The Division Collection

by Angus McLean

  Yassar started to open his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He had no desire to be the next candidate down on the lawn. Boyle clocked it and gave a minute nod of agreement.

  ‘I have the contacts to get that weaponry into the UK mainland for you. You need the cash and I want the result.’

  Yassar struggled to regain some of his usual bluster. Maybe the day wasn’t lost after all.

  ‘Business is business,’ he said, pursing his lips thoughtfully as if considering a marginally acceptable proposal. ‘I think we can talk turkey here.’

  ‘Make no mistake, pal,’ Boyle told him flatly, ‘we will do business. I want that gear and you want to live. I’ll be taking that shipment off yer hands at a price that will keep me happy and you alive.’

  ‘I have a friend in Africa who has already expressed an interest in my products,’ Yassar protested. ‘I cannot now renege on the deal, it would be terrible form on my part.’

  ‘It’d be worse fuckin’ form to have yer head rollin’ down my fuckin’ lawn, don’t ya think?’

  Boyle stared menacingly across the table. Two sets of footsteps sounded on the deck behind Yassar. He glanced down at the lawn and saw the two thugs had gone, along with the dismembered corpse. A dark stain remained on the grass. He knew the men were now behind him, awaiting fresh orders from their boss.

  He nodded slowly and Boyle smiled.

  The deal was done.

  20

  Archer checked his room when he got back to the hotel, but was confident it hadn’t been searched.

  He always took a couple of precautions when he travelled, and one of these was slipping a fragment of tissue paper between the top of the door and the frame. When he opened the door it dislodged, indicating the door had remained closed in his absence.

  Archer secured the door latch and placed a chair in front of it, then stripped off and checked his body. The wound on his side had cracked and bled a little, and the stun gun had given him small twin red welts in the middle of his back.

  He scowled again as he examined the new injury. He’d met the American twice now and come off second best both times. Archer was a sore loser, and he bore grudges. This guy had definitely made the list.

  He drank a large glass of water as he sat brooding with an ice-pack on his back, then showered and dressed and opened the wallet he’d stolen. It was a simple plain black leather affair, with forty pounds cash, a couple of coins, a travel card dated the previous day and a debit card for one of the high street banks.

  The name on the card was TJ Wheeler.

  Archer laid the items out on the bed and grabbed his phone. He took a photo of the two cards and composed a quick email back to Jedi. He knew the Ops Officer wouldn’t know how to get the info he wanted, but he was sure he’d know who could. He asked Jedi to try and identify the owner of the bank card, and briefly outlined the morning’s incident.

  That done he made his way downstairs to the dining room. There were a handful of other guests eating and Archer ignored them all, taking a copy of the Times to a corner table for two and giving his order to the waitress rather too curtly.

  Moore’s assessment of the full English had been accurate but Archer ate it anyway. He was ravenous and cleaned his plate, chasing it down with a glass of orange juice and two mugs of black coffee.

  When Moore arrived in a cab, Archer was ready and waiting at the door, looking sharper than he felt in a charcoal Hugo Boss two-piece, a crisp white shirt, a subdued navy blue tie and polished boots. He put his black woollen coat on over the top and noted that Moore’s normal attire of jeans and a bomber jacket had been replaced by a smart black suit and overcoat. Archer joined his colleague on the footpath before they walked around the corner to hail another cab.

  ‘I met some new friends this morning,’ he remarked casually, watching Moore for a reaction.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. American. Three of them.’ He paused and Moore turned away from waving at a cab, waiting for him to finish. ‘Shock of my life.’

  Moore frowned quizzically.

  ‘They followed me on a run through Hyde Park, then when I bumped them I got Tasered from behind.’

  Moore still didn’t react, and Archer was satisfied that it was news to him.

  ‘You sure they were Yanks?’ he asked.

  ‘100 percent sure.’

  Moore frowned. ‘I’d be confident they weren’t from Grosvenor Square then. Or if they were, what the hell are they playing at?’

  Archer watched as a cab slid in to the kerb. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied firmly, ‘but I’m gunna find out.’

  The cab dropped them in a side street off Vauxhall Bridge Road, from where they walked across the bridge itself. Most of the traffic was coming towards them, into the city, but as always there were people going in every direction.

  Glancing to his left, Archer could see the Security Service headquarters further along the Embankment, and he asked his companion if they would be attending the meeting.

  Moore shook his head briefly. ‘Unlikely. As far as I know, the sisters have no involvement in this job.’ He grinned. ‘But who knows?’

  Ahead of them as they crossed the Thames sat the formidable headquarters of the British Security Intelligence Service. MI6. Popularly known as Legoland due to its rather block-like shape, it housed an organisation that had been attacked and scrutinised in every way possible by every foreign agency and every possible critic, and was still going strong. As far as Archer could tell from his admittedly outsider perspective, despite the odd cock-up which always fed the headlines, it was still one of the world’s best spy agencies with an enviable record of success.

  Security at the public entrance was rather like that of an airport, with metal detectors, an X-ray unit and closed doors off the atrium-like foyer each with card and code access. Archer followed Moore’s lead, emptying his pockets for the X-ray and submitting to the scanner wand of a muscular guard who looked like an ex-Para. Their phones were surrendered and secured in a locked cabinet by the security guard.

  Probably be scanned as soon as we go through, Archer figured.

  Moore showed his identity card to the receptionist and a phone call was made. Archer signed in and was issued a visitor’s pass to clip to his lapel.

  A couple of minutes later a woman was crossing the foyer to them, smiling at Moore and extending a hand to Archer.

  ‘Morning Rob,’ she smiled, ‘and you must be Craig. I’m Tracy.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  Her hand was firm and dry, and she wore a sensible grey business suit with an understated warm perfume. Her blonde hair was pulled back and her make-up was subtle. She had the leanness of a runner and the broad shoulders of a swimmer.

  ‘Come through.’

  She buzzed through a door and took them in a lift to the second floor, then into the first meeting room on the left. It was blue and plain and could have been a meeting room in any office building anywhere.

  Another man entered from a door at the other end of the room with a black leather folder in his hand. He was average sized, brown haired, tidily dressed and maybe mid-forties. He carried himself confidently.

  ‘Matthew,’ he said with a pleasant smile, shaking hands with Moore first then Archer.

  It was a brief, moist shake.

  Tracy introduced them, and Matthew turned to Moore.

  ‘I understand you have another matter to attend to while you’re here,’ he said smoothly, ‘so if you don’t mind...’

  Moore took his cue and nodded. ‘I do,’ he said, opening the door behind him, ‘give me a buzz when you’re done, Arch.’

  Archer watched him leave before they sat round the table that dominated the room. Archer noted that nobody seemed to use last names and he doubted even the first names were real. Tracy took the time to fill glasses of water from a jug on the side cabinet then deferentially took her seat beside Matthew.

  ‘Thanks for coming in,’ Matthew started, keeping his f
older closed for now. ‘It’s good to meet you, and it’s very important that we work together on this. It’s a matter of great importance to both our governments. We’ve been aware of Yassar Al-Riyaz for some time now, keeping tabs on his movements etcetera, until he really began to move up on our radar about a year ago.’

  He paused to take a sip of water. ‘As you know, money’s the big game now. All these terrorist organisations need it, but it’s not part of the job description for the average suicide bomber. So they use these players that we’ve never really had dealings with before, dodgy financiers and money men from around the globe. Yassar is one of them.’

  ‘Funny, because apparently we only became aware of him about four months ago,’ Archer interjected.

  Matthew nodded sagely. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I know. That’s something that could have been done better, and we’re following up on that but it’s all a bit above my pay grade I’m afraid.’

  He smiled apologetically, just one staffer sharing sympathies with his peers. Archer didn’t buy it, but he was impressed with the man’s political nous.

  ‘So, you obviously know all his background already; we did manage to share that much.’ Matthew chuckled at his own joke, and Tracy gave a slight smile. ‘He’s been in New Zealand for the last couple of months on a Visitor Visa. Interestingly, he was turned away by Australia.’

  ‘That open borders policy just works a treat for us,’ Archer remarked drily, and Matthew looked at him for a moment.

  Archer got the feeling he’d spoken out of turn and felt his cheeks flush. He glanced at Tracy and saw her gaze shift as his eyes crossed her face.

  Matthew continued.

  ‘We’ve established links between him and a number of groups of interest to us, including the Taliban, ETA in Spain, animal activists here in the UK, rebel groups in Africa, anti-abortionists in the States...the list goes on. We have confirmed that he has handled money for all these groups, washing it through various financial institutions, making investments for them, and ultimately making them more money and giving them a clean product at the end of it all. This appears to have been on behalf of the family business.’ He turned slightly towards Tracy. ‘Do you want to cover our Irish friend?’

  She nodded and leaned forward in her seat, taking the lead. ‘A person of interest to us is a former leader in the Provisional Irish Republican Army, Patrick Boyle. Currently living in Galway, in the Republic. He got his hands dirty growing up in Belfast during the eighties; he was part of a cell that we know for certain killed four police officers and eleven British soldiers in a series of attacks.’ She looked at Archer directly to make sure he was listening. ‘The four coppers were each shot dead inside their homes, in front of family members. Point blank.’

  She had his attention. ‘Three of the soldiers were killed in a pub in the city centre. The killer walked straight up to them and shot them point blank in the head. A fourth soldier in their group was kidnapped and held for three days. They found him on a patch of wasteland, face down. Dead. He’d been knee-capped with a drill in both knees. He was covered in burns. He had every single finger dislocated and four teeth ripped out.’

  She paused unnecessarily for affect.

  ‘It was initially thought that he’d been tortured for information, but this was discounted due to the fact that he was just a squaddie, and therefore would have very limited knowledge of use to the Provos.’

  ‘It was practice.’ Matthew took over again and Tracy hesitated, as if surprised by his interruption. When he continued, she took the hint and sat back again. ‘I firmly believe that that poor kid – he was 19 – was just a practice doll for a torturer who was learning his trade. He had nothing to give them but that wasn’t the point. He died in excruciating pain. The post-mortem showed the cause of death as heart failure. This was a 19-year old soldier, fighting fit, in the prime of his life.’ Matthew shook his head grimly. ‘His heart gave out from fear and the pain inflicted on him. We confirmed Patrick Boyle as the man responsible, and he was eventually imprisoned at the Maze. After the Good Friday Agreement, he was released.’

  His eyes shifted to Archer and he looked at him mirthlessly. ‘And you think your open borders cause you trouble Down Under.’

  Archer held his gaze evenly, deciding he didn’t like this man, not a bit. His instinct was to react, and he had to remind himself that he was operating in a new environment now. ‘So what’s his link to Yassar then?’ he asked, breaking the moment.

  ‘Boyle moved on from being a foot soldier to management,’ replied Matthew. ‘He’s an educated man and has an obvious knack for financial matters. Once he was released from prison he put himself out on the market, basically operating as an investment adviser for other terrorists. You must remember, these guys have not gone away. They just operate a bit differently now, and at their core, they’re basically just criminals. They make money from the whole spectrum of criminal offending and they need to launder it. That’s where men like Boyle and Yassar come in.’

  Matthew made a steeple of his fingers, elbows on the table. Archer noticed he still hadn’t referred to whatever was in his folder.

  ‘They have done business both together and for the same groups. They are intimately connected in a financial sense, and we know for certain that both have met with senior lieutenants to Bin Laden in recent years.’

  Archer sipped his water and listened intently. He was hoping the history lesson would end soon and they’d get to the point.

  ‘We have intelligence that these two have formed a close bond and, if it’s possible for men like this, become friends. Further to that, we have intelligence that they have recently hijacked a large arms deal from Yassar’s family. Yassar now has a price on his head, courtesy of his own father. Further to that, Boyle himself has a substantial amount of money stashed away somewhere. A fall back, if you like.’ Matthew’s eyes became shrewd now. ‘We’re talking circa thirty two million American.’

  Archer’s hand paused with the glass halfway to his lips.

  ‘Cash,’ Matthew added.

  The room was silent as the information sank in.

  ‘Wow,’ Archer finally said.

  ‘Wow is right,’ Tracy smiled, and was passed the baton again with a nod from her colleague. ‘It’s the result of some canny investments and gambles by Boyle and Yassar.’ She smiled again. ‘And Her Majesty’s Government would like to get their hands on it.’

  Matthew smiled conspiratorially across the table. ‘Of course, that is a secondary issue for us. Our Saudi friend is our main concern. And that’s where you chaps come in. You see, the key is to getting our hands on either of these two men. I have no doubt that one of them will talk, given the right circumstances.’ He gave a conspiratorial look. ‘If you know what I mean.’

  ‘Got a rough idea,’ Archer murmured.

  ‘Obviously British agents can’t just bowl up to Boyle’s little cottage in Galway and knock on the door and grab him. Those days are long gone. So when we thought our colleagues Down Under had captured Yassar and had him safely under lock and key, we were very happy campers indeed.’

  Archer saw where this was going now. ‘And since he escaped under our jurisdiction,’ he said, ‘it’s our responsibility to get him back.’

  Matthew smiled indulgently. ‘Basically, yes. In the interests of our relationship of mutual trust and co-operation, this is rather important.’

  Archer let that sit silently. The jibe was obvious and he knew the Englishman expected him to retort, but he refused to give him the satisfaction.

  ‘I believe that Boyle is the most likely to know where Yassar is. If we get him, we can get Yassar. Once we get what we want from him, he’ll be straight off to another jurisdiction.’

  Archer nodded slowly. ‘So I’m off to Ireland then,’ he said, but Matthew shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he replied, ‘you’re off to Cornwall.’

  21

  Moore was waiting in the foyer for him when Tracy escorted Archer down.
>
  They shook hands again and Tracy relieved him of his visitor’s pass before disappearing back into the bowels of Legoland.

  The two men walked back across the bridge while Archer grilled his companion about the two spooks he’d just met.

  ‘I’ve met Tracy before,’ Moore told him, ‘she’s a good girl. I’ve had a couple of dealings with her and she seems sound. I don’t know Matthew, I know Tracy’s boss is a guy called Matthew Livingstone so I’m guessing that’s him.’

  ‘What’s his background?’

  Archer had his hands tucked into his coat pockets and his breath was clouding in the morning chill. Jet-lag was starting to pull at him and he could do with a coffee.

  ‘Don’t know really. I heard he was previously over the river for a long time, before moving to Six.’ He shrugged his big shoulders. ‘Aside from that, they don’t tend to chuck their CVs around, you know?’

  Archer grunted. ‘And the girl?’

  ‘Tracy Spencer,’ Moore replied readily, and grinned at Archer’s quizzical look. ‘Yeah, she reckons her Dad had a sense of humour. Ex-Army is all I really know about her, we got talking about that one day, but she didn’t say too much.’

  They walked in silence for a few moments. Archer debated about sharing more information with his former comrade in arms and decided against it for now. He had a lot to think about but wanted to keep it to himself. They reached the northern side of the river, and Moore pulled up short, stepping to the side of the footpath.

  ‘I’ve got another meeting to go to,’ he explained, casting a wary eye about him, ‘you can make your own way back from here?’

  Archer nodded.

  ‘Oh, before I forget.’ Moore took a small key from his pocket and passed it over. ‘Your gear arrived. I’ll email you the location. Locker number’s on the key.’

  ‘Ta.’ Archer pocketed the key.

  ‘I think I’ll make an enquiry about these Yanks, but if I’m free later I’ll give you a bell and we’ll meet up for dinner,’ Moore continued, and grinned. ‘Watch your back mate, you’re playing with the big boys now.’