by Tony Kent
Whatever it was, the speaker was not in complete control.
‘What the bloody hell happened?’
‘I messed up.’
It was all Joshua could offer. An evening of lonely reflection had lowered his reaction to criticism to the path of least resistance.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry? You’re sorry?’ Even through the electronic interference of the voice modulator, it was clear that Stanton’s pitch was rising. ‘I contracted you on the basis that you are the best at what you do, Sergeant. I put arrangements in place that would have made your target accessible to an adolescent, and yet you have consistently failed in almost every task. Now you’re saying “sorry”?’
‘There’s nothing more I can say,’ replied Joshua. The contrition was genuine. ‘I caused this mess and I should have cleaned it up tonight. Believe me, I tried. I just can’t explain what happened.’
When Stanton spoke again the pace of his voice had levelled. The rage simmering under its surface, though, was more evident than ever.
‘You can’t explain it? You’ve created carnage on the streets of London, by all accounts coming off second-best to a bloody barrister, and all you have to say is that you can’t explain it? Just what the hell am I paying you for?’
Stanton’s words made his fury unmistakable. But they had also made an allegation against Joshua’s hard-earned reputation. That would not stand.
‘You listen to me,’ Joshua began. ‘You might hold the cards but you’re not pinning this all on me. I’ve made mistakes and, yes, this should have gone better. But you’ve played your part too. First with Dempsey and now with Devlin. There’s a lot more to that guy than you’ve told me. If I’d known that, I’d have taken more care. So you can point the finger all you want, but this isn’t all down to me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ For the very first time Stanton seemed to hesitate. ‘I told you everything you needed to know about Devlin. He’s a lawyer, nothing more.’
‘Oh, he’s something more. I don’t know what, but that guy didn’t react like any office boy I’ve ever seen. I suggest you go back and take another look at this one.’
Joshua could not picture his words wiping the smug smile from Stanton’s face. Not when he had no idea what Stanton looked like. But that did not diminish the pleasure he felt from the uncertainty he had detected.
‘I will review it, Sergeant.’
No hesitation this time. Only the clipped metallic voice remained.
‘But you still have a mess to clear up and this is your last chance to do it. I want Michael Devlin and Sarah Truman dealt with, and dealt with quickly. Find them, kill them and erase any trace of what they may have found. Is that understood?’
‘It is,’ Joshua replied. He was already back in his subordinate position. It was a place he found far from comfortable. ‘What’s the timescale?’
‘Minimal.’ The answer was curt but firm. ‘This cannot be allowed to drag on. You will be swift and you will be efficient. The price others will pay if you are not will be a heavy one.’
Joshua felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the threat against his family. It gave him the urge to argue. An urge he suppressed. He had no way to get to Stanton, which left just one thing that could free him from this nightmare.
The silence of Devlin and Truman.
‘I understand. What about the other potential loose ends? Am I to deal with them too?’
‘Which others?’
‘The Lawrence family.’
There was a pause. Stanton seemed to ponder the question. Finally he spoke.
‘Yes, they’re a threat. Devlin spent the entire day with them, so we have to assume that he passed on what he knows. But I’ll deal with them. I wouldn’t want to overburden you, Sergeant.’
Joshua ignored the intended insult.
‘OK. I’ll be packed, ready to go and waiting for your call. And this time I won’t be underestimating anyone.’
THIRTY-NINE
The persistent ring of the doorbell finally broke through Trevor Henry’s sleep. As he woke he glanced across at his bedside clock. 3.46 a.m. The bed was empty except for his own large body. Still it was heavily ruffled. A sign of a disturbed slumber.
‘Alright, alright, I’m coming.’
The late-night caller had abandoned the doorbell and was now knocking loudly.
Henry rose to his feet. An iron spiral staircase led from his bedroom to his lounge. It was a space-saving measure, its eye-catching design making the most of the living area in his undersized one-bedroom apartment.
The hallway between his living room and his front door was minuscule, filled to capacity by just one. Henry stepped inside and unlocked the single security latch. He did so without looking through the spyhole that was built into all entrances in his apartment block. It showed a confident disregard for his personal safety; that even at this hour he was little worried who might be on the other side of the door.
The sight of a focused Joe Dempsey would take most people aback. A reaction he was used to. The visible strength in Dempsey’s muscular frame combined with his weathered, damaged features hinted at his capabilities. It was an impression only heightened by the intensity of his deep-blue eyes.
On this occasion the impact seemed to have been lost. Trevor Henry had not failed to notice these things. He just did not seem to care.
‘And you are?’
‘Major Joe Dempsey, Department of Domestic Security. I apologise for the hour, Sergeant Henry, but I’m afraid I have a number of questions that can’t wait.’
Dempsey saw the slightest change in Henry’s demeanour. While unaffected by his guest’s physical appearance, the mention of the DDS was another matter entirely.
‘Then I guess you’d better come in.’
Henry stood aside and ushered Dempsey into the lounge.
Dempsey passed through both the first and the second doors, which placed him in the apartment’s narrow open-plan lounge and kitchen area.
He took in his surroundings with the briefest turn of his head. His trained eye memorised every detail of significance within an instant.
‘So what’s so important that you’re banging on my door at four in the morning?’
Henry’s belligerence was not unexpected.
‘As I said, Sergeant, I’m sorry for the hour.’
Dempsey took a seat as he spoke. He then placed a portable DVD player on the table before continuing.
‘But I’m sure you’ll understand the urgency when I explain the situation. Two CNN reporters attended your station yesterday, enquiring into the death of Eamon McGale. Is that correct?’
‘You’re serious? There was nothing but press there yesterday. McGale was the biggest story of the year.’
The answer was designed to appear dismissive. Unconcerned. Henry took a seat as he spoke, and reclined the chair as he finished. It did not take an investigator of Dempsey’s skill to see through the facade. The man was now wide awake and thinking fast.
‘These two were a little more specific, Sergeant.’ Dempsey gave nothing away. ‘They came into your station unannounced. They spoke to you directly and you had them ejected from the premises. Does that ring any bells?’
Henry nodded silently for a moment before speaking. An obvious attempt to make his answer seem natural.
‘Yeah, yeah, that does. I know who you’re talking about now. A guy and a girl. She came in shouting the odds, making some ridiculous allegations about McGale having seen a lawyer the night before. So yeah, I had them thrown out.’
‘Did McGale see a lawyer?’
‘Of course he bloody didn’t.’ Henry’s feigned belligerence was well acted. ‘You’ve got more access to intelligence than the likes of me, Major. If you’re involved in this investigation then you know there was no visit.’
‘That’s certainly what I’ve been told, Sergeant. I just wanted to hear it from you.’
Dempsey was an experienced interrog
ator. He was carefully guiding the accused to the point where Henry had no choice but to tell either the truth or an easily disproved lie.
‘These reporters? Had you ever seen them before?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ve seen them in the crowds out front. Saying that, though, the girl was a looker. If I’d seen her before I’m sure I’d remember. So I guess not.’
It was an attempt to appeal to some shared masculinity. It was ignored.
‘As I understand it, Sergeant, the young lady claimed that she had spoken to you the night before. You’re saying there’s no truth in that?’
‘That’s what I just said, wasn’t it?’
Henry lost all pretence of civility. The questions were loaded. Dempsey was out to prove what he already knew.
‘I hadn’t met the woman before that minute!’
‘And the other suggestion? That you told her a lawyer had already been appointed? Do you deny that too?’
‘What the hell is this?’ Henry rose from his chair as he spoke. ‘I just answered that question. I didn’t speak to that woman and so I couldn’t have told her anything, could I? Just what are you getting at?’
Henry’s anger was now front and centre. If it was intended to intimidate it had failed. Dempsey continued as if there had been no change. As if Henry were still sitting calmly. He opened the DVD player. Pressed the power button. Waited for the screen to flicker into life.
‘Please look at the screen.’
‘I don’t need to take this shit!’ Henry shouted.
The net was closing. Its weight was affecting his rationality.
‘I’ve never . . .’
‘Please look at the screen, Sergeant.’
Dempsey’s voice remained emotionless. He turned the portable DVD player to face Henry. Dempsey gave nothing away but he could detect that Henry was approaching boiling point. He subtly repositioned himself, poised to react in an instant.
Henry glanced at the screen and saw himself. It was a perfect image of the previous day, when he had burst into Paddington Green police station’s reception. Everything was as he remembered. Including the moment he saw Truman and hissed in recognition.
Dempsey froze the scene.
‘Still say you’d never met Sarah Truman before, Sergeant?’
It was the classic interrogator’s enquiry. Henry could either tell the truth or maintain what was now a very obvious lie. Either way, his honesty was completely undermined.
Henry faltered. Dempsey knew why: he was undecided on his next step. The hesitation was a moment too long for his next burst of outrage to be genuine.
‘That means nothing!’ Henry began to stalk the table like a cornered animal. ‘Everything she accused me of was bullshit.’
‘The only bullshit here is coming from you, Sergeant.’
Dempsey knew that Henry was close to the edge. He intended to tip him over.
‘You’d met Sarah Truman before, just as she said. That much is obvious from your reaction on the footage. But the fact you’re now lying about it means more, doesn’t it? It means that she’s telling the truth about what you told her. It means that McGale saw a lawyer before he died.’
‘Get out of my house.’
Every ounce of fake outrage was gone. Replaced by cold, murderous fury. The sign of a man who knew when the game was up.
Dempsey ignored it.
‘So what about the rest, Sergeant? Did Daniel Lawrence turn up? Did he speak to McGale? Because you know Lawrence is dead, don’t you? You know they both are?’
‘I’ve told you to get out, Major. Now. Before I throw you out. NOW!’
‘They’re both dead, Sergeant. And if you were involved in any way then you are culpable for their murders.’
Henry said nothing.
‘What you don’t know, though, is that others are dead too. One of those reporters? He was killed tonight. There was also an attempt on the life of the other, and your friends tried to kill a colleague of Daniel Lawrence.’
Dempsey paused for just a moment before continuing.
‘I don’t know if you were directly involved in any of that but it’s all part of the same conspiracy, and you know the law on that as well as I do. If you’re a part of some of it then you’re part of all of it. These people are on a rampage, Sergeant. And, right now, you’re the one in the frame.’
The fresh information was intended to overwhelm Henry. To hit him with the truth of a situation in which he had surely played only a small part. Dempsey intended for it to push Henry beyond breaking point.
It worked.
In one moment Henry was hesitant. Unaware how best to act. In the next the decision was made.
The sudden movement would have surprised most, but Dempsey had expected the reaction. His only uncertainty was the direction in which Henry would move. Would it be towards Dempsey or towards the exit? Either way, the agent was ready.
When Henry burst into a sprint in the direction of the living room door, Dempsey was out of his seat and kicking it shut with a speed the fleeing man could not have expected.
The sergeant’s own reaction was almost as impressive. Dempsey’s speed would have caused many to be paralysed by shock. Not Henry. Henry’s response was to attack.
Their bodies were positioned so that only Henry’s left hand was placed to strike with any force. With the options so limited, Dempsey expected the left hook before Henry even thought to throw it. One step ahead, he used the sergeant’s own force to guide the fist safely past its target.
As Henry stumbled after his own weight, Dempsey’s left hand locked onto the sergeant’s wrist. Moving against Henry’s momentum, Dempsey threw him off balance and left him exposed. Just a fleeting moment, but it was long enough. With a twist of his hips and torso for power, Dempsey sent his right elbow crashing into Henry’s prone jaw.
Henry had no time to feel shocked as the room went black. He hit the floor with a bang. His mind returned quickly, and with it came confusion. Dempsey had seen it before. Hard men, bewildered that they had been taken down so easily. The reaction to being outclassed was never a helpful one.
‘At least we both know where we stand now.’ Dempsey stepped out of reach of Henry’s outstretched legs as he spoke. ‘Tell me who you’re working for?’
Henry did not answer. Instead he staggered to his feet. Once upright he spat out a mouthful of blood. Unsteady on his feet, he looked Dempsey in the eye.
‘Fuck you!’
Henry’s words were spat out as he launched himself into a dive, his full bodyweight thrown behind a head-butt that was aimed at Dempsey’s face. It would have been a devastating blow if it had landed. It did not even come close.
Dempsey’s reaction was almost casual. He kept his left foot rooted to the spot, acting both as an axis from which to spin out of Henry’s path and as an obstruction to his trajectory.
The trip unbalanced Henry just as Dempsey used his own spinning momentum to deliver a knee-strike to the lower back. The blow sent Henry careering head first into the living room door. As he did so Dempsey brought his foot crashing into the back of Henry’s knee, bringing him halfway to the floor. Stunned, Henry could do nothing as Dempsey grabbed him by the head and twisted his neck, sending him crashing across the room and through the glass dining table.
Dempsey was in no hurry to approach the now-unconscious Henry. He had done what was necessary to win. No more. No less.
He stepped over the unmoving sergeant and went to the kitchen sink. Picking up a small tumbler from the draining board, he filled it with water from the tap and returned to where Henry still lay unconscious. Dempsey used his foot to turn the man’s heavy frame onto its back. An overturned metal chair lay nearby. Dempsey picked it up and placed it across Henry’s chest.
With his full weight on the seat, Dempsey took the tumbler and dribbled cold water onto Henry’s face. He watched it contort as Henry slowly regained consciousness. The sergeant took a few seconds to remember where he was and what was happening.
As his memory came back his rage came with it.
‘Get this fucking thing off me!’ Henry shouted, fighting against the weight that held him down.
‘Stop struggling.’
Dempsey’s voice was as calm as it had been throughout, but with a menace and an authority that had been lacking. It seemed to work. Henry did exactly as ordered.
‘And, while we’re at it, enough bullshit. I know there’s more to Trafalgar Square than we’ve been told. I know it wasn’t just some madman or a terrorist attack. I also know you’re my one living link to whoever’s behind this. There’ve been murders and there’s been a cover-up. I don’t care why. I only care about who. So again: who are you working for?’
Henry met Dempsey’s intense stare. He was caught and he was not getting away. But that did not mean he had to talk. The constriction on his chest and the blood running into his throat were combining to make speech a chore. The words came out like spit.
‘I’m not denying anything,’ he finally said. ‘But I ain’t telling you a thing, either. If I’m going inside I don’t need those bastards looking to do me harm. You want information? Find someone else.’
‘There is no one else.’
Dempsey had expected the response. He knew that Henry would have more to fear from his employers than he ever would from the British government. But there was one factor Henry had not considered.
‘If you don’t talk then these guys will disappear. I know that doesn’t bother you, but you’ve forgotten that I’m not the only one looking for them. If you don’t answer me, other people will have questions.’
‘What other people?’
‘Think about it, Sergeant. The shooting happened in London, but who got shot? A Brit, yeah. But also the ex-president of the United States. Think about that for a moment. Do you really think the Americans are going to leave you in a British prison if they think you know something about this? Or do you think that maybe you’re going to disappear?’