7th February 2019Minutes blurred into hours. The night trudged by, and each time they tweaked them, the algorithms failed to turn up anything remotely useful. Martin and Cass sat scrubbing through footage, manually trying to locate Jess in any shots other than the single blurred and glitchy shot from the train.

  Finally, after giving it some consideration, Cass made eye contact with Martin. "Sir, I think that's it. This really seems to be the only shot, and without more analysts I think we're risking losing the value of the shot we do have.” Eyeing him, she paused to check that she was okay to continue. "It looks like she tried to run some kind of script and it initially worked to just dispy glitches. At some point something in that system changes because it's got periods when she's visible, but the quality is absolutely terrible."

  “I am not entirely certain whether the failure of the glitches is intentional, and she wanted us to know she was on the train, or at least she wants us to think she was on the train, or whether the blurring of the camera was a backup in case the glitch failed.” He paused, thinking. “We know she was working quickly and may be restricted with the equipment she had, or indeed has, avaible." Cass turned back to the blurred image while he continued, "It does appear that she, or at least someone who looks enough like her, took the train to Corrour, and appeared to stay on it until then. We both agree on that. Have you made any move to confirm if she stayed there?"

  Cass looked uneasy. "That's not usually been my role."

  "No, no. Of course. You're pure data analysis, aren't you?"

  "Um, yes. I didn't know you were aware," she trailed off, unsure how to proceed.

  Martin studied her for a moment, before quietly stating, "I took a few minutes to peruse your file. You really did upset Johnson, didn't you? A bit of a rising star, despite a penchant for aggravating your superiors, and then suddenly you're in somewhat of a predicament. If you survive this I'll be quite impressed." He paused, fingers lightly tapping on the desk. "I fear, however, that, given our much diminished resources, I'm going to be tasking you with more than solely analysis."

  Cass waited warily. Her options were seriously constrained given that the person in charge of her career, and likely redeployment, had chosen to leave her on this exposed project. He'd done so with the clear objective that both she and the former field operative, ‘Service Name: Mark’, according to his file, should fail. And in failing they would be presented as an offering to the press, whether they were alive or, more likely, not, as scapegoats.

  "For the moment, since it seems we've burned through our avaible footage, contact anywhere near Corrour that offers accommodation. See if someone fitting Ms Mitchell's description stayed there, or is indeed currently staying there." His gaze seemingly following a dust mote for several seconds. "I'm sure they all have fax machines, or email, and we can send them a wanted poster should it prove necessary. Any questions?"

  "Sir," she began hesitantly, "I can and will do that,"Cass trailed off.

  "But?"

  "But, it won’t take long. There's only one pce to stay at Corrour. It's a hostel. Otherwise she's out in the wild."

  "Then let us hope that she is staying there, and that this is not the ruse I am increasingly suspecting it to be. Do inform me as soon as you have an answer. I have a call to make." He stood and walked out of the room.

  Cass's gaze swept across the dispiriting grey of the analysis room. Just her desk and the one that he had been occupying still had anything on them other than dust. She scooted her chair back across and pulled up the phone number from her preliminary analysis report. Habits die hard and, while the video analysis had been running, she'd compiled accompanying notes about possible pces where Jess Mitchell could exit (lots, it turned out), known connections (basically none), and what was avaible for resources at each stop (highly variable). Corrour seemed to Cass like a very odd choice of destination, unless it was, as they both suspected, a deception. In which case, did Jess Mitchell even get on that train in the first pce?

  While Cass was ‘analysis track’, the initial on-boarding process had taught her the basics of how the organisation functioned when it came to interactions like this one. She configured the caller ID for the handset to report the number of a compromised police station from the organisation's list, picked an officer's name at random from those on payroll, and dialled. It took a few goes to get through, but eventually the oh-so-helpful hostel staff were quite happy to report that not only did someone matching Jess’ description check in the afternoon before, but she had also just checked out this morning, and wasn't it odd to come that far without walking gear and luggage. She also didn't seem very interested in train journeys, which was completely weird if you were going to all the bother of visiting Corrour.

  It actually took longer for Cass to disengage from the conversation than to get the information. She finally managed to escape with a request that they please contact the police if Ms. Mitchell showed up again as she was an at-risk adult. She gave out the officer's desk number and followed up with an encrypted message to the officer with the number to contact and a brief summary of the information required.

  Cass wondered if the news of the division's pariah status had made it out as far as street level operatives. If so then she'd probably never hear from them.

  She quickly started the work of pulling the footage from today's return journeys from Corrour.

  —

  Cass exhaustedly shut down the computer, having set yet another search running–one that would almost certainly lead to nothing, just as all the others had. There weren’t that many trains from Corrour though. She seriously debated the possibility of just watching the damn footage herself–she’d probably be better at identifying a disguised Jess Mitchell than the computer anyway. She rested her face in her hands–she needed this win. She needed, whatever happened to her superior here, to demonstrate competence and this wasn’t going well.

  Quickly sitting up as the door clicked open, Cass turned as Mark entered the office and walked over to the cabinet on the wall, where a few keys still hung on hooks. She knew from the cycling security cameras that a couple of vans had been left in the parking under the building, presumably waiting for the final closure of the building. When she'd been informed she would be staying on the project, Johnson indicated that he didn't expect this would be a long assignment. He'd also hinted that it might be her st, which she had also expected, since Johnson clearly felt she had undermined his authority. She wondered if it being her st would mean her being redeployed. She was pretty sure that in her case, it was just a euphemism for picking out a grave site.

  "Cass." He cut through her train of thought. "I need you to do some retrieval work." She started slightly, and turned back to the computer, which was still shutting down. "Sure! Just give me the accession details and I'll grab it and get you an analysis ASAP."

  “No. I need you to do some field retrieval work. With me.”

  Cass inhaled and prepared to object, but he was already scooting a chair over. “I had a very dispiriting conversation with Johnson, and I’ve checked in on our avaible resources and, unfortunately we–that is you and me–are it.” He seemed to be unconsciously fiddling with the keys to whatever vehicle he’d chosen. Surprising given his reputation. “However, we have two opportunities. It seems that one of the group–I don’t know who–is driving one of the vehicles we’re tracking. It would be useful to us to identify who that is, and respond accordingly.”

  He paused and watched Cass intently for a moment. She felt distinctly uncomfortable under his gaze; it felt like he was considering devouring her. Finally, she broke the silence. “You said two opportunities, sir?”

  “Yes, Cass. I have identified a known associate of Noah Bankes who may be able to provide some insight into what she knows, and may also be able to, shall we say, lean on her if we provide sufficient incentive. He has made some choices that suggest a degree of moral flexibility, and a degree of legal exposure. Indeed, he may be a candidate for recruitment ter.”

  Cass suppressed the sigh at yet another euphemism. Recruitment: meaning being bckmailed, bribed, dragged unwillingly into Liberty’s fold of compromised people doing terrible things just to survive. Just like you, her brain helpfully added before she told it to shut up.

  “And Johnson approved this?” Cass let the words escape before she thought better of them. The grimace that flickered so quickly across his face that she almost wasn’t sure she’d seen it was repced by a studiously bnd affect.

  “Johnson informed me there are no resources avaible. Thus it is up to us to perform the job. I should like to leave immediately, primarily to make sure we can identify who is driving the vehicle and where they are going. And secondarily because,” he dropped his voice to a near whisper, “I accept there is a possibility that Johnson may decide to abort the proposed action, but he has not done so as yet. I wish to take that window of opportunity.” He paused momentarily before continuing at a more normal volume. “Oh incidentally, in case the thought occurs to you, I’ve blocked all their mobile phones, which should dey communications between them somewhat. Regardless, we should leave promptly.”

  “Sir, I think…” Cass started as she stood, intending to object.

  “Oh good, you're up and you're already dressed for it. Let's go. I did think I’d have to tell you that it’s an order, butI’m gd that you’ve made the right choice. It is an order, however, just to be clear."

  Cass looked down at her pin bck t-shirt and jeans and internally sighed. "Well, fuckit," she muttered quietly as she walked towards the door after her rapidly disappearing supervisor. “I’m gonna die soon anyway.”

  Downstairs, Cass trailed behind a little, waiting to see which of the small and slightly foxed set of vehicles he’d grabbed the key for. He stepped up into one of the remaining courier-battered white vans, front and rear ptes cracked and missing important chunks. The most distinguishing thing about it was its utter unremarkability. She’d seen more of the fleet at one of the rger offices, mostly shades of white or grey. All a little, but not too, shabby, and all equipped with fake ptes. Or, like this one, almost cking them completely. Once out in the world they were almost impossible to trace, and even if they were they’d be either sold on or scrapped every year or two.

  He gestured impatiently. As she stepped in she smelt the industrial cleaner that had been used, probably a few too many times. She knew from the protocol manual that even if she took out a bcklight she’d probably not see anything terribly interesting, but it was clear from the floral odour that this van had been used recently, and not for anything pleasant. Martin stepped in and stuck his phone in the holder. As they set off Cass watched as the tracking marker for one of the tagged vehicles slowly made its way towards the city. It seemed to be heading vaguely in the direction of the courier office, if Cass remembered correctly. The two of them were definitely on a convergent course.

  As the mixed streets and occasionally scrubby shrubs outside the desultory office blocks strobed past her window, Cass quietly reflected on her recruitment. It hadn’t been a choice, exactly. Yes, it was a choice between, at best, a long prison sentence or using her skills for the organisation. And that had seemed like a reasonable decision to make. You get to keep living, she’d thought. She’d not realised, until the ink was drying on the contract and the NDAs, that it was irreversible. A lifelong commitment. Because exiting this job almost certainly meant exiting life.

  “Well, that’s convenient.” The interruption pulled Cass out of her reverie and she reoriented rapidly to her surroundings. The mixed residential and office mess of squat modernist architecture had given way to the raised dual carriage way that carved through the outskirts of town. Sprawling shopping centres with chain stores either side, and the road they were on rising to hop over a roundabout. Ahead of them, alone, and just crossing the first of the two bridges was a purple car from the - was it the 70s? She squinted at the badge as they drew closer. A Marina Coupe, apparently driven by someone with blue hair. The only person she’d encountered in the files that fit was Noah’s partner. She started and sat upright in the seat.

  “Michael?” she queried. Her mind scanned back to the file. Wiry, she’d thought looking at the picture. And short. All of 160 centimetres. A note in his file mentioned Korean heritage. Was that his grandparents, or his parents? She couldn’t instantly remember. He’d not been a focus for her, and, actually, the analyst tasked with gathering his information had found his information sparse. He broadly seemed to keep himself away from legal controversy. Funny then that he should be so mired in this disaster. She tried to recall more details but was dragged, again, back to the moment.

  “Indeed,” Martin said with a discomforting tone, “You might want to hang on to something.”

  Quickly, Cass grasped the inadequate handgrip and braced herself between the floor and the seat. The van started to overtake just as they crossed the second bridge, and she watched as the driver gnced up at her just in time for the van to swing across smming the car into–and through–the barrier. She watched in the mirror as it tumbled-skid-tumbled down the side of the embankment. She could hear the sickening crunch as it finally slid into the barriers on the merging slip road.

  “Well, that was an unexpected pleasure. I did hope it would be one of them that we could identify, but I assumed it would be one of the group I’ve specifically been ordered not to kill. Perhaps disposing of one will remind the rest that we are serious. It also appears that they have not realised their vehicles are all tracked, which is excellent news.”

  Cass returned her gaze forward and kept it focused on the road. She steadied herself, nails digging into the hand grip she’d used to brace herself in position.

  Eventually they pulled up in the corner of an office block car park. He flicked off the lights and turned to Cass. “Try and get some rest. We’ll head to our next destination in a few hours, but I wanted to be out of the office. Johnson’s probably going to rescind our equipment approvals. Now, if that happens, we’ve still got our chance to conduct a quick retrieval.” He paused to check his phone. “I think it’s unlikely that he’ll even notice we’re gone overnight, and less likely that he’ll bother to come out here if he does. He’s much happier behind a desk.” Cass could hear the derision he dled into the end of the statement, ironic given who he was saying it to.

  As Cass curled herself up and tried to sleep, she felt the sinking feeling of her likelihood of survival dropping even further. If Johnson found out about this he’d… Well, who knew. When she woke she found he’d already set off, and they’d driven further through town. Not, as Cass had hoped, back towards the offices. Finally, they pulled up outside a run down set of lock-up garages adjacent to a rge building that appeared to do vehicle repairs. Cass silently ran through her memories of the known associates for Charlie and Jess, and the few she’d seen for Noah, but drew a bnk. She crushed her misgivings, shuffling herself up in the seat before asking, “Who are we looking for? I don’t recall this location from the files.”

  He turned to her, “Jim, also known as James. He’s an associate of Noah’s. We have him listed as having sufficient involvement with the police to be a source we can use. I believe he may have provided the police car that was seen taking Charlotte Jones away from the courier office. Depending on the results of our conversation he may have information, or he may provide some useful leverage.” He turned to face the building again, his fingers resting gently on the steering wheel. “If he sticks to his usual behaviour, he’ll be in at least half an hour before everyone else. I’d like to speak to him before anyone else gets here. I’ll take first watch. You can sleep.”

  Cass nodded slowly. “Thank you, sir.” She squinted out into the darkness one final time before closing her eyes and trying to get some sleep. In the driver’s seat, Martin adjusted his gsses and reached into the bag, pulling out night vision goggles. He scanned the lot and the buildings. No evidence of any activity. Good. Nothing out of the ordinary as yet.

  Slowly the hours passed and eventually, as his eyelids started to droop, he quietly nudged Cass. She coughed herself awake muttering about how cold the van had become, and slowly uncurling off the seat.

  “No sign of him yet,” Martin bluntly stated as soon as Cass appeared to have reached sufficient function to take in information.

  “What does he look like?”

  “Bck hair. He’s mixed race, Indian-British, 165 centimetres tall.” He flicked to a file photo on his phone and handed it across. Cass stared at it for a moment, trying to commit the face to memory. “He can appear, shall we say, affectionate with friends, but in business he can seem almost upper css. It’s an affectation, however. He’s not. Although I’m not expecting you to have to converse with him. Anyway, it’s unlikely he’ll be in for a few hours at least. But just occasionally he does seem to break that pattern. Most commonly he’ll arrive in, hrm,” he gnced at his watch, “About another three hours. Wake me in two.” He handed across the night vision goggles. “You are familiar with this model I presume.”

  Cass turned them around in her hands and decided to answer the non-question, “Yeah, it’s been a while though.” Finally, she slid them onto her head and explored the functions while he tucked his gsses up onto the dashboard and folded his arms. His eyes closed and, just as Cass had settled into scanning the scene, he muttered, “Wake me if you have any concerns.”

  She gnced across at him, keeping her face as neutral as possible. “Certainly, sir.” If she woke him with her many and manifold concerns about what was happening, he’d get no sleep at all. She wondered if he always ran his operations without briefing team members. It seemed unlikely that it was standard for field operatives to go in so unprepared, but as an analyst she’d had little contact with the field teams and their training.

  She watched as a fox made its way around the yard, locating some scrap of something tossed behind one of the small selection of mangled vehicles being swallowed by undergrowth. It padded slowly out, before wandering over to the van.

  Cass held her breath listening to it snuffling around the outside of the vehicle before disappearing into semi-industrial streets. His phone chirruped. Cass noted with some concern that, while it was recognisably a work message, she couldn’t check it. This mission was clearly unsanctioned, but saying she was following a direct order would only get her so far. What the hell had she got into?