Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📕

her warning look but the DSI folded his arms and nodded. “Well, I can’t argue with your principles, Detective Brandt.”

“Proctor is a university professor,” she continued. Her voice was clearer. “It is a comfortable existence. We know from the emails that his relationship with his daughter is poor. The last few days will have proved to be very stressful, even life-altering. Proctor will undoubtedly feel the need to leave the country. Here he is hunted. In America he is not. His daughter is in America. In addition, she gave him the warning. If he is indeed innocent, the his search for answers must begin with her. Flying out would ‘kill two birds with one stone’. Judging by the escape from the church, it is within his capability.”

The DSI said, “There’s something else. Jennifer is his daughter. The person who helped organise his escape is someone who would risk everything for him. Jennifer fits the bill. Was she the ‘fake’ minister? Who knows, maybe her ‘employers’ – if they are the US government, like you say – helped to falsify her passport and formulate Proctor’s escape plan. If we get her, we get Proctor. But is she still in the country?”

“I think it is unlikely,” Saskia replied. “If you are correct and she has the backing of the American government, they would advocate a plan with minimum risk. Perhaps she has already risked a great deal by personally overseeing her father’s escape. If they were to attempt an escape together, the probability of their apprehension would increase. In that case, I would suggest that she left immediately via the local airport at Edinburgh.”

Hannah shook his head. His expression was pained. “I don’t know. If the Americans really wanted Proctor – perhaps to work with Jennifer in a thinktank somewhere – why not smuggle him out by submarine?”

“Cost,” the DSI said. “How much do they want him? What can he be worth?”

Saskia said, “Perhaps everything, perhaps nothing. However, with the correct advice and documentation, there is no reason why Proctor should not be able to leave the country ‘legally’ through an airport.”

“Edinburgh?” Hannah asked. “You think the glider took him down to Belford to throw us off the scent?”

Saskia’s reply was interrupted by the DSI. “No. We had Edinburgh locked down tight. To get lost in the crowd he would need somewhere bigger.”

“Like where?” Saskia asked.

“Heathrow, Gatwick, Luton, Stanstead,” Hannah said. “Take your pick.”

“Which is the largest?” she pressed.

“Heathrow,” said the DSI. “Its surveillance is poorest because of sheer volume of traffic. Now, we looked at this scenario yesterday. If he took a car or a train, he would have left the country by now. If he’s still on the bike, and using minor roads, he could catch a flight at midnight tonight – if he rides hard. Personally, I think he’ll lie low for a week.”

“Those flights need to be checked, sir,” said Saskia.

“I agree with you, Brandt. Check each person who flies to America between midnight and 6 a.m. Check them personally. If you don’t find Proctor, we can assume he’s already gone or he’s lying low. We have other people working those leads.”

Saskia nodded. Hannah swore and slapped his forehead. “There are about five thousand people who can do that for us, sir. They’re called the Metropolitan Police.”

The DSI shook his head indulgently. “Think it through,” he said. “If Proctor takes his holiday tonight, I want Brandt to nab him, not our Cockney friends. No sense having the Met solve our cases.”

“But Saskia is a neutral party.”

The DSI pointed at Hannah with the transcript. “It’s that kind of clear thinking that stops you advancing through the ranks. She is a neutral party accompanied by a West Lothian and Borders liaison.”

“Yes, sir,” Hannah said quietly.

“You two can hitch down to Heathrow with a friend of mine, Sam Langdon. He flies up most weekends for the golf. My secretary will give you his number. Have a nice trip.” He strode from the room.

Hannah said, “I was his mentor when he joined the force. Right, we’d better get organised.” He checked his watch. “Are you alright?”

Saskia watched the team – Paul Besson, Henry and Charlotte – as they walked over to the coffee machine. She wanted to stay with them. She was one week old. Even the loneliest person has the memory of company, but she did not even have that. Where were her old friends?

“I’m fine, Scottie.”

The Calm

David glanced at the computer screen. It was 4 p.m. He had ridden into a town called Kilby or Kilsby. He could not remember. He only knew that he had been riding for nearly nine hours. It was time to buy his disguise. He took his instructions from Ego, who had been reading internet guides by ex-SAS personnel and presenting them to him in a digestible, if sensational, form. Now he knew all about dead-letter boxes, anti-surveillance riding and how best to snare and cook rabbit. Ego had counselled that he should change his vehicle and clothing at regular intervals. David disagreed. Clothing, yes; vehicle, no. The bike was painful but it was fast, it could ride across most terrains and it could change colour.

He stood next to the bike. A tall building provided shade. The town was nondescript, another English architectural mistake on a grand scale. There was nobody around. He leaned towards the microphone in the helmet, which was attached to the petrol tank. “Bike, change to green,” he said. “Do it gradually, over the next hour.”

He found the high street. It was pedestrianized. Buses charged and the pavements were thick with shoppers. After only two days on the bike, David had forgotten how to walk in a crowd. He located his first shop quickly.

“Be sure to buy each item in a different shop,” said Ego’s voice in his ear.

“Yes, yes,” David replied. The shopkeeper overheard and his smile froze but he made no comment. To be sure, David was a sight. He had a thickening beard, a down-turned