by Ethan Jones
Coole nodded.
Justin sighed. He wished he could tell Elliott about his former IRA asset and his MI5 connection. But that admission would cause many questions Justin was not ready to answer. So he shifted in his seat and said nothing.
“On a related matter, what did you find in Dublin?”
Justin stifled a frown creasing his forehead. While his and Carrie’s trip to Dublin was not exactly a secret, he still was surprised that Elliott would bring it up, especially in an official meeting. If Justin had not mentioned anything specifically, the implication was that there was nothing worth mentioning. But Justin suspected Elliott had heard about the firefight. “The piece of intel about the Chinese angle came from our Dublin contacts.”
“Did they know anything else?”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Can they find out?”
Justin thought of the asset lying in a pool of blood outside the St. Andrews Church. “We’re trying a different approach, which hopefully will give us more details.”
Elliott walked back to the rectangular table of dark wood, but did not take his seat. He folded his arms across his chest, then said, “Mr. Hall, are you aware of a shootout that took place last night in Dublin?”
Justin had anticipated the question. “Yes, I heard about it on the news. A skirmish between rival IRA groups.”
Elliott held Justin’s gaze and did not blink. “It appears so. Three men are dead.”
Justin shrugged.
Carrie said, “It’s too bad violence is returning after a few peaceful months.”
“Yes, unfortunate, but I want to show you something.”
He reached for the keyboard and the mouse controlling a computer set at one end of the room. On the wall, a large monitor displayed the MI6 logo: a crowned shield with a lion and a unicorn inside. Elliott tapped a few keys and a folder with a set of images appeared on the monitor. He clicked on the first one, and Justin recognized the man as the asset killed last night. “Do you know him?” Elliott asked.
“I saw his picture on the news.”
“Well, he’s Seoirse Dunbar, a former mid-level IRA officer, who was reformed. Or so we thought. But I’ll let Ms. Coole brief you about the rest, since this is her file.”
“Thanks.” Coole pointed at the screen. “Dunbar was working for Five. They turned him a couple of years ago, when new troubles started to brew in Ireland and Northern Ireland. A number of attacks in Dublin and Belfast, with the potential to spread. Dunbar was Five’s eyes and ears on the ground.”
“So, how is this your file, then?” Carrie brushed back a few unruly strands of her long auburn hair.
“About six months ago, Five noted a change in Dunbar’s behavior. He became reluctant to cooperate, fearful, and his intelligence was nearly useless.”
“Someone found out about him and Five,” Carrie said.
“Yes, Five thought so, and they kept a close eye on Dunbar. They discovered no one among the old or the new IRA even suspected the asset.”
Justin nodded. The implication was clear. “It was a foreign agent.”
Coole nodded. “Yes, and that’s when MI5 reached out to us. We surveilled Dunbar for three weeks, took a deeper look at his past and current connections, and found out something interesting. He was, indeed, talking to a foreign operative.”
“Who?”
Coole shrugged. “We tracked down some of their communications, but weren’t able to identify the operative. Both he and Dunbar were good at covering their tracks.”
“But not all of them,” Carrie said.
Coole nodded. “Right, but we didn’t have enough to move forward.”
“So you backed off?” Carrie said.
“Well, not exactly. We kept tabs on him, albeit at a distance. Then, last night, we found something very interesting. A couple of security cameras captured what happened near the corner of Trinity and St. Andrews, the place where Dunbar was shot. I’ll let you see for yourself.”
Justin tried his best to keep his poker face, as the video began to play.
Chapter Three
MI6 Headquarters, Vauxhall Cross
London, England
The video was dark, blurry, and grainy. Still, it showed two men talking in an amicable way. Then one of the men bolted across the street, and a moment later, he collapsed onto the sidewalk, regardless of the second man’s trying to help him. “The shooter’s off to the side and out of the frame,” Coole said, her eyes glued to Justin’s face. “That’s Dunbar, the man on the ground.”
He felt Elliott’s burning gaze upon him as well. Justin was used to being in the hot seat. He kept his attention focused on the screen.
The man helping Dunbar began to return fire. Then he slid away and out of the scene.
Coole clicked the mouse and closed the video file. “That’s all that one had. This other one is from another angle.” She tapped a few keys and played another video.
This one was clearer and closer to ground level. However, and thankfully, Justin thought, the camera angle was behind him. It showed Justin firing at both attackers, but it never showed his face. He peered at the screen and wondered how he had left his right flank undefended. I’m either getting old or rusty. Maybe both. He brushed his hands over his short-cropped hair more subconsciously than of necessity.
The video continued for a few more seconds, until the man stepped out of the frame. The edge of a white sedan came into view, but it was not clear if the man climbed into the car or not.
Coole stopped the video.
Justin shrugged. He knew they had no concrete evidence; otherwise they would have presented it. Elliott was known not to beat around the bush. “So, what do you make of this?”
Coole swiveled her chair toward Justin. “The man in the video, the shooter who tried to help Dunbar, we suspect he’s the foreign operative who had convinced Dunbar to betray his country.”
“How can you be certain?” Carrie asked. “The video is so grainy you can’t identify the man.”
Elliott said, “The police is still checking, and they should have something soon.”
“Perhaps this is related to the clashes between the Kinahan and Hutch families,” Justin said, referring to one of the bloodiest feuds between the two powerful criminal gangs.
Coole shook her head. “No, there’s no connection to the gangs. The other two men killed in the shooting are close friends of Dunbar. They had no reason to attack him.”
Justin shook his head. “You’re very lucky,” he said to Coole.
“Why’s that?”
“You’ve never had friends betray you.”
Coole frowned. “Explain yourself.”
“These ‘friends’ of Dunbar ... what if they learned he was a Five snitch? Or maybe they had disagreements about the IRA’s new direction: collaborate with occupiers or fight. What makes you think this man was a foreign operative?”
Coole did not respond right away. She glanced at Elliott and tipped her head toward him.
Elliott said, “Mr. Hall, you and Ms. O’Connor were in Dublin last night.”
“Yes, and so were close to a million and a half people.” Justin kept his voice calm. He had long anticipated this line of questioning and was prepared for it.
“Correct, but they didn’t drive a white sedan, Vauxhall, like you did. That car was seen driving around the area. And both of you carried pistols while in Ireland, didn’t you?”
“I’m lost,” Carrie said and gave Elliott a puzzled look.
“What are you trying to say?” Justin asked.
Elliott shrugged. “I thought it was clear, but I’ll come out and ask you directly: Did you shoot and kill these two men last night in Dublin, Mr. Hall?”
“No.”
“You didn’t draw or fire your weapon?”
“No.”
“You’re certain about that?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely certain.”
“Of course, Mr. Elliott.”
Elliott heaved a deep sigh. “What if new evidence proves you were involved in this shooting?”
Justin offered a shrug. “Then we’ll have another conversation. Now, how about we go back to the matters at hand: the disappearance of the SAS operative and this plot against the foreign guest?”
Elliott glanced at a couple of manila folders next to the laptop in front of him. “We have no new update on the SAS front. As I’ve already told you, I can’t do much about the supposed ‘plot’ and the mysterious ‘Chinaman.’” His voice rang with a mixture of sarcasm and condescension.
Justin nodded. “I understand. We’ll find more details and then you can—”
Elliott shook his head. “Mr. Hall, remember that your assignment in my country is intel exchange, not intel-gathering. This is London, not Dublin. You must not, under any circumstances, engage in running assets during your stay in London.”
“Or anywhere else in the UK,” Coole added.
Justin cocked his head to the right, toward Carrie. “How is this getting us closer to thwarting this plot?” He gestured toward the manila folders.
“It doesn’t,” Elliott said, “but it will make sure we don’t have a situation in London similar to the Dublin shooting. You may have escaped Ireland without a scratch, Mr. Hall, but it won’t happen if you try something like that in my city. You understand?”
Justin thought about restating how he and Carrie were not involved in Dunbar’s affair, but it would be a waste of time. “I understand,” he said in a cold voice, although he had no intention of complying with Elliott’s order.
“And you won’t try anything of the kind, Mr. Hall, now would you?”
“No.” Justin shook his head.
Elliott locked eyes with Justin and peered intently at him. A moment later, Elliott broke the gaze and gestured with his head toward the door. “In that case, our meeting is over. Enjoy your stay in London, and may it be peaceful.”
“I hope so,” Justin said.
“And what are your departure plans?” Coole asked, but her tone indicated it was more than a simple question.
“Tomorrow morning. Would you like my flight number?”
Coole shrugged. “That won’t be necessary. We trust you’ll leave at that time.”
“I’ll miss your great hospitality.”
“Next time I’ll take you to dinner,” Coole said with the same amount of sarcasm.
Elliott stood up and offered Justin his hand. Justin gave it a firm handshake, then turned to Coole. As Elliott had turned his back and was saying his goodbyes to Carrie, Coole gave Justin a small, almost unnoticeable nod followed by a quick wink. “Have a safe trip, Mr. Hall. Ms. O’Connor,” Coole said and gestured at the door.
“We can find our way out,” Carrie said and tapped the visitor badge hanging at the lapel of her gray pinstriped suit.
Justin followed Carrie, who was already at the door. He thought about Coole’s wink. Does it have any meaning?
Chapter Four
Rose & Dagger Restaurant
Knightsbridge, London, England
Carrie’s hair flowed down her slender neck. She was wearing a red sleeveless V-neck dress that fell to her knees. It was not often she dressed up during their operations, but when she did, she simply looked stunning.
“Wow, you ... you look amazing,” Justin said as he glanced at Carrie sitting across the small table near the window.
“You’ve said that already.” Carrie smiled.
“But you do. I rarely see you in your full beauty.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself.”
Justin brushed back his wavy raven hair. He had a Mediterranean complexion—dark olive skin, big black eyes, and a large, thick nose—inherited from his Italian mother. Tufts of gray hair had formed around his temples and near the top of his head. Then he pulled at the sleeve of his black suit. “I need to buy another one. This doesn’t fit as well as it used too.”
“You’ve grown taller,” Carrie said.
Justin smiled. “No, I’ve worn it out. I had to use it in a couple of assignments.”
“Yes, that would do it.”
“Right.”
Carrie reached for her wine glass. It was Cabernet Sauvignon, but non-alcoholic. Granted, it was not as good as the real one, but it still had a great taste of black currants and chocolate, and a dry finish. Covert operatives were always on the clock, no matter what time of day or night. Justin and Carrie almost never drank, unless it became a necessary part of their cover or of the assignment. Even then, they kept it to low, tolerable levels. They needed to be fully alert for any situation or emergency. “A toast?” She raised her glass.
“Sure.” Justin picked up his.
“To Britain. May this free land always remain free.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
Their glasses clinked as they touched.
Justin drank almost half of his, while Carrie took only a small sip. She glanced at her phone, then toward the kitchen to their left. “Where’s our food?”
“It’s only been fifteen minutes, and the place is packed.” He gestured with his hand. The dark-walled dining hall was dimly lit by a series of large chandeliers, and all twenty tables were full of patrons.
“I should have gotten an appetizer.”
“You can order it now.”
Carrie shook her head. “They’ll probably bring it after our meal.”
She took another sip of wine, then leaned closer to Justin. She glanced around the hall, then her head turned slightly toward the nearest table. The middle-aged couple sitting there seemed fully immersed in their conversation about their weekend plans to visit their children in Bristol. Carrie whispered, “Coole’s wink, what was that?”
“I’m not sure. Some indication perhaps, or maybe she was just glad we’re out of her hair.”
“Well, not yet.”
“No, for sure. I still haven’t heard from our MI5 guy, and I don’t expect anything until tomorrow morning.”
“After we’ve left.” Carrie’s voice indicated her disappointment.
Justin shrugged. “Eh, what can I say? We might miss our flight.”
“That happens.”
“More often than one would like.”
“When are we calling Flavio?”
Flavio Moretti was their boss, and the chief of CIS’s Europe Clandestine Section, or ECS. He was expecting their report after the meeting with MI6, but Justin was hoping to have something concrete to tell their boss. “I’m not sure. Maybe in a couple of hours, before the end of the night.”
Carrie shrugged. She glanced toward the kitchen. A waiter appeared with a few dishes in his hands. “That’s our food,” Carrie said with excitement in her voice.
She was right.
The waiter placed their dinner on the table. Carrie had chosen braised lamb served with sheep’s milk yoghurt, potatoes, and carrots. Justin’s meal consisted of Scottish venison loin with parsnip puree and smoked pears. Carrie cut a small piece of the crispy lamb shoulder and chewed slowly. “Mmmmm,” she said when she was finished. “This is so yummy.”
“Worth the wait?”
“Absolutely. How’s your venison?”
“Very good. I was expecting it to be chewier.”
They ate in silence for a few moments, savoring their delicious meal. Then Justin’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen. “It’s our boss.”
“He always has perfect timing.”
“This isn’t going to take long. Keep enjoying your meal.”
Carrie nodded, while Justin said, “Yes, sir. This is Justin.”
“Justin, how’s everything?” Flavio said in his usual firm voice and upbeat tone.
“Things are going well. How are you doing?”
“All right. It’s been a long day, and the night isn’t going to be any different. How’s Carrie?”
Justin held the phone close to Carrie. “I’m doing well, sir,” she said.
Justin said, “There hasn’t been much progress with Six.” He lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “As expected, our meeting was unproductive.”
“I figured that much, as you’d have called if there was anything positive.”
“Exactly. Elliott is reluctant to move without further concrete evidence. He shrugged away the Chinese angle as merely speculation. And we haven’t heard from the MI5 contact.”
“I wouldn’t put too much blame on Elliott. I can see the situation from his point of view. His resources are limited. Without a timeline, this is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”
“Chinese needle.”
“Still a needle, Justin.”
“Right.”
“On the good news front, if your MI5 contact comes back empty-handed, we have a potential in the SAS. Someone who worked with the missing operative.”
“Do you think the two matters are connected, this expected attack in London and the agent vanishing?”
Flavio hesitated for a beat. “It’s too early to tell. But the team’s working on them both. If there’s truly a Chinese connection, we’d be able to find someone visiting London in person. Such a sophisticated plot to hit a top-level target wouldn’t be done without reconnaissance on the ground. Nowadays, all phone or electronic communications are unsafe.”
Justin nodded. “But will it actually be a Chinese national?”
“What did Dunbar say?”
“He didn’t specify.”
“It could be someone of Chinese descent or who has connections to Chinese nationals, whether they’re operatives or independent contractors. We’ll just have to keep our eyes open. Especially since our Prime Minister is visiting London in ten days.”