The Becket Approval

by Falconer, Duncan

  ‘Something more.’

  A distant thud of rotors grew louder. A pair of helicopters were coming along the estuary, low above the water. At the same time, a line of blue flashing lights could be seen moving through the terminal towards the pipe jetty.

  Gunnymede watched the helicopters describe a wide arc over the water to line up for an approach to the landing stage. ‘I’d rather not be here when they arrive,’ he said, picking up his pistol. ‘It will only complicate things for me.’

  ‘How do I explain all of this?’

  He tossed the pistol into the estuary. ‘Just say you slept through the whole thing.’

  He went to the rail, found a ladder and climbed onto it. ‘You going to be okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said with a slight smile and climbed down out of sight.

  A fierce wind thrashed at her as the first of the large helicopters came into a hover, its searchlight finding her. As it touched down a dozen armed police in black leapt from the open door and spread out in teams.

  Dillon climbed out and hurried over to her.

  ‘My dear girl,’ he said, examining her, her bruised and bloody face. ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Krilov kidnapped me.’

  'I don't understand,' he said, looking around at the dead bodies, burning vehicles, heroin. ‘What happened? Who did all of this? Who killed all these people?’

  ‘Southampton was a decoy. Jedson was working for Krilov.’

  ‘Jedson?’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Jedson’s dead?’

  Her emotions started to get a hold of her.

  Dillon put his arms around her as he continued to take in the mayhem that surrounded him. 'I really don't understand what happened here.'

  Chapter 25

  Jack Henderson walked briskly along the path that ran along the top of the ridge towards Pen Y Fan. He was feeling the pace. Breathing hard. It’d been much easier in the old days, even with a rifle and pack. A large cloud scraped over the peak but otherwise he could see for miles in all directions. Hardly a breeze. Most importantly, there was not another human in sight.

  He took advantage of the privacy, pulled his old SAS beret from a deep pocket of his camouflaged windproof jacket, reverently touched the famed cap badge, the gently embossed wings of the dagger, and placed it on his head. His thoughts turned to his early days wearing the coveted beret. A young, slender, determined Jack. A thick, handlebar moustache grew over his top lip. He could see the lads he’d completed his selection with. The pleasure of learning he’d passed. He saw himself trudging along the very same track, perspiring, in pain, weighed down by a heavy pack and rifle, filled with resignation. He was never going to fail. It was cold and drizzly that day with low cloud reducing visibility to a handful of metres. It seemed like a long time ago. It was.

  Jack shaped the beret onto his head as he pressed on.

  When he reached the Pen he walked around it. Still no sign of another soul in any direction.

  He sat himself down and removed his beret to look at the cap badge once more, rolling the rim through his fingers as he contemplated his life.

  ‘Enough,’ he said.

  He laid the beret on the grass, bottom up, and removed a photograph from his breast pocket. It was of Megan, smiling, young, her beautiful face, auburn hair just like her mother’s. As always, she made Jack smile. But the memories of the last few months were too bitter to bear. The most painful of them her death. And he was to blame.

  He placed the photograph in the beret, stretched out on his back and looked at the sky. He removed a pistol from his pocket, held it above him. Cocked it. Placed the end of the barrel under his chin. His final thought. If there was a God, the bastard had better let him see his Megan one last time.

  The shot rang out across the Beacons and like Jack, it was gone. A gentle breeze picked at Megan’s photo and yanked it out of the beret. It rolled away and caught the breeze as if it was his very soul leaving his body.

  Chapter 26

  Gunnymede lay on the couch in his apartment looking at the Thames, the wind and rain beating at the glass balcony doors. He delicately sipped a mug of tea, trying to avoid touching his lips with the hot cup where they were tender.

  His phone rang and he stiffly reached for it. The number was withheld but he answered it anyway.

  ‘Hi.’ It was a girl’s voice.

  ‘Hello,’ he said back.

  ‘I don’t suppose you recognise my voice.’

  It was a soft voice with the hint of a southern Irish lilt to it. It didn’t trigger any immediate memories for him though. ‘Sorry, I don’t.’

  ‘We worked together. Briefly. Eight years ago.’

  It hit him like a slap and he sat up stiffly. He’d never forgotten her. She had been brand new, straight out of the recruitment box. It was her first operation. Gunnymede had been brought in to help boost the numbers for just one night. He was partnered with her because he had operational experience and they also looked like they could pass as a couple. Two complete strangers thrown together. They spoke hardly a word to each other throughout the operation. He wasn’t the chatty type with strangers anyway. The fact that he found her quite beautiful the first time he set eyes on her had to be ignored. It had been an effort for him not to take another look at her face. She had been painfully aloof, as if she had a wall around her. He did his best to ignore her and let her stay behind her wall. They were on task and that was that. There was no need for chat. They were on a stake out.

  They were in a car in the old city of Prague pretending to be a couple hanging out after the bars had closed, quietly watching and waiting while listening to the operational radio chatter through hidden ear pieces. And then the target suddenly appeared. The man they’d been waiting for. Their job was to trigger his move for the team. He looked directly at them, the only other people around. The man stopped to scrutinise them. And so they did what a couple were expected to be doing in a car at night parked in a dark, quiet side street after the bars had closed. They embraced and kissed deeply. The bad guy continued to watch. They kept on kissing. But then something happened between them. Something deep within them both. The moment became mutually magnetic. They grew more passionate.

  At some point they were no longer acting. It was as if they’d forgotten why they were there. Their fervour grew. The man stepped closer as the windows were coated in steam.

  Convinced of their ardour, he stepped back and walked on. They continued to kiss and explore each other, neither wanting to separate. It was the most passion-filled moment he’d ever experienced. She smelled and tasted like nectar.

  Voices began to break through. The ops officer was calling for Gunnymede to assist the follow. When they finally separated they were out of breath. He climbed out and hurried away.

  On completion of the task, he went to his hotel and hung around the lobby until the small hours hoping she’d turn up. The next day he was gone. Sent somewhere else on another task. He never saw or heard from her again. He never knew her real name or anything about her and it was inappropriate to ask about another operator.

  ‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘Not your name though. I don’t think I knew it.’

  ‘It’s Neve.’

  ‘It’s been a long time.’

  ‘It seems it.’

  ‘It was ...’ he began, then stopped himself.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Memorable. That time together.’

  ‘I wasn’t calling to reminisce.’ There was a sudden chill in her voice. ‘I’m running the team to find Saleem.’

  Gunnymede went silent as he digested that.

  ‘Did you exchange any words with him?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s a team?’

  ‘They didn’t tell you? Need to know I suppose.’

  Gunnymede contained his surprise as well as a level
of embarrassment.

  ‘When Saleem came off the ship? At the oil terminal. Did he say anything to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But he knew it was you.’

  ‘Who set up the team?’

  ‘Jervis. Maybe they just haven’t told you yet. I think you should be at the next meeting.’

  ‘If I’m invited I’ll come.’

  She chuckled softly. ‘That sounded petulant.’

  ‘I’m hurt.’

  ‘You’ll get a message.’

  The phone disconnected. Gunnymede remained sitting up.

  That was a surprise. Neve. Jesus.

  Bethan was in her Dartmoor cottage sitting in front of the fire reading a book when her phone chirped. It was Dillon.

  She picked it up. ‘Take all the time off you want. Relax and ignore all phone calls. Forget about work. Yet here you are.’

  ‘I didn’t say forget about work altogether.’

  ‘I think you did.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Bored.’

  ‘You’re ruined, then.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your job was never supposed to be that exciting. You’ll always be bored now ... Are you alone?’

  ‘Is this you being fatherly again?’

  ‘Can you talk, is what I meant.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When do you think you’d like to return to work?’

  ‘What’s come up that can’t wait for me to heal naturally?’

  ‘Looks like you’ve come under the gaze of the cloak and dagger brigade ... SIS. Secret intelligence services.’

  ‘I’m already less bored.’

  ‘They want you to consult.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘There’s a team.’

  ‘What kind of team?’

  ‘That’s why they’re called the secret services. Don’t know why they’re called intelligent though. A little bird told me the whole Southampton cockup was because of them. Rumour has it that battle at the ship was their people. I’m surprised you didn’t see any of them.’

  She didn’t say a word.

  ‘There’s something else,’ Dillon said. ‘Your friend Devon Gunnymede. Regarding your military revenge conspiracy. He’s top of the list of suspects.’

  ‘I explained why I thought he couldn’t be a suspect.’

  ‘I’m unconvinced. Have you heard from him?’

  ‘No.’ She masked her disappointment.

  ‘Well, I recommend you keep well away from him if he tries to make contact. I’m putting a request into MI6 to present him for questioning.’

  ‘I think you might be wasting your time.’

  ‘They’re not a law unto themselves you know, even though they might think they are.’

  ‘I meant, I don’t believe he’s a bad guy.’

  ‘We’ll see. Can I reply to this SIS request and tell them you’re available?’

  ‘Yes. I can leave any time.’

  ‘You’re sure? It means coming back to London tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Okay. Well. See you soon.’

  ‘’Bye,’ she said and put down the phone.

  She sat back in thought a moment before heading into her bedroom to pack.

  Gunnymede left his apartment, down the stairs and through the lobby of his apartment block on his way outside when he noticed something in his mailbox. He opened it to find an envelope addressed to him. It was the first piece of mail he’d received at the apartment.

  He opened it. All it contained was a small piece of paper with bright yellow stripes across it.

  Gunnymede walked into the ante room of Harlow’s office to find Aristotle sitting and reading a newspaper. There was the slightest hint of surprise on the Greek’s expression when he saw Gunnymede.

  ‘Is the old man in?’ Gunnymede asked.

  Harlow’s secretary gave him her usual look of disapproval before picking up the phone. ‘Mr Gunnymede is here.’

  She replaced the phone, walked to Harlow’s door and opened it. Gunnymede walked through. Aristotle put his newspaper down and followed.

  Harlow was behind his desk. ‘Gunnymede. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you?’

  Aristotle closed the door.

  ‘If you’re looking for an update, we’ve nothing on Saleem. We think Krilov has left the country. Spirited away by his master. I have my doubts Krilov could’ve helped us identify Spangle anyway. Krilov was merely the UK manager of Spangle’s heroin empire. We might’ve gained some understanding of Spangle’s relationship with Saleem but there you go.’

  Gunnymede didn’t acknowledge any of the information, as if it was inconsequential.

  ‘What is it?’ Harlow asked, seeing something in Gunnymede’s look.

  Gunnymede dropped the envelope onto Harlow’s desk. Harlow looked at him enquiringly before picking it up. He tipped the yellow striped piece of paper onto his blotter.

  Aristotle leaned in to take a look, raising an eyebrow. He looked at Gunnymede and Harlow who were both looking at each other. ‘I don’t know the significance of this.’

  ‘It’s a Spangle wrapper,' Harlow said, examining the envelope address.

  ‘Did you send it?’ Gunnymede asked Harlow.

  ‘Why would I send it to you?’

  Aristotle touched it with a finger. 'You said it was a boiled sweet from the 1980's.'

  Harlow took a closer look at the sweet paper. 'It is.'

  'So how did he get it?' Aristotle asked.

  'Is that relevant?' Gunnymede said.

  'What's relevant is he knows where you live,’ Harlow said.

  'Not only that,' Aristotle said. 'He's also telling us he knows where Gunnymede lives.'

  Harlow turned the wrapper over but it looked very ordinary.

  'Maybe there's something embedded in it,' Aristotle suggested.

  'We'll have it examined of course,' Harlow said.

  ‘If it really was from Spangle, how did he know his codename was spangle?’ Gunnymede asked.

  ‘Ah. That would be my fault,’ Harlow said. ‘Three years ago we attempted to employ the resources of our allies, the Germans and the French. It didn’t reveal anything particularly useful and it left Spangle’s codename exposed. Once again demonstrating the porosity of our dear European friends.’

  ‘How would he know where I live?’

  ‘The police I expect. When we lent you to Scotland Yard, you were exposed to the police administrative system.’

  ‘Another reason why you sent me to Albania.’

  ‘Yes. A positive development don’t you think?’

  ‘So Spangle just sent me a message saying hello, I know you’re back in the game and I know where you live.’

  ‘This time it was hello. Let’s hope next time it will be a question and a means by which to answer it. Meanwhile, the priority is Saleem. Jervis has put together a team that will work parallel to the police. Despite your knowledge of Saleem there was some resistance to inviting you further into the fold. We managed to get you a special dispensation to work with the team.’ Harlow opened a drawer and removed a cardboard box. Inside it was a plastic card and a small red box, both of which he placed in front of Gunnymede. ‘Your ID.’

  Gunnymede picked up the card to examine it. ‘That’s my prison mug shot.’

  ‘It’s the only recent picture of you we had on file.’

  Gunnymede opened the small red box to find a coveted MI6 badge.

  ‘Bet you never thought you’d ever hold one of those again,’ Harlow said. ‘Something else.’ There were several post-it note blocks in various colours on his desk. He pulled the top note off the pink block and handed it to Gunnymede. ‘You asked for that?’

  Gunnymede read it. ‘Thanks.’ As he put it in his pocket his phone beeped. A message from Neve.

  ‘Am I allowed to have dinner with a colleague on my company card?’ Gunnymede asked.

  Harlow pushed a button on his desk phone.
His secretary looked in.

  ‘Has Gunnymede got a bank account yet?’ Harlow asked.

  ‘It will be ready in three working days,’ she said.

  Harlow looked at Gunnymede. ‘You may. But it will be deducted from your salary.’

  Gunnymede left the room.

  Harlow picked up the spangle wrapper and looked at Aristotle who raised his eyebrows at him.

  Gunnymede used his new ID card to gain access to the MI6 headquarters building and took an elevator to the fourth floor. He walked along a wide corridor to a door labelled F42, inserted his ID card into the keypad and tapped in a number. It unlocked.

  Inside was an operations room with a large screen on one wall, a dozen monitors and computer terminals, several of them occupied, and a spacious worktop in the centre. The walls were lined with panels designed to hold paperwork without pins or adhesive, several of them already populated with photos and labels.

  Leaning over the worktop, poring over several satellite pictures was Neve. As the door closed behind Gunnymede she looked up at him. He felt that same sudden impact he’d felt on seeing her for the first time eight years ago. There was something magically magnetic about it. It wasn’t anything like love or even desire. It was like a rush. A sparkle that tingled in the pit of his stomach. Like tasting something delicious that required immediate examination, and another taste. The ardour he felt in the car had not changed in all that time. Their eyes locked. He started to smile but checked himself. She was without expression.

  A woman seated at a computer terminal turned in her chair to look at Gunnymede. It was Bethan. She smiled broadly and got to her feet.

  Gunnymede was unbalanced by her unexpected presence but recovered to smile broadly. Neve didn’t miss the exchange between them.

  Gunnymede walked over, unsure who to greet first. Bethan intercepted him, clearly wanting an embrace but mindful of their surroundings. ‘Hello,’ she said, somewhat shyly. ‘Nice to see you.’

  ‘This is a surprise,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t know you were part of the team,’ Bethan said, looking into his eyes. ‘I was hoping you would be.’

  ‘Hi,’ Neve said, joining them, seeing the sparkle in Bethan as she looked at Gunnymede.