O’Shea had tapped on Cade’s door that night. Asked to enter.
He was stood in a shirt and boxer shorts. She couldn’t help admire his legs, still good for a forty something.
“Of course. You OK?”
“No, Jack. I need a hug, actually. Nothing more so you can take that look off your face.” She smiled for the first time in weeks.
“Does the lady consider me that shallow?”
“Yes, she bloody well doth.”
“You really should sort that lisp out, you know. But then again, it can be quite endearing…I guess.”
It earned him a pillow around the side of the head.
“What’s troubling you?”
“Jack. Why did you go all the way to Australia just to see her in her bikini?”
“Well, I didn’t know it was her Carrie. Remember, the last time I saw her, she was at death’s door, quietly knocking?”
“So you went not knowing it was her?” She seemed lifted by this.
“Yes. But as I say, I needed to check. And what she told me, well, it made a few things clear.”
“And can you tell me?”
“No. Not yet. I’ve been accused of letting people down Carrie. It won’t happen again, not until Alex and his team are either behind British bars or dead. Then, if you are a good girl, maybe…”
“You know I can be.” She flicked her eyebrows up and down. Playful again. First time since she had been poisoned in her own flat. It was the last passionate gesture from a lover to another. The last eye contact at the time was made the night her colleagues had wheeled her out of the local pub and out of Cade’s life.
“I do know. And one day, who knows? I might just let you. But right now, I need to focus Carrie. Focus on what is important, and that includes you.”
The rest of the team had done what police officers and the military do best, adapt. They had converted a briefing room into a bunkhouse, installed a TV that they had ‘found’ in the building, stocked the kitchen with every conceivable snack and had built beds as comfortable as they could be.
Black kit bags lined the walls, each lying next to a sleeping bag. Cell phone chargers hung from wall sockets. Men and women together.
“I suppose you lot watched me undress last night?” It was a playful DS Bridie McGee.
“Yes.” The whole room answered. Except DS Nick Fisher who looked at his phone, but actually stared over the top of it, longingly into her blue eyes, waiting for a sideways glance or a gentle flicker of those eyelashes.
“We’ve all seen it before anyway, Bridie.” Came the collective response.
“Not this body you haven’t. It is a temple, and trust me it is firmly locked to lecherous old bastards like you!” There was a cheer and one of her detectives threw a pair of his underpants at her. She caught them deftly in one hand, stretched them out.
“As I thought Rob, size, small…” She put them in a bowl, added water and put them in the nearby microwave to a roar of approval from the team. “About as hot as you’ll ever get in that department.”
Cade was stood watching. “Morning. Got a moment DS McGee?”
“Yes, boss. Absolutely.” She liked him. Always had. It was the eyes.
“Sorry about that.”
“Not at all Bridie. Work hard, play harder. How’s the team holding up?”
“Honestly, guv, they are bored shitless.” She rarely swore and when she did, she got away with it. Her mix of northern tones and a southern education gave her a soft and suggestive voice. The more passionate she became, the more northern.
“Intel tell us nothing is happening. Our Human Source Unit has nothing to offer. Frontline staff are seeing nothing. It’s like a city of bloody ghosts. We need some action.”
She was joined by Fisher. “Guv. How’s it?”
“Nick. Fine, thanks. Look both of you, I had an interesting chat the other day with one of Stefanescu’s top men. He told me a lot. I’ve got some of our intelligence staff looking at that. It takes time.”
“This wouldn’t be the same top man that died on the way to hospital? Rumour has it you might have had a chat with him before he shuffled off.”
“And what if I did?”
“Then I for one like your style boss.”
Cade briefed them. Let it sink in. Then answered his cell and gestured five minutes to the two DSs. He was glad he had told them what he knew. So far, only the staff with rank were told, in a sliding scale. Need to know.
“Yes, hello…” A pause to allow the voice to compute. “Well, if the devil should cast his net.”
“Hello Jack. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Really. But I’ve got a team here that are champing at the bit.”
“I have no idea what that means, but it sounds painful. We need to meet. St. James’ Park tube station. Soon as you can.” He was gone. His calls never lasted longer than they needed to.
“Bridie. Nick. Come with me, I need you to be my backup if something goes wrong.” On the way he told them to wait around the corner out of sight, warned them not to approach, that they were dealing with a professional.
“Will there be a sign if things do go pear-shaped?”
“I’ll think of something.”
Sancus logged onto the dark net. And waited.
Sancus, the Roman god of trust.
Sat in his office, with its solid walls, thick, double-glazed windows and a view that many cherished, he managed a wry smile as he watched the screen come to life. He always faced the door of his office, didn’t like anyone walking in and disturbing him, or looking at what he found to be of importance that day. The screen was angled away from the window too, same reason. Trust no one.
He waited, drew a circle in the fine layer of dust in his spare office, the one where few people ever visited. Then scraped a diagonal line through it. No entry.
Viduus also logged onto the net. Safe and secure, his own internet traffic bouncing between so many levels and layers that the authorities would never trace him. The Onion Router – TOR – the safe haven of criminals and law enforcement teams.
Viduus. The Roman god who separated the soul and body after death.
Romulus, Remus, Sancus and Viduus. Four of the most powerful Roman gods. Three of the most powerful men in London and one entity who remained an unknown. But they all ended in ‘us’ and that meant, for now, they were a team.
They started to talk, typing as quickly as they could. Encrypted. Locked down, confident but far from arrogant.
Yes, a great idea. Soon. Weather? The worst it could be would be the best they could hope for. Times and dates were exchanged. Pre-arranged passwords used, challenges met.
Trust.
John Daniel tapped quietly on Jason Roberts’ office door, his old office door.
“Any sign of any action? Seen Jack? How are you holding up?”
“No. No, and as well as can be expected John.”
“Fancy a walk?”
“Anywhere particular?”
“Close.”
“Risky, isn’t it?”
“We are coppers Jason, not bloody girl guides. I will not abide by this current no-go policy. Come on, grab your coat, and bring your wallet.”
Ten minutes later, they were in the Sanctuary, their favoured drinking hole, pushing the wintry gales out of the door and back onto the street as they keenly offered hints of snow.
“Bit early?”
“Never. Scotch?”
“Christ JD, you drying out or something, have you seen the time?”
“I have, and when I tell you this, you’ll want another.”
Cade was also wrapped up against the worst that winter was throwing at the city. The wind seemed to funnel up the Thames, from the estuary and the North Sea beyond.
He waited and watched, and there, among the crowds of commuters and beggars and the rich alike, was his source. Minutes passed, became fifteen, then twenty. Now.
He walked towards the homeless man, pushed by him, then he
ld him at arm’s length with a look of revulsion. It was done.
“It was something that she said to me, when we first met at my place in New Zealand, Jason. Possibly a throwaway line or a deliberate hook, either way I let it sink deep into my cheek and I’ve struggled to get it out ever since.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“It was about her father.” He spoke for half an hour, outlined his feelings, thoughts and theories.
“Never?” Roberts drained the glass.
“Another?”
“Yes, and make it a double.”
Alex drained his own glass, shuddered a little as the last drop slipped down his throat. A chill in the air made his neck tingle, the hairs standing up. The saying, someone has walked over your grave came to mind.
For the first time in his adult life he paused long enough to think about who he had killed, harmed, maimed and tormented.
Was this the turning point? The road to recovery, or the last chapter en route to retribution?
He held the glass out over the edge of the balcony, watched his finger and thumb create a line in the condensation, slipping, slipping, gone. It dropped silently to the ground, landing in a hedge, the last drop spilling out onto the floor.
Recovery? Never. Recovery was for people with a soul.
He looked at the reflection of Constantin in the main patio door. He was a deep and interesting man, twisted in many ways, bitter, tormented, intense. Constantin the two-headed coin. On one side the brilliant chemist, self-taught in prisons across Europe. He had spent days learning recipes for poisons, compounds and explosives. He knew as much as many commercial chemists and was a borderline genius. On the other side of the coin, a cold, ruthless and unpleasant killer for whom the word evil did not begin to describe.
Alex picked up the bottle and drank from it.
“Noroc uncle. And thank you for always being there for me.” He wiped the bottle and poured another shot into Constantin’s glass.
He replied, “It has been a long time since you called me that. Why the sudden change, nephew?”
“What is it that they say? Blood is thicker than water?”
Chapter 54
Another day had passed. Same old, same old.
On the next day, one of the analysts was at work early. Coffee was his new addiction. It kept him awake, and alive. He had arrived with three more in a cardboard carrying tray. Free to a good home. He was enjoying being back in the saddle, glad that someone had found a use for him. When Cade had slipped the small USB drive into his hand the day before he had hoped he could do something with it. Then immediately questioned why he doubted his own abilities. He was well trained, disciplined, and had once saved Cade’s career. They owed each other.
And now he sat at his desk with Cade, Roberts and Daniel stood around him. The rest of the team were already out, or logging into their own systems. A few of the night shift were making the most of a chance to sleep, pulling pillows over their heads and trying to block out the noise. Their sleep would be the sleep of kings until someone woke them.
The voice in the next room kept them awake for a while anyway. It belonged to ex-Army Intelligence Corps legend David Francis.
“Romulus, Remus, Sancus and Viduus.”
Roberts was quick. “A firm of Roman lawyers?”
“Hardly boss.”
“Front four for Inter Milan?”
“Nope, not that either.”
“Have to be roman gods then. So what’s the deal?”
“Well, the drive that Jack gave me contained a file. Probably caused the IT department to have a meltdown, but I slipped it into the slot, got it wrong, two tries, then back to the first one, you know how these little things are.”
The screen started to come to life.
“And hey, and some presto too.”
“What is it?” Daniel had leaned further forward.
“The dark net, John. The place where criminals go to play. And Mr Cade has been given the key to the front door. All I need to do now is decipher what they are rambling on about.”
“Code?”
“Absolutely. This is a professional setup. We don’t know who Viduus is. Nor Sancus. Not yet anyway. We can make an educated guess about Romulus and Remus.”
“Can we? Honestly?” Roberts was interested but sceptical.
“One hundred percent. Romulus is our man, sir.”
“Valentin.” Cade spoke at a decent volume. Walls were trusted in this team. “I met him yesterday. He’s on side.”
There were nods of approval. Both Roberts and Daniel remembered his role, poacher turned gamekeeper, coming in from the cold and a lifetime of hatred towards his old employer, the Romanian government. And now he had a chance to make amends for almost ending the life of one of Cade’s team.
“The device that Dave is using came from Valentin. Remus is Constantin – or Alex – they use the same sentence structure. Could be either.”
“And the other two?” Roberts was already getting tired.
“No idea. The speech is broken, code, almost street talk. But it is someone who has an education, of sorts. And that someone is knowledgeable – has the inside line. Read that part just there.” He pointed to a paragraph in an earlier chat line.
“Does it support what Gheorghiu told you?” Roberts again.
“Partly, yes. Looks like Alex has deployed a few teams already. How long do we give them before we strike?”
“Tonight. We go tonight.”
“May I suggest tomorrow?” It was Daniel.
“Reason?”
“Gives them just long enough to make a mild mess, but time to provide us with evidence of what their intentions were. If we are quick, then perhaps we can even be waiting for them.”
“JD, they will never get into those vaults.” Cade was adamant.
“Agreed. And I know this for a fact, because I helped design the perimeter security. Seems like yesterday too.”
“But this talk is of tunnels. I reckon they are tunnelling into the city system, via the old tube network and the airport locations will be out and out, old-fashioned blaggings.” Roberts was animated again, his lime green double Windsor-knotted tie as vibrant as his manner.
“Shooters?” Francis. Equally upbeat.
“The whole nine yards, my son.” Roberts was actually enjoying the thrill of the pre-chase.
“Can I come?”
“No Dave, sorry, no place for an ex-soldier with a Glock and a grudge.” Roberts tried his best to be empathetic.
“What if I used my bare hands?”
The day became the evening, which gave way to a colder night. Minus four the weatherman had predicted, and a heavy frost.
The old Mazda 6 was tucked up for the night. Two on board. A Toyota van a few hundred metres away. It had been parked among other vehicles in a place where cars parked overnight and as such was hardly anything to write home about.
In the back, and carefully moving around, was a man and a woman. Dressed for the cold, but still feeling it.
“Minus four. Fuck me, Bridie, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Was that a weather forecast or a chat up line Detective Sergeant Fisher? I’m not sure where the full stop was or should have been.” She held his gaze, then looked back through the Canon SLR, perched skilfully on a ledge, its telephoto lens extending just far enough into the van’s cockpit to get a shot of the scene.
“I’m not with you.”
“Nick. How long have we known each other?” Her voice appeared even sultrier, this close, in confines that were borderline intimate.
“Since training school actually.”
“So, it’s fair to say I know what is going on in that head of yours. It’s been bloody years, man. Your innuendos, my seemingly apparent willingness to agree to whatever it was that was whirring around up top, in what you call a brain. Just relax and stop trying so hard. Just ask the question and I’ll say yes. That’s all you need to do.” Her smile lit up the dimly lit surveil
lance van, their home for the night.
Years. He’d waited years and all he needed to do was ask.
“I hardly think a van that’s rocking as if it’s in a bloody earthquake is what Jack and the team would call discreet. Would you?”
“No. Perhaps not. But my bed is more than big enough for two. Imagine slipping into it in the morning when everyone else is heading out to work, miserably scraping the ice off their windscreens with a credit card?”
“But I’m married.”
“So am I.”
“Actually, you are not, technically.”
“So you’ve been stalking me, DS Fisher? I should have you hauled over the coals for this.”
“And I should have you by the coals of a roaring fire, DS bloody McGee. And technically, for the record, I’m no longer married either.”
There it was, the green light. He leaned over and kissed her. Gently, on the lips. They were sweet-tasting, honey-like, smooth like satin. She swallowed hard, eyes open, then closed. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin.
He smiled with his eyes, let her go, knew it was wrong.
She had her right eye back on the cup, looking at the enhanced image, biting her lip, trying not to scream in delight that he had finally made the move.
He was about to ask. And she was about to say yes.
“Wait one.” McGee held her hand up. Consummate professional once more.
“Activity?”
Fisher logged the time.
“Two vehicles. Vehicle One. Grey VW, Vehicle Two, a blue Ford.” She read the number plates back to him, allowing him to check them with a colleague back at the Orion HQ.
“Both in trade.”
Vehicles that were somewhere in the ether between a car trader and a new owner.
“There’s a surprise.”
“Vehicle tyre pressures look normal.” Obviously not carrying anything overly-heavy.
“Three exiting Vehicle One. Two from Vehicle Two. All males, stand by for descriptions.”
Fisher noted and relayed her words to the letter.
In the Orion HQ, a buzz of activity commenced. Traffic units were put on standby. Armed. Plain cars, three of various makes, and two marked BMWs.
Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3) Page 52