by Brian Cain
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Was the day before the Grand National, Winston had been away for the morning and as soon as he arrived back mid afternoon he received a call from Beaker. Winston had not heard from anyone at the BHA for many weeks although they had tried he refused to take calls, again he rejected the call.
Beaker had gone to lunch to meet a commerce committee representing overseas interests investing in the horse racing industry. He was picked up by a chauffer driven hire vehicle as agreed, the vehicle did not head for the dinner destination arranged. Beaker became scared, he said nothing, the vehicle made its way to Heathrow airport, he attempted to question the driver but a safety glass installed in the limousine to protect the driver was up and communication was impossible. Attempt to use the phone intercom also failed, he tried to get out at traffic lights but the doors were locked. The vehicle pulled up outside a warehouse office complex to the western side of Heathrow airport, a man was waiting outside the door, the doors unlocked and the man opened the door and gestured to Beaker with his head to go inside. Beaker climbed out and gently closed the door, the driver speed away. Beaker followed the man, he scaled flights of stairs to the upper third floor and at a table overlooking the airport by a window was a man of middle eastern appearance and a deep Arabic accent. 'Sit down.' Beaker sat down opposite the man, he was terrified. 'I had a deal with a Mr Ashby of the BHA, we deposited a lot of money in his bank account, he assured me Winston Blake's horses would never make the Grand National, tomorrow he has four running, can you explain that to me.'
Beaker fiddled his fingers as he spoke. 'Ashby is still being looked for by the authorities, I have no idea what you are talking about.'
'You will call Blake and have him withdraw.'
'I cant do that, you must under.....'
'This is a serious matter, Beaker I believe they call you.'
'I have no idea what you are talking about and Blake is running the show at the moment, his mounts dominate the media and....'
'You tell me things I already know, call Blake or your mother could meet with a serious accident.'
Beaker blinked profusely and coughed. 'Please leave my mother alone she's all I have.'
'We just know where she lives, call Blake.'
Beaker fumbled nervously with his phone, he pressed a few buttons put the phone on speaker, the phone rang out and a recorded message from Blake played. When prompted Beaker left a message after the call Blake had purposely ignored. 'Winston, it's Beaker, please call me as soon as you can It's most urgent.' He hung up.
The man put out his hand, Beaker gave him the phone, he inspected the screen, grunted and gave it back. 'We wait.'
'Blake has not returned a call to us for months.'
'He will by the tone of your voice respond, he is a compassionate man.'
Beaker looked around the empty room, bland iron walls and cheap kitchen furniture. 'What are you going to do with me.'
'It depends on what you can do for us.'
'I can do nothing Blake is a powerful man.'
'Blake plays by the rules, we don't, the balance of power is about to shift.'
Beaker showed despair, anger was not an emotion he could muster. Blake was not the only one that had received the call, a point Blake was aware of and hence never answered the phone when delicate matters may be discussed. With information from Ellis MI6 tracked and hacked Beakers phone. A man with gold rimmed ray ban sunglasses, a crisp white shirt, black tie and black suit entered the room, he walked to the table and looked down at Beakers assailant. 'Allow me to introduce myself, Bruce Hurst British Military Intelligence, Muhammad El Mustafa you are under arrest.'
Mustafa stood up and glared at him. 'Who the fuck do you think you are.'
'Resisting arrest.' Hurst pulled his side arm and blasted a round into Mustafa, he fell back breaking the window and falling to the ground below. Hurst walked to the broken window and looked down, a group of men and a woman dragged Mustafa into the back of a vehicle, Hurst holstered his firearm and walked toward the door.
Beaker stood in shock, he yelled at Hurst. 'You just killed a man.'
Hurst turned back toward him. 'He'll live.'
'Who the hell are you.'
Hurst took off his glasses and looked sternly at Beaker. 'We've been looking for that man for ten years, do you know how many people that man has killed.'
'I have no idea.'
'No, obviously, you were to be the next. Ashby can't be found because this man killed him quite some time back.'
Beaker sat down, he was pale and lethargic. 'My god, what's going on.'
'Cat and mouse and the mouse just took the cheese. There is a vehicle outside, two of my colleagues will take you back to the BHA.'
'The threatened my mother, maybe they ha.....'
'Your mother is fine, we have someone watching.'
'Who the hell are you people.'
'Tell no one anything, just go back to work.'
'I need inform the police.'
Hurst chuckled and walked slowly toward the door stopping before he left the room. 'You think they'll believe you.'
'Well of course, someone must care, shooting people in broad daylight.'
'Don't waste your breath Mr John Wainwright Williams.'
Beaker stood again, he looked startled. 'You know my name, that's impossible.'
'Your mother is Ester Williams, you don't know your father do you.'
Beaker, his emotions again taking a hit slumped down in the seat. 'No, do you.'
'Yes we do, we know everything about you Mr Williams, go back to work, forget you were here, you have been most helpful.' Hurst walked out.
Beaker sat there for a while, suddenly men in coveralls entered the room with replacement glass for the window, they said nothing walked past him and hastily went about their work. Beaker gathered himself and slowly walked down the stairs, he opened the access door and walked out into the light. A neat young man in a black suit opened the door of a Range Rover directly in front of him with a smile. Beaker hesitated at the vehicle door looking in the mans face. 'You can smile after seeing this.'
'Seeing what Mr Williams, please get in we are in haste.'
Beaker slowly climbed in with a hallowed look, he said nothing as the vehicle made it's way back to the BHA offices, his escorts were laughing and joking but he didn't listen. They pulled up double parked holding up traffic in front of the BHA, the door was opened for him by the passenger, he climbed out and the vehicle speed off. He watched it fade into traffic, he looked around up and down the street, people payed him no mind, he walked into the office complex to the solace of his office.
Grant Farnsworth The Parliamentary Under Secretary of State for Sport had witnessed Beaker being delivered to the BHA, Farnsworth was destined to be part of the meeting Beaker had just experienced. He was hiding in the Old Red Lion behind a newspaper, once Beaker was clear he threw down his paper and walked out into the street. He ran into two men in black suits, they blocked his path and one spoke. 'Grant Farnsworth.'
Farnsworth looked startled, he snapped at them. 'Who wants to know.'
'Bruce Hurst, British Military Intelligence, you are under arrest.'
'For what.'
'We'll start with the murder of merchant banker George Smith, and work up from there.'
'Civil police matter nothing to do with you.'
Hurst put his hand inside his suit jacket. 'Resisting arrest is a serious offence, considering other matters not yet mentioned I would shoot you without a mark on my conscience. I know how many of our agents deaths you are responsible for, then we have the Barton murders to add to many other things.'
'I had nothing to do with that, look I want to speak to my lawyer.'
'No problem, he was arrested ten minutes ago, you can liaison in the same interview room, that's if you make it there.'
'You're mad if you think you can make this stick.'
'Mad, no, angry, absolutely. I have to think if you should be put through the syst
em or sanctioned for blatant misuse of parliamentary powers.'
'My god who gave you the authority to terrorise people on the street.'
'You did, now get in the vehicle or I'll shoot you dead, the man you sent to tackle the Barton's was my brother.'
'I tell you I had nothing to do with that.'
'Evidence that has just come to hand clearly shows that is not the case, now get in the car the traffic is building up.'
Farnsworth was shuffled into the rear of a Range Rover, he struggled, coughed and became short of breath. The vehicle roared off down the street, Farnsworth objected. 'Now look here good man, when the foreign office hears of this you will be in big trouble.'
'The people in the foreign office sing better than birds, of no real interest though, know a man called Muhammad El Mustafa.'
Farnsworth lent back in his seat, his face changed to that of dread. 'You know this man.'
'You can visit him in hospital, resisted arrest and fell through a window, nasty piece of work, is rather annoyed by your incompetence, states you can't carry out the simplest of murders without cocking the whole thing up.'
'Now look here I am subject to certain privileges, there are good reasons these things were done.'
Hurst folded his arms. 'Yes, all financial, not one of them in aid of the interest of British citizens, more the interest in your bank account.'
'It's not against the law to make money you know, most respect the practice.'
'Good god you really are an ear hole to say the least. Now what can you tell us about Muhammad El Mustafa and his dealings.'
'I'm not saying a word, I'd be as good as a dead man.'
'Well, one thing you've said that's right.' Hurst lent across the drivers ear. 'Head for the docks.' He settled back in his seat he studied Farnsworth's troubled face up close. 'Your no longer able to quibble about right and wrong, you have more blood on your hands than most, you fail to see the wood for the trees, time you went fishing with us.'
Farnsworth breathing was fast and shallow, he looked startled, his eyes darting all over the place looking for direction. 'I need think about this, we have laws, you can't just go around making decisions about people without consultation.'
'Who said we made the decision or failed to consult, you no longer have the support of anyone. The people whom would be affected by a public airing of your conduct just happen to be your associates. They turn a blind eye to how this is dealt with, they could be next.'
'How do I survive this, must be a way.'
'There are some things we don't know.'
'You think I can help.'
'Your choice is limited to cooperation or extinction.'