Gray Vengeance (27 page)

Chapter 37

19 December 2014

‘So tell me why Farrar is in Cuba, we tell Mackenzie we’re heading to Jakarta, but we’re actually going to Pretoria.’

‘Because we need new passports if we’re going to stay off the radar,’ Gray told Sonny as they queued at the departure desk. ‘
Harvey
wants everyone to believe that Farrar is in Indonesia. Once we get to Pretoria, Kyle’s colleagues will meet us with new ID papers and tickets to Havana.’

‘So that’s why you let Mackenzie keep his phone,’ Sonny said. ‘I thought you’d gone soft.’

‘No, I wanted him to be able to call his people once he’s
rescued
. I told the hotel manager to send someone up to the room at six in the morning the day after tomorrow to check on our friend who isn’t feeling too well. Once they find him, we’ll know if our ruse worked.’

‘Mackenzie will have had plenty of time to think this through,’ Sonny pointed out. ‘He’s bound to know his phone was traced.’

‘That’s possible,’ Gray said, ‘but Harvey’s also tracking the recipient, so he’ll know if Mackenzie gets in touch, even if he uses another phone.’

Ackerman joined them, dumping his overnight bag at their feet and handing Gray the phone. ‘Andrew said he’ll meet you in Havana. He’ll sort out accommodation and get back to you with the details.’

‘Did he mention the items we requested?’

‘His contact is working on that. He might even have an address by the time you land.’

‘That’ll certainly save us some time,’ Gray said, as he reached the head of the queue. He handed over his passport and ticket, then collected his boarding pass and waited for the others to ch
eck in.

The flight to South Africa required a stopover in Abuja, and by the time they arrived in Pretoria, darkness had descended. Once they’d cleared immigration, they made their way to the arrivals hall, where a man in his thirties held up a board with Ackerman’s name on it. They followed the driver out to a waiting SUV, and Ackerman ushered the trio inside.

‘Got the documents?’ he asked.

The driver opened the glove compartment and handed him a thick envelope. Inside were three passports, and Gray could see that they weren’t British.

‘You’re Australians,’ Ackerman said, handing them out. ‘You should all have a two-week holiday visa, staying at the National Hotel in Havana. Here are your tickets, and there are three suitcases in the back. It would look strange if you turned up for a two-week holiday with just hand luggage.’

‘Did you arrange the other surprise for Mackenzie?’ Gray asked.

‘It’s all in place.’

Gray shook hands with Ackerman. ‘As always, I really appreciate the help.’

‘Don’t mention it, Tom. Just go and sort that bastard out.’

Andrew Harvey sat at his laptop in Farsi’s front room and wondered just what search criteria he should use to filter out the results from Haddon Hall. He wasn’t sure how long he’d have, once connected to their system, so he needed to plan his strategy in advance.

His second meeting with Wallis hadn’t gone to his
liking
, though the American had managed to arrange the weapons he’d asked for. The downside was that the CIA had no record of
Harold
Ericson beyond his entry at Jose Marti International A
irport. Ericson
was registered at the Hotel Habana Libre for visa purposes, but he’d never turned up, which meant he must have had other
accommodation
arranged in advance. Harvey knew it was likely that wherever he was staying, it was under yet another name, making the search almost impossible.

Harvey hit the remote icon on his desktop and was soon
presented
with the familiar Brigandicuum search screen. He entered the home secretary’s mobile number and watched as the web of related numbers stretched out from London to Europe and then
farther
afield. Harper was one of the high-level officials whose phone was blocked from the Brigandicuum system, but everyone who had had phone contact with Harper was shown. The only drawback was that the results were limited to data that had already been downloaded by Brigandicuum. Doing an up-
to-da
te
worldwide
scan would mean adding the phone number to the
keyword
file, which was something Harvey couldn’t do. His eyes were on the long, thin island in the Caribbean, and it wasn’t long before a green line snaked from England’s capital to a waterfront property to the north of the capital, Havana.

He zoomed in and saw a detached house with what looked to be a swimming pool on the roof. The plot was surrounded by a white wall, with the nearest neighbours over five hundred yar
ds away.

‘Got you,’ he breathed.

He still needed proof that Farrar was there, though. It could well be the residence of the British Ambassador, or another
dignitary
whom the home secretary had called. Harvey checked the time of the contact, and saw that it had occurred only twenty hours earlier. It still wasn’t conclusive, but as the seconds ticked by, it remained the only connection to the
minister’s
phone.

Harvey entered the Cuban phone’s number into the Brigandicuum search screen and hit the Download button.
Immediately
, data began scrolling down the screen, and Harvey selected the link to filter it to text messages. There were only thirteen in total, and it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for.

‘Bingo!’

Farsi walked in from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. ‘What did you find?’

Harvey turned the laptop towards him. ‘A text conversation between Harper and someone in Cuba. It was routed through a crude attempt at a relay in the Philippines.’

Progress report?

They think you’re in Indonesia.

Not even warm.

Okay, I’ll keep you informed.

‘Looks like she swallowed the Jakarta story,’ Farsi said.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Harvey said. He made a note of the location of the house and took a screenshot of the satellite view, which he sent to his phone.

‘Do you think Farrar will come quietly?’ Farsi asked.

‘I hope so,’ Harvey said. ‘If he doesn’t . . . well, that’s why we have Tom Gray.’

Paul Mackenzie was running out of ways to keep his eyes open as the hours wore on. He couldn’t see a clock, but guessed that over twenty-four hours had passed since Gray had tied him to the bed and set his little booby-trap.

As soon as Gray and his team had left the room, Mackenzie had tried blowing the flame out, but the gag over his mouth made it impossible. He’d also had a couple of near misses, not least when he’d sneezed twice in succession. The lamp had wobbled on his sternum, and it was a miracle that it hadn’t fallen off and set fire to the bed.

A faint knock on the door stirred him to full alertness. He immediately began making as much noise as possible without upsetting the lamp. The gag muffled the sound, but he continued nonetheless. Another knock, and he was relieved to hear the sound of a key entering the lock.

The hotel manager stuck his head inside the door, and pushed it fully open when he saw his guest strapped to the bed. He ran in and removed the lamp, then pulled the gag down, asking what had happened.

‘I was robbed,’ Mackenzie said, sounding almost as desperate as
he felt.

The manager helped to untie him, asking if he’d suffered any torture, but Mackenzie waved him off. ‘I’m fine, I just need to get dressed and get to the airport. Unless you’d like me to involve the police and the media . . . ?’

The manager was only too happy to avoid the negative
publicity
, and he promised to do all he could, starting with a limousine to the airport. The hotel bill had already been paid, so he offered
Mackenzie
a few dollars to help with sundry expenses.

Mackenzie checked his jacket and found that his wallet and phone were still there, but Ackerman had taken his passport. ‘Thanks, but what I really need is to get to the British embassy.’

‘We have a British consulate,’ the manager told him. ‘I’ll let them know to expect you and have a car waiting to take you there.’

He left the room in a hurry, and Mackenzie went to his own room and grabbed his belongings before going down to reception.

‘I called ahead,’ the manager told him. ‘They will be expe
cting you.’

Mackenzie was shown to a waiting car, and after a short drive he was dropped off outside the consulate. A portly man was waiting at the steps, and he ushered Mackenzie into the building.

‘The name’s Dennis Engle. I understand you had some bother with your passport.’

Mackenzie noted the smell of alcohol on the man’s breath, but as long as he got his paperwork, he wasn’t concerned. He repeated the lie about being robbed, and Engle led him into a side office, seating himself at a desk before making a quick call.

‘If you could fill this in, that would be great.’

Mackenzie took the passport replacement form and entered his details. He was almost finished when a young woman knocked on the door and let herself in.

‘Go with Karina,’ Engle said. ‘She’ll take your passport
photograph
. I’ll begin processing this.’

Mackenzie picked up his holdall and followed her.

‘You can leave that here. It’s no problem. I won’t be going
anywhere
.’

Mackenzie dropped the bag by the door and followed the girl down the hallway and into another small room. He fixed his hair as best he could, then posed in front of an instamatic for his picture. It took a few minutes for the prints to be developed, and then Karina escorted him back to Engle’s room.

‘Almost done,’ Engle said, tapping away on his keyboard. He looked at Mackenzie, then back to the screen, and, satisfied that the image on file matched the man in front of him, he hit the
Submit
button.

‘Your papers will be delivered in a few minutes,’ Engle said. ‘In the meantime, do you wish to file a police report?’

‘No need,’ Mackenzie said. ‘I’d just like to get home.’

‘I understand. Do you have a flight booked?’

‘I’ll do that once I get to the airport.’

‘Nonsense, I’ll get Karina to do it for you. I assume you have the money . . . ?’

Mackenzie handed over a credit card, and Engle asked Karina to pop back in. She returned five minutes later with a printout of the flight details.

‘Thanks for everything,’ Mackenzie said, shaking Engle’s hand.

‘It’s what we do.’ The red-faced attaché smiled.

The car that had brought Mackenzie was still waiting, and he told the driver to take him to the airport. On the way, he sent a text message to Sarah Thompson, updating her on developments.

When he arrived at Mallam Aminu International, he checked in at the EgyptAir desk, then made his way through security,
placing
his holdall on the conveyor belt and depositing his metal items in the tray provided. He stepped through the detector as his luggage passed through the x-ray machine, then went to collect his coins and phone.

‘Excuse me, sir. Please take your bag and come with me.’

A confused Mackenzie did as requested, and followed the man to a room where three uniformed officers were waiting.

‘What’s this about?’

‘Did you pack this bag yourself ?’

Mackenzie nodded, and the security officer opened it, pulling the contents out carefully. He got to a pair of rolled-up socks and weighed them in his hands.

‘What’s in here?’

‘I . . . nothing, there’s nothing . . . ’

The officer unravelled the socks to reveal a transparent bag containing a white powder.

‘Nothing?’

‘That’s not mine!’

Two of the three policemen already had their weapons drawn, while the third approached with a pair of handcuffs.