The Patsy

by Bruce Cooke

  THE PATSY

  by

  Bruce Cooke

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Copyright © 2018 by Bruce Cooke

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-68299-284-5

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Kelly Martin

  Editor: Katherine Johnson

  Printed in the United States of America

  Other Books by Author Available at

  Whiskey Creek Press

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Campbell Odyssey

  The Reilly Factor

  Dedication

  To my wife Nancy who was my inspiration before she passed away. She is always with me.

  Chapter 1

  Roger Pallister looked up at his visitor in his Federal Police office. He leaned back and sighed, ignoring the pile of papers on his desk. Colin Creswick, his second 2IC and the man who handled things others were not supposed to see or hear about, stood in his office door.

  “Shut the door, Colin, and take a seat.”

  “We have a problem?” Colin asked as he closed the door and took the seat offered.

  “Yes, next month, we are going to have that Muslim cleric visiting, and he is well known for inciting radical Muslims into joining ISIS.”

  “Mohamed Khasib. Yeah, he is becoming a major headache. What are we going to do about him?”

  “This conversation is not taking place,” Pallister said.

  “Shit, that bad, is it?”

  Pallister touched the ends of his fingers and paused. “The government won’t know about this, but we can’t have this person doing what he is doing.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Perhaps. I have a task for you.”

  “I’m all ears,” Colin said.

  Again, Pallister paused. “I want you to find three or four ex-military who have left the service in the last year. Preferably ones who served in Afghanistan. How soon can you do that?”

  “Give me a week, and I’ll get back to you.”

  Pallister nodded. “This is top priority, Colin. No one must know what you’re doing.”

  “I understand.” Colin departed, leaving Pallister to think about his orders. If this went wrong then the shit would hit the fan, and he might be out of a job—or worse.

  * * * *

  Almost a week later, Creswick came back with the information. He closed the office door and took a seat. Then he handed over some sheets of paper for Pallister to look at.

  “I found three, but there is a problem.”

  Pallister looked up. “Problem? What sort of a problem?”

  “Of the three, one now lives overseas, another lives in Darwin and is on a disability pension. It seems he lost a leg in the war.”

  “The third?”

  “He lives in Mansfield, Victoria, and works as a mechanic in a garage. His credentials are impressive.”

  Pallister ignored the first two and read the dossier on the other man.

  “Ex-SAS, twenty-five years old. Expert in small arms and explosives. Also worked as a sniper. Has won a decoration for bravery and left under unusual circumstances. What does that mean?”

  “It seems he hit a superior officer and was offered a release or a dishonourable discharge.”

  “And why did he hit the officer?”

  “There are a couple of reasons here. This officer didn’t get on with him. First, there was a conflict when the officer was trying to hit onto one of the female soldiers in the outfit. The man told him to lay off, or he will knock his block off—or something along those lines.”

  “Was the female this man’s girlfriend?”

  “No, more of a friend. She was distressed by the officer’s efforts, and the man wanted to get her some relief from the harassment.”

  “So he hit him?” said Pallister, reading further.

  “Not then. It came later.”

  “Why?”

  “The officer had it in for him, so he sent the man and another soldier on a suicide mission. The other soldier was the female.”

  “Go on,” said Pallister, listening carefully.

  “It seems they walked into a trap, and the female was killed. This man was furious and confronted the officer in front of his section. The officer grinned and told him it must have been his fault the female was killed. He should have looked after her better.”

  “And he blew his top?”

  “Yes, he hit the officer and broke his jaw. Later, he was made the offer to leave voluntarily or face a dishonourable discharge. The officer was thrown out. The man now lives alone in a tiny community. The whole Afghanistan operation left him disgusted with everyone, including the Army.”

  Pallister smiled. “He might just suit the purpose. You say he works as a mechanic.”

  “Yeah, he actually owns a small garage and works alone. Seems he wants no contact with anyone at this stage.”

  “I see. Is the garage profitable?”

  “Not sure. I think he gets by week to week.”

  “What’s his name?” Pallister asked.

  “Scott Peters. He’s pissed off with the world at the present time.”

  “And where does he live?”

  “I believe in quarters at the back of the garage. It’s in Mansfield in Victoria,” Colin stated.

  “Then you had better make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  “How much do we go to?”

  “Say a thousand for one day’s work. That should tempt him if he’s short on funds.” Pallister seemed happy with the result. “Okay, I think you should pay him a visit. Lay it on thick—you know—for queen and country.”

  Creswick nodded and left the office.

  Chapter 2

  Scott Peters wiped his hands on a rag and turned to his customer. “There you are, Charlie. It’s running well and shouldn’t give you any more trouble.”

  “Thanks, Scott. Can I pay you next week? I’m a bit short at the moment.”

  “Sure, Charlie. I know what it’s like to be broke.”

  “At least I can start moving stock. Four days is a long time when you need the cash.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Scott good-naturedly.

  Charlie climbed into the truck and drove out of the garage. Scott grinned. He wasn’t making much money, but the locals were friendly and always had a cheery greeting.

  “Coffee time,” he said to himself and moved into a small kitchenette in the garage.

  He plugged in his kettle, placed some instant coffee in a mug, and waited for the water to boil. Sitting in his only chair, he watched the small amount of traffic flow past, then poured out the water into the mug. He was halfway through it when a stranger came into the garage.

  “Can I help you?” asked Scott, getting up from his chair.

  “Mr. Peters?”

  “That’s me. What c
an I do for you?”

  “My name is Colin Creswick. I work for the federal government.”

  “Shit, not the tax office, I hope.”

  Creswick smiled. “No. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “I guess. What’s this all about?”

  Ignoring him, Creswick opened a file. “You were in the SAS and served in Afghanistan. Is that right?”

  Scott immediately frowned. “What of it?”

  “And you left under unusual circumstances. Is that correct?”

  “It seems you already know that. Why are you here?”

  Again, Creswick ignored the question. “I see the circumstances of your departure are clear enough.”

  “The prick deserved it.”

  “I agree. How would you like a day’s work with us?”

  “Work for the government? I don’t think so,” Scott said.

  “This is only one day’s work, but we need a man of your experience to act as a bodyguard.”

  “Again, no thanks.”

  Creswick stared at him for a few seconds. “Would a thousand dollars for one day’s work fit in with your schedule?”

  “Maybe. Tell me who I have to guard and why?”

  “In a few weeks’ time, a Middle Eastern cleric is visiting Australia. The government is not pleased. This man has a habit of recruiting young Muslims to go and fight for ISIS. If we stopped him from visiting, there would an outcry about freedom of speech. While he is here, he has to be protected as much as we hate to do it.”

  Scott frowned. “You have plenty of men to do this.”

  “We do, but I’m sure you can see the government’s embarrassment in protecting this person. We decided to hire people outside the agency for the job. If anything happened to him then we don’t want blame being put on us.”

  Scott smiled. He’d heard all this bullshit before. “You mean you want to cover your ass.”

  Creswick looked a little uncomfortable. “Something like that. Are you interested?”

  “For a thousand, I’d kiss your grandmother.”

  A relieved look came over Creswick’s face. “Great. I don’t expect anything to happen, but I know you’re well trained in small arms.” He reached into a briefcase and took out two guns. “Neither is loaded, but you can choose which one you want.”

  Scott picked each up and studied them. He checked the magazines and saw what Creswick said was correct. Neither was loaded.

  “Make a choice and you can return the gun after the job is done.”

  Scott looked at the Smith and Wesson and the Glock. “I’ll take the Smith and Wesson.” He handed back the other gun, which Creswick placed back into the briefcase.

  “Okay, here’s the details. The man’s name is Mohamed Khasib. He’s a cleric and has a huge following. He will be here to speak at an open-air rally in Canberra. It’s essential that he is well protected.”

  “How many other guards will there be?” Scott was a stickler to details when working with the Army.

  “Three others. You will be with him at all times while the others watch the crowd. You will have a watch radio to keep in contact with each other. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, you pay for my plane trip and meet me at the airfield with a car?”

  “Of course. It has already been arranged. You come the day before and leave the next day. He speaks on Friday the fifteenth, so you get there on the fourteenth. I suggest you overlook the platform from where he will be speaking.”

  “Okay, Send the plane ticket, and I’ll see you on the fourteenth.”

  “Right,” said Creswick, offering his hand. Scott shook it and watched him climb into his car and drive off.

  Scott had an uneasy feeling about this, but a thousand was a thousand. He had to accept.

  * * * *

  The plane ticket arrived, so he drove to Albury and left his car in the long-time car park and boarded the plane.

  Creswick met him in Canberra and took him to a hotel. “Once you’ve settled into your room, come down and meet the other guards.”

  Scott nodded and did as asked. When he entered the bar later and saw Creswick with three others, one of them made him hesitate.

  Creswick offered his hand and introduced Scott to the others. “Scott, this is Harry Fraser, John Murphy, and—”

  “I already know Ralph Pettigrew unfortunately.”

  “Peters,” Pettigrew said without much conviction.

  “Where did you meet?” asked Creswick, frowning.

  “We were in the Army together. He is the reason I left.”

  “Oh, well, I hope you can both put all that behind you.”

  “For one day, I suppose I can,” said Scott angrily.

  “Good, here is what is planned. Harry, John, and Ralph will mingle in the crowd during the presentation. Scott, you will be close to the cleric at all times. If there is any trouble, get him off the stage as quickly as possible.”

  “When do we meet him?” asked Scott, attending to detail.

  “An hour before the speech. He knows you will be protecting him.”

  “Are you expecting trouble?” asked Harry.

  “A few protestors will give him a serve, but probably that’s all. Anything else?” Creswick looked at the three then nodded. “Okay, be here at nine tomorrow morning. We pick him up at the airport and take him to the meeting.”

  Chapter 3

  Pipa Barret stretched her arms above her head, satisfied her lovemaking had been very pleasant. She wrapped the sheet around her naked body and stepped out of the bed.

  “Where are you going?” asked Greg Halpin.

  “To have a shower and get dressed. You want me to go to the office naked?”

  “Could raise a few eyebrows,” he said, grinning.

  “I’m sure it would, but my editor might complain.”

  “Hell, you’re their number one reporter. You can come and go as you please.”

  “I may be number one, but I’m there because I work hard. Fred knows that.”

  “How about staying for another round?” Greg lay back with his hands behind his head.

  “Three times this week is enough for anyone, including me. I have a story to finish.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Pipa Barret.”

  “I know. Now get yourself dressed and get out of here. I’ll ring you when I have a spare moment. You, more or less, live here anyway.”

  “Gee, thanks,” he said sarcastically. “I’ll check my diary.”

  “Perhaps you can fit me in early next week.” She smiled at his words.

  “I’ll check with my other girls. I should be able to free myself up.”

  “You do that. Better check with your boss, too. He likes to know where his detectives are.”

  Greg grinned. “He’s such a spoilsport. Okay, you convinced me. See you later.”

  He dressed and left while Pipa made herself a coffee. She gave him some thought after he closed the door.

  Getting involved with a detective, even a Federal Policeman was not always a good decision. She met him when she covered a murder case, and they hit it off straight away. Soon it was dinner and a few dates before she took him into her bed. He was a good lover, which was why she tolerated him. She had no illusions or ambitions about marriage or commitment, but the sex kept her satisfied. She never had any time for commitment anyway, so she thought things were good at the moment. He was also a good source of information on what was happening in the police and local crime.

  * * * *

  The situation with Pipa suited him well. He wanted no ties, even though she was quite an attractive woman of twenty-five, slim build, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. The comments he got from work about him banging the hot shot reporter pleased him, and it did wonders for his ego. Pipa would be horrified if she heard, but he kept it to himself in case she dropped him. Not the sort of reputation a top reporter would want.

  He walked into the station and was called into his boss’ office. Inspector Hanson waved a finge
r at him when he arrived.

  “Something wrong, boss?” Greg asked.

  “Nothing serious. Tomorrow, there will be a Muslim cleric giving an open air talk, and there could be a problem. Your boss wants you on the job.”

  “He’s the prick who tries to recruit young Muslims to go and fight with ISIS, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, there might be trouble with the crowd. The Muslim people will be there cheering, and the anti-Muslims will be there to throw insults. We don’t want a riot taking place. Contact the local police and take about ten police with you and try to calm things down.”

  “We have to protect him?” asked Greg, frowning.

  “No, they have their own bodyguards. Just try to keep the crowd under control.”

  “Okay, what time is the talk?”

  “It starts at twelve. Be there before that.”

  “Okay,” he said and left the office.

  Creswick got his attention.

  “Something wrong?” asked Greg.

  “Maybe. How would you like to earn half a million dollars?”

  Greg grinned. “Who do I have to kill?”

  “No one, but you have to obey orders and display ignorance.”

  “Tell me more.”

  His eyes opened wide as Creswick explained what he wanted.

  * * * *

  Pipa finished her typing and sent the article onto the editor. She sat back and took a breather.

  “I hear you’re covering this cleric tomorrow. How come you get all the good stories?” Jerry Harper grinned good-naturedly.

  “They only send the cream to cover stories like this.”

  “Like I said, how come they’re sending you?”

  She smiled at Jerry. The banter that flowed between them kept them both in a good mood. “Are you jealous?”

  He opened his hands. “No, you’re the best, love. I’m sure you’ll do a good job. You look happy this morning. Anything you want to tell me?”

  “I keep my private life private.”