by A. R. Zander
“Well, all the same, they didn’t particularly appreciate us starting a small war on their patch.” A group of bankers appeared on the balcony, laughing raucously, before one of them spotted Worthing and ushered the rest back inside.
“Friends of yours?” said Alpha.
“The members know I like to take my meetings out here. It’s just a bit of courtesy.”
Cheers floated over from the water as two party boats passed each other, waving and raising champagne glasses. The captains’ sounded their horns as the boats parted, prompting more hoots from the partygoers.
“The PM is particularly pleased that we did this without the Americans. Giving the cousins a reminder that we are still around is never a bad thing.”
Alpha smiled. “Indeed.”
“And where is the Vitsin boy now?”
“We have him here in London. He’s perfectly secure.”
“Secure is the least I expected. Is he onside?”
“We don’t know at the moment. He’s not saying anything.”
“Not saying anything? What’s your read?”
“Honestly? I don’t think he is on our team. I don’t think he is on anybody’s team. He’s somewhat of an oddity.”
Worthing reached down and wiped some dust from his trouser leg. “The priority here John is not to utilize what he has. The British government is not some casino banking operation. The priority here is to make sure it cannot be utilized by others.”
“We have certain options to achieve that.”
“I imagine we do. I’ll leave it to your discretion, but let’s just make sure we are back to square one on this. The square when the boy did not exist.”
“I’ll take care of it myself,” said Alpha. “You can rely on me.”
“It seems I can. You know, there have been some rumblings on our side about the competence of your head girl.”
“Oh yes?”
“Let’s just say, she may be leaving the hot seat quicker than she thinks. And that means we need someone we can rely on to replace her.”
The waiter re-appeared and placed the chicken down in front of Worthing. The faint smell of lemon permeated the air.
“I couldn’t agree more Foreign Secretary.”
“There was one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“What about these Met detectives that caused you so much trouble? I’d prefer if we didn’t start a civil war with Home Office over this.”
Alpha took a sip of his coffee. “It’s taken care of. The top brass at the Met doesn’t want a war. The three officers that were working the case will be let go.”
“And what about this other chap? The one they sent undercover. Harper wasn’t it?”
“You won’t hear from him again Sir. No one will.”
“Well…that would be preferable.”
- Chapter 41 -
Off the Grid
A strong smell of bleach filled Harper’s nostrils as his eyes snapped open and he lifted his head a few inches off the metal table. The handcuffs had been replaced with thick metal clamps, fixing him on his back. He looked down at his body. He had been stripped to his underpants. A large purple bruise had spread out from his gunshot wound. Goose bumps covered his skin and he could hardly feel his fingers and toes. A small black dome above him buzzed quietly, watching his every move. He wanted to pity himself, but it was harder than he expected. He’d chosen everything that brought him here. He closed his eyes again and his mother’s voice spoke to him softly inside his head.
“How are you Matt?”
“I’m sorry I don’t call more mum.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I know you’re busy.”
“Yeah, but it’s no excuse.”
The forgiving tone of his mother was replaced by his stepfather’s anger, standing at the front door of their house, refusing to invite him in.
“If you want to see her, she’s in the graveyard.”
“You buried my own mother without me?”
“And where the hell was I supposed to find you?”
“The station.”
“The station said you were indisposed. I told them to get a message to you, but they said it was impossible.”
“You should have insisted.”
“Look Matt, if you want to blame someone else for you not being there, that’s your choice. But we both know the truth here.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
“That woman loved you, more than anything, more than she loved me. And you took it all for granted. Like you took your marriage for granted. If it gives you any comfort, you were the only person she wanted to see when she was on her deathbed. It was your name she was calling. It really is a shame you had better things to do with your time…”
A light in the corner clicked on and the door opened inwards. Hate bubbled up inside Harper as Varndon strolled into the room. Neither man spoke as the door slid closed. Varndon smirked as he watched Harper try to pull his fists free from the metal clamps. The skin on his knuckles turned red then white before he settled back down on the table.
“I’m afraid you’re all out of escape routes,” said Varndon, circling him from a safe distance.
“Where the hell am I?” said Harper, spittle gathering around the sides of his mouth.
“You’re not far from Gdansk. It’s a little place the Polish government let us use for our…sensitive interrogations. But that is rather inconsequential at this point.”
“What did you do with Cohen and Russell?”
“Oh, we didn’t have to do anything. Your colleagues were more than willing to take up the slack on that score.”
“You don’t think there’ll be people asking where I am?”
“Who exactly? You seemed to have alienated any friends and family a long time ago. Maybe some of those one-night stands or the hookers you are so fond of will come looking for you. What do you think?”
Harper snorted. “That’s funny. Nearly as funny as when your Russian friends took a few IRA bullets.”
“You think I gave a shit about them?”
“I don’t know, did you?”
“Scum like that comes and goes. They were useful for a few errands, but nothing more. You probably did us a favour in the long run.”
“Who the hell are you Varndon?”
“I am the constant. Governments come and go, but people like me, we remain.”
Varndon rubbed his hand over Harper’s torso until his fingers got to the bullet wound. He tapped it lightly a couple of times and then dug his thumb deep into the flesh. Fresh blood sprayed onto the table and Harper’s shouts filled the room.
“Sadism is not something I have always encouraged in myself,” said Varndon, twisting his thumb amidst Harper’s breathless scream. “It’s just something that I find more opportunities for these days.”
“You fuck...!”
“I’ve only taken it too far once or twice. There was a South American couple I picked up in some nasty little Rio slum. Life is so much cheaper in those types of places. It’s so much easier to ignore the guilt.”
He pulled his thumb out of Harper’s side and wiped the blood on the metal table. Harper gagged as he felt Varndon’s hands slide around his throat and squeeze hard. His head thrashed around, banging against the cold metal as Varndon bared his teeth and pushed his face closer to Harper’s. His attacker’s eyes reddened and moisture ran over his eyelashes and dripped onto Harper’s cheek as he pushed harder on his windpipe. Harper held his breath and waited until their faces were just a few inches apart before slamming his forehead against Varndon’s nose, sending him sprawling across the floor.
“That was just a small indulgence on my part,” said Varndon, backing up against the wall and wiping the blood from his face. “You’ll have to excuse me.”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“Maybe.”
Harper coughed and spluttered as his lungs fought for more oxygen. The white glare from the lights began to hurt
his eyes and he squinted to relieve the pain.
“If it was up to me, you’d be dead by now,” said Varndon, pulling a syringe from his pocket and sticking it into Harper’s arm. “But some people think it is more prudent to keep you alive.” Harper felt his vision blur and a relaxing sensation washed over him. The tension in his muscles began to disappear and the pain from the bullet wound evaporated.
“I hope that feels good,” said Varndon. “Because that’s all you have to look forward to now.” Varndon’s voice seemed to get quieter and Harper’s eyes dropped closed. “I’m going to have to go. I need to get back to London. I’ll give your regards to the Deputy Commissioner. I’m sure she’ll be keen to know you’re comfortable in your new surroundings.”
- Chapter 42 -
The Recruit
A couple of students stood in the reception pointing at the screenings board as Alpha walked in. The plastic letters were crudely tacked on and one of the films was spelt wrongly. He walked up the red-carpeted stairs to screen number two. A car sped along a Caribbean beach in an advert on the screen. He looked over and saw Bailey sitting in the corner.
Alpha shuffled along the row and sat beside her. “Will we have company?”
“I gave the guy some cash. He’s not selling any more tickets.”
Alpha took his coat off and placed it on the arm of the seat. “Your people made a real mess in Hong Kong.”
“You’re blaming me for that?”
“I’m not blaming anyone. It just wasn’t helpful.”
“Well, I tried to stop them.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve tried harder.”
“What did you expect me to do?” said Bailey, raising her voice and immediately lowering it again. “They acted off their own back.”
“I’m starting to doubt your usefulness to be honest.”
“I’m not God over there. The most I can do is exert some influence.”
“Quite.”
The advert changed. A group of nubile young couples ran down onto a beach and stripped off their clothes before breaking out a case of soft drinks.
“You do remember why we have this arrangement, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“It wouldn’t be difficult to publicise your daughter’s brush with the law.”
Bailey said nothing and watched the screen.
“The headlines wouldn’t be pretty.”
“I gave you Harper, didn’t I?”
“Eventually. If you’d been more plugged in earlier, maybe I would still have my Russian assets alive.”
“UC ops are kept within a tight circle.”
“So it seems. A circle you aren’t part of.”
“I need to be careful. They’re not stupid.”
“With your people, the bar isn’t very high on that score.” Alpha offered Bailey a boiled sweet. “Don’t worry dear, I have big plans for you.”
“What plans?”
“I want you to take over from the Commissioner.”
Bailey turned to look at him. “What?”
“I want you replace him. Head the Met.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple. When I take over my little patch and start to make some changes, I will need a friendly face in the Commissioner’s chair. That’s you.”
“And do you think the Commissioner will just allow that?”
Alpha placed some files on Bailey’s knee. “These are transcripts of the Commissioner leaking confidential information to a reporter. I will make sure certain politician friends of mine give it the publicity it deserves. And I would like you to hand it your people in internal affairs.”
“Where did you get this?”
“It’s not important. What’s important is that you climb to the top of the tree when he is knocked off. And that your daughter is left to enjoy the rest of her formative years…unharassed.”
- Chapter 43 -
The Puppet Master
Morton sat with his hand wrapped around a whisky glass. He glanced up and the barman added another generous measure. Music from the fruit machine was the only sound in the pub. He waved at Cohen and Russell as they came in and pointed them to the back corner booth. They noticed the tiredness in each other’s eyes as they sat down.
“You look like shit Guv,” said Russell.
“I know. I haven’t had much sleep. They shoved me in a cell and the scumbags across the hall knew I was old bill. Someone must have tipped them off. They didn’t shut up all night. How did you two get on?”
“They put us in together, but it was pretty quiet.”
“Good for you.”
Morton looked over Russell’s shoulder towards the door. A young couple walked in and stood at the bar, laughing and giggling with each other. “They’ve been following me since I walked out of the station.”
Cohen lowered his voice. “Who are they?”
“Bailey’s people maybe. Special Branch. Spooks. I don’t know. I’m not sure it even matters anymore to be honest.”
“Shall I offer to buy them a drink?” said Russell. “Spike it with Rohypnol.”
“Probably not wise,” said Morton.
The couple bought their drinks and walked over to the opposite corner of the pub. The barman brought two more whiskys over and placed them on the table.
“So anyway, it looks like we’re fucked,” said Morton.
Cohen took a sip. “They gave you the same offer then?”
“Retire or retire in disgrace. Not much of an offer.”
“We could go to the press,” said Russell.
“We could,” said Morton. “But the Commissioner is tight with a lot of the editors. I doubt they’d give us the time of day. Besides, the evidence all points to us acting unilaterally. I don’t think it would turn out well.”
“What about Harper?” said Cohen. “Where did they take him?”
“I don’t know,” said Morton.
A few more customers walked in and sat at the bar. Morton lowered his voice. “Let’s slip out the back. There’s no reason why we should make things too easy for them.” The three men walked into the back bar and out the fire escape onto a narrow road. They walked through a few alleyways and emerged outside a small shopping arcade.
“Look, I’m sorry for putting you both in this situation, I really am,” said Morton. “But it seems we only have two options now. We can try to go quietly into the night or we can go out fighting. I propose the latter.”
“I’m with you Guv,” said Russell. “All the way.”
“Cohen?” said Morton
“I am too Guv, but it’s difficult, I’ve a got a mortgage, and a baby on the way. I have to think about them too.”
“I know you do,” said Morton. “If you want to walk away now, that’s your call. No hard feelings.”
Cohen sighed heavily. “The problem is they aren’t going to let us walk away, are they? Unless we finish this, we’re going to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders.”
“I agree,” said Morton. “It’s gone too far. There’s too much at stake.”
“So what can we do?” said Russell.
“We need to get to the puppet master. We need to get to John Tremaine.”
- Chapter 44 -
Operation Foxhole
Harper blinked a few times, trying to focus on one point of the ceiling. His limbs seemed heavy and he felt like he had to remind himself to breathe in and out. The sound of a distant drum banged sporadically in the back of his head. Or was it in the room? I don’t know. There were screams, people in pain and people dying, close by, maybe outside the door. He braced himself for another injection as the light in the corner clicked on and the door slid open. The smell of smoke followed footsteps into the room. Heads with black masks and Perspex visors crowded around the table, looking down at him, their muffled shouts lost in the chaos.
“This is him, let’s go….”
The metal clamps were released and his li
mbs freed from their shackles. The men swept him out of the room and into the corridor. A guard riddled with bullet holes was slumped against the wall outside. Harper clapped his hand over his mouth as the smoke got thicker. Sharp pains in his ankles made it hard to move forward. There were men behind him and in front of him, whisking him along in an efficient column. A scream pierced the air, followed by copycat howls from the other cells. Horrible sounds of madness and pain. He thought of trying to double back, but he was too weak to fight off his captors. He’d have to take his chances. They passed through several sets of mangled security doors, blown open with explosives, emerged briefly into the open air and sprinted across a walkway enclosed with metal fencing. The fresh air cleared Harper’s senses a little. There were five men with him, all heavily-armed. Grenades bounced off the belt of the man in front. They jumped through the door at the other end of the walkway and plunged back into the darkness. The group slowed down as they came to the start of a long corridor and crept forward in a crouched position. An explosion of automatic rifle fire sent them scurrying back to cover. Harper was shoved to the floor next to a water dispenser.
“Flashbangs and smoke, Go!”
The men at the front bowled the devices down the corridor and snapped back round the corner as more bullets whizzed towards them. An explosion of light bounced around the corridor and the acrid smoke percolated across the ceiling and downwards. The masked man next to Harper threw himself onto his stomach and scuttled off into the smoke with his gun prone in front of him. There were several short volleys of fire and he gave the all-clear signal to the rest of the group.
“Move.”
They picked Harper back up and ran through the smoke-filled corridor, past the dead guard. Blood slopped out of a wound in his chest onto the white floor. They pushed on through a few more security doors and burst out into a wooded area. Harper looked back at the entrance to the facility; a well-camouflaged bunker jutting out from the ground. The bodies of dead guards were strewn around, the aftermath of the firefight to gain entrance. They jogged along for around half a mile before coming to a line of military jeeps parked up in the trees.