Operative 66 : A Novel

by McDermott, Andy

  He had never admitted that before, even to himself. She held him. ‘It’s okay.’

  Reeve kissed her cheek. ‘First time I’ve ever told all that to anyone.’ But it wasn’t all of it. There was more, but . . .

  Connie spoke again before his conscience could reveal anything else. ‘And . . . I suppose you did become the best. You wouldn’t have made it into the special forces otherwise, would you?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t. Because I did push myself, SRR eventually approached me.’

  ‘You didn’t apply to join them?’

  ‘Not how it works. If you fit the bill, your CO – commanding officer – gives you “the tap”.’ He tapped the back of her shoulder to demonstrate. ‘He told me there was an opportunity in – well, he didn’t say the name. But I knew it was special forces. Turned out it was the Special Reconnaissance Regiment. They want people who can act alone under pressure. So I volunteered, went through selection – which was tough – and got in. I was in the SRR for five years. Pretty much constantly on assignment.’

  ‘Still not wanting to deal with people?’

  ‘Yeah. Ironic. I probably spent more time undercover with bad guys than with my own side. But then, I got the tap again.’

  ‘From your mystery unit that you won’t tell me about?’

  A nod. ‘I actually thought I was being kicked out of the SRR. I screwed up on a mission – at least, that was the official line. Far as I’m concerned, I did the right thing. But the right thing and the proper thing aren’t always the same.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I was undercover, abroad. We were tracking people traffickers.’

  Connie looked grim. ‘They make women work as prostitutes. I’ve had to treat some of their victims.’

  ‘You don’t know everything they do,’ he said, grim. ‘Forced prostitution’s just the start. But we were after this gang for national security reasons. We’d tracked down a major mid-level guy. The objective was to capture him. Once we had him, we’d make him give up his bosses.’

  Connie couldn’t hide a momentary frown. Reeve knew what she was thinking: you were going to torture him for information? He pressed on. ‘We moved into the target’s building. There were only a few of us. I was on my own, we’d had to mobilise fast. Something happened; I don’t know what, but he got spooked. He ran from one team – straight into me. He took a hostage. One of the people he was trafficking, a young woman – with a baby.’

  Connie’s eyes went wide. ‘Oh, God. What did you do?’

  ‘The right thing. Not the proper thing. I saved her, and the baby – by shooting him. Single round to the forehead. He died instantly.’

  The moment he said it, he knew the clinical extra detail had been a mistake. Connie stiffened. ‘But . . . they were both okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. I was . . . not popular, though.’

  ‘But you saved two innocent people.’

  ‘By killing the person we were meant to bag. That was the objective: the proper thing to do. I could have shot to wound, but – to me – it was too big a risk. He could have shot back, killed me, or his hostages. So I took him down.’

  Reeve felt her touch lighten, as if she was about to pull away. He knew why. She was a nurse, dedicated to healing, to saving lives. He had just admitted to taking one. It was a kill that he would always argue was justified. His hostage, after overcoming her shock, had burst into tears of joy at being rescued. But Connie didn’t know that. To her, any life taken was a tragedy.

  ‘The SRR’s operation was back to square one,’ he went on. ‘That’s when I thought I was finished. But then . . . someone else approached me. I was exactly what they wanted. I had a solid record – and I’d killed someone.’

  Now she withdrew. ‘They only came to you because you’d killed someone?’

  ‘In the line of duty.’

  ‘But still— What the hell kind of unit did you join?’

  Reeve took several conflicted seconds to answer. ‘It’s called SC9. It doesn’t exist – well, not officially. I can’t tell you much about it. I shouldn’t tell you anything, but . . .’ Another long pause. ‘It’s an elite special operations unit. Its members come from all parts of the British security state. Military, the intelligence services, police – anyone who actively defends the country. Once you complete training, you become an Operative. We take on new identities to become deniable assets.’

  ‘Meaning what?’ Connie asked.

  ‘If we’re caught during a mission, we’re on our own. The British government can say it knows nothing about us. So,’ he added, ‘we’re trained not to get caught.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘What kinds of missions?’

  You’re talking too much. You shouldn’t tell her. But one confession was leading to another, as if he couldn’t help himself. ‘Covert missions at home and abroad, against threats to the state. If action can’t be taken through normal channels, SC9 gets it done.’ He realised he was parroting something Maxwell once said.

  ‘You mean, against the law?’ Connie’s voice turned cold. ‘And you work in Britain? “Threats to the state”, at home – what kind of threats? People who disagree with the government?’

  He knew where she was leading. ‘I joined SC9 to protect the country – to protect the people,’ he insisted. ‘People like you, like Jaz and her baby, like Mr Brownlow. There are enemies out there who are trying to kill you. You don’t even know about them – because we stop them.’

  ‘Alex, these people are trying to kill you. They’re . . . I don’t know, state-sanctioned assassins – and you’re defending them!’

  ‘That’s not what they are.’

  ‘Then what are they?’

  He rolled away. ‘I’ve – I’ve already said too much. I can’t say any more.’

  ‘To protect me, or because you think I won’t like the answer?’

  He had no reply. Angry more at himself than her, he got out of bed. ‘Where are you going?’ she demanded.

  ‘I need to prep for tomorrow. Got to reassemble the gun.’

  ‘Oh. Great. The gun.’ She rose herself, pulling the unicorn T-shirt from her case. ‘I’m going for a shower. I need to get clean.’ She marched to the bathroom.

  ‘Connie, wait—’ The door shut.

  ‘You can sleep on the floor,’ she said from behind it.

  Reeve stared at the barrier. ‘Shit,’ he muttered, crushed. He had got close enough to someone to feel a moment of actual joy . . .

  And then he had fucked everything up.

  He had poured out his heart, made himself vulnerable – then kept talking. Now Connie knew about SC9. Not much, but anything was more than she should. Fuck!

  The shower clanked and hissed to life. A deep sigh, then he dressed and headed for the car.

  CHAPTER 35

  ‘I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over,’ the staff nurse told Stone and Flynn. ‘I can’t let you see him.’

  Stone frowned, then took out his police warrant card and badge. He held them intimidatingly close to the nurse’s face. ‘I can see anyone I want, whenever I want, miss,’ he said. ‘He’s a witness to a major crime. If I have to piss about waiting for visiting hours, my suspects will be gone. You understand?’

  ‘I thought he was mugged,’ the nurse protested.

  ‘He says he was mugged. Another witness says different. I need his side of the story, right now.’

  Flynn spoke up, playing good cop. ‘Look, we only need a few minutes. He’s not in critical condition, is he?’

  ‘No,’ the other woman replied, ‘but – it’s against regulations—’

  ‘You think whoever broke his leg cares about regulations?’ Stone sneered. ‘Think the guy who rammed a car with a baby inside cares?’ The lie got the shocked reaction he had hoped for. ‘I need to talk to him. Okay?’

 
The nurse looked around for help. It was late, and her superior was nowhere in sight. ‘Okay, but – please, be quick.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Flynn.

  ‘Just take us to him,’ Stone growled.

  The nurse led them to a room off the ward. ‘So was that what you were like when you were a cop?’ Flynn whispered. Stone nodded. ‘No wonder you got fired. All that Sweeney shite.’

  ‘I didn’t get fired,’ he hissed back. ‘I was about to be suspended pending investigation when SC9 called. I would have been cleared – just like the two other times.’

  The nurse opened the door. ‘Mr Haxhi? Sorry to bother you, but some police officers need to see you.’

  Jahmir Haxhi – Jammer – lay on the bed inside. His broken ankle was tightly bandaged following surgery, little finger splinted. He sat up in alarm, only to wince as his leg shifted. ‘What? No, I don’t want to see anyone.’

  ‘Just a minute of your time, sir,’ said Stone, with a crocodile smile. He turned to the nurse. ‘Some privacy, please? This is police business.’

  ‘We’ll be finished very soon,’ Flynn assured her. The nurse gave Jammer a worried look, but left.

  Stone waited for the door to shut, then advanced on Jammer. ‘Right then, son.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Jammer demanded, trying to cover his concern. ‘I gave a statement. I didn’t see the guy who mugged me. There’s nothing else I can tell you.’

  Stone gave Flynn a theatrical look of surprise. ‘Strange. Mugging victims are normally happy to see the police.’

  ‘They are,’ she replied, going to the other side of the bed. Jammer looked warily between them. ‘Unless they’ve got something to hide, maybe.’

  Stone leaned closer. ‘You got something to hide, Mr Haxhi?’

  ‘No, course not,’ he said.

  ‘That’s funny, ’cause when we got word about your injuries? We knew you hadn’t just been hit with a sock full of snooker balls. A professional snapped your leg, mate. A man who knows how to properly beat the shit out of someone.’

  ‘We want to know who that man was, and where they are,’ Flynn added.

  ‘I told you, I didn’t see them,’ Jammer snapped, agitated. ‘That’s all I have to say.’

  Stone shook his head. ‘That’s not good enough.’

  ‘I don’t fucking care.’ The dealer’s anger overcame his fear. ‘I’m the victim, not the suspect! Am I being detained?’ It was a question the police were required to answer. If the answer was no, the interview was legally over. Jammer knew the routine, having used it on many occasions. Without concrete reasons to push further, the cops were then powerless to ask more questions.

  ‘No, you’re not being detained,’ Stone replied.

  ‘Fine. Then fuck off. I’m tired, and my leg hurts.’

  The two visitors exchanged glances. ‘That looks like a bad break,’ said Flynn, regarding Jammer’s bandaged ankle.

  ‘Yeah,’ Stone agreed. ‘Must have been painful.’

  Jammer’s eyes flicked between them, uncertain. ‘It was. You can go now.’

  Another silent exchange – then Flynn clamped a hand over Jammer’s mouth. Her other elbow slammed down on his stomach, winding him.

  Stone grabbed his broken ankle – and twisted it.

  Jammer’s back arched in agony. Flynn hit him again to force him back down. Her hand remained locked airtight over his mouth.

  ‘Now, have I got your full fucking attention?’ Stone snarled. Jammer stared helplessly at him, eyes streaming with tears. ‘I know about you, saw your file. You’re involved in dealing drugs. You’re just a little bit clever and haven’t been caught. Lots of suspicion, never any charges. But I don’t give a shit about that. Well, that’s not true. I really, really fucking hate druggies. I’d cave in your fucking skull and dump you in the Thames given the chance. But I need some information from you.’ He released him. ‘So I’ll ask again. Who broke your leg, and where is he?’

  ‘Make a noise and we’ll break your other ankle,’ Flynn warned, before easing her hold.

  Jammer could barely speak through the pain. ‘You – you can’t do this, you cunts! I’ll fucking sue you!’

  Stone laughed. ‘We’re not ordinary cops, son. We can do whatever we fucking want. Like this.’ A glance to tell Flynn to gag him again, then he wrenched Jammer’s foot around. The wounded man’s howl escaped only as a muted keening. Flynn looked towards the door, but the nurse didn’t return.

  ‘You going to talk now?’ Stone asked as he let go. Jammer gave an anguished, frantic nod. ‘Good boy. Who did you over?’

  ‘I – I don’t know his name,’ was the breathless reply.

  ‘Describe him,’ said Flynn.

  ‘I dunno, about – about six foot. Short brown hair. He had a bandage on his left arm. Here.’ He indicated the spot on his own biceps. The two Operatives shared a knowing look. ‘I think he had grey eyes. Looked about thirty, maybe a bit less.’

  ‘See? That was easy, wasn’t it?’ Stone said mockingly. ‘So where do we find him?’

  ‘He was in a house in Streatham. Ground floor flat, 37B.’ He gave the street address. ‘A woman lives there.’

  ‘You know her name?’ asked Flynn.

  ‘Connie something.’

  ‘You’ve been very helpful, son,’ said Stone. He rested his hand on the broken ankle. Jammer flinched. ‘Now, you keep quiet about this little chat. Otherwise we’ll need to come back. And you don’t want that, do you?’

  Jammer blinked away more tears. ‘No. No. I don’t.’

  ‘Too fucking right you don’t.’ He straightened. ‘All right. We’ll be on our way.’

  ‘Good luck with the leg,’ Flynn added as they exited.

  The nurse hovered hesitantly nearby. ‘We’re finished,’ Stone told her. ‘I’d let Mr Haxhi have a nap now – he’s very tired.’

  Flynn used her phone to find the address as they left the hospital. ‘The flat’s right around the corner from where Haxhi was picked up.’

  Stone smiled in triumph. ‘We’ve found him.’

  They returned to their Land Rover Discovery. Flynn drove while Stone called Maxwell. ‘We got something. The guy with the broken ankle? The description he gave of his attacker matched Reeve.’

  ‘Did you get a location?’ Maxwell asked.

  ‘Yeah, a flat in Streatham. Right where he beat the guy up. You want us to go around there?’

  A reply did not come at once. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ Maxwell finally said. ‘Play it subtle for now.’

  Both Stone and Flynn were surprised. ‘You sure?’

  ‘I doubt he’ll be there any more. He would have left before the cops canvassed the area. But we might get a lead on where he’s gone. Keep posing as the police and see what you can find out.’

  ‘What if he is still there?’ said Stone.

  A faint laugh. ‘Then kill him, obviously.’

  The call ended. ‘What do you think?’ Flynn asked.

  ‘I think Maxwell’s being too fucking cautious,’ Stone replied. ‘He fucked up after the footie match, so he’s not sticking his neck out again.’

  She nodded. ‘Should we just go around there anyway?’ A check of the gun inside her jacket.

  ‘Nah. We’ll do what he says. For now. If he fucks up again and we lose Reeve a second time, it’s on him.’ A humourless chuckle. ‘Maybe the boss’ll think he let Reeve escape on purpose and Fox Red him.’

  ‘Promotions all round, hey?’

  He didn’t realise she was mocking him. ‘I wouldn’t complain about a pay rise in my first week. Come on, let’s get back.’

  The Discovery drove off into the London night.

  CHAPTER 36

  Connie woke, blinking in confusion at the unfamiliar room. Then memory returned. She was in France, with . . .

  She s
at up abruptly. She was alone. ‘Alex?’

  No answer. She checked the time. Just after eight. Her mouth was dry. Paying the price for two large glasses of wine.

  She hunched up, knees to her chin. Christ. Last night had been . . .

  Enjoyable, definitely. The first part, at least. Then it all fell apart.

  Alex had revealed things she wished she hadn’t heard. She couldn’t help but regard him differently now. She’d let herself get caught up in the adventure. A handsome man on the run from injustice, dependent upon her healing hands to survive. That was the fantasy she had created. The reality was grubby, sordid. She should have seen it. She would have seen it, if she hadn’t become besotted. He was running from professional killers because he was a professional killer.

  God. Now what should she do?

  Get out while she still could—

  Alex had taken the car keys the previous night. She searched her handbag in case he had returned them. Nope. ‘Oh, shit,’ she sighed. Whatever he was doing, she was now stuck with it.

  Reeve had awoken at six. Connie didn’t stir as he dressed and slipped away. He took the Saxo and headed north out of Banon.

  The disaster of the previous night still preyed on his mind. Any chance of taking things further with Connie was over. Rationally, practically, it shouldn’t even have been on the agenda. He was on the run, in danger; deeper involvement would endanger her too.

  But . . . he had wanted to go further. The closeness, the warmth they’d shared was something he hadn’t felt for a long time . . .

  Then he’d blown it. And it was entirely his fault.

  ‘Fuck!’ He banged his fist on the wheel. There was a reason SC9 actively discouraged personal attachments. In his vanity, he’d believed himself immune. Self-isolated, armoured against emotion, he’d thought he was safe. But he was human, just like everyone else. His weakness had been someone else caring about him. That had been all it took to break his shell.