The Lost Years

by Colin Wade

Just as Bradley seemed to be getting control of the situation, having rolled Rob onto his back, the gun went off. Anya screamed. She froze as everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The sudden awful silence ended with Bradley moaning and Rob heaving him off. Rob had the gun. A large bullet hole was in the side of Bradley’s stomach. He moaned again and passed out.

  Anya crawled over to Rob, shaking with fear, but relieved that they were both alive. For a moment, Rob pointed the gun at Bradley, waiting for him to move. He didn’t. He was alive but unconscious. Rob put the gun down and they both slumped against the wall. Hoping someone was coming.

  84

  Clark was still listening in. He had no idea if the commissioner had read the email or even believed anything they had sent him. The drama was still being recorded. No pictures, just the awful sounds of Bradley revelling in the moment he was going to kill Anya.

  In that moment, the noises changed. Someone had entered the room with a loud crash. The police? No, it was Rob. Clark was holding his breath. There was shouting, noise of a struggle, screams and another gunshot. Then silence. No one was speaking. What had happened?

  *

  Mark Chesterfield was now in Gold command and running the job over the conference call he had hastily arranged.

  “Inspector. What is the latest?”

  “The first responders are two minutes out. The ARV is a few minutes behind.”

  He had the live feed from the email link, running on the screen in the conference room that had become a hastily arranged command centre. There was still only sound. No pictures.

  “Command team. This audio is coming from a live feed in the Loughborough Clinic. There have been numerous threats to life and the inspector in Warwickshire is running Silver to deal with the immediate emergency. As you heard, local units are a few minutes away.”

  As he spoke, they heard a gunshot. They all jumped and looked at each other, horrified at what they were hearing.

  “Inspector. There has been another gunshot. What is the status?”

  “One minute out.”

  The Met Command team listened. There was a faint moaning sound followed by silence. They all looked at each other. Were they too late?

  *

  Rob and Anya lay slumped against the wall, bleeding from their wounds.

  “We are going to die aren’t we Rob? After everything we have done, it has all gone wrong. I am sorry. I am never going to see Sophie.”

  “Anya, don’t talk like that. Someone is coming.”

  Anya realised the phone was still in her pocket. Was it still recording? She took it out. It seemed to still be working. She shouted at the phone.

  “We are shot. Can you hear us? Get us help.”

  The app was only recording one way. They hoped Clark was still hearing them.

  Their answer came thirty seconds later. Commotion at the outer door. A few seconds later, police officers piling into the room to a scene of utter carnage. One dead, one unconscious and two casualties injured and bleeding. The lead officer spoke.

  “Sir. Madam. Are you OK?”

  “We have been shot,” said Rob. “We need medical attention immediately.”

  The officer and the rest of his team had assessed the scene quickly based on the updates coming from the control room. They called for ambulances for Rob and Anya, handcuffed the unconscious Bradley and checked that the doctor was actually dead.

  Rob looked at Anya as the officers secured the scene and managed the communication with all the other units.

  “It’s over,” he said.

  *

  Clark wasn’t sure he had been breathing since the silence descended on the drama at the clinic. He must have been as he hadn’t keeled over. The silence was killing him. Minutes passed that seemed like hours. No sound until… Anya spoke. She was talking to Rob. A few seconds later images suddenly appeared. Anya must have taken the phone out of her pocket. The pictures blurred as she grappled with the phone. Suddenly her faced appeared and she was screaming down the phone for help.

  “I can hear you,” Clark shouted back, feeling helpless. He knew they couldn’t hear him but it just felt better. Like when you shout the quiz answers at the TV contestant who is ‘being a bit thick’.

  He hoped the Met commissioner had believed what he had heard on the live recording and was about to save them. Could he risk calling the police himself? They would want to know who he was.

  Shit!

  Just as he was about to ring, he heard lots of noise. The police had arrived.

  Thank God.

  85

  In the command centre at Scotland Yard, Mark sat with his command team. Three assistant commissioners and his detective chief superintendent in charge of Major Crime. One of the assistant commissioners spoke.

  “Mark. What is going on? Why are we managing a Warwickshire job?”

  “Ladies and gentlemen. What I am about to tell you is unprecedented in all my time in policing. In anybody’s time in policing. The local Warwickshire police response you have just heard was triggered by an evidence file that was couriered to me anonymously. It landed on my desk just after 8 p.m. I could not believe what I was reading and, to be honest, almost dismissed it as a hoax, until this was emailed to me.”

  He pointed back at the screen where the live feed had been playing. He put it back to the start of the recording and paused it.

  “I haven’t seen the first bit of this recording but, as soon as it arrived, it was obvious from the audio that a threat to life situation was occurring at this Loughborough Clinic. The email stated that what I was hearing was happening in real time. I made the decision to protect life before doing anything else. I am assuming the events before we all started hearing the recording will give evidence to support what is in this file.”

  The same assistant commissioner, Richard Washington, pushed back again.

  “That is all very noble Mark. You have saved some lives, but I still don’t understand why we are involved.”

  Mark glared at him, unimpressed by his insubordination.

  “Well Richard. I will explain. This file alleges that the Loughborough Clinic was the centre of an illegal baby-making scheme. Rich clients were paying huge sums of money for the doctor at the clinic to create designer babies using unsuspecting and unwilling girls as enforced surrogates. It appears all these girls were admitted to the clinic as drug addicts, cured of their addiction and then violated. It alleges that the doctor used illegal drugs to keep them sedated for long periods and supress any memories of what happened to them. Four of the original five girls are dead. Allegedly murdered by the man that was shooting in the clinic. The fifth girl, Anya Novak, was the woman he was trying to kill. Somehow, she had got in the clinic, trying to find two new girls who were allegedly having the same thing done to them.”

  Richard had clearly not picked up on the vibes from his boss as he pushed back some more.

  “Yes, sounds terrible Mark. Still doesn’t explain why we are involved.”

  Mark’s anger rose and he slammed his fist on the file.

  “Because the fucking prime minister of this country is alleged to be one of the clients of the clinic.”

  The room descended into complete silence. Shock across everyone’s face. Richard broke the silence.

  “Fuck me. I am sorry Boss. That is fucking unbelievable.”

  “I know. The evidence is very comprehensive, albeit almost certainly containing information that was obtained illegally. We need to watch this recording. It should cement everything that is alleged.”

  Mark clicked the play button and they all watched as the horror slowly revealed itself. They watched as Anya entered the clinic through an outside door. Spoke to her partner and asked to be let in the door. They all clocked it. Someone was helping them remotely.

  She was recording the images as she entered a cl
inical white-walled corridor. The full horror appeared soon after. One girl, pregnant and hooked up to all sorts of machines, not awake. Followed by another girl, in another room but with the same set-up. The gasps of Anya as she came upon the scene were loud and reflected the shock in the command centre.

  They watched as she left the girls and went into another room. An operating theatre. They watched captivated as she looked around the room and seemed to stumble, followed by a haunting comment.

  “I have been here before.”

  The images stopped as she placed the phone in her pocket. The sound of the doctor’s voice came over loud and clear. There was sounds of a struggle. Anya sounded like she was in control. The doctor was spilling his guts. Confessing to all the crimes, including being a paedophile.

  The gunshots started. Commotion. Bradley Williams and Anya arguing. The point that Mark had first starting listening to the live recording. Another gunshot. More arguing. More threats to kill from Bradley. A crash at the door. Anya’s partner entering the scene. A struggle. Gunshot. Silence. The police response.

  After taking in all that they had just seen, they listened to Mark as he continued to outline the full extent of the alleged conspiracy. The team began to understand why this was going to be the defining moment in their careers.

  “Jesus Christ Mark. Do you believe that this is all true?” asked Rachel Brownlow, one of the other assistant commissioners sitting round the table.

  “I fear it is. We can’t deny what we have just seen and heard. The doctor and Bradley Williams have pretty much confessed to their crimes. We have to arrest all the clients, George Walker and Hassan Chandra on conspiracy charges. They will all have to be interviewed under caution and we need to get investigation teams looking at each aspect of this evidence file while we do that. I will Gold, Richard you will Silver and we need to get our Bronzes in place ASAP.”

  “What about the children?” asked Rachel.

  “Can you contact the head of social services? I think we have no choice but to immediately extract the children from their families and put them into temporary care.”

  “Are you sure that is wise? What about the mothers?”

  “Well, as harsh as this sounds, according to the file, none of them are the real mothers. Whether they are aware of their husbands’ parts in this is unclear but the kids are not theirs to keep.”

  “OK, I will speak to her when you have finished the briefing.”

  Simon Norton, the final assistant commissioner present, tried to deal with the ‘elephant in the room’.

  “What about William Hardacre?”

  Mark shuffled nervously.

  “I really don’t know. The file alleges his involvement but of all the alleged conspirators he is the one that seems to have the least concrete evidence against him.”

  Jennifer Ragnor, the DCS in charge of Major Crime, piped up.

  “Are we really surprised? We have been trying to nail this bastard for years. His name comes up in so many of my teams’ major enquiries but we have never got close enough to nail him. He is a professional crook. His influence is phenomenal. He got James the PM job and has undoubtedly been pulling his strings. This has his dirty fingers all over it but I agree Mark, there is no point pursuing him if the evidence is flaky.”

  Mark rubbed his face.

  “Thanks Jenny. We can’t move on William yet. It is going to be bad enough that we are arresting his two sons. Let’s get the first round of arrests done, start the investigations and see where it takes us.”

  “So, Boss,” said Richard with a certain amount of mischief in his tone, “who is going to arrest the PM and how do we do it? I don’t think I have a SOP for that!”

  Mark ignored the attempt at levity.

  “I will do it personally. I will need to contact the home secretary, the mayor and inform the Palace. This is not going to be easy and the press coverage is going to be off the scale. Richard, can you get the director of comms briefed urgently and get her team and the Mayor’s comms team moving on this as a priority.”

  “Will do Boss.”

  “Right, Rachel can you come with me to Downing Street. Richard, can you get your Silver command running, sort out comms and get your Bronze investigation commanders in place. Simon, can you personally supervise the arrests of the other conspirators and get them all booked in here. I don’t want any other stations dealing with this. Jenny, can you go up to Warwickshire and take control of the interviews with Anya, Rob and Bradley.”

  They all agreed and left the room. This was going to be a long night.

  86

  Mark Chesterfield and his assistant commissioner, Rachel Brownlow, drove into Downing Street. They were met at the door by the close protection officer, who let them in. James Hardacre was in his private office finishing his work for the day. As they entered the office, James knew the game was up. As Mark began to read him his rights his wife came into the room.

  “What is going on? Do you not know who you are dealing with?” she exclaimed with an indignation that was soon to be completely torn down.

  Mark was as polite as he could be. “Madam, I am sorry to have to do this, but your husband needs to come with us. I am also sorry to tell you that you will shortly receive a visit from social services and they will almost certainly take your daughter away.”

  Annabelle Hardacre couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “James, what are they talking about? What has this got to do with Sophie?”

  Despite all his power and self-confidence, James was beaten.

  “Annabelle, I am so sorry. I have been a fool. Sophie is my child, our child, but I broke the law to get her. I am so sorry. So many people have been hurt. I need to go with these officers and sort this out.”

  “You’re sorry. YOU’RE SORRY. What in God’s name does that mean? This isn’t just some minor mishap James where sorry is enough. This is our daughter. What have you done?”

  Mark tried to lead James away. Annabelle grabbed James and glared at Mark.

  “No, you bloody don’t. He is not leaving here until I get an explanation.”

  “I have to go Annabelle. I am under arrest.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck. You damn well tell me what you have done. This is to do with your father, isn’t it? What has he made you do now?”

  Mark decided that discretion was the best approach.

  “Look Mr and Mrs Hardacre. I do need to take Mr Hardacre with me, but I can give you five minutes in your private study, so you can sort things out.”

  Annabelle Hardacre seemed mildly appreciative of the gesture despite her burning rage. They walked into James’ study and closed the door. The volume of the conversation made it clear that this had come as a complete shock to Annabelle Hardacre.

  As Mark and Rachel waited outside, feeling awkward and mildly voyeuristic at having to see and hear the complete meltdown of the PM, they discussed the immediate implications of what Annabelle had said.

  “Well, Rachel. Interesting that Mrs Hardacre immediately accused his father of being involved?”

  “Yes, there is clearly no love lost there and suggests he has been far more involved in James’ professional and personal life than she wanted him to be.”

  “I wonder whether she will make a statement against him?”

  “Hmm, Jenny would be stoked if we could get something on him.”

  Within a few minutes the shouting subsided and James came out, ashen faced. “Let’s go,” he said in a barely audible tone. The sound of a defeated man. Annabelle stayed in the study, the sounds of her complete devastation evident in the tears and moaning that emanated from her.

  “Rachel, will you stay with Mrs Hardacre and supervise the situation when social services arrive?”

  “Of course, Mark.”

  With that, Mark led the PM out to the waiting ca
r. They spared him the indignity of being handcuffed. James got in the car, head bowed as they sped away.

  Whilst all the arrests had been executed as discreetly as possible, the home secretary and mayor of London had no choice but to hold an urgent press conference, the like of which would never be seen again. The worldwide media frenzy was unprecedented. It seemed as though the press had all the sordid details within minutes of the arrests being made. The press teams at the Met and the Mayor’s office were perplexed at how the news had broken so quickly, which had put them on the back foot from the off. They didn’t have time to work out whether they had a leak. This was DEFCON 1 in anyone’s PR nightmare.

  *

  In a flat in Reading, a man sat eating Jaffa Cakes, very pleased with himself. They hadn’t discussed leaking the details to the press but he had decided it was a good insurance policy against the risk of further police corruption. He watched as the news channels and main TV channels around the world ran constant updates about the unfolding events.

  *

  Rob and Anya had their wounds attended to. Both of them were stabilised and given separate private rooms with armed guards. They had been made aware that the press was hounding the hospital to let them make a statement but they had been advised to rest by the doctors. They had been told by the local police that a senior officer from the Met was on the way to take over the investigation. It was all academic. All they wanted to do was sleep. After that, all Anya wanted to do was to get her daughter.

  87

  Mark Chesterfield sat in his Gold briefing. It was 9 a.m. and he had got barely three hours’ sleep. The press scrutiny was immense. The press teams had been working all through the night, trying to contain the clamour for information and explanations.

  The arrests had been executed efficiently and the investigations were well underway. Jenny had Bradley Williams secured in the local hospital after surgery had saved his life. Anya and Rob had armed protection while they recovered.

  The briefing quickly went through the main points and Mark tasked out the most immediate and urgent actions, including the formal interviews with the prime suspects, which were scheduled to start that morning. As he brought the briefing to a close, his PA walked in the room, looking tense.