Double Cross: A gripping political thriller (The Cadre Book 3)

by Stephen Edger

  ‘Who are you?’ Dylan managed, as his memory began to return.

  ‘My name is Mr O’Connor,’ the white haired man replied. ‘I carry out certain tasks for my client from time to time, much as you did on one particular occasion when I was otherwise engaged.’

  ‘You work for him, don’t you? The Chairman I mean.’

  O’Connor nodded.

  ‘What else do you do for him, besides abducting innocent men from foreign countries?’

  ‘Ha! Innocent? You? That’s a good one, for sure. He’s told me how you were recruited. You knew what you were getting yourself involved in! You had a choice.’

  ‘How much is he paying you to keep me here? Huh? I’ll double whatever it is. I have the money.’

  O’Connor smirked. ‘Some people cannot be bought. Now, keep quiet, my client wishes to speak with you.’

  O’Connor lifted the lid of the laptop and the dark screen was suddenly filled with the face of an overweight man in his early sixties.

  ‘Mr Taylor,’ the man said in a broad Yorkshire voice. ‘Welcome home.’

  ‘Home? Where am I?’

  ‘London, Mr Taylor. I’ve gone to great effort to bring you back where you belong.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘All in good time, Mr Taylor,’ The Chairman continued. ‘Can I assume that you recognise me, or at least the sound of my voice?’

  Dylan remembered back to the phone call he’d received the night he had been dispatched to kill Dreyfuss. ‘I know who you are,’ he replied.

  ‘Good, then that should save me having to explain the reason we’re speaking. I trust Mr O’Connor has made you as comfortable as possible?’

  Dylan felt the cable ties break fresh skin and he grimaced.

  ‘Good,’ The Chairman continued. ‘I must say, Mr Taylor, you look well for a dead man. Tell me, how long did it take you to come up with the plan to torch your flat in Ealing? Have you any idea how much damage you caused? Your neighbours have had to move to new accommodation, and there’s talk that the whole floor might need to be renovated. I’m actually tempted to put an offer on the site and develop it into a hotel.’ The Chairman laughed to himself, before continuing. ‘You really have caused a lot of trouble to those around you, haven’t you? You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since I entrusted that little job to you. Thankfully, you won’t be any further trouble from this point.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Dylan muttered.

  ‘I should apologise that I cannot be there to speak to you in person, Mr Taylor, but, alas, I have more important business to attend to.’

  ‘Scared to face me?’

  ‘Scared, Mr Taylor? Why on earth would I have anything to fear from you?’

  ‘I don’t know…it takes a lot to send an innocent man to his death.’

  ‘An innocent man? You? I hardly think you’re that, Mr Taylor.’

  ‘Where do you get off, eh? Deciding who should and shouldn’t live. You paid me to kill Dreyfuss and now you’re paying O’Connor to kill me. Who gets to determine the right punishment for your crimes, huh?’

  ‘I beg to differ, Mr Taylor. I paid you handsomely for the work that you carried out, but did you disappear quietly into the night like a sensible man? No. You grew a conscience instead and determined to spend your blood money in the loudest and least discreet manner you could.’

  ‘So you decided I was expendable.’

  ‘You gave me no other choice! Don’t you see? If you had taken the half million and disappeared, I’d have had no reason to come after you. Look at Mr O’Connor here. We’ve had a mutually beneficial working relationship for nearly a decade. He understands what is required of him and carries out his duties in a discreet manner. If you had acted accordingly I wouldn’t have needed to send Stratovsky’s men after you.’

  ‘So it was you?’

  ‘Of course it was. You became a loose cannon. Not only did you piss away my payment on drugs, booze and cards, but you then borrowed more from a lowlife loan shark. Do you realise the difficulty I had in getting rid of Royce too? You have no concept of how much trouble you have been to me and my organisation.’

  ‘Royce is dead?’

  ‘I had no other choice. I didn’t know how much you or your troublesome friend might have said to him.’

  ‘You killed Connor too, didn’t you?’

  ‘Ah, yes, Mr Price; such a tragic story really. Do you know he actually broke into my office in London and tried to blackmail me? I offered him a significant sum of money to go quietly, but he refused to listen.’

  ‘You didn’t need to kill him.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have involved him in the first place! If you hadn’t taken him to your meeting in that field, he would still be alive today. Do you see what I mean, Mr Taylor? You have a devastating effect on those that know you.’

  ‘What did you do to Maria and Elena? They knew nothing about you.’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure what they knew. How do I know how many people you’ve told and endangered?’

  ‘Told what? I don’t know anything!’

  ‘You know enough.’

  ‘Bull shit!’ Dylan spat. ‘I have no idea what you or your organisation are up to. All I know is that you hired me to kill Dreyfuss. You can let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone of your involvement.’

  ‘That’s a sweet offer, Mr Taylor, but for some reason, I’m not inclined to believe you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just kill me in Mexico? Why go to the hassle of flying me back?’

  ‘I had planned to have Mr O’Connor take care of you the moment you crossed the border; what’s another dead tourist in Tijuana, right? But then I was informed that you’d made contact with Aaron Cross, and I needed to know how much the two of you had discussed. Tell me, Mr Taylor, where is Mr Cross now?’

  Dylan thought for a moment, ‘He’s long gone. You won’t find him. What’s more, he knows everything I do…and more. He’s going to tell the world what you’re up to. It doesn’t matter if you kill me, you won’t catch Aaron.’

  ‘Ah, such bravado; it’s almost enough to warm my cold heart. Alas, I already know precisely where Mr Cross is. I was only asking you to see if you would give him up in exchange for your own pitiful existence. Loyal to the end, hey Mr Taylor?’

  ‘You’re bluffing!’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mr Taylor. We’ve been tracking the two of you for some time. When the time is right, Mr Cross will be disposed of. You know, I did actually consider whether you could be swayed to join us on a more formal basis; I thought you and O’Connor would have made a good team, but he wasn’t so sure. O’Connor said you couldn’t be trusted and that you’d baulk at the first sign of trouble. I’m glad I chose to heed his advice.’

  Dylan sighed. ‘So what next? You’re going to order O’Connor to kill me?’

  ‘Not exactly, Mr Taylor. I have another meeting to attend now, so this will need to be brief. At midday the Metropolitan Police will receive a tipoff that a bomb has been planted in a vacant block of flats in the capital. They will inevitably identify your present location amongst a host of other sites as the possible target. The media will receive an identical tipoff. Shortly before one, the police will be told that an Islamic State extremist-convert has strapped himself to a homemade explosive and will detonate it at four p.m. if the US government doesn’t remove its troops from the borders of Syria. This won’t happen of course, so the bomb will be detonated, and it should stir up enough feeling with the British people, for the government to launch a personal war on terror. It will also help alienate our overbearing American neighbours. Before the explosion, the police will receive a final package confirming the identity of the extremist; you, Mr Taylor.’

  ‘You’re crazy!’

  ‘I agree that my methods may seem radical, but they are part of a much greater plan. I’m pleased that you will prove useful once again.’

  ‘But I’m officially dead. Won’t the identification of my body stir up
more problems for you?’

  ‘Quite the opposite in fact. They will find a man who faked his own death in order to join the cause in Syria. If anything, it will only add credence to the lie.’

  ‘How many people’s lives are you going to destroy to achieve your aims? You’re nothing but a petty little tyrant; a Hitler wannabe.’

  ‘There are always casualties of war! Do you know how many good British men and women have died protecting this country? And for what? What has our government done to raise Britain’s profile since the end of the Second World War? What has it done to prevent other nations trying to gain more power? Nothing! A New World Order is coming, Mr Taylor. It’s inevitable. If we don’t take a stand now, all will be lost. The Cadre only want what is best for the country. Why do you think we rigged the vote in Scotland? A separation of the countries would have weakened Britain’s power further.’

  ‘What about the families you’ll kill when your bomb detonates?’

  ‘The fallout will be limited to the site, I’ve made sure of that. The block is empty, save for you, so on this occasion, there will be no casualties of war.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this. Aaron will find a way to stop you.’

  ‘Yes, well, we’ll see, Mr Taylor. In the meantime, I’m now late for my next engagement. I bid you Godspeed, and urge you to remember that your death is serving a greater purpose.’

  Dylan was about to say something else when he felt O’Connor’s fist connect with his lower jaw, before a rag was stuffed into his mouth. O’Connor then tied a piece of cloth around his mouth to stop him spitting the rag out. The Chairman’s face disappeared from the screen as the video call ended.

  ‘In case you get bored waiting for the boom,’ O’Connor smiled, placing a small DAB radio on the table where the laptop had been. With that, he turned and left the flat, locking the door as he did.

  Dylan pulled at his wrists again, but there was no give in the ties. He glanced around the room. There was no obvious sign of a bomb, at least not within the arc of vision he had while strapped to the chair. It was possible that The Chairman had been bluffing, but something told him he wasn’t. That meant the bomb was either directly behind him, or off in another room. He did what he could to adjust his arms so that he could glance down at where they were tied. He was relieved to find no cables attached. The radio showed it was nearly one o’clock, meaning he had a little over two hours to break free. He began to rock the chair from side to side.

  24

  PORTSMOUTH, UK

  13:00 (G.M.T.)

  Kyle looked out of the car window. There was still no sign of the D.I. or the U.C., so he pulled out his mobile and called White. The phone rang several times before the voicemail service cut in. He hung up without leaving a message, and then noticed he’d received a text message from an unknown number. He opened and read the message. It was from Kate, the dog walker he’d met earlier. The message suggestively asked: How about that dinner then? I make a mean risotto. Kyle smiled to himself, but quickly replaced it with a frown.

  What am I doing?

  He deleted the message without replying, suddenly conscious of the weight of the band on his third finger.

  He tried phoning White again without success. They had arrived at Fratton police station just after eleven and had parked up as White had suggested. They had sat and waited patiently until Kyle had spotted D.C.I. Stead in an unmarked car pulling out of the station. White had told him to follow, but to maintain a couple of cars’ distance between them. It had been a number of years since Kyle had attended the advanced driving course at Hendon, and maintaining pace and distance with Stead had proved challenging; not knowing where Stead was headed made it that bit more difficult.

  Thankfully for Kyle, the journey was a brief one down to Gunwharf Quays a shopping and leisure facility, boasting a variety of restaurants, bars and the Spinnaker Tower.

  ‘I guess you were right about him not going to the dentist,’ Kyle had muttered as they had pulled into the underground car park.’ White hadn’t replied, instead indicating where they should park.

  ‘Right,’ White had eventually said, when Stead was walking towards the shopping complex. ‘You follow Stead and phone me when you see him speaking with his U.C.’

  ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll hang back for now…once their meeting is over, I’ll follow the U.C. and ask him for that chat, like.’

  ‘Are you sure about this, Guv?’ Kyle had asked. ‘It’s not too late for us to change our minds. I mean, if we approached Stead and told him everything we suspected, he might agree to us meeting the U.C.’

  ‘And if Stead is part of the conspiracy? We’d have tipped them off. No, this is our only option…Don’t worry, I won’t make contact with the U.C. until Stead is out of the picture.’

  Against his better judgement Kyle had exited the car and hurried after Stead, eventually spotting him in the queue for the Spinnaker Tower. Kyle had plugged a hands free kit into his phone and reported in with White.

  ‘Public place,’ White had commented. ‘Makes sense. Don’t let them see you.’

  ‘You want me to follow him up there, Guv?’

  ‘How else will you see who he’s meeting? What’s wrong with you man?’

  ‘I’m not a big fan of heights, Guv,’ he had admitted.

  ‘Stop being such a pansy,’ White had fired back, empathetic to the end. ‘Get up that Tower, man.’

  Spinnaker Tower is a 170-metre landmark, modelled on a boat sail to reflect the city’s maritime history. Kyle had never felt the urge to observe the view from the top and had been reluctant to pay for the privilege today. White had given him little other choice. He had waited until Stead was ascending in the lift, before buying his own ticket and joining the queue. It had only taken five minutes and then he was up, hunting for Stead. He had spotted him by the west-side window, standing next to a tall, black man.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this, Guv,’ he had whispered into the small microphone.

  ‘You recognise the U.C.?’

  ‘Yeah, I do. His name’s Tyrese, but he can’t be Stead’s U.C.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s too senior in the narcotics trade in Southampton. I’ve busted some of his dealers in the past, and not a single one of them would say anything against him…he’s got this reputation you see.’

  ‘What reputation?’

  ‘Well, rumour has it that he likes to chop up anyone who crosses him.’

  ‘Stead told us that his man had been in play for a couple of years.’

  ‘But what if we’re wrong, Guv? What if Stead is involved in the conspiracy and rather than meeting with an undercover, he’s actually liaising with the enemy?’

  ‘You think Tyrese might work for McManus?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Guv, probably not directly. Tyrese is a middleman: he gets his gear from an importer and distributes to his dealers in smaller quantities, taking a cut of any margins. I would have thought that McManus would be dealing with Stratovsky directly, rather than using someone like Tyrese.’

  ‘Can you hear what they’re talking about?’

  ‘No, Guv,’ he had whispered. ‘They’ve got their backs to me and, if I get any closer, I’m certain they’ll spot me.’

  He had remained in place for the duration of the ten minute meeting and had then busied himself in the gift shop as Stead had departed.

  ‘Right, Guv,’ he had whispered. ‘Stead is gone. Tyrese is alone but still at the window. Do you want me to approach him?’

  ‘No, man. It’s too public up there; we don’t want a scene. I want you to follow him when he makes his move and tell me where he’s headed. I’ll intercept him at the appropriate time.’

  Kyle had maintained his position. Five minutes after Stead’s departure, Tyrese had taken a look around to spot anyone who might be watching him, before he had headed for the lift. Kyle had grabbed a bag of sweets, paid for them and had exited with a gift
shop bag in his hand. He had entered the same lift as Tyrese, ensuring he didn’t make eye contact.

  ‘He’s on the move, Guv,’ he had whispered, once the lift was down and the doors had opened. He’s heading towards the escalators down to the car park, the same set I used to come up here. He’s on his way to you.’

  White had acknowledged the shout and told him to meet back at their car. Kyle had done just that, but as he had joined the escalator down, he hadn’t seen White or Tyrese. Assuming they were on a lower floor, he’d returned to the car and waited. He had begun to grow concerned when White had still not returned ten minutes later. It was then that he’d received a text message from the D.I.’s phone: ‘Meet me at Portsdown Hill in half an hour.’

  That had been thirty-five minutes ago.

  *

  Portsdown Hill is a long chalk ridge that overlooks Portsmouth. The highest point of the hill lies within Fort Southwick at 131 metres above sea level. The ridge offers good views to the south over Portsmouth, the Solent, Hayling Island and Gosport, with the Isle of Wight beyond. The hill is on the mainland, just to the north of Ports Creek, which separates the mainland from Portsea Island. It was the perfect place for White to interrogate his current passenger. At least the incessant banging had now stopped.

  White had waited at the foot of the escalator, pretending to stare at something on his phone. He had watched Tyrese descend the next two escalators before following him down. There had been fewer cars on this floor, and his trail had become obvious.

  ‘I help you with suvink?’ Tyrese had demanded, turning to confront his stalker.

  He had offered his least threatening smile. ‘I was hoping we could have a chat, man.’

  ‘Look, pal,’ Tyrese had continued. ‘I don’t know who you are, but I’m not bent. Okay?’

  ‘Good, neither am I,’ White had said removing his warrant card and pushing it into Tyrese’s face. ‘Besides, I wasn’t asking.’

  ‘You’re making a big mistake, pal.’