Operative 66 : A Novel

by McDermott, Andy

  The suppressor’s muzzle jabbed into Maxwell’s stomach. ‘Back,’ Reeve said quietly.

  Maxwell froze. Reeve watched his eyes. He could see his mind working frenziedly behind them. Assessing the situation, calculating odds, deciding on a response . . .

  A split-second – and the choice was made.

  CHAPTER 29

  Maxwell retreated.

  Reeve moved with him, his coat shielding the weapon from the passengers. He directed Maxwell against the connecting door. Reeve’s eyes never broke contact with Maxwell’s. The slightest hint of impending action, and he would fire.

  Maxwell knew it. He waited until the sliding doors closed before glancing away. A flick of Reeve’s own gaze. Blake was outside, on the platform. Alarm crossed his face as he realised Maxwell wasn’t with him. The train started to move. Blake looked through the windows – to see both men still inside.

  Then he was gone.

  Reeve grabbed the older man’s right wrist with his left hand. Maxwell was right-handed, his gun – he surely had one – holstered on the left. Reaching it with his free hand would now be awkward. He would be dead before his fingers touched it.

  Maxwell’s expression told Reeve he wasn’t going to try. Rather than speak, Reeve’s eyes flicked towards the little microphone. Maxwell understood his meaning. He warily reached up with his left hand and pulled it until it popped loose.

  The moment it was disconnected, he spoke. ‘So you’re not going to kill me.’

  Reeve kept the gun pressed against his stomach. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘If you were, I’d be dead already.’

  ‘The day’s not over.’

  Maxwell shook his head with sardonic humour. ‘You’ve got three minutes before the next station. What do you want, Alex?’

  ‘What do I want?’ Reeve leaned closer, voice dropping to a growling whisper. ‘I want to know why you tried to kill me.’

  Maxwell nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if a belief had just been confirmed. ‘It wasn’t my decision.’

  ‘Whose was it?’

  ‘The boss’s, of course.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your profile said you were a security threat.’

  Reeve was briefly silent, unable to believe his ears. ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘Pretty much my initial reaction. But I had my orders.’

  Reeve struggled to process the revelation. He’d been declared a security threat? But he hadn’t done anything wrong . . . ‘Why was I declared Fox Red?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Maxwell replied. He seemed almost apologetic. ‘It wasn’t because of anything I wrote, though. I wasn’t lying when I said you were an exemplary recruit.’

  ‘Thank you,’ was Reeve’s sarcastic reply.

  ‘I’m serious. Serious enough that after you escaped – I was genuinely impressed, by the way—’

  More sarcasm. ‘Again, thanks.’

  ‘—I checked back over your file. I wanted to see why you’d been flagged.’

  ‘And what did you find?’

  ‘Long story short, there wasn’t one thing. More like lots of little things.’

  Reeve became impatient. They would soon reach the next station. ‘Such as?’

  Maxwell’s dark eyes revealed a flicker almost of amusement. ‘Well, that’s the interesting part. Do you remember when we talked about your deep loathing of the British class system?’

  Reeve’s brow creased in confusion. ‘No.’

  ‘Nor do I. But it’s flagged in the profile as a point against you. I didn’t write it, but . . . it’s there.’

  ‘So someone doctored my profile to make me look like a traitor?’

  A small shrug. ‘I don’t know. I don’t have access to the whole thing. Only the parts I was responsible for.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘Nobody at Mordencroft. The only person with access to all SC9’s files is the boss.’ He hesitated, then: ‘Sir Simon Scott.’

  It was the first time Reeve had heard his name. The head of SC9 was a figure shrouded in mystery, and menace.

  What to do with that knowledge? He wasn’t sure. But the three minutes were more than halfway gone . . .

  ‘I need to see him.’ The words came out almost before the idea had fully crystallised.

  Surprise on Maxwell’s face. ‘You want to see the boss?’

  ‘I am not a traitor,’ Reeve insisted. ‘I need to know why he declared me Fox Red.’

  The older man seemed conflicted. ‘He’s out of the country,’ he finally said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘France. He has a villa in Provence. Spends a lot of time there.’

  ‘Nice work if you can get it.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s all right for some.’ Another moment of contemplation, then: ‘Villa Mielena, about three kilometres north-west of Montsalier.’

  It was Reeve’s turn to be surprised, even as he memorised the location. ‘You’re helping me?’

  ‘I don’t believe you’re a traitor,’ was the reply. ‘Something’s going on – and I think you’re the patsy. I can’t investigate it any further than I have. Not without drawing attention. But you can.’

  ‘As long as SC9 don’t kill me.’

  A wry smile. ‘You’ve managed all right so far. So keep doing what you do. Just don’t tell Scott I told you how to find him. I don’t want to be declared Fox Red either.’

  The train started to slow. ‘What about Scott?’ Reeve hurriedly asked. ‘Is he with his family?’

  ‘No. He does have dogs, though. Oh, and he’ll have minders.’

  ‘Great.’ Nearby passengers prepared to disembark. Reeve hesitated, then released Maxwell’s wrist.

  Maxwell stayed still. ‘I won’t stop you,’ he assured him.

  Despite everything, Reeve believed him. He drew the gun back. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll deny this talk happened, obviously.’ They both managed to smile. The train came into the station. ‘Alex,’ Maxwell said, serious once more, ‘we won’t stop hunting you. Why don’t you just get out of the country and run? You know how to disappear.’

  ‘I want answers,’ said Reeve. ‘And I want to prove that I’m innocent.’ The train halted.

  ‘And you think you’ll be allowed back into SC9 as if nothing’s happened?’

  He had no reply to that. But then the doors opened. He backed away from Maxwell. The other man didn’t move. Reeve left the carriage, slipping the PPK back into his coat. Where was he? Caledonian Road, according to the signs. The name meant nothing. He followed the passengers towards the exit as the train set off again. One last look back, momentarily catching Maxwell’s eye, then his mentor was gone.

  Maxwell watched Reeve until the train entered the tunnel. A long exhalation, then he took out his phone, waiting to regain reception. When he got a signal at the next stop, he disembarked and called Blake. ‘I’m at Holloway Road. Tell everyone to catch up.’ He disconnected before the other man could reply.

  It took ten minutes before everyone reached him. Locke’s face was ashen, his expression a mix of pain and fury. ‘You okay?’ Maxwell asked.

  ‘Beyond the newly reopened stab wound? Yes,’ came the reply through clenched teeth.

  Stone’s anger was much closer to the surface. ‘What the fuck happened? How did that piece of shit get past us?’

  ‘We underestimated him,’ was Maxwell’s simple reply.

  ‘He got to you – and you’re still alive,’ said Blake.

  Maxwell gave him a sardonic look. ‘You sound disappointed.’

  ‘More surprised. That he’s still alive, as well. What did he want?’

  ‘He wanted what I thought he wanted. To know why he was declared Fox Red.’

  ‘What, he really doesn’t know?’ Flynn exclaimed.

  ‘
So he says.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’ asked Blake.

  ‘Nothing, because there’s nothing to tell. I don’t know why he was declared Fox Red either. He wasn’t happy, but there was nothing he could do about it. He kept me at gunpoint until he got off at Caledonian Road, then ran.’

  Stone shook his head. ‘Jesus. Complete fucking cluster-fuck. And you didn’t shoot him soon as his gun was off you?’

  Maxwell gave him a cold glare. ‘I generally try not to risk mowing down British civilians, Mark. SC9 can cover up a lot of things on our home turf. That is not one of them.’

  ‘So now what?’ said Flynn. ‘Reeve got away. We fucked up. The boss won’t be happy.’

  ‘I fucked up,’ Maxwell corrected. ‘Yes, there’s plenty of culpability to go around. But ultimately, this was my plan, and it didn’t work. Let me take care of the reports. I’ll take the hit from the boss. For now, get back to the safehouse. Go separately, and make sure you’re not followed. Just in case.’

  ‘You think Reeve might try to track us?’ Blake said.

  ‘I’m not discounting any possibility right now.’

  The group dispersed. Maxwell waited until they were gone, then took out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts to one listed simply as ‘Scott’.

  He called the secure line. ‘Maxwell, sir,’ he said, on getting a reply. ‘I’m afraid the plan didn’t work.’ A pause, then: ‘Reeve never showed up.’

  CHAPTER 30

  ‘You’re okay?’ Connie said, relieved.

  ‘Yeah,’ Reeve replied, as he entered her car. Baseball cap back on, he had made a circuitous tour of London before phoning her.

  She pulled away. ‘What happened? Did you find him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I need to go to the south of France.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ They exchanged looks, the tension broken by laughter. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He told me how to find the man who gave the order to kill me.’

  ‘So . . . he’s on your side?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Reeve had given Maxwell’s motives a great deal of thought. Could he believe him? His former teacher was taking a great risk by letting him go. If the boss – Sir Simon Scott – found out, he would also be declared Fox Red. But . . . something didn’t feel right. Was giving him Scott’s location a way to draw him into a trap?

  He had used Jammer’s phone to learn more about Scott himself. What little he could, anyway. Sir Simon Scott, GBE, had been knighted in 2010 for ‘services to Her Majesty’s Government’. What those services actually were remained mysterious. He was a Cambridge graduate, a civil servant, and sixty-three years old. Anything else was beyond the knowledge of the world’s search engines. There wasn’t even a photo of him online.

  The absence of information, ironically, let Reeve infer plenty. Scott had almost certainly followed a career in British Intelligence. Before heading SC9, he would have been high up in MI5 or MI6. Such people made it a point to avoid featuring in the news.

  The spider at the centre of the web. Scott had been the only one to see every report on his potential new recruits. And for some reason, he had decided Reeve was a traitor. Fox Red. Why?

  Reeve was going to find out.

  ‘But his boss is in France,’ he went on. ‘Provence. That’s why I need to go.’

  ‘You want to meet him?’ said Connie. ‘Won’t that be dangerous?’

  ‘Probably. But no more than staying in London.’

  She eyed him. ‘You didn’t get into another fight, did you?’

  ‘No,’ he only slightly lied. ‘Some close calls, though. I got lucky. But,’ he admitted ruefully, ‘I doubt I will again. Not against the same people.’

  They stopped at traffic lights. ‘So where do you want to go now?’ Connie asked. ‘Back to Jammer’s flat?’

  ‘Yeah. But I need to go back to your place too. I want to ask Mr Brownlow a favour.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘I’m hoping he’ll lend me his passport.’

  ‘Why do you want to borrow his passport?’ she asked. The answer came almost before she finished speaking. ‘What? You want to disguise yourself as Philip?’

  ‘It’s him or Jammer, and Jammer’s a drug dealer. If he’s been flagged for anything, I’ll be stopped. I can’t risk that.’

  The lights changed, and Connie set off again. ‘He’s twenty years older than you.’

  ‘I can do it. You’ll be surprised.’

  ‘I’ll be very surprised.’ She turned, heading for Jammer’s flat.

  They stopped in the visitors’ car park. Reeve went in alone. He checked the entrance of Jammer’s apartment before entering. A hair he had stuck between the door and frame was still there. A very old trick, but one that still worked. The drug dealer hadn’t been home. If Connie was right, he would be in hospital for at least another day.

  He entered. As per his plan, he had stashed most of Jammer’s drug money in a locker. He took a wad of the remaining cash from the safe. A moment of thought, then he also collected the iPad. He returned to the car. Connie eyed the tablet. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A way to make sure Jammer doesn’t cause you any more trouble. Oh, and when we come back, can you bring your laptop?’

  ‘Can’t you use that?’

  ‘It’ll be easier to work on a proper computer. Besides, I want to keep this somewhere safe. Jammer’ll come back home eventually.’

  They drove to Connie’s. Reeve got her to patrol the neighbouring streets before stopping. Nothing triggered any mental alarm bells. ‘I think it’s clear,’ he finally said. ‘But let’s be quick.’

  They entered the house. Connie checked the mail, then unlocked her flat. ‘I’ll get my laptop,’ she said.

  He looked around the hall while he waited. Leaving the iPad at Connie’s was too obvious a hiding place. The same for the other flats . . .

  The radiator. He peered behind it, seeing a gap large enough to conceal the tablet. Despite the miserable weather, it was nearly summer; the heating wouldn’t be turned on. He slipped the machine into the hiding place and stood back. It was out of sight.

  Connie returned with her laptop and locked up. ‘Okay, got it,’ she said. ‘Let’s see Philip.’

  Brownlow was in. He responded to Reeve’s request with surprise, but accepted. ‘After what you did for me, I’m more than happy to help.’ He rooted through a drawer.

  Reeve took out the money. ‘This is to pay for it.’

  Brownlow did a double-take at the thick bunch of notes. ‘But – that must be over a thousand pounds.’

  ‘About two thousand. Consider it a refund from Jammer. You could use it to find a better flat. Somewhere you won’t be hassled by drug dealers.’

  ‘I – I can’t take that,’ said Brownlow.

  Reeve put the money on the table. ‘I’ll leave it there.’

  The older man looked torn. ‘I’ll . . . think about it.’ He turned back to the drawer, though kept glancing at the cash. ‘Here it is.’

  He handed over his passport. Reeve flicked through it. It had been issued eight years prior, still valid for two. Brownlow looked far younger and more vibrant in the photo. Stress had aged and drained him. ‘This is great, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll get it back as soon as I can.’

  ‘What do you need it for?’ said Brownlow. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’ Reeve gave him a look. ‘I won’t ask.’

  Reeve and Connie said goodbye, then left. They returned to Jammer’s, taking a roundabout route. No one followed them. ‘So what now?’ Connie asked after they entered the flat.

  ‘Book a trip through the Channel Tunnel on Le Shuttle,’ he said. ‘I’ll use Jammer’s credit card.’

  ‘The train?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s the weakest part of UK
border security. Hundreds of vehicles board each train within a very short window. The Border Force officers don’t have time for detailed identity checks. They count the people in each car, and check the passport photos. As long as things look right, they let the car through. If you’re not on a watch list, you’re unlikely to be stopped.’

  ‘You sound very confident about that.’

  ‘I’ve gone through before in disguise on a fake ID. For an exercise,’ he clarified. ‘I should be able to look enough like Brownlow to fool them.’

  Connie remained dubious. ‘You know what would make it easier?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you weren’t driving. If you’re in the passenger seat, you’re further away, and in shadow. It’ll be harder for them to see your face.’

  Reeve knew immediately where she was leading. ‘You can’t come with me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s too dangerous for you.’

  ‘No, it’ll be safer. I still don’t want to go home in case Jammer’s friends come back. Or the people looking for you, for that matter. And I can’t stay at his place; like you said, he’ll come home eventually.’ Her tone shifted from concern for herself to him. ‘It’ll be safer for you too. Remember when we checked out the football ground together? The guy there didn’t spot you – because you were with me. They’re looking for one man, not a couple. And you were planning to take Jammer’s car, yes?’ He nodded. ‘What if he’s reported it stolen? Or he’s got twenty bags of heroin hidden in the doors?’

  She had a point. ‘So you’re suggesting I take – we take – your car?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll call in sick. I wouldn’t normally leave the other nurses in the lurch, but this is important.’

  ‘It’s important to me, not to you.’

  ‘You’re important to me.’ The statement caught him off-guard, leaving him unsure how to respond. She blushed a little, as if also surprised by her words. ‘You’re my patient, remember? I just fixed you. I don’t want you to get messed up again.’

  He felt his own cheeks warming. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But . . . it really will be dangerous. The man I need to talk to will have security.’