Tidal Rage David Evans (novels for teenagers .txt) 📖

art centres. The trio passed the 1930s’ Baltic flour mill, now converted and called the Baltic Centre for Contemporary Arts.

Richter struggled up the south bank steps and complained under the strain of the gradient. Several minutes later they walked past a deserted warehouse opposite the Gateshead College. They entered the Ramda hotel, Richter bent down, trying to draw in a breath.

Cutler had pre-booked two twin rooms using an alias. He had booked two twin rooms so Hoagie or himself could always keep an eye on Richter. The girls in Newcastle are known for their beauty; Cutler did not want Richter going off on a frolic with one of them.

Hoagie and Richter stayed in the shadows while Cutler registered at reception. Cutler got the room keys; he took the first room. Hoagie had the double bed, Richter the single, in the shared accommodation. Cutler went to the computer area of the hotel located on the ground floor, the only place he could get a Wi-Fi connection for his laptop.

Ghislaine’s face filled the screen as Cutler connected with her via Skype. He had small headphones on so the other two Wi-Fi users in the area could not overhear them.

After several minutes of video conferencing with Ghislaine, Cutler knew they were being tracked within the UK. Ghislaine had reported several of Werner’s operatives had entered the country; the last report was that two of them had flown to Glasgow. Cutler knew it was a matter of time before they tracked them to Newcastle, but he was in a catch-22 position; Richter’s passport would not be ready for several more hours.

Finally, as night drew in, Cutler left the hotel and walked down to the Quays. He crossed the Gateshead Millennium Bridge, across the River Tyne. He walked southwards down the quay on the Newcastle side and under the Tyne Bridge. It swallowed up three-storey buildings under its main brick supports on the quayside. Walking up a steep cobbled street called The Side, he went towards the historic Castle Keep Black Gate and Moot Hall, which was undergoing restorative works. The area was dimly lit and isolated.

Cutler approached the archways of a railway embankment. He passed a Chinese restaurant; the aroma of duck and ginger tingled his senses. Cutler glanced into the restaurant and observed the staff setting up the tables for the evening; they were the first people he had seen since entering the cobbled street.

Two archways down, he entered through the door of a small outlet, which stated office supplies. Cutler spoke to a young man called Imran; he was of Indian extraction. Cutler requested to see Bruno, the shop owner. The young man eyed him suspiciously, and Cutler instantly thought he did not trust him.

Imran did not speak a word to Cutler but ushered him through to the back office to where Bruno, a thin, small man who looked ashen, sat. Imran retreated out of the door.

“Who’s the young man, Bruno? Haven’t seen him before,” Cutler inquired.

“Not one for small talk, as usual, I see. Imran’s an apprentice recommended by some friend from Goa. He did good work there, forging UK passports for illegal immigrants, good enough to get past border force. If he can forge UK passports, he can forge anything,” he replied in a raspy voice.

“You should give up the cigarettes, Bruno; you don’t sound too good,” Cutler remarked honestly.

“That’s why I need an apprentice, had half my lung removed earlier this year,” Bruno wheezed.

“Do you trust him?” Cutler inquired.

“In this game, you don’t trust anyone.”

“Did he know I was coming?” Cutler continued.

“Yes, he did the work on the passport for your friend,” Bruno replied.

“Does he know who I am?” Cutler pressed.

“He doesn’t know your name or what you do, just that you need a passport. As I said: I trust no one,” Bruno retorted.

“Is the passport ready?” Cutler replied, as his level of alarm increased.

“The picture you sent digitally was of good enough quality for me to download and put into the correct format. Imran has done a perfect job. We used the name of a Polish immigrant who has a green card for the USA. Unfortunately, the Pole died in a car crash on the first day he revisited his home in Warsaw via New York,” Bruno said without emotion.

“What about his fingerprints? They would have taken them at JFK,” Cutler said.

“We have a copy on file. The Agent we use knew his identity is worth more if we have his prints, very efficient in that part of the world. For an extra two thousand dollars, you can have the latex overlays, which are undetectable when applied to the fingers correctly. But you know that already, Cutler, as this is not the first time we have done business. But it has been a while,” Bruno responded.

Cutler did not like doing business with the likes of Bruno, but he was a CIA and Secret Service asset that they had worked with in the past, and would no doubt use again in the future. Cutler understood that to catch major counterfeiters; you had to work with the likes of Bruno.

Cutler handed over the $10,000 in total for the passport and the latex fingerprints, after carefully checking the authenticity of the document. He had to agree; Imran had done a first-class job. Even Cutler would struggle, and would need high-tech equipment, to confirm it was counterfeit.

Cutler decided to take a circuitous route back to the hotel instead of retracing his steps. He exited onto a minor road at the top of The Side and passed the ancient black gates of the Castle Keep. There was temporary construction fencing surrounding the entrance to the gate, and Cutler noticed somebody had breached one of the fence panels. Had Cutler needed to spy on someone in the area, he would have placed one of his men up high