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

by Stephen Edger

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that…now which of these is your vehicle?’

  Tyrese had led White to a small hatchback before asking, ‘Is this official? Do I need to bell my solicitor?’

  ‘We wouldn’t be meeting in a car park if it was official, would we?’

  ‘Well in that case, fuck you, and piss off! I’ve got better things to be doing.’

  Tyrese had turned his back at this point and proceeded to open the car’s boot before removing his coat and placing it gently inside. Frustrated, White had done the first thing that had entered his mind. He lashed out, striking Tyrese in the midriff. He had then snatched the car keys from Tyrese’s fingers before bundling him into the boot and slamming the lid shut.

  ‘I asked you nicely,’ he muttered before climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘We can do this the nice way, where we both sit and talk openly, or…’ The rest of his speech had been drowned out by Tyrese’s hammering on the boot lid.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ White had bellowed before sending Kyle a message telling him where to meet.

  He was pleased to see that Kyle had made it to the clifftop. He flashed the hatchback’s lights to indicate that he’d arrived. He then watched as Kyle climbed out of the car and headed over.

  ‘Where’d you get the car, Guv?’ Kyle asked, climbing in to the passenger’s side.

  ‘Our friend donated it, like.’

  ‘You spoke to Tyrese? What did he say?’

  ‘Not exactly. I thought you should be there when I questioned him.’

  ‘Okay, well where is he? Are we meeting him here?’

  White grinned. ‘Sort of,’ he said, climbing out.

  ‘I don’t understand, Guv,’ Kyle said, following him to the back of the vehicle.

  White unlocked the boot and lifted the lid. Tyrese sprang out, limbs flailing.

  ‘Jesus, Guv! You abducted him!’

  ‘Cop or not, I am gonna kill you!’ Tyrese snarled.

  ‘If you’re who we think you are, you’re not going to kill anyone. Tyrese, this is my partner D.S. Kyle Davies. I am D.I. Tony White. You’re John Stead’s undercover operative, aren’t you?’

  Tyrese remained silent, instead snatching their warrant cards and studying them.

  ‘We know that D.I. Stead has an undercover operative in Victor Stratovsky’s organisation. We know that he was due to meet with his U.C. at lunchtime today. We tailed Stead to the Spinnaker Tower this morning and we saw him meet with you at midday. We know that you operate in the narcotics trade in Southampton. Stop me when I say something that’s not true, man.’

  Tyrese scanned the clifftop.

  ‘Nobody knows we’re here, Tyrese. You’re as safe as you can be. Not even Stead knows that we’re speaking. We need your help.’

  ‘I know who you are. What do you want?’ Tyrese asked, his tone softer now.

  ‘You’ve been part of Fortress for a couple of years now, right?’

  ‘If this is going to work, how about you tell me what you know first,’ Tyrese replied.

  ‘Do you know the name Jock McManus?’

  Tyrese shook his head.

  ‘He’s a heavy hitter from up north, specialising in the importing and distribution of cocaine,’ White continued. ‘My partner and I believe he’s set up shop in Southampton and is either working with or setting up ties with the Stratovsky family. Any of this sounding familiar?’

  ‘Why should I trust you? For all I know, you two are just a couple of Victor’s stooges, acting tough to test me; to see if I crack.’

  ‘That’s a fair point,’ White said, nodding his head. ‘I’m not sure what I can say to make you trust us, like.’

  ‘Shoving me in the boot of my own car and then driving me to the middle of nowhere is hardly trustworthy behaviour.’

  ‘I thought you’d be more inclined to talk away from listening ears and eyes, like. You don’t have to trust us, if you don’t want to, but I’m going to go out on a limb and tell you what we already know. Maybe once you’ve heard what we have to say, you’ll reciprocate.’

  ‘Can I have a word, Guv?’ Kyle said, moving away from Tyrese. White followed him. ‘Are you sure about this, Guv? I don’t want my daughter growing up without her father. If we’re wrong here, we could be signing our own death warrants.’

  ‘What does your gut tell you, Kyle? You remember? That little voice inside you; what’s it telling you? Mine is saying that this guy is on the level.’

  Kyle sighed before nodding. The two men walked back to where Tyrese was now sitting on the rim of the boot.

  ‘Okay,’ White began. ‘I have it on good authority that McManus’ network is in place in Southampton. I’ve been told that he has people at the city’s docks ensuring that the product is getting through, and from there it is taken to a warehouse before being distributed to London and beyond. Stratovsky’s name was mentioned as a probable connection, which is what led us to meeting with you. We’ve also been told that McManus has contacts within Operation Fortress, which is why the network has yet to be identified. I don’t know how to tell you this, but you can’t trust anyone in Fortress, at least not yet. My source suggested McManus has people at a senior level in the operation, which could include Stead for all we know. We met with him yesterday and asked him to mention McManus to you. Did he raise it today?’

  ‘No he didn’t. Yours was the first mention I’ve heard of the name.’

  ‘You see?’ White declared. ‘For all I know, Stead could be involved.’

  ‘You’re wrong! John Stead is a good man. I’ve known him for eight years. He’s sound.’

  ‘Even the best men can break,’ Kyle chimed in.

  Tyrese shook his head. ‘You’re both wrong. Stead is a good man. He’s been my handler for the last two years. Why would he have me in Stratovsky’s operation if he was bent?’

  ‘Maybe it’s just to keep up appearances,’ White mused. ‘Or maybe you’re right. That’s my point: we don’t know who is and isn’t involved in this thing.’

  ‘We believe M.P. Eve Partridge is part of the conspiracy,’ Kyle added. ‘We observed her meeting with McManus yesterday and we know that she has operational oversight of Fortress. We believe there is something far greater going on, and that McManus’ operation is just the tip of the iceberg.’

  Tyrese’s eyes widened as a connection was made in his mind. ‘Have you two ever heard of The Cadre?’

  White and Kyle glanced at each other before both shook their heads.

  ‘About a month ago, I came across this guy, Connor Price, who was spouting conspiracy theories like you two. He was living and working in London when our paths crossed courtesy of a mutual friend. Anyway, he told me about a group of powerful men who were looking to overthrow the government…’

  ‘Like a coup?’ Kyle interrupted.

  ‘Yes, no, maybe, I’m not sure. Anyway, the lad told me that The Chairman of General Financial was the head of the group and had ordered the execution of the Prime Minister. He told me that the group had people everywhere and that I could trust nobody. He sounded just like you.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Kyle exclaimed.

  ‘Where’s this guy now? The one who told you all this?’ White pressed.

  ‘When we met, he told me men had been sent to kill him. He gave me some papers he’d stolen from The Chairman’s office and told me to stash them. He rushed off afterwards but I followed him at a distance. I saw him meet up with two Met police detectives before the three of them were executed before my eyes.’

  ‘Holy shit!’ Kyle whispered.

  ‘I was hiding behind a bush but I managed to get a video of the assassin talking to someone on his phone. I’ve played the video back but the audio is shit. I can only assume he was talking to The Chairman, or someone in the organisation.’

  ‘Jesus, Guv. What the hell have we stumbled into?’ Kyle asked.

  ‘What was on the papers the lad gave you?’ White asked.

  ‘I’m not sure to be honest…they look mili
tary, like there is some kind of Middle East mission being planned.’

  ‘The Middle East? It seems a bit much for McManus to be involved in. I’m not sure our two cases are linked after all,’ White added.

  ‘Why not?’ Tyrese countered. ‘What better revenue stream than narcotics? It’d be a great way to finance a coup; off the books. Connor told me he could identify the other members of the organisation, as could his friend Dylan Taylor.’

  ‘Taylor? Is he still around?’ White asked.

  Tyrese shook his head. ‘His charred remains were pulled from a fire in a flat in Ealing. One of my men saw him in there right before the flat exploded in a fireball. Connor reckoned he was the last person who could identify the members of The Cadre.’

  ‘Guv,’ Kyle said excitedly. ‘I just had a thought: what if this group are the same men behind the Parvon Trading Company? Cross claimed it was being run by a group of powerful men. You think it’s possible?’

  White shrugged as his mind raced to make sense of everything Tyrese had told them.

  ‘I better get back,’ Tyrese said. ‘I’ll get a copy of the video and the papers to you when I can. I’ll see what else I can learn from my side. If I discover anything else, I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Are you going to mention any of this to Stead?’ White said.

  Tyrese shook his head. ‘I’ll keep it quiet for now, but I’m sure you’re wrong about him.’

  ‘You headed back to Southampton?’ Kyle asked.

  ‘Nah man,’ Tyrese replied, back in character. ‘I’m off to catch up with Victor. I’ll be in touch, bro.’

  Kyle and White returned to their car, but instead of pulling away, they remained, seated in silence.

  ‘I don’t know what we should do next, Guv,’ Kyle eventually remarked. ‘My head’s spinning with more questions than answers. It feels like I’m attempting to build a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle without a picture for reference. Do you know what I mean?’

  White nodded. ‘Aye, lad, I know. If we could just get our hands on a piece of evidence to tie it all together…’ White’s voice trailed off.

  ‘What is it, Guv?’

  ‘I’ve had an idea, man. I know what we need to do. Drive us back to Southampton and I’ll get us the clue we need.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what?’

  ‘All in good time. Just get us back, Kyle, and hurry up; we don’t have long.’

  25

  SOUTHAMPTON, UK

  14:10 (G.M.T.)

  White had been actively building up a network of snitches in Southampton since he had arrived seven months ago.

  ‘It’s the only way to really know what’s going on,’ he had often said to Kyle.

  The truth was, the information he received from his confidential informants was hit and miss. It had been the same in Newcastle. For every positive tip he received, there was always at least another one that led to nothing. Hoxley’s tips were a prime example. But there was something about the way he had spoken this morning that White had felt compelled to believe him. Of course, it was just as likely that White’s willingness to believe was more influenced by the nature of the tipoff as it was the manner in which Hoxley had expressed it.

  Traffic on the M27 had been relatively steady, and it had taken half an hour for Kyle to drive them back. White had sent him off for lunch.

  ‘Don’t you want to come with me?’ Kyle had asked.

  He’d declined, citing an important meeting he needed to attend. With Kyle out of the picture, he had headed into the city to Houndwell Park, behind the local Primark store. His journey had been brief, and had involved a detour to Burger King. Now in the park with a large bag of food, he was looking for her.

  Karen Campbell had been homeless since she had run away from foster care aged fifteen. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was seven and, with no will or provision for their daughter, Karen had been handed over to the state for care. She had spent time in a number of foster homes during her adolescence, but, despite the sterling efforts of her carers, she had always felt like an outsider and had struggled to settle every time. Now nineteen, she had grown accustomed to life on the streets, and had bonded well with a close-knit community of street-dwellers. She was a survivor. She wasn’t ashamed to ask passers-by for financial contributions, nor was she shy about volunteering to stand in the street holding a sign advertising hidden away shops. She didn’t pay taxes, but nor did she make a demand on the state.

  ‘Is that bag for me?’ she asked, as she approached the bench White was sitting on.

  ‘Aye,’ White replied. ‘I got all your favourites. Chicken bites, cheese burgers and fries. Should be enough for a couple of days.’

  She sat down next to him. ‘And to what do I owe this pleasure? I’m not sure I have any information I can give you at the moment. Things have been pretty quiet of late. There’s a crew burgling houses in Shirley if that helps…’

  White handed the bag over. ‘It’s not information I’m after this time, Karen.’

  ‘I don’t turn tricks, White. You know that!’

  ‘Please, pet, that’s not what I want. What do you take me for?’

  ‘What then?’

  He glanced around to ensure that nobody could hear them talking. ‘I need you to get something for me.’

  ‘No way, I’m no thief! I want nothing to do with whatever you’re planning.’ She pushed the bag of food back to him. ‘You’re supposed to be the good guys for fuck’s sake!’

  ‘Wait,’ he pleaded, as she stood to leave. ‘It’s not what you think. Just sit down and hear me out. That’s all I ask. The food is yours whether you agree to help me or not, man. Come on, Karen, you look like you could do with a good meal.’

  ‘I’ll listen, White, but that’s all. We’re not all pickpockets and muggers out here. Some of us are just making the most of the hand we were dealt.’ She sat back down and took a cheeseburger out of the bag and began to eat it.

  *

  ‘I want to see Eve Partridge,’ Karen demanded, half an hour later. ‘I know she’s here. I’m one of her constituents and I demand to see her.’

  The flustered receptionist was uncertain how to react. ‘As I’ve already explained, Miss, Mrs Partridge is very busy and only sees her constituents if they have made an appointment.’

  ‘I don’t care. She’s my M.P., and I want to see her. Now.’

  ‘Mrs Partridge is in a meeting at the moment, Miss. I’m sorry, but there is no way you are going to be able to speak with her today. Perhaps if you tell me what it is…’

  ‘It’s my business,’ Karen interrupted. ‘It’s between her and me. I don’t have to tell you anything.’

  ‘Quite,’ the receptionist replied, blushing slightly, but trying to remain calm. ‘It might be that there is someone better placed who could help you. Can you give me an indication of what you wish to talk to Mrs Partridge about? She has no control over housing issues or planning permission, but I can put you in touch with…’

  ‘Why are you assuming my issue is housing related? How dare you look down your nose at me? Snooty cow! You’re no use to me. Get me Eve Partridge!’

  ‘What seems to be the problem here,’ a friendly voice said from over Karen’s shoulder. She turned to see a white-haired man in a security guard’s uniform. He had heard the raised voices and decided to step in to prevent a scene. He had a gentle face that reminded Karen of a photograph of her grandfather.

  ‘I’m trying to explain to this young lady,’ the receptionist began.

  ‘She won’t let me speak to my M.P.,’ Karen interrupted. ‘She thinks that I’m not worthy enough just because I’m homeless.’ Karen turned back to the receptionist. ‘I voted you know! I’ve as much right as anyone to see her.’

  ‘But as I’ve already told you countless times, Mrs Partridge has a full schedule this afternoon. If your issue is urgent, and you tell me what it relates to, I can try and put you in touch with somebody who can help. Alternatively, I can check
Mrs Partridge’s diary and see when she is next due in the city and could meet you.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable,’ the old man said. ‘Please, Miss, I’m sure this can all be resolved peacefully. After all, you don’t need additional stress; not in your condition.’

  Karen noticed him staring at her abdomen, and remembered she’d pushed a couple of sweaters under her coat to give the impression that she was pregnant. She winced to emphasise the illusion.

  ‘She’s the only one who can help me,’ Karen repeated. ‘Please, if you could just arrange five minutes with her for me, that’s all I need.’

  The guard turned back to the receptionist and leaned in. ‘Is there really nothing you can do? Are there no gaps between her appointments?’

  The receptionist sighed and began to tap away on her keyboard. ‘There’s really nothing. Her current meeting is due to finish at three, but then she’s straight into another one. She’s not even stopped for lunch yet!’

  ‘Please?’ Karen said, frowning. ‘I’m sorry I shouted, but I’m desperate.’

  ‘The only thing I can suggest is you sit to one side and, if any of her meetings end early, I can see if she’s willing to give you five minutes. That’s the best I can do.’

  ‘How does that sound?’ the guard asked, smiling warmly at Karen. ‘I’ll even get you a cup of tea while you wait.’

  Karen was about to agree to it when the receptionist’s phone rang on the desk. She answered it, holding the handset close to her face so she could speak quietly. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘That gives you fifteen minutes until your next appointment. Do you want me to send out for a sandwich for you?’

  Karen cleared her throat.

  ‘There’s another thing, Eve. There’s a young woman here who is insistent on speaking with you. I’ve explained that she needs to follow the proper channels and make an appointment, but I wondered whether you might be willing to speak with her. She insists it will only take five minutes…no, she won’t tell me what it’s about…she’s heavily pregnant, so I wouldn’t usually ask…certainly, Eve, I’ll send her through.’ She hung up the phone, before looking up. ‘It’s your lucky day, Miss. Mrs Partridge says you can go through now, but she will need to bring your conversation to an end for her three o’clock meeting.’