Avenger (13 page)

This was Black Star's day.

The day Pointer had dreamed of for over five years. Once it was over, he would continue with his acts of revenge for as long as he could, but this was the special one. The one that counted the most.

He had almost lost the precious opportunity. Two months earlier, the Angel he had long been grooming for this special day suddenly went cold on him. He had been very surprised. It wasn't the first time an Angel had been abandoned during the grooming process, but it was a long time since that had happened. In the early days he had lost a few by pushing too hard, going too fast for the fragile personalities who fell prey to his insidious words, or just by misjudging the character of his victim. More recently he had become much more adept at grooming. Now he was confident that he knew exactly what his Angels were thinking. Once he got them to a certain point, they were completely in his power and his revenge would follow in the most bloody and horrific way he could devise. That was the sweetest feeling, the balm for the pain in his soul. So, after the successes in London and the other cities, it was most disappointing to lose one. It was a crushing blow.

All those months of slow and careful preparation had been lost. Wasted. And there was nothing Pointer could do about it. He knew there was no point using his limited time trying to find out what had happened. Pushing a reluctant victim was useless. His success, his whole method of operation, was based on exactly the opposite. He pulled. Slowly, gently, tugging his victims into exactly the position he wanted. But on that occasion he had failed.

And then Elena had come along, at precisely the right moment. When he was helping her to reach information via the Deep Web, Pointer had only considered her as a potential future Angel.

But once she had slipped back into his net, he had worked quickly, more quickly than he would have wanted. The grooming and preparation process would normally have taken much longer. But Pointer was lucky. He could tell from the beginning that she was close to the edge, and it was easy to work out what emotional buttons to push to bring her into his power. She was perfect. His special Angel for this special date.

He knew that speeding up the grooming could be a risk, but it was one that he had to take. There was no time to test her resolve, and there was still a chance that, if she stopped and thought about what was going to happen, Elena too would pull out at the last minute. Pointer considered the risk to be small – he was certain that he had her completely under his control – but one which he was going to cover. He would not give her time to think. To reconsider. She was tired; he would keep her that way. And keep her on the move, frantically busy with the preparations for tonight's main event.

Because tonight Black Star's special Angel was to die.

Duane Reade was doing good business, even though it was still early. It was like a cross between a British Boots and a mini supermarket, with aisles packed closely together and shelves stacked to overflowing. According to Black Star, this was just the first of a number of stores Elena would be visiting throughout the morning.

She collected a plastic basket and took out her preliminary shopping list. She had to be quick: Black Star had warned her that she would be operating to a tight schedule and that he would be coming online at various times during the morning with further instructions.

And there was the problem. She didn't
have
the BlackBerry to receive those instructions; Danny had it. At least, Elena
hoped
he had it.

As she went in search of the first item on the list, a sports bag, all she could do was pray that Danny had picked up the BlackBerry and magazine and then read her scribbled message. If not, she was in trouble.

She located the sports bags and chose one that was folded flat and wrapped in its packaging. Next on the list was a pair of rubber washing-up gloves. She found them and slipped them into the basket.

There was just one further item to find at this first stop. She went to the aisle where the drugs were stacked and picked out two big 'family' tubs of aspirin and then made for the checkout.

The assistant raised his eyebrows when he saw the two big tubs. 'That's a lot of aspirin, miss.'

'They're for my dad,' said Elena. 'He has a heart condition.'

The assistant smiled sympathetically and ran the first of the tubs over his bar code checker next to the till.

Black Star had anticipated the question and provided Elena
with the answer. As always, he had thought of everything.

The cab was still a block from Duane Reade when Danny heard the beep from the BlackBerry.

'Oh, no,' he breathed as he glanced at the screen and saw Black Star's message.

Hi, Gola, hows it going? U got everything so far?

'Shit!' Danny thought quickly: he couldn't just leave the message unanswered. Black Star would suspect that something was wrong. His thumbs went to the keypad.

Just about.

Two words were as much as Danny felt he could risk, but Black Star came back immediately.

Great. Ur going somewhere more interesting next.
Bergdorf Goodman on 5
^th
Avenue. Theyre waiting 4 u at the Dolce
& Gabbana stand. Everything bought and paid 4 but they might have 2 make
a few small adjustments. Will do them 2day and deliver 2 hotel later.

The cab pulled in to the kerbside and Danny thrust some dollars into the driver's hand. Without waiting for change, he jumped out of the taxi and walked as calmly as he could into Duane Reade.
Third party aware,
he said to himself as his eyes scanned the shopping area.
Stay third party aware.

Elena had bought and paid for her goods but didn't know what to do next. If she left the store, she had to go somewhere; she couldn't just hang around. But where would she go? Back to the hotel? Another store? Which store? She was hoping desperately that Danny was on his way with the BlackBerry now. All Elena could think of doing was to play for time. She stopped by a display case of photographic equipment and just stared at it, seeing nothing.

She hadn't moved when Danny spotted her. His first instinct was to go straight up to her and hand over the BlackBerry. But he knew he couldn't do that. He had to stick to SOPs.

His eyes scanned the shop floor as if searching for a particular item. People were browsing, reading labels, selecting, most of them on the move, making their choices.

But then Danny's eyes rested on one particular man. He was at the end of an aisle on the far side of the store from Elena. He was standing completely still. Watching Elena. There was no doubt about it. He was watching Elena, waiting to see what she did next.

Danny was certain it was Black Star. It
had
to be. He was staring at Elena because she wasn't responding to his last online message. But she couldn't; Danny had the BlackBerry.

Danny came to a stop in front of rows and rows of shampoo and hair conditioner, keeping one eye on the man, who turned round and started to make his way towards the exit. Danny attempted to take in as many details as he could as the man moved away. Face, hair, height, build, clothes.

The man walked through the main doors and Danny decided he had to make his own move. There was no other choice. He turned and headed towards Elena. As he got closer, his hands wrapped around the BlackBerry in his jacket pocket.

Elena saw Danny reflected in the glass of the display cabinet. She began to turn, not knowing what to do. But before there was a chance to say or do a thing, Danny walked straight into her.

'Sorry, sorry,' he said, as though it was a complete accident. With one hand he grabbed Elena's shoulder, making it look like he was trying to stop them both from falling; the other went into a pocket of Elena's jacket. She knew then that Danny was returning the BlackBerry.

'There's two messages – I've replied to the first one,' whispered Danny, their faces just centimetres apart. 'See you there.'

Elena nodded and Danny turned and walked away.

Outside, he looked up and down the crowded street to see if the man was still around. There was no sign of him. Danny began looking for a cab as he pulled out his secure mobile phone and punched in Dev-eraux's number.

The call was answered immediately. Danny could hear that Deveraux was in a moving car. 'Yes,' she said.

'I got the BlackBerry back to Elena.'

'Good.'

'Yeah, but there's more. I think I've just seen Black Star.'

'You
think?
What do you mean?'

'This guy in the store. He was staring at Elena.'

'That doesn't mean a thing. Men stare at women. Haven't you noticed?'

'But. . . but it was more than that.'

'What? What did he do?

'Well . . . he stared, and then . . .'

'Yes?'

'Well, he . . . he left the store.'

Danny could hear the doubt and scepticism in Deveraux's voice. 'Give me a description.'

'Middle aged. Black hair, streaked with grey. Medium height. Wearing a dark blue, bomber-style jacket and light trousers. Couldn't see his shoes. I only got a quick look, but his face was . . . darkish. Maybe tanned . . . I dunno, South American? Or Mexican . . . yeah, Mexican.'

'Diplomatic bag' is a catch-all expression which all governments use to their advantage when moving secret items into another country.

A diplomatic bag may well be exactly that: a bag containing top secret documents. But it is just as likely to be a sealed box or even a freight container.

What is important is that diplomatic bags, of whatever shape or size, are untouchable. They are classed as the sovereign soil of the country they belong to, in exactly the same way as an embassy or consulate.

Marcie Deveraux had used the security of the diplomatic bag system to bring into the USA the items she believed would be necessary for the operation. These included weapons and various items of kit. They were taken straight to the British Consulate on arrival at JFK airport.

Since then, a consulate courier had delivered those items to Deveraux at the Four Seasons, and she in turn had passed some of them to Fran and Mick. Foreign Office couriers are trained to just do their job and ask no questions. They make deliveries; they even make collections of information left by double agents in DLBs. But when they are doing so, they never have any information on the operation itself.

Fran and Mick were now using radio scanners as they attempted to locate the listening device they suspected was in Elena's hotel room.

The scanners were each about the size of a paperback book. Fran and Mick were walking around the block in which the hotel sat, working a little distance from each other. Both had their devices in a pocket and were using Bluetooth, with an earpiece in one ear as they listened to all the radio, mobile phone and even secure traffic in and around the hotel.

As they had both said earlier, it was a little like hunt the thimble, but if the hunch about the camera and microphone in the room was correct, and the signal was being picked up and beamed out towards wherever Black Star lurked, then they could well detect it. That was the theory anyway.

In the meantime they had to listen to, identify and dismiss dozens of random calls and communications. Everything from cab drivers to cops, to the occasional snippet of a supposedly secure conversation between US secret agents working undercover on a drugs bust.

They were attempting to pick up the sound of the C-SPAN political TV station, which, they hoped, was being transmitted out of Elena's room by a hidden microphone. If Elena had followed orders, she had left her TV set switched on and tuned to that channel. It was highly unlikely that any other tourists would be watching it. Hardly anyone did, even Americans, as it featured only political issues, mainly coverage of endless government committee meetings.

But importantly for Fran and Mick, it wouldn't be confused with anything else they might find on their scanners.

Mick smiled as he picked up more of the Net surveillance chat between two US drug enforcement officers as they closed in on a suspected dealer somewhere in the immediate vicinity.

But there wasn't time to take any more than a passing professional
interest in the drugs bust. Fran and Mick were on the trail of a mass murderer.

It wasn't the first time Fergus Watts had made a supersonic flight across the Atlantic by Tornado jet. But he had been a little younger and a lot fitter on the previous occasions, and the rear seat in the cockpit was cramped and uncomfortable. Particularly as Fergus's injured leg was giving him hell. But as always, he didn't complain.

The hours had passed swiftly. Fergus had left Paddington Green Police Station in an unmarked police car and was driven at high speed, firstly to the hotel in Oxford and then on to RAF Marham in Norfolk.

Four motorcycle outriders escorted the police car, leapfrogging ahead of each other as they ensured that junctions and any potential hazards were clear so that the vehicle could speed through.

The stop at Oxford was brief. Fergus's luggage had been recovered from Heathrow Airport, but all he wanted now was a few essentials, which he shoved into his rucksack, and the small bag of dull white powder, which could now be carried safely into the USA under the total protection of the dip bag Dudley had provided. Within minutes he was back in the car and the high-speed journey resumed.

At Marham, the vehicle was driven straight up to the Tornado, and Fergus quickly clambered into a flying suit and helmet. The pilot was already in the cockpit, going through his pre-flight checks. He nodded a welcome as Fergus climbed in behind him, and within minutes the jet was moving towards the runway.

The fuel pods beneath each wing were completely full, enabling the Tornado to make the two-and-a-half-hour flight across the Atlantic without the delay of a mid-air refuel.

It thundered down the runway and rose into the sky as Fergus listened to the conversation between pilot and control tower. The Tornado climbed steadily, and just after it had crossed the west coast, Fergus heard the boom as the jet went supersonic and broke the sound barrier.

They were flying to Francis S. Gabreski Airport at Westhampton Beach, Long Island, New York, the home of the 106
^th
Rescue Wing, New York Air National Guard. The airport was just a ninety-minute drive from the city.

Fergus glanced down through a clear sky to the deep blue sea
far below. He was on his way. At last. And as a supposed member of a Royal
Air Force aircrew, he would have his passport stamped with a visa and be heading
for the city without having to go through customs. Even more important was
the dip bag; Fergus was relieved he would not be required to explain the contents
of that to anyone.

Deveraux was waiting. She had driven out from the city to meet Fergus personally, having argued unsuccessfully with Dudley against him being there at all.

She sat in the comfortable back seat of the Consulate's limo, deep in thought. Dudley had told her exactly why he had agreed to Fergus flying out to join the mission: there was a strong possibility that Elena might actually have succumbed to Black Star's grooming – and he put the success of the operation above everything else.

Deveraux had asked whether or not there had been a rethink as regards the ultimate fate of Fergus, Danny and Elena and Dudley had stressed that there was no change to the plan.

'In fact, Marcie,' he had told her, 'given the apparently fragile state of Elena's mind, I'm even more in agreement with your recommendation. They would almost certainly pose a grave security risk in the future.'

Deveraux was at least glad to hear that. She could have gone on about the apparent lack of faith in her ability to run her mission, but she chose to remain silent.

She would turn this to her own advantage. She hadn't wanted Watts here, but perhaps he might indeed be able to stop Elena going flaky on them if things got tough. And at least Danny would stop moaning about his grandfather now.

But Deveraux wouldn't stand for Watts getting all holier than thou with her over the killing of Joey Omolodon.

She knew that Fergus was now aware of the truth – Dudley had told her so. It didn't matter, as long as he didn't try to preach at her or, even worse, threaten to let Elena in on the secret. That would most certainly mess with Elena's mind and therefore jeopardize the entire operation. Then Black Star would be lost.

Deveraux sat weighing up the possibilities as she gazed around the airbase. It was relatively quiet; many members of the 106
^th
were on active duty out in Iraq, and it looked as though a skeleton staff was keeping the airport operational.

Deveraux checked her watch, having almost convinced herself that Watts would not be stupid enough to attempt any crazy acts of revenge. But when things got personal, even the hardest, coolest operator had been known to do the unexpected. She would have to watch him. And, if he got in the way of the mission, kill him before it was over.

The Tornado was due in within the next few minutes and Deveraux ran through the events of the past few hours, including Danny's supposed sighting of Black Star. That boy had too vivid an imagination, but at least he was sticking to orders now.

Deveraux glanced skywards, ready now to remind Fergus that even though he had found a way of getting involved, this was still her mission and he was there in an advisory capacity only.

Her Xda rang. 'Yes, Fran.'

'We've picked up the TV channel. We have a footprint of the signal – he's not far away.'

'Good, well done.' The scream of a Tornado coming in to land made it impossible to speak for a few seconds. But as the aircraft touched down and continued along the runway, the noise began to diminish. 'Do what you have to do and then call me with a sit rep.'

Deveraux ended the call and smiled. If Fran and Mick struck gold, Fergus might well be sitting in the back of the Tornado by the time it was ready for its return journey to the UK.