Renegade, p.8
Renegade, page 8
But then, after a few moments of quiet, a white van emerged and pulled to a stop at the edge of the last street he’d come from.
The same van as when he’d left his apartment earlier?
Ryker hadn’t caught the plate then, and couldn’t see it now because of the angle, but it wasn’t unusual to see a white van in central London. In fact, there was another approaching him from the front that very moment. That van went past. Ryker followed it in his mirror. The other van remained stationary.
Ryker pulled out into the road. He didn’t put his foot down, just crawled away. The van remained where it was. For about ten seconds. Then it, too, pulled out. Ryker built up his speed to twenty-five as he headed past Maria’s house. No sign of anything untoward there. Outside the tall apartment block the group of youths remained, though they barely glanced as the car passed.
The van remained a steady distance behind. Ryker took a left and then pulled over to the side of the road. A few seconds later he watched in his mirror as the van came to the junction. It seemed to pause there longer than necessary, but then turned right and headed away.
A few seconds later it was swallowed up in London traffic.
Ryker let out a deep sigh. He didn’t like this. There were too many coincidences. Why was he being followed? Whoever it was, it didn’t seem they were that bothered about being spotted.
Did they want him to know they were there?
Ryker took a circuitous route back across London, on even higher alert than normal, but nothing else caught his attention. He thought about heading back to his apartment. Thought about calling Winter and arranging to properly talk over his action-packed day. He decided against both, and instead pulled up in the small car park belonging to the South Greenwich Hospital. He was back here again for more than one reason. Of course, he wanted to see Moreno, but he also knew this burgeoning investigation would benefit from her input, particularly now that he had several names and profiles that needed further investigation. Something Moreno was vastly experienced in.
Ryker headed from his car toward the entrance. Standing outside the doors was a man casually smoking. He locked eyes with Ryker for a second before looking away. Ryker carried on past, and through the maze of corridors, up the stairs, to where Moreno’s room was located.
As he stepped from the stairwell, he spotted someone coming out of Moreno’s door. A smartly-dressed woman. Ryker didn’t recognise her, but something about her demeanour caused him to react. He jerked to his left and pushed open the door to a small vending area. It was empty inside and Ryker moved in and held the door almost closed, leaving just an inch for him to peep through.
He waited, expecting to see the woman heading past.
She didn’t.
Ryker frowned. He opened the door and stuck his head out to look along the corridor. No sign of the woman at all now.
Why had she gone the other way? She was in for a hell of a walk to find the exit from there.
Ryker stepped back out and moved along to Moreno’s room, looking back and forth. No sign of anyone else. Ryker knocked on the door but didn’t wait before trying the handle. Unlocked. He pushed the door open. Moreno was just pulling herself up from the sofa.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Two times in twenty-four hours. Is it my birthday?’
Her jovial words belied the anxiety on her face.
‘You okay?’ Ryker asked, still holding the door.
‘Yeah. Are you?’
She looked more concerned now.
He closed the door, his brain whirring. He wanted to ask the obvious and simple question, Who was that? For some reason he didn’t.
He moved through the room as Moreno settled back down on the sofa. He went past her and to the window.
‘Busy day?’ he asked.
‘Not really.’
‘You’ve not been out?’
‘Not yet.’
‘No visitors?’
He looked out of the window, down below.
Moreno didn’t answer. He turned back to her. Saw she was glaring. She knew him better than most people. She knew he was prying.
‘Just the doctor,’ she said.
‘Which one?’
‘A new one. I don’t think you know her.’
Ryker held her eye. He didn’t buy it, and her unimpressed expression suggested she realised that. Ryker looked out of the window again. He spotted a man and a woman strolling across the gardens at the front of the hospital toward the main road. He was pretty damn sure it was the woman he’d just seen leaving Moreno’s room, and the man he’d seen smoking by the entrance.
Ryker faced Moreno. He wanted to be angry, but he saw the look in her eyes. Anguish.
‘You okay?’ he asked again.
‘Not really,’ she said.
‘You want to tell me about it?’
‘Not really.’ She laughed, but it was forced. ‘Just come over here.’
She patted the seat next to her. Ryker hesitated for a second but then moved over and sat down. Moreno shuffled over and nestled her head against his shoulder, the delicate smell of her skin tickled his nose. He put his arm around her and she sighed.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ she said.
Ryker didn’t say anything. He was too busy thinking about that man and woman. He had no clue who they were.
One thing he did know: Moreno was lying to him.
14
Picturesque and historic Baden-Baden, at the north-western border of the Black Forest mountain range, was the nearest city to Bastian Fischer’s remote home, though with under sixty-thousand inhabitants it was hardly a sprawling metropolis.
Dating back to Roman times, Baden-Baden had more recent significance as the headquarters of the French occupation forces in the aftermath of World War II, though its spectacular landscape meant that even more recently its most important role was as part of the Black Forest tourism industry, which the city was increasingly geared to cater for.
And that was one of the main reasons why Haan and Barton were there now. Some fifteen miles from Fischer’s home, Baden-Baden would have been a perfect spot for the heist team to base themselves and to carry out their preparations. There were hotels here, plenty of food outlets, easy access to Wi-Fi, to road networks, rail, air. And car rental shops, which were of particular interest to Haan.
The heist team had left their getaway van at the scene. Not intentionally, Haan believed. The problem for them was that when Haan hit the panic alarm, the keys for the van were in the pocket of Mr Melty. At least that was the gruesome name that Barton had given to the man who’d been trapped in the anteroom and who was now languishing in the basement. Haan hadn’t spoken that ridiculous name at all, even if Barton and the others thought it was hilarious.
Mr Melty. They still had no clue who he really was. The poor bastard remained captive in Fischer’s home, somehow clinging to life, as stubbornly as he was clinging to his and his accomplices’ identities. The ‘doctor’ had suggested the captive needed at least forty-eight hours to recuperate before they could restart interrogation. At least if they wanted him to survive the interrogation. Haan did. Because she wanted answers, not to get off on someone else’s suffering.
‘Open it,’ Barton said in his stilted German, shoving the luckless young man he was holding in the back.
The guy whimpered and stumbled toward the door. Henrik Bach was twenty-six years old, and the assistant manager of the Baden-Baden branch of Zuerst Rentals. The getaway van had been riding on fake plates – obviously – but Haan had used the VIN number to trace it to Zuerst Rentals. Taking a rental vehicle to a heist was a decent call really. The idea would have been to take the van back to the shop as soon as possible after the heist, switching vehicles back to whatever the crew had really rode to town in. Back with its genuine plates, the rental company would be none the wiser as to what their vehicle had been used for, and in using a rental there wasn’t the problem for the heist team of dumping the getaway vehicle, that could then easily be found and searched by the police.
‘I...I,’ Bach stammered as he scrabbled uselessly. It was a miracle he hadn’t pissed his pants. Maybe he had. It was too dark out to tell.
Barton grabbed Bach around the back of his neck and slammed his face up against the still-locked shutter.
‘Don’t fucking mess with me,’ Barton growled.
‘Give him a chance,’ Haan said, looking around her. The yard behind the store was pitch black and there were no lights on in the buildings overlooking here, but still... there was a time and place for Barton’s over-the-top macho routine, and this wasn’t it.
Though his fingers were fumbling all over, Bach somehow managed to unclasp the padlock, and Barton let go of his neck, reached forward and clattered the shutter upward.
Subtle, Haan thought, but didn’t say it.
Bach managed to unlock the back door with a bit more focus, though as he pushed it open the blips from the premise’s alarm sounded out.
‘Turn it off,’ Barton said. ‘Or–’
‘I think he gets it by now,’ Haan said, which earned her a scowl from Barton, clear enough even with the balaclava covering his head.
Bach had soon disabled the alarm and Barton and Haan stepped inside. Haan shut the door behind her and Barton flipped on the lights.
‘Get us logged in,’ Haan said to Bach. ‘We’ll do the rest.’
Bach nodded and feebly walked them through into the small office-cum-cupboard at the back of the shop that had just two desks and two computers in it. It took a couple of minutes for the system to boot up. Bach was quivering in his chair the whole time. Haan could understand why. It wasn’t like she’d have been too keen on being woken up at 1am by two black-clad figures, hunting knife pressed up against her skin.
At least Bach lived alone, which meant no one else had to be involved.
‘Is that it?’ Barton said, when Bach stopped typing.
‘I... I signed in to my account.’ He looked up to Haan, his eyes pleading.
‘Thanks,’ Barton said.
He drew back his fist and sent a stinging hook onto the side of Bach’s head. Bach crumpled and Haan reached out to catch him as he tumbled from the chair.
‘What the fuck!’ she shouted to Barton.
‘We don’t need him now.’
‘Says who? What if we come to a roadblock?’
‘I thought you knew how to do this shit?’
‘I do–’
‘Then do it. If we need him I’ll wake him up. Piss on him or something. You should be glad I haven’t killed him already.’
‘And you damn well won’t, you dumb prick.’
Barton looked ready to explode but he said nothing.
‘Tie him up or something,’ Haan said. ‘Your punch wasn’t that good.’
Barton grunted but then got to it.
Haan took Bach’s seat and was soon diving deep into the records on Zuerst’s system. It took only a couple of minutes to find the documents for the van rental. The van had been taken out just two days ago. Paid for in cash for a week. There was a name and address attached to the rental, and a scan of a driving licence. No doubt the licence was fake, but it was something at least, and the picture could certainly prove useful – unless, of course, it wasn’t their guy at all. Would a teller at a car rental shop really scrutinise the face on a licence to make sure it was the person standing before them?
Far more useful to see the face of the man who actually signed the documents.
Haan would get to that. First, she performed three further searches. One for all previous rentals of that same van. She downloaded the file with the results onto a thumb drive. Second, a search for all other rentals of similar vehicles. A much longer list, but it could prove telling. Finally, she searched for any other rentals in the same name. Interestingly, there were two others. One was ten days ago. The other over a month ago.
Well planned, just as she expected.
‘Anything?’ Barton said, hovering over Haan’s shoulder.
‘Plenty,’ she said, without further elaboration.
She could imagine Barton’s eye-roll to that, though didn’t bother to turn for confirmation. She was too focused. And was soon opening up the recordings from the shop’s CCTV system. She’d already deduced that the shop was running a modern but basic system that linked directly into the company’s local server. All recordings were stored on the hard drives in this very room. Haan needed only a couple of minutes to find the right day and time. She hit play.
On the screen Bach was behind the counter. The renter was already inside. He had a cap on, and his head was down, his back to the camera.
‘He’s not stupid,’ Barton said.
‘Just be patient.’
Haan switched the view to the camera that was behind the counter, which was lower down than the other one. She rewound fifteen minutes, and the shop was empty. She hit play and waited. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four minutes.
‘Are you actually just going to sit there?’ Barton asked.
Haan ignored him. Seconds later, on the screen, a figure approached from outside. He opened the door and stepped in. Haan hit pause just at the moment the man went to greet Bach. His head wasn’t raised exactly, but it was lifted to eye level, enough to see his chin, his jaw, his mouth, nose... eyes...
Haan froze. Then zoomed in on the picture.
This couldn’t be happening.
‘It’s not one of the guys in the basement,’ Barton said. ‘That’s our runner. Bastard.’
Haan agreed. It definitely wasn’t Mr Melty or either of the two dead men.
‘We’re going to nail this fucking prick,’ Barton added.
Haan said nothing. She couldn’t. Instead, she simply continued to stare into the achingly familiar eyes of the man on the screen.
15
Secrets – or the potential of secrets – had kept Ryker awake in the night. He hadn’t asked Moreno who the mystery woman was. Hadn’t tried to call her out, or put pressure on her to see if she would come clean of her own accord. Instead, he’d ignored her apparent lie entirely. But he hadn’t really moved on either. And he’d left the hospital without discussing his findings with her or asking for her help as he’d intended.
He felt a little bad that his reaction to her being secretive was to hold back on her. For the past twelve months, since Africa, Ryker had been Moreno’s safety net, and she’d been the closest thing to a genuine and close friend that he’d had in years. Yet the reality was that they knew very little of each other and their dark pasts. That would likely never change.
He tried his best to move on. Armed with the information he’d gleaned from the phones and from Maria Kohler, Ryker spent much of the morning further researching his targets, both in public records, and also in data held by the UK government and its various law enforcement and intelligence agencies. As expected, his digging didn’t go unnoticed. Most of the highly-restricted databases he was accessing sent out automatic alerts to ensure user integrity, which was why Ryker was soon on the phone with Winter.
By midday, he was in his car on his way to a hastily-arranged rendezvous with the JIA Commander – at Winter’s behest. Ryker had agreed. Better not to rock the boat too much, but he wasn’t planning on stopping long. He had somewhere else to be.
As with the previous day, Ryker remained vigilant as he travelled across London, though this time there was no indication that anyone was following or otherwise watching him.
Ryker parked his car on the side of the road and paid for an hour at the meter. As long as Winter was on time, he wouldn’t even need that long.
He walked the short distance across St James’s Park, as ever bustling with tourists and locals alike. As he walked, he had glimpses of Buckingham Palace, a couple of hundred yards away, people swarming around the gates like they did day in, day out, whatever the weather.
Like many places in London, it was easy for Ryker to be anonymous here. But that would be the case for people intent on spying on him too, and as Ryker headed across the grass to a bench overlooking the twisting lake in the centre of the park, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, even if he didn’t spot anybody who looked particularly suspicious.
He’d beaten Winter to it, and took a seat on the bench. A middle-aged woman was sitting there too, tightly clutching a bulging oversized handbag on her lap. The woman paid Ryker no attention. If she was still there when Winter arrived, the two men would take a walk.
Ryker spotted Winter across the other side of the water a couple of minutes later. He kept his eyes busy as the commander hobbled around the edge of the lake and then up the grass to Ryker’s spot.
Ryker realised he could have gone to meet him halfway to save him the effort. Oh well. It was Winter who’d asked to meet, and he who’d suggested this spot in this park.
As Winter neared, the woman must have sensed that she was about to be outnumbered, and she groaned as she got to her feet to saunter away down toward the water, grumbling under her breath.
By the time he arrived, Winter was breathing hard and his forehead glistened with beads of sweat.
Ryker smiled. ‘Still working hard on the rehab.’
‘Very funny,’ Winter replied, his tone not particularly friendly. He slumped down onto the bench next to Ryker. ‘So come on, what have you got.’
Ryker reached into his pocket, took out the phones and dropped them onto Winter’s palm. No surreptitious exchange. What was the point?
Winter shook his head. ‘Seriously?’
Ryker shrugged.
‘You realise since this operation went tits-up, I’ve been fielding non-stop push back from MI5, and have been holding firm with them that whatever went wrong with Parker was not down to us. Not down to you. That you are in fact the experienced investigator I originally claimed you to be.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’m not asking for your thanks. I’m trying to understand what the hell went through your mind when you figured it was a good idea to steal evidence from a very public crime scene. When you thought it was a good idea to go chasing after Yedlin without so much as a word to me, possibly killing a man or three in the process, and very nearly getting yourself tortured to death.’
