by Tony Kent
‘She’s not here.’
Michael could feel Sarah’s absence as a crippling pain in the pit of his stomach. She was dead. He knew it. And it was a thought that he could not bear.
‘She’s dead, Liam. She’s dead. I should have been here. I should have been here.’
‘Listen to me, Mikey.’
Liam stepped forward and grabbed his brother in a bear hug. His strong arms pulled Michael into his chest.
‘Listen to me. She’s not dead, Michael. She’s not dead.’
‘What?’ Michael’s voice was desperate. ‘How do you know? How can you know?’
‘Because there’s no body, Mikey. If she was dead her body would be here. With the rest of them. Why would they take it?’
Liam’s logic pulled Michael back from the edge. He began to regain some clarity of thought.
‘They’ve taken her alive? Why?’
‘Because they aren’t sure what we have or what we know. She’s a bargaining chip. Sarah, for whatever we’ve got.’
‘You mean the recording?’
‘For whatever. They don’t know what we have, Mikey. They don’t know what they’re actually bargaining for. They’re just hoping you’ll hand over whatever it is to keep Sarah safe.’
‘But then they’ll kill her anyway. They must realise we know that?’
‘Maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. Either way, we play along. We wait for them to get in touch.’
‘Or maybe you contact them.’
The last words came from a deep English voice. It was out of place in a room full of Irishmen. All three span to face the door. Liam and O’Neil reached for their weapons.
‘I wouldn’t do that.’
The authority in the voice was backed by a gun in an expert hand. Intense, unblinking eyes rooted all three to the spot.
Michael studied the man. He took in the details. Powerfully built. Smartly dressed. Clipped military hair. One thought occurred to him: the killer had returned. So the newcomer’s next words were a shock.
‘Were you here when this happened?’
A gesture of his pistol indicated to the carnage around them.
‘Were you?’ Liam asked. Gun or no gun, Liam was control of the scene.
‘You’re Liam Casey.’
Liam’s response had been all that was needed to mark him for who he was. The newcomer continued, gesturing towards the younger brother.
‘Which makes you Michael Devlin.’
‘And who the hell are you?’
‘I’m Major Joe Dempsey of the Department of Domestic Security.’
Dempsey lowered his weapon and took another glance around the room.
‘And I think we can help each other.’
SEVENTY-FOUR
Haversume sat back into the luxurious chair behind his ornate office desk. The familiar chimes of Big Ben announced the passing of 7 a.m. Early for a cigar on a normal day. But today was far from that.
Haversume opened the rich-brown humidor that sat to his left and removed a prohibitively expensive Cohiba Cuban cigar from inside. He cut the tip from its rear end and began to gradually ignite the rolled tobacco leaves. It was a ritual he found calming.
For months Haversume had survived on four hours’ sleep per night. Sometimes less. By now he should have been past the point of exhaustion. Yet he felt nothing but exhilaration.
It had worked. So very nearly derailed, his intricate design had come good in the end. He deserved the pleasure of this cigar, but the warmth of success – how close he now was to so much power – was the real reward.
His eyes swept across his office. Soon it would be swapped for the more traditional setting of 10 Downing Street. It was the culmination of decades of well-hidden ambition. And it was no less than he deserved.
Haversume’s rise to power was unconventional. A strange route which only strengthened his belief in his own superiority.
Who else could pull off a plan – years in the making – to seize control of one of the world’s most powerful governments? Who else could manipulate people from every walk of life? Compel them to put their own lives on the line for his advancement? Who else could mould public opinion to the point where he was one of only two possible replacements for the leader he would displace? And who else would use his only competition – Neil Matthewson – as the trigger for his ultimate coup?
It proved what Haversume had always believed. There was no one better.
But it had been a far from faultless journey. The time and effort had been enormous. The financial cost immense. Haversume had delved into the criminal underworld. He had created his ‘Stanton’ persona to place him at the apex of a criminal hierarchy, from where he was able to coordinate the attacks that had brought Great Britain to its knees.
At the same time he had cultivated his relationships in the military community. Had manipulated the patriotism of Callum McGregor, the most powerful man in British intelligence, to the point that McGregor had involved himself in the unthinkable. All of these things carried a price.
But the greatest cost had come at the end.
Haversume would have given almost anything to avoid Daniel’s death. Almost anything. The moment he heard of his godson’s involvement was the worst of his life, knowing that it meant Daniel would die. There was no choice. Haversume had reached a point of no return. Daniel had to be sacrificed.
As terrible as that loss had been, what followed was almost worse. Michael Devlin’s refusal to die had put the rest of the Lawrence family in danger. It had taken every ounce of Haversume’s manipulative genius to make their survival possible.
His frustration at Michael’s phone call to Hugh had been genuine. He had listened to his friend pass on Michael’s message with dread, knowing that if Michael shared too much with them, they would also have to be dealt with. So Haversume had offered them refuge – and isolation. Anything to keep them from hearing what else Michael might discover.
For a time he had been rattled by Michael’s success. But not now. Joshua had confirmed Mullen’s death and Sarah Truman’s capture. That gave Haversume the advantage. Michael Devlin might have turned out tougher than expected, but he still had a weakness. Devlin was an honourable man. And he had already been through a lot to keep this woman alive and by his side. Devlin would bargain for Truman’s life. Haversume was confident of that.
And if he was wrong? If Devlin refused? Well, if that happened, Haversume had other leverage. He might be reluctant to resort to it, but he would if necessary.
And what of Joshua? Haversume thought.
A man so well regarded, but whose failure had led to Daniel’s death. Joshua’s subsequent actions had been impressive. He had shown great commitment, demonstrating the talent for which he was infamous. But it did not change the fact that his failure had jeopardised everything. For that – and for Daniel – Joshua would pay a high price.
But all of this was for the future. For now, Haversume would enjoy his success.
The planning. The sacrifice. The cost. The worry. It had all come to fruition. And it had ended more cleanly, more completely, than Haversume had dreamed possible. The report of two bodies in a hotel suite in Belfast had been passed to every intelligence agency by Assistant Commissioner Alex Henley of the Metropolitan Police, and from there the identities of the deceased had quickly become common knowledge. The apparent victims of a mutual shooting, the men had been named as Joe Dempsey and Callum McGregor.
It was the perfect conclusion. Unthinkably convenient. The scheme’s greatest threat and the man who could later prove to be its biggest loose end. Each one taking the other out of the equation, and just hours after the release and subsequent ‘disappearance’ of Sergeant Trevor Henry. The final obstacles, all removed in one fatal morning.
Haversume could not have asked for more.
The feeling of contentment remained for several minutes. Haversume wanted to revel in his victory for as long as he could.
Finally – inevitably – the feeling
was replaced by an urge to work.
A compulsive need to occupy his mind with details and strategies had served Haversume well. And it would do so again. As much as his upcoming appointment was a race already won, he would obsessively ensure that his leadership campaign would impress. It had to. The government had fourteen days in which to call a vote of confidence, to avoid an election. It was a vote they would only win if a new leader – Haversume – was firmly in place.
He accessed his computer’s contact list and found the email addresses of those Members of Parliament who he knew shared his public stance. They were good men and women, idealists who believed in the policies Haversume had only used for advancement. The likes of Jeremy Ross and Elizabeth Prince would form the backbone of his first government, and for this they needed to be under his spell.
There were seven addresses in all. Satisfied, Haversume began to type a short message that invited each to a House of Commons lunch. He was halfway done when he was interrupted by his secretary, the only member of staff who kept hours as unsociable as his own.
‘Mr Haversume, I have Michael Devlin holding on one.’
Haversume’s usual speed of thought deserted him. He had no idea why Devlin could be calling. So he could not react with anything but a false friendly greeting as he lifted the telephone to his ear.
‘Michael, thank God you’re OK. We’ve been worried sick. Where are you?’
‘You know exactly where I am, Stanton.’
Michael’s answer brought Haversume’s self-satisfaction to an abrupt end and made his blood run cold.
‘So why don’t you come and get me?’
SEVENTY-FIVE
The feeling was like nothing Haversume had ever experienced. From the height of elation to the pit of despair in an instant.
He needed to take control of the situation.
Without a word he noted down the number on the telephone screen and disconnected the line. Next he reached for his second handset. His secure handset. He entered the same digits and activated his voice modulator.
If Michael had been surprised by the disconnect and then the immediate recall he did not show it.
‘Some reason you don’t want to speak on an open line?’
Michael’s tone was mocking. It did not improve Haversume’s mood.
‘I just didn’t expect you to be so effective, Michael,’ Haversume replied. ‘You’ve been quite a surprise.’
‘I’m a surprise? You murdered your own godson, Tony. That was hardly expected.’
‘Believe me, it wasn’t something I wanted to do.’
‘That makes it better, does it?’ Michael’s voice was raised. Filled with disgust. ‘You killed Daniel – a man you claimed was like a son to you.’
‘I did what I had to do for the good of my country.’ Haversume kept his voice steady. His feigned righteousness was well practised. ‘I was willing to lose a son. I was willing to pay that price.’
‘Oh, you’ll pay a price. You’ll pay a price for Daniel and for everyone else you’ve killed. Believe me on that!’
Haversume listened to the rage in Michael’s voice with growing regret, knowing that Michael’s determined fury had an inevitable consequence, one he had hoped to avoid. Michael must know that Haversume had Sarah, and yet he had taken an aggressive approach. It suggested that Haversume could not rely on Sarah being sufficient collateral. A fact which made a further bargaining chip – a more certain one – necessary.
Daniel’s family.
He made one last attempt to avoid it.
‘I think you’re forgetting something, Michael.’ Haversume’s tone was still calm. It hid his desperation. His hope that this final gambit could still prevent the unthinkable.
‘I think you’re forgetting that I have your lady friend.’
‘You think I give a shit about her? We just met, Tony. Do what you want with her. I’m coming after you for Daniel.’
It was the wrong answer. The choice was made.
‘I don’t believe that for a moment, Michael,’ Haversume replied. ‘But even if it were true, do I need to remind you of the whereabouts of Daniel’s family? Of Claire. Harry. Hugh. Deborah. You do know where they are, don’t you?’
Michael was silent for a moment before answering. It told Haversume that the additional threat was unexpected.
‘Where are they?’
The resentment and anger in Michael’s voice had been replaced by fear. It brought a smile to Haversume’s face. As did Michael’s next question.
‘What have you done to them?’
‘I’ve not done a thing. Not the slightest thing. But that could change, Michael. Depending upon what you do from this point.’
Michael was silent again. Haversume could picture the whispered conversation with his brother that was sure to be taking place.
When Michael spoke again his tone was different. Slower. He came straight to the point.
‘If you release them all – Daniel’s family and the girl – this can all still go away. I’ll let it go. Daniel. Matthewson. Everything. I’ll let it all go and I’ll fade away. We all will. So please, just let them go.’
‘You’re making me an offer?’ Haversume could not suppress a laugh. ‘You have nothing to offer. So we’ll be doing this on my terms.’
‘Actually, Tony, I think you’ll find I do have something to offer. Something you might want.’
‘Oh you do, do you?’
Even through the voice modulator the answer was sceptical. Haversume’s patience was wearing thin.
‘And what might that be?’
‘It’s a voice recording,’ Michael replied. ‘Robert Mullen recorded almost every conversation you ever had. A digital record of every call. And you know how this works as well as I do. I can have the recording analysed. I can have it confirmed that it’s your voice on there, giving Mullen dates, times and details of terrorist attacks. How do you think that will play out in your leadership campaign, minister?’
‘Really?’ Haversume was almost amused by the weakness of Michael’s gambit. ‘And how do you propose to identify the voice when every single call used the same electronic disguise I’m using now? I’m not a fool, Michael. What you have – if you have it – is worthless.’
‘I thought you’d say that.’ Michael’s voice remained confident. Unflustered. ‘But Mullen wasn’t as dumb as you seem to think.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about the fact that whatever kit you’re using to disguise your voice, it’s not flawless. It’s military ordinance, isn’t it? And it can be bypassed – reversed – by equipment of the same grade.’
Haversume said nothing. He felt his confidence falter.
‘Which is exactly what Mullen laid his hands on,’ Michael continued. ‘Through your own organisation. Whoever it was you had supplying him with what he needed to fake those attacks, they also supplied him with a recorder that could decrypt your voice modulator.’
‘I . . I . . . I don’t believe you.’ For the first time in as long as he could remember, Haversume was truly scared. ‘None of my people would—’
‘For now, let’s just assume I’m right, shall we? Let’s assume I do have what you want.’
Haversume could not quite believe what he was hearing. But it was a threat he could not ignore. If it was true? His heart quickened at the thought of another weakness. Another threat to the success that – moments ago – was in the palm of his hand.
He thought quickly before continuing.
‘Then it looks like we’re at an impasse, Michael. Because if you’re telling the truth then you do have something I want. And in that case this negotiation is not as simple as I first thought. So what do you propose we do next?’
‘We meet. Any deal we do, we do it face to face. I’ll bring the recording. You bring Sarah and Daniel’s family. We exchange and we walk away. But anything out of the ordinary and I’m gone, and this recording goes to the press. Understood?’
>
Haversume had no choice. So close to success, the recordings could ruin everything.
‘You realise I won’t come alone, Michael?’
‘Neither will I. Bring whoever you like.’
‘Where and when?’
‘Somewhere neutral. Eamon McGale’s family had a cabin in County Wicklow. I’m sure you know all about it from back when you were brainwashing the poor guy.’
‘I’m aware of it, yes.’
‘Then we’ll meet there. Tonight at 7 p.m.’
‘A poignant choice. I’ll be there,’ he replied. ‘Just make sure you are too.’
‘You don’t need to worry about that, Tony.’
The line went dead.
Haversume sat frozen for a moment. The sensation of his heart racing was unfamiliar; confirmation that things had taken a turn for the worse.
Mullen’s recordings would be fatal for the campaign. And for his liberty. So the mere possibility that they might exist and be in the hands of Devlin and Casey left him with little choice. For now he would comply with Michael’s demands.
But only for as long as it suited him.
Haversume had already thought of how he would use Michael’s conditions against him.
His best asset – Joshua – gave him an advantage with which the brothers just could not compete. An advantage he would bring to bear. The terrain had been chosen by Michael, but it best suited Joshua. It was a place where he would make short work of Haversume’s enemies, finally bringing this nightmare to an end.
Haversume smiled. Michael had made the wrong choice. A choice that would be his last. It was a thought that should have pleased him, but the smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. Because Michael’s choice had done something else. It had ensured that, tomorrow night, what was left of the Lawrence family would share Daniel’s fate.
And for that Michael Devlin would pay.
SEVENTY-SIX
Michael placed the handset on the table ahead of him and looked around Liam’s office. Every pair of eyes in the room looked back at him.