Darke Mission (65 page)

JJ and Gil viewed the video of Cyrus again and again. JJ had calmed down enough to study the video for clues not just shake with emotion at seeing his son captive and at the mercy of a wanted murderer. Robson had been smart. The video showed Cyrus's face, his lower body, his legs and the fact that he was bound and silenced. There was no hint, however, of where he was, no newspapers lying around, no window views, no external sounds, nothing.

“Gil,” said JJ, “play it back in slo-mo, just to check.”

“Sure,” replied Gil. They both studied the video again in slow motion. Still nothing.

“JJ,” said Gil after a few moments, “did you notice that Cyrus seemed to be blinking a lot, not even blinking, his eyelids are going up and down and his head is nodding in time.”

JJ had not noticed but was ready for another look. Gil was right. Cyrus was lowering his head slightly every few seconds. He wasn't really blinking, it was more a systematic eyelid movement. Cyrus was trying to point at the paper on his lap. He could not do it with his hands as they were tied behind his back and he sure couldn't do it with his tongue, to speak or point, as that was inside his taped mouth.

“Can you see what's on the paper?” asked JJ.

Gil froze the best shot of the paper on Cyrus's lap.

“I can't make it out clearly, JJ. It looks like numbers, upside down maybe,” Gil ventured.

JJ had a look then another one. Gil could be right again.

“Let's rotate it,” said JJ.

JJ was up on technology to a degree, but the easy manipulation of these fancy smartphone's camera and video apps was not high on his list of capabilities, so he left Gil in control of the phone.

“OK. I've rotated it, changed the angle of the shot and zoomed in. Take a look.”

JJ took his phone. The picture he was looking at was not the drawing of a tree. It was an incomplete magic square.

Gil and JJ looked at each other quizically. Gil was a maths genius and JJ was no slouch with numbers. It didn't mean anything to them.

“I don't get it Gil,” said JJ bamboozled. “Cyrus would not get stuck on a magic square. He could do those in his sleep when he was ten. I mean, there's no chance that this square is right. No matter what number you put in the middle, the rows, columns and diagonals are not summing to the same number. Cyrus would know that. If it's a message it's in code, disguised so that Robson wouldn't click. We need to solve this but I'm not having a light bulb moment.”

“Me neither,” said Gil, thoroughly annoyed that she hadn't solved it straight away. JJ left Gil studying the square and went to the landline phone in his living room.

“Hi Ethel,” began JJ.

“JJ, how's Cyrus? Any news?” asked Ethel very concerned about Cyrus's welfare.

“I've seen a video of him. He's alive. A little worse for wear as far as I can tell. His brain's still ticking though. He might have been trying to indicate where he is being held. It's some kind of code in a square. Gil and I can't figure it out yet.”

“Victor!” exclaimed Ethel.

“Yes, please,” said JJ. “Could you track him down and ask him to rush over here?”

“Sure thing. I'm on it. I may come too, if that's OK?” asked Ethel.

“Of course it is.”

* * *

Within an hour, Ethel Rogers and Victor Pagari were knocking on JJ's Chelsea blue door. Greetings were kept to a minimum as there was an urgent task waiting. Victor looked at the video. He repeated Gil's rotation and zooming. He confirmed the numbers in the square and the fact that it sure wasn't magic.

“What do you think Victor?” asked JJ, understandably impatient.

“What age is Cyrus?” asked Victor.

“Fourteen,” said JJ.

Victor nodded his head and tapped a few instructions into his laptop.

“Is he smart… no offence?” asked Victor.

“Yes Victor, he's smart, but he's no bleedin' Einstein! He's not the mathematician Gil is, he doesn't know anything about economics or finance and while he's a wizard on a computer, he's not a high-wizard like you. He can't outsmart all of us, for god's sake,” said JJ, hoping, praying that his conclusion was correct.

“No, he can't,” said Victor, smiling to himself, partly as a nod of recognition to Cyrus's efforts and partly to the safe cracker's own ability to dial back to being a fourteen year old. “He's fourteen, he's smart but he's under duress. He needed a code, quickly thought up, no access to a computer or fancy algorithms. It needed to be simple but not obvious. He did what he could and he did good,” announced Victor, swivelling his laptop so that the screen could be seen by all.

“Battersea!” they yelled.

As Ethel, Victor and Gil discussed their next move and debated how Cyrus could possibly know where he was, JJ's mobile rang, it was Sandra Hillington.

“Hi Sandra,” said JJ trying to sound normal.

“Hi JJ. First, thanks for all the money. We've got it in a special MI5 escrow account and it will be distributed to the approved government departments in the next few days. The Home Secretary is overseeing the transfers. She's very grateful, JJ, and wants to meet you soon to say so in person. Guess you saved the country, Batman!”

“Fine, we'll do that, Sandra,” was all JJ said. He had already made the judgement call not to inform Sandra or anyone in MI5 about Cyrus's kidnap. They hadn't been able to arrest Robson at his office when he was a sitting duck. Due to bureaucracy Sandra had said. If they dallied again or sent a swarm of officers in search of Cyrus, Robson probably had the smarts to dodge them again. This time, though, he may damage Cyrus in the process.

“The bottom line, JJ, is that we owe you one,” said the DG.

“That's good. I'd like to have my one now please. I've got a friend in hospital and he'd like to be discharged before he disappears.”

“Does it involve travel?” asked Sandra, intrigued by the speed of JJ's debt-collecting request.

“Yes, it's probably Section Six's territory but given the circumstances and all that.”

“Where's the hospital JJ?” asked Sandra.

“North Korea.” There was a long pause at the other end of the telephone. JJ could not hear any brain whirring but he was sure it was going on. “You'll be able to count on the local CIA office,” he added.

Still no reply.

Finally, “OK. That's a big one but you did save the country. You're on. I'll be in touch later tonight. Send me details ASAP,” said the DG.

“Thanks Sandra,” said JJ and hung up. He glanced at his watch. It would be early in Seoul but what the heck, he had other things on his mind, he was going to ring his old mucker from Arizona right now.

“Bradbury,” said the voice.

“Hi Jim, it's JJ, you alright?” asked the Scot.

“Hi JJ. I'm fine, not happy but fine. What can I do for you at this time?”

“Is Kwon still in the hospital under guard?” asked JJ.

“Yes, and that's what I'm not happy about. Of course it's better than being in the fuckin' penal colony, but the information we have is that he's scheduled to be taken from hospital in three days' time. Langley are dragging their feet. They don't have an ex-fill specialist we can use and they're not sending reinforcements. I got a new asshole handed to me because they chewed me out about helping you, albeit in a good cause and all that. Me, Lily and the Iceman are prepared to try to spring Kwon but it could be a suicide mission. We don't know what to do.”

“Look Jim, I've got some big problems here, otherwise I'd help directly.”

“It's OK, JJ, we know you're up to your eyeballs with your government going bust.”

“No, it's not that Jim. I can't give you details right now. I'll fill you in later but listen. MI5 owe me big time. I've called in the favour. They're prepared to send a specialist ex-fill team to help you out. Send me as much detail as you have on Kwon, exactly where he is, any routines, the precise time he's scheduled to be transferred. Anything relevant. The unit can probably be with you in two days. You're in charge.”

“Jeesuz! That's fuckin' A1. You're a star!” exclaimed Jim Bradbury.

“I don't know about that my friend. MI5 wouldn't owe me big if you and your team had not helped me. Deep cover was an integral part of that. I owe Kwon and this is my attempt to repay him. I'd better go now. Keep me in touch. I'll brief the MI5 team on what I know before they get there. Then it's up to you old buddy.”

“Thanks JJ. I will. Hope your stuff works out.”

“Me too, Jim, me too,” said JJ and then he hung up.

JJ returned to the group scouring a map of Battersea. It was a big place. A population of over 75,000 within its triangular shaped perimeter. It is bounded by the River Thames on the north, and Camberwell, Streatham and Clapham to the south.

“How would Cyrus know where he was?” asked Ethel. “That plank Robson is an ex-spook. He'd leave no clues lying around.”

“Does it matter?” asked Gil. “The boy's smart, he must have spotted something.”

“Let's look at the video again,” suggested JJ.

The four of them searched the video one more time for clues. There was absolutely nothing lying around on the floor, or anywhere on the very narrow vista that Robson had allowed them to see.

“Look there,” said Victor, pointing to the screen on JJ's phone. “Go back a little and freeze it. Do you guys see it?”

“I see a kid looking miserable, Victor. That's it. Spill,” said Ethel. Neither Gil nor JJ could see anything useful either.

“It's the light and the shadow,” said Victor. “The left hand side of Cyrus's face looks a little lighter than the right. It's probably a shaft of sunlight coming through the window.”

“If it was ‘I-spy' Victor, you'd be on a winner,” said Gil. “But so what?”

“The so what is that if it's a shaft of light then there's a window to Cyrus's left. And if there's a window there then he can see out of it. He's not blindfolded and there can't be any curtains or shades on the window, otherwise there'd be no light beam. Maybe he recognised something from the window that he knew to be in Battersea.”

“Cyrus doesn't hang around Battersea. He doesn't know anywhere there,” said Gil, “and Robson's not stupid enough to have him on the ground floor in case of any snooping passers-by.”

JJ said nothing and pondered what Victor had said.

“What are you thinking JJ, I recognise that look?” asked Ethel.

“I'm thinking that you don't need to hang about the bars and clubs of lower Manhattan to recognise the Statue of Liberty.”

“Battersea Power Station,” deduced Victor.

“Maybe, Victor, maybe. Cyrus wouldn't recognise hardly anywhere in Battersea, Gil's right. Apart from the odd foray into the park, for school sports day, or tennis, or fireworks night, he didn't go there. He would, however, recognise Battersea Power Station, almost everyone who has ever lived in London would. Maybe he could see the station's chimneys from where he is. That could narrow our search a bit. Let's get on it.”

JJ proceeded to delegate responsibilities. Victor was to use his technical skills to scan the area of Battersea that the decommissioned power station could be visible from. Gil was to check for recent rentals in the area in high-rise apartments, lofts or houses tall enough that the station might be seen. JJ judged that Robson would not have been able to buy a property, lack of access to sufficient funds, too much bureaucratic paperwork, money-laundering questionnaires etc. A short let with a tasty cash deal direct to an unscrupulous landlord was the most likely option.

Ethel and JJ were in discussion as to how to best ensnare Robson if and when they found out where he was. Cyrus's safety was paramount so an all out assault leading to a firefight was not likely to be the best way forward. As the four friends and colleagues went about their business the doorbell rang. JJ answered. It was Becky.

“Hi Becky, come in. How's your mum?”

“Fine, thanks, JJ. It's OK that I'm here, right?” she asked.

In all of the anxiety surrounding Cyrus's kidnap, JJ had temporarily forgotten that he had invited Becky to stay with him, Cyrus and Gil until the fugitive Robson was captured. Clearly she was happy with that invite.

“Of course, Becky. I'll ask Gil to take you upstairs and show you your room. Settle in, then come down. We're all in the living room,” said JJ.

“All?” enquired Becky.

“Gil and I plus two friends you haven't met yet. You may as well know straight up. Neil Robson has kidnapped Cyrus and we're trying to figure out how to get him back.”

Becky was horrified. She didn't really know what to say. In most circumstances she would have made her excuses and left. She was scared, though, and really did not want to be on her own.

“If I can be of use just ask,” she said eventually. “I'll do anything to help. He is such a sweet boy.”