A single beep sounded from Sam’s pocket. He stopped walking, pulled away from Ellie, and turned his face to the wall.
“You know about Kinley?”
Sam recognized the voice as Sir Justin Maide. He pressed his fingers hard into his palm and desperately tried to control the anger that had started to surface. The cold fury he’d felt when he’d heard earlier about his friend’s death was returning. His body shook, and he had to focus himself to lock down the pounding pain of loss before he could answer Maide.
“Yes, I heard.”
“He was the longest in there. It’s a shame. Such an agent to lose.”
“But we did,” Sam replied through gritted teeth.
Kinley had been undercover in Al Nadir for over four years. MI6 knew before the first nano-bomb exploded that Al Nadir had been working on a leading-edge weapons technology, but at that time, it had been thought to be a virulent biological agent.
“Any idea how?” asked Sam.
“Insider informant.” Maide’s tone did not change or waver, just remained cold and bland.
“One of ours?” Sam kept an equally emotionless delivery.
“Had to be. Kinley was watertight over there.”
“Any suggestions?”
“We’re still looking.”
“It makes me nervous we could be compromised from that high up,” said Sam.
“Nobody has confirmed anything. It’s all speculative.”
“Still, it makes our position vulnerable, and I don’t like that.”
“Neither do I,” replied Maide. “But this is Al Nadir. We need to expect and deal with absolutely anything.”
“I don’t like being reactive in this war, sir.”
“I understand. None of us do. But it’s a situation that has been forced on us.”
“Not anymore. They struck a raw nerve with Kinley. They’re gonna pay!”
“No personal vendettas, Sam. You know the code.”
Sam went silent. If necessary, he was going to take this war right to Al Nadir’s doorstep. In the past, Sam’s combination of technical know-how, brilliance and sheer brute strength meant that answers, in some shape or form, were always forthcoming. How he came by the answers was sometimes not documented officially, but his boss always knew the facts. Sam had seen it in Maide’s face too many times, his fear that Sam could one day turn of his own accord or be coerced into turning. It was Maide’s greatest nightmare.
Sam knew another of Maide’s nightmares was Sam going off on a revenge drive. Maide’s next words said it all.
“We need you on this one, and we need you clear. Understand?”
“Of course I understand,” said Sam pushing down the furious heat of rage inside him.
“What do you want from me?”
“Get to the truth, the way you always do. I know what the Company is like these days. They’ve got too much to handle. This will be brushed over, and I don’t want that. No one here wants that. Kinley was worth more than a second-rate CSI doing the onceover.”
“I agree. Send me all the crime scene data you’ve got. I’ll pick through it on the plane.”
“The Americans have already combed it and come up with nothing but the C4 in a parcel.”
“Did they find anything about the courier?”
“Legit. All records check out.”
“And that’s it? They’re leaving it?” Sam swallowed hard, amazed at how quickly events could be pigeonholed and loose ends tied.
“Yes, that’s it. They say it was a simple explosion. C4. Legit courier. Case closed.”
“It would be different if it was one of theirs on our soil.”
“I know. It gets in your throat, doesn’t it? Their double bloody standards.”
“I’ll close this properly. You can rely on me, sir.”
“A plane is being prepped. Wheels up at zero one hundred hours from Northolt. I hope you didn’t have any plans this weekend.”
Sam stared at Ellie, who was standing a little away from him, arms folded and glaring with annoyance.
“Nothing that can’t wait until I get to the truth.”
“Good man.”
“And I will get to it.” Sam was responding to Maide but also reinforcing his commitment to himself.
“I know you will. We wouldn’t be speaking if I thought you couldn’t. Good luck Sam, and God speed.”
Sam rang off. Kinley had been a good agent and an even better friend. They’d looked out for each other on missions and his intel and unselfish actions had saved Sam’s life on numerous occasions. So much he’d owed to Kinley.
They all did.
The Firm wouldn’t have had the successes they did over the past four years if Kinley hadn’t sacrificed his soul to the dark side. He’d bring Kinley’s killers in, and he’d spare no mercy doing it.
Ellie had watched Sam turn away to talk on the phone. She had been standing close by and had heard snippets of his conversation.
“Sam, what’s happening?”
“Come on. We’ve got to walk faster. I need to get my stuff,” hissed Sam with ice cold authority.
Ellie was dumbstruck. This couldn’t be happening.
“No!” She stood still.
Sam marched forward and then turned around to look at her.
“Ellie, please. Not now. You know how important my job is.”
Sam glared at her, furious.
“This isn’t fair,” started Ellie.
Sam shot a look at her. ‘Not here’, he stated firmly. He turned and marched quickly away. He didn’t want to talk. He heard Ellie’s footsteps quickening as she ran to keep up with him. He took her elbow and the two of them walked with haste back to the apartment in silence.
Chapter 81
Sam punched in the access code to the apartment. The double doors slid open. As Sam and Ellie stepped into the reception area, Harold, the doorman, smiled at them.
“Good evening.”
His genial demeanor was perfect for pandering to the elite who lived at Silent Waters apartment complex.
“Evening, Harold.”
Sam ushered Ellie into the lift. The doors closed. Ellie whipped around, staring hard at Sam.
“I don’t believe this. You’re going to leave me!”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yes. You could say you were taking your wife to the seaside.”
Sam didn’t dignify Ellie’s ridiculous suggestion with a response. Instead, he remained quiet until they reached the seventh floor. Ellie also remained silent. She knew she’d reacted stupidly. But the truth was, she was afraid. She’d learnt so much so fast, and now she couldn’t contemplate being alone.
The moment they were inside their apartment, Ellie’s verbal backlash hit Sam in the face.
“You can’t just leave me. I can sort of understand why you can’t get the tape back, not having the evidence and such, but you can’t leave me. Not now. Please, love. Be by my side. I need you.”
“I’ve left you before. What’s the big deal?”
“Sam, how can you say that? For one, I didn’t know you were an agent when you left before. And two, they bugged our flat. Did you hear what I said? They came into our home and bugged our bloody flat. If they can do that, they can do anything. I’m frightened, Sam. Don’t you get that? I’m fucking frightened!”
“Ellie, you’re being neurotic. You’re my wife. They wouldn’t dare touch you. I’d kill them.”
“Please, Sam. Don’t go.”
Ellie had never begged in her life. Her voice was small and shaking. Sam felt cruel ignoring her pleas.
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“Matthew Kinley, a friend of mine, has been assassinated.”
“I know. I saw it on the news. I didn’t know he was that much of a friend.”
“Well, he was. A really good one. I’ve been asked to sort out his affairs in the US.”
Ellie nodded. She could hear the annoyance in Sam’s voice. He really didn�
��t want to tell her anything. She recalled in the past, when she’d asked him about his work. “Oh, it’s boring bureaucratic stuff, darling. You wouldn’t be interested.” Ellie had believed him.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. I would have loved to have gone to the seaside tomorrow.” Sam found himself meaning it. He would have delighted in spending the day with Ellie bumming around the south coast. “Maybe next week.”
“You’re going to be gone a week?”
“Could be. I don’t know. It depends how soon I can wrap things up over there. Maybe two, at the most.”
“Oh, God. No!”
Ellie’s voice reverberated with despondency and desperation. A fortnight was too long.
“Can’t you just tell them to shove the job?”
It was a totally illogical thing to say but her desperation had driven her to say it.
“Ellie, darling, please be sensible. Lots of people rely on me doing my job. If I throw in the towel now, questions will be asked. I have to prove to them I’ve still got it. I’m sorry, sweetness. But while I’m gone, you’re going to have to be strong.”
Ellie looked at Sam mournfully, her bottom lip gradually turning up in a slight quiver. Sam bent his head down and kissed her.
“I’m so sorry I brought you into all this,” said Sam. “I really am.”
He kissed her harder. Ellie pulled away. But determination shone in her eyes. If they were to have a future, she had to see this through.
“Come with me,” said Sam. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Enigmatically, Sam led Ellie into the bedroom and closed the door.
Chapter 82
A sharp rap on his hotel door startled Godley, who was preparing for a crucial policy meeting in Washington DC, with his US counterpart. He heard a scraping noise on the carpet as something was slid under his door. Cautiously, he stood up and noticed a small brown envelope rather like a wage packet had been thrust beneath into the room. He shook his head, amazed. How did they always know where he was?
Inside the envelope was a SIM card, as usual. Simple and effective. He took out his burner phone, slipped in the SIM chip, turned it on, and waited.
It howled almost instantly in his hand.
He couldn’t believe it. She never called. It was normally his handler, an Oxford bedfellow of his old acquaintance. Or Pedro Russo. But never her. Clearly his work that lead to revealing Kinley as a double agent had elevated his position.
As UK Secretary of State for Defense, he had sight of the most sensitive military information, but he always had to be extremely circumspect as to what intel ended up in Al Nadir’s hands. He couldn’t have any backdraft from his activities. He didn’t want to burn politically or literally.
Godley was a realist. He knew he was only valuable to his masters all the time he could deliver, but the moment he couldn’t, they’d think nothing of wiping him out. It didn’t matter a damn about him being a government minister.
For now though, Godley knew he was very valuable.
Godley recalled how he’d been the catalyst to eventually making Kinley.
One Month Earlier
Ashton trusted Godley with secrets.
He was the PM’s Mr. Fix-it and, therefore, had a greater level of access to the PM than his other Cabinet colleagues. He’d delivered results and won Ashton’s trust through many years of political problem-solving.
It had been during one of those problem-solving visits that Godley first clocked the horticulture website on Ashton’s laptop.
Godley had been requested by Ashton as a matter of urgency. At the request, he’d walked around from Whitehall at speed. He’d marched forward, past Cumberford, the prime minister’s parliamentary private secretary (PPS). The man barely raised a glance, except to issue a curt, “Good Afternoon Minister.”
Opening the door, Godley could see Ashton sat on his sofa with his laptop on his thighs. Godley noticed the website immediately. Its name, Forever Flowers, registered a slight smirk. The PM was probably trying to get on his wife’s good side, thought Godley wryly, knowing Ashton’s propensity for salacious escapades.
“Prime Minister, you wanted to see me?”
Ashton clicked off the site, shut the laptop swiftly, and flicked a look at Godley. For a mere second, Godley detected a shadow of concern. Then Ashton slipped his laptop onto the coffee table and leapt up, effusive and smirking in his indomitable way.
“Ah, yes. Godley, my friend. We have an issue with that troublesome shit backbencher Boris Jacobs. He’s causing more than a little stirring with his insinuations about my ability to keep the UK safe from Al Nadir attacks. With the Peace Summit coming up on March 25, I can’t afford any ripples. Use whatever you need to and silence him.”
Ashton delivered his demand with brutal efficiency. Godley nodded.
“Of course, Prime Minister. Take it as done,” said Godley.
His beady, black rat-like eyes narrowed as he ran down options in his mind on how he could keep Jacobs’ loose and increasingly vicious tongue in check. From the dangerous look Ashton shot him, it appeared the option that the PM really wanted was for Jacobs to have some tongue action with a scalpel. Naturally, Godley couldn’t undertake such an option. But just its consideration gave him a delightful image of backbencher Jacobs in unbelievable agony as his mischievous muscle was permanently removed.
The second time Godley spied the Forever Flowers site was at Maide’s residence in Godalming.
Ashton picked him up in his Jag, saying, “Trouble in Turkey. Get in. We need to be on-point if things get hot.”
Godley ducked into the car and realized that Ashton wasn’t alone. Sam Noor sat in the front. He turned as Godley squeezed himself into the seat beside the PM.
“Evening, Minister,” said Sam with his usual ice-cold, sinister tone.
Godley shivered at Sam’s voice. He always felt the agent was just keeping down a riotous anger. He’d heard that Six referred to Sam as the ‘go-to guy’ if all else fails. He had a ruthless but impressive reputation.
And he always delivered the required results.
“So, we have a situation in Turkey,” Sam continued. “One of our covert operatives in Millî İstihbarat Teşkilatı (MİT), better known to you and me as the National Intelligence Organization in Ankara, has been killed. We believe an MİT official working for Al Nadir could be behind it. Our operative was inside MİT to uncover Al Nadir double-agents. But it’s all brewing into a major diplomatic incident. MİT are claiming we were stealing documents of national security. They said it was their right to execute a foreign spy.”
“Difficult situation,” said Godley. “Do they have evidence of the theft?”
“They’re claiming evidence, but they aren’t being forthcoming. Trouble is, we’ve more than one guy in MİT. If the others are exposed, it may look like a hostile act against the Turks. We have to be ready to counter any reprisals,” explained Ashton.
“How many are we talking about?” said Godley, looking at Sam, instinctively knowing he had more intel.
“It’s a few,” responded Sam. On his face, Godley read wariness. He was deliberately vague.
“I’ll ensure our bases at Akrotiri and Dhekelia are ready,” said Godley quickly.
“I hope it won’t get to that,” said Ashton. “But that’s why you’re here.”
Godley nodded.
The rest of the journey was taken up with Sam giving a debrief on the position of Al Nadir in Turkey, their alliances and current known operations and cells.
The Jag turned into the gravel driveway and someone within the Andalusian mansion beyond opened the gates. The driver brought the car to the entrance and got out to open the door for the PM. Sam stepped out simultaneously with the driver. Godley opened his side.
Maide was at the door. He welcomed them in with a sweeping hand. Godley didn’t like Maide much. He always had a sense of unease around him. Maide often sidelined Godley, using the excuse that UK defense need not be invo
lved as it was an ‘out of country intelligence issue’. Or, of course, the old chestnut, ‘not a domestic security concern’. Godley had retaliated by stating that the majority of the wars currently fought were ‘out of the country’ and were very much a ‘domestic security concern’, as the success or failure of those wars directly correlated to the level of terrorism perpetrated on UK soil.
Godley walked through the hallway and was dumbstruck. It was the first time he’d been to Maide’s place. He’d heard murmurs about how Maide had replicated the Moorish mansion in Cordoba where he’d stayed decades ago. But Godley never believed it to be true.
He did his best to suppress a gasp. The floor was shining white marble with turquoise interlocking Ayyubid star patterns. Above him, a vaulted and coffered cedar ceiling was carved with more elaborate geometric Moorish designs. An alcove with tilework, which Godley recognized as zellige, housed an extraordinary vase constructed from a kaleidoscope of pieces of pottery.
Godley swept a look to the right of him. A door stood wide open. From the bookshelf wall unit stretching to the ceiling and the desk in front of the window, he deduced it was Maide’s study. Maide’s laptop was open. The drapes hadn’t been pulled and the garden was dark. The bright screen of Maide’s computer reflected clearly in the glass as Godley walked past.
Just a glance, but he recognized the page immediately, having seen the same on Ashton’s computer a few days before.
Forever Flowers.
Godley wondered why both Ashton and Maide suddenly showed a passion for horticulture.
In his monthly debrief with his Al Nadir handler, he happened to mention that strange occurrence.
Pedro Russo took the meeting. They met at the Holiday Inn, Slough, just off junction six on the M4. The location changed monthly, and intel came via a chat room that focused on movie talk about the latest films. Godley’s moniker in the chatroom was Ratman. Russo’s was Shadowman. The comms protocols on Godley’s private laptop ran on Al Nadir’s cloaked private satellite network.
Godley gave his run down on events. He had to give enough juicy titbits to warrant payment. His retainer with Al Nadir was fifty thousand a month. But he knew if they terminated the contract, they’d terminate him too. So he had more than enough incentive to keep them sweet.
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