‘Police have asked anyone who saw anything to come forward,’ the reporter said earnestly. She was standing by a barricade some distance from the RPM bar, now another major crime scene. ‘There has been no official statement, but sources are linking this terrible attack to the atrocities at the Meals Seattle warehouse and the Salam Islamic Centre. There is speculation that this is the work of the so-called Midas Killer.’
‘Thanks, Jennifer,’ the anchor said, as the screen split between the scene at RPM and the studio. ‘I also understand police are concerned about the whereabouts of Detective Evan Hill, the officer who was leading the Meals Seattle investigation?’
‘That’s right, Dan,’ Jennifer replied. ‘Coming so soon after the disappearances of officers Jared Lowe and Dean Ollander, there is growing concern that someone might be targeting the police.’
Pearce leaned forward and switched off the television. He looked round the room. Leila was at her computer, looking half dead. The grey light cast by the cloudy sky robbed her skin of colour, making her look even more drained. Clifton was slumped in a chair, struggling to stay awake. He kept catching himself nodding off. Brigitte sat nearby, utterly exhausted.
He and Brigitte had made it back to shore and had ignored the complaints of Marty and Ellen, who were annoyed by the loss of one of the drones. Clifton had driven them back to Huxley Blaine Carter’s building, and Brigitte had taken the duffle bag into the bathroom, where she’d undoubtedly changed her patch. When she’d emerged from the bathroom, she’d shot Pearce a knowing look and stowed the duffle bag with the rest of the gear.
‘Detective Hill is either in the wind, or someone’s got to him. The Red Wolves are gone,’ Pearce said, ‘at least the Seattle chapter. And there’s a huge shipment of tainted fentanyl somewhere on the West Coast. And we’ve got no idea where Kyle is. Every lead we had is dead or gone and I’m out of moves.’
‘The Salamovs,’ Leila suggested. ‘They might know where the Red Wolves would stash their shipments.’
‘They’ve gone to ground,’ Pearce replied. ‘They’re not answering their phones, and I think it’s a long shot. Whoever is behind this doesn’t want any connection to RPM. After what happened there, the cops are going to be all over anything to do with the gang. You get anything on Elroy Lang?’
‘Nothing here,’ Leila replied, turning her laptop screen for Pearce to see.
‘So it’s dead ends in every direction?’ Wollerton asked.
Pearce looked round to see his old mentor standing by the elevators.
‘Kyle,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
‘I lost them,’ Wollerton replied with more than a hint of frustration. ‘They tried to grab me.’
‘Are you OK?’ Clifton asked.
Wollerton nodded. ‘Nothing more than wounded pride. What’s been happening here?’
‘We’re running out of options,’ Pearce replied. ‘Elroy Lang, the people he’s working for; they’re good. The fact you saw them at the bar means the shipment made landfall, but with the Salamovs in hiding and the Fletchers gone . . .’ He trailed off and started pacing in frustration. His mind felt fuzzy and he knew he needed sleep, but they were against a clock. The toxin would start hitting the streets soon, if it wasn’t already out there.
‘What about the crooked cop?’ Wollerton asked. ‘If he’s still alive, he’s a link to Elroy Lang. If we find Hill, maybe we can get a lead on Lang.’
‘The NSA has a back door into most hotel reservation systems,’ Clifton said. ‘If he’s gone to ground we could piggy-back the NSA network and search for any hotel rooms taken in the Seattle area tonight.’
‘He’d pay cash,’ Pearce remarked. ‘And stay somewhere low-rent, off the grid. At least that’s what I’d do. Assuming he isn’t crashing with a friend. Or dead.’
‘Telemetry data from his car,’ Wollerton suggested.
‘It’s parked outside the South Precinct,’ Leila said. ‘It’s on camera.’ She switched windows to the precinct’s CCTV system, which showed the police car park, and pointed out Hill’s dark-blue SUV. ‘I’ve run his cards and phone and they all come up blank.’
‘The NSA has a gait identification programme,’ Clifton revealed. ‘It can identify a person by how they walk. If we could get a clip of Hill, we could run a search on the city’s traffic cameras.’
‘That would take weeks,’ Leila replied.
‘We’re reaching,’ Pearce said. ‘We need to find this stuff before it hits the streets. If Hill can help us and if he’s still alive, we need to bring him in today.’ He stopped pacing and turned to Leila. ‘You still have access to the Box social media accounts?’ he asked, referring to MI5’s propaganda and disinformation network.
Leila nodded.
‘How would you feel about some fake news?’ Pearce asked.