***
At the very moment Sir Jeremy Green was squirting his passion into Kylie, Kate had been fretting that things would not go well.
Optimism was her normal way, but this?
It was her big break. An opportunity she had never expected. She did not have butterflies in her stomach. No, tonight she had a herd of rhino clomping around in her belly, she was that nervous. The imagery made her smile and she forced herself to relax.
The black cab squealed to a halt, almost unseating her, her iPad sliding dangerously from her lap towards the floor. Kate fumbled, then caught it, swept her hand through her hair and let out a deep breath.
‘This is it, luv.’ The taxi driver reached an arm through his window and worked the catch on her door.
Chivalry isn’t quite dead, she thought, shouldering the door open, computer hugged to her breast.
The cooling breeze caressed her face, a few blonde strands floating in front of her eyes, unseen. She stood on the kerb, taking a moment to compose herself for the most important meeting of her life.
Her chance had come.
She had spent the day preparing for this meeting and managed to blag it this far. She fretted for a moment then reassured herself with the thought that Johnny would do his bit, would not let her down.
A last check of her watch – the Gucci she had treated herself to when her first article had made it to the pages of the Guardian. And here she was, outside the offices of the biggest daily newspaper in the UK, clutching a genuine exclusive. A story she could run with, that would make her name and ensure a regular flow of work. Possibly even guarantee her that elusive staff job.
Time to go. She had cut it fine, leaving herself just an hour or so. Newspaper deadlines wait for no man. Or woman.
She strode through the hall to the reception desk, her steps echoing, and without waiting for the security guard to look up, told him, voice unwavering, ‘I have an appointment with the Editor.’
***
Sir Jeremy sat alone in a small garden square, surrounded by elegant Victorian houses, the breeze fluttering the shrivelled leaves of the elms and shrubs that struggled to survive here in the heart of London.
It was almost midnight and he would normally be indoors by now. The two old dears, Dolores and Charlene, had been really kind to him, helping the sick old man up the steps at the station.
He had revived a little in the cool night air, and felt better now. The colour had returned to his puffy cheeks, his chest finally released from the crushing pressure.
Dolores had wanted to call an ambulance but he had insisted he would be fine, and promised her he would visit his doctor tomorrow. They had left him and waved to him as they set off, chatting animatedly.
It had been an exciting evening for Sir Jeremy too.
Nerve-racking in fact.
So just how bad was it?
His old friend Simm was dead. A careful man, a suspicious man – like himself, in so many ways.
No, surely George wouldn’t have left anything incriminating. Nothing that could lead to me, he thought.
Sir Jeremy’s hands were clasped together, in constant motion, as if cleansing away some dreadful stain. Realising his body was betraying his innermost thoughts, he quietened the motion, straightened his back and took in the grandeur of the square, the red brick terraced houses, homes to the rich and famous.
I belong here, and by God I’ll allow no man to take it from me.
With that thought, he crammed his hat on his head and scurried across the road to his home.
***
The Editor was barking, in full flow, ‘...and tell that twat I’ll rip him a new arsehole if he does this to me again!’
He popped a chunk of doughnut in his mouth, and continued, ‘Joey, get Mark in here, now. I’m not happy with page two, and tell Gus I want more beef in the Man City roasting saga. And Joey...’ His assistant had one foot out the door already, looking back, ‘is that lass here yet?’
‘Been here about fifteen minutes, boss. You want her in now?’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Blonde, cute, nice legs, lovely bum, great smile, big brown – ’
‘For gawd’s sake, zip your flies man,’ Charles Tandy was laughing now, some stress gone. ‘She smart?’
‘Yup, as a box full of knives.’
‘Get her in now – and where the hell is Mark?’
***
Johnny’s hands were quivering over his keyboard, his eyes on his mobile phone, frustration and impatience building by the minute.
C’mon Kate, we’re cutting this real fine, he thought, just as the mobile phone jumped into life, vibrating and joggling on his desktop.
He grabbed it, punched up the message, dropped it and let his fingers fly.
***
Tandy had been through two minor heart attacks and a by-pass operation. He ignored the doctors who told him to change his lifestyle. For Gawd’s sake, he’d said, why would he change it? He loved it.
He chucked a handful of tablets in his mouth, gulped his coffee, slopping a little on his shirt, unseen and unnoticed, and took a huge mouthful of doughnut.
Kate walked into his office, pocketing her mobile, still hugging the iPad to her breast.
The Editor looked her over, a frank appraisal, brushed sugar off his hands and clasped them behind his head, elbows out, and pushed himself back in his executive chair. He gave a very quiet wolf whistle and then said, ‘You must be Kate O’Sullivan. Joey told me you were a looker.’
Not a beat, not a flicker of emotion. She seemed professional enough. Tandy had seen all types come and go over the years, including some real wimps. She clearly was not one.
‘I heard you were a sexist Mr Tandy.’ She surprised him now, her tone was flat, neither cold nor angry. Her statement was delivered as a matter of common knowledge, indisputable, tinged with a slight American accent. ‘But I didn’t come here to blow anything but your mind.’
Tandy watched, warming to her, as Kate placed her tablet on his desk. She punched up a screenview and spun the iPad round, sliding it across the desk for him to see. She sat without waiting for him to offer, hazel eyes locked on his, daring him to say another offensive word.
Charles was intrigued. He loved a good story, knew that the unexpected could hit at any time. But a readymade exclusive, walking into his office just before they let their presses roll? That was a never before event for him.
Joey had said she had been cagey on the phone that evening, but clear what she wanted. Adamant in fact. Occasionally they had to deal with cranky calls, offers of the big story that turned out to be bullshit. But she had checked out, with numerous articles in the quality papers, even the hallowed FT.
A hack writer thought Tandy, definitely not an investigative journalist.
‘Slumming it a bit, aren’t we? Approaching a mere tabloid for your story? What, the Times not interested?’
‘Mr Tandy, we really don’t have time for this.’
‘Listen young lady, I decide when the presses roll and I – ’ He did not get to finish.
‘And I decide when your competitors get this story.’ The ice-maiden façade cracked as her cheeks signalled red, warning him to push no further.
He laughed, a big sound, full of fun, of life. He gulped some coffee and said, ‘Wanna drink? Doughnut? Give me a minute.’ He tugged the slim computer over, and shut off the outside world as he read.
When finished, he sat back and pondered the article.
It was sensational and confirmed many rumours pointing to a story he had been sniffing around for years. But he refused to show how impressed he was.
‘It’s bullshit. Ah, just in time Mark, here take a look.’ Tandy pushed the tablet across to the young lawyer and folded his hands across his belly, noticing for the first time the coffee stain there.
The girl said nothing, just watched him with those unsettling eyes. Tandy noticed the little twitch of her mouth as she followed his gaze to the stai
n.
He grinned at her and mentally did some quick calculations. His copy deadline was just forty-five minutes away, although at a push he could delay another forty-five, maybe more.
The material she had was fantastic, but written for the Times, not his readers.
‘The rumours about Simm and his business have been around for as long as I can remember. Do you have anything to confirm these allegations? Some official documents? A credible source?’ Mark gave Kate a charming smile as he expressed his doubt.
‘If you knew where to look, you could find translations of the official Thai police report, along with the CIA’s own damning assessment.’
‘And you know where to look, Kate?’
‘Sure, and in another hour or so, so will everyone else.’ Cool as a cucumber.
‘Well for chrissake kid, let’s see it!’ Tandy’s enthusiasm got the better of him. He really hoped this would check out. He was up, pacing round the desk. He stopped in front of Kate, fists on his hips, but she remained impassive. She was confident enough, he gave her that. ‘Now would be good!’
She gazed up at him, then spoke, her voice even. ‘I need the internet. Your wi-fi?’
‘I’m online.’ Charles nodded to his desktop computer and followed Kate back to his seat, then propped an elbow on the chair back as she sat. Within seconds Tandy was staring at the documents Johnny had posted on a dedicated website that had been private just a few minutes earlier.
‘This is now in the public domain, Mr Tandy.’
‘Mark, take a look. Can we go with this?’
All lawyers hate to give a straight answer, but Tandy had appointed Mark specifically on the condition he would never fudge a decision. But Mark’s legal training made him naturally sceptical. His job was a key one. He did not answer his boss immediately, instead aiming his remark at Kate.
‘This could be a hoax.’
‘It’s not!’ Kate’s eyes, full of defiance, drilled into Mark’s then Tandy’s, her head flicking back to the lawyer as he spoke again.
‘A simple cut and paste job. Anyone could post something like this on the web.’
‘I can vouch for it, but will not divulge my sources.’
‘And in that case, I cannot – will not – let the story run.’ Mark glanced at Tandy. ‘Sorry boss.’
Charles watched Kate, biting her lip, a little flap of her hands betraying indecision. He needed to be confident the stuff was genuine and he really wanted this story, but, when it came to libel laws he was happy to leave the decisions to his lawyer.
‘Give it to us Kate – your secret’s safe with us. We’re not interested in telling anyone, we just need to know we aren’t letting the floodgates open for lawsuits.’ Charles cut her off as she opened her mouth to speak. ‘I know dead men can’t sue, but his travel company just might.’ Charles laid a hand on her shoulder, attempting reassurance.
Kate fiddled with the keyboard, and Tandy could feel her reluctance. Then she nodded to herself. ‘This goes no further. Okay?’ She hesitated, clearly unhappy. ‘It’s from my brother. He got it.’
‘How Kate? From where? How can we be sure this is genuine, not some prank or set up?’ Mark tapped the top of Tandy’s screen. ‘With the internet I can get photos of anything, including Prince Charles shagging the royal corgis! But they certainly aren’t for real.’
‘Well these documents are the real deal. My brother...’ Tandy heard the slight catch in her voice as she said it, recognised the betrayal there, ‘he hacked into the CIA network and found them.’
‘No way.’ Mark’s head was shaking and he went to leave.
Tandy’s face must have betrayed his scepticism too as Kate went on, insisting, ‘He’s done it before. When we were living in the States. He got caught then, but he was really careful with this. Believe me, there is no system my brother cannot get into with a pc.’
‘You’re serious?’ Tandy could barely contain his excitement, and nodded to Mark to continue pushing Kate for details.
‘And what? Your brother posted these documents on the internet, to this site, for us to read right now?’ Mark’s finger was tapping the screen.
‘Yes. And it will soon appear on dozens of other sites too. Anonymously. And that’s how we want it kept. Okay?’
‘You guarantee that these are genuine documents directly from the source? Unaltered? Not embellished? You will be in a world of trouble if we discover you are conning us Kate.’
‘Guaranteed.’ She desperately wanted the lawyer to believe her, knew he was the gatekeeper, the one to convince.
Tandy pushed for an answer. ‘Well Mark. It’s impressive as hell but can we use it?’
He hesitated for just a moment. ‘If we were in any way responsible for the illegal hack then we would be in deep shit, but, given this is in the public domain, I can’t see a problem. It’s the same as the leaks we’ve used from Anonymous... Yup, we can run with it. But let me see the final copy. Or are you planning to print Kate’s article?’
‘You must be joking. Our readers couldn’t cope with Miss O’Sullivan’s intellectual essay. We’re gonna do the re-write, right now.’ Tandy hustled Kate from his seat and plopped himself down, totally in his element, headlines forming in his mind.
Kate, clearly delighted, obviously had questions of her own. ‘But...’
‘Don’t worry kid. Your name will be next to mine on the by-line. Mark, draw up a contract. Fifty now. Fifty retainer, usual bonuses and clauses.’ He pushed a button on his speakerphone as he shouted loud enough to be heard outside his office without it. ‘Joey, clear pages one, two and three. You and Gus have got the rest. Drop the roasted hooker thing. Oh, and find me some photos of that businessman that died – George Simm. See if you can dig out one with the wife, or better still, with the kids. In fact get me every fuckin thing we’ve got in the archives.’ Another button. Jab. ‘Coffee and doughnuts now please Tina.’ To Kate, quieter now but brimming with energy, ‘You want some? Here sit with me kid,’ waving to his side. ‘We’ve got work to do!’
***
While Chief Lee interviewed the concierge for the second time, the backpacker was just a half-mile away. His hostel was on a back street, tucked well away from the bright lights of the tourist strip.
He had had many passports, many names, but Douglas Brown was the person he had been for the last few years. Doug. The traveller. In search of himself.
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a strange hybrid computer in front of him, screens blank, unseen. His eyes were shut, and he breathed in a slow rhythmic beat, meditating to calm his troubled mind.
He had not killed a man since he had ‘retired’ from the service some years before. He had shed that persona, that other being, the government assassin they had labelled the Hunter.
Until now. And he had killed twice in less than twenty-four hours. Pre-meditated, savage murders.
After the killing rage had left him, he had returned to his room and vomited, a long dry retching spasm, his body trying to expel the twisted tension in his belly, the pain and horror of what he had done.
He was not concerned about the police. And despite what he had told the concierge, he had plenty of money. Goddammit, he could buy a hotel here if he wanted.
He forced his mind to quieten, the calming effect of meditation a well-practised routine.
Events had been so unexpected. His travels, always alone, had brought him here. Generally Brown avoided tourist hotspots and crowded beaches, but after spending months alone seeking peace of mind, he had craved some company, felt ready to be around people again.
Fate had placed him at that table, soaking up some sun, chilling with a beer, watching the beach full of happy tourists, all of them determined to make the best of their hard earned week or two in paradise.
He believed in destiny, believed he had been meant to overhear the men. He knew he would have to act, was infuriated by the deal they struck. Fan and Simm. The world a better place without them.
At
first he had barely noticed the fat American, at least not until the oriental had arrived with the little boy.
Poor kid.
Fan had clouted him, a hard stinging slap just as they arrived, for no apparent reason as far as Brown could tell, and that was when he had started to pay attention to the strange threesome nearby.
His hearing was exceptional, a hunter’s sense sharpened and honed by a level of concentration achieved through meditation. Their conversation had drifted to him, hushed at first, but growing in volume as the tension escalated. The things he heard were enough to convince him Simm was more than just a paedophile holidaying where he thought he could molest a young child without fear of the consequences.
Oh no, much worse than that. He had promised Fan a regular, steady flow of perverts. Wealthy western gentlemen with ‘special needs’ he had called them, like some warped tour operator.
Then Fan had whacked the boy again. Unprompted, not a noise or a movement from the lad, yet he had backhanded him. Brown’s anger, which had been escalating as he listened to their surreal conversation, had turned to fury.
Then they had left, Fan moving off first, and later the odd couple, the young child being led away to God knows what.
His fury had boiled to rage. A misty red film had engulfed his vision, his surging blood pressure swelling the arteries in his eyes. He was literally seeing red as he followed Simm to the hotel. He had no plan, no thoughts.
His instincts took over.
He arrived at the desk just as Simm got his key. Suite 418 on the fourth floor.
The concierge had been brusque, off-hand when he realised this potential ‘customer,’ Brown’s hippy persona, had no money, and imperiously dismissed him. A non-person. Unnoticed as he up ducked up the stairs to the floors above.
Doug had stood outside Simm’s room, instinctively knowing the American would never open up to a stranger, especially with the boy inside. The door was solid wood and he had no chance of smashing through it. There were faint sounds of sobbing from within, and he became desperate to save the lad.
He searched the corridor, looking for something – a porter with a master key, a maid, whatever – the hunter in him driving him on.
Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1) Page 43