“If I knew that I’d stop it. Prepare for a few losses, and headlines. We need to round up our people too Jason. We’ve got folk scattered across the city, let’s make sure they are all in pairs.” He stopped, took a quick glance at himself in a shop window. “Sorry mate. This is your show, I need to back off.”
“No you don’t. Just try to find out what you can, whilst you can yeah?”
“Sounds ominous. Know something I don’t?”
Roberts snorted down the phone. “Like I would keep that to myself you old slag!”
“Takes one DCI Roberts. It takes one. Oh, and sorry about the carpets.”
Chapter 50
Cade diverted from Scotland Yard. Dialled a number and waited at the side of the road, oblivious to the exclamations from his fellow commuter.
“Dave, Jack. I need you to stop whatever you are doing and run some searches for me.”
“Go on.”
“Find what you can on Harry Halford. Do it without leaving a footprint. Leave the building if you need to. You talk only to me.”
“Anything particular?”
“Anything that will hang the bastard out to dry.”
“And why do you ask?”
“Just do it Dave and trust me.”
“As you say sir, but before you hang up on me John.” Francis was one of the few people that called Cade by his real name. The other was his mother.
“I may have unwittingly got a hit on our human source system.”
Cade waited at the side of the road, ignoring the two-fingered gestures and silent expletives from myriad road users. “Do tell. But make it quick David I have people to see, places to go.”
“Don’t you always? Just a word to the wise, you need to find time to watch over your young ladies. They are vulnerable. We’ve got staff here, there and everywhere John, we are at full stretch. I’ll burn the midnight oil to support you, but you know you can’t afford another loss. John?”
The silence ended. “Yes, of course, but this is bigger than just me.”
“Tell that to Mr Daniel. He’s just walked in. Doesn’t look well. And Cynthia. And your man Lucy.”
“Your point?”
“Is a clear one. I am worried about you. You might crave a quiet night; brush your teeth, comb your hair, slip into bed with one of those lovely young ladies…but until this is done there is no time for normal. Normal is a slice of life we take for granted. You know you are the target here don’t you?”
“And how do you work that out?”
“Oh, come on, man. Because he’s making his way through the ranks, picking us off, one by one, by one. I’ll be on that list too so forgive me if I feel like hitting the bottle again. Ask yourself this, how does your man Alex know who is on your team?”
“Insider?”
“Insider threat John. And yes, I too feel that Mr Halford is at the top of that food chain. But we don’t know why. He’s a senior minister for God’s sake. Add to the fact we don’t know what your bloody Jackdaw is planning and you exacerbate things way beyond our control.”
“Have we established anything from Elena, or McCall or his brother Stefan?”
“No. Well, I say no, what I really mean is yes. We know that Alex’s teams are almost certainly behind the London Stone, the bank jobs and some random cyber stuff.”
“Cyber?”
“Yes. Our team are picking up some interesting chatter, takes some translating as it’s in Romanian and in code but it seems that your Interpol search for a star worked. He’s a real asset. Pity we will never meet.”
“I’m glad he’s on board. How do you communicate?”
“Blackberry.”
“OK, good. What type of cyber stuff?”
“The type where we think someone took control of the traffic light system a few nights ago. No issues, just a test, but it wasn’t anyone on our side. Our cyber geeks have recommended it be locked down – could cause public unrest, especially with the weather as it is.”
“OK. I need to know this sort of stuff David.”
“Apparently not. If you ask me, there’s a few too many chiefs in this team, top heavy, we need to spread the love, share the experience a bit more.”
Cade had always admired his candour.
“Trust me John you’ll be told what I think you need to know. The other stuff, I’ll let slip for the price of a decent coffee.”
“Fair trade.”
“It’s all I drink since I watched a BBC documentary.” It made Cade smile. Francis still had a sense of humour. He had an agenda too, he wanted to find the men responsible to vapourising his dear old uncle in a house explosion not so far away.
“David, was there any good news this morning?”
He laughed. “I remember the first day we ever met. You a wet behind the ears constable and me a washed-up ex-soldier. But we needed each other, you promised me you’d always be on hand to help and you’ve never once let me down. You always used to ask me if I had received any good news. It was our code for local intelligence. I told you what was happening in the area, you acted and locked up the bad bastards but always kept my name out of it all. Nothing has changed – now it’s just on a far grander scale with less chance of an arrest.”
“Dave I need to go. Cut to the chase as they say.”
“Wait a second.”
Francis walked into a side office and shut the door.
“Your insider threat is John Daniel.” It was abrupt to say the least.
Cade shuddered, turned the heater up to thirty.
“What? No.”
“Yes John. Yes. His name has come up on some checks, old-fashioned ones, where I ask a few pertinent questions, ran a few searches, deep in the systems the Home Secretary herself gave us access to. There’s an operation that is so locked down so tight only a few know it ever existed.”
“Called?”
“Griffin.”
“And John Daniel was a part of that?”
“Yes. I’m afraid so.”
“Its theme?”
“Not for the phones John. Later.”
“Fair enough. But you make out it’s a negative. Could it be positive?”
“It could. It started years ago. JD was recruited to gather intelligence, his knowledge of Eastern Europe is up there with the best…as I say, the rest needs to be discussed face to face.”
Cade nodded, sat in the car, wiping a hole in the condensation with the back of his glove.
“He certainly knows a bit of the language.” His mind drifted back to 2014 when Daniel had talked to Elena, at his restaurant in New Zealand. At the time Cade put it down to a rapid self-taught desire to impress a pretty girl, a Google search and twenty minutes practice in front of a mirror.
He had cursed his naivety ever since. Years had somehow dumbed down his ability to see the wood for its humble cousin, the trees. Cade had met Nikolina Petrov, had listened and nurtured her as an intelligence source. He had learned a lot about Eastern Europe too, but he always felt like he was a pawn, a conduit to something bigger. The day she had run away from him, across a golden cornfield, dropping to the ground and waiting to have two nine millimetre rounds drilled through her head.
The way she had looked up at him.
The way her daughter did the same on a desolate road, many years later. Call yourself a detective Jack?
Niko had died a death that was cruel and indicative of the way her estranged husband thought. Elena would have too, if luck and some pinpoint calculation had not played their part.
He should have known. But the thing was, he never was a detective. He was just a straightforward, down to earth copper, who had unwittingly met the girl who had the pieces of a jigsaw. Sadly, he had no idea which picture they came from.
Two women, two countries and one enemy.
He should have seen it. He wouldn’t be the first and without a doubt wouldn’t be the last. Women. They were after all the best intelligence operators in the business for they had one weapon that men d
idn’t. And she had used that weapon on him. She had walked into that bar, sprinkled moon dust in his eyes then walked away. Hook. Line. Sinker.
She was the best. Grooming him from the moment she walked in, the sunlight shining through her simple cotton dress.
Not the first. Possibly, not the last.
And now she was back in his life. Alive. Trusted, possibly, and on her way to pick up the one woman who had offered him compassion, love and the other side of female thinking. And he had repeatedly pushed her away since the day they wheeled her out of the pub – her wish, her in control, her regretting it too.
But now, sat on a side road, surrounded by busy traffic and angry people he knew he had more enemies than friends. At least, that is how he felt.
He started to count his friends. Marking them off on the tinted glass, wiping the figure with his index finger. He knew that if he were to be the main bait that he would need everyone he believed in to be there to back him up. The government needed to find a scapegoat, worse still a human sacrifice.
Yes, normal, was most agreeable.
He had drawn a picture of the London skyline in some detail, the Tower of London seeping down the lightly coloured coloured glass, into the door trim. The London Eye, the Gherkin, Big Ben, the Thames Barrier.
He flicked the window switch and watched his artwork disappearing by the second. He was back in the conversation.
“I trust JD as much as I trust you Dave.”
“I’m glad. I’m not saying he’s a threat to you. I’m saying he’s a threat to the other members of the team. And according to my feather light searches he’s one of the few remaining people that can still be brought forward to give evidence.”
“About what exactly?”
“What is in those documents and who had the most to gain. This morning’s little meeting down on the Embankment was a less than subtle hint that he should pack up and head back to his adopted new home. Whilst he is still alive.”
“I’ll ask again, evidence about what?”
“About the decision by a select few to carry out an act so atrocious that it would meet and exceed the conspiracy theories of what led to the horrors of 9/11.”
“But why? And for what? And who? Government intervention?”
Francis repeated Cade’s last words.
The last part of the drawing was disappearing, cleaned off, never, in that guise, to be seen again. And then he stopped the window.
It was there. And he saw it. And he smiled. Perhaps he was a detective after all?
“Dave. Tell JD I was asking about him. Get him some ice.”
“For the bruising?”
“No, for the bottle of Talisker Dark Storm that he keeps hidden in his drawer.”
“You know you shouldn’t have told me that John?”
“Of course I should. Those days are behind us now David.”
He indicated, lights on, back into the enduring fog. As he drove, he spoke into the hands-free.
“Call Scott McCall.”
McCall answered within three rings. He had stayed at the flat with Stefanescu.
“Scott I need you to go to a restaurant in Covent Garden. Take Stefan with you. Tell them you need to see their CCTV.”
“OK, but don’t you have detectives for that type of thing?”
It was a reasonable question.
“Yes, I do, but I want to put you out there, if he’s watching, let him see we are overt, nibbling at his cheese.”
“Do we need to be armed?”
Another reasonable request.
“Probably, but no, you can’t. Anyway, I’ve had some intelligence from one of my best analysts, he’s constantly scanning the environment, looking for clues. Someone connected to the restaurant I need you to go to has made a call to Crimestoppers. Said they thought they had had two guests in there that were criminals.”
“Hardly a revelation in a huge city like London.”
He liked McCall. They’d get along well, despite their Elena Petrova mutual appreciation society issues.
“Again, you are right, but the caller works there, so we should be able to narrow it down. That should have been taken out of the message really, ties him to the job, but that is our gain. I’m guessing it’s the manager. Go and see him, find out what he knows about the two men, the men with the wave tattoos on their wrists, get to see the CCTV, tell him we want to seize it, and hopefully you can start your journey towards redemption.”
“OK, roger that. I’ll brief Stefan on the way, if anyone will recognise them he will.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.”
Daniel drained the glass.
“For medicinal purposes you understand?”
Francis smiled. “The boss said you might appreciate it.” He turned to look at a distinguished man who had stopped at the office door.
“Jesus JD you look awful. Can we assume that the other man looks worse?” There was a smile, but also a genuine sense of concern.
“David, this is Johnathan Hewett. He works for the Foreign Office. That’s all you need to know.”
Hewett held out his hand. “Heard a lot about you.” Hewett had a way with people, made them believe he knew all about them, was able to throw a line here, a few pieces of information there. He was very good at it. Even Francis believed him.
“Look guys I need a favour.” He outlined his request which mirrored Cade’s. It made for an awkward few minutes.
“Just between us – oh, and Roberts and Cade. But no one else. And I mean no one.” He was gone in seconds after a positive thumbs up, dialling on his phone as he walked to another meeting somewhere else.
Francis looked at Daniel. He face said it all, and he prided himself on being the army’s best poker player.
“What is it David?”
“Jack will shoot me.”
“You want a scotch?”
“Yes. Hell no. He’ll shoot me if I tell you, but I feel we are past that now. Jack asked me to carry out the same checks.”
“Then do it and leave Jack to me. Same hymn sheet Dave. Same hymn sheet.”
Forty minutes south east Elena Petrova had parked up and walked into the side ward, finding O’Shea’s police guard in situ. Her looks had got her a long way in her relatively short life but she didn’t rely upon them now.
“Hello officers. I am Elena Petrova.” She held her ID aloft. “I am here to collect Miss O’Shea, to take her back to our office. Thank you for your help. You can go home now.”
The younger of the two physically held her ID card, looked her in the eyes. Yep, she was beautiful, but he was equally professional.
“I’ll need to speak to Miss O’Shea first.”
“Of course. I will wait.” Proficient. No attitude. Confident.
O’Shea had been discharged by the On-call registrar. She said she had had a very lucky escape. It seemed like months ago she was lying in her own urine, strapped to a table, waiting to die. A long shower and food had helped, but nothing would ever rid her of her dreams. She feared they would come for her again, and now, outside was this girl, the pretty Bulgarian that Cade adored and she trusted about as far as she could kick.
‘Onwards and upwards Carrie.’
“Miss O’Shea said it’s fine to go in. We will wait right here. Outside.” He nodded to the Glock on his hip and the G36 across his chest. Subtle he was not. PC Simon Wright was determined that if anyone was going to balls things up it wouldn’t be him. He made a call to his boss and he in turn to the Met Police.
Bases and arses covered.
She stepped into the half-light. “Hello Carrie. How are you?”
“I’m fine, no thanks to your lot. What is wrong with those people Elena?”
“My lot? What do you mean my lot?” Slightly edgy.
It was a mistake. O’Shea knew she needed to backtrack quickly.
“I’m sorry. I’m tired. Can we just go? I assume you have come to take me home?”
“Not home, but somewhere safe.”
“Yes, I guess so. But why attract more attention? You are safe with me. I taught myself to drive on the left on the way down.” She beamed.
“Fair enough Elena, but seriously, I just need to get back in one piece.” She picked up a plastic bag full of hospital detritus and thanked the police staff, shuffling inelegantly past them in her borrowed, baggy clothes.
“We will take it from here gentlemen.” Petrova flashed a smile at the younger of the two. That would allow him a few stories back at the station.
O’Shea lowered herself into the BMW and waited until Petrova was in and the doors were locked before she put the seat belt on.
“Trust me?” Petrova asked as she did the same.
“No, not really.” O’Shea tried an unconvincing smile.
“Well, you should.” She started the car and was quickly heading north west, scanning her mirrors. “Here, ring Jack.” She handed over an already unlocked phone.
It was what O’Shea needed to do, to settle her nerves.
“Hi, we are on our way back. Yes, she is driving. No, nothing so far. How are you? Team OK?” It was staccato conversation but hearing his voice helped.
“I will, as soon as we get back. And Jack?”
“Yes.”
“We will be OK you know. There’s more of us than them.”
“Always. Be safe. Catch up soon. And Carrie?” She had already gone. He cleared down, happy that she was en route and that as his dear old dad had often said ‘the bastards hadn’t ground her down just yet.’
Petrova was a skilled driver. She had learned young, and fast, been taught how to react to the contours of a road, the accelerative and decelerative effects, understeer, oversteer, throttle response. She had been involved in one crash in her life and she blamed herself for that.
Stunning day, stunning place, great roads, music, something to live for. Too much clouding her mind. Then it happened. And all her training meant nothing – at that speed. It wasn’t the speed that killed people. It was the stopping.
Today there was no music. Just two women, attractive in their own right, sat side by side in an anonymous silver German car. Blending with the traffic, she merged, indicated, accelerated and stopped. Then again, until she was on the open road.
Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3) Page 48