Shades of Loyalty

by Paul Stretton-Stephens

  Dom waited for fifteen minutes before approaching the door to the utility room, gun at the ready. He noted that the key to the door’s mortice lock was missing. He made a mental note, should he need a quick exit. Turning right out of the utility room led him to a left towards the music or a right towards the rear of the property where he knew there was a patio door that was previously open — and remained so. He turned right. The room comprised a large, highly-polished dining table with eight elegant chairs, and a huge solid-wood sideboard upon which sat various oriental ornaments and a silver tantalus holding spirit decanters. At the far end of the room stood a Steinway open-topped grand piano. Various paintings adorned the walls, none of which Dom recognised. As he reached the corner of the room behind the piano, Dom noticed a tall glass display cabinet housing military figures, medals and a couple of old pistols. The surrounding wall featured military wall plaques. There were a couple of military intelligence units, one of a signals regiment, and some mounted photographs, apparently taken of personnel on a tour of duty.

  The light switched on, and Dom swung around, weapon at the ready to pick a target. He chose the tallest of the three men, who happened to be unarmed. The other two pointed their guns straight at him.

  “Well, well, gentleman,” the unarmed man said. “It looks as though we have an intruder. Let’s see, is it a common burglary or something more sinister?”

  Temple left a silence for Dom to fill. He didn’t; he just trained his Glock on Temple’s chest.

  “Not a burglar, then? Are you here to do business? And if so, is that business in my favour?”

  “That depends upon you, Mr Temple. All I am after is information.”

  “Then why don’t you call like most normal people?”

  “I figured that it wouldn’t get me what I wanted. Anyway, this is far more fun.”

  “I know that mentality only too well. And as a result of you being here, I owe you a favour.”

  Surprised, Dom replied, “You do?”

  Temple then turned to the man with the pistol and smashed his fist into the side of his head. The man reeled and Temple continued laying into him. The other guard was distracted enough for Dom to advance about half the distance towards him. As he did so, the guard caught his movement in his peripheral vision and quickly thrust his weapon towards Dom. Dom stopped and, at that moment, Temple halted the thrashing and composed himself. The guard lay groaning on the floor.

  Temple sounded angry. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I’m nobody, and I just want to ask you some questions, nothing more than that.”

  “Place your gun on the table and step over here.” Temple indicated for Dom to move beside the dining room table.

  Dom placed his gun carefully on the table and did as instructed while constantly watching the gun pointed in his direction.

  “Sit here on the end chair and tuck it under the table. Then place your hands palm down on the top of the table so that I can see them.”

  Dom did as instructed and, in the process, managed to activate his MPDs by the using a discrete button on the dark ring he was wearing. They would monitor his movement, stress levels, pulse and body heat. If they were to reach a heightened level, a transmitter would send a signal to Abi back at The Ranch.

  Temple sat opposite, and the remaining guard stood behind, out of his sight. Dom assumed he had a gun trained on him at all times.

  “Vincent, would you search our guest please?”

  Dom saw a chance to regain control. He knew that the guard, Vincent, would have to let his weapon hang to search him properly. He was also so close to the table that he couldn’t be appropriately searched, as the guard wouldn’t have access to all of his body.

  Dom watched the reflection in the patio door as Vincent let his weapon hang on its sling, freeing up both hands to search him. The outer pockets were searched first and the contents — a map, a laser light and some gum — were thrown onto the table. He then slipped a hand inside Dom’s inside breast pocket.

  Dom pressed both hands onto the table, adding pressure to the heels of his hands while simultaneously driving up and backwards with his legs, and upwards through his feet. He applied pressure to Vincent’s hands, trapped inside Dom’s jacket. In a rapid circular motion, he rotated his body inward towards Vincent. And as they fell to the ground, Dom grabbed the gun sling and wrapped it around Vincent’s neck, grasping the grip and placing his finger on the trigger. The barrel was now well and truly in Vincent’s rib cage.

  “Relax and I’ll back off. Don’t do anything stupid, now. I only came here with some questions. So, don’t ruin my trip by me having to pop you, because I will if I have to.”

  Vincent looked relieved when Dom unwound the sling from around his neck.

  Temple hadn’t moved. He’s a cool customer alright, Dom thought. I’ll have to watch this one.

  “Empty your pockets,” Dom said to Vincent.

  He pulled out two chairs from the dining table.

  “Get under the table, lie down and don’t move.”

  Once Vincent was in position, Dom replaced the chairs, trapping Vincent underneath. Any movement would alert Dom.

  He strolled over to the other end of the table, all the time keeping his eyes on Temple. He retrieved his gun and possessions and walked close to Temple.

  “Mr Temple, I think that the questions I’m going to ask you are quite simple.”

  “Fire away. You’re the one with the hardware. Who am I to refuse a man with a gun?”

  “Tell me, your transactions around April to May time of this year? What have you been buying and why?”

  “Oh, come on. You want me to incriminate myself to you.”

  “Hey, you would only be incriminating yourself if I were a police officer or something similar and I’m not.”

  “What are you then? Intelligence service?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I am. The question matters and I need an answer. Then I’ll leave.”

  Temple raises his eyebrows. He was perplexed.

  “Then you must be a rival buyer then. And you’re trying to muscle in on my business, is that it?”

  “Nope, I don’t want your business either. Just answers.”

  “What do I get out of this confession?”

  “Freedom. Exactly what you have now. I get my answers, then I Ieave. It’s that simple.” Dom added a caveat. “That’s not to say that I won’t return if your answers prove to be false. Then you will have a problem, and you’d sure as hell better make sure that your affairs are in order, if you know what I mean?”

  Temple nodded. “Okay, and if—”

  Dom cut in. “You’re wasting time. Just answer the question.”

  A chair moved. Vincent had started to move, and Dom bent down to make eye contact with him.

  “Don’t even think about it, just don’t.”

  Dom stood waiting.

  “Do you mind if I look in my mobile? I need to check the dates and clients,” Temple asked.

  “Get it out slowly and place it on the table. Operate it on the table so that I can see what you’re doing. Don’t try anything.”

  Temple reached for it slowly and followed Dom’s instructions. He started searching the screen.

  “Ah, here’s one. April the eleventh I purchased a consignment of old SLRs. They were destined for Africa. They were sent directly; I never saw them. I don’t see anything these days; it’s all done electronically.”

  “And …?”

  As Temple searched his phone, Dom spotted in his lens, via the MPD, that the gatekeeper was armed and advancing towards the open patio door. Temple must have alerted him. Dom moved closer to Temple as if to look at his phone, but instead struck him with the butt of his pistol. Temple thrust his hands to his head to protect himself from further blows, but Dom’s weapon was already trained on the door. He watched in his lens as the guard drew nearer and nearer to the door. At the moment he appeared, Dom lunged at him and tackled him to the floor.
The guard had no chance and was now looking down the barrel of Dom’s gun.

  “Toss the gun over here and kneel. Sit on your hands and don’t move.”

  The guard complied and then caught sight of Vincent under the table.

  “I take it he was your last chance? That was stupid, alerting him. Now we all know where we are, perhaps you’ll get on with answering the question. I’m getting bored now.”

  Temple responded while clutching his bloodied head. “I also purchased some MP5Ks and ammunition.”

  “How many, and for whom?”

  “Oh, come on, I mean—”

  Dom hit him again with the butt of his gun.

  “Alright, alright! I bought the MP5Ks for a client, for direct delivery. They were bound for the Newcastle area. That’s all I know.”

  “Surely you must know how many, and how much ammo? Nobody does a deal without knowing those details.”

  “Twenty. That’s right, twenty and five hundred rounds of ammunition.”

  “And the client?”

  “They’ll kill me if I tell.”

  “I’m sorry for the cliché here, but I’ll kill you if you don’t. It’s your choice.”

  Dom pointed the gun at his temple.

  “Fitting, isn’t it? Firing at the temple of Temple.”

  Temple could feel the cold metal touching his skin. He knew the man he was dealing with was a professional, yet he didn’t know his limitations. So far, Dom hadn’t killed any of his men. He could have, but he didn’t, and he didn’t seem agitated.

  “I can’t tell you, and I’ll take my chance.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  Dom moved the barrel to the trapezius muscle, the strip of muscle that ran from the side of Temple’s head to his shoulder. The soft fleshy part. He fired, and Temple flew backwards in his chair and to the ground, screaming, clutching his neck.

  The guard who was sitting on his hands started to move and Dom fired at him, hitting him in the arm.

  “I told you not to move.”

  He turned back to Temple who was writhing in pain. He steadied him and placed the gun in the same position but on the opposite side.

  “Tell me now!”

  Temple had clearly had enough.

  “It was that group who are anti-capitalists. You know, the serious loonies. The others mean well with their demonstrations and all that, but this group are willing to take it to the next level. They’ll turn their guns on anyone in their way. They’re paid well though and I don’t know how they’re funded, but they must be connected.”

  “Do you have a name? You must have a name?”

  “Only one, he may be a Geordie. I’m afraid I’m not that good on accents. He’s definitely from the north, you know, Newcastle, Sunderland or somewhere near there. Winters something … Winterstein, or Wintersgill. That’s it. Wintersgill. His name was Wintersgill.”

  There was silence in the room. Temple looked up and around. He slowly got to his feet and saw that Dom had left and taken his mobile phone with him. Temple felt uneasy, vulnerable. Perhaps for the first time.

  Chapter 13 - The Valencian Connection

  Jago arrived in Valencia at 11:00 hours and went directly to the barracks of the Guardia Civil in Calle Calamocha. The barracks ran the whole length of the street. It had one stone-arched entrance, which featured a disused sentry box beside it. Cameras had replaced the guards. The two-storey rectangular building expanded over to the street behind, creating a block-type appearance. Once through the archway, Jago arrived at a security point to the left, which opened up into a large courtyard. The actual offices consisted of the inner walls of the courtyard and the outer walls of the building itself. Every exterior wall window contained metal bars preventing entry and exit.

  The officer on duty wore a uniform of blue trousers, green shirt and the unusually-shaped black Tricornio hat. He wore the rank of a cabo mayor, a corporal. He requested identification in impeccable English.

  “Good afternoon, Sir. May I ask the purpose of your visit, please?”

  “Good afternoon, I’m here to meet with José Luis Rodriguez. I’m sorry I don’t know his rank these days.”

  The corporal smiled. “Don’t worry, neither do we. I’ll check the log to see where he is, or when we can expect to see him. He belongs to our counter-intelligence unit, and we don’t see him every day, you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand very well,” replied Jago.

  “May I have some identity please? Your passport will suffice.”

  The corporal looked at the passport photograph and then at Jago’s face. Without being asked, Jago removed his sunglasses. The officer passed the passport to a colleague to make a photocopy. The corporal looked Jago up and down and noted that he wore a beige Americano-style jacket, a dark open-neck shirt, beige slacks and soft shoes. He carried a soft brown leather haversack.

  Jago waited a couple of minutes for the corporal to check his computer screen. He also made a telephone call before addressing Jago once again.

  “Señor Jago, he may be here in one hour. Failing that, he will return at one o’clock in the morning. He has a meeting to attend. I suggest that you take a coffee in the café on the corner and return in one hour.”

  “That would be good, I could do with a coffee. Thank you, gracias.”

  “As you wish, Señor Jago. We’ll see you in one hour.”

  Jago ordered a coffee and some tortillas in his rusty Spanish. He sat at a table on the pavement of Café Flor de Chufa and called Abi at The Ranch.

  “I’m waiting to meet our man.”

  “Swilling down some Sangria beside some pool are we, Boss?”

  “Actually, no. I’m sat on a roasting hot aluminium chair on the street corner opposite the barracks. And I’m drinking coffee and eating an omelette.”

  “Ooh, touchy. Things are progressing here. It will be good to get the lowdown on what’s happened at your end. And do me a favour: check to see if the first investigating officer is still the same one, will you?”

  “The same one? I don’t understand.”

  “Boss, can you just check? You see, it may be important for us as a number of them have had to be replaced already.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll check. I want to visit the scene as well as have access to the documentation while I am here. So, expect some photos or copies to come your way.”

  “Okay, Boss, no problem. Enjoy your coffee and eggs.”

  An hour passed and Jago returned. The corporal recognised him immediately.

  “I’m sorry, Señor Jago, he won’t be here until tonight as I said before. Shall we expect you then? If so, I’ll mention it to my relief on my transfer of duty.”

  “Yes, I’ll return at one o’clock. Thank you, gracias.”

  “Very well, have a good afternoon, Señor Jago.”

  Abi called Jago.

  “Hey, Boss. Can you go secure?”

  “Secure now? What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to explain a little. You see, Bernie and I have noticed a pattern emerging.”

  “What’s that, then? A pattern between the events, something apart from the dates?”

  “No, something more sinister than that. It seems that, except for the Spanish job, all the lead investigators have had to hand their cases to someone else because of a personal circumstance. Don’t you find that strange? That’s why we asked you to check.”

  “Tell me more, Abi.”

  “Okay, let’s start with the nursing home in Yorkshire. Detective Inspector Small has taken compassionate leave due to his son being arrested for possession of Class A drugs. Now, his son, John, has no record. He’s a straight A student doing well in education, taking his A-level examinations and looking to study engineering at Manchester. He protests his innocence and the drugs were found in his college locker by a sniffer dog in full view of everyone. Detective Inspector Small is devastated and trying to help his son. He’s handed his caseload to Detective Sergeant Eleanor Price who has little exper
ience in this area and, on top of her existing workload, will need a huge amount of time to play catch up.”