Sure Fire. Justin Richards
there was not.”
Pavlov nodded. “All sterile glassware. Fragile, if you have to make a hurried escape.”
The video was running forward again as they spoke, at normal speed.
“There!” Vishinsky said suddenly. He leaned forward. “Go back – slowly.”
Pavlov let the images play backwards at a tenth of their normal speed. He froze the playback as soon as Vishinsky said: “Stop it there.”
Vishinsky got up from his chair and walked slowly along the length of the table. His eyes never left the screen. The image showed the dark figure as his hand emerged from his pocket. The fingers were wrapped round whatever he was holding – the receptacle he was about to fill with liquid from the canister. In that single frozen frame, it was angled so that it caught what little light there was – perhaps a faint glow from the display of nearby equipment.
Vishinsky stood close to the screen. “Close in on his hand, on the thing he is holding.”
Pavlov moved his fingers carefully across the laptop’s track pad and the image zoomed in on the container in the man’s hand.
Just barely visible was a shadow or a mark. Something on the container that was catching the light. “What is that?”
“I’m not sure.” Pavlov tried to trace the mark with his pointer, but it was not distinct enough. “A maker’s mark perhaps? Maybe it’s just a shadow, a reflection – an artefact of the enhancement process.”
Vishinsky nodded. “Find out,” he said.
“But, sir,” Pavlov said, “we have already enhanced the image as much as we can. Any more and we risk introducing things that are not actually there.” He hesitated and licked his dry lips.
“Don’t trouble me with details,” Vishinsky said. “Just find out what that mark is. You can do that, can’t you? For me?”
He raised a grey-white eyebrow as if asking a simple favour of a friend.
Pavlov swallowed. “Of course, sir. We’ll do what we can. But—”
“Find out!” Vishinsky roared. He waved his hand in sudden, abrupt dismissal and Pavlov quickly disconnected his laptop and hurried after his colleagues from the room. “And tell someone to bring me my food,” Vishinsky said. “Before it gets cold.”
The sound of a telephone woke Rich in the middle of the night. Instinctively, he fumbled for his mobile, but it wasn’t the same ring. He and Jade both had mobiles, though Mum had made them pay for their own top-ups. Probably he was out of credit anyway.
The phone stopped and, now that he was awake, Rich could hear the low sound of Chance speaking. Rich’s mobile showed the time when it wasn’t being used – it said 04:32. Who was ringing up at half past four in the morning?
He needed the toilet now he was awake, so he tiptoed to the door and opened it. Rich paused. Chance’s voice was muffled and indistinct through his closed study door, but Rich couldn’t help catching a few words when he pressed his ear to the door.
“…No, not here… better not meet yet… dangerous… leave it for me… usual place… I’ll collect… soon.”
The sound of Chance’s voice stopped. If he had to be somewhere soon, he’d be in a hurry, Rich realised. He darted back into his bedroom and pushed the door almost closed. The study door opened and through the crack between the door and its frame, Rich saw Chance hurry into the living room. He was still dressed.
Maybe he slept in his clothes, Rich thought. Maybe he didn’t sleep at all.
Rich climbed back into bed, his need for the bathroom forgotten. When he woke again it was morning, and the events of the night seemed as vague as a dream.
Jade appeared in the bedroom door. She was still in her pyjamas and carrying two mugs of tea. “He’s gone,” she said.
Rich didn’t need to ask who she meant.
He told her about the night-time phone call while they drank their tea. They went through to the study, where the computer was on. It showed a standard screensaver and there was a password to get out of it and back to the main screen.
“Who needs a password when he lives alone?” Jade wondered.
“Maybe it’s for our benefit,” Rich said. “Or maybe he takes the laptop to work. Maybe he’s gone to work already.”
“It’s not seven o’clock yet,” Jade pointed out.
“Long commute?”
“Or a long meeting. I wonder who called him.”
“Let’s find out,” Rich said, lifting the phone. “1471 – gives the number of the last caller.”
“Probably withheld or unavailable,” Jade said.
Rich tried it anyway. The dial tone was replaced by the beep of the buttons as he pressed them. But then, instead of a voice, he heard an electronic screech. It was so loud and shrill that Rich dropped the phone.
Jade could hear it too. She picked up the handset to replace it in the cradle. But then she hesitated, pointing at the plastic box attached to the phone. Lights were flashing on the side of it. She hung up and the lights went out.
“I don’t like this,” Jade said quietly.
Before Rich could reply, they heard the sound of the door to the flat slamming shut. They rushed to the living room.
Chance looked tired. He was holding a few letters which he dropped unopened into the kitchen bin. He closed up the cupboard where the bin was kept and turned the kettle on.
“Lucky we got milk,” Rich said from the doorway.
“I drink my coffee black,” Chance replied, without looking round. “You’re up early.”
“We all are,” Jade said, pushing past Rich into the kitchen. “Where have you been?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk.”
The kettle was boiling and Chance made his coffee. “I’ve got some work to catch up on. I’ll see you later. Help yourselves to breakfast.”
“I guess he means the beer,” Rich said, when Chance had gone. “Unless there’s some cereal hidden away.” He opened a few cupboards, but found nothing. Having tried all the others, he opened the cupboard under the sink. This was the cupboard with the bin. As the door opened, it raised the lid of the bin inside.
“Hang on – look at this.” Rich was staring into the bin.
Jade joined him and saw what he was looking at – the letters that Chance had just dropped.
Rich lifted out the letters. “They’re all the same,” he said, showing her. There were five letters – bills and junk mail. The address was the same on them all – Second Floor Flat – and the number and street. And they had all been sent to the same person.
But that person wasn’t John Chance. It was Henry Lessiter.
“Remind me,” Jade said quietly. “How do we know that this man who says he’s called John Chance but gets someone else’s post, who gets phone calls in the middle of the night and goes to ‘meetings’ until dawn—”
“How do we know,” Rich finished for her, “that he’s actually our John Chance at all?”
Chance told them he was working from home that day. He was happy for Jade and Rich to explore the area, and they went to the shops. For lunch they got a sandwich in a little internet café, and Rich spent an hour mucking about on the web. Jade emailed her friend Charmaine in America.
They