conference room. We have computers up there.” Caswell indicated the stairs.

Victoria glanced at the receptionist who kept her eyes on the monitor. Faulkner pointed forward in expectation. With the prize so close and with no alternative other than to break her cover, Victoria fell into step, Caswell beside her and Faulkner behind. She felt a fluttering across her chest and stomach, a sudden quiver of apprehension. She was now where Alice wanted, at the centre of the web.

Zellar’s presence offered no safety. Zoby’s e-mail from the Colonel made reference to two women. Were they Zellar and herself? Was this the killing ground? She continued upstairs with dread. It seemed probable the top floor would be as deserted as the floor below. What if all three men were involved, Caswell, Snibbard and Faulkner? Victoria maintained her false smile and firm step, her handbag tight over her shoulder and locked against her body. Inside, her MI5 mobile gave a constant signal letting Control and Alice know her exact location. Faulkner carried the prize that Alice wanted, and the Wicked Witch stood waiting. The opportunity might not happen again. It would not be easy for three men to kill her and Zeller simultaneously and if they tried, she was quite capable of retaliation. Or she could snatch the flash drives and run … just run.

A step ahead of her Caswell left the stairs and turned the corner.

“What the hell?” he said, and glanced momentarily back.

Behind her, Victoria sensed Faulkner hesitate as she followed Caswell towards the wide open door of his flat. He stopped opposite the empty accounts office and she came beside him, leaving Faulkner to linger.

“Someone’s in my flat,” he said. “Zoby! He’s going to kill us.” Caswell screamed the words at the same time turning to grab around her waist.

Victoria felt herself half lifted, half thrown through the open office doorway. The same time a crack of explosion in the confined space shocked her eardrums. Her feet off the ground, Caswell hurled her into the room so she sprawled across the floor. A second report came almost simultaneously. Under Caswell’s weight Victoria fell heavily and lay stunned, her ears ringing. Only after moments did she realise Caswell was lying full length on her back, his groin tight against her buttocks. Instantly he rolled away.

“My God, my God, Snibbard’s shot him,” Caswell screamed and crawled beneath a table.

Victoria twisted herself over and scrambled for the door. Faulkner lay in the corridor, his body half propped by a radiator, his face and upper torso torn open by buckshot.

The after-burn of gunfire lingered in the air, smoke drifting with a smell of cordite. The leather wallet with the flash drives lay a few feet away but too far for her to reach without exposure. She looked back to Caswell who crouched on elbows and knees, his hands clasped over his head. Kneeling there, she thought he looked ridiculous, too ridiculous. She retrieved her bag and fished out the mobile, immediately opening a line to MI5 Control. Tight against the doorframe she peered towards the flat but at such an acute angle was unable to see. A third gunshot sent her shying backwards. It came with a woman’s scream. The sound of terror mixed with hysteria. For moments Patricia’s voice filled the corridor then slowly receded as she fled.

Again Victoria looked at the leather wallet, so close yet so far. She rolled back to a sitting position. Caswell crawled across the floor towards her, his eyes wild. “Faulkner?” he asked.

“Dead.”

“Are you OK? Did I hurt you? When he pointed the gun I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’m fine.” The guy had saved her life but she couldn’t bring herself to thank him. “What’s going on, Caswell? What’s this about?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” He sat back, his mouth open as if in exhaustion.

“Try me, I’m MI5.”

She saw a flutter of shock, then panic, then cunning.

“Thank goodness, get help quickly.”

“Tell me the truth. Who’s Zoby?”

“Snibbard is Zoby, Faulkner was both Crystal and the Colonel. I’ve suspected them for a year but how do you prove it? The police would have laughed at me.”

“Try them. They’ll be here any minute. You want to tell me about anything else?”

He shook his head. “I left Jovana Zellar and Snibbard in the conference room. For him to behave like this I can only think he’s done something terrible to her. Faulkner controlled him by SPI. They developed it between them but Snibbard never realised Faulkner had used subliminal induction on him. Ironic, is it not?”

“The police may believe you, Mr Caswell. I’m not sure I do.” She folded her arms.

He came to his feet. “Sorry for my honesty, but if that’s what you think I will distress you no further.” In a second he was out the door, his voice resounding in the empty corridor. “Snibbsy, don’t shoot, don’t shoot.”

Doors crashed then came silence. When she peered out the leather wallet had gone.

“Shit.” Victoria rolled back to a sitting position. From the distance came the wail of sirens.

With Snibbard so hyper, Richard threw himself into the doorway, rolling across the floor of the empty conference room before scrambling towards the cupboard and his 12-bore shotgun. He checked first for cartridges, then hid the wallet containing the flash drives he had snatched from the hall in a drawer. The find would keep MI5 happy. Keep the Home Office happy and leave him to walk away with the original kept in his deposit box. Back in the doorway he flattened himself against the wall. At this angle and closer than the accounts office where Fagan crouched, he saw Snibbard peering over the table edge no more than twenty feet away. To show unity Richard lifted his own shotgun and indicated for Snibbard to stay down. Snibbard’s exophthalmic eyes disappeared until only the bald dome of his head occasionally showed above the table. Richard was happy with that, the skull was visible enough for him to blow a hole in it, if the police did not do so first.

From her more acute angle along the corridor, the MI5 woman had no view unless she stuck out her head. A dangerous move for anyone at this moment. She had felt good beneath him. In seemingly saving her life he had been unable to resist the opportunity to lay claim on her body. She could say nothing against him. That she proved to be MI5 only heightened his sense of power. Richard smiled. Everything still stayed within plan. He thought of Zellar lying on the bedroom floor, her butchered carcass ready to create fear in every woman who learnt how she’d died. Wileman would disown all association. Once he had the SPI file he’d banish Richard Caswell forever. Harry’s day had arrived. All he needed was for the police to shoot Snibbard. If they did not, then he would do so himself in a pretence of self-defence.

He watched Snibbard’s skull rise into view again, that little round dome of computer technology. Then his hooded eyes appeared.

“Zoby’s downstairs, we’re trapped.” Richard spoke in a harsh whisper, hopeful the woman did not hear. “They gutted Zellar, now Zoby is coming to gut you and me. For Christ’s sake, shoot him on sight. It’s our only chance.”

Immediately the bell rang for mid-morning break, Sophie was out of her seat and heading for computer club. First in the room, even before the prefect, within two minutes she had hotmail on screen.

Hi Sophie, hi Becky. Got your e-mail and arrangements are confirmed, 4 p.m. sharp, foyer of the Red Lion Hotel, Dunstable High Street. Zoby will arrive to whisk you away for your photo session with PKL and party, A..A..A..AND presentation of your two thousand pound cheque! Don’t forget your sweatshirts so Zoby can easily recognise you. Of course, you’ll know Zoby. Everyone knows Zoby. See you there, Crystal. Please confirm.

Sophie tapped
We’ll be there.
She logged off and leapt from her seat. Obey Crystal, trust Zoby.

In the corridor Miss Nathan walked with a clipboard, her loose floral dress revealing a white and freckled neck.

“Did Mum send a message saying we could go shopping?” Sophie asked, digging her nails into her palms.

“I don’t know, dear. Ask in the office. Don’t you have games?”

“It’s Mum’s birthday, Becks and me, we’re buying her a present. I’ll ask.” Sophie started to run, then stopped on Miss Nathan’s shrill command.

“No running in the corridor.”

Sophie walked, her legs taking long exaggerated strides.

Mrs Thrower, the house administrator, sat at her desk. “Nothing here, poppet. But mail for you and Becky.” She handed over two packets.

“Sweatshirts!” Sophie ripped open the paper, tearing the enclosed cellophane and card until able to shake out the contents. She held the royal blue shirt up to her shoulders. Princess Kay-ling was shown in dramatic pose, legs and body braced, arms and sword held horizontally and ready to strike.

“Cool,” Mrs Thrower said.

Sophie rushed to the dorm. Becky and Julie sat with a laptop.

“They’re coming at four and Mum hasn’t texted back. What are we going to do?” Sophie asked.

“’S OK, she texted me.”

“But she hasn’t told the school.”

“Don’t worry, she will. She likes presents.” Becky took her package.

“I’ll ask Dad.”

“No, he’ll start questioning. You can’t tell that many lies. Mum will do it, don’t worry.”

“But when?” Sophie leant forward, hands splayed in question.

“When she lands. She can’t use a mobile on a plane.”

“Oh.” Sophie stood straight. She desperately wanted a wee. “When’s that?”

Becky checked her watch. “About 2.30.”

“But we have to catch the bus to Dunstable. We have to leave at 3.”

“We’ll have plenty time.”

“But will we?” Sophie asked, gesturing with both hands. Why couldn’t her sister understand the importance?

“If we’re late, he’ll wait. You can trust Zoby. Anyway, if we’ve won two thousand, we’ll get it. They’ll post it. The photos are only a PR gimmick. There’s no such person as Princess Kay-ling.”

Sophie snapped her teeth and ran out the room. Sometimes her sister was just too stupid for words.

Sean felt admiration for Carole’s efforts, the resulting portraits of Harrison were first class. Others came to look over her shoulder.

“That’s your man,” Carole said, laying together two identical sketches of Harrison, one from Cindy Bradshaw and one from Harrison’s work colleagues. “Drawn from the perspective of totally different witnesses.”

“Doesn’t really match our other descriptions.” Sean thrust his hands into his pockets. “Could be he used disguise.”

“That did cross my mind.” Carole looked up, her pale grey eyes on his. “When Zoby collected his flight ticket and passed through security, he needed photo ID,” she said. “So he used Darley’s passport and driving licence. It’s easy for a close resemblance to be mistaken for the real person.”

“Any similarities between Darley and Harrison?” Sean asked

Carole swivelled the drawing and traced with a finger. “Face shapes are similar, Darley has a heavier jaw, wider cheeks. Different colour eyes, glasses, shaved head and a slight touch of acne on one cheek.”

“Nothing too difficult for a competent makeup artist to change. Carole’s right,” he said to those around him. “We could be looking at the wrong man. Go over the video footage at the checkin gate. Look for someone resembling Darley, check facial structure and dimensions, anything similar to Harrison.”

Simmy tapped his shoulder. “Victoria’s on the line, boss. PKL Shoreditch has gone zappy. Someone’s shot Faulkner and fired on a female staff member. It could be Zoby. He’s holed up, armed and dangerous. Situation, priority one.”