"This tattoo… the receptionist Eames and I met at Towells Construction. She has it, the exact same tattoo. I recognise the dove."
"I didn't see any tattoo," Eames replied carefully.
"It was partially concealed under her blouse… it was here." He gestured vaguely at his chest, and tried not to show any signs of embarrassment. As if they'd rehearsed it, Eames, Tanya, Jack, Sienna and Davenport all raised an eyebrow. Then, mercifully, refrained from further comment.
"You're sure it was the same image?"
"Yes. Definitely."
"Right." Sienna's tone was decisive. "Bobby, you and I are going to make a phone call to Tim Whitefield. You give him the receptionist's description, see if he can match her with any of Andropov's associates."
"Uh… why you and I?" It suddenly occurred to him to hope that she didn't answer Because you obviously noticed the receptionist in some detail, idiot.
"Because," she looked at her watch. "Today is Tim Whitefield's wedding anniversary, and given the time difference, he's about to leave the office. I'm about to call in every favour he owes me to get him to help."
Half an hour later, they were staring at a photograph of the receptionist, displayed on Davenport's laptop. It was unmistakably her, Jane Collins by name, and she was (according to the records that Sienna had wheedled out of an initially very reluctant Tim Whitefield) Andropov's girlfriend when he was in London. Ten years younger than he, and a recent graduate of one of London's universities, she was scraping a living working as a receptionist through an agency, whilst probably dreaming of better things. Her bank account, according to Whitefield, who had swiftly changed his mind about helping once Sienna convinced him of the urgency of the task at hand, showed several recent large deposits, matching amounts of money that Andropov had given her before.
"Classic strategy," Davenport remarked. "If you yourself can't get in somewhere, find someone who can, and recruit them. She hates her job, suddenly this mysterious stranger appears from nowhere, charms her, supplies her with money and luxuries, occasionally vanishes for just long enough to make her grateful when he shows up again, slowly wins her over… that tattoo's a pretty standard sign of hero-worship."
"It's like Stockholm syndrome. People become fascinated by those who have power over them, whether it's the power to imprison, to torture, to hold hostage, or some kind of sexual hold," Goren mused out loud. "There have been cases before where people have been convinced that they were involved in a secret services operation."
"Yeah. There was a con-man over here who used to make a living doing just that. It was in all the papers recently, they finally caught him. Yes, I can buy that Andropov managed to persuade his girlfriend into helping him out."
"You think she's actually involved in planning any of this, or is she just a pawn?" Eames wondered out loud, rolling her head and wincing as her neck popped.
"I'm going with pawn. She's no background in intelligence work – perfect for Andropov's purposes, she's completely off the radar as far as our investigation into the stadium attack goes." Davenport grinned and gestured at Goren and Sienna. "I love it when I make my own luck. So, what do we think now?"
Everyone's eyes turned to Goren. "I think… I think Andropov's strategy is something like this. He knows he has to have access to the plans for the stadium, so he researches the people involved in constructing it. He discovers Elahi, and Elahi's cousin Khaleel... did Khaleel get the plans for him, or did the girlfriend?"
"Elahi reported a break-in at his house, but didn't seem willing to hang around and press charges" McAllister pointed out. "Could be, he knew who it was and didn't want to implicate his own cousin. He must have known that with Khaleel's background with the Newcomer group, he'd be a prime suspect for investigation… as, indeed, he was."
"That could have been part of their cover – make it look like Khaleel's the ringleader, draw us away from Andropov," Goren mused. "The girlfriend – Collins – was so careful to point us toward Elahi's cousin as a suspect."
"So, let's see," McAllister's eyes flicked up to the left, as if reading something from the inside of his skull. "So far, we know that Khaleel and his group did have access to the plans for the stadium, and did plan an attack, but we don't know exactly how he got them – whether through Andropov, or through breaking into his cousin's house. We also don't know exactly why Andropov killed Elahi. We do know that the girlfriend is involved. If we assume that Andropov primed her to steer you towards Khaleel and his group, and that Khaleel deliberately got himself arrested so that the police would think they'd caught the attack on the match they were expecting and stop looking for other potential threats… then that means that whatever Andropov is planning to do, it's sufficiently destructive that Khaleel is willing to pass up the chance to carry out his own plan on the grounds that this is more dangerous. However, we don't know what that is, why Andropov's doing it or who for."
Neat summary, Goren thought, and made two mental notes. One was to read some of McAllister's journalism, if he got chance, and the other was to remember that the man had probably built his career by having a very sharp mind concealed behind a harmless-looking exterior.
"We've gone as far as we can with the knowledge we've got," he replied, and everyone nodded. "The girlfriend's our best chance of finding Andropov and whatever's he's planning. She probably won't know much, but she has to have some way of getting in touch with him."
"Will they still be in touch, if she's played her role?" Eames commented.
"Yes. The police will be in and out of Towells Construction office for some time whilst they try to work out exactly what happened between Elahi and Khaleel. Andropov will want her to keep an eye on what happens there, see if there are any signs that anyone suspects that there's more to this than Khaleel's planned bombing."
"Sounds like you need someone to follow the girlfriend, then, starting right now," Tanya said, and got to her feet. "I'll take the first shift, the rest of you should get some sleep. Drew, what home address have you got for her?"
Huh? His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Tanya looked at him and replied: "I know how to follow people – I do this kind of thing for Drew now and then. Plus, I only got up twelve hours ago, and the rest of you should sleep now. You won't get much chance for rest over the next few days. We need to get going."
Ex-Army sergeant, right. He glanced around at the others, and found he had to agree with Tanya. She and McAllister were the only ones still looking alert, whilst everyone else looked as through they hadn't slept in a week.
Davenport dragged himself onto his feet, and began to put together an address for Tanya's surveillance work, plus a full description of the girlfriend.
"What are you going to say if she spots you and reports a stranger hanging around outside her house?" Eames asked.
Tanya smiled. "Well, one, she won't spot me. Two, I'm a private investigator, officer. My current client thinks her husband's been cheating on her with this woman-" she waved a photo of Jane Collins at Eames "-and wants me to keep an eye on her; he works shifts, you see, finishes at two in the morning, and she wants to be sure he's not nipping off after work for a quick one before he gets in for his tea. I'm so sorry if I alarmed anyone, I know how it is these days, people are so paranoid about their safety…"
"Nice act."
"It is, isn't it? See you later... Drew, can I take your car? Mine will stand out." As Davenport nodded, Tanya picked up the photos and ran quickly up the stairs. Goren looked at the clock. It was nearly one o'clock.
"Stay over with us," McAllister advised. "Much easier to plan what we're supposed to be doing tomorrow morning if we're all in one place."
He looked across at Eames, whose head was drooping despite valiant efforts. "Okay."
"Right then," Davenport commented, no longer bothering to hide his tiredness. "Let's meet down here at half six tomorrow morning, unless Tanya rings us to say we need to move before that. She'll follow Collins until she arrives at work, then two of us can take over. SiSi, any chance you can help?"
"No, sorry. I still have a lot of paperwork to wrap up – the trial's taken a big bite out of everyone's time. Besides, me and undercover work do not go well together." She smiled wryly, and, Goren thought, rather sadly.
Davenport grinned at her, a more openly friendly grin that Goren had seen him yet display. "I beg to differ; you did a great job. I- we couldn't have got him without you." Sienna smiled back, and rolled her eyes humourously, as if to say, save the flattery, I know you too well for it to work.
Interesting. Goren found himself wondering how long Davenport and Sienna had been friends. Since she arrived in London? Maybe even before that? She had mentioned keeping in touch with him very briefly when she first came to New York after the surveillance operation where they'd met. Perhaps that's where she got some of her information – that tip-off about the Russian con-artists she provided to us… What exactly had she been involved in?
Apparently reading his mind, Davenport looked across at Goren and Eames and clarified; "Shortly after SiSi got here, she and I were involved in an investigation into a corrupt officer in the Met. He was passing information to a gang of drug- and people- traffickers… sorry, I'm rambling." He broke off, seeing Eames yawn. "Let's get some rest," he concluded, and yawned hugely himself.
As they filed out of the room, Goren found himself frowning, wondering exactly what undercover work Sienna had been involved in. She had no training for that kind of work… but he guessed it had something to do with her grasp of languages. Perhaps they had needed a female who understood the languages involved? He couldn't help but notice that Jack and Tanya's faces had immediately gone carefully neutral as soon as Sienna raised the subject. There was more to this than Davenport's brief summary would suggest, he thought. Ah well, the truth would no doubt emerge eventually.
