The Robert Finlay Trilogy

by Matt Johnson

  ‘PMC is what they call it. Private military contractor. I do the circuit and travel wherever the work takes me.’

  ‘Good money?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘Yes, if you’re thinking of it. But age and being on Scotland Yard’s most-wanted list might limit your options a bit.’

  Kevin didn’t answer. I knew he’d be mulling things over, thinking through ideas on how he was going to continue to make a living. I didn’t envy him.

  Grady took our plates and spoons and offered to wash up while he went outside for a cigarette. ‘Bothy rules – no smoking,’ he quipped.

  As Grady slipped out the door, Kevin looked at me quizzically. ‘I never did understand why you applied for selection, Finlay.’

  ‘To be an SAS officer, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. I remember that first time we met at the end of the Fan dance exercise. You were done in.’ Kevin’s speech slurred slightly. In the half-light I couldn’t see clearly, but my guess was the beer was having an effect.

  I was halfway through my explanation of how a bully of a Colour Sergeant at Sandhurst had been the motivation for my application when Kevin opened the whisky bottle and thrust a plastic tumbler into my hand.

  ‘I was bullied too,’ he said, his words now drawn out and deliberate. ‘Local lad who was a bit of a boxer liked to pick on people at the church disco. Paul fuckin’ Slater … I remember that bastard alright. He failed to get in the Marines so I decided to prove myself better than him. Well, I got a taste for it, didn’t I, see? And so I decided I wanted to go back to our village wearing SAS wings so I could find him and show him.’

  ‘Did you?’ I asked.

  ‘Nah … bastard was in jail for assaulting his ex-girlfriend. I made sure she promised to tell him I’d been looking for him though.’

  I resumed my story and finished just as Grady reappeared. He found a third beaker in a store cupboard, wiped the dust away and poured himself a large slug from the bottle. Before long, it was empty and our host returned to the car where he claimed to have another. He was true to his word, but on his return, I had fallen asleep.

  Had I not been, things may have turned out very differently. A taste from the new bottle or just a glimpse of its label may have given me enough of a clue as to what Chris Grady was up to and the real reason he’d asked Kevin to persuade me to join them.

  But I was asleep. And by the time I realised, it was too late.

  Chapter 56

  South London

  ‘Quick as you can, Stuart.’ Toni glanced behind her. The street was deserted. There was no response as he continued to jiggle the front door lock.

  Breaking in to people’s houses was always easier in the summer months, she mused. With all the windows now closed due to the cold weather, it would only be Stuart’s skills with the lock tools that decided whether they gained entry that night.

  All at once, the door gave way. ‘We’re in,’ he whispered.

  Stuart stepped forward carefully, scanning the hallway of the terraced Victorian house for any indication of occupation or an alarm system. There was none. He pulled a set of night vision goggles from a bag that hung across his shoulder, flicked a switch near his temple and gave the ‘OK’ sign. He was ready. Toni had stressed that, until the house was cleared, they would not speak.

  They checked downstairs first. Stuart took the lead, listening and then moving. No lights, nothing touched. No clues to be left that they had been there.

  Next came the stairs. Two bedrooms and a bathroom on the first floor left to check. Toni could see Stuart treading carefully, making sure to apply his weight to the edges of the stairs rather than the centre. Use the strong points, avoid the creaks that wooden treads under stress would make and reveal your presence. On each step he applied pressure to test it and, only once satisfied it was safe, did he move forward. Carefully, and without rushing, they reached the landing. All the doors were slightly ajar. There was no sound, no movement – no indication of life.

  The nearest door looked to be the bathroom. Stuart pushed it open very, very slowly. Just as with the front door, the hinges stayed silent. Toni watched as he leaned around into the room, paused for a moment and then stepped back. As he’d done with the previous parts of the house, he gave a thumbs-up with his right hand to indicate the all-clear.

  Toni had figured that, if Miles was at home, he would be using the front bedroom to sleep in. It looked to be the largest and, as she’d suggested to Stuart before leaving the car, what kind of a person buys a house only to sleep in one of the smaller rooms? They’d agreed, therefore, to check the master bedroom last.

  The final door creaked very quietly as it opened and, for a moment, Toni wondered if it might be sufficient to wake someone. They needn’t have worried. As they crept into the large but unusually tidy bedroom, it was clear Miles wasn’t at home. The house was deserted.

  Twenty minutes later, electronic sweep and a cursory search complete, they returned to Stuart’s car. Only once the doors were closed did Toni speak.

  ‘He’s left the hot water system on but, apart from that, I’d say he hasn’t been here for several days at least.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘The waste bins. They were clean and had fresh bags in them. If someone from the Service had been here they might have emptied the bins but we never put fresh empty bags in place afterwards. No, I think it’s more likely Miles is in hiding somewhere. He’s left things nice and neat with nothing that would rot or make the place smell ready for when he makes a reappearance.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s been taken out like everyone else who knows about this document?’

  Toni paused for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that.’

  ‘No need to apologise. I was starting to piece things together anyway. In a small office like ours, it’s hard to keep secrets for long.’

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of that. But I did tell Nell to be discreet.’

  ‘No worries. What’s done is done. And now that I do know there’s really no undoing it.’

  ‘Mark my words though, Stuart. Do not talk to anyone apart from me about it. If Miles turns up in the Thames having suffered the same fate as everyone else involved with Al Anfal then…’

  ‘It’s a reminder of what happens to those that talk?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Toni.

  ‘So what did you think of Nell’s theory?’

  ‘About Miles?’

  ‘About the document – that it’s the full version of the Muslim Brotherhood “Project” document?’

  ‘I think she could be right. She’s working on it now, even as we speak. Shall we call her to see if there’s any news?’

  Stuart agreed. Even though it was gone midnight, they both knew Nell would still be at her desk. Given sufficient incentive and enough caffeine to keep her going, she would work through the night if needs be. They were right, and she had news.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Nell said, apologetically.

  Toni was livid, and handed the phone to Stuart to give herself a few minutes to think. Frustrated by what she had seen as inconsistencies in Dr Armstrong’s translations, Nell had contacted one of her friends through their dark-web connection to see if she could give her a second opinion.

  ‘Tell me what you learned, Nell,’ said Stuart. He turned on the speaker to the phone so they could both hear the response.

  ‘About the listening device or the document?’

  ‘Let’s start with the bug.’

  Nell spoke quickly. ‘OK. I didn’t get too far with it other than to confirm there is a receiver and that it seems to be linked to a personal computer. Maybe a laptop or something similar. But it’s switched off at the moment so I can’t trace it.’

  ‘Will you able to if the user switches it on?’

  ‘Definitely. I’ve set up an activation warning in case that happens but … well, let’s just say that if the user never turns it on again, we’ll never know who it was.’


  ‘We’re pretty sure we know who it was, Nell. We just need to know what he has. What about the document?’

  ‘Slightly better. It was the reference to the word “currency” that didn’t seem to make sense. In several places the word is used in regard to banking arrangements and I was cool with that. But, in other places where Armstrong translated sections as “currency exchanges” it was more confused. I thought the translation may be close but not quite right and that’s what Melissa confirmed.’

  ‘So, who is this Melissa?’ Stuart asked.

  ‘A friend of mine from uni. Is Toni cross?’ Nell sounded confused. ‘Is that why she passed the phone to you? Tell her don’t worry, Melissa has no idea what I do and she thinks it was for a thesis I’m writing.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, I am sure.’ Nell said angrily, at what Toni sensed was a reaction to having her judgement questioned.

  ‘OK, OK,’ said Stuart. ‘Let’s keep cool. What exactly did she say?’

  ‘The word was meant to be “trade”, as in an exchange of goods rather than currency or money, as Armstrong thought.’

  ‘Did it make a difference?’

  ‘Yes, very much so. The goods they were talking about are people – people who they send on trade routes that they’ve established between countries.’

  ‘People? … You mean terrorists they send to do jobs?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes; they seem to use the routes they describe for that purpose, but the main reason they use the routes is to generate currency in exchange for those people.’

  Toni snatched the phone from Stuart’s fist. ‘Get to the point, Nell,’ she said, impatiently. ‘We haven’t got all night’.

  Nell didn’t bite. ‘OK. Well, I’m sure I’ll be able to tell you more in the morning but what I can tell you now is that one of Al Anfal’s principal cash-generators is people. They trade in slaves.’

  Chapter 57

  Grady looked like shit but it hadn’t affected his skills.

  ‘What the fuck,’ grunted Kevin. A hand slid sluggishly from the bunk as he opened his eyes and then rolled noisily onto his side.

  I didn’t reply. I was focussing on the finger now resting on the trigger of the Glock that was pointing at my face. The hand that held it was steady, calm. No fear or sign of adrenalin, a man in control.

  I’d woken first and, as the other two slept, I’d nipped out into the adjacent woodland to answer a call of nature that had been nagging at me since I had first started to stir. I scraped a shallow pit, did what I needed to do and then covered it over with the pine needles that littered the ground. I wasn’t too thorough and, as I fastened my trousers I thought back to times when operational necessity had meant that even using a scrape in the dirt was banned in case it might reveal your presence to a potential enemy. Taking a dump in a plastic bag, learning how to mask the scent of Western-European urine, all were things you needed to learn to do if you were to survive. But those were days long since passed. I now preferred my creature comforts.

  Grady had been awake and was at the door to the bothy as I returned. He held a black bin liner in his hand and seemed to be in the process of clearing away the empty cans of beer.

  ‘You going to get back to London?’ he’d asked, quietly, as I followed him inside.

  I’d then checked my watch. A quarter to eight. We’d slept late. ‘I think so,’ I’d replied. ‘Soon as Kevin wakes up I’ll put on a brew and then be away.’

  It was as Grady had reached for the two whisky bottles that things suddenly went awry. I wasn’t really paying attention as the first one went into the bag, but as he picked up the second I saw the label, and I recognised it. Penderyn, the rare Welsh make I’d only ever seen drunk by two men. One, a fellow detective. The other, a recently deceased weapons inspector. And just two days earlier, I’d seen three men, who I’d deduced were from the Security Services, searching the home of that weapons inspector and I’d seen one of those men take a bottle of that same rare whisky from the house.

  In that instant I thought back to where I had lain hidden in the gorse, watching the men searching Armstrong’s cottage, not close enough to see their faces or hear them speak, but near enough to recognise the practised skill with which they worked and the athletic way they moved on their feet.

  And in that same moment in time, Grady must have seen the change in my demeanour and realised he was rumbled. And then he moved very, very fast.

  ‘My thoughts exactly, Kev,’ I said, focussing on Grady’s trigger finger. ‘I think our friend here isn’t quite who we thought.’

  ‘Keep still, both of you,’ Grady barked. ‘Finlay, get on all fours, you know the drill. Any funny business and I’ll put a round in your foot.’

  ‘I need a piss,’ said Kevin, from his bunk.

  ‘Hold onto it.’

  I did as ordered, sensing that I needed to discover exactly what was going on before thinking how we were going to get out of it. Old lessons came back to me on how to handle being captured. Grady was as professional as it was possible to be, so we weren’t likely to be shot by accident or out of temper. But he might be prepared to wound us if that was needed to maintain control. And he hadn’t killed us, which meant he had a reason for keeping us alive. A fact that, at least in the short term, could work in our favour.

  Kevin eased himself from the cot and onto the floor of the bothy. I looked up to where Grady had stepped back towards the doorway. He was pulling a phone from his pocket.

  I looked across towards my friend. Two of us, both on the floor, both suffering the effects of a night on the grog. There was no chance of jumping our captor, not yet.

  ‘Where are you?’ Grady said into the phone. A voice responded. ‘OK … as quick as you can. Things haven’t quite gone to plan but I’ve got them both covered.’

  …Them both covered. Someone at the other end of that call knew that Kevin and I were both here and were now secured. Someone who didn’t need to be told who we were and who was now on his or her way to see us.

  ‘Who was that on the phone, Chris?’ I asked.

  ‘Shut the fuck up. Now, both of you – crawl out front onto the grass.’

  Kevin made hard work of it. Several times he lay flat on his face. I wondered if he was genuinely ill or trying to get Grady close enough to give us a chance. If so, it was a wasted effort. We were dealing with someone who’d been taught the same tricks as us.

  It didn’t take long before we were where Grady wanted us, both on the grass, on all fours and facing up the track towards the cars.

  ‘Now, we wait,’ he said.

  ‘I need to take a leak,’ Kevin repeated, this time with some urgency.

  ‘I’m not stopping you,’ came the reply.

  Kevin turned his face toward me. ‘Sorry, boss.’ With that, he unzipped his fly and began to empty his bladder where he was. A smell of strong, early-morning urine hit my nostrils, and then he farted. And it was no ordinary fart. This one roared into the world with a force I suspected was helped by some considerable internal effort. He laughed. And that was the trick to get me to look across at him. As I turned, in mind to somehow register my frustration at his failure to recognise our predicament, I glanced to his groin, and I saw the grip of a 9mm pistol that was hidden down the front of his trousers. And I knew what I had to do. One chance, and don’t waste it.

  As our eyes met, I nodded. Then, dropping my right arm, I rolled fast to my right and away from him and kept rolling. Keep moving, I thought. Don’t think, just move.

  Behind me I knew Kevin would have stayed still, allowing Grady to be distracted by and focussed on me. Grady wouldn’t want to kill us, so he’d be looking to secure a safe shot that disabled. We had one chance.

  A shot discharged. Just one, and behind me I heard a thud as the round hit the earth.

  ‘Forget it, Taff. You wankers must think I was born yesterday.’

  Grady had been one step ahead of us. Far from being in the same position we thoug
ht, covering us from in front of the bothy, he had moved. Kevin now lay on his back, a Browning pointed at where I would have also expected our captor to be standing. I couldn’t see him, and I guessed neither could Kevin. And it’s pretty hard to shoot at what you can’t see.

  ‘Throw it towards the hut or the next one takes your leg.’

  Our chance was gone. And in more ways than one, for I now heard the sound of an approaching car. As Kevin threw the weapon, Grady appeared from behind a log pile. I lay on my back, craning my neck to see who was about to join us. I didn’t have to wait long. A black Range Rover pulled up. Inside, I thought I could see four occupants.

  As the driver’s door opened and a figure appeared, I rolled onto my chest to get a better look. What I saw horrified me, and at the same time answered the question as to why Grady had lured me to this spot.

  Then, if it were possible to make a bad situation worse, the front-seat passenger also came into view.

  ‘What the fuck,’ I heard Kevin utter the same words he had spoken on wakening to the sight of Grady’s pistol aimed at my head.

  In front of us stood Howard Green, and beside him someone I had never in my wildest dreams expected to ever see again.

  And some words came back to me; words I had heard a government Minister say not so very long ago – words of warning: ‘He asked me to arrange the deaths of two people, Mr Finlay.’

  And I knew – knew the warning wasn’t history, as Toni had assured me. It was current, and the means of its delivery was now staring silently at me.

  Petre Gavrić.

  Chapter 58

  New Scotland Yard

  ‘Thank you, Bill,’ Toni said, rolling her eyes, her voice flat and emotionless as she stared at the name on the screen. Too late, she realised, her use of his name had shown a familiarity she would have preferred not to.

  ‘Do you mean Commander Grahamslaw?’ said Nell.