Despite being a sparse one-pager, there were several tantalizing little tidbits in the second report that piqued his attention. It concerned a taxi that had been abandoned on Broadway on the same night Mullins had died. That, in and of itself, was of little importance since a fair number of drivers had bailed out of their vehicles and fled as soon as the police had opened fire on the Town Car farther down on Broadway. What did make the report relevant were three facts, none of which it seemed anyone had bothered to link, let alone associate with the Mullins incident.
The first concerned the cab’s driver. He had been found with his throat slit, floating facedown in the East River two days after the Mullins incident. It was the dearth of any hint of serious follow-up into his homicide that made this point stand out. The second was an attached complaint made to the cab company where the driver had worked, which had been turned over to the police. A man from New Jersey had gone out of his way to report a rude exchange that had taken place immediately before the Mullins incident and across from the theater where Mullins had been just prior to his death. What made this so important was a description of a man in the front passenger seat of the cab. In addition to holding a device that looked like a game station, according to the complainant, this passenger spoke with a Jamaican accent.
Easing back in his seat, Andy sighed. He now not only knew the two incidents were linked but also why people back in the UK were concerned about Mullins’s death. The police report concerning the cabbie’s death ended with the statement by the detective investigating it that he was awaiting a report from the FBI on several sets of fingerprints lifted from the front passenger side of the cab, which had been forwarded to the FBI before pursuing the case any further.
Looking across the table at Susan, Andy drew her attention away from the report on the Mullins incident she had been poring over in an effort to see if there were any hidden nuggets of information someone at the department had overlooked or discounted. “Any chance of finding out from the FBI who those prints belong to?”
Making a face, Susan thought for a moment before answering. “The bureau and I are not on the best of terms at the moment.”
“What did you do to piss them off?”
Susan snickered. “You don’t want to know.” Then, after drawing in a deep breath, she frowned. “Just how important is it that you find out?”
Had the part about the passenger in the cab not made mention that he was Jamaican, Andy wouldn’t have pressed the matter. But the point had been raised, which led Andy to wonder if this was what had the people who’d put Telford on the case worried. “Very,” he finally replied evenly.
Coming to her feet, Susan took a moment to look down at Andy. His deadpan, no-nonsense expression told her all she needed to know. “I’ll do my best.”
Andy nodded. “I couldn’t ask for more from you.”
No sooner had those words left his mouth than he regretted having said them. As if to drive this point home, Susan raised an eyebrow and gave him one of her lopsided smiles before heading over to her desk and picking up the phone.
The list Susan handed Andy an hour later confirmed Andy’s and, he expected, Telford’s worst fears. The passenger had not been Jamaican but Belizean. Even worse, the man was a former member of that country’s police special branch. If the FBI knew this, Andy had no doubt in his mind that his own security service and the Foreign Office did, as well.
Before he allowed his mind to run riot, playing out all sorts of Machiavellian plots that had been hatched between the United States and the UK designed to put a lid on the Mullins incident and make it go away when the identity of the cab’s passenger had been established, Andy turned to Susan. She’d already read the fax sent by someone she was unwilling to identify. Based on her expression, he could tell she had managed to reach the same conclusion he had.
Andy sat there going over everything they’d seen thus far as he took to rubbing his eyes due to the jet lag that was finally starting to catch up with him. No wonder people wanted this closed down tight. The conspiracy theorists would have a field day if it got into the open, and — for once, perhaps — they could very well be right. A tentative knock intruded on Andy’s thoughts. Looking up, he caught sight of Tommy staring at him from the door.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve just finished an initial look-see with Oklahoma. We need to talk.”
Andy looked up at Susan G. “Can I borrow your office for a moment? I need to have a private chat with Tommy.”
Knowing just how sensitive this whole affair was beginning to turn out to be and wishing to have a private word of her own with Jenny, Susan nodded and pulled herself to her feet. “Mi casa es su casa.”
She had no sooner than closed the door behind her when Tommy took to overwhelming Andy with details about the black box he’d plucked from the wrecked Town Car, details he really didn’t care to know.
“You’re going to love this, boss. It’s a Raspberry Pi running a bespoke flavor of Linux,” Tommy proclaimed happily as he waved a scratched and dented black metal case wrapped with masking tape under Andy’s nose. “Once they had this little puppy properly wired into the back of the target vehicle’s diagnostic port, the gits who did this had themselves a full-scale RC car. I have four of the little beauties myself,” Tommy added brightly as he stared lovingly at the battered piece of hardware. “I also imaged the SD memory card for Spence to have a look when we get back, but if you’d like, I can show you how easy it is to hook it up to someone’s car and give you the ride of your life.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Andy replied dryly. “What can you tell me about its origin? Were there any markings on it that can be used to trace it to its source and possibly help in tracking it from manufacturer to end user?”
Tommy barked out a sharp laugh. “It’s a Raspberry Pi, boss,” he exclaimed as if what he’d just said was supposed to mean something to Andy. When Tommy saw the look on his face that told him it didn’t, he took to explaining. “It’s only been around for a couple of years, and already there are millions of the little buggers out there. Whoever modified this one spent a lot of time and effort to erase any serial numbers on the motherboard. However, guess where the majority of these are sold?”
“Hmm, that’s a real toughie. My guess would be China.”
“Nah, the UK,” Tommy continued. “But it’s the case that really takes the biscuit. It isn’t an off-the-shelf protective shell; it’s been handcrafted in aluminum with just enough space inside for this stuff.” With a flourish, Tommy pulled what at first sight appeared to be a thin reddish slab the size of a small Hershey bar wrapped in food wrap from his other pocket.
Andy had to stop himself from jerking back at the sight, trying to tell himself not even Tommy was that stupid. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep,” Tommy grinned as he casually slapped the packet down on Susan G.’s desk whilst his eyes never left his boss’s face. “A nice bit of thermite. The lad who built this really didn’t want anyone to track it back to him by analyzing his techniques and signature, the kind everyone who puts together something like this leaves behind. Pity for him the igniter didn’t work.”
Andy pulled his eyes up from the innocuous-looking sachet of powder. “And you brought it in here?” he asked disbelievingly.
“Hey, it was in my bloody pocket!” Tommy grinned evilly as he picked his prize back up and casually returned it to the aforesaid pocket. “But you should have seen the look on Oklahoma’s face when I cracked open the case. Did you know that cute little thing was a marine?”