by Mike Winter
A look of nervousness crept into Li's expression. He slumped back into the sofa, his hands grabbing the fabric tightly.
“I don’t know his name. He just brings me documents; I pay for them and pass them on to my employer. I’m just a middle man.”
There was a dull thud as the 9mm round entered the diplomat’s knee. Blood splattered onto the thick cream carpet. “Not good enough,” said Black. The cry of pain was loud as Li instinctively pressed his hands against the entry wound. “Be quiet or the next one will be in your head.”
A bead of sweat slowly rolled from Li's forehead, around his eye contours and down his cheek. His breathing became laboured as the excruciating pain in his knee took over. He did his best to avoid eye contact with Black; if he didn’t look at him, he could pretend he wasn’t there.
“Mr Li, look at me. This problem isn’t going away until you tell me what I need to know.” Black fired another round into the opposite knee. Li slid off the sofa and onto the carpet, the sound of agonising suffering escaping through his gritted teeth.
“On the desk,” he pointed to the opposite side of the room. “My laptop. Everything you need – it’s on there. Please – I need a doctor.”
Black walked over to the desk and flipped open the laptop. “Tell me the password.”
“Z…..16237……R….298,”saliva and vomit poured from his mouth.
“What am I looking for?”
“In my diary. I have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow evening. 8pm. He will be there.”
Black opened the diary. There was a name next to the allotted time. Mark Fraser. Black double clicked on the name, and it opened up an address. Hong Kong Brew House, D'Aguilar Street. Before closing down the laptop, Black checked the schedule for today; someone was due to arrive in ten minutes. The name was Chinese. Black would have to finish up quickly.
“Please, sir, call me doctor.” cried Li.
Black turned to face him. He was a mess, hunched up on the floor, blood and bone fragments seeping from his open knee wounds, his face a pungent mixture of sweat, vomit and saliva.
“I’m sorry, Mr Li, but there’s nothing a doctor can do for you now.”
Black aimed his weapon at the Li's head and pulled the trigger.
8
The house where Will Hamilton resided was at the end of a road lined with old Georgian buildings. Mid to top range BMWs and Mercedes lined either side of the street. Suburban heaven, a few miles away from the hustle and bustle of Central London.
It was dark, the moon hid behind the silhouette of slow moving clouds which took the chill out of the night air.
Stephen Jones stood in the shadows between the orange glow of the street lights. Hamilton’s house was in eerie darkness, the long windows all had closed blinds or drawn curtains. There was no sign of Hamilton’s Audi.
A check of his watch indicated it was 3am. Hamilton had several hours head start, and Jones needed information quickly. He approached the large black wooden door of Hamilton’s house and knocked loudly. There was no response. Jones tried the handle, but it was pointless; the door was locked. Jones knocked again, with more force. He waited. After about thirty seconds, a light appeared in one of the first-floor windows and a woman’s face peered through the gap in the curtains; she looked annoyed, clearly unhappy about being woken in the middle of the night. Jones gestured for her to come to the door and after a moment the face disappeared back behind the curtain.
Eventually, Jones could hear the turning of a key in the lock; the door opened slowly.
“Mrs Hamilton?” Jones asked quietly. “Is your husband home?”
Rachel Hamilton stood silently. Her long blonde hair was knotted and untidy and her face looked older than it should have. Her eyes wandered from left to right, deliberately avoiding contact with Jones’.
“Mrs Hamilton, this is important. I need to speak to your husband. Can I come in? I’m sure you don’t want to do this on the doorstep.”
“You better come in,” she said sheepishly. “But make it quick, I want to get back to sleep.”
The entrance hallway was impressive. There was a real wooden floor with a large red rug sprawled across it and a high ceiling. Rachel stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to face Jones. “We can talk here,” she said. “Before you ask, I don’t know where Will is. He came home earlier, packed a case and left. Said he had to go away for a few days. Work stuff.”
“Didn’t you ask him anything?” Jones asked curiously. He could sense that Rachel Hamilton didn’t seem overly concerned of her husband’s whereabouts.
“No. I’ve become quite used to his sudden trips away over the last twenty years. So – why are you looking for him?”
“Work stuff,” Jones replied. “Did he say where he was going?”
“Do you work with my husband?”
“Yes. That’s why I need to speak to him. There is an urgent situation, and I need his assistance.” Jones had to be careful what he said. He didn’t know how much Hamilton told his wife about the kind of work he did. He shouldn’t have told her anything about his work, however, Hamilton’s behaviour had taken an erratic turn and Jones couldn’t be certain.
“Is he in some kind of trouble?” Rachel asked worriedly.
“No, no, nothing like that,” Jones replied reassuringly. “I just need to know where he is so I can reach him.”
There was a short silence as Rachel decided whether she should give Jones the information. “He – He’s gone to Hong Kong. Said he had to meet someone there.”
“Did he say who?”
“No, I didn’t ask. He doesn’t talk much about his work. That’s the way he likes it and I don’t argue.”
“Has Will been acting normally recently?” Jones asked, digging for as much information as he could get.
“He has been preoccupied with work, but that’s always the case, isn’t it? Are you sure he isn’t in some kind of trouble?” A slight sense of concern was now becoming apparent.
“There’s nothing to worry about. I promise you. I’ll get your husband to call you once I’ve caught up with him. Goodnight, Mrs Hamilton.”
Jones exited the house and walked back to his car, taking out his mobile phone. He dialled the number for The Office and waited. Sarah Barnes answered.
“Sarah, I need booking on the first flight to Hong Kong in the morning.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet, but that is where Hamilton is, and I need to find out why. It could endanger the whole operation.”
“Okay. I’ll book it now and email you the confirmation.”
“Thank you. Oh, and Sarah – get some rest. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day for us.”
9
The MTR from Hong Kong International Airport was busy. A combination of passengers and suitcases were scattered across the carriage. Stephen Jones was stood, leaning against one of the supporting rails, weary from his twelve-hour flight from London.
Sarah Barnes had managed to decrypt the remaining emails on Hamilton’s personal account and had found a hotel reservation for the Novotel in Wan Chai. Hamilton had booked himself a room for three nights.
Something didn’t add up, and the thought kept circulating in Jones’ head. There was a booking for a flight to Hong Kong, a hotel reservation, but no return flight or onward journey that they could find. What was Hamilton’s plan after the third night?
It took half an hour for the MTR to reach Central where Jones would have to switch trains to continue his journey on the Island Line to Wan Chai.
He had been to Hong Kong before, several years ago on a mission to take down a locally based drug dealer who had been connected in supplying heroin to a gang in London. Jones was TEPs go to guy when it came to uncovering drug crimes, and at least fifty percent of his missions had been drug related.
He spent six months there in Hong Kong in total, working undercover and becoming involved with the dealer as a low-level buyer
. He met a local woman there who he had grown particularly fond of. He left without saying goodbye. Disappearing without a trace was the only answer when you’d just killed a drug kingpin and six of his employees. The thought had crossed Jones’ mind to look her up while he was here, although it would be pointless; it would detract from the mission, and he would only break her heart again when he left.
The Novotel was a short walk from Wan Chai station, the entrance set back behind four large supporting pillars. A collection of new BMWs were parked along the front, with a couple of drivers sat waiting for their passengers. Jones scanned the area from behind his Ray-Ban’s; there was no sign of Hamilton.
Jones waited patiently at the check in desk. The small area was bustling with eager travellers and businessmen who were overwhelming the two desk staff. Eventually, Jones checked in and made his way to his room on the tenth floor.
The room was a good size, a large king sized bed, desk, and the obligatory wall mounted television. Jones was about to unpack when his mobile phone rang.
“Hi, Sarah,” he said. “How far are we on accessing the hotel’s guest list?”
“Already done, sir. Hamilton is in room 604. Sixth floor. Although, I have him on CCTV leaving an hour ago. I don’t think he has returned as yet.”
“Okay, good work. Keep me updated. I’ll be sat in the bar area, he has to walk by it on his way back in. What is the latest on Agent Black?”
“He has acquired a name and location of a meeting. It’s tonight at 8pm at a pub – Hong Kong Brew House. I cross checked the name he emailed me, but there is no match. He took out the diplomat. The Chinese are all over it calling it a targeted hit, although they cannot connect it to the British.”
“Just don’t let him know I’m here, or Hamilton. We can’t have him being distracted from his mission. Make sure he provides you updates and feed them back to me.”
“Yes, sir.” there was a sound of concern in her voice. It was the first time she'd had contact with Black for several weeks after he had visited her flat and become angry with her. She had feelings for him.
“Sarah, I know this is difficult, but we have to find out why Hamilton is here, and at the same time make sure Black completes his mission. Whoever the rogue agent is, he is putting lives at risk. That is the number one focus here.”
“Okay.” Sarah mumbled, unconvincingly.
“I’ll call you later,” Jones ended the call. He changed clothes into a pair of dark chinos, black t-shirt and black bomber jacket and made his way back down to the hotel lobby.
The earlier madness had subsided, and the bar area was quiet. Jones ordered himself a latte and sat in the corner, with his head behind a copy of the Financial Times which had been left on a nearby table. He would wait there for as long as it took for Hamilton to return.
10
Tequila on Davis – 3pm. Don’t be late
Black knew who the text message was from, even though his phone didn’t tell him. He looked at his watch. If he left the hotel now, he would make it in time.
News had broken quickly regarding the diplomat’s murder. It was headline news on all the national and international television channels. The Police were quick to play down any rumours but said it was being treated as a targeted attack and that more information would be released in due course.
There was doubt in Black’s mind as to whether the rogue agent would still turn up for the meeting. He would see the news headlines, and surely be out of the country by now.
Black had sent over all the files from the diplomat’s laptop to Sarah Barnes to analyse. He hadn’t been able to reach Stephen Jones which was puzzling. Sarah said he had been following up a lead, but Black wasn’t convinced.
There were files detailing the names, locations and mission briefs of several TEP agents operating in the Middle East, although the files hadn’t yet been opened or forwarded to anyone else, so Black was confident whoever the diplomat was supplying the information to wouldn’t yet be in receipt of them.
It was cooler outside today; Black wore a dark pair of jeans and dark blue jacket, his SIG Sauer secure in the holster on his belt. His rucksack was flung over his right shoulder, with a couple of extra clips inside which he hoped he wouldn’t need. Black had managed to get plenty of sleep last night and he now felt refreshed, fully recovered from the jet lag. The MTR station was quiet. The train arrived immediately and Black boarded it, heading for Kennedy Town.
Once he arrived, Black took the same approach as before and walked past the bar; it was quiet, with only one or two customers inside, one of which was Jerrard. Black waited a moment to see if anyone else entered, but he needn’t had bothered; it obviously wasn’t a popular place in the afternoon.
Jerrard was sat at the same table he had been two nights earlier. He saw Black and greeted him with an over enthusiastic smile. Black sat down opposite him and ordered a glass of water from the waiter.
“Still can’t tempt you into a little booze? Not even a beer? I would have thought you’d be needing one after your escapades in Stanley.”
Black shook his head and remained silent.
“Haha, okay son, it’s up to you. Anyway, I have some news for you. One of your agents took a flight over here. He arrived this morning,” Jerrard looked at his phone. “Ah, yes, Stephen Jones. Booked himself into a hotel in Wan Chai.”
“Who’s told you this?” Black asked. He was confused. The last time he’d spoke to Jones he was tracking down Hamilton. “He should be looking after another matter.”
“I have my sources, kid. Looks like he cleared up the other matter and wants some involvement with your Hong Kong mission. But don’t worry, I’ve got it under control. I like you, kid. You’ve got the conviction and dedication. I don’t want him messing this up for you, so I’ll take care of him.”
“Take care?”
“Don’t look so worried. I’ll keep him out of your way while he’s here. Now, did you find what you needed from the diplomat?”
“I have the name of the source. There was a meeting scheduled for tonight, but with it being all over the news, he won’t be there.”
“He’ll be there. He wants to meet the agent who took Li out. He’s compromised now, so he will want to bargain his way out.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Of course. I’ve reassured him that if he cooperates, there is a way out for him. He knows he won’t get anywhere being on the run. He wouldn’t make it out of Hong Kong – he’s out of options.”
Black sat silently, occupied by his own thoughts. Why was Stephen Jones in Hong Kong? And why was Jerrard in constant contact with the rogue agent? Added to this was the disappearance of Will Hamilton.
Jerrard could sense that Black had concerns. “Listen, son. Don’t worry yourself about anything else that is happening. Carry out the mission you have, anything else is irrelevant.”
Black looked up at Jerrard. His statement had a stark similarity to something Hamilton would say to him.
“Carry out your mission as planned, everything else will fall into place.”
“Why should I trust you?” Black was still far from convinced.
“You’ve not reason too – but what alternative do you have? Without me you’d have no leads, nothing to act on. And we both know failure is not an option in your line of work. Go to the meeting point tonight and finish your mission.”
Jerrard left several notes on the table and walked out of the bar.
11
The office was cold, although it was early in the morning and the heating was probably still kicking in. Kate Allison was sat opposite a large oak desk; the computer on it was turned on, and the humming of the processor fan was almost hypnotic.
It was still dark outside and the blinds to the office window were still drawn. Allison had received a call the night before and was told to attend an urgent meeting with the Director General at 6am. She had arrived half an hour early. She always wanted to be prepared.
Allison was in
her early forties, although she looked younger. Her face was well defined and attractive. Her long blonde hair flowed neatly down to her shoulders. She was smartly dressed in a knee length grey skirt and matching suit jacket.
This was now her tenth year working for the Government, joining MI5 as a Communication Analyst, quickly working her way up the ranks to head up comms for the entire security service. Allison was dedicated to her work, she had never married or had children, and that was the way she wanted it to stay.
A few minutes passed before the door opened. Allison stood up.
“Good morning, apologies for the earlier than usual start,” Sam Bennett said, offering out his hand. Bennett was the Director General of MI5, and a man well known for his no nonsense attitude. This was his ship, and he ran it tightly. “We have a situation with TEP and I need your help.”
“Good morning, sir,” she replied, shaking Bennett’s hand firmly. “Tell me more.”
Bennett sat down in his large black leather chair, his thin green eyes pointing straight at Allison. The years hadn’t been kind to him. He was the wrong side of fifty, his hair non-existent, however, he always remained calm whilst undoubtedly assertive. He got straight to the point.
“Will Hamilton has gone AWOL. He took a flight to Hong Kong, where there is an active mission taking place with one of our agents, erm, a Tom Black. Black had been tasked with taking out a rogue TEP agent, and a Chinese diplomat who was purchasing sensitive information from the rogue agent. We are still unclear why Hamilton has also travelled to Hong Kong, however, it gets worse – Lead TEP Agent, Stephen Jones has also travelled to Hong Kong in pursuit of Hamilton.”
Allison took a breath as she processed the information. “Who is running TEP?”
“At the moment the most senior person in the London office is an analyst by the name of Sarah Barnes. She has no mission guiding experience, and all agents on the ground are feeding into her. It is a disaster waiting to happen. I need you in TEP to turn things around until we can apprehend Hamilton and Jones.”