The return trip back from Boston had still not revealed a suspicious Audi skulking in the rear-view mirror and if Rebane was to be believed, then any followers were doubtless from the Security Services. Devereau had typically given short shrift to Anderson’s complaint about not mentioning his links with MI6, claiming it was a time best left in the past; similarly, Rebane’s presence at Erdenheim and his explanation as to his role were met with the text equivalent of a non-committal shrug, Devereau letting Anderson decide whether or not to cut his losses and move on.
Rebane might have called his bluff, but Anderson wasn’t ready to give up just yet, curious as to Erdenheim’s most recent visitors. The photographs from Friday had given him the helicopter’s registration number, the Civil Aviation Authority website supplying the owner’s name and address; forty minutes later, Devereau was in his car heading south of Watford and on towards Denham Aerodrome near Uxbridge, a sixty-mile round trip on the off-chance of learning something worthwhile.
If Anderson expected Devereau’s persuasive skills would ensure some sort of breakthrough then he was disappointed, and the information was basic at best. Erdenheim had regularly chartered a helicopter from Heathrow to Graythorp, the majority of passengers American, usually no more than six. While it didn’t directly contradict anything Rebane had said, it just seemed odd that Britain would rely so heavily on American expertise, with Carter apparently the lone UK representative.
Charlotte’s arrival was a welcome after-dinner distraction, Anderson trying to be generous at her success in identifying Lara, irritated that he hadn’t thought of it first.
“And Rob confirmed it was her?” he asked while reading though Klaudia Woroniecki’s internet profile.
“Ninety percent certain,” Charlotte said, trying not to gloat too much.
“And you’ve brought Zhilin’s other two books with you because? Personally I’d rather burn them than have to read another page.”
“I thought we might combine resources,” said Charlotte with a smile. “With your perceptive genius and my deductive reasoning, then surely anything is possible. The acknowledgements gave us Rebane and Woroniecki – maybe your friend Yuri is in there as well? I’m still struggling to find nine people from the book that gave me Klaudia.”
Anderson knew it was well worth a try. “I guess we’re sticking with people whose expertise is related to terrorism in some form or another?”
Charlotte nodded, “Using Amazon as a filter helped with some of the more common names; there’s also a Global Expert Database. There might only be fifty or so left to check, less if several double or triple up.”
In fact it was simpler than Charlotte had imagined, there just thirty-five more names to be pursued, one from The Tactics of Terror immediately striking a chord.
“Aldis Eglitis,” Charlotte said, staring down at the page. “He’s the man the Russians are desperate to get their hands on.”
“While true,” said Anderson with a shrug, “it still proves nothing. Just because Zhilin consulted with Eglitis, that doesn’t mean Rebane knows him. Even if they worked together on the book, that was years ago; Devereau would just laugh at me if I used one dodgy reference to somehow link August 14 to what’s happening at Erdenheim.”
“But you have to admit, it’s intriguing.”
“As with everything we’ve found,” said Anderson exasperated.
The news reports had been working hard to keep them apprised as to events in the Baltic, the Government in Warsaw vehemently denying any prior knowledge of August 14’s Polish base. Erdenheim’s complicity remained unproven but the amount of circumstantial evidence was slowly gathering pace and for what it was worth, Anderson’s own verdict on Poland was rapidly edging towards guilty.