Scott stared through the one-way glass window.
"How long's he been hooked up?"
"Two hours," replied the white-coated technician.
"Anything yet?"
The short, grey haired man got up from his desk and walked over to join Scott at the window.
"No, nothing. I've not seen this before. Sometimes it takes longer to get meaningful information, particularly if we are looking at ageing data, but with this one, we aren't getting a thing. To be honest, we might as well have hooked all of this up to a potato for all the good it's doing." He said pointing the bank of monitors surrounding the bed.
"How's that possible?" Scott asked, looking down at Andrews, trying to gauge how truthful he was being. Until recently he wouldn't have doubted anything the technical team told him, but in light of recent events, that had changed.
"Sir, I really don't know." Andrew's cheeks flushed a little as she shrugged his shoulders.
Scott looked back at Zeke, who lay prostrate on the bed; the only sign of life was his slow, yet regular heartbeat flickering away on the nearest monitor.
"Is there anything you can try? Briggs is beyond impatient right now."
"I have a number of combinations to try, but I am concerned that if there is data there, the process might corrupt it."
"Corrupt, how?"
"We are using particularly invasive technology here. Under normal circumstances, this process is risky, but we're now talking about using drug combinations that are untested. Irreparable brain damage is quite possible."
"Ok, take it slowly and carefully and don't take any unnecessary risks. I want regular updates."
Scott walked over to the door, but turned back. "Don't let anyone, other than you and me near Matheson. That's an order."
"Yes, Sir."
With the door closed behind him, Scott stopped for a moment in the corridor. First he wiped his clammy hands on his trouser legs and then he patted at the holster behind his back and the one around his chest, comforted by the feel of the hard metal nestling there. He didn't know why the downloading process wasn't working on Zeke, but was sure grateful it wasn't. The ComDat in his inside pocket vibrated with a message. Without looking at it, Scott knew it to be Briggs and with a weary sigh, he set off to meet him.
"Hiya, Tom, long time-no call."
Scott looked out of the open lift car and found himself facing the pretty Finance Manager who worked on the floor below Briggs.
"Hi, Mandy."
She smiled widely at Tom, clearly pleased he had remembered her name. She moved forward to the lift and came close to his ear.
"I've missed you," she whispered. The sweet scent of her perfume, which had smelt so good on her as he lay entangled in her long, tanned legs just a few weeks earlier, now smelt cloying and sickly.
Tom decided he would rather walk the last flight up and side stepped the woman who he had lazily pursued for a couple of weeks.
"Call me," she urged and then added in a quieter voice, "please."
Tom winced and then hurried off down the corridor towards the stairwell, feeling uncomfortable and not really sure why. Something in Tom had changed; he could feel it and he didn't like it. Trying to erase the feeling of uncertainty was gnawing at his gut, he reached the bottom step and powered up till he reached the top, his leg smarting a little. Thoughts of Hannah dragging him to safety sprung up in his mind which prompted him to check the locator on his ComDat again. The green dot still hadn't moved and he felt relief and unease at the same time. If it hadn't been for Briggs's call, he would be there right now.
"Scott, about time," Briggs grumbled.
"Sir," Scott replied and walked up to the large desk, across the expansive office.
"Any news from Andrews yet?"
"No, still trying. He thinks he should have something in the next few hours."
"Hours! We don't have time to wait. Why is it taking so long?"
"Andrews thinks it might be due to his training." Scott replied hesitantly, but as soon as he said the words he knew it to be true. "I know very little of the techniques that were used, back in the day, but I do know that they messed around too much in people's heads. Sir, are you sure we even have the right person in custody? Matheson has an unblemished service record and as far as I am aware, he has served you loyally for many years."
"That is what I thought, Scott. But once they checked the older databases, the name A. Crowe pinged up. Matheson used that alias for many years. I would have possibly put it down to coincidence and thought no more of it, until the report came in that his ex-partner had been stopped at a check point with fake ID. She decided to use Matheson's name to try to buy her some favours." Briggs laughed a little. "She had a kid with her too. Did you know he had a kid?"
Scott was stunned. In all the time he had known Zeke, he'd never once mentioned having a family. Was nothing simple anymore?
"No, Sir. I didn't, but then, I wouldn't exactly call us friends. "Why were they stopped?"
"Their ID was made from watermarked paper that was stolen a few weeks back. SpecOps got intel that the warehouse was to be raided, so we made sure that the papers they stole could be easily identified under x-ray. To be honest, they were unlucky. Most of the checkpoints haven't been fitted with the new x-ray machines yet. Unfortunately for them, they just happened to stumble across one that did."
Scott wasn't privy to the comings and goings of Special Operations. He knew they were a small, elite team that Briggs ran single handed. They were rarely used on their countries own soil, more often deployed abroad for reasons unknown. In fact, years earlier, Zeke had been one of them. The training that these guys had might very well be the one thing helping Zeke keep his secrets. The fact that SpecOps were operating on home turf was not a good sign.
"Why were Matheson's family travelling under false identities?" Scott asked, still reeling from the news.
"Simply put, by the end of the week, Matheson's kid will join the ranks of the great unwashed." Briggs chuckled to himself.
"What?"
"His daughter will be demoted under the Flawed Boundary Realignment. I would imagine he was too embarrassed to have a daughter of such low standing hanging around."
Scott looked long and unbelieving at Briggs. Was he truly incapable of empathy or any normal, human reaction.
"What's up, Scott. You look like someone just took a piss over your bonfire."
"Nothing, Sir."
"Very well then, give me an update."
"Holland DOS. Full search completed and nothing found. Muro has been dead for a couple of years. No trace of family as yet."
"What of Dexter?"
"Under surveillance till I get there."
"So at the moment, we know absolutely nothing." Briggs slammed his fist down on the table. The surface of the honey-coloured liquid rippled in the glass, Briggs had put down earlier.
"Ok, I want you to go find this Dexter woman now and if Andrews hasn't got anything from Matheson by midday, you'll have to come back and resort to more conventional methods of interrogation."
A chill ran up Scott's spine at the enormity of Briggs's order.
"Could you not delay the announcement for a couple of days until we ascertain what risk we are facing, if indeed there is one?"
"Postpone my announcement!" Briggs fired back. "I haven't postponed anything in my career to this day. Now get out and do the job I pay you for."
"Yes, Sir." Scott backed out of the room quickly. Just as he reached the door, Briggs called out to him.
"I'm sending in SpecOps to work alongside you. Macaulay will meet you on the ground."
Scott nodded to Briggs and quickly closed the door behind him. Macaulay, he inwardly cursed, that's all I bloody well need! SpecOps might well be an invisible unit, but the name Macaulay was infamous in security circles. Obviously it wasn't the guy's real name, but it was a name that instilled fear into those who knew enough. Now he was going to have them breathing down his throat too.
Scott checked his rear-view mirror and pulled his car over on the side of the Drakehouse Bridge. He took out the phone that he'd used to ring Anne Holland earlier and dialled the last known number for the Dexter property. As suspected, the line was dead. He tried Tucker's phone, but it went to answer phone so he didn't leave a message. Scott took a tissue out of the glove box, gave the phone's surface a quick wipe, and then launched it out of the window of the car, over the rusting railings and down into the murk of the River Drake below. One last look at his ComDat showed that Tucker's car was still at the property. If indeed they were still there, he had no idea how he was going to get them out.
Scott parked the car, well away from the Dexter address. He switched on the radio, put on the headset and contacted the two units he had positioned earlier. Discretely he checked whether there had been any signs of activity, concerned that someone near-by might be able to access their secure frequency. They responded to say that there had been none. As he removed his finger from the Talk button, the radio spluttered into life again.
"Four- Zero- Niner," said a deep voice.
"Four-Zero-Niner, copy," Scott replied.
"Coming to you. Over."
Seconds passed and the passenger door opened, to reveal the longest set of legs Scott had ever seen. The owner of the legs, then bent over and folded himself into the passenger seat. Close up, the SpecOps guy wasn't what Scott had expected at all. Macaulay seemed as wide as he was tall. The fabric of his dark combat suit seemed to stretch precariously against the bulging muscles of the guy's arms and thighs. His skin was almost a dark as his suit and only his eyes seemed to reflect any light back, with the occasional twinkle.
"Macaulay," he said, by way of introduction.
"Scott." Scott nodded to him and under normal circumstances he would have felt compelled to shake the big man's hand.
"So what do we know?"
"Not a lot. I have had one car positioned out front and one around the back, where the passage way also runs too. No signs of life."
"What do you know of the area?" Macaulay asked.
"Put it this way, we don't want to be here too long."
"Agreed."
"How many men do you have with you?"
"Four."
"Ok, so I suggest, you and I go in through the rear. Two of yours go in through the front and we position two more there," Scott said, pointing to a small parking space, which had a large refuse container, suitable for covering fire. My two teams can remain as they are."
"Sounds good to me. We should make this quick and quiet."
"Agreed."
Scott radioed the plan to his teams, whilst Macaulay went back to his vehicle, parked further behind Scott's.
Scott got out of the car and waited for Macaulay to join him, with the others. Standing by Tucker's car, he peered inside to find it empty. As the men approached, Scott took out his hand gun, from his under arm holster and clicked off the safety. Silently they approached the back passage, leaving two of the men at the front entrance to the café. Scott used a small finger-width torch to light up the ground and they stepped over broken bottles and other such detritus. Approaching the back gate to the property, they noticed it was already open.
Scott entered first, his torch beam, positioned in line with his gun, sweeping the area. He moved over the wall on the right hand side, as Macaulay came in on the left. At the back door, Macaulay ran his hand over the door checking for locks. From out of his pocket he removed a small drill- like device and rested the point in the keyhole. Then he checked his watch and signalled thirty seconds to Scott. As they waited Scott battled with his desire to find Hannah inside safe and sound and for her to be anywhere but there.
Macaulay pressed a button on his jacket and said the word, "go!" The drill was switched on and the sound of metal being squeezed and thrust apart could be heard surprisingly quietly. The big man pushed back the door and they entered, taking it in turns to take the lead. The kitchen was clear and as they met the other two SpecOps who had come through the café, Macaulay signalled for them to go upstairs. The ageing stairs creaked with every foot placed upon them and as the four men ascended, the whole stair case, seemed to move and shudder. If anyone was upstairs hiding, they would at least know someone was coming to get them. As Scott climbed every step, his anxiety grew and his gun seemed to feel hotter in his hand. At the stop, the four men worked in pairs to clear the rooms. Scott and Macaulay went into what looked like a sitting room. On closer inspection, Scott could see a wealth of paper work, document forging machines amongst other things, certainly enough to send the occupants away for many years. Scott and Macaulay searched a small bedroom. The sparsely furnished room held a bed and on top of its floral patterned, cover sat a small, worn teddy bear. Macaulay signalled to Scott to go back downstairs as the other two men moved towards the final room at the end of the corridor.
Downstairs, Macaulay swept the beam of his torch over the walls and floors. Scott looked at the wall beneath the stairs and tapped at it. Finding the sound to be hollow, he smoothed his hand over and where the two walls met, he felt a gap. He pressed all around and just under the carpet he felt a small indent. He hooked his finger beneath it and pulled. The side wall which ran beneath the stairs opened up on hinges to reveal a tunnel through the wall into the next house. Further inspection found a similar doorway into the next house and so on. No wonder there wasn't any sign of people leaving by the street, they hadn't needed to step a single foot outside. If Hannah had been there, she most certainly wasn't now.
Scott and the SpecOps met each other back upstairs to find and remove anything immediately sensitive. By torch light, they placed anything that looked remotely of interest into special plastic sacks. With too much to deal with right now, Scott put in a call to a retrieval team, who would be there with an armed unit for support in less than half an hour. Scott and Macaulay took the first sacks downstairs and it was only once they were in the kitchen, did he realise that dawn had broken and the sun was starting to push back the cover of night.
"Sir, you'd better come up here and look at this," called one of Macaulay's men. "What the!" he barely screamed.
The world for Scott shattered in and around him. For one split second he witnessed a blinding, incandescent light, so hot and right he fleetingly considered whether his eye balls would actually melt. The sensory overload moved to his ears as the explosion ripped open his ear drums. Thrust to the floor, he felt tiny shards of glass stab at his exposed flesh. Stunned and not entirely sure he was still alive, he smelt the acrid aroma of a fast burning, chemical fire. With what little remained of his strength, he clawed his way towards the lightest part of the room. The door had been blown outwards in the blast and the closer Scott got to the door, the more desperate he felt. A hand grabbed at his lacerated shoulder blade and pulled him out into the fresher air. Unable to open his eyes, he felt the warmth of the morning sunlight warm his face. Satisfied he was free from immediate danger, he gladly succumbed to unconsciousness.