Catwalk Criminal (13 page)

“She's gone” Jessica said, staring out of the window.

“How do you know?”

Zak wouldn't understand. She could hardly comprehend it herself. It was as if she had a sixth sense for danger. She
knew
that Margaret was free.

The long car journey back to London was tense; neither Jessica nor Zak were in the mood for conversation, particularly as the three p.m. deadline approached. Now and then, Zak flicked on the radio for news updates on the Durham prison; a hundred prisoners were on the loose. Jessica wondered what Margaret's next move would be. Hooking up with The Collective? Leaving the country? Or coming after her? Any of those scenarios had to be a serious possibility.

By the time they pulled into a motorway service station at 2.50 p.m., her hands ached from clenching her fists so hard. She left Zak in the car park, speaking to his boss on his mobile, while she queued to buy drinks and sandwiches. She wasn't particularly hungry or thirsty, but needed to do something other than keep checking her watch and refreshing the news updates on her mobile.

She found a seat at the back of the café, close to a TV, which was tuned to a news channel, and took a sip of coffee. It tasted burnt and bitter, but at least it was hot. Her hands trembled as she put the cup down and glanced at her watch again. It was three p.m. The presenter had given an update on the Durham prison breakout and was now droning on about interest rates. No breaking news alerts about MI6 agents flashed up on the TV screen. It was odd. She'd expected the leader of The Collective to release the list with a massive fanfare of publicity.

For the next ten minutes, she scanned Twitter, BBC online and every other major news channel website on her mobile. Zero. Absolutely nothing about MI6 agents being outed. Had Westwood managed to stop The Collective? It was starting to look that way. She felt more confident as every minute passed. How had Nathan done it? Quickly, she scanned the hacking websites. None of them mentioned MI6 agents either, but hundreds more angry people had posted messages to LibertyCrossing, demanding the jackpot for the best hacks. Some were calling the competition a scam, as no winner had been announced.

By the time Zak returned, it was thirty minutes past the deadline. Still nothing had appeared on the news or online. He slumped down into the seat opposite and took a swig of cold coffee.

“Coffee frappé?” He raised an eyebrow. “Delicious.”

“So what happened? Did Rodarte stop the leak or Westwood?”

“Neither,” he admitted. “Both agencies are baffled. The Collective simply missed the deadline. LibertyCrossing hasn't published the list – either fully or in part – and hasn't contacted MI6. We're still monitoring online but there's no sign of The Collective since the prison breakout this morning.”

She frowned. “That doesn't make any sense. Why has LibertyCrossing suddenly lost interest in Lee Caplin?”

“I've no idea. But that's one thing less to worry about.”

“So? Hit me with it. The thing you don't want to tell me.”

His green eyes bored into hers. “You were right about Margaret. She's among the prisoners who are missing.”

Jessica bit her lip, nodding. It was hardly a surprise. Margaret had probably spent months planning this breakout with The Collective. The hack on Saturday, obscured by the attacks on all the other prisons, had been a fact-finding mission.

“What else?”

“They're investigating your theory that we were set up to visit the prison, to somehow trigger the escape. Rodarte agrees The Collective could have taken a punt that we'd visit at some point. But what worries them is the fact they knew it was happening today and were prepared. Rodarte's done a full security check of its own computer systems. It hasn't been hacked. The Collective didn't find out from us.”

“Well, it can't have come from hacking into Westwood either. No one knows we were there today.”

Zak flinched slightly as he took another slurp of coffee.

“Please tell me Westwood doesn't know we were there.” Her heart almost skipped a beat. “Does it?”

“Not yet, but Rodarte doesn't know if any footage identifying us remains. It had to pull out of the CCTV system as soon as the prison went into meltdown. It couldn't wipe any film. I'm not even sure it managed to cover its own tracks.”

“Great. So you're basically saying that Agent Hatfield could launch a dawn raid on my home to arrest me if she recognizes us from the security tapes?”

“Rodarte's doing its best to avoid that.” He pushed his cup to one side.

“Oh, gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better. I mean, it's not like you dragged me into this mess or anything.”

Zak's phone vibrated with a message. “Oh God.”

“What is it?”

He stared dumbly at his phone. “Lee Caplin.”

“What about him?”

Zak jerked his head as a newsflash appeared on the TV screen.

“We're receiving reports of a major US prison breakout at Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary in Kansas thirty minutes ago,”
the
blonde-haired presenter began. “We'll keep you posted on developments as they happen.”

Jessica gasped. “Lee Caplin's prison.”

“It sure is.” Zak snatched up his phone and bolted out of the restaurant, colliding into a woman balancing plates and cups on a tray. They slipped and smashed on the floor. She watched him disappear, stunned.

This could not be happening
.

 

For the next half hour, she flicked between news websites, devouring every scrap of info she could find about the Kansas prison breakout. She clicked on an updated CNN story on her phone.

 

MAJOR PRISON BREAKOUT IN US – LEE CAPLIN ON THE RUN

 

Federal agents are hunting at least two hundred prisoners who escaped from the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary in Kansas this morning.

Insiders report a total security breakdown that enabled all doors in the high-security prison to open shortly after visiting hours began at nine a.m.

At least two dozen prison guards were seriously injured, along with eight visitors, as inmates went on the rampage.

Among the prisoners on the loose are sixty-year-old Victor Enrique, who was jailed for forty years for tax evasion, and British cyberterrorist Lee Caplin, who recently began a thirty-year sentence for computer crimes.

The teenager almost started World War 3 after hacking into the Pentagon's computer system and has been declared highly dangerous by the FBI.

The Foreign Office said it had been informed of the situation but had no further comment to make about Caplin.

American authorities say they are confident all prisoners will be accounted for within forty-eight hours.

Jessica glanced up as Zak returned, white-faced. He sat down, shoulders sagging.

“I don't get it,” she said, scanning the details online again. “Why would the leader of The Collective show his hand to MI6, demanding the release of Lee Caplin on Saturday, if he'd already planned to break him out today? Surely it would have been better to keep a low profile and then strike without warning?”

“Rodarte thinks it's all been smoke and mirrors. Everything that's happened up until today, including the hacking competition, has been a distraction to keep MI6 and the CIA busy while Lee's breakout was planned.”

“It's certainly worked,” she said, biting a nail. “The fact that LibertyCrossing hasn't bothered to publish the agents' list suggests that's not what he was really after.”

“Exactly. Rodarte doesn't believe the leader of The Collective gives two hoots about freedom of information across the web, given his history for using hacking as a way to make millions. That was a ruse to take everyone's eye off the ball. The target all along was Lee Caplin. LibertyCrossing knew the US would never release someone as dangerous as him, so he devised an elaborate, prolonged smokescreen to disguise the breakout.”

“After carrying out a successful test run at Margaret's prison first,” she noted. “There was a four-hour lapse between the two attacks, and they used an identical modus operandi; a total breakdown in security timed to coincide with visiting hours. That has to be significant.”

Zak nodded. “The CIA's analysing the security footage from the US prison. We're checking every visitor that came in to see if there's any connection with The Collective. So far, it's drawn a blank.”

“Do you know yet if Lee Caplin received any visitors?”

“Funny you should say that.” He fished out an iPad from his rucksack and entered his password before handing it to her. “Lee had agreed to be interviewed by this journalist from the
Wichita Eagle
.”

“Helen Hamlyn,” she read. “A feature writer and mother of three who's worked for the
Wichita Eagle
for the last twenty years. She now edits the women's page. Helen was due to interview Lee about his mother's death and the impact of his lengthy extradition process on her health.”

She frowned as she stared at the photo of the middle-aged woman. Had Helen Hamlyn helped engineer the breakout for The Collective? It didn't quite ring true.

“I know what you're thinking,” Zak said. “Helen doesn't fit the profile of The Collective's hackers, who are male and aged sixteen to twenty-five.”

“Exactly.”

“Helen's work and home computers are being analysed remotely. So far, there's no evidence of contact with LibertyCrossing or any hackers connected to The Collective. In fact, she only appears to use the internet for researching women's health articles and uploading family photos on Facebook. Her editor says she received an anonymous phone call at work, offering an exclusive interview with Lee. He said it was short notice and Helen jumped at the chance to go.”

“Where's Helen now? Has she been interviewed? She may have seen something useful without even realizing it.”

“Unfortunately, she was injured during the breakout. Prisoners ripped up their cells and used the debris as missiles. We've got agents waiting on standby at the hospital to talk to her when she regains consciousness.”

Zak's phone buzzed. He raised an eyebrow as he checked the message. “We've retrieved some visuals from Helen's visit as she waited to see Lee. The rest is corrupted.”

He tapped at his iPad. Jessica leant over and stared at the black-and-white footage. Helen looked nervous, fiddling with her tape recorder and notebook at a security check. She wore a raincoat and carried a large black handbag.

“It's not supposed to be very interesting,” Zak said, trying to grab the iPad back. “She goes through after that.”

“Hold on. Isn't that an Ossa Cosway raincoat?” She paused the footage and enlarged the picture. “You see the piping around the collar and sleeves? Margaret commented on
this
earlier.” She held up her own trench coat. “She recognized Ossa's distinctive detail. It's the same on all his coats and jackets.”

“Big deal,” Zak snorted. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Probably nothing,” she admitted. “But it might be worth a look. You could get your agents to ask Helen how she can afford a five-thousand-dollar coat. I got mine for free. How did she get hers?”

Zak shrugged. “Maybe she got a discount or saved up her hard-earned pennies. Who cares?”

“I thought you were supposed to work for Rodarte? Isn't that kinda your field, you know, working a fashion angle?”

“Not this time. Do you have any idea how stupid it'll make me look to create a big deal out of the fashion label on a coat when the biggest prison breakout in US has just happened? It'd be career suicide.”

Her phone buzzed.

“Anything important? Or is Jamie telling you he misses you?”

Jessica couldn't be bothered to retaliate. She showed him the single-word text message:
Tulips.

“So what? I don't get it.”

“It's the code word my
Big Issue
contact said she'd use if she found Henry Murray.”

“What are we waiting for?” he said, rising to his feet. “Let's go.”

 

Paranoia was the best policy. Zak and Jessica didn't want to take any chances. It was possible LibertyCrossing had disappeared back into cyberworld now he'd released Lee Caplin, but they couldn't presume this was all over. The only safe option was to visit Lucy in person – rather than text or call – to find out what she knew. Henry Murray was a loose end that The Collective might still plan to tie up.

Once they arrived back in London, they agreed to return home to dump their ID passes and credit cards before hooking up again at Earl's Court tube station at six thirty p.m., with only cash to get them through the evening. Rodarte hadn't ruled out the possibility that one or both of them had been carrying electronic bugs, planted in their belongings, which allowed The Collective to listen in and discover their plans to visit the prison this morning. They needed to get to Lucy's spot at High Street Kensington and onwards without detection by The Collective or MI6.