by Luke Delaney
‘Jesus,’ Chopra told him. ‘Whatever you do, Sean, make sure that bit’s missing from your evidence when you finally write it up. If the CPS see anything like agent provocateur, this case is over before it begins.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he assured them sipping his drink, ‘it never happened.’
Chapter Six
Alone in the ever-shrinking flat, Sean felt the walls crushing in on him. It had been four days since the meeting in the pub and still no word from Conway or The Sanctum. He tried to calculate the amount of days he’d been on the deployment for – feeling a little more like Justin Cramer with each passing day. He stared out of the small kitchen window waiting for the September sunset to arrive. After dark he planned to take a long walk to clear his head and remind himself of who he was. He’d phone Kate from a payphone if he could find one that was still working.
The mobile phone Conway had given him suddenly started vibrating on the kitchen table, not a call but a text message. He watched the phone suspiciously, unsure now if he’d really seen it jumping around, until it vibrated once more, demanding to be read. He grabbed the phone before it could escape and read the one and only message it had ever received. Meet me tomorrow. 4pm. At the sports ground at the end of Wetheral Drive, Belmont. Come alone. JC. He stared at the message for an age, dozens of scenarios dancing in his mind like some kind of kaleidoscopic nightmare until at last his thoughts cleared. ‘Belmont? Where the fuck is Belmont?’ he asked the empty room.
Within a few seconds he was heading for the bedroom, lying on the floor and sliding under the unmade single bed, searching for the slit in its underside and pushing his hand inside the mattress base, fishing blindly and impatiently until he touched hard, cold plastic. He pulled out the mobile phone that Chopra had concealed inside the flat when the operation first went live – only to be used when Sean absolutely had to check in with SO10 or relay important new information. This was one of those times. Having first checked the phone’s ringer was still on silent mode he punched the number for Chopra’s mobile into the keypad and waited for an answer.
‘Hello,’ Chopra answered cautiously.
‘It’s me.’
‘Contact?’
‘Yeah – just now – a text message with a meeting place and time.’
‘Where and when?’
‘Wetheral Drive in some place called Belmont at 4pm tomorrow.’
‘Belmont – it’s in North London, near Wealdstone.’
‘I’m a South London boy – remember?’
‘Buy an A to Z.’
‘Thanks – I already have one. Listen, I think this could be what we’ve been waiting for.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I need the car with the tracker.’
‘I’ll send it around tonight with a techie to explain the finer points. Meet him at the main gates to Highgate Cemetery in a couple of hours. He’ll be driving a big old Ford Zodiac in pristine condition. Should appeal to Conway.’
‘Christ, where did you get that from?’
‘I have my ways.’
‘I’m sure you do. And don’t forget to make sure Conway’s car’s crippled.’
‘I’ll call Sheenan and get his people to take care of it. By morning Conway’s car won’t be an issue.’
‘Good,’ Sean said. ‘Now all we need is about a hundred other things to fall perfectly into place and we’ll be fine.’
‘Just play it by ear, Sean,’ Chopra advised. ‘Use your instincts and use them well. I’ll keep my phone close. Call if you need to – understand?’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Sean told him and hung up, hiding the phone back under the bed. It wouldn’t do to have it found by Conway or The Network if they were to spring a surprise visit on him. At last it was happening – coming to a finale. All he had to do was get to the meet and let them lead him by the nose to the location where the children were being held, activate the alarm signal on the tracker, sit back and let the arrest team do the rest. Once Conway and his followers were taken out he’d head straight back to the flat, clean it out of anything belonging to him or the police and head straight back to New Scotland Yard for a de-brief with SO10. After that, Justin Cramer could finally rest in peace and he could be Sean Corrigan again. Go home to his own flat in Crystal Palace and a night with Kate, followed by the slow mental process of trying to return to normal – thinking like an everyday cop and not the half-cop half-criminal thing he’d become. Not that he’d never truly think like an everyday cop. His past had ensured that.
***
Shortly before four p.m. the next day Sean eased the Ford Zodiac along Wetheral Road towards the sports ground. The car park was deserted except for the beaten up old Ford Scorpio he recognized from the meet at the warehouse and another beaten up old machine. There was no sign of Conway’s vintage Jaguar – clearly Sheenan’s boys had been true to their word and disabled it. But apart from the empty cars there was no sign of life. ‘Christ,’ Sean told himself. ‘Now what?’ He pulled the car up close to the others and stopped, but kept the engine running, searching the ground around him for places the men could be hiding.
Suddenly they appeared, from around the corners of the buildings, from behind trees and industrial-sized recycling bins. Six in total, heading towards him, all wearing the same balaclava masks and all carrying some type of weapon – baseball bats and machetes hanging from their hands like the swords of medieval knights just before the battle commences. ‘Fuck,’ he swore as he scrambled to grab the car-key fob that dangled from the ignition – one press and the signal would be sent to the arrest team commanding them to move in as fast as they could. They know. They know. Save yourself and press the alarm. Do it and do it now. But he couldn’t do it – couldn’t make his finger and thumb pinch the fob and call for urgent assistance, no matter how close the armed men came, no matter how threatening they looked. Bluff it out. They don’t know anything. It’s just part of the test. He turned off the ignition and stepped from the car, holding the fob between his fingers and his hands above his head. ‘There’s no need for this,’ he told the men. ‘You know who I am.’ He watched them as they approached, trying to tell which could be Conway by the way they moved. He was sure he wasn’t amongst them – although he could feel he was close by.
A man holding a baseball-bat spoke first. ‘Get down on your knees – hands behind your head or I’ll cave it in.’
‘Where’s John?’ Sean asked, fearful of the more cautious members of The Sanctum – like the man back at the warehouse who’d wanted to get rid of him. He needed Conway to be here, sure he could still manipulate him. ‘He’s supposed to meet me here.’
‘Get on your knees and shut up,’ the same man told him. Slowly Sean did as he was told, the gut-wrenching possibility that he’d been set up by the other members of The Sanctum who wanted him gone dawning on him. Somehow they’d got hold of Conway’s phone and used it to text him – luring him into their trap. Press the alarm he ordered his finger and thumb, but still they wouldn’t. Maybe the other members of The Sanctum had already got rid of Conway. A leadership coup by the men in balaclavas. ‘I know what you are,’ the faceless man continued. ‘You’re a fucking grass. A police informant.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Sean told him sounding as strong as he could. ‘I did time with John – he’ll vouch for me.’
‘Then you’re a plant.’
‘No. I’m part of The Network. I’ve never told anybody anything.’
‘Then you’re a cop,’ he accused him, turning Sean’s blood to frozen crystals, robbing him of the last breath in his lungs. ‘An undercover cop.’
Sean managed to shake his head feigning disbelief. ‘You’re a fool,’ he bluffed. ‘I’ve been in The Network since it began. How could I be a cop?’ The balaclava rested the sole of his shoe on Sean’s chest and kicked him backwards onto the floor. Press the alarm. They know. Press the alarm.
‘Because no one’s ever seen you,’ the man shouted. ‘The Unicorn could have been a cop a
ll along – trying to infiltrate us.’
‘No,’ Sean argued. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘Why?’ the balaclava demanded. ‘Why’s that not possible?’
‘Because I’ve been circulating images of children for years. Images those who don’t understand us say are illegal. Cops aren’t allowed to commit crimes – even if they’re trying to infiltrate people – people like us.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ the man accused him, lifting the baseball-bat high above his head in readiness to strike. Sean’s finger and thumb poised to squeeze the fob, until a voice froze him.
‘That’s a very nice car you have there,’ Conway told the gathering, his voice calm amongst the storm. ‘I didn’t know you were a car man?’
‘One of my more conventional interests,’ Sean answered.
Conway made a dismissive gesture to the man standing over Sean with the baseball-bat that prompted him to lower his weapon and back away. ‘This really is a beauty,’ Conway told him, admiring the old Zodiac. ‘Tell me, Justin – do you know what sign of the Zodiac I am?’
‘No,’ Sean admitted, puzzled.
‘Scorpio,’ Conway told him, ‘which is also the astrological symbol for death. Did you know that?’
‘No,’ Sean repeated.
‘Out there in deep space,’ Conway explained, ‘hundreds of light-years away there’s an area known as The Heart of the Scorpion, or The Graveyard of the Stars. You see, Justin, even stars have to die – eventually.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Sean answered, guessing Conway wanted it that way – the king ruling over his ignorant subjects.
‘Of course you don’t,’ Conway told him. ‘Get up.’ Sean did as he was told, brushing the dust and dirt from his clothes as he scrambled to his feet, keeping an eye on the balaclava with the bat in his peripheral vision. ‘I need to show you something,’ Conway continued. ‘I’m going to take you somewhere very … special.’
‘Why?’ Sean asked. ‘Why me?’ At that moment, Sean’s own need to know what Conway saw in him was far stronger than his detective’s instinct to find out the truth about The Network. How could a monster such as Conway seemingly want him as a friend? He may have been using the name Justin Cramer, his past and habits, but it was Sean who Conway seemed to empathize with and he needed to know why.
‘Because we’re the same – not like these others,’ Conway gestured to the men in balaclavas. ‘They have no imagination – just needs which they satisfy with the crudeness of a rutting pig. I’m the one who makes it special. Without me there would be no Network – there would be no Sanctum. But you’re different – I can see it in you, smell it on you.’
‘What?’ Sean asked hungrily. ‘What do you see?’
Conway laughed as he answered. ‘I see myself, Justin. I see myself.’ Sean felt the nausea rising in his stomach, the blood rushing from his head leaving him pale and clammy, dizzy, his vision blurred. ‘It’s time to expand The Network. You grow or you die and to grow I need you. That’s why I have to know if I can trust you. Trust you with my life.’
‘You can,’ Sean managed to say through rising bile. ‘I swear you can.’
‘I believe you,’ Conway smiled looking from Sean to the Ford Zodiac. ‘We’ll take your car. I’ll drive.’
‘What about me?’ Sean asked.
‘Oh, don’t worry – you’re coming too. You’re my guest of honour.’ He looked to the man who’d threatened to cave Sean’s skull in and gave a single nod of his head, prompting him to step forward and pull a white hood from inside his jacket, which he tossed it to Sean. ‘Put that on.’ Conway ordered.
‘Why do I need this?’
‘All will be revealed,’ Conway promised. ‘Trust me – it’s for your own protection.’
Sean forced himself to slide the hood over his own head, the material instantly stifling and suffocating – intruding into his mouth as he tried to breathe and making him gag as he felt hands gripping him under the arm-pits and dragging him upright. The car keys with the fob – his lifeline – were snatched away and his arms pulled around his back, thin plastic strips tightened around his wrists. The soles of his shoes slid and bumped on the tarmac as he was led to the rear of the Zodiac. He heard the boot of a car being opened, the smell of the recently cleaned carpet inside assuring him which car it was as his legs were kicked from under him, tipping him into the open space. Conway’s voice cut through his fear. ‘Don’t worry. We don’t have far to go.’ Before he could answer the boot was slammed shut and he was swallowed by the darkness, the sound of his own breathing and cascading heartbeats deafening in the small space. The only other sound he could hear was the muffled laughter of the men who now controlled his destiny. He worked hard to control his bladder and bowels, slow his breathing and pulse rate. What did they know? What did they know? He convinced himself it was all part of the plan, assuring himself that if he was in their shoes he would have done the same to any wannabe new member of their illicit club. He heard doors slamming and engines starting, the sudden motion of the car rocking him to-and-fro in the boot. In a few minutes he would know – know if it was soon to be the end of The Network or soon to be the end of Sean Corrigan.
***
The car stopped abruptly, rolling him around in the boot like a small boat in a stormy sea. He heard doors open, but no voices – no mocking laughter – just intimidating silence. They were getting ready for something. The boot was opened, flooding it with light and making Sean squint even though he was still covered with the hood. Arms grabbed at his clothes and pulled him up into a sitting position before wrestling him over the ledge and dropping him on the floor with a sickening thud – his bound wrists preventing him from breaking the fall that knocked the wind out of him. More hands grabbed at him, pulling him up and onto his knees and cutting the plastic twine from his wrists before someone whipped the hood from his head, the brightness of the sudden light making him seal his eyes shut for a second or two. When he opened them, the men in balaclavas were gone, replaced by the strange creatures he’d seen in the obscene films – creatures with the ugly unclothed bodies of men and the beautiful heads of wild animals. He took a few seconds to take in the scene, looking up at the men standing in a line in front of him, trying to work out which one was Conway, until finally he removed his mask – the maned mask of the lion, of course.
‘What do you see yourself as, Justin?’ Conway asked.
‘What?’ Sean replied, buying time while he adjusted to his surroundings, the image of an old farm house beginning to come into focus behind the chimeras.
‘I see you as a fox, but you must decide for yourself,’ Conway explained, turning and heading towards the farmhouse, briefly twisting back to speak again. ‘Come on,’ he encouraged Sean. ‘I’ve arranged a little something for you. A very special surprise.’
‘Like what?’ Sean asked.
‘If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise – would it?’ He turned his back on Sean and kept walking to the house, the other men following, their growing excitement palpable as they fidgeted and giggled, mumbling quietly behind their masks, the same two words over and over. ‘Chicken feast. Chicken feast. Chicken feast.’
Sean knew the term – the coded words used by paedophiles and paedophile rings that initially referred to the use of under-age prostitutes, but had evolved to indicate the sexual abuse of any young child. He was now certain he’d been brought to the place where children were being held, but Conway still had his car key and with it the fob he needed to activate the alarm in the tracker that would summon the arrest team. He needed to get the keys back. ‘Hey,’ he called to Conway, stopping his march to the house.
Conway turned back, irritation etched into his face. ‘Now what?’
‘My keys,’ Sean told him. ‘I need my car keys.’
‘Why?’ Conway asked, taking several steps back towards him, his expression changing from irritation to suspicion.
‘Because I need to lock it,’ he answ
ered, trying to look and sound innocent and naive, relieved to see Conway break into a slight smile.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Conway insisted. ‘There’s no need to lock it here.’
Sean thought of Conway’s own immaculate Jaguar. ‘It’s important to me. I won’t be able to relax until I know it’s safe.’ He waited for Conway’s reaction, and finally the other man pulled the car keys from his trouser pocket, pointed the fob at the Zodiac and pressed the button to activate the alarm and the covert tracker. Relief washed over Sean as he tried to stifle a smile. The fact that Conway had alerted his own executioners made the moment all the sweeter, but it would be minutes before they arrived – long minutes during which he would need to survive as Justin Cramer.
‘Happy now?’ Conway asked.
‘Very,’ Sean told him, allowing the smile to spread across his face.
‘Come on then,’ Conway told him and turned back towards the house, his henchmen marching slowly after him. Sean scrambled to catch up – a little anxiety creeping back into his mind that he’d cried wolf too quickly, that Conway was setting him up in the same way Enrico Ismain had tried to do weeks earlier, only this time the merchandise was human. Too late now, Sean told himself. The die is cast.
Conway led the men into the house, re-affixing the lion’s mask to his face as they moved deeper inside, the sights and smells of the house telling Sean it was lived in – either by one of the men behind one of the masks or possibly rented or borrowed from a willing conspirator. He remembered the film they’d made him watch back in the warehouse, the furniture he’d seen, and was pretty sure this house was the location. Children would be here – he was sure of it now. Abruptly they stopped at a closed door and Conway ushered Sean forward to the front of the line, turning the handle and swinging it open, gesturing for Sean to go inside. ‘Just you,’ Conway told him. ‘This is just for you.’
As Sean stepped past him into the room he saw two young children huddled on an old sofa, one boy and one girl, no more than twelve years old, their fragile, naked bodies hidden by a thin blanket. They shivered despite the warmth. In the corner of the room a camera waited on its tripod, the red light indicating it was in stand-by mode. Conway pushed past Sean’s frozen body and headed for the camera, pressing a single switch and turning the red light green.