End It With A Lie

by Peter M. Atkins

A week later, and three days after Rodney’s funeral, Ben climbed the stairs to his Police Commissioner’s office. He was on time for his three o’clock appointment, and unsure as to the reason behind the Commissioner’s invitation. A point he had wondered about until his exercise in elevation commanded his whole hearted attention. He paused to catch his breath and straighten his tie, before he announced his arrival with a light knock on the Commissioner’s door. It was answered by an immediate bid to enter.

  The Commissioner greeted Ben with a handshake before he waved in the general direction of a chair. Ben was glad to take the weight off his stair weary legs and allow his heart rate to slow, while the Commissioner opened a plain report folder and read its typed contents.

  After a minute he turned another page, and then suddenly stole his bald spot from Ben’s view as he lifted his head,

  “I can’t help but wonder why a foreign mercenary would fly half way around the world, and then travel to the States outback in search of stolen opals?”

  Ben gazed back at his boss, like a school boy before a headmaster who expected a full confession. He gave a mental order to his hands to play their part in his body language, and remain motionless on his lap as he offered an explanation.

  “Sir, the opals in Beth Cooper’s possession are quite valuable according to the valuation she has made available. In her statement she points out that they are only a small part of the original large parcel she saw in Simon West’s possession.”

  Ben allowed the Commissioner to draw his own conclusions, and then waited as another page of the case file was turned.

  “Is this a copy of the valuation?”

  “Sir, it is the valuation of just ten of the stones. They are the last of the parcel of eighty-eight that West gave to Cooper, and are those that Cooper had valued with the intention of financing a trust fund for Rodney Anderson’s family.”

  The Commissioner was thoughtful for a moment before he asked.

  “How did this man Horton know that Cooper had the opals? Do you know?”

  “An address book was found on Horton’s body. It belonged to Simon West, and had apparently been taken by Horton from the house where the outback murders took place. It appears Horton used it to follow up on Cooper after he escaped the explosion on Simon West’s yacht.” Ben decided to try and bring the interview to its conclusion, “There’s no way we can know what took place on the yacht prior to the explosion. It is possible that Horton tortured Simon West or maybe West died while defending himself and forced Horton to follow his next best lead.” The Commissioner gazed steadily at Ben before he again showed his bald patch and signed the police report.

  “Ben, I would like to personally congratulate you for a job well done on winding up the outback murders investigation, and for your early intervention on the wooden box affair.” Ben was about to express his gratitude, but clenched his teeth together as the Commissioner continued,

  “Those two matters, plus the inevitable outcome of our friend Tom Lee must be for you a high on which to wind down a very successful career. I’ve spoken to the department’s Medical Officer, and he informed me that he suggested to you the possibility of early retirement. Have you considered his suggestion at all?”

  Ben felt his skin crawl at the question. I wondered why the medical officer might bring up the early retirement issue. You suggested it, but used the medical officer as a mouth piece, you prick. Although he felt the urge to grab his boss by the shirt and give him a Glasgow kiss, he knew that he was in a no win situation. Arguing with the referee was a waste of time, so instead he decided to bargain.

  “Yes Sir, I did consider my options, but came to the conclusion there was no benefit for me in retiring any earlier than necessary.”

  The Commissioner smiled lightly at the realization he was being screwed, but he was prepared to pay.

  “I could recommend promotion, effective immediately which would upgrade your pension plan by about forty percent.”

  Ben decided to make him wait.

  “Could I have twenty-four hours to consider that option, Sir?”

  “Yes. That sounds reasonable. Now I have someone who has requested a meeting with you.” He pressed his intercom and asked his secretary, “Miss Johns. Would you kindly show Sir James in please?”

  Ben stood as the door opened and a large rotund man strode into the room. He approached Ben with an outstretched hand.

  As he did the Commissioner stood and offered introduction.

  “Sir James, this is Ben Preston, one of our longest serving officers who brought to the Department’s attention the wooden box affair. Ben, this is Sir James Tulluston. Sir James is in Sydney on the first leg of a fact finding tour to the five countries involved in the wooden box affair.”

  Ben noticed the moisture which had been transferred to his hand as he allowed it to fall to his side. He looked into the man’s eyes a second time to see a brittle hardness which seemed out of place in his round jovial face. The Commissioner had no sooner finished his introductions before he, as if uncomfortable, gave reason for his need to be elsewhere.

  As he left the room Ben momentarily wondered why he should appear uncomfortable. Maybe the Commissioner is a little pissed off at not being included in the meeting, he thought. He smiled lightly as he turned and faced a different kind of smile. It sat heavily upon Sir James lips, but did not touch his eyes.

  The two men remained standing, which suggested to Ben that the meeting, whatever it was to be about, was most certainly going to be short lived. After a few moments of small talk Sir James began to beat about the bush.

  “Ben, your Commissioner was accurate as to the reasons for my activities in your country. However, his knowledge on the subject is based on the limited amount of information I allowed him. For example, I did not let him know that I am the head of a branch which is among other things, directed at the ‘Generals’ of our enemies’ army in the war against terrorism.” He allowed this information time to sink in, and as Ben nodded his understanding he continued, “Now, part of my task in MI6 is to try to put myself in a terrorist’s shoes so to speak. Not so much as to ascertain the reasons for their successes, but more to assess where they went wrong. Mistakes they made, no matter how small, which may be beneficial to our operations in the future.”

  Ben was unsure what was happening. He groped for understanding as to why this man was imparting obvious need to know information, to a soon to be retired, single pixel in the big picture policeman. He hoped the worry in his mind would not be expressed in his facial features, as he suddenly wondered if Sir James might be just plain nuts.

  Ben noticed that the brittle hardness had left the man’s eyes. It had been, at some stage of the discourse replaced with an excited shine.

  In a second it became all too obvious.

  Sir James was on a power high. Like a drunk in a pub who had just scored with the beautiful barmaid, and then had the overwhelming necessity to tell someone of his exploits. It became apparent that Ben was to be his subservient captive audience. That’s why he used the word ‘Generals’ of the enemies’ armies. He needs to rate his opponents high so he can elevate his own importance, Ben thought.

  Sir James looked down his shirtfront to view the backs of his hands and his fingernails before he went on.

  “I’ve been allowed access to your reports, and I have one question I would like to ask you.”

  He paused for some seconds, as if to allow Ben time to appreciate the importance thrust upon him by being allowed to advise the General.

  “What was it that made you suspicious of the, as you call it, the wooden box? How did you get on to it so early?” Immediately, an almost identical question echoed in his memory, one that Ben had heard quite recently.

  Ben looked again into Sir James’s staring gaze. It shone like those belonging to one who expected that a brilliant plan could only have been thwarted by an even more brilliant manoeuvre. Ben was unsure what reaction to expect.

 
“I suppose the thing that clutched at my suspicious mind was the fact that Steve Walters was involved.”

  Sir James urged.

  “Yes?”

  To which Ben lied.

  “And that was only because his name came up more or less accidentally.”

  “Accidentally?” Sir James voice dropped to almost that of a whisper, “You mean that you stumbled around in the dark and tripped over apparent evidence?” Ben nodded in an offhand way as he watched the fire go out of Sir James eyes. Then, just as suddenly it was replaced by the brittle hardness that had been evident at the beginning of their meeting.

  “We were looking into another matter when Walters name came up, and as coincidence can only be stretched so far, we scratched the surface and discovered something we were not supposed to see.”

  As he spoke, Ben felt the almost habitual sensation that came with commanding an interrogation. He watched as bright excitement flared once again in Sir James’s eyes as he completed his next sentence.

  “The plan that John Kane and his colleagues carried out was grand, almost to the point of perfection, both in preparation and execution...” Ben noted the poker face which still clung to Sir James’s features. An expression that didn’t fit the look of almost joyous rapture that beamed in his eyes, until they suddenly clouded as Ben continued.

  “But, they didn’t look into the criminal background of the owners of the building they leased, and they didn’t make sure that all of their members entered Australia under assumed identities. Namely Steve Walters, who was immediately noticeable due to the attention he drew on an earlier visit to this country. Two small flaws, which, in answer to your question as to our early intervention, were the only clues we had available to us. It was upon these we focused our attention and carried out some very fine police work.”

  Sir James suddenly turned on his heel and walked slowly to one of the office’s windows, where he stood stock still and gazed out at the cloudless blue sky.

  Ben allowed him his moment of thoughtful solitude, before he changed the course of his dialogue.

  “Sir James, I’ve been a policeman for many years, and during that time I’ve learnt that all that needs to be read is written in the human eye. It clarifies the truth along with the lie. I’ve also learnt that usually the best way to have that writing displayed is to offer a compliment, deserved or undeserved. Either way it will almost always bring a result.” Ben waited until Sir James turned to face him before he went on.

  “The question that you asked was almost identical to one asked of me by John Kane. It was another surface that I felt the need to scratch. Habit I suppose, or curiosity. Just delving a little deeper to see if there is anything I am not supposed to see. I then offered you a compliment, and read what was written in your eyes.” Ben wondered if he might be going too far, but he pressed on regardless, as his mind tried its best to persuade him to desist.

  “I think that I’ve read enough to be able to ask you a favour?”

  Sir James turned his head toward Ben and offered a slight nod of his head.

  “Of course.”

  Ben was in two minds, like one who is about to bungee-jump, until suddenly the critical point has been passed and he went into free fall.

  “I asked John Kane what it was that he’d accomplished, other than a financial wind fall. He suggested that I ask Athol, should I meet him.” Sir James expression stayed intact, but he couldn’t stop his short and immediate intake of breath. It sounded to Ben similar to a hiccough.

  “What did you accomplish, Sir James?”

  Sir James turned to face Ben and the fore finger which had lain across his lips, as if to guard their movement, began to scratch an imaginary itch high on his cheekbone as he explained.

  “We’ve deprived the enemy of millions of dollars of their operational funds, placed moles in most of the computers which took part in the auction and accrued priceless information on their financial infrastructure. Aside from that, we provided a practice schedule for five Nations that will fine tune their emergency services in preparation for any future ‘real’ event.”

  Ben chose the wrong moment for levity.

  “You’ve frightened the hell out of a lot of people.”

  Sir James voice hardened.

  “We reminded the world that they, along with us, are at war. If a scare now and then is what is needed to make them understand that the war on terror is not a tongue in cheek affair, then so be it.”

  He suddenly relaxed, and as he turned away from Ben to gaze again out of the office window he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief before he offered quietly.

  “Ben, the wooden box affair as you put it, was a successful strike against the enemy. We’ve dealt him a decisive blow, but it is just one battle in a war that is far from over.” His pause emphasized the silence before he added, “We’ve had a victory, but do you know why it was not a one hundred percent success?”

  Ben could only shake his head.

  “It’s because one of our men won’t be coming home. I lost a good friend and colleague in the fight against terrorism, just as you lost a good friend and colleague in the fight against crime. You understand the seriousness of the situation. If I need to drive the seriousness of the situation home by scaring shit out of people, then I will. I’d prefer to do it that way, than have them come to the understanding the hard way like you and I have done. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Ben mentally recoiled under the force at which the point had been driven home to him. It was accompanied by a flash in his brain of Rodney’s flailing body, as it accepted the impact of Horton’s high powered bullet.

  He was stunned to silence for some seconds, and then suddenly an overwhelming feeling of weariness seemed to infiltrate his being.

  His hand went to his forehead and came away wet with the sweat that seemed to have erupted from the pores of his skin. At that moment there was a knock at the door. He turned to see a face that was unknown to him.

  “Sir James? Call from London, Sir. Urgent.”

  Ben noted the unknown man’s English accent, and then listened as Sir James answered.

  “Thank you Charles. Have it put through to this telephone will you?” He pointed towards the telephone on the Commissioner’s desk.

  Ben accepted the interruption gratefully, wishing already that he was somewhere else. Somewhere quiet where he could allow the after effects of the flash back to slowly dissipate and let him regain his sense of normality. He excused himself.

  “I hope that I’ve been helpful in providing input for your assessment, and now, if you might excuse me. I have something of a personal nature that must be done right away.”

  Sir James face showed some concern as he carefully surveyed Ben’s face and asked.

  “What is that Ben?”

  “The Commissioner believes that people our age are beyond our use by date, and I’ve come to realize in the last few minutes that he may be right. It may be time to move aside. Let the younger minds who feel they are in better touch with this new world do what they will. So I have letter of acceptance of early retirement to write.”

  Sir James stood with his chin nestled between thumb and forefinger. Into which he nodded his head before he lowered his hand.

  “Yes, of course Ben. Thank you for your input.”

  “Thank you Sir.” Ben said as he walked to the door. He took the stairs of the fire escape to where one floor down he suddenly thought. Quinn was right. The world had changed and nothing was what it appeared to be. Gone are the good old days when black was black and white was white.

  He wondered at Quinn’s unusual philosophy if he learnt that the wooden box affair was just a huge anti-terrorist sting operation. Put up by the British Secret Service. It then became clear to Ben, why the Police Commissioner had had the authority to let Kane go so easily, and without seeking advice. He was obviously in the know.

  “Was Rusty Bates also?” He wondered aloud.

  As the pr
essure of previous few weeks’ uncertainties at last broke free, it left him feeling relaxed and inwardly content. He felt it in his step on the last of the stairs to his department’s floor.

  He could see his computer as he passed through the fire escape doorway, and he gratefully accepted the short walk to it and his new beginning.

  CHAPTER 28