He ran up the two flights of stairs and came out into a centre hallway that smelled of frying sausages. The third floor was divided into four separate flats. Knight went to the southeast-facing flat, number 3B, heard a television inside, and knocked sharply before holding up his Private badge and ID to the peephole.
He heard footsteps approach and then a pause before locks were thrown and the apartment door opened to reveal a puzzled Michael Lancer who said, ‘Knight? What are you doing here?’
Chapter 95
LANCER WORE A tracksuit and looked as though he had not shaved in days. And his eyes were sunken and hollow as if he’d slept little since being fired from his position with the London Organising Committee.
‘You live here, Mike?’ Knight asked incredulously.
‘Past ten years,’ Lancer replied. ‘What’s going on?’
Puzzled now, Knight said. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Uh, sure,’ Lancer said, standing aside. ‘Place is a mess, but … why are you here?’
Knight walked down a hallway into a well-appointed living area. Beer bottles and old Chinese takeaway containers littered the coffee table. The southern wall was exposed brick. Pressed against it was an open armoire that held a television tuned to the BBC’s wrap-up of the last full day of Olympic competition. Beside it was a desk and on top of it a glowing laptop computer. A blue cable came out from the side of the computer and was plugged into a wall socket.
Seeing that cable, it all suddenly seemed to make some sense to Knight.
‘What do you know about your neighbours on the other side of that wall?’ he asked, spotting the French window that led out onto the balcony.
‘You mean in the other building?’ Lancer asked, puzzled.
‘Exactly,’ Knight said.
The LOCO
G member shook his head. ‘Nothing. It’s been empty for almost a year, I believe. I mean, I haven’t seen anyone on the balcony for almost that long.’
‘Someone’s in there now,’ Knight said, and then gestured at the blue cable. ‘Is that a CAT 5e line linked to the Internet?’
Lancer seemed to be struggling to understand where Knight was going with all these questions. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘No Wi-Fi?’ Knight asked.
‘The CAT has much higher security. Why are you so interested in the flat in the building next door?’
‘Because I believe that Cronus or one of his Furies has rented it so they could tap into your computer line.’
Lancer’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’
‘That’s how they were able to crack the Olympic security system,’ Knight went on. ‘They tapped into your line, stole your passwords, and in they went.’
The former decathlon athlete looked at his computer, blinking. ‘How do you know all this? How do you know they’re next door?’
‘Because my children are in there.’
‘Your children?’ Lancer said, shocked.
Knight nodded, his hands balled into fists. ‘A woman named Marta Brezenova, a nanny I hired recently, kidnapped them on Cronus’s behalf. She doesn’t know that the twins are wearing pieces of jewellery fitted with a GPS transmitter. Their signals are coming from that flat.’
‘Jesus,’ Lancer said, dumbstruck. ‘They were right next to me the whole … we’ve got to call Scotland Yard, MI5. Get a special-weapons unit in here.’
‘You do that,’ Knight said. ‘I’m going to see if I can look into that flat from your balcony. And tell them to come in quiet. No sirens. I don’t want my kids getting killed on a knee-jerk reaction.’
Lancer nodded emphatically, pulled out his mobile, and began punching in numbers as Knight slipped out through the French window onto the rain-soaked balcony. He moved past wet patio furniture and tried to see into the other flat.
The other balcony was less than six feet away, featured an iron balustrade, and was empty, apart from some old wet leaves. The French window had gauzy white curtains hanging over it that let light out, but gave Knight no clear idea of the interior layout. To his right, Knight could hear Lancer talking on his phone, explaining what was going on.