The Network

by Luke Delaney

‘Where we going?’ he asked the men, but no one answered. ‘Is it much further?’ He tried to break the silence again. One of the minders behind him responded by shoving him in the back, just hard enough to make him stumble forward a little.

  ‘Shut up and keep walking,’ the minder said.

  ‘Be careful,’ Conway told him over his shoulder, his head only slightly turned. ‘He’s important to me.’ His words did nothing to calm Sean’s unease. What did he know? What did he know?

  Suddenly the front two minders stopped and stood either side of a doorway that Conway walked straight through, a dull artificial light leaking from the room.

  ‘In there,’ the aggressive minder told him. Sean joined Conway inside what had once been a small office, the source of the light a portable electric lamp perched atop an ancient desk that had been pushed up against the far wall. The desk also held a television and DVD player. All of the appliances were plugged into a small mobile generator. One old swivel chair sat in the middle of the room facing the television. Sean could imagine people being tortured in this room, but could see no instruments of pain or other weapons – bizarrely, just a box of tissues next to the television. When he scanned the floor for signs of blood all he could see were more tissues – used, screwed up and discarded. Oh shit he said in his mind, unsure whether or not he’d actually spoken. The unwavering smile on Conway’s face reassured him he hadn’t.

  ‘Excited?’ Conway asked.

  ‘More wondering why we’re here?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘No,’ Sean half lied.

  ‘This,’ Conway told him, sweeping his hand around the room, ‘is where we do our editing. The work can be very stimulating. Sometimes over-stimulating. Do you want to see some of it?’

  Sean swallowed deeply, staring at the blank television screen that reflected his own image. Two of the minders entered the room and stood in the corners behind him, their excitement tenable. ‘Your work?’ Sean asked, stalling the inevitable and risking his cover at the same time. He felt a sheen of sweat forming above his top lip.

  ‘Yes, Justin – our work. Do you want to see it?’

  He had no choice. ‘Yes. I want to see it,’ he answered, his mind whirling with possibilities of what would happen next – what would appear on the screen and how he would he react. What could he say to convince them – to excuse his lack of a physical response? He tried to think of Kate – think of them being together as they had been so quickly after first meeting each other, neither able to resist the pull of the other. He tried to recall the curve of her breasts, the taste of her lips and scent of her golden skin, but his own damned reflection in the television screen chased her away. He felt his testicles coiling and withering at the thought of what he was about to see.

  ‘Of course you do,’ Conway told him, his eyes never leaving Sean’s as his outstretched hand found the TV on-switch first time, the screen blinking bright blue, the words written across it complaining of no signal being received. For a second Sean dared to believe that the equipment had malfunctioned and he had been spared, but Conway’s hand drifted to the DVD player and pressed the on-switch with a degree of theatre, turning the screen dark grey. ‘Ready?’ he asked. Sean nodded slowly. ‘Good, then I shall begin.’ He pressed play and leaned back, arms folded as he watched Sean watching the film.

  It was almost exactly the same as the film DS Chopra had given him to watch, but he could tell it was in a different location – a large room in a house somewhere, with old chairs and sofas scattered around where the men in animal masks and naked children twisted together. And the children were different too – about the same age as the others and the same mix of boys-to-girls – but definitely different. And just as in the other film, the thing that disturbed him most was the lack of fear and stress amongst the children – performing terrible acts and having terrible acts performed on them, yet behaving as if it was perfectly normal. They were brainwashed and bribed into believing they were having no wrong done to them – praised and rewarded like they’d never been praised and rewarded before – innocent childhoods stolen from them by manipulating monsters. One of the boys smiled broadly in between performing an act for one of the men – the man’s voice on the television telling him he what a good boy he was. The smiling face almost made Sean vomit. He could feel his skin becoming clammy, making him thankful for the gloom of the room and the pale light cast from the screen, but all the same Conway’s sixth sense told him all was not as he’d expected.

  Sean looked away from the screen, but as Conway moved slowly towards him, his anxiety grew and he found himself sinking deeply into the small chair. Conway cupped Sean’s chin in the palm of his hand before running his fingers through his hair as he moved behind him, one arm wrapping gently around his neck while the hand of the other arm snaked down the front of Sean’s torso, detecting the thumping of Sean’s heart as it passed over, unable to tell yet whether it was fear or excitement.

  Sean felt frozen and impotent as the hand moved towards his groin, too many nightmarish images of his childhood and father robbing him of the ability to react. He felt the hand cradle his genitalia, the limpness making Conway recoil as if he’d had an electric shock. The minders sprang to attention, pinning Sean to the chair – an arm tight around his neck and knee pressed into his chest. He had difficulty just drawing breath.

  ‘No more games,’ Conway spoke loudly without shouting. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘You know who I am,’ Sean managed to answer, his words gasped and ragged as the arm stayed tight around his neck. ‘I’m Justin Cramer – I’m Unicorn.’

  ‘Then what’s wrong with the film?’ Conway demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ Sean told him, his mind racing for a way out of the situation. ‘Nothing’s wrong with it.’

  ‘Then why don’t you like it?’

  ‘I do,’ Sean lied, an idea firing in his mind, the only thing he could think of that had any chance of explaining away his impotence, ‘but it’s not enough for me – just watching’s not enough anymore – not after…’

  ‘Not after what?’ Conway pushed.

  ‘After the real thing.’

  ‘You’ve never had the real thing.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Sean lied, ‘I’ve had the ultimate.’

  ‘This is bollocks,’ the man whose arm was around his neck said. ‘We need to get rid of him – he knows too much and that makes him dangerous.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Conway slapped him down.

  ‘But what if he’s an informant?’ the man argued.

  ‘He’s no informant,’ Conway told him. ‘I can smell an informant from miles away.’

  ‘What if he’s a cop?’ the other minder asked, silencing the room, the three men looking from one to another. Conway moved closer to Sean and pulled the man off his chest, letting him breathe a little easier. He placed each of his thumbs over Sean’s eyes and gently pressed in, the two minders holding his arms down as the increasing pressure made him feel as is if his eyeballs would implode.

  ‘What do you mean you’ve had the ultimate?’ Conway asked.

  ‘Runaways,’ Sean almost pleaded. ‘I know where to get runaways.’

  ‘How do you know we don’t use runaways?’

  ‘Because you don’t hurt them, which means you’re sending them home after, telling them not to tell anyone – to keep it secret and keep their rewards coming.’

  ‘Go on,’ Conway encouraged.

  ‘I know where you can get runaways – not first timers, but repeat runaways that have been in care. When they go missing and can’t be found, after a while people stop looking. I can get them for you, but only one at a time.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I have a friend,’ Sean continued to lie, making up the layers of his impromptu story as quickly as he could. ‘He works with children in care. Every now and then he gets the chance to take one away. Everyone just assumes they’ve run off and are living on the streets somewhere. No one really cares.’

&
nbsp; ‘But what if they turn up somewhere telling tales?’ Conway asked.

  ‘They can’t,’ Sean told him. ‘They can’t turn up anywhere.’

  ‘Why?’ Conway demanded, wanting to hear the words from Sean’s own lips.

  ‘Like I said – I’ve had the ultimate.’

  Conway took his thumbs from his eyes. ‘When can you get one for us?’

  ‘I need to talk to my friend,’ Sean answered, ‘but soon.’

  ‘This is bollocks,’ one of the balaclavas said. ‘We can’t trust him.’ Conway ignored him.

  ‘I know it’s what you want,’ Sean reeled him in. ‘To be able to do whatever you want to them, without fear of being caught. All your wildest fantasies coming true without the need to placate them and nurture them. To break them and twist them as you want and then when you’re finished to dispose of them any way you like. Imagine the power, John. Imagine what it feels like.’

  ‘Fuck this,’ the balaclava insisted. ‘He’s playing you.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Conway told him, licking his lips, eyes wide with excitement and temptation. The men stood in silence as Conway considered his next move – Sean’s life possibly hanging on his decision. After an age Conway slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and produced a back mobile phone. ‘Let him go,’ Conway ordered.

  ‘He knows too much,’ the same man argued. ‘We don’t need him. He’s seen too much.’

  ‘Pack up all the equipment,’ Conway told them, ‘we’ll take it with us and set up somewhere else. Don’t leave any evidence we were ever here. Clean up these tissues and wipe any surface where a print could be.’ The men reluctantly released Sean. Conway tossed the phone into his chest, making Sean fumble for it. ‘This is for you,’ he told him. ‘It’s totally clean and untraceable – never been used. Keep it with you always and wait for me to call. Only I have the number for it and only I will ever call. Understand?’ Sean nodded. ‘Now wait here until we leave, then wait another ten minutes before you leave.’ He turned to the men in balaclavas who had quickly unplugged the equipment and stood awaiting his instructions. ‘Done?’ he asked – a series of nods telling him they were. ‘Let’s go,’ he told them, their cue to start filing out of the room. Conway rested his hand on Sean’s shoulder before leaving. ‘I like you, Justin. Be very glad I do.’

  Sean listened to the footsteps heading away along the corridors, splashing in the puddles as they grew fainter and fainter, his own breathing relaxing gradually until he could hear the steps no more – just the distant sound of cars being started and driven away. He exhaled through pursed lips and began to examine the phone. The battery was fully charged, but the memory was completely virgin – no listed contacts, history of numbers called or calls received – nothing. ‘Careful bastard,’ Sean told the empty room. He glanced around, looking for anything that could amount to evidence, but decided there was nothing worthwhile left so stuffed the phone in his pocket and headed for the exit and his car. More days of boredom and solitude beckoned. Days of waiting in his dingy little flat for the phone to ring with no chance of sneaking out to meet Kate. Not until it was over – not until Conway and his fellow animals were back behind bars where they belonged.

  ***

  Three days later and Sean still hadn’t received any calls or texts from Conway or The Network, and both SO10 and the Serious and Organized Crime Unit were getting anxious. He’d been summoned to a meeting in the Angel Pub in Highgate – a bus ride away from his temporary home. It had taken him over two hours to travel to the meet, criss-crossing North London by Tube, bus and foot as he made absolutely sure he wasn’t being followed. No one knew anti-surveillance like a cop.

  He entered the pub shortly after 8pm and immediately clocked DS Chopra sitting in the far corner with DI Mike Sheenan from the Serious and Organized Crime Unit. He ordered a pint at the bar and sipped the beer as he took his time scanning the room just in case he recognized any of the customers – crook or cop. If he saw either he’d abandon both his drink and the meeting, head out the door and be away on the first bus or cab he could get. He didn’t identify anyone and made his way over to Chopra and Sheenan, both of who blended in with the other customers perfectly – smart-casual professionals on their way home after working late in some West End Office. He sat at the small table without any pleasantries.

  ‘How’s it going, Sean?’ Sheenan asked. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘Fucking wonderful.’

  ‘You holding up alright?’ Chopra asked, his black sunken eyes emotionless.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Sean told him. ‘Is that why you dragged me here – to have a look at me? Make sure I wasn’t losing it and going over to the dark-side?’

  ‘No,’ Chopra lied. ‘We’re here to see how we can move things on. You’ve had no contact for three days, and with no way of contacting Conway, people are getting nervous about just leaving you hanging out there – including me if I’m being honest.’

  ‘You can’t pull the plug,’ Sean insisted, ‘not yet. He’ll call, I know he will, but we have to stay patient.’

  ‘Then give us something we can use,’ Sheenan said. ‘Something that will give us an advantage when they do contact you. Something in his lifestyle maybe?’

  ‘His lifestyle – Christ. He likes having sex with young children – does that help?’ Sean asked sarcastically, the cracks in his armour immediately picked up on by Chopra. Years of seeing undercover officers struggling under the strain of being away from friends and family, sometimes for months at a time, surrounded by and befriending people they will ultimately betray told him when the officer deployed had reached their limit – even if they didn’t know it themselves. He could ill afford another high-profile case of an undercover officer going rouge and switching to the other side.

  ‘I think maybe you’ve had enough,’ Chopra told him.

  ‘No,’ Sean snapped, looking around the pub in case he’d turned any heads. ‘We give up now we may never get another chance to get close to The Sanctum.’

  ‘The Sanctum?’ Sheenan asked. ‘What the fuck is The Sanctum? I’ve not heard that name before.’

  ‘It was mentioned in the pre-operational reports,’ Chopra told him, ‘but just rumours – nothing solid.’

  ‘The name they use for the inner circle,’ Sean explained. ‘The ones we’re really after – the ones doing the abusing and distributing. Conway’s the kingpin.’

  ‘And they’re going to let you into this Sanctum?’ Sheenan asked.

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘You think so?’ Chopra questioned, increasingly keen to find a reason to pull Sean out.

  ‘It’ll happen,’ Sean insisted.

  ‘Let’s give it another week,’ Sheenan suggested, looking at Chopra, the man with whom the ultimate decision to carry on or quit rested – his concerns for Sean the deciding factor.

  ‘Alright,’ Chopra eventually agreed, ‘but I want a daily phone call from you, Sean and your agreement to see the psychiatrist as soon as your deployment is over.’

  ‘I don’t need to see the Head Doctor,’ he argued, memories of the psychiatrists of his childhood spinning in his mind. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘It’s standard procedure after a long and difficult deployment – you know that.’

  ‘Yeah, but a shrink messing with my head?’

  ‘Just do what everyone else does, Sean and humour me,’ Chopra told him. ‘Answer their questions and smile politely so I can finish the paperwork and keep you on our register – alright?’

  ‘Whatever,’ Sean agreed, already thinking of his excuses to miss any appointments with the psychiatrist.

  ‘Good,’ Chopra told him. ‘Now back to the question – is there anything in his lifestyle we can use?’

  Sean sat silently for a while, recalling everything he’d seen and heard about Conway, looking for something they could use he wouldn’t suspect – something Conway would have no reason to be suspicious of. ‘He likes nice cars,’ Sean suddenly told th
em, causing Chopra to look at Sheenan.

  ‘He drives a Jaguar,’ Sheenan told him. ‘It’s an old one, but a nice one.’ Sean nodded his agreement.

  ‘He seems to keep it clean – I mean spotless,’ Sean chipped in.

  ‘That’s not much to work with,’ Chopra dismissed.

  ‘Yeah it is,’ Sean disagreed. ‘It’s not just the car itself – it’s the status he believes it gives him, the status he believes he’s owed.’

  ‘Go on,’ Chopra encouraged.

  ‘When they eventually take me to a meeting, the arrest team won’t be able to track me – they’ll search me again and if I’m wearing any sort of tracker they’ll find it.’

  ‘So?’ Chopra asked.

  ‘So you’ll have to track my car.’

  ‘But you don’t have a car on this deployment. Justin Cramer doesn’t have a car,’ Chopra reminded him.

  ‘Then you’ll have to get me one – a nice one. One Conway won’t mind being seen in.’

  ‘If,’ Chopra continued, ‘and it’s still a big if – if Conway takes you to a meet he’ll use his car, surely?’

  ‘Not if we disable it,’ Sheenan said. ‘As soon as you suspect you’re going to be taken to a place where serious offences are going to be committed, you call me. If we’ve got enough time I’ll send one of my technical bods to immobilize Conway’s motor.’

  ‘And I’ll get you something nice that Conway’ll want to be seen in,’ Chopra added. ‘We’ll get the techies to rig the tracker so it’s armed at the same time as the alarm gets switched on. When you get to the venue where the kids are waiting just press the key fob as if you’re arming the alarm. Nobody should suspect anything. Happy?’

  ‘As happy as I can be,’ Sean answered.

  ‘Good,’ Sheenan said. ‘Now all we need is for him to contact you.’

  ‘He will,’ Sean assured them.

  ‘Really? Sheenan asked. ‘How come you’re so sure?’

  ‘Because I promised him what I know he really wants.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Runaways,’ he told them. ‘Kids no one cares about.’