Chameleon - A City of London Thriller (38 page)

Marcia De Vere
looked at her partner, who was shaking his head vigorously. He
didn’t want to be the butt of every office joke until the end of
the year.

“
I don’t
think we need to hold these folks up any longer, sir.”

“
Thanks,
Marcia, I can assure you that I will be having words with them on
their return.”

Marcia smiled
as he hung up. Five minutes later, Pete was driving the car north
on SR837.

“
I could have
done an American accent as well, you know,” he insisted, and he
proceeded to affect a Yankee drawl which merely accentuated his
Geordie brogue.

“
How y’all
doing, hinny?” he said before laughing, as much from relief as from
the humour of his remark.

“
By the way,”
he continued, “if they’d looked at the hard drive of the laptop
they would have seen the pictures of the Denton house and Gillian
Davis.”

“
No, they
wouldn’t,” Dee assured him. “Those pictures are on here.” She held
up an SD card. “They would have seen a variety of Virginian bird
pictures lifted from Webshots.com.”

“
You are too
bloody clever for your own good, Mrs Hammond,” Pete commented
wryly. They both laughed this time.

***

Back in the
hotel room, Pete set up the equipment one more time to ensure it
worked properly before they returned it. He set up the two tripods,
one at the front and one behind, and then clamped the 1600mm lens
on to them both, securing them with tension screws. He removed the
lens cap and moved to the back of the lens. Instead of a lens
mount, which would normally attach the lens to a camera, there were
a series of computer ports. He slipped a blue data cable into the
lens network port and connected the other end to the
laptop.

Because the
1600mm lens was so difficult to manoeuvre, he sighted his target
with the handheld spotting scope and used the readings to set the
trajectory of the main lens. He then sat down at the computer and
operated the cross hair focussing automatically from the trackball
in the middle of the keyboard.

Once it was
fully focussed, he fired off half a dozen shots. If she had ever
seen them, the buxom blonde bar tender in the atrium bar would
wonder how anyone had managed to get so close to her with a camera
yet remain unseen. So close, in fact, that they could see down her
cleavage to her lacy blue wonder bra.

Pete was still
cropping the risqué image when Dee slapped him playfully on the
back of the head.

“
Put that
away, you pervert. We have a meeting to go to.”

Chapter
5
5

Courtyard
Marriott Hotel, Lynchburg, Virginia,

Monday
24
^th
January, 7pm.

Steve Post
drove into the car park of the Courtyard Marriott at precisely
seven in the evening. The drive through the Virginia countryside
had been comfortable and traffic free. He swept his new Chevrolet
Equinox into one of the marked parking spaces. Inevitably black,
the vehicle had evidently caught the eye of the admiring parking
attendant. The sleek crossover, something between a saloon and an
SUV, was still a rare sight in Virginia, and its flowing lines
suggested a European design influence.

The air was
damp and cold, his breath visible in a cloud of vapour, and he was
not wrapped up well. He scurried across to the lobby, where he
encountered Pete chatting to the concierge.

Pete
acknowledged him with a brief nod, and pointed into the bar as he
continued his intense conversation with the concierge. Steve saw
Dee sitting in a booth at a table by the window and joined her.
Sliding along the bench opposite her, this was the first time they
had been alone together on this trip, the first time since that
fateful night in Quantico.

“
You look
contented,” he said. Dee was puzzled by the comment, especially as
he was aware of the problems she had encountered that
day.

“
You always
looked tense before, even when you were relaxing. Josh must be good
for you.”

She didn’t
believe her contentment was visible, but she had to accept that
married life was far more comfortable than she had imagined it
would be.

They talked
quietly about their respective spouses; the conversation was easy
and relaxed. It seemed that they had both found their soul mates.
The conversation turned to the case at hand, and Pete returned to
the table brandishing several sheets of printing.

Dee ordered
drinks. She had a house white wine, Pete had a Bud and Steve took a
diet coke.

As they sipped
their drinks they passed the papers around. Each one had a picture
of a pretty young woman with short fair hair placed squarely in the
middle. The clarity and resolution of the pictures, taken from
around half a mile away, was superb.

“
That’s some
great optics you have at your disposal, Steve,” Dee said, envy in
her voice, knowing that Vastrick were unlikely to spring for the
ten thousand pounds it would cost to obtain such equipment, given
that it would be used only occasionally.

“
Obviously
you are sure this is our girl?” Steve asked, knowing the answer. He
too had seen pictures of Gillian Davis, longer hair, same features,
collecting some kind of award in the UK. Dee and Pete
nodded.

“
These photos
were emailed to Scotland Yard, to DCI Coombes and his Sergeant.
They are keen to interview her, and not just because it means a
taxpayer funded trip to the USA.” Dee lifted the mood of both of
her male companions with her smile.

“
One thing is
for sure. They can’t expect the US to extradite her, not at present
and not with her newly found contacts,” Steve confirmed.

“
Do we all
think that she is exploiting her old man?” Pete theorised. “I mean,
she could have sought him out before now. I was wondering whether
she had always planned this trip, you know, as a contingency if the
whole UK thing unravelled.”

“
I’m not so
sure,” Dee mused. “That would be pretty cold. And whilst I accept
that you have to be cold to be a paid assassin, it has to be
different in your personal life. You would go mad
otherwise.”

“
Pete has a
point, Dee. But it gives us a problem. You recall the training at
Quantico, with Professor Norton? She might fit his definition of a
sociopath. If she is a sociopath she will be able to manipulate
those around her and convince everyone that she is just a simple
girl who the government trained to kill people.”

“
Or that
could be the truth; she could be a normal person whose training
makes her act intuitively, particularly in terms of self
preservation. It’s scary that the UK and the US might have trained
hundreds of people who will eventually return home with alleged
sociopathic tendencies from Iraq and Afghanistan.” Dee shuddered
involuntarily.

They sat for a
while, contemplating her words. Silence fell over the table like a
heavy blanket.

“
I’ll take
these pictures and put them with the Scotland Yard request for an
interview, to the Special Agent in Charge, the SAIC. We will try to
facilitate a formal interview, but even with our ‘special
relationship’ it will be down to Gillian Davis and her advisers as
to whether she agrees to be interviewed by Scotland Yard. We may
have to ask the questions ourselves, based on a crib list from DCI
Coombes.”

Steve paused
before continuing in a more cautionary tone. “The two of you have
done some remarkable work. You have tracked down a murder suspect
after she has successfully evaded the authorities, but we still
face a great many hurdles.”

Steve counted
out the issues on the fingers of his left hand. “One, Gillian Davis
was a covert operative for MI5. She worked on secondment to the
CIA, the FBI and to other agencies. She is owed a lot of favours
and has a lot of embarrassing stories she could tell in a court
room.

Two, she is
essentially one of us; that is, she is a product of the war against
terror and a successful product who could argue that she has
probably saved countless lives. There is likely to be considerable
sympathy for her in the secret services on both sides of the
pond.

Three, even
when operating with her colleague as the Chameleon, they continued
terminating bad guys under contract. Until they took out the
Israeli Minister, they had an unblemished record, and in all
honesty he had been a terrorist himself in his younger days. Mossad
were understandably angry but our diplomatic section say that the
Israeli population, now largely émigrés, hated the sight of the man
and were glad to see him gone. In our own Delta Force there is
admiration for the work the Chameleon did in taking out that Somali
pirate leader. The Chameleon was right under their noses and they
didn’t see him until he wanted to be seen. The man is a
legend.

Four, this
lady has skills that the FBI, CIA, ATF and numerous other US
agencies would kill for. She is one of the world’s best snipers,
yet she looks like a kindergarten teacher. She speaks with a
clipped English accent that could place her in situations we could
never get an American into, and she is unknown in the international
arena. We could send her anywhere and she wouldn’t attract any
attention at all.

Five, and
finally, I only have five fingers, she is connected. Her dad is a
contender for the presidency. He is third generation politician.
There won’t be a politician in the US who doesn’t owe Denton Miles
III, his daddy or his grand-daddy a favour.”

Pete and Dee
looked depressed.

“
So what we
are saying is that the Hokobus will never get justice.” Dee’s voice
was tight with anger.

Steve
shrugged. “I hope they do get justice, Dee, but I don’t want the
two of you feeling that you failed that couple in any way if the
machinery of government grinds the case against Davis to
dust.”

Chapter
5
6

Terminal 5,
Heathrow Airport, London. Tuesday 8:30am.

The UK’s
newest international terminal was thronged with people eager to
escape the frigid London weather. The fully glazed edifice would
have been bathed with light if there had been any outside, but it
was another cloudy and drizzly day. The magnificent curved roof,
designed by the world renowned Richard Rogers and engineered by
Arup, set the tone for the interior where curves and ellipses
dominated the decor. A miserable DCI Coombes was not unduly
impressed, however.

“
I told the
floor supervisor that we were with Scotland Yard and that we were
on urgent business, but the best they could do was upgrade us to
World Traveller Plus, a sort of premium economy,” Coombes grunted.
He hated the States, although he had never actually been there.
Full of criminals and brash Americans, he thought
glumly.

DS Scott, on
the other hand, was excited. This was his first business trip
outside the UK and he was determined to make the most of
it.

***

Dean Harrison
was an ex policeman himself, and so when he heard that the two
detectives were in his airport he used his position, as head of
security, to usher them quickly past security using the fast track
lane.

A few minutes
later the three men were sitting in the ultra modern, not so
comfortable break out area, reserved for security staff. While they
were waiting for the flight to be called, they spent their time
reminiscing over a hearty breakfast. Scott had ordered yoghurt,
fresh fruit and pain au chocolat, to accompany his orange juice,
whilst DCI Coombes was making headway through a full English
breakfast. He had cheered up considerably.

“
So, you are
hoping to interview a suspect in the USA. Lucky you. Furthest I
ever got was Hemel Hempstead on the kidnapping and murder of young
Gemma Drake. Nasty one, that was.” The two men from the Yard nodded
in acknowledgement, but would add nothing more about their
assignment.

***

At the time
the Detective’s flight to Dulles was making its final approach,
11am in Virginia, Gil Davis was sitting down with some very
important people. One of those people was Martin K Sherman. He was
a justice of the Supreme Court and an old school friend of Denton
Miles Jr, Gil’s grandfather. A man with an imperious manner, white
haired and distinguished in appearance, he spoke American with an
accent that could have been nurtured at Eton. Despite his stern
appearance and manner, he was putty in the hands of attractive
young women, including his own grand-daughters who he spoiled
mercilessly. As a result he was kindly and affectionate to the
assassin who sat before him, baring her soul with tears welling in
her eyes.

The second man
felt a little uncomfortable. Not as closely linked to the family,
he had been asked to repay and old debt by witnessing the meeting.
His presence would be helpful as he was currently highly placed in
the US Department of Justice.

Gil had
explained everything, in her own words, and then had surprised them
both by sharing a prepared ‘suggested’ affidavit. It was brief but
comprehensive. What they did not know, and could only suspect, was
that it was a carefully constructed framework of lies and half
truths. Nonetheless, such was the skilful presentation that every
negative fact that could have condemned Gillian Davis - Miles to a
life sentence was explained away, leaving the inevitable impression
that the one-time assassin was just another victim of the
system.