On the plane back to England she opened the notes on her IPad. She re-read the letter she had been sent by "Phantom". I need to find him, she thought, how does he know Dad's alias and that I was his child? She noted down what Richards had told her, switched off her IPad and went to sleep. She was awoken by the stewardess asking if she wanted her food. "The perils of business class" she muttered as a Full English Breakfast in a microwave container was slipped in front of her.
Caitlyn was 18 now, she worked as a freelance journalist and had many friends who could source information but not many she could trust with it. She had moved out of her mum's flat into a comfy one of her own. When she turned 18 a savings account set up by her father credited her with half a million pounds. She still remembered the hassle of going to the bank to get that sum verified due to her age. They asked many presercuting questions and knowing the money had come from dodgy data deals, she found herself entangled in a web of lies about a rich uncle who left all his enheritance to her.
She stared out of the window of her flat onto the London skyline. The flat had been cheap in relation to London prices because she was close to city airport and a bustling taxi rank. She sat down at her desk and pulled out some flipchat paper. She pinned it onto the wall and began writing all she knew about Valour/Peter Reydon, Frank Richards, "The Phantom" and the smilers. When she moved out she insisted on bringing her dad's computer and although her knowledge of code had become rusty she still messed around from time-to-time.
She settled down with a bottle of red wine and wrote an article on the roads in Mozambique. She mentioned nothing about her business there just that she had visited on a recent holiday. She sent out her article to a few newspapers and got a deal for £60. Perfect! She thought and phoned Papa Johns for a take-away pizza.
She awoke on the sofa to the blaring sounds of police sirens. Bright sunshine peirced through the blinds of her apartment. She suddenly realised she had fallen asleep on the sofa. Throwing pizza slices off her stomach and shoving the red wine in the fridge, she dashed in the shower and jumped out just in time to hear "Police. Open Up!".
She shouted back that she was just getting dressed and came to the door in a red summer dress, her hair wrapped in a towel.
"Hello Timothy!" She said, "long time, no see eh?".
Timothy McCoy had been in her year during secondary and they had had a relationship in the past which had ended when she got a tattoo of her Dad's birthday on her wrist and he accused her of belonging in a brothel. He had changed, thought Caitlyn, his dark brown hair had lightened into a hazel and was that a grey hair? She dismissed it as a trick of the light. His chiseled jawline and symmetrical face was still as prominent as ever. She felt her heart drop as memories came floating back.
"Its PC McCoy to you Caitlyn, I'm on duty"
She scowled, "Then I would like to be addressed as Miss Price".
"Very well. This is my partner PC Haresh. We would like to ask you a few questions on behalf of the British Embassy in Mozambique".
Shit, she thought. This couldn't be about Dad? She glanced at PC Haresh. Her female instincts were to try to flirt with him to annoy Tim but she decided that would be immature and he probebly wouldn't even notice. PC Haresh had dark skin and flexed cheekbones. His nose was perfectly aligned and his hairline made his face resemble a heart. He was attractive, she thought.
"Well spit it out PC MCCOY"
"The day before yesterday you visited Mr. Richards a Mozambique national at 11:45 local time. Why?"
Caitlyn knew that she couldn't tell the truth. She paused,
"Have you seen my article this morning?"
"Yes Miss Price, the conditions of roads in Mozambique. Please remain on topic"
"Well... tommorow is about life in their prisons".
Tim thought for a moment. He still liked Caitlyn and hadn't meant to end their relationship, but he was here on duty and must not divert. His partner Haresh (who he had told of the parting of ways on the journey to her flat, jumped in to save his friend),
"Why Mr. Richards?"
"302 year sentence? That's unheard of in our country. The readers would be so interested in his account of the prison"
Tim recovered himself,
"He was in prison for selling state secrets as part of a gang of hackers?! Do you honestly think he could be trusted?"
"Why are you here anyway?" She asked.
"Mr Richards" said Haresh, "was found dead last night. The death is not being treated as suspicious. A run-of-the-mill heart attack but, what we want to know is why your business card was found in his cell?"
"I was writing an article, I said that if he could think of anything else to say then call me"
"Can we see your interview notes?" asked Tim.
"Certainly not!" She remarked, "If you want to see my work. Buy tommorow's newspaper!".
The policeman thanked her and drove away. Caitlyn slumped down into her sofa and hugged a cushion which still smelt of pizza. She threw it onto the floor, grabbed a TV remote and watched BBC Breakfast.
She forgot how attractive Tim was and now he had finally matured and stopped acting like a posh brat, he was better than ever! Caitlyn replaced the flipchart paper she had thrown in a cupboard before Tim had shown up, grabbed an apple and racked her brain for ideas.
Amongst the stuff she had found in the attic years ago, was her Dad's work on Troji-Flex.
She sat down on her computer and googled it. She never knew anything about Troji-Flex. The search could not tell her much as it was a firewall and anti-virus software used by the government: but the company 'Mayfair OuDoiu' was a household name for small anti-virus protectors found in all modern day appliances. Almost everything that turned on displayed an orange M on a dark blue moon. She scribbled the name onto the paper and decided to visit them for a chat.