Bionic Agent Read online

  Jordan’s research was interrupted by a call from Unit Red.

  “I know it’s your day off,” Angel’s voice said, “but I thought you’d be interested in this.”

  “What?”

  “It looks like a body got caught on one of the legs of a jetty in the river, just down from Hoo Marina. Not much flesh left, mainly bones, ligament, tendon and hair. And some bits of clothing. So it’s been there a while. Maybe a year or more. I’ll see if forensics can squeeze some DNA out of what the divers have brought up. That would tell us if it’s Salam Bool.”

  “It’d be good to find out for sure,” Jordan replied.

  “Yes. It would bring closure.”

  “I could tell Vinnie Dowd. He’d be pleased to hear how it turned out.”

  “Where are you?”

  Jordan avoided giving details. “On my way back to London,” he answered. “Won’t be long. Actually, I need someone to make a couple of calls about ships caught up in the big bang.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just a minute.” Jordan left his seat and went to the space at the end of the carriage. Standing on his own, he explained his latest thoughts.

  “Interesting slant,” said Angel. “I’ll put Winter onto it.”

  When Jordan got back to Highgate Cemetery, he dodged round a group of tourists and tapped his code into the door lock of Unit Red’s house. He didn’t even make it to his room before Winter intercepted him.

  Smiling at him, she announced, “You might be onto something. Ocean Courage was half an hour ahead of schedule when it came into the estuary.”

  Jordan nodded.

  “There was chaos at the time. Result? The captain got no warning there was a terrorist threat in the estuary, so he just kept coming. Anyway, a ship like that’s not easy to turn round or stop. It didn’t have much option but to keep to its course.”

  Jordan hesitated for a moment and then said, “I want to go and see someone at Energistics.”

  “Why?” Winter asked.

  “Because I’ve got another question.”

  “What’s that?”

  Jordan didn’t want to tell her. “It might be stupid.”

  “Well,” she said, “you’d better go and find out.” She told him the company’s address. “I’ll call the Head of Operations again and tell him to expect you. Otherwise, they might chuck you out. Teenage troublemakers and all that.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t mention Unit Red,” she reminded him. “He thinks we’re MI5. That’s your cover.”

  Jordan turned round and headed for the door.

  Winter called after him, “Hope you’re having a relaxing day off.”

  Jordan was used to seeing the wide river estuary near Lower Stoke. From high up in Energistics’ enormous building in the centre of London, the Thames was a mere strip. The boats cruising the river or moored below him in Poplar Dock Marina looked tiny.

  The Head of Operations kept him waiting for nine minutes before inviting him into a large uncluttered office. “Sit down,” he said, waving towards a chair. “I was warned that you looked young, but... Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  “It’s about Ocean Courage,” Jordan said. “I’ve seen a lot of information about it...”

  “Before she was reduced to a very expensive pile of scrap metal.”

  “Yes,” Jordan replied. “The captain was new. That’s what the report said. It was his first time in charge.”

  “Correct,” the Head of Operations confirmed. “But his inexperience wasn’t the cause of the incident. It was irrelevant.”

  Jordan could hardly believe what he was doing. Still only fourteen, he was a Unit Red agent, halfway to the sky in a posh London office, interviewing an executive of a multinational energy company. And the time had come to ask his key question. “Why did the ship have a new captain? What happened to the old one?”

  The businessman shuffled in his seat. “That’s all a bit embarrassing really.”

  Jordan looked puzzled.

  “We can’t have a vessel like that – any vessel – in the hands of someone who drinks more than he should.”

  “So,” Jordan said, “the old captain was a drunk.”

  “An alcoholic, yes.”

  “What did you do about it?”

  “He gave us no choice. We sacked him.”

  Jordan nodded. “How did he take that?”

  The Head of Operations shrugged. “Not very well. He stormed out.”

  “He was angry?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Did he say anything?” Jordan asked.

  “Not to me. He muttered something to himself, though.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t catch it. A threat, probably. I imagine most of his words were not for the faint-hearted.”

  “A threat?”

  “Probably,” he repeated.

  “So,” Jordan said, “he might have threatened to get his own back on you, the company, the workers – or the ship.”

  The Head of Operations sat bolt upright. “I didn’t think anything of it. We all get angry and issue threats. We don’t follow them up once we’ve cooled off.” He gazed at Jordan for a moment and then asked, “Are you implying...?” He didn’t finish his question.

  “I don’t know if he’s got anything to do with the explosion,” Jordan replied, “but you’d better tell me who he was.”

  The company executive took a deep breath. “I can’t reveal personal details of employees – or ex-employees – but, under the circumstances... His name was Captain Norman Lightfoot.”

  “Norman Lightfoot,” Jordan said excitedly.

  “Who’s Norman Lightfoot?” Angel asked.

  “He’s in charge of Chalkwell Marina where Cara Quickfall kept her boat. I went there when I was in Southend. I was trying to find out who’d used it.”

  “So you met him?” said Winter.

  “Yes. I pretended I was after a job.”

  Angel and Winter glanced at each other. “Well, let’s hope you didn’t scare him off.” Angel’s tone wasn’t critical. He was simply stating a fact.

  Jordan defended himself anyway. “I didn’t know who he was then.”

  “I realize that,” Angel replied. It took only a second for him to decide Unit Red’s next move. “I want both of you to go to Southend and find him. He’d got a motive – revenge – and easy access to Cara Quickfall’s boat. Let’s see if he ticks any more boxes. I’ll find out where he lives and dig out his background while you’re on your way. It’ll take for ever to drive out of London and along the A13. So, take the Tube to London Bridge and agree a strategy between you on the way. I’ll have a speedboat waiting for you by the time you get there. Use the river.”

  Jordan stood next to Winter, gripping the canopy, and wondered if there was anything she couldn’t drive. She’d jumped into the motorboat and taken off without hesitation. She was guiding it expertly round the twists and turns of the Thames, weaving eastwards through London. Perhaps she could fly helicopters and planes as well.

  Jordan also noticed that she was carrying a gun inside her coat.

  As they passed City Airport, Jordan’s mobile vibrated in his pocket. He concentrated on listening to Angel’s voice over the noise of the wind and the outboard motor.

  “Norman Lightfoot ticks all the boxes. He was a strong swimmer, according to his school reports. That means he could have survived when the estuary erupted – if it was him in the Quickfalls’ boat. And his first job was in the navy. He was a diver and he dealt with underwater explosives.” Angel dictated Lightfoot’s address and then added, “I’ll get back to you if I find out anything else significant.”

  Raising his voice, Jordan told Winter what Angel had discovered.

  She nodded. “I think we’ve got our first credible suspect. And we only need one – if it’s the right one.”

  While they powered past Gravesend, Angel phoned with yet more news. “The man who owns Chalkwell Marina isn’t hap
py. He’s had to hire someone else to do Lightfoot’s job because he hasn’t shown up for work since Tuesday last week. No explanation. You saw him that evening so it looks like you did scare him off. Just one more thing. He’s never been married. There isn’t a wife, known partner or children. That’s all I’ve got. It’s over to you and Winter.”

  The sun had gone down somewhere behind London, but the river was never truly dark. The lights on either side allowed Winter to see exactly where she was going. Gatecrashing the moorings next to Southend’s funfair, she tied up the boat, strode onto Western Esplanade and hailed a cab.

  Jordan gave Norman Lightfoot’s address in Rochford to the driver and sat back. He tried to look as relaxed as Winter, but he didn’t manage it.

  They jumped out as soon as the taxi came to a halt outside the unlit house at the edge of Southend-on-Sea. Opening the gate, they walked up to the front door and Winter pounded on the brass knocker.

  There was no answer.

  After a second try, she said, “We’ll attract less attention at the back door.”

  Following her round the side of the upmarket house, Jordan asked, “What are we going to do now?”

  “We’re going in,” she answered. “We haven’t got permission, but it’s urgent and important, don’t you think?”

  Jordan nodded in the darkness. “Sure.”

  “So,” Winter said, pointing at the door, “let us in.”

  Luckily, there was nothing behind the house apart from a long garden and a golf course. The trees to either side protected them from prying neighbours.

  “What if it’s got a burglar alarm?”

  “There wasn’t an alarm box at the front, so I’m willing to bet it hasn’t got one. If I’m wrong, I’ll get Angel to hold the police off.”

  “Okay.” Jordan breathed in, steeled himself and crashed through the door.

  16 BLUFF

  There was an unearthly silence after Jordan had wrenched the door from its lock. They both crept into the darkened house.

  “I can’t see much,” Winter complained. “Use your night vision to find all the downstairs windows and close the curtains. Then we’ll risk turning the lights on and have a look around.”

  The air was stale. Jordan felt uncomfortable padding around someone else’s home, but he was surprised to feel a shiver of excitement at the thought of doing something unlawful.

  Once he’d pulled the curtains across every downstairs window, he turned on the hall lights. Straight away, Winter bent down and grabbed the handful of letters scattered on the carpet by the front door. Peering at the postmarks, she said, “He hasn’t picked up his mail for at least a week.” She dropped the envelopes and instead put Lightfoot’s phone to her ear for a few seconds. “No messages,” she whispered. “Come on. Let’s get on with it. A diary would be great, but I’d settle for a computer.”

  In the living room, the first thing to catch Jordan’s eye was a framed photo of Norman Lightfoot in uniform standing on the bridge of Ocean Courage. He held it up for Winter to see.

  She nodded. “That’s where you’d expect to see a picture of him and his wife. He was married to his ship.” Noticing some photo albums on the bookshelf, she took the most prominent one and flicked through it.

  Jordan stood beside her as she looked at pages and pages of Norman Lightfoot in exotic locations. Each shot had a neatly handwritten caption.

  “I suppose that’s what happens when you’re a sea captain,” she said. “You get around. He took a lot of pictures in Norway. Trondheim in particular. I guess that’s because of the North Sea oil industry – or maybe he takes holidays there.”

  She replaced the album on the shelf, walked past the well-stocked drinks’ cabinet and went back into the hall.

  Jordan pointed to a door on the left. He’d seen enough with his infrared vision to know what it was. “That’s a study,” he told her.

  “Good.” She went in and felt around the wall until she found the light switch. Turning it on, she said, “Ah. Here we go. You get into the computer, Jordan. I’m going to go through the desk and paperwork.”

  About to press the computer’s on/off button with his left hand, he hesitated. “Does it matter about fingerprints?”

  “Use your right hand if you want to avoid it, but don’t worry too much. Didn’t I cover this in briefings? Your fingerprints – and mine – are in a special file. If the police come across them, they won’t ask questions.” For a moment, she stopped flicking through pieces of paper. “They leave us alone because they know we’ll give them the bad guy on a plate, melt away, and let them take the credit.”

  The monitor came to life in front of Jordan and he groaned. “It’s protected by a password.”

  “Don’t let a little thing like that put you off. Take a guess.”

  He sighed and then typed password, but the system did not let him in. NormanLightfoot didn’t work either. But his third guess, OceanCourage, opened the door. “I’m in,” he said, his voice a little too loud. “It wasn’t the world’s cleverest password.”

  Jordan clicked on My Documents and at once he had a list of folders and files. Immediately, he was drawn towards Norman Lightfoot’s C.V. It was a year old and it had been prepared to apply for the job in Chalkwell Marina. Jordan skimmed through the document. “It’s all here. Just like Angel said. Years in the navy, an experienced diver and strong swimmer. He’s good at a lot of modern foreign languages. Fluent in Norwegian.”

  “Keep looking,” Winter replied. “What else is there? Any e-mails?”

  Jordan started the e-mail package and then nodded. “Yes. He sent his last one on 11th April – the day after I went to the boatyard.” He opened the most recent messages that Norman had written. “There’s nothing interesting. Hang on. I’ll do a search on the whole computer.”

  But he drew a blank.

  Jordan also searched all documents for the terms Richard Montgomery and explosive, with the same result. Lightfoot had no files containing those giveaway words.

  “I’m going into Internet Explorer.” Jordan clicked on History to see the websites that Lightfoot had visited before he disappeared. He scanned down the sites and then gasped.

  “What is it?”

  “He did a search on my name. Jordan Stryker.”

  “You did spook him last week,” Winter said. “But it’s okay. He won’t have discovered anything about you.”

  Feeling unsettled, Jordan continued down the list. “Look,” he said. “This might be important. Websites about shipping.”

  Together they went through the pages he’d visited. The last time Norman Lightfoot had logged on to the internet, he’d delved into the schedules and destinations of ships leaving the Thames Estuary. His final piece of research concerned a ship leaving for Trondheim in Norway.

  Winter smiled. “I’m getting a consistent message here. It doesn’t take a genius to work out where he’s gone. Let’s face it: he’d be expert at getting out of the country by ship. He’s bound to know how to sneak on board without raising suspicions.” She put down a notepad and said, “He hasn’t left a trail on paper. Come on. Best to get out of here before the cops arrive. I think our work’s done.”

  “But we haven’t proved anything...”

  “No, but the innocent don’t do a runner when a boy comes sniffing around,” Winter replied. “Anyway, we know where to find him. I’ll settle for that.”

  “All right,” Angel said to Winter. “I’ll book you onto a flight for Trondheim tonight – if there is one. And I’ll have a team go with you. Well, a couple of agents. That’s all I can spare. But it’s enough.”

  Winter nodded.

  Jordan looked at Angel with expectation on his face.

  Angel shook his head. “You lost your holiday today. You can have tomorrow off instead.”

  “But...” Jordan began.

  “No, Jordan. You’ve been really helpful, I know, but you’re not going. That’s final. Think about it. Unit Red doesn’t exist. We don
’t have any authority in Norway. Winter and the others will go as tourists. You’d be a minor travelling without parents. That’d raise too many tricky questions with immigration officials.”

  “And getting you through the metal detector would take some explaining,” Winter said with a grin.

  “That’s not all,” Angel added. “Lightfoot would make a run for it if he saw you coming.”

  Angel’s decision was as solid as a brick wall that even Jordan’s arm could not demolish. There was no point even trying.

  Lying in bed that night, though, doubts began to niggle at Jordan, keeping sleep away. He wondered if Angel and Winter had jumped to the obvious conclusion too quickly. What if Norman Lightfoot had laid a false trail – all the way to Norway? What if he’d anticipated that the powers-that-be would find all of the information in his house? What if it was a deliberate bluff? After all, the pictures of Norway had been left lying around, his computer password had been easy to crack, and he hadn’t deleted the record of his internet search history.

  Maybe that was too far-fetched. Maybe the disgraced captain had thought about leaving the country – and even researched it on the internet – but decided it was an over-the-top reaction to a boy asking questions. As far as Norman Lightfoot knew, he was up against a curious teenager. He didn’t know he had Unit Red on his scent. He could be in a clinic dealing with his drink problem. He could be anywhere sorting his head out. He could be on a massive drunken binge. Or he could still be in Chalkwell.

  Jordan realized what he had to do. Tomorrow he would sacrifice another day’s holiday and return to the marina where he’d met Norman Lightfoot, where Cara Quickfall used to moor her boat.

  17 TRAP

  Jordan walked back along the seaside lane towards Chalkwell Marina. On his left, beyond the sandbank, a tanker entering the mouth of the Thames seemed to be moving at walking pace in the same direction. Going much faster, a train bound for London rumbled past him on the right. He hadn’t got a plan in mind. He just knew he had to go to the boatyard and check it out for clues on Lightfoot’s whereabouts.