Ryker didn’t go far. Only back to the Jeep, parked a couple of streets away, on a side road that was right off the most obvious route to Hofman’s home from the city.
With darkness on the horizon, he made a phone call as he sat in the cold interior, the engine off to make him less conspicuous. The call went to voicemail. Perhaps because the recipient was busy, or perhaps because of her natural wariness, and the fact she didn’t recognize Ryker’s number. He didn’t leave a message, simply called again.
Answered on the third ring.
‘Who is this?’ said the familiar voice of Jen Worthington. Familiar, though he’d not spoken to her for more than three years, and not seen her face-to-face for closer to five.
‘It’s Ryker,’ he said.
A pause, before, ‘James. This is a surprise.’
Apparently not a pleasant surprise, given her tone.
‘Can you talk?’ he asked.
Another pause. As though she was weighing up how to answer. Or was there another reason? He’d called her on her office number. He did remember a private number for her but had no clue whether she still used that or not.
‘You need my help, I assume.’
Which, really, was plainly obvious given he’d called her at work.
‘I’d call it an offer,’ he said. ‘Mutual benefit.’
She laughed. Definitely sarcastic. ‘Sorry. You said this was James Ryker, but you must be an imposter as that doesn’t sound like him at all.’
He wasn’t sure whether to be offended by that or not.
‘So, how are you, James? Retirement treating you well?’
She really wanted to chat?
‘I’ve been worse.’
She laughed again. ‘Retirement, eh? Except you’re calling me, so clearly you haven’t got your feet up by a pool somewhere sipping a cocktail.’
‘Oh, I still find plenty of time for that. But not right now.’
‘Where are you these days?’
‘Nowhere in particular. Lyon right now.’
‘Should I be expecting to see chaos and destruction from the Rhône on my TV sometime soon?’
Images of the police raid at Aziz’s offices flashed in Ryker’s mind. Details of that were already in the news, though it seemed it hadn’t reached Jen’s radar. And technically, although he’d been there, none of that was really his doing. Was it?
‘You never know,’ he said.
She sighed. ‘Not exactly the best answer you could have given me.’
‘Probably not. So this is the deal. I have four email addresses I need some help with. An offshore company too.’ She sighed but didn’t counter, so he carried on. ‘I need to know everything you can find about them. IP addresses for the emails, any details on identities, anything you can find on ownership for the company. Financials would be a huge bonus.’
‘And what’s in it for me?’
‘Is Aziz Doukha on any of your watchlists?’
Silence. Jen didn’t say anything but Ryker could hear her typing away. Then the typing stopped but she still didn’t speak.
‘I’ll take your lack of answer as a yes,’ he said.
Most likely she was staring at a profile of Doukha as he spoke.
‘I see here that Doukha was taken into police custody in Lyon last night,’ Jen said. ‘That have anything to do with you?’
‘Not really.’
‘I find that hard to believe. And if the French authorities have him, I’m not sure I’m really that interested. One bad apple already off the street. And it’s not even my street, anyway. I know a few people in France but it’s hardly an area I’m hot for.’
He’d expected her to be like this. And not just because of her bullish personality, but because they’d never been that close. In a way that was why Ryker felt more comfortable calling her rather than other old acquaintances. Their paths had crossed a few times over the years, when he’d worked as an operative for the secretive JIA, and she’d worked as a field agent for the slightly less secret MI6, but they’d never carried out any shared missions together. An intelligence gatherer, more than anything, Jen had worked across various territories, but particularly countries in the Middle East and Africa, and as far as he knew, those parts of the world remained her main focus. She was decent enough at her job, but her life had changed when the safe house that she and several other agents were staying at in Mogadishu was targeted by a car bomb attack. Two of her colleagues lost their lives. Jen lost her left leg, her left hand, and was blinded in her left eye. She’d remained with MI6 but moved to an office function. An analyst, of sorts.
But, she was still dedicated to her job. Which meant she would be interested in intelligence on a person who was already on MI6’s radar, whether as a suspected terrorist or criminal kingpin or whatever, even if that person wasn’t her immediate concern.
‘I think one of the email addresses could be Aziz,’ Ryker said. ‘He’s Algerian.’ Thrown in as a sweetener given her previous African experience. ‘We’re looking at potential embezzlement, money laundering. Depending on the identities of the others, possibly even terror funding.’
That last one was perhaps wishful thinking, but he had to put it out there – another carrot to dangle.
‘Give me the details. I’ll see what I can do.’
Ryker smiled. ‘You’re a star.’
He gave her the details then ended the call. Then sank down a little in the driver’s seat and sighed. Would Jen keep the call to her secret? Most likely not. Would alerting her to where he was, and who he was investigating, have repercussions for him? Very possibly. But he felt the risk was worth it. Worst case, if there was something in it for them, MI6 would send their own people to Lyon to dig further into Aziz, if they chose not to simply pass the buck to the French intelligence services. Neither of those outcomes would result in a direct threat to Ryker, but too much heat could hinder him from finding any answers as to where Sophie Thibaud was, and why her family were executed.
A police car blasted past, siren wailing, snapping Ryker from his thoughts. He sat up in the seat, craned his neck to follow the car’s path, but it was already out of sight. He fired up the engine and pulled out and drove slowly toward Hofman’s home. Sure enough, as he passed the gates, he spotted the police car’s flashing lights by the house.
He’d wondered how long it’d be before Jean noticed the broken window in the spare bedroom. Honestly, Ryker had expected it to take longer, as he couldn’t see what would cause the teenager to bother to look in there. Perhaps he’d felt the cold as he walked across the landing. Or perhaps Anya or Julian had arrived home, and Ryker simply hadn’t spotted them driving past.
He turned the car around, did another drive-by, then parked back up in the same spot as before.
Minutes later he was on foot once more as he crept through the Hofmans’ garden, much like he had earlier in the day, edging closer to the house where the police car remained. No one in sight outside. Ryker stopped at the back of the garage, from where he could peer toward the front of the house and also had a clear view of the driveway, all the way to the gates by the road.
After a couple of minutes of near silence, he heard a raucous engine, high revs of a big diesel, approaching fast. The big BMW rocked as it careened off the road and onto the drive, racing for the house. Tires skidded as the brakes were hit. The driver’s door opened…
Not Julian Hofman but his wife. She darted to the front door. Ryker heard her call out. Shouting. Then much calmer male voices. The police, Ryker presumed.
For a short while after that, he didn’t hear much more, and he thought about moving around the garage and exploring the back of the house where he presumed the police would concentrate any efforts to take forensic evidence of the intruder – finger and shoe prints and the like. The idea didn’t particularly concern him – they wouldn’t get far with that evidence. Anyway, no sign of a forensic technician yet. No sign of Julian Hofman either.
Then out of the front door came the two police officers. Anya Hofman too. Ryker pulled back a little, trying to stay out of view, but also keen to see as much as he could. At least with the ever-fading daylight, he could remain in the shadows by the dark corner of the garage.
Sounds of their muted conversation drifted over though Ryker struggled to make out the words. He thought Anya was asking the officers not to leave. Asking for someone to keep watch on the house until her husband came home. He couldn’t hear the officers’ excuses for not doing so, but soon they were in their car and on their way.
So where the hell was Hofman?
Ryker waited more than two hours, by which point the temperature had dropped significantly with nighttime. No more police arrived – either to stand guard for the Hofmans or to take scene-of-crime evidence. Apparently, break-ins by mystery intruders weren’t given much of a priority by the local police, though Ryker could see why, given no one had been hurt and nothing had been stolen – except data, but did the Hofmans even know that?
He’d intended on waiting for Hofman to arrive home. Despite the story he’d relayed earlier, he didn’t plan to torture the man – not without further cause, at least – but he did want to put further pressure on. Which was one reason why he’d broken into Hofman’s home in the first place. A reason why he’d left obvious evidence of his presence.
And a reason why he remained at the house. He’d expected Hofman to rush home and had planned, as soon as the police left, to confront the man a second time. With fewer witnesses.
But he was freezing just standing out in the cold. Time to take a more direct approach once more.
Ryker retreated to the Jeep and headed back into the city. The main evening exodus from the many office buildings had already finished, though at a little after 7 p.m. the streets were far from deserted. Ryker parked in the same spot as earlier in the day then walked back toward Hofman Rheinhard. Of course, there was the chance that Hofman had left the office hours ago, or even while Ryker was coming over and they’d passed each other going in opposite directions, but if Hofman wasn’t here, Ryker would still make good use of his time.
He headed through the revolving doors. Glanced at the security desk. Only one guy working there now. He’d been there earlier too, but it wasn’t the one who Ryker had spoken to. Ryker nodded then confidently carried on his way to the security barriers. He held the card up to the reader. Not his visitor card, but one he’d easily pilfered from a man in the ground-floor canteen earlier, before he’d left the building after his confrontation with Hofman. Of course, there was a chance the ‘lost’ card had been disabled…
Green light and the glass barriers slid aside and Ryker slipped through.
He headed up in the elevator alone and came out on the fourteenth floor. To his left lay the double doors that led to the reception area, but to his right was another set of double doors that provided direct access to the office floor. The card once again worked and Ryker stepped inside. Not empty, but only a few heads were visible above the desk dividers. Ryker moved purposefully across the space, heading for Hofman’s desk. No sign of the man himself. No sign of anyone within four or five desks.
Ryker strode over and sat down at Hofman’s chair as he glanced back across the office. No one paid him any attention.
Ryker looked at the desk. No laptop or tablet now. No coat, briefcase, or anything like that.
So had he headed home after all? Ryker was more than a little disappointed at the thought, but he’d go back across the city once more if necessary.
Or had Hofman run? To where?
Ryker tried the desk drawers. Unlocked. But he couldn’t see anything of interest in there. A few files and folders on the desk itself, but again nothing that stuck out to Ryker.
A little reluctantly he got to his feet and walked toward the doors. He was halfway there when he spotted a computer screen on. Not locked. A handbag on the floor. A coat on the back of the chair. No sign of the owner though. Bathroom? Meeting?
Ryker sat down, keeping his head low so as to not be visible above the divider. He dove straight in. Headed into the company’s server area where various folders contained open-access client data. He searched for Thibaud. A few hits. Searched for Villeneuve. More hits. Doukha. Nothing. A few minutes later and all the relevant files were copied to his thumb drive.
Ryker stood from the chair. A head bobbed up from one of the desks nearby. A young man with a telephone pressed to his ear. He clocked Ryker, his face flickered with suspicion. Ryker had seen the same face earlier in the day, one of the many who’d stared on as Ryker came out of the meeting room.
‘Bonsoir,’ Ryker said, nodding over.
The man nodded back and Ryker carried on without waiting for any further response or questioning. Would the guy call security? Possibly.
Once back inside the elevator, Ryker hit the button for the basement rather than the ground floor. Both so he’d avoid passing by the security desk and also because he wanted to check the parking garage.
The basement was big and dark, each section lighting up only when sensors detected movement. Less than twenty cars remained in the sprawling space, dotted about, most of them big and expensive. Ryker spotted Hofman’s. Even if he hadn’t known the vehicle already, the nameplate on the wall behind it gave away who it belonged to.
So where was Hofman?
Looking around him first, Ryker walked over, feeling a little more nervous than before. The black paintwork of the Mercedes GLC gleamed in the artificial light. Ryker reached it and peered in through the driver’s window. Nothing in there.
He looked around him again, thinking, then spotted that the trunk lid was ever so slightly ajar. On a plush model like this, most likely the trunk was automatic. Had it caught on something as it tried to close?
Ryker stepped to the back of the car. He reached into the gap under the lid and provided gentle pressure and with a mechanical whir, the lid lifted up into the air.
As Ryker stared at the unmoving, bloodied face inside, he finally had the answer as to where the hell Julian Hofman was.