Shadow Line

by Stephen Edger

  Vincent looked at the bags of crisps behind the bar and calling the bartender over, he purchased a bag of cheese and onion to quell the grumbling in his stomach. He heard the elevator ping over his shoulder and, turning to look for the umpteenth time, he saw Smart walking towards him. She was wearing navy blue, tight jeans, a cream woollen jumper and a beige rain mac. With her handbag on her shoulder, she could easily have passed for a mature student or tourist.

  ‘Ready to go?’ she asked as she approached.

  He nodded and pointed at her outfit with a questioning stare.

  ‘I’ll explain in the car,’ she said, and headed for the door.

  Once in the car, a dark green saloon, she explained that when she had placed her call to her switchboard to say they were heading for the safe-house, she had been warned that intelligence suggested there were people looking for Laboué and that she should be wary of tails.

  ‘Are we okay?’ Vincent asked, glancing in the passenger-side wing mirror.

  ‘I’ll take a scenic route to the location,’ she replied, looking behind, ‘that should flush anyone out. Relax, I’m used to it.’

  ‘Should you not blindfold me or something?’ he asked, still watching the mirror. ‘Are you not worried about me knowing where the house is?’

  This made Smart laugh.

  ‘I could blindfold you, Jack, but the chances are you would quickly recognise the surroundings of the property and would know roughly where you are anyway. This is your city remember; I’d expect you to know where you are most of the time.’

  He accepted the response and focused on the road ahead. They were travelling along the A33 from the hotel up towards Junction-1 of the M3. He continued to watch Smart as she glanced from mirror to mirror every few seconds.

  ‘Where are you from originally?’ he asked, keen to break the silence.

  ‘I was born and raised on the outskirts of London,’ she replied, not missing a beat.

  ‘I see,’ he replied when the inevitable ‘and what about you?’ question never materialised. ‘And you live in London now?’

  ‘Yep.’

  The stilted conversation reminded him of a speed dating evening he had recently attended. He had never been much of a conversationalist, except when it came to work, and the problem with socialising was that he couldn’t discuss work. The car turned off before joining the motorway and headed towards the affluent area of Chilworth.

  ‘I arrested a murder suspect in one of the houses down here once,’ he continued. ‘Man by the name of Baines. He worked at a bank in the city and we also charged him with money laundering offences.’

  ‘Oh right,’ replied Smart.

  ‘There it is,’ he pointed out as they drove past the property. ‘He had stabbed the property’s owners to death and left the bodies in the cellar. He claimed that he had been set up and that there was a conspiracy behind why he had been framed. The jury sent him down nonetheless.’

  The car continued at pace, through North Baddesley and in the direction of Romsey.

  ‘I assume you don’t need help with directions?’ he asked.

  ‘Thanks, but no.’

  Vincent glanced down at his watch. They had been travelling for fifteen minutes and he had no idea if they were nearing their destination or heading in the opposite direction. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out the crisps.

  ‘Do you mind if I eat these in here?’ he asked politely.

  Smart glanced over and nodded. Vincent opened the bag and began to munch.

  Instead of heading into Romsey, Smart continued in the direction of the M27 but then turned off and headed towards Totton.

  ‘Are we getting any nearer?’ he asked as her eyes narrowed on the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Yes and no,’ she replied. ‘There is a burgundy Mini two cars back. I saw it as we left the hotel but it turned off before we reached Chilworth and now it’s back.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s the same one?’

  ‘Well, the driver is wearing the same white jacket, so I’m pretty sure.’

  ‘You think it’s a tail?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked, the adrenalin starting to increase.

  ‘I’m going to head towards the house now. If I can time it right, I’ll drop you outside and continue driving, so they’ll be none the wiser.’

  ‘Are you sure that will work?’

  ‘Trust me, Jack,’ she replied, ‘I do this for a living.’

  He decided not to comment and to allow her to concentrate. Totton came and went and was followed by Redbridge, Millbrook and Shirley before heading back towards the A33 and then into Portswood. Smart took a late turn left and then an immediate right turn before pulling the car over.

  ‘It’s there,’ she said, pointing up at a building covered in green vegetation. ‘Duck down until you see the Mini drive past, then knock on the door and say ‘what’s the time Mr Wolf?’. Have you got that? Say that, and they’ll let you in and ask for your I.D. Go now.’

  He didn’t have time to argue as she leaned over and opened his door, pushing him out with her shoulder. He fell out of the car and watched in astonishment as she slammed the door and sped off. Realising he needed to hide; he scrambled to his feet and dived up a driveway and behind a bush. Seconds later he saw the image of a burgundy Mini shoot past the other side of the hedge. He couldn’t help but admire her efficiency, although he had no idea how long it might take her to lose the driver of the Mini.

  He climbed to his feet and walked over to the house she had indicated and knocked on the door. There was no reply from within so he knocked again. Silence remained and he began to wonder whether he had misunderstood which house she had pointed at. Remembering the phrase she had told him, he bent down and pushed the letterbox flap open before saying, ‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’

  The door immediately swung open and he was confronted by a man in tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie.

  ‘Yeah?’ said the youth.

  ‘Erm…I’m Vin-sent,’ he said.

  ‘And?’ the youth replied angrily.

  Vincent was now convinced that he had knocked at the wrong door, as the man before him could only have been twenty at best, and certainly didn’t sound like a security services agent.

  ‘Sorry,’ Vincent replied. ‘I must have the wrong house.’

  He turned to move away when the youth placed a large hand on his shoulder and dragged him in, shutting the door behind them.

  ‘I.D.?’ the youth demanded and, involuntarily, Vincent passed his warrant card over. The youth took and examined it before passing the wallet back over.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ the youth then said in a less gruff voice. ‘Got to be careful; you never know who might be watching. I’m Jake. You here to see our friend, right?’

  Vincent nodded, overcome by the sudden change in persona and attitude. The youth headed towards the rear of the property and Vincent followed him up the staircase at the end of the corridor. Jake led him up to a small room on the first floor, which had undoubtedly been the main bedroom of the property at some point. The room now housed various bits of computer equipment and several monitors, all showing different angles of the same thing: Laboué in the corner of whichever room they were holding him in. The room they were in was dark; thick black curtains preventing any daylight penetrating.

  ‘There you go,’ said the youth. ‘Take a seat, and once Lauren gets here, you can watch us interview him.’

  ‘Has he said much yet?’ Vincent asked, sitting down on the only chair in the room.

  ‘He’s still maintaining his silence, but I’ve not been in to see him in the last couple of hours so I reckon he’s not far from opening up.’

  Vincent was about to comment when a loud explosion below them caught their attention. The two men looked at each other for an explanation and with neither able to offer one, Jake pulled back the edge of one of the curtains and glanced out.

  ‘Shit!’ he shouted befor
e explaining that there were three men dressed in black charging at the house. He removed a gun from his waistband and fired three shots at the curtains. This was met by the sound of breaking glass. Standing, he told Vincent to smash his way through the glass, shimmy down the drainpipe and to get away.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Vincent asked breathlessly.

  Vincent’s heart pounded hard as he watched Jake run back to the stairs, closing the door to the room on his way. He heard him discharge the weapon again, presumably in the direction of whoever was evidently storming the house. Vincent forced his trembling body to stand, and picking up the chair he had been sitting on, he hurled it towards the curtains with all his strength. More glass broke as the wooden chair crashed through and down to the garden below. He pushed the curtains back and had to blink several times to allow his eyes to adjust to the light. He could hear the sound of machine gun fire interspersed with the sound of Jake’s weapon. He knew that if he chose to go through the broken window he was just as likely to break his neck as he was to evade capture. He was about to push through the window when he noticed a small door behind the computer block. It was a couple of feet square, but had not been visible from the doorway. He moved across to it and was pleased when the door opened, revealing a narrow passage way. Although it was tight, he was able to squeeze into the hatch and close the door behind him. If he was lucky, the intruders wouldn’t spot the door and he would be safe until Smart turned up, assuming she wasn’t already dead herself.

  He heard the sound of more automatic gun fire, this time moving closer. He had no idea how many bullets Jake had in his weapon but the young agent would need to be a crack-shot if he was to overcome the intruders. Vincent tried to remain calm; to steady his breathing, fearing that the slightest noise would reveal his location. He panicked when he could no longer hear the clack of Jake’s semi-automatic. And then the bedroom door crashed open. He heard a Middle Eastern male ask, ‘Where is the copper?’

  He could only imagine who the question was addressed to, but he heard Jake reluctantly admit that he had told Vincent to run and that he was long gone. Vincent heard a single shot fired and knew that Jake was no more. The Middle Eastern man ordered someone to ‘pursue the copper’ while someone else was to ‘go and kill the bomber.’

  He remained as quiet as he could but was convinced that the sound of his beating heart would give him away. He could hear somebody moving about in the computer room and tried to think of something he could do in the event that the small door was spotted. He had not contemplated that this could be his last day alive and the thought of being executed by whoever was out to kill Laboué terrified him.

  There was the echo of further gunfire in the distance before a second voice reported that Laboué was dead. A third voice then declared that ‘The copper is gone,’ before the original voice told them it was time to depart. He strained his ears for the slightest of noises, but once he had heard the footsteps move away from the bedroom and the creaking floorboards of the staircase, he had no idea if they had continued to the front door and away from the building or whether the silence was a ploy to make him believe they were gone. Either way, he had no idea whether it was safe to emerge and decided to sit tight until he could be confident they were gone. The sound of gunfire had been significant so there was every chance a neighbour had heard it and phoned the police; if that had happened there would be a response team here shortly and then he could come out.

  He closed his eyes and willed the sound of approaching sirens.

  25

  The next forty minutes of Jack Vincent’s life felt like the longest he had ever experienced. During the whole time he didn’t hear a single sound, even though he was desperate for some sign of life. He assumed that Jake had been killed, as otherwise he would have heard him screaming for help or at least calling for backup.

  Vincent was just considering pushing the door to the hatch open when he heard a noise. It was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a woman’s voice talking. As the voice grew louder he realised it was Smart; she was still alive. He couldn’t tell who she was talking to, but when her one-sided conversation continued he figured she was on the phone.

  He couldn’t quite make out what was being said and so pushed the door open and clambered out. The movement startled her and she withdrew her weapon.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Jack!’ she exclaimed when she realised it was him. What happened?’

  He wasn’t sure where to start, how to explain the mess in the room. Jake’s body was out in the hallway and, judging by the pool of blood congealing in the carpet near his body, he had been shot several times and was dead.

  ‘Laboué’s dead,’ Vincent managed to say as he processed the scene. ‘I think there were three of them; they sounded Middle Eastern and were using automatic assault weapons.’

  ‘Where were you?’ she asked uncertain how he had survived the carnage.

  ‘Your agent told me to make a break for it through the window, but then I spotted this little hatch down behind the equipment.’

  He pointed down to the small door and, as she moved around to where he was standing, she saw where he was indicating.

  ‘Jesus!’ she exclaimed. ‘How long have you been hidden in there?’

  Vincent straightened up, stretching his compacted muscles.

  ‘Since they smashed their way in,’ he replied. ‘Do you have any idea who they were?’

  ‘Several ideas actually,’ she replied putting the phone back to her ear. ‘Give me a second,’ she added before leaving the room and heading back down the stairs.

  He crouched down next to Jake and whispered up a prayer of thanks. As he moved back downstairs he saw that the door he had been knocking at earlier was now a charred and splintered mess, presumably an incendiary device had been used to breach it. Smart was pacing up and down in a room off to his left. It too had a former door hanging from its hinges and through the shadows he saw the remains of Laboué slumped across a table. From the sounds of it, Smart was busy explaining to her boss what had happened and that their suspect was now deceased.

  She hung up the phone and came out to see him.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he lied, longing for a drink to settle his frayed nerves.

  ‘Do you want me to drop you off at a hospital?’

  ‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘I would appreciate a lift back to the station if you don’t mind?’

  She told him he was lucky to be alive and agreed to drive him.

  *

  Vincent sat down in his office and tried to think through what had occurred. Smart had asked him to write up briefly everything that had happened while a specialist unit processed the scene at the house, working with the SOCOs who reported into his patch.

  The Incident Room had only a couple of the team in, but they were all too busy either talking on the phone or reviewing documents on their computers to notice his arrival. He was disappointed that Kyle Davies wasn’t around as he wanted to tell somebody about what he had just survived but the junior members of his team just didn’t seem the right choice.

  The telephone on his desk rang. The caller I.D. displayed a withheld number but he picked up the receiver regardless.

  ‘Is that Detective Inspector Jack Vincent?’ a male voice on the other end of the line asked.

  ‘It’s Vin-sent,’ Jack corrected before confirming they were through to the right person. ‘And who is this?’

  ‘My name is not important Detective Inspector, but my information is. Are you alone at the moment?’

  Vincent found a pad of paper and a pen and made a note of the time. He was used to receiving crank calls, particularly when they had appealed for information from the public, but it was protocol to make notes of all potential tip-offs.

  ‘And what case is your information pertaining to?’

  ‘That’s a good question,’ the voice replied quizzically. ‘It relates to several cases actually.’


  Vincent knew not to provide details of his cases to callers, on the off-chance that the man on the other end of the line was a reporter soliciting for information.

  ‘I’m going to need you to be more specific please?’ Vincent continued, rubbing his eyes as he felt the pain of a headache forming.

  ‘You are investigating the shooting at IPSA, right?’ the voice asked.

  ‘Do you have information that relates to that incident?’ Vincent asked.

  ‘Yes I do,’ said the voice. ‘I also have information that will aid your investigation into the attempted bombing at the shopping centre on Friday, and the plane crash at the airport.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Vincent cautiously. ‘Can I take a note of your name please?’

  ‘I told you my name is not important. I am trying to help you here Detective Inspector. This is not a crank call, I know a lot about what is going on with these cases and I know how to help you.’

  ‘Okay, Sir,’ Vincent challenged, ‘I’m going to need to ask you to either convey your information or to at least tell me your name. Wasting police time is a serious offence, you know?’

  ‘Okay, Detective, what would you say if I told you your cases are all linked?’

  He didn’t reply, knowing that silence would encourage the caller to keep talking to fill the gap.

  ‘Did you hear what I said, Detective Inspector? Your cases are linked. They all happened for a reason, and have the same root cause.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  The voice laughed. ‘Do you know what a shadow line is?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

  ‘It’s a term deployed within the security services. It means presenting a version of plausible events to disguise what is really going on.’

  ‘I see,’ said Vincent growing impatient, ‘so you phoned me up to tell me my cases are linked and that’s it? I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I don’t call a press conference and declare that the case is solved? And in case you weren’t aware, the plane crash at Eastleigh airport was caused by mechanical failure.’