CHAPTER 3
Daniel sat in a window seat half way along the Economy section of the United British flight to Dulles International Airport. On his lap he held the zippered bag given to him by Alan Cuthberts. If what the old man had told him was true then, apart from the clothes he currently wore, the contents of the bag were his only belongings.
The false passport and counterfeit DNA Card had got him through airport security and to the rest of the world he was now John Smith.
He gripped the material of the bag in both hands, so tightly that his knuckles began to whiten. It was hard to believe that less than a day ago he’d been celebrating his sixteenth birthday with his parents, his foster parents if the professor was to be believed. The only concerns he had were the stupid childish problems of being bullied which, in comparison to his situation now, were almost laughable. He closed his eyes and forced himself to believe what was happening was real, and not some terrible nightmare.
‘Would you care for anything to drink?’ a woman’s voice asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.
He opened his eyes to see a stewardess with a trolley. ‘Oh, no thanks.’
‘Are you meeting your parents in Washington?’ she smiled.
Daniel looked at her and felt tears welling up in his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he managed to say before turning to face the window. He gazed out into the night sky and told himself that crying wouldn’t make things any better.
A saloon car screeched to a halt at the entrance to Brinkley House, its boot lid flipping open. Three men, all dressed in black combat clothes, hurried out of the building. Each of them put a large bag into the open boot, the last man slamming it shut. They climbed into the car and, with another screech of tyres, it sped off.
Miles Brennan sat in the front passenger seat and twisted around to face the man behind him. He was in his late forties, with short-cropped dark hair and a square chin. Experiences of a lifetime spent in the army were etched onto his face and gave his grey eyes a cold appearance. He activated a Tablet and its screen lit up, displaying Daniel’s image along with flight details.
‘Our target’s name is Daniel Henstock,’ he told the other men. His voice was tinged with a Scottish accent. ‘He’s sixteen years old, travelling under the alias of—’ he gave a brief derisory laugh ‘—get this, John Smith. His flight left Heathrow forty-five minutes ago, en route to Dulles International. We reach Northolt in …’ He turned to the driver for an answer.
‘Twenty-five, thirty minutes,’ the driver replied, his eyes never leaving the road.
‘We should reach Northolt in fifteen minutes,’ Brennan stated. ‘With any luck we’ll get to Washington before him.’
The driver cast a quick glance at Brennan and pushed down harder on the accelerator, weaving the car through the evening traffic.
‘Can’t we just get U.S. immigration to hold him?’ one of the men in the back asked.
‘And what do you suggest we say to them? That this sixteen-year-old boy poses a severe international threat? Get real. Look at him; a gust of wind would blow him over. It’s not our job to know why he’s wanted but Upstairs want as little publicity over this as possible, so that means not involving our American friends. We go in, snatch him and return him in one piece; standard Rendition protocols. Any questions?’
‘Yeah,’ the other man in the back asked. ‘Why’s Dave driving like a girl?’
Daniel stared out of the airplane window onto the silver-streaked tops of the clouds. It all looked so peaceful out there, so calm. Then a sudden thought came to him – what was he going to do once he got to America? Where would he go? There was a great deal of money in the bag, supposedly, but it wouldn’t last forever.
He hadn’t had the chance to have a look at the bag’s contents before getting to Heathrow, so perhaps now was a good time. He got out of his seat and made his way along the aisle to the nearest toilet. It was empty so he went into it and locked the door. Bright florescent light lit up the compartment.
Daniel lowered the toilet seat and put the bag onto it; just looking at it now made his heart quicken. He drew back the zip and opened up its sides. It was crammed full of bundles of money, all high denominations; dollars, euro, yen and sterling. There were others that he didn’t even recognise.
Daniel reached into the bag and started to empty the bundles out. He’d removed about a third of them when he discovered a side panel on the bag’s interior. He prised the Velcro fastening open and found, hidden inside, a digital earpiece unit attached to a DNA encoder pad. He pressed his thumb onto the pad and after his print had been scanned it flashed green. He put the unit into his ear.
‘Hello, Daniel,’ the professor’s voice spoke to him. ‘I’m hoping that you’ve discovered this before you land, wherever that may be. As I’m recording this you’re asleep upstairs in my house and I wish that you could be at peace like that all the time. The reality, I’m sad to say, is likely to be far from it.’
Daniel heard the sound of someone moving past the toilet door, and female voices talking to each other; two of the stewardesses.
He paused the recording until the sound of the voices moved away.
‘The one most vital piece of advice I can give you is this – trust no one,’ the professor’s voice continued. ‘Beneath all of the money in the bag, under a false bottom, is another passport and DNA Card. I want you to leave the ones that I gave you, will give to you I mean, under your seat or somewhere else where they won’t easily be found.’
Daniel began to empty the rest of the money from the bag.
‘It may be paranoia on my part but the original documents may have been compromised, and the men who killed Joshua and Elizabeth might already know where you are. Along with the new documents is a retinal lens case, use it as soon as you can; it’ll return a fake scan compatible with the DNA card, should anyone submit you to one. I’ve also included a fingertip laminator. Likewise, use that as soon as you can.’
Daniel emptied the bag and lifted up the false bottom. He pulled out an envelope with the new documents in, the plastic retinal lens case and a poly-ceramic laminator.
‘Be under no illusion, Daniel,’ the professor’s voice continued, ‘that these men will stop at nothing to return you to their labs. We must not let that happen. You must never try to contact me, whatever happens; it’d be far too dangerous. I shall pray that you are alive and well, and that you remain so for many years to come. My God it’s good to see you grown to be a man. I never thought I’d see that. Goodbye, Daniel, my boy, and good luck.’
Daniel took the earpiece unit out and put it into the garbage slot. His original false passport and DNA Card followed.
He froze at the sound of loud banging on the door. ‘Hey, are you gonna be in there all day?’ a man’s voice shouted. ‘Come on, buddy.’
‘Yeah,’ Daniel answered, his voice shaking. ‘I’ll be out in a minute. Just a little flight sick, you know?’
He put the new documents into his jacket pocket and opened up the retinal lens case. He held the open case up and forced himself to keep his eyes open as the tiny machine sprayed a thin polymer coating over them. It was over within a second but his eyes watered and for a few moments his vision was blurred.
He put the retinal case into the garbage slot then one at a time placed his fingers and thumbs into the laminator; his fingertips being coated with a thin film which was undetectable to the naked eye. The laminator went into the garbage as well.
He hurriedly returned the money to the bag, and pressed the toilet flush. He turned to the small mirror and hardly recognised the blue-eyed person staring back at him. It was amazing the difference the change in eye colour had made.
Daniel opened the cubicle door and stepped out into the aisle. A large sweaty man stood in front of him.
‘’Bout time, kid,’ the man said pushing past him into the cubicle. ‘Thought I was gonna pee myself.’
The dark shape of a small, sleek jet cut through the clear night sky and barely made a sound as it trav
elled at near super-sonic speed. The shape and construction of its wings and fuselage made it invisible to even the most advanced radar.
Brennan, along with his two men; Davis and Lithgow, sat in comfortable seats around a glass-topped table, a holographic image of the airport at Dulles between them.
‘We’ll land on this runway,’ Brennan said pointing at the display. He sunk his hand into the holograph and shifted its focus. ‘Enter the main Terminal building here and make our way through to immigration control. The target’s DNA Card will register as counterfeit and if the Americans follow standard procedure they’ll take him to one of the interrogation cells here.’ A section of the holograph pulsed red. ‘We’ll make our way through to this location,’ he pointed at the highlighted section, ‘and retrieve our man. Extraction will be through the reverse route. Any questions?’
The two other men shook their heads. Brennan pushed a button on the table top and the holograph disappeared.
‘Our target is due to land and be at immigration control by zero one thirty hours,’ Brennan pressed a finger to his earpiece. ‘What’s our current ETA at Dulles?’
There was a crackle as the pilot pressed his communicator. ‘Current anticipated landing time is zero two hundred hours, sir,’ the pilot replied, ‘at the earliest. There’s severe blue-jet lightning coming up from storms over the Atlantic. We have to re-route around them. Nothing we can do about it, I’m afraid.’
‘And I’m afraid that your arse’ll be on the line if you don’t get us there before zero one thirty.’
‘We’ll do our best, sir.’
Daniel clutched the bag as he waited in line at immigration control. There were about fifty or so people ahead of him and the wait only increased his worry. An argument at one of the booths between a French man and the officer held things up even more and did little to ease his anxiety.
Brennan’s jet taxied to halt, close to a waiting car. The jet’s hatch opened and Brennan, Davis and Lithgow stepped off the airplane; all three wearing uniforms of U.S. Immigration Officers.
They climbed into the car and it sped off toward the Terminal building.
The closer Daniel got to the front of the line the quicker his heart thumped in his chest, and the dryer his mouth became. At last it was his turn.
He stepped up to the empty booth and handed the officer his passport and DNA Card. The officer inspected the document and compared its holographic image to the boy standing in front of him then swiped the DNA Card through a digital reader. Fear gripped Daniel and panic almost took over. He glanced around; there were seven armed guards within eyesight. If he ran he wouldn’t make it twenty metres.
‘Sir, place your hands on the pad,’ the officer told Daniel, nodding at a white touch-screen.
Daniel placed the cloth bag on the floor and put his hands on the pad.
‘Spread your fingers wide and keep them pressed firmly onto the screen until I say otherwise.’
The pad scanned his hands, highlighting and then isolating the tips of his fingers.
Brennan swiped a card through an external reader and a door leading into a brightly lit corridor opened. He entered the Terminal building with barely a pause in his stride and headed towards immigration control, Davis and Lithgow a few steps behind.
Daniel stood with his hands on the touch-pad and felt like his heart was going to burst. The officer consulted his security screen; it still hadn’t confirmed Daniel’s identity. He frowned, swiped the DNA Card once more and tapped at his keypad. Still no confirmation.
‘Central, we may have a code forty-three violation at booth nine,’ the officer said into a communicator. He turned back to Daniel and unclipped the firearm at his hip. ‘Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to remain where you are. Keep your hands on the pad and away from your body. Do not move. Do you understand me?’
Daniel felt bile rise in his throat. ‘Yes.’
The DNA Card was no good, or the laminator hadn’t worked. Whatever it was, something had gone wrong. He fought the urge to vomit. The officer at the booth waved at one of the security guards and Daniel turned to see the armed man walking towards him; his automatic rifle primed and ready for use.
The immigration officer’s console suddenly flashed green. The officer looked at the screen then turned to shake his head at the approaching guard. ‘Central, this is booth nine. Cancel my last report. Repeat, cancel my last report.’
The officer handed Daniel back the passport and DNA Card. ‘Thank you, sir. Apologies for the delay; it happens sometimes. I hope that you have a pleasant stay.’ He waved the next passenger forward.
Daniel forced a smile, picked up his bag and pocketed the documents. With trembling steps he made his way across the concourse and towards the main arrivals lounge.
Brennan and his men entered the immigration hall, and quickly scanned the queue of people waiting to go through passport control.
‘Can’t see him,’ Davis said.
‘He may have already gone through and been taken to the detention block,’ Brennan said. ‘Check their system.’
Davis approached a vacant terminal, swiped a security card and accessed the security system. He shook his head. ‘Nothing coming up.’
‘All right then,’ Brennan replied. ‘Both of you do a detailed check on the line. Let’s pick him up before he reaches the booths.’
The two men moved off and began to check the line passenger by passenger. Brennan went up to a security desk and flashed an identity card to the officer.
‘Hi there,’ Brennan said in an American accent. ‘Can you tell me if flight UB7034 from London Heathrow has been cleared yet?’
‘Sure, hold on a moment,’ the officer replied. She typed at a screen. ‘It landed forty-five minutes ago. It’s been swept and is ready for a three a.m. outbound.’
‘All the passengers off?’
‘Yeah. It’s a secure walkway from the plane to the building here. No report of any passenger still on board. You looking for someone specific?’
‘Nah,’ Brennan answered with a smile. ‘Just checking.’
He moved away from the desk and tapped his ear communicator. ‘Immigration confirms that the target’s departed the plane and is in the building.’
‘I’m near the end of the line,’ Lithgow replied. ‘He’s not here.’
‘Repeat?’
‘He’s not here, sir.’
‘Davis?’
‘Copy that. The boy’s not here.’
Brennan spun around, scanning the hall for any sign of Daniel. ‘Then where the hell is he?’
Daniel closed the taxi door with a satisfying thud. He looked back through the window at the front of the airport. He’d only ever flown within the UK before, but this looked just like all the airports he had ever seen; cold, and made out of glass and metal.
‘Where to, buddy?’ the driver asked.
‘I’m … I’m not sure.’
‘Gotta take you somewhere, kid. You got no family or nothing?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘Take me to a hotel,’ he said. ‘A nice one, but not too close.’
The driver twisted in his seat and eyed him with suspicion.
‘I can pay,’ Daniel told him. He dipped into the bag and pulled out a five-hundred dollar bill.
The driver smiled and turned back around. ‘Yes, sir. One nice hotel coming right up.’
The taxi pulled away from the airport and Daniel relaxed into the soft fabric of the back seat.
For the first time in twenty-four hours he felt safe, but also knew that from this point on he was on his own.