Seven Day Hero

by J. T. Brannan

  Tarr took the bags and started packing the car. He could see the yacht out to sea, further out to the west but about five kilometres closer than it had been earlier. They had obviously started their approach, circling in on the location in as subtle a way as they could manage.

  Sarah was fastening Amy into her child seat in the back of the Range Rover when she looked up and saw Tarr staring. Caught out, he smiled sheepishly. Sarah followed his line of sight. ‘What is it?’ she asked. She didn’t want to ask if there was any danger in front of the children. The last thing she wanted to do was to frighten them. As it was, they were full of excitement about their mystery ‘trip’.

  Tarr just shook his head. ‘Nothing to worry about my dear,’ he reassured her. As he took the last bag, he looked at his watch. Almost seven o’clock. Lovely.

  He heaved the bag into the boot and pulled down the tailgate. As he did so, the sharp bang all but completely covered up the low, muffled whump that came from a few short kilometres offshore.

  As he opened the car door, the children had noticed the smoke and low-level flame on the nearby horizon. ‘What’s that?’ Ben asked, pointing.

  ‘Ooh, pretty!’ Amy said, giggling.

  Tarr looked back over his headrest and smiled. ‘Just some early New Year fireworks, that’s all. You’re right though, Amy. It sure is pretty.’

  He turned to Sarah and smiled reassuringly. Two twelve-kilo limpet mines would not be pretty for the men on the yacht, he was sure of that.

  For some reason, Sarah did not return his smile.

  9

  There was a pot of strong coffee already on the desk when Harry Trencher entered the sixth floor office of the Director of Central Intelligence.

  Dorrell, who had been standing at the panoramic window staring out at the frozen parking lot, hands on hips, turned and smiled half-heartedly as Trencher passed through the doorway.

  ‘Hi Harry,’ he began. ‘Thanks for coming.’ He gestured at the coffee pot on the table. ‘Help yourself.’

  Trencher nodded in thanks and poured himself a cup, pouring in three spoonfuls of sugar. As he considered Dorrell’s cheerless features, he couldn’t help feeling that he might soon need something a bit stronger. Something was obviously seriously wrong, and Trencher was sure he would soon know what it was; Dorrell wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Even before Trencher could ask what it was, Dorrell stopped in the middle of the room and asked ‘How are your boys getting on?’ The man looked hopeful, if not quite desperate.

  Trencher cleared his throat, deciding to keep things simple. ‘Nothing concrete. So far, it seems like Crozier was acting alone, although his sudden death might indicate he was carrying out orders for someone else.’

  Dorrell seemed to digest this for some moments, although Trencher knew that it was nothing the man wasn’t already aware of. ‘But there’s no evidence of anyone else being involved?’ he asked, again hopefully.

  Trencher shook his head. Where’s he going with this? he wondered. ‘Nothing concrete yet, no. Just a gut feeling.’

  After a few more moments’ consideration, Dorrell turned to Trencher, his gaze steady. ‘It might just have to remain that way,’ he said finally. He saw the confusion on Trencher’s face, and after a further pause said ‘They know.’

  Trencher looked at his boss quizzically. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Everyone. The European Union, Russia, probably China by now. It’ll be across the world’s media by tomorrow morning. I briefed the President an hour ago.’ Dorrell, to emphasize the extent of the situation, added, ‘ERA is having an emergency session in London in the next few hours.’

  The look on Trencher’s face was clear. ‘Shit.’ He sat motionless for almost a full minute before looking up again at Dorrell. ‘How?’ he asked simply.

  ‘Some little puke in the Canadian Intelligence Service made the connection, did a little digging, and Sam Hodges, the Director, took what he found straight to the European JIC.’

  ‘What did Abrams say?’

  ‘What could he say?’ Dorrell snorted. He gave me Hell to start with. Wondered what you guys have been up to, missing something like this.’ He saw Trencher roll his eyes at that one, and smiled for the first time that day. ‘But the President’s a good guy. He’s less interested in blaming us, than in figuring out what to do next.

  ‘He’s busy preparing a statement right now. Probably gonna give ERA full access to us, let them in on the investigation, try and show that we have nothing to hide. Try and work some diplomatic way out of this clusterfuck. Figure about forty eight hours before we get the first guys here.’ Dorrell fixed Trencher with that steady gaze once again. ‘And, right or wrong, we don’t want them to find anything we don’t already know.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Trencher asked, although he already knew the answer. He wasn’t a politician himself, but he certainly knew how the game worked.

  ‘Meaning,’ Dorrell said curtly, as if annoyed that Trencher was making him commit himself further, ‘that no matter who else might be involved, it’s better for all concerned if we can just pin the whole thing on one guy and salvage US-European relations as best we can.’

  ‘Bill?’ Trencher asked. Dorrell just raised his eyebrows, and Trencher nodded his head in resignation, accepting the reasoning. He didn’t really believe Crozier had been acting alone, but knew if that particular truth came out, it would create ever increasing tensions between the US and ERA, not forgetting China. Already, his mind was working things out step by step.

  ‘Okay,’ Trencher said finally, ‘Bill it is. Delusional perhaps, mentally ill. But highly intelligent, able to evade pick-up on routine psychological evaluations – perhaps some evidence of him tampering with his own personnel files? After the death of his wife, dived headfirst into his work, became obsessed, paranoid by perceived threats which weren’t really there. Saw ERA as a major threat to the US – leak some memos he ‘wrote’ to you, warning you? – but his fears were ignored time and time again. Until eventually he decided to go it alone, solve the problem by himself, without waiting for official authorization, which he had come to believe he would never get.’

  Dorrell looked at Trencher, eyes a little wider than normal. ‘Wow, Harry. You’re fast,’ he said admiringly. ‘It sounds good to me.’

  Trencher all but ignored him, still working the scenarios in his head. ‘Of course, we’ll have to layer the evidence, let the information leak out slowly, as if the investigation really is revealing the truth.’

  ‘Get on it. We have to act quickly. Get the ‘evidence’ hidden, so that the ERA team can find it. If it all works out, we get a slap on the wrist for not monitoring our people closely enough, we sign a couple of new bills for more oversight, everything relaxes.’

  ‘If it all works out,’ Trencher echoed cynically. ‘And if it doesn’t?’

  ‘Then we’re fucked,’ Dorrell stated simply. ‘So it’s up to us to make sure that doesn’t happen. Who knows, maybe the ‘lone gunman’ bullshit is actually the truth. Your guys still don’t have any hard evidence, and the cut-off seems to have been Crozier at every step of the way so far.’

  Trencher nodded. ‘Maybe, maybe not. It’s certainly possible he was acting alone, but his recent death is a little bit of a coincidence. I think he was being controlled by someone; who, I don’t know. Someone in government, someone in the military, someone in business, I just don’t know. But on the off chance such information exists, I think we need to know about it first. That way, we can deal with it. The more we know, the better our damage limitation is going to be.’

  Dorrell turned again to the huge window that had forever dominated his office, deep in thought. Trencher was right, he knew. It could only be worse if further information was discovered by ERA through some other route and the Agency was unprepared. At length, he turned back to his Chief of internal affairs.

  ‘Okay,’ he said decisively. ‘This is how we’re going to play it. The official US government investigation, with full transparency for a
ny European investigative team that is sent, will be led to the undeniable conclusion that the operation was solely the result of a renegade CIA agent, albeit a high-level one, acting alone. This will be the public investigation, accepted by governments and as seen across the world’s media.’ He paused, his voice softening slightly. ‘But you’re right. We also have to know what really happened. Keep Moses and Arnold on it. But only Moses and Arnold. Nobody else can know we’re considering the work of any outside forces. Discretion is the key here, Harry. Absolute discretion.’

  Trencher nodded his head. ‘I understand,’ he said simply.

  ‘And I don’t want rumour or hearsay,’ Dorrell added. ‘Any evidence they come back with has to be concrete, do you understand that?’

  Again, Trencher nodded his head. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Your boys can investigate, but they cannot make any ripples. I want this thing cleared up quickly and cleanly, with as little exposure for us as possible.’

  Trencher stood, recognizing that the meeting was at an end. They shook hands, and Dorrell said quietly ‘And if we can actually find out what really happened, that’ll be a nice bonus.’

  Trencher’s eyes crinkled into the beginnings of a smile, he nodded his head once more, and left.

  10

  Sarah scanned the small departure lounge at Owen Roberts International Airport, senses alert. She was no professional when it came to counter-surveillance, but her husband had developed the natural instincts that she did possess into a passable approximation. He had taught her the basic skills of the trade, and now both Sarah and Tarr were following routines that Cole had made them both practise many times in the past.

  To avoid detection, they might ordinarily have taken the family yacht the 400 kilometres across the Caribbean to Miami. But there was now the danger that they could be attacked at sea, because even though Tarr had disabled one enemy vessel didn’t mean that there weren’t more.

  It was therefore decided to revert to the secondary plan, and so the group had taken the island hopper from Cayman Brac to Grand Cayman, and then stayed at the airport to get a direct flight to Miami.

  Sarah finished her inspection of the varied commuters, and finally turned her attention back to Ben and Amy. ‘How about some ice cream?’ she said as calmly as she could, trying to hide the adrenalized pumping of her heart, which had been working overtime since the explosion near her house.

  Both of the children had picked up on this change in their mother, but had instinctively tried to copy her in acting normally. The sight of the huge ice cream dump bins soon made their false enthusiasm genuine however, and the feeling of holiday excitement soon resumed.

  Tarr was making a better show of being relaxed. After all, he had had many years of experience in feigning relaxation in the heat of confrontation, and had learnt to control his fears well. But he too was scanning the departure lounge, checking for anything – anything at all – that might be out of place.

  When Cole had first started to teach him the counter-surveillance drills in preparation for such an event, it had become immediately clear that Tarr needed precious little instruction. Although he had never learnt such skills in a military fashion, he had picked up almost identical habits from his life on the streets of London, always trying to keep one step ahead of the Metropolitan Police Force as part of the notorious Parks gang.

  His finely tuned nose for danger picked up nothing especially untoward, but he was still cautious. The fact was that there were simply not that many ways to leave the Cayman Islands. Even if there was nobody watching here, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that they would be connecting with Miami. They were even using their real names and passports, at least for this initial part of the journey.

  Tarr knew that Miami would be where the real work would start, and where their counter-surveillance would have to be operating on overtime for them to get clear of anyone waiting for them. He only scanned the crowds at the airport out of habit, and just in case an attack was made. He thought that such an attack would be highly unlikely however, especially in such a crowded, security-conscious place such as an airport.

  Besides which, Tarr had a feeling that if there had been orders to kill them, they would have already been carried out. But the yacht had only started moving when it became apparent that the Cole family was leaving. It therefore seemed to Tarr that the men’s orders had been to follow, perhaps with the hope that the family would lead them to Cole.

  Tarr grimaced internally. If that was their plan, then he’d have to make bloody sure that they weren’t followed in Miami, for everyone’s sake.

  The passenger information came chattering over the secure connection onboard the private plane Albright had chartered that morning.

  He scanned down the list, seeing what he needed – Mr Philip Tarr, Mrs Sarah Cole, Ben Cole, Amy Cole, Flight 983 to Miami International; leaving in just under an hour and getting in at 1305 local time.

  Albright allowed himself a satisfied smile. He had guessed right, and the small Gulfstream jet would get him to Miami a full two hours before his quarry, giving him time to liaise with Hansard’s men there, and to set up their surveillance operation.

  Still smiling, Albright snapped open his small compact, the mirrored glass of which was now cracked down the middle. As he examined himself, the smile vanished. His hair was a mess, dark with sweat and salt water, and his eyes were puffy and bruised, his jaw line swollen. Cuts crisscrossed their way across his tanned face.

  Most of the men from his detail were dead – only two others had lived through the devastating explosion, and they were both in intensive care. But as he stared at himself in the broken mirror, he didn’t feel lucky.

  Albright had been lucky, however, the main bulkhead in the dive room protecting him from the full force of the blast. He’d managed to get out of the yacht through the immersion chamber, and had found one of the SDVs just below, blown free from its mooring under the bow by the explosion.

  He had piloted the machine to shore, calling in the emergency and making straight for the airport, shrugging off the superficial injuries he had sustained. The other men were pulled from the wreckage by a rescue team just twenty minutes later, which was considerably too late for most of them.

  It did not take long for Albright to figure out what had happened – he knew the effects of mines as well as anyone. He also knew that he had made a potentially fatal error – he had underestimated this man, Philip Tarr.

  As he snapped the compact shut again, disgusted by his appearance and deciding that he would take a shower and clean himself up at Miami International before anything else, he thought about Tarr, and knew for a fact that he would not let himself make the same mistake again.

  11

  Cole’s back touched down on the cold metal floor of the second-level parking zone, his muscles at first relaxing, before cramping up agonizingly. He had been clinging to the Toyota’s chassis for over an hour, and although he had adopted the most comfortable posture available, he had known that muscle cramps would be inevitable. And so he knew he just had to lie quietly and ride out the pain.

  As his mind cleared, he considered his options. The car had been parked for the last twenty minutes, and Cole had still waited, suspended underneath the car, until all the passengers on this level had left for the comforts of the lounge above. He had only let himself slide down to the floor when he could detect no further presence in the parking area – no radios, no doors shutting, no children shouting, no drunkards singing. All was silent, and he was now free to move around the huge vessel like any other passenger.

  The lure of a cold beer at one of the bars was certainly tempting, and yet he hesitated to move. Going above to the public areas would certainly be the more comfortable option, but it would not be the wisest. Although he had boarded the ferry undetected, he knew Hansard might have men stationed on all boats leaving port, including this one. Cole didn’t know whether his old boss would have had the time, or the manpower,
to launch such an operation; it didn’t seem likely, but he simply could not afford to take the chance.

  As his muscles eventually began to properly relax and feeling started to return to his limbs, he considered another of his options. He could access the service areas, and hide within the operational bowels of the massive ship. It would certainly give him room to stretch out, whilst keeping him away from other passengers, and possible agents. But the chances of a crew member stumbling upon him were too great, and then the options would be to either succumb to arrest, or silence the crew member, and Cole wanted to avoid that at all costs.

  And so he decided on his third and final option – just stay exactly where he was, keeping himself as warm and mobile as he could, and leave for France underneath the same car he had come in on.

  Cole considered briefly the possibility of being found under the vehicle, but thought it unlikely. The cars were densely packed and, even lying on the floor, it would be almost impossible for someone standing up to see him. A child perhaps, but he didn’t think it likely that parents would let their children wander around the parking area. If anyone did happen to bend down further, he could just pull himself back up underneath the car anyway, and then someone would really have to be looking in order to see him.

  A drink, some food, a new set of clothes – all these things would be nice, but they could wait until he was in France. He had been hungry, thirsty, cold and wet before, and he adjusted easily to the discomfort.

  As he started to roll from one shoulder to the other, flexing his arms to get some mobility back and start the blood flowing again, he wondered about his family. Where would they be now? Plane or yacht, he decided, headed for Miami. They’d have to work hard there, he knew, to avoid being followed. Cole didn’t think Hansard would kill them; not yet, anyway. They were too valuable alive, and Cole knew Hansard would be trying to follow them in the desperate hope of finding him.