“Stone me.” White sat back again, holding his hands to his chest as if the keybord was giving him electric shocks. “It knows where Harry Mulder is. Sergeant! Phone the Met and tell them to pick him up.”
“Yes sir. Brilliant.
“Assuming it's the right Harry Mulder.” The professor gestured at the keyboard with his mug of coffee. “Ask it to give you a visual identity.”
“You really ought to start using the space bar, you know.” Shadwell gulped at his coffee. “There you go. Is that the fellow you asked for?”
The screen displayed a picture of Harry Jonas Mulder from his driving licence next to a picture from an overhead platform camera on the London Underground. Overlain on both were a series of green spots and lines and the words 'ninety-eight percent correlation'.
“That's him all right.” White grinned and rubbed his hands together, then patted the computer. “You little beauty. We could catch anyone with this fellow.”
“It's brilliant, sir.” Peters closed his phone. “The Met are on their way to pick Mulder up. They've alerted all the northbound stations, too.”
“Splendid.” If White's chair had been a swivel one he'd have done a victory spin.
“What about our missing persons file, sir. Can it find those as well?”