The Becket Approval

by Falconer, Duncan

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t tell mummy where he’s staying in England. But he has an ego the size of Iraq. I’m assuming he got it from her.’

  They climbed into the car and sat looking towards the house as Gunnymede’s mind churned.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  His phone chirped and he answered it.

  It was Neve. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Saleem’s house.’

  ‘Did you just talk with his mother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m assuming you tried to wind her up.’

  ‘I did my best.’

  ‘She just posted a message on Telegram.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘No words. They think it was an emoji.’

  ‘She told him something,’ he said and disconnected. ‘Told you. Ego the size of Iraq.’

  Gunnymede and Bethan sat in a quiet corner of a pub nursing a couple of half pints. He was nibbling from a plate of fries. It was dark outside.

  ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’ Bethan said.

  ‘No.’

  She looked at him with a frown.

  ‘Do you always have to be analysing people?’ he asked. ‘Can’t you take a day off now and then.’

  ‘Yes. No.’

  He ate a couple of chips while she stared at him. He sighed. ‘What kind of personal question?’

  ‘Is it true what Neve said about you going back to prison when this task is over?’

  ‘I was treading on her ops officer toes. She was putting me in my place.’

  ‘Is it true, though?’

  ‘I have no control over that.’

  ‘Can I ask why you’re not in jail anyway?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Can I ask why you went to jail?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘Heroin thief.’

  ‘What’s your problem?’

  ‘You don’t like it when I call you that, do you.’

  He stuffed another chip in his mouth.

  ‘You’re not comfortable with that label,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell whether it’s because it doesn’t really fit or it makes you feel guilty.’

  He put on a false smile as if inviting her to guess. A second later it disappeared.

  The door to the street opened and in walked Neve. She came over and sat opposite them.

  ‘You look the perfect couple,’ Neve said playfully but the barb was obvious.

  ‘Have we got our bird up yet?’ Gunnymede asked, ignoring her quip.

  ‘Only just. It was getting a bit crowded up there. We’ve got priority now. What exactly did you say to her?’

  ‘Something about wringing her son’s neck when I got a hold of it.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Bethan asked her.

  ‘No thanks. If I drink I have to pee and things always seem to kick off when I go for a pee.’

  ‘Then have a bloody drink,’ he said.

  Neve looked pleased she was winding him up. ‘Good point,’ she said as she picked up his drink and took a sip.

  They all sat uncomfortably together for a long, quiet minute.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ Neve eventually asked Gunnymede.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Steal all that heroin.’

  ‘Christ! What is it with you two?’

  ‘I was disappointed when I heard.’

  ‘You were disappointed,’ Gunnymede said mockingly. ‘My old headmaster would’ve been disappointed.’

  ‘So why’d you do it?’ Neve persisted.

  Gunnymede rolled his eyes. ‘Why is it so difficult for you people to understand the simple concept of temptation. I was in a bad place. I was pissed off with the job. With my life. I was going nowhere. A few million quid might’ve fixed it.’

  ‘You knew you could never get away with it,’ Neve said.

  ‘At the time I clearly thought I could. Let me ask you something. You too,’ he said to Bethan. ‘What do you do all this for? Risking your life. Patriotism? Queen and country? Your political party? Your God because you think he’s on your side? What drives you? You have no idea of the depths of my cynicism. I look back on conflicts like Vietnam, the Falklands, Northern Ireland and wonder why anyone thought they were worth the effort of getting up in the mornings, never mind dying for. I visited a mother today. Mother of a bloke who died for who knows what. I wanted to ask her why he did it, but I’m damned sure she wouldn’t have been able to tell me. People knew what they were dying for centuries ago. Maybe all the way up to the Second World War. But after that? I don’t know why they bothered. I know why the people at the top bother. Luxury. We secure their luxuries. So there I am, looking at twenty kilos of a substance that would buy me lots of luxury and I went for it.’

  ‘You never got it, yet here you are,’ Neve said.

  ‘Maybe I want a second try.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Neve asked Bethan.

  ‘I find you both fascinating,’ Bethan said, taking a sip of her drink.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Neve asked her. ‘That was a rhetorical question because I know you don’t know. So, tell me about the assassination program.’

  ‘You’ve read the file,’ Bethan said.

  ‘I’ve read nothing,’ Neve said. ‘Jervis mentioned the title and nothing else. Sounds interesting though.’

  ‘Military personnel killing people who killed military personnel and got away with it,’ Bethan explained.

  ‘And that’s why you went to Albania together?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Bethan said.

  ‘And Jervis sent you on that,’ Neve said to Gunnymede.

  ‘Harlow,’ he replied..

  Neve studied him, looking for something. Gunnymede stared back at her.

  Bethan looked between them. ‘Excuse me, I’m going to the loo,’ she said, getting to her feet and heading away.

  Gunnymede waited until Bethan was out of the room. ‘Why are you bringing her in on this?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s already in on it.’

  ‘No she’s not. She’s an analyst. A profiler.’

  ‘Why’s she here?’

  ‘You keep asking that.’

  ‘What’s Jervis up to?’

  ‘Maybe it’s Harlow.’

  ‘Maybe it’s Spangle.’

  ‘Are you involved in the op too?’

  ‘No one’s involved in the Spangle op but you. And Jervis and Harlow and that strange Greek bloke who hangs around him. Who is he, anyway?’

  ‘Harlow’s dad and his dad were mates.’

  ‘And the assassination case is about Spangle. I’m not asking. I’m just curious.’

  ‘Everything’s about Spangle,’ he said. ‘This operation is somehow about Spangle. He’s the most dangerous single person on this planet.’

  ‘There’s a lot of competition out there. North Korea. Iran. Russia. China.’

  ‘Those leaders are all accountable to someone eventually. Spangle isn’t.’

  ‘Do you really believe you’re the bait?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re another well-informed oily rag aren’t you,’ he said, staring at her.

  ‘Echo is foxtrot,’ came a voice over their ear pieces.

  They went to their phones and accessed apps as Bethan returned. ‘I heard the message,’ she said.

  ‘Turns out everyone was waiting for you to go for a pee,’ Gunnymede said to Bethan.

  A bird’s eye view of Mrs Saleem’s terraced house came up on Gunnymede’s phone showing someone leaving the front door. It zoomed in to reveal Saleem’s mother wearing a head scarf and zoomed back out to follow her along the pavement.

  ‘She’s heading in this direction,’ Neve said.

  They watched her walk along the residential street, make a right turn at the end and cross the road. At the next junction she turned onto a busy commercial street lined with shops, the pavements heaving with pedestrians. The screen split as a static CCTV joined the follow. It split
again as another contributed to the shot.

  Saleem’s mother walked down the street, threading her way between shoppers.

  ‘She knows where she’s going,’ Gunnymede said.

  After a few hundred metres she stopped by the kerb, between a lamppost and a phone booth and faced the traffic.

  ‘That’s a stop, stop,’ a voice said over the radio.

  She removed her hands from her pockets.

  Gunnymede concentrated on the various views of her. ‘It’s a DLB,’ he said.

  ‘What’s a DLB?’ Bethan asked.

  ‘Dead letter box,’ he said.

  ‘She’s going to leave something for someone to pick up,’ Neve added.

  Saleem’s mother put her hands back in her pockets and walked back the way she came.

  ‘That was a drop,’ Gunnymede said.

  ‘I never saw anything,’ Neve said.

  ‘Neither did I but that was a drop,’ he said.

  The various cameras watched her walk down the street.

  ‘She’s going home,’ Gunnymede said. ‘Her job’s done.’

  Neve was on her phone to the control room. ‘Play back her static position and examine in slow time. Zoom in.’

  The screens remained split, one was a view of the CCTV following Saleem’s mother back down the street while another replayed her at the phone booth and lamppost.

  ‘There,’ Gunnymede said. ‘On the lamppost. She stuck something to it. Go!’ He hurried out the pub. Bethan followed. ‘You take beyond the booth. I’ll take this side. And make sure mummy Saleem doesn’t see you!’

  Bethan hurried down the street searching for Saleem’s mother the other side. She saw her heading along the busy pavement and looked away as they drew opposite each other. Saleem’s mother was focused on returning home. Bethan carried on until she could see the phone booth, went past it and into a shop from where she could see it.

  Gunnymede meanwhile stepped into a department and went to a display window from where he had eyes on.

  They waited. Eyes flicking between the lamppost and people approaching it from both directions.

  As Bethan watched, a man stopped outside her window. She took little notice of him at first until she realised he was also looking towards the phone booth. He was shorter than her with jet black hair. She moved to get a better angle while keeping an eye on the phone booth.

  ‘I have a possible,’ she said.

  The man turned around for a second to look at the window Bethan was behind. She froze, fearing he was looking directly at her then realised he was looking at the reflection. She could see his face clearly.

  ‘It’s him. From the ship.’

  ‘Saleem?’ Gunnymede asked.

  ‘No. When I was on the ship I saw two Arabs. This is one of them.’

  The man set off across the street.

  ‘He’s crossing towards the booth,’ Bethan said.

  The drone picked up the Arab approaching the lamppost and watched as he deftly removed something and walked away.

  Bethan looked at her phone screen. The man headed down the street and into a shop.

  ‘Take him,’ Gunnymede said as he ran across the busy road.

  Bethan hurried out of the department store, across the road and into the shop. It was a busy market hall with dozens of independent booths. Bethan kept walking, looking in all directions. She stepped onto a box and looked towards the back of the hall just as the Arab went through a door.

  ‘He’s out the back!’ Bethan said as she hurried after him.

  Gunnymede carried on along the street, bumping into people as he watched the drone view on his phone. The operator moved it to the back of the store but it was a confusion of partially covered narrow walkways with people moving in all directions.

  ‘We’ve lost him,’ Gunnymede said angrily, breaking into a run.

  He ran into an alleyway, turned the corner at the end hoping to see far enough ahead but there were too many obstacles. ‘Bethan?’

  ‘I’m out the back heading north along a narrow walkway.’

  ‘Do you have?’ he asked, craning to try and see her.

  ‘Negative. Wait. I have. I have!’

  Bethan could see the Arab coming to the end of the walkway. He ducked under an awning and out of sight. She sped after him, reached the awning and went under it. The alleyway carried on for a bit before reaching a street but it was empty. She hurried to the end and into the street. It led back to the busy shopping high street. There was no sign of the Arab.

  She looked back to see Gunnymede stepping under the awning.

  She went to him. They met in the middle and looked at the only door in the alleyway. Gunnymede took a hold of the handle and turned it. The door was unlocked. He eased it open to reveal a yard filled with household junk and old building materials. It was the back of a three storey house that looked as if it had been abandoned in the middle of a refurbishment. There was scaffolding and building materials but everything looked in a state of decay.

  Bethan followed him across the yard to the back door that was ajar. He reached inside his jacket for a semi-automatic pistol which he tugged out of a shoulder holster as he eased the door open. It led onto a dark, dingy landing. A rusting wheelbarrow sat in the hallway alongside cement bags that had long since solidified.

  They eased their way along the concrete floor to a flight of steps. Further ahead was the front door.

  ‘Check it,’ he whispered.

  She went to the door and examined it. It was shut solid. She shook her head. They looked up the stairs.

  Gunnymede led the way, easing up each step, keeping to the wall to reduce the chance of noise, ears and eyes fine-tuned to the space above. The second landing was equally trashed, dirt and cobwebs everywhere, thick sheets of plywood covering the floor that didn’t creak when stepped on. There were several doors to choose from but before they could inspect them a noise came from above. And again. The top floor. Like furniture being moved. Gunnymede and Bethan barely breathed in an effort to concentrate their hearing.

  Voices trickled down to them. They focused above as they ascended the last flight of stairs, one careful step at a time. A creak forced Gunnymede skip a step. Bethan followed.

  There were only two doors on the top landing and it was obvious which was the one they wanted. Gunnymede signalled Bethan to keep away from the door as he levelled the pistol and gripped the handle.

  In a single swift movement he turned the knob and pushed the door open to reveal two men. Saleem and the Arab from the street. For a second they were frozen still. The Arab then lunged for a pistol on a table and Gunnymede fired. The bullet slammed through his head spraying Saleem in blood and he dropped dead to the floor.

  Saleem remained still in his chair other than his empty hands that very slowly rose into view. Gunnymede stepped inside and checked behind the open door. The small room was sparsely furnished. A table and a few chairs. A single window was ajar leading onto a flat roof with scaffolding.

  Bethan stepped in behind Gunnymede.

  ‘The tide has turned again,’ Gunnymede said. ‘I would really like to shoot you in the head right now and save all the aggravation of a trial and prison.’

  ‘Then you’d never find out about the attack.’

  ‘Don’t need to now.’

  ‘Someone else will come.’

  ‘Good piece of bargaining for your life.’ Gunnymede said. ‘Kind of relies on me giving a fuck. So tell me?’

  ‘Where the attack will be? You don’t seriously expect me to tell you right away do you?’

  Bethan walked over to the table and looked at various items on it, one of them a map of London which she opened up.

  ‘You won’t find any indication on that map,’ Saleem said.

  Bethan sorted through the other documents.

  ‘You’ll find nothing here.’

  ‘There’s a clue in here somewhere,’ Gunnymede said. ‘There always is. And you know it too, don’t you. Empty out your po
ckets.’

  Saleem did as he was told, placing items on the table. There wasn’t much. Bethan went through them. She unfolded a piece of paper. ‘It’s an invoice for ten tons of quick dry cement.’

  Gunnymede looked at Saleem for an explanation.

  Saleem shrugged.

  ‘That’s got to be a clue to something, right?’ Gunnymede said. ‘Ten tons of quick dry cement.’

  Bethan found nothing else of interest.

  ‘Since this is the only chance I’ll get, what I’d like to do is start shooting you through your limbs while you try and remember anything relating to the attack,’ Gunnymede said, aiming the pistol at one of his knees.

  Bethan glanced at him, wondering if he was serious.

  ‘I’ll have to send the lady out for some tea of course,’ Gunnymede added.

  ‘I’ll tell you nothing,’ Saleem said. ‘But if you must torture me then go ahead.’

  Bethan nosed around the room, inspecting a picture on a wall, flicking through a copy of the Koran on a window ledge.

  ‘Bethan. Would you give us a moment, please.’

  ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘I can’t tell if you’re bluffing or not.’

  ‘That’s supposed to be his line.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Devon, but I can’t be a party to you torturing him. Not like that at least.’

  ‘Which is why I’m asking you to go and get a cup of tea.’

  She frowned at him as she pushed on a wooden panel below the sloping ceiling that followed the shape of the roof. It moved easily. She leaned on a chair in front of it and pulled at the panel. It slid to one side. ‘One moment,’ she said as she removed it completely to reveal a small safe on a stand.

  ‘What have we here?’ Gunnymede exclaimed.

  Bethan picked up the chair, moved it to one side and stepped on the wooden floorboard. As she did so there was a subtle click from beneath the floor.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Saleem said to Bethan. ‘Please stay perfectly still.’

  Gunnymede instantly flicked the end of his pistol towards him.

  ‘No, please. You’re standing on a boobytrap. A pressure release trip. If you step off that floorboard we’re all dead.’

  Bethan froze to the spot, a hand on the sloped ceiling to keep her balance. Gunnymede was unsure what to do for a moment, expecting some other surprise to follow. ‘Your turn to bluff, is it?’