The shrill wail of sirens circled overhead.
Beta had changed into a new disguise and ditched the gray Ford. Now he sat in an inconspicuous Volkswagen sedan, watching the Kangsaisi Building through its tinted windows.
In the building's server room, Eliot—the son of a Chief Superintendent at Scotland Yard—stood with a grim expression before the open security door. His hands were on his hips as forensic investigators gathered evidence around him.
"Explain this to me, goddammit." Eliot seized the network administrator by the collar. His voice was low, but every word dripped with menace. "All the hard drives with transaction records, all that dirty data—it's all gone?"
The administrator's legs trembled uncontrollably, and his Adam's apple bobbed. "Y-yes."
He swallowed. "Someone used a high-level access card. Not only did they open the server room's security door, they also unlocked every cabinet with an electronic lock."
Eliot shoved the administrator to the floor. He crashed awkwardly into a piece of equipment. Eliot's glowering gaze swept over the roomful of police officers before he turned to his deputy. "Call a meeting!"
The deputy leaned closer. "Which departments should I notify?"
"All of them!" Eliot roared. His voice exploded through the server room, making several officers collecting evidence flinch and drop their hands.
After the deputy hurried off, Eliot's bodyguard strode over and handed him a phone. "Sir, this is the surveillance footage from the time of the incident."
Eliot took the phone with a dark expression.
On screen, four security guards chatted casually, occasionally glancing at the monitors. It was their usual routine. A little blonde girl appeared outside the lobby. The surveillance microphones picked up the guards' conversation clearly, but the child's faint voice was completely filtered out.
Then something baffling happened: the four guards gathered together and opened the door of their own accord. The first guard was shot between the eyes and fell. A deep male voice called, "Catch!" The second guard reflexively caught a flying soda can, and a moment later, blood burst from his head. The remaining two had barely touched their holsters before they were shot down in quick succession. Finally, a heavyset man wearing a mask rushed into view, grabbed the little girl roughly, and cut the surveillance feed.
Eliot stared at the now-black screen. "Which idiot hired those morons? Who gave them the authority to open the door without permission?"
Eliot asked, "Have you figured out who these two are?"
The bodyguard immediately handed him freshly printed files. "The blonde girl is seven. Her clothing matches the description in a missing-person report filed a week ago."
He turned to the second page. "The fat man is a wanted criminal suspected of multiple kidnappings and armed robberies. Scotland Yard verified all the information. It's absolutely reliable."
Eliot gripped the two sheets of paper until his knuckles turned white. "So you're telling me—"
His voice suddenly rose. "A kidnapped girl 'happened' to escape to our building for help, these four idiots obediently opened the door, and then her kidnapper took them all out?"
He slapped the files onto the table. "Then who's going to explain where the hell my hard drives went?!"
Eliot put his hands on his hips. "What about the nearby surveillance cameras? Did they catch anyone else suspicious?"
The bodyguard pulled up another clip. "A camera in the office building across the street caught what happened afterward. The girl escaped from the kidnapper a second time."
He enlarged a blurry street corner. "I suspect a third party intervened and held the kidnapper up. Otherwise, it's hard to explain how a child could get away twice. It's very possible—"
He glanced cautiously at his boss. "That this mysterious person was the one who took our hard drives."
Eliot rubbed his face hard and sank into a chair. "Arrange a meeting with the shareholders at the Forest Club."
His voice was hoarse. "I'll explain this incident in person. Use every resource we have to track down the hard drives. That data must not get out. Understood?"
Just then, an officer stepped out of the elevator, clutching a document. "Mr. Eliot, the preliminary report from the medical examiner shows a significant discrepancy between the time of death of the four victims and the surveillance footage."
Eliot looked up. "Explain."
"The Chief Superintendent thinks there are only two possibilities." The officer's voice grew quieter. "Either the estimated time of death is wrong, or this footage was tampered with. The entire sequence of events may have been reversed."
"So my father thinks—" Eliot pressed his fingers to his temple. "There might be something wrong with the footage itself?"
When the officer nodded, Eliot flew into a rage and kicked over a chair. "Fuck!"
The whole incident was like a tangled knot: a kidnapping, a shooting, stolen hard drives, a possible traitor within their ranks, the discrepancy between the guards' time of death and the surveillance footage, and footage that might have been faked. Every clue was hopelessly tangled with the others, impossible to make sense of.
Their limited manpower was stretched in every direction.
The kidnapping task force followed every lead to track down the girl, while the shooting investigators kept duplicating the kidnapping team's work. Meanwhile, the officers investigating the scene and tracking the stolen property were all crammed into the building, getting in one another's way.
The entire investigative system was like a muddy swamp, all the clues blended into a mess, and they couldn't find a single usable lead.
Eliot tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Go to the Forest Club."
He straightened his suit collar. "Keep those old foxes calm first. Then we'll come back and deal with the mole."
The bodyguard understood at once and escorted him into the private elevator to the underground garage. The black Maybach was already running, its engine humming low. The bodyguard opened the door and carefully placed a hand above the frame. Once Eliot was seated, the car glided silently out of its parking space, leaving the chaos at the Kangsaisi Building far behind.
Beta lowered his binoculars. He quickly started the engine, and the Volkswagen sedan slipped soundlessly into traffic, keeping a perfect following distance.
Eliot's car wasn't a purpose-built armored vehicle, but Beta's trained eye immediately spotted the signs: the door panels were slightly thicker than standard, and the windows had an unusual refractive quality. It had clearly been fitted with light armor. The modifications could stop handgun rounds and rifle fire from a distance, but at close range, it might as well have been made of paper.
Beta tailed him to the outskirts of London. When the Maybach turned onto the private road leading to the Forest Club, Beta slowly pressed the brakes.
The one-way road was as straight as an arrow, and the only destination at the end was the secluded club. Following any farther would risk exposing him.
In the art of surveillance, finding the first lead was always the hardest part. Once the target's trail was identified, any competent tracker could follow it like a bloodhound.
What Beta needed now was a deeper intelligence network. In this city, anyone willing to bow before the Continental Hotel's gold coins—anyone eager to get ahead—would rush to provide him with whatever information he needed.
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