The Samsara Project - David Burgess (early reader books .txt) 📗

intelligence they needed. GCHQ needed to know what the targets knew, and they needed to know now. Various options and scenarios were discussed and a new strategy developed. They agreed not to rely on high tech equipment for a while and instead rely on old fashion surveillance. The group knew where the four targets worked and agreed to stake out Geoffrey’s office and the Daily Herald. One of the three targets being watched would then lead them to Pat, number four.
The group also decided that if more direct action was required then Pat would be the first target. He was the oldest and therefore the weakest of the four making him the easiest to get information from. The agents knew also knew that with modern interrogation methods, procedures and the right mix of drugs, accurate information could quickly be retrieved from anyone and if that was a route they had to take, then all agreed that they would.
“What about Dannielle Forsythe?” asked agent three, “She has seen two of you in plain view? Once your cover story was discredited by New Scotland yard she’d have told them everything, including full descriptions of the two of you.”
“Dannielle Forsythe only saw what we wanted her to see,” replied agent one. “Agent three and I both wore disguises when she was with us. I wore a beard, glasses and a woolly hat all the time I was with her, plus I also spoke with a very broad Belfast accent. Agent three wore a long blond wig, which suited you by the way, and blue contact lenses. Her Belfast accent was almost as good as mine.”
After another hours planning the group had decided on their next course of action. This phase of their operation would start immediately.

* * * *

John had just left Geoffrey’s office when his mobile text alert went off. He flipped open the phone to see he had a text message from Tracy. He decided not to read it straight away but to wait a while. The photograph of Tracy at the funeral this morning had shook him more than he cared to admit. To an extent that bothered John, after all why should it? He thought. Why should I feel this was about a woman I’ve only spoken to a couple of times and, so far, have not even had a night out with? He decided that was a question he would have to find the answer to at some other time.
Geoffrey and John had both agreed that they had to discover what the link was between Tracy and Suzie Reeves. John knew that finding the answer to that would be down to him. For a short moment John felt low, even a bit dirty. Maybe John’s feelings towards Tracy were deeper than he cared admit, even to himself. He realised that he did not want to hurt her, he would not, could not use her just to get information. He started to think a little clearer now. John rationalised that however much he knew Tracy just now, she knew him the same. Neither really knew that much about the other, they had not had the time for that. Relationships are built up over a period of time. It is that time that either builds or ends partnerships. Initial feeling can soon change. The desire to be with someone may not last once you get to know the personality behind the face. John knew that it could also work the other way round. When they first met, Pamela had not been as instantly attracted to John as he was to her. She had been reluctant to go out with him for a while and only agreed after some serious persuading from her friends. Then she started to get to know the real John. The rest is history. Whatever Tracy’s reasons had been for not being entirely honest with him were probably down to fact she did not yet know him, or trust him yet. Trust was something that would come later. John took out his mobile, flipped open the lid and selected Tracy’s text message.
‘Hi John, am on my way back from the funeral. Not a good day. Miss you. Can we meet tonight? Tracy xx’
John selected reply. ‘Miss you to, sorry the day was bad. Call when your back. Tonight will be fine. John xx’ He pressed send. The mobile played a little eight note tune then a message read, ‘reply sent’.
Back in his car John took out the secure mobile and called Andrew. He had expected him to bring him up to date from the murder scene before now. Andrew answers after three rings. “John”, he said, “I was just about to call. I’m on my way back to the office, can you meet me there? I’ve got too much to tell you over the phone.”
John had been on his way to meet Pat but that could wait till later. “See you there in half an hour. Did you get a name?”
“Gillian Burns.” Andrew replied.
“Well done, call Geoffrey and give him as many details about her as you can. Tell him to run a full check on her.”
“Will do, anything else?”
After a moment’s thought John said, “Yes, tell him Tracy’s fine. He’ll know what you mean.”
John released the call and headed back to the offices of the Daily Herald.
Andrew was working on his article when John arrived back. On his desk was a large cup of steaming hot coffee, made just the way he liked it, and on a plate at the side of the mug were three plain chocolate digestive biscuits. “What have I done to deserve this then?” asked John.
Andrew kept on writing his article and without looking away from his screen replied “Nothing, I just thought you might like a drink. It’s still a bit chilly outside.”
“No, there’s got to be more to it than that. You want something? Got something to tell me?”
Andrew stopped typing. John looked over towards him and raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘go on, I’m waiting’. Andrew read the body language and started to tell John about the morning he had spent with DCS Hughes at the crime scene. Andrew left nothing out, he talked about the theories, the house, how it compared inside to outside, how Gillian had been dressed and then there was the cross. That was the clincher that proved a link. When he had finished John was as surprised as Andrew had been at the time.
“The old man must be getting soft in his old age. It took me almost six months before I saw my first crime scene.”
“Sometimes he was talking to me as a police officer, and then other times it felt as though he was just getting things off his chest, as if he just wanted to talk to someone, anyone. I think I was just in the right place at the right time.”
John replied, “I suppose when you have seen the worst side of human nature, as many times as he has, then be expected to clean up the mess, things must get on top of you at some point. I wonder how many times he has had to knock on a parent’s door, people who are complete strangers to him, to tell them that their son or daughter has been murdered or killed in a road accident and to witness at first hand all that grief and suffering.”
Andrew cut in, “There has to be some comfort though in the fact you have the skills and ability to catch those responsible and lock them away for the rest of their lives.”
“True,” replied John, “I suppose there must be some comfort in that, but what about the ones who get away, the murderers’ who walk free because of a clever barrister or a legal loophole or maybe because someone did not read them their rights at the proper time. It must be quite a responsibility to carry round. It’s no wonder that alcoholism is rife in the force.”
John’s desk phone rang, he picked it up, “John Reynolds,” It was Geoffrey. “Hold on a moment Geoffrey, I want Andrew to listen in on his extension.”
Andrew picked up his phone and pressed the conference call button. “Go ahead,” said John.”
“The latest victim, Gillian Burns, I’ve run a background check on her. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s dead she would be one very healthy woman. Here’s a victim in her late thirties and she has absolutely no medical records what so ever. She has never been to the doctors, a hospital or a dentist. She’s never even had a prescription.”
“What about school records, National Insurance details?”
“All her records exist John, except every school she attended has either closed down, moved to a new site, lost records due to fire or floods or simply just can’t find anything.”
“We’ve been here before Geoffrey, its Suzie Reeves again.”
John. We have to meet up, there’s something I have to talk to you about. Meet me at the London Eye in one hour and be careful.”
“What do you mean, be careful?”
“Whoever is taking an interest in us John knows that we have found their bugs. That will not make them go away, just change their tactics. You will probably be followed, just keep a look out for a tail, if you spot one make a note of then car number and if possible memorise the driver and passenger. Don’t try and loose them. Let them think we don’t know what they’re up to, with any luck they’ll slip up and that might give us the chance to find out who they are and why they’ve taken such an interest in us.”
Opened to the public in March 2000, the London Eye or the Millennium Wheel as it was originally called stands four hundred and forty three feet high and is the largest observation wheel in Europe. When it was officially opened by Tony Blair at eight P.M. on the thirty first of December nineteen ninety nine it was the largest observation wheel in the world. Now it is ranked at number three. Thirty two sealed glass observation pods can each hold up to twenty five passengers who, travelling at a speed of ten inches per second, then spend half an hour enjoying magnificent views of London.
As usual there was a long queue of people waiting in line. Geoffrey was standing near the front and waved for John to come over to him. “Follow me,” said Geoffrey. He then walked past the front of the queue to the main security area. There he took out his wallet and handed the guard a credit card sized pass. This was a V.I.P. platinum pass issued by the Tussauds Group to its board of directors and a very select group of people who, for whatever reason, have helped to raise the profile of the Tussauds Group in a positive way. The pass had a number of perks attached to it, one being unlimited and free access at any time to any of the group’s attractions. As far as the London Eye was concerned that also included private use of an observation pod. Geoffrey was not taking any chances of anyone else in a public pod overhearing their conversation.
The London Eye does not stop to let passengers on or off. It is travelling so slowly there is ample time available to unload and load up to fifty people. The customer service staff responsible for passenger safety would probably never disembark one group and then seal in the next passengers as fast again. Once the two of them were inside the pod, the doors automatically closed and sealed. John glanced over at the people in the