‘Sorry General, not yet. We’ve checked all house rentals, car thefts and car rentals nationwide, all credit card transactions; cell phone calls et cetera et cetera. We’ve questioned all Hall’s known associates, current and past, we’ve searched their properties, searched their beach houses and holiday homes. So far we’ve drawn a blank.’
‘How about the Canadians?’ Bruckner asked.
‘When we told them we were looking for a suspected terrorist then they were quick to cooperate. Their border crossing people are on alert.’
‘How about down south?’
‘Well we’ve not had so much success there. You know how chaotic they can be, but Hall doesn’t speak Spanish and there’s no record of him having any experience in Central or South America. I doubt that he’d go south.’
‘Ok, that makes sense but don’t totally discount it. Let’s hope we get a break soon. Is Samms using his best endeavours?’
‘Like his life depended on it General.’
‘Good! Maybe it does.’
The next morning dawned with a stiff breeze, the sea still swollen from yesterday’s storms, but the wind was now a steady north-easterly trade wind. Steven extricated himself from Gerry’s embrace and assessed the conditions. He hoisted the spinnaker and the yacht headed for Bermuda at a brisk eight knots. He rather regretted that the voyage would soon be over, but he knew that she was desperate to get there as soon as possible.
He was beside himself with curiosity as to the chain of events that had resulted in her being trapped on a yacht in the middle of the Atlantic. The only likely explanations he could come up with was that she was a member of the security services, or the unlikely opposite, that she was some kind of criminal, but that hardly seemed likely. He heard a noise behind him and a moment later she wound her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. ‘Good morning!’ he said, glancing up at the sail. ‘Shall we get some breakfast?’
She gave him a squeeze and said ‘not yet.’
He turned around and smiled at her and saw that she was still naked.
‘Why don’t you put the auto helm back in and come below?’ she suggested and then she grinned. ‘Come below, good pun… get it?’
Since his return to London, Richard Cornwall had read a fair amount about the ancient semi-mythical King Gilgamesh, but he was no nearer understanding what Vincent Parker had meant by it in his last report to Sir Hugh Fielding. He had conversed with Felix Grainger on a number of occasions to try and find out what had happened to Dan Hall but his American friend had drawn a blank.
Cornwall had taken it upon himself to handle the matter of Gerry Tate’s disappearance. Today he was wrestling with the complexities of issuing a death certificate without having to report exactly what business Geraldine Tate was engaged in, and deciding to whom he should speak in the HR department who of course should have been dealing with the entire matter anyway. Her only close family was her brother who now lived in the USA. She also has three cousins but there was no record of her being close to them. He opened his e-mail files and began to write. Then he noticed a special in his personal coded inbox.
“Urgent. Please proceed to Bermuda as soon as possible. Geraldine Tate is on the yacht Surprise, owner Steven Morris. Attempts will be made to intercept and apprehend before their arrival in Bermuda. I found this out from Sandstar group files to which I still have access. Gerry attempted to enter MI6 and/or CIA web sites from the yacht. Please ensure you do not, repeat do not use official channels. Daniel Hall”
Cornwall stared at his screen in amazement. So Daniel Hall was still at large. How come he still had access to the CIA website? Some sort of cock-up no doubt. But Gerry Tate still alive! He checked his records; just over a week since the plane had gone missing. Still alive; glory be! He printed off the e-mail and then deleted it. Now how could he justify shooting off to Bermuda? He drummed his fingers on the desk and called his PA. ‘Hello Jenny I’ve not much on next week, so I’ve decided to take Fiona to Barbados for a week.’
‘Oh, that’s very short notice sir.’
‘Ah yes Jenny, but I’m the boss; I can do short notice.’
‘Yes I know sir. I meant for Mrs Cornwall.’
‘Mmm yes… fair point, but she can pack pretty quickly for the beach in summer, I think.’
Good — that was his absence from the office and his pretence of Barbados would stop any alarm bells ringing if Jenny blabbed. Now he just had to hope that there was nothing in Fiona’s schedule that would militate against a trip to Bermuda. He read the e-mail again. Sandstar — now what the hell was that about? He wondered if he should write a reply to Dan Hall telling him that he was on his way to Bermuda, and advising him that there was a major search effort out to find him, and take maximum care to cover his own tracks. Maybe it would be best if electronic communication was kept to the absolute minimum.
‘It’s been ten days’ said Neil Samms. ‘If we could make it public; put it in the newspapers and say that a suspected terrorist is on the loose, then we might get somewhere.’
‘Well we could do that, but disregarding your idiotic suggestion that we alarm the public with the terrorist appellation, I think it’s best that Hall doesn’t realise that we’re searching that desperately for him,’ countered White.
‘Ok then, but we’ve nearly finished any possible leads from his known contacts; his details are at all ports and airports; the police in every state are after him and our tracing team are monitoring every lead. What more can we do?’
‘You’ve checked in with all police computers have you?’
‘Yes, but there records are not always up to date. The local forces take their time transferring everything to the central database.’
‘Stick at it and stop complaining,’ said White.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mary Travers, married with two children, worked for the USA Cruise Company, which hired out recreational vehicles from a site near Atlanta airport. She was a trained intensive care and theatre nurse and found her job in vehicle interior cleaning and prepping rather dull, but she told her friends that at least it was no worse than cleaning up after her police officer husband and school-aged children, and the part time hours could be fitted in with school and her husband’s shift work.
That morning she drove to the parking lot, passing a torched car that was being inspected by a couple of highway patrol officers who had parked their police cruiser just beyond it. One of them was peering into the vehicle while the other was calling in the incident on the radio. She recognised this officer from some social function she had attended with her husband, but as he seemed busy she did not think it a good time to renew their acquaintance and she continued a further quarter mile to the company parking lot. After the usual greetings she was sent from the office to clean a Winnebago Vista and after a fruitless search of the parking lot, she went back to the office and told the supervisor she couldn’t find it. ‘Look Sam, the key’s not on the rack either,’ she said, pointing to the keyboard behind him. Sam turned round, stared at the empty hook for a moment and then back at Mary.
‘Didn’t I give it to you already?’ He swung round to the mechanic who was leafing through the maintenance records. ‘Paolo, did you leave it in the van yesterday?’
‘Come on Sam, and have you chew me out?’ said Paolo. ‘’Sides, I never touched that one. It came in yesterday afternoon late and I’ve not taken a look at it yet.’ He slammed the filing cabinet shut. ‘It was you who must’ve taken the key off the people who brought it back. Maybe you took it home with you.’ Paolo grinned at Mary and stepped out.