THE THESEUS PARADOX: The stunning breakthrough thriller based on real events, from the Scotland Yard detective turned author. (20 page)

‘No good for taking the missus down the shops then,’ chuckled Jake. ‘Where do we start?’

‘Well, we could get one done by Amersham computers. They’re based down the road from the Bradford offices. I’ll get onto them.’

Big Simon spent some time making several calls. Jake couldn’t catch all of the information. He reasoned that he wouldn’t have understood any of it anyway, but he was sure it was all technologically brilliant stuff. He trusted Big Simon.

‘What’s the damage then?’ asked Jake, as he passed Simon’s desk.

‘Well, we’ll need to strip out all of the things we don’t need off their top-of-the-range computer. We need the fastest, biggest processor and we’ll have to pay for them to put in the top graphics card money can buy. It will need to be designed just to process our stuff and to have nothing else running on it. No other police software
at all
. And I’ve asked them to put a fingerprint recognition system on it for security purposes too.’

‘Do we really need that last bit, or is that just because you’re a computer geek?’ asked Jake.

Simon blushed. ‘We’ll need a shedload of cash for the supercomputer, a new screen, new mouse and various other bits and bobs – and it’ll take a couple of weeks to build. Do you have a lottery win up your sleeve?’

‘Fuck it,’ said Jake. ‘We’ll put it down as a purchase of covert camera equipment. It can come out of the surveillance budget.’

55

Monday

15 August 2005

0730 hours

Longthorne Oak Hotel, central Leeds, West Yorkshire

As Jake sat down for breakfast in the hotel dining room, another hangover was trying to smash its way out of his skull. Smartly dressed businessmen and women wearing grey or navy were dotted around the room, alongside heavy laptop bags and small wheelie cases. Few people stayed more than one or two nights at the hotel.

Many of the white tablecloths looked like individual Tracey Emin masterpieces. Jake could see ketchup strewn across one, another encrusted with muesli, and a table in the far corner littered with a pile of chipped and dirty coffee cups.

Breakfast was a self-service buffet with a central table full of large silver-domed platters. The domes slid back to reveal that morning’s delights, most of which Jake wasn’t particularly impressed with. He didn’t reckon much to the chef; he was pretty sure he could have done a better job himself.

Jake had learned the hard way that the scrambled eggs were to be avoided at all costs. Always full of huge pieces of shell. Jake wondered if the chef even bothered to break the eggs. Perhaps he just lobbed the whole lot into the pan and mashed them up as he cooked?

‘Good morning, Jake,’ said Lenny as he sat down opposite the boss.

‘What’s good about it, Lenny? Why did you leave me in that bar last night on my own?’

‘It looked like you were having a good time with the blonde bit of stuff and her friend. You didn’t want me cramping your style.’

‘They took me back to their hotel. I could have been murdered, Lenny. We’re supposed to look after each other!’

‘Hahaha.
They
took you back, did they?’ Lenny winked at Jake.

‘Don’t ask me what happened. I can’t remember. I’m sure it involved nothing more than talking though.’

Lenny chuckled. Monday nights in Leeds appeared to be the new Fridays. ‘Who were they, Jake?’

‘No idea. Can’t remember their names. Jane? Janet? Jan? And her mate with the great arse. They worked for BT. I was tapping them up for information on cell-site activity. All good background for the case.’ Jake closed his eyes for a second and rubbed his temples. He couldn’t remember much of it – just that female attention was the only thing that cheered him up at the moment. He tried to shrug off any aimless feelings of guilt; he hadn’t actually been up to anything, he reasoned.

‘You seen the papers this morning, guv?’ Lenny slid a newspaper across the table toward his boss. ‘Police Tracking Device found on 7/7 Wife’s Car,’ screamed the headline.

There was a photo of Salma Khan, Wasim’s wife, standing next to her Honda Civic holding up the telelogger tracking device that Jake’s team had placed on the car a month ago.

‘How the fuck? Just how the fuck have they found that? How did she know?’ Jake asked as he looked up at Lenny from the paper, astonished.

‘She didn’t know. How could she? It’s been working fine. Her movements have been fairly consistent up until the last time we checked a couple of days ago.’

‘Tea or coffee, sir?’ asked the Polish waitress.

Jake and Len broke off their conversation. Jake covered the newspaper with his arm.

‘Tea, please.’

The waitress filled Jake’s cup and left them alone again.

‘I just don’t get it. They also ran that story last week about some of the forensic finds at the Victoria Park flat. The bosses are going to be well pissed off,’ Jake said as he poured milk from the small white jug on the table into his tea. It looked like oxtail soup, it was so strong. He didn’t care. He needed the fluid. He dropped four sugars into it and sipped. Maybe he’d avoid the breakfast this morning.

‘You’d better call London and let them know, Jake.’

‘I will do when I get to the office. You ready? I’m skipping breakfast here this morning.’

56

Monday

15 August 2005

0850 hours

Dudley Hill police station, Bradford, West Yorkshire

The office was fairly quiet when Jake arrived. A lot of the staff had come in early and gone straight back out on duty. Jake had taken to claiming one particular table in the corner of the room, on which he’d started leaving as much office paraphernalia as he could find – files, folders, notepads. He was just after a desk organiser now to complete the set, to fully deter any West Yorkshire staff from sitting in his favourite spot.

Jake called the SIO on the office line.

‘Malcolm Denswood.’

‘Morning, guv’nor – it’s Jake Flannagan.’

‘Morning, Jake – how are you?’

‘Not too shabby personally, thanks, sir – but we’ve got a small problem… Have you seen the headlines this morning?’

Jake heard the SIO inhale. ‘No, Jake. What is it now?’ His tone changed.

‘The lump we placed on the wife’s car last month. The press have somehow found out about it and are running a story.’

‘We kept that very tight, Jake. Very few people knew. How could they have found it?’

‘I don’t know. I did the applications. They went straight to you. DS Sandringham and I did the surveillance security cover on the fitting. I think a maximum of six people knew about it.’

‘It’s very disappointing, Jake. The team up there is tiny and we still can’t keep things secret? Down here I could understand it; we’ve got hundreds of officers, most of whom are attachments from other forces. You put something in the HOLMES system and the world and his wife can read it, but this was highly classified. How do we stop this happening again? What’s your suggestion?’

Jake was struggling for answers. ‘Short of investigating the journalist and finding out their source, which is a major distraction from the day job, I don’t know what to suggest.’

‘Where would you start with that?’

‘Maybe get a list of mobile phone numbers of everyone working on Theseus and Vivace. Get the journalist’s mobile phone records. Cross-check the two. Might throw up a hit. Might not. It’s a lot of work and it’s kind of bolting the stable door after the horse has gone. It might help to stop potential future leaks though?’

‘You’re assuming that the journalist is using a human intelligence source, Jake. What if he’s nobbled one of the staff to bug the office or something, and is listening remotely?’

‘There is that, but he’d still have contact with the member of staff, wouldn’t he?’

‘You’re thinking he’s got a cleaner or someone to put a device there? I can’t see that working. It might, but it’s easily rumbled. I think he’s probably a bit smarter than that.’

‘There’s always the “rough him up in a dark alley and make him talk” method, guv?’

‘Ha! You came into policing in the wrong era, Jake. In the sixties and seventies that was their
only
method,’ Malcolm laughed. ‘Have a think about it, Jake. I’m going to come up in the morning for a meeting. There’s another matter I want to discuss with you that I can’t put in HOLMES right now; not with all this going on. I should be there first thing at Dudley Hill.’

‘OK, sir. Will you be staying over or going straight back?’

‘I’m coming back the same day. Back-to-back meetings all week. We’re struggling to run both Theseus and Vivace as it is.’

‘I’ll get the kettle on for 0800 hours sharp tomorrow, guv.’

‘Thanks, Jake.’

Jake hung up. He looked up at Lenny on the other side of the room.

‘Do not let me get pissed tonight, Len!’

57

Tuesday

16 August 2005

0804 hours

M621 between Leeds and Bradford, West Yorkshire

He was late. The very thing he chastised his own staff for.

The traffic was solid.

Lenny had woken Jake by banging on his hotel-room door at 0730 hours after he’d not shown up for breakfast as agreed.

He’d showered and dressed while Lenny got the car from underneath the hotel. Lenny was doing his best to cut through the traffic but they were now late. Jake had another hangover from hell. He shut his eyes and held his head in his hands. It throbbed.

Jake dialled Denswood’s mobile number.

‘Good morning, Jake. Where are you? We’re waiting for you…’ Denswood sounded annoyed.

‘Sorry, guv, we’re caught in heavy traffic; been a nasty accident I think,’ Jake ad-libbed. He was sorely tempted to cheat and whack the blue lights and two tones on.

‘How long, Jake?’ Denswood sighed.

‘I don’t know. Depends if we can get round the accident. Maybe thirty minutes?’

‘I’ll make a cup of tea then, Jake. Soon as you can. OK?’

Denswood ended the call without saying goodbye.

Jake pressed the button on his handset to ensure it was disconnected his end.

‘Is he all right?’ Lenny looked across sheepishly at Jake from the driver’s seat.

‘He sounds fucked off. I would be. I told you not to let me drink! Why did you?’

‘Jake – have you seen yourself when you get going? I’m going to video it one night and play it back to you. You cannot be stopped. You’re like a runaway train! Always the same route, non-stop. You’re going to the end of the line where you have a huge crash. I’m not your conductor, nor your father.’

‘No. But you’re my DS and if I give you an order, you should follow it.’ Jake winked at him.

‘So what happened last night?’ asked Lenny cautiously.

‘Well, it was the same old, same old; spent all evening going through the files. Then Thai green curry on room service and forty-day-old porn on the TV. I had to go and have a vodka and Red Bull at the bar just to get out of my bloody room. Then… well there was that cheeky hen party in from Hull.’

‘And?’

‘It was rude not to join in… Things got a bit messy after that.’

They got to Bradford at 0840 hours. Denswood looked less than impressed when Lenny and Jake finally arrived at the office. The second-floor meeting room was tiny. The pale, imitation pine table was supposed to host twelve people but the room was tiny, which meant that the table had been shoved up against the wall. It strangled the office chairs on one side – their headrests bowed solemnly at the two people sitting around the opposite edge.

The early-morning sun shone fiercely through the single window opposite the door. Jake had to squint as he walked in, just to try and make out who was sat at the table.

SIO Denswood was sat with DCI Helen Brookes.

‘Morning, Jake. Morning, Lenny – sit down. Glad you could make it,’ Denswood said with a note of sarcasm in his voice.

Jake managed a half smile as he pulled out the chair nearest the door. The sun was in his eyes. With a spotlight stuck in his face and only blurry silhouettes in the background to mark the other figures present, he almost felt as though he were about to be interrogated. Lenny sat on the other side of the room, over toward the window – leaving Jake to take the heat.

‘Sorry we’re a bit late,’ said Jake as he started to wonder why this meeting was so cosy and if it might mean bad news.

Denswood peered over the top of his glasses, a sombre expression in his eyes.

Jake suddenly felt very sober – the headache gone.

‘Let’s crack on, shall we?’ Denswood said in a humourless mood. Jake nodded in agreement.

‘First of all, let’s talk about this leak, Jake. How was the lump found? I’ve read the newspaper article. It’s very clear they’ve discovered it and know that they’ve got a tracking device on their hands. How, Jake? How have they found it? Any ideas?’

Jake took a deep breath. ‘Well, sir, it was hidden behind a plastic guard in the wheel arch. It was out of sight. Up until two days before that article was published, the device was working perfectly. We could dial in and out of it, download the data from it. I’ve looked at her pattern of movements and all the locations visited. They were consistent. She’s not been anywhere new or out of the ordinary. It’s very odd. One of two things has happened in my opinion. The lump either fell off because the magnet failed – and was rattling around behind the wheel-arch cover and they found it that way.
Or
someone told her it was there.’

‘I’m hoping it was the former, Jake.’

‘I was rather hoping that too. I checked with technical support to ask how many magnet failures they’d had like that.

‘And?’

‘None. They’ve only had two lumps found in the last five years – and neither of the magnets failed in those cases either. They said it’s possible the magnet
could
fail – but of the two that have been compromised, both were found through someone alerting the target of a lump being on their vehicle.’