Avenger (9 page)

Touchdown was as smooth as the flight itself had been. During the journey Elena had only glimpsed Danny a couple of times as she made her way to the toilet at the back of the plane. But they hadn't even exchanged a glance; they couldn't afford to.

Deveraux had ordered a check on every passenger on the flight. It had revealed nothing, but she knew perfectly well that Black Star could be among the hundreds of people on board that aircraft.

Elena didn't see Danny as she left the 747. Clutching her completed green visa waiver and white customs forms, she walked into the new glass-and-steel terminal building and joined the long, snaking immigration queue. She spotted Danny further back down the line and then caught a glimpse of Marcie Deveraux as she made for the diplomats' section and walked straight through without a glance in their direction.

Elena finally reached the front of the queue. She stepped forward and handed over her passport and forms to the uniformed immigration officer, who studied them all thoroughly.

She waited nervously until the officer looked up. 'How long are you staying?'

'Two weeks.'

'And you're here alone? Your parents are OK with that?'

'I don't have parents,' said Elena quickly. 'Not any more. When my mum died she left me some money for travelling. Wanted me to see more of the world than she ever did. New York seemed the best place to start because I've seen so much of it on TV and I love it. So here I am.'

'You're pretty young to be travelling alone.'

Elena nodded and then pulled out the card that was in her pocket. 'But I won't be alone all the time. I've got American friends – Mavis and Hal Bachelor. Actually, they were friends of my mum. They live in Brooklyn Heights and they've promised to show me the sights.'

'But you're not staying with them?' said the officer as he looked at the card.

Elena smiled. 'They're a lot older than me. We thought it was best if I stayed at the hotel. That way we can see each other as much as we want, but probably not every day.' She waited, expecting her questioner to say something. He didn't, so Elena smiled again. 'Look, I'm seventeen. They'll treat me like a child.'

The officer considered for a moment longer and then handed the card back. 'Can I see your return ticket, please?'

Elena handed over the ticket, and the officer took in the details and then passed it back. He tore off the bottom part of the green visa waiver form and stapled it to Elena's passport. Then he put a small cross on the bottom of the customs form and gave the passport back to Elena.

Attached to the counter between them was a small rectangular metal box with a yellow light shining from its glass top. The officer nodded towards the box. 'Place your right index finger over the light, please.'

Elena did as she was instructed and her fingerprint was captured. The process was repeated with her left index finger and then the officer reached up and shifted an oval camera fixed to an adjustable arm so that it was at the same level as Elena's head.

'Look at the camera, please.'

The camera clicked and the officer smiled for the first time. 'Enjoy your stay, and take care.'

As Elena made her way to baggage reclaim, she could feel her heart pumping, but she was pleased with herself for getting through immigration, with the help of Mavis and Hal Bachelor. It would be a lot easier now; soon she would be on her way to the hotel.

She looked up at the plasma screen displaying the arrivals' flight numbers and checked for the carousel where her suitcase would eventually arrive. While she waited, there was a job to be done. The time on the bottom right-hand corner of the arrivals screen read 5:27 p.m. Deveraux had briefed them in advance, so she knew that the majority of clocks in the US would use a.m. and p.m. rather than the twenty-four-hour system. Elena pulled out the winder on her wristwatch and set it for 5:28 p.m. She waited until the arrivals display changed and then pushed in her winder.

Suitcases of every size, make and colour went trundling by. Once Elena glimpsed Danny on the far side, and for just a second their eyes met. Elena hoped briefly for at least a smile of encouragement but Danny quickly looked away.

He was sticking to orders and Elena found herself wondering if and when they would actually speak again. Suddenly there were so many things she wished she had said to Danny before they left England. But it was too late now.

Her bag finally appeared and she heaved it off the carousel and walked through to another queue at customs.

The questioning was far from over.

As soon as the waiting officer spotted the cross on the bottom of the customs form, he gestured for Elena to follow him to a desk and asked her to open her suitcase. A female officer, wearing a pistol on her hip, joined them and began a thorough search of both the suitcase and the small shoulder bag Elena had with her.

And while she searched, the other officer repeated many of the questions Elena had already answered. And a few more. 'Your address in England?'

Elena gave her AC A, the hotel in Oxfordshire. 'I work there,' she said.

'And the phone number?'

She told him the number.

'What's that number again?'

Elena repeated the number, but faster, realizing exactly what was happening. Fergus had warned them that they might well be tested on both address and phone number and had quizzed them himself repeatedly during the training period. Remembering them was second nature now.

The female officer pulled some small rectangles of Velcro from Elena's suitcase and held them up. 'What are these for?'

'My bum bag.'

Both officers stared. 'Your
what?'
said the woman.

'You know, bum bag. I'm gonna buy one here to keep my cash in and I brought the Velcro to make it more secure.'

The officers exchanged a look. 'She means a fanny pouch,' said the man.

'Do I?' said Elena.

The female officer smiled, slid the Velcro back into the suitcase and put Elena's Lonely Planet guide and city map back into her shoulder bag. 'What do you plan on seeing?'

'The Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty, of course,' said Elena confidently. 'But I really want to go to Ground Zero. I watched it on TV; it was terrible. I just feel I ought to go – I think everyone should.'

The officer sighed as she completed her search. 'I hear you. Me and my sister went just last month. Don't know why, just kinda felt we had to.' She nodded to her colleague.

It was over at last. Elena zipped up her suitcase and walked through to the arrivals hall.

Marcie Deveraux would have already left the airport and was being driven to her hotel in a prearranged limo. Danny was taking a taxi.

Elena followed the signs for the shuttle bus that would take her into the city. She was tired; her heavy bag banged against her legs with each weary step. And as she walked towards the bus, the thought crossed her mind that perhaps Black Star might be somewhere in the crowd.

No one approached her; Black Star was not there.

But other eyes had locked onto Elena, and if she had looked closely she might have recognized the faces of Deveraux's operatives Fran and Mick.

Posing as a newlywed couple on honeymoon, they had arrived in New York the previous afternoon. Now they mingled with the crowd and watched.

And theirs were not the only eyes watching her.

Herman Ramirez was standing among the cab drivers and chauffeurs waiting for those passengers who had booked rides into the city. He nodded with satisfaction as he got his first look at Elena. He could now report to his master: the Angel had landed.

The fifty-minute ride on the shuttle bus from the airport into the heart of the city should have been an incredible experience for a young first-time visitor to New York.

The differences between London and New York were remarkable and amazing. The roads, the lines of streaming traffic, but mostly, as Elena caught her first glimpse of the Manhattan skyline, the size and scale of the soaring buildings, reaching upwards like the fingers of dozens of upturned hands.

But the whole wonderful, frenetic scene passed Elena by. A great lump of anxiety in her chest seemed to swell with every passing mile, making it difficult to breathe properly. Each breath was snatched and shallow as her unease grew. Black Star was out there somewhere. Waiting.

It was almost seven o'clock – midnight back home in England – when Elena finally got off the bus and walked the short distance, past Madison Square Garden, to the Hotel Pennsylvania. In the hotel's small coffee shop just inside the revolving doors, Danny was sitting at one of the tables. He saw Elena go by, but he didn't move. He had checked in earlier, and all he needed to know for now was that Elena had arrived safely. He pulled out his secure mobile phone to call Deveraux and his grandfather. Everyone was on the ground and the operation was about to kick off.

The lobby and reception area was busy and bustling with new arrivals waiting to check in. Elena joined yet another queue.

She looked around as she waited. The entrance to the lifts was behind her. A couple of security men were standing by to check that only those with key cards actually made it through to that area. Most people were minding their own business, talking on mobiles, studying city guides or maps, or heading for the bar or the coffee shop. No one appeared to be taking any particular interest in Elena, but she knew that didn't mean no one was watching.

'Can I help you?'

Elena was looking towards the bar, where a young Chinese guy dressed in jeans, T-shirt and a thin, unzipped bomber jacket seemed suddenly to be paying her special attention. He was staring directly at her. She felt her heart thud in her chest, but then he turned his head slightly and Elena saw that his lips were moving. She could just see the earpiece in his right ear. He was talking hands-free on his mobile, far more interested in his conversation than in anything in his eye-line.

'Excuse me, miss, can I help you?'

The voice was a little louder and more insistent, and Elena turned her head to see a man behind the reception desk smiling patiently in her direction. She had reached the front of the queue without even realizing it.

'Sorry, I've got a room booked.'

'Sure. And your name, please?'

'Elena Omolodon.'

The clerk frowned slightly. 'Can you spell that for me?'

Elena spelled out her name quickly, each letter making her more acutely aware of the vulnerability of her position; she didn't even have the protection of a cover identity.

The check-in clerk scrolled down his computer screen and found the reservation Black Star had made online. It was perfectly in order, and as far as the clerk was concerned, everything had been correctly booked and paid for in advance.

He smiled. 'Could I see your passport, please?'

Elena handed over the brand new passport and the clerk tapped a few details into his computer before giving it back, along with a thin sliver of credit-card-like plastic, which was the key card to Elena's room.

'The account's been taken care of. You're on the eighth floor – elevators are right over there,' said the clerk, pointing straight ahead. 'Welcome to New York.'

Elena smiled a thanks and picked up her suitcase, but as she turned away, the clerk spoke again. 'Just one moment, please.'

'What's wrong?' said Elena, fearing that she had made some sort of mistake.

'Nothing at all wrong, miss. I just have a note here that we have something for you.'

'For me?'

The clerk nodded, reached beneath the desk and took out a heavily taped padded envelope. 'This was left for you earlier today.'

'For me? Who left it?'

'No idea, miss. It was before I came on duty.'

Elena took the envelope and saw her name in large type on the front. She shivered. It was from him. Black Star. It had to be. She grabbed her suitcase again and walked over to the lifts, joining the others waiting to go up. No one spoke and no one looked at anyone else as they rose quickly from floor to floor: seven people in a confined space acting as though they were alone. With just their luggage and their thoughts.

Elena was the only person to get out on the eighth floor. She stepped out into the corridor and saw the sign indicating the direction of her room. She went along the corridor, and found her room, then noticed, further along, a double door with a window in it. Through the glass in the doors Elena could see a drinks dispensing machine and another loaded with different sweets and chocolate bars. Opposite them was an ice machine. Perfect.

She dumped her suitcase in the corridor and pushed through the doors. She went over to the drinks dispenser, looked at it for a few moments and then moved to the back of the machine and peered behind it. She sorted through the change she'd got from the bus ride, found some quarters and got a can of Fanta from the machine. Then she turned away, went back into the corridor and picked up her suitcase.

Elena returned to her room, slid the key card into the slot and heard the lock click open. Wearily she pushed open the door, flicked on the lights, heaved her suitcase into the room and dumped it on her bed.

Two seconds later Charles Pointer II got his first onscreen
look at his new Angel.

It was 1:30 a.m. in Oxford and Dr Ruth Jacobson was sitting on the bed in Elena's old bedroom.

Hotel cleaning staff had already cleared the room of most of the things Elena had left behind; it was almost as though she had never been there. Only one item remained – her laptop.

Dr Jacobson was staring at the machine, which sat on top of a small writing desk. She should probably leave it at reception for Elena to collect on her return from America.

Dr Jacobson had spent the day at the hotel, finishing up, writing her final report for Marcie Deveraux. She decided there was nothing more for her to do, and tomorrow she would move on to another case: someone else's story, someone else's problems. But this process had to be gone through at the end of every assignment and sometimes she was far more satisfied with her work than others.

She couldn't help feeling that she had failed in her work with Elena. The girl had held up well to begin with, but by the time she left for New York she had been showing signs of anxiety and stress. She had lost weight, and had looked drawn with fatigue. Dr Jacobson's chief concern, which had been mostly ignored by Deveraux, was that Elena's state of mind was likely to get worse when she was working alone, isolated from her friends and any professional support.

The only light in the room came from the desktop lamp, which shed most of its light downwards, picking out and spotlighting the laptop computer like an item of scenery on an open stage.

Dr Jacobson finished her notes; there was nothing more to be done. Time to go. She got up from the bed and walked over to the desk. She reached down and picked up the laptop; as she did so, she saw a white envelope, folded in the middle, slip from underneath the machine. She turned over the computer and saw that the battery had been removed; the envelope had been nestling inside the empty compartment.

She put down the laptop, looked at the sealed envelope and unfolded it, so that the front was exposed. Written in black ink and capital letters was a single word:

DAD