“Why?” Ro asked, as she followed him in. “Someone after you?”
“You might say that.” Holden closed the lock-up. Automatic lights flickered on, illuminating racks of equipment crammed into a too-small space. Military grade hardware, disassembled drones, communications equipment.
Ro stared at it all in incomprehension. “Holy shit.”
Holden shrugged. “Albion’s got more kit than it knows what to do with. Half of it goes into storage or gets sold off to their partners. I just decided to cut out the middleman.”
“You mean you nicked it.”
He grimaced. “Yes, fine. I nicked it. What’s it to you?”
“You work for Albion.”
“I did. I doubt I do anymore.”
“Was this shit what Colin was moving?”
He looked at her. “Some of it.”
She held up the phone. “There’s two other numbers on here. Who do they belong to?”
He sank back against a bench and ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know.”
Ro took a breath. Then, she hit him. Just a quick jab, under the ribs. He gave a strangled yelp and fell off the bench. She kicked him in the belly before he could get up, and dropped her knee onto his chest when he rolled over. Using her weight, she pinned him to the floor, extracted the pistol from his shoulder holster, ejected the clip and tossed the weapon into a nearby cardboard box.
She grabbed a handful of his hair, and made him look at her. “Who do they belong to?” she asked again, calmly. One of the first lessons Billy had taught her was to stay calm when you were giving someone a thump. If you lost your head, you might permanently injure or even kill them. Or they might stick a shank in, while you were distracted.
Holden clawed at her wrist. He was a big man, but he was in bad shape, and she was on top and ready. She popped him in the nose, and something crunched. He yelped and fell back, clutching at his face. She batted his hands away and jerked his head back up. “Stop whining. It’s not broken – just bent. I will break it if you keep acting like a wasteman. Who do the numbers belong to?”
“I– I don’t know their names!”
She let his head fall back with a thump. “But you know who they are?”
“Yes! Yes, goddamn it.”
She rose smoothly to her feet, and let Holden scramble to his. He sat on the bench, holding his face. “Who are they?”
“Clients,” he said, in a strangled voice. “Colin was a go-between. They bought, he delivered…” He hesitated. There was something else.
“Tell me,” she said.
“They might have… sub-contracted him. If you get me.”
“To deliver for them.”
“One of them, at least, yeah. He mentioned something, and I put it together. Later. After… after what happened.”
“After he was murdered, you mean.”
Holden swallowed. “Yeah.”
Ro looked down at him. “One of them killed him. With something you sold him.” Even as she said it, she knew it was right. “Which one did it?”
Holden looked away. “I need protection.”
Ro paused. “What?”
“Are you deaf? Protection. Help. If I say anything, I’m as good as dead. And not just because of these guys. Albion wants to shut me up as well. They almost caught me earlier today. I’ve been living out of this box for the last forty-eight hours.”
Ro shook her head. “I need more, or you can stay here for all I care.”
Holden stared at her. Then, softly, “I know who they’re working for.”
That got her attention. “Talk.”
He shook his head. “Look, I’ll tell you, and I’ll give all of this to your bosses if they can get me out of the country.” He gestured. “I got enough equipment in here to outfit a small army. You’re telling me the Kelleys can’t use some of it?”
Ro frowned. The Kelleys could always use a few extra shooters. And it might be enough to get her off the hook for Colin’s mistakes. “I can’t make any promises,” she began.
“Then take me to someone who can,” he said.
21: The Flat
Marcus Tell’s flat was empty when Olly and Liz got there. Not totally stripped bare, but empty nonetheless. Olly could feel it. “Done a runner,” he said.
Liz nodded. “Yes. But to where?”
“A person with this much to hide – he’s probably got a few places hidden in the city. I know I would.” Olly looked around, thinking. “Nothing on his Optik, but maybe something written down?”
“Analog. Old school.”
“He’s in his sixties, according to his – I mean Tell’s – current ID.” Olly paused. “Though that doesn’t mean much. My nan used to love the internet.”
“So you’ve said. Still, it’s somewhere to start at least. I’ll check the loo.”
“I’ll check the fridge.” Olly opened it, and looked over the contents. Nothing special, nothing curious. The sort of things you might find in any pensioner’s larder. But as he closed the fridge, his Optik gave a chime and he pulled it out.
He had a number of passive apps installed, including one used to detect signals from web cameras and the like. In a lot of laptops and tablets, the camera app was always recording in some fashion, even when you thought otherwise. Most of what it recorded it automatically sent to the cloud, but if you were clever you could divert the data into a private server.
Olly activated a signal tracer and followed it around the kitchen, and then across the small sitting room. It faded and strengthened by turns. Where was it coming from? He could hear Liz rooting around in the loo. “Liz…?” he called out.
“What?”
“I think I’ve got something.”
Liz came into the setting room. “What is it?”
“There’s a signal. I haven’t found the source yet, but I bet it’s a camera.” He looked at her. “If it was me, and I was going to hide, I might leave a camera behind just to see who came looking.”
“Smart.” Liz turned, studying the ceiling and the moulding. “If you find
