Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3)

by Lewis Hastings

  Cade tried not appear flattered.

  “So none of what followed was fate then?” He didn’t expect an answer, but pressing on he asked, “This list. Who’s on it nowadays?”

  “Me, Hewett by virtue of his parents and the way he lured the Spanish towards Alex, Dave Francis, the deputy commissioner, and an old sailor called Tom Denby.”

  “Interesting mix. The last name is a new one on me.”

  “More interesting than you can imagine. Tom was my boss, back in the day, now sits in an anonymous old folk’s home waiting for his next meal – he’s got more need to know in that head than he can ever remember, but that’s another story.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why a group of Eastern European criminals is giving us the run-around. I’ve never understood the connection. I may be thick?”

  “In that case join the club. Me neither. They came into this late in the game. Another distraction? Who knows, more pawns in this game than kings, but there is a king, just not sure anymore who that is. But one day it will all become clear. Right, go on bugger off, bright and early tomorrow?”

  “I’ll have the kettle on John – and thanks. Makes a few things clearer. I can relax. For a while.”

  He took the stairs, got into the pool car, exited, waved to the gatehouse, connected his phone via Bluetooth then turned left down past O’Shea’s old apartment – one he doubted she’d ever return to, then headed towards the safe location that he was sharing with O’Shea and Petrova.

  He hit search. Found Radio Caroline. Nic Perrins was on, a northern girl with a beautiful voice and an ear for eighties music that belied her comparative youth.

  A song by Yes was introduced. He settled into the short journey, found himself tapping the black leather-rimmed steering wheel. Perhaps the song was meant for him? He certainly felt like he had a lonely heart.

  Relax. Red light. Come to a stop. Amber, prepare to go. Green.

  He pulled away, first, second, turned left, amber glow, quiet streets, cold. He indicated, right, past the all night garage. Looked down, needed fuel. He was about to enter the forecourt when it happened. Discreet. A blue van came up behind him, then alongside him, edging him to the kerb. The grey vehicle in front stopped. Another came up behind the group and he was in a hurry.

  No longer inconspicuous.

  To an onlooker Cade’s Ford was the target of a police tactical pursuit and containment manoeuvre. And all carried out without a scratch. To the onlooker it was perfect. To the occupant, it meant one thing.

  He hit speed dial on his phone. Pressed One.

  The phone began to dial. Six men were out of their vehicles, running to the doors, life hammers smashing glass as Cade hit the horn, tried to reach for the glove box, undo his seat belt, escape. He rammed the gear lever into reverse and accelerated back into the white car behind him, tyres burning onto the road surface. He was too close to cause damage, let alone escape.

  JD answered the phone. “Jack?” He waited. Listened. All he could hear was a dynamic situation. Visceral sounds, effort, blows being exchanged.

  “Jack?”

  Cade grabbed hold of a canister of CS spray, fired it into the face of the first attacker. He was down. Evil stuff, minute crystalline hooks that clung to any and everything. He fired it at will but they kept coming. He hit himself with a foaming backlash of the noxious liquid, then started to choke, his eyes streaming.

  He propelled the car forward, into the grey car, tearing the bumper off, pushing it slightly, making little ground, horn sounding continuously. Surely someone would ring the police?

  But the two people that bothered to look saw the police, saw a familiar tactic of vehicle blocking, saw the crazy guy in the Ford lashing out, so closed the curtains and went back to their separate beds. Bloody racket, they’d make a complaint tomorrow, probably.

  “Jack…?”

  O’Shea listened to Cade’s answerphone message then left her own.

  “It’s me. There’s something about Elena you need to know. Speak when you get home. Wake me.”

  Part Seven

  Chapter 58

  “Job well done team. Grab a brew, we’ll talk this through and see what’s left to sweep up out there. Nice to show these buggers that we mean business.”

  The operation to round up and detain as many of the known targets of the Seventh Wave syndicate had gone better than expected – it had been planned for days but kept at a level of security so high that only a few knew. Executed on the day and not a moment before. Loose lips and all that.

  Using the Orion staff and selected members of specialist squads who were already cleared to a high level was a masterstroke. The team knew the consequences of betrayal. They could also be forgiven for feeling quite smug, but that changed when the news broke that Michael Blake and former Inspector John ‘Jack’ Cade had failed to attend their places of work.

  Blake had been reported absent by the Foreign Office. His wife said she thought he was away. Expected him back in a few weeks. Quite normal.

  Cade was different. Cade was dependable. He’d made some mistakes, but then he’d been propelled into a senior position quickly. He was from a line of Johns in the Cade family and all, historically, had been nicknamed Jack.

  Cade was indeed different. Put into a role, unwittingly, yet one he thrived in – the ultimate live bait for the bigger fish that lived just the other side of the reef.

  “Where the hell is he, Jason? He’s failed to answer my messages, didn’t get home last night. His car was missing. I rang you, I rang the comms centre. I rang JD. Jason…” She was beginning to panic.

  “Carrie. We’ll find him. Grab a coffee. Take a moment.”

  “Don’t tell me to take a moment, boss. I’ll take a bloody moment when I’m dead. Either that man has been taken or he’s done what he seems to be good at in times of stress. Walk away.” She shook her head but repelled the urge to sob too. If ever there was a tightrope of emotion, this was it for the analyst who had never recovered from a near-death experience, that ironically Cade had saved her from.

  Elena approached Roberts, walking between him and O’Shea. “They’ve got him, haven’t they?” Matter of fact.

  “You tell me. You seem confident.” Defensive.

  “Call it…a hunch. When people go missing I look at the facts. I normally start with Alex. It makes sense, no?”

  Roberts nodded. Waited. The deputy commissioner joined them.

  “This is it, people. The weather is atrocious, the tide’s expected to be high, and the bad news is our main target hasn’t come back to the location this morning…” His words hung like a toxic aroma.

  “We’ve missed them, haven’t we?” Daniel looked gutted.

  “I’m afraid so. Perhaps we should have struck yesterday.”

  Alex Stefanescu and his long-term accomplice Constantin had done what they needed to do the day before. And now, they sat and watched.

  Cade shuddered awake. His heart was racing, he could actually feel it pulsing, pounding out of his chest, compressing his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He tried to stand but came to the same conclusion as the man who shared his cell.

  He squinted, trying to use the last light of the glow stick which still clung to life, half submerged in the dank water. He looked up, then down, then sideways. Took a deep breath and then exhaled.

  “Well, this is nice.”

  “Didn’t want to wake you, Jack. How did you sleep?”

  “Like a bear before the sore head.” He looked around again as the natural light started to increase from above, illuminating the gantry. “Where are we?”

  “I have no idea. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I know we are semi-submerged in a massive steel tube, sat, on what can best be described as an adult see-saw.” He laughed, but it wasn’t funny.

  It was at that point that Cade realised he was higher than Blake, who was fifteen to twenty kilos heavier. He felt ridiculous. Probably looked ridiculous.

  “This is ridi
culous, Michael.” He struggled with his arm, which he realised was stuck fast. His leg, too. But for some reason, his captors had left two limbs free. He saw the drum in front, midway between them. Looking down, he could just about see the contents. He needed more light.

  “That thing comes around about every twenty minutes. They last about ten hours. I figure it’s been glowing most of the night. Feels like morning.” Blake was obviously exhausted. He hadn’t eaten in a while, was dehydrated and had long-since given up worrying about personal hygiene.

  “And?”

  “And it might provide a bit of light. If we are going to get out of here, we need light, then a plan, then…”

  “I think a plan would be my first bet…”

  They both laughed at the same time. But it still wasn’t in the slightest bit funny. Tiredness and stress did that to you.

  Cade reached out with his foot. “Try to be as light as you can. Come on, remember the old days in the playground?”

  Blake tried to rock back and forth, pushed up with one leg, and Cade began to lower down into the water. He was right, it did look absurd.

  “Yes, come on, you beauty.” He grabbed the glow stick between his big toe and its neighbour, bending slightly he picked it up with his hand, grabbed hold, tight, never letting go. He held it up, had a look around. It was pretty much as he thought. Large steel tube, the bottom filled with water and a ladder up to a gantry. He had no idea what it was other than a foetid tomb.

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Hours. No idea what they did to you, but you were out of it when they brought you down here. How’s the eye?”

  He favoured the socket; it felt vast – it at least explained why he had a throbbing headache. His ribs and stomach were raw too. The longer he thought about it the greater the clarity. A driving punch to the head. Two kicks to the stomach. Then repeated punches to the ribs. Then dragged, cable tied and dumped onto the floor of a people mover.

  Above them, the light changed. They heard a door opening. He slipped the glow stick into his pocket, tried to balance, waited.

  Three voices could be heard. However, a familiar voice called down to them from the gantry.

  “Sleep well, gentlemen?”

  Neither replied.

  “Hello Jack. Been a long time. Since our paths first crossed, we have both travelled a long way. You from New Zealand, then back to Australia, Hong Kong, Europe. I know every port you have visited. Every girl you have slept with, every dollar and pound you have spent. I know what coffee you like and how you love to sip Central Otago red wine from Elena’s most intimate body parts. I know more. But that can wait.”

  Blake looked at Cade, twisted his mouth at the corners, indicating his sense of concern.

  “Things were going well, my friend. You lived your life, and me, mine. C’est la vie. By the way, what you and Mr Blake are attached to is entirely Constantin’s idea. He has what you might describe as a warped mind, some might say child-like. I would have just killed you, but he insisted on having some fun. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, he is a very smart man. Anyway, I have places to go and chaos to cause. If it’s OK with you I’ll just watch for a few minutes? Nothing like humiliation to take the wind out of a man’s sails.”

  He cracked another glow stick and tossed it down into the water. As it left the gantry it partially illuminated his face.

  “So that’s what you look like. Handy to know.” Cade spoke as clearly and confidently as he could.

  “How marvellous for you, but our paths will not cross again Jack. I mean, look at you both. You remind me of a circus I went to as a boy. My delightful mother took me.”

  Constantin whispered something into Alex’s ear, but Cade beat him to it.

  “Was that the day you murdered your dear mother?” Two could play at the knowledge game.

  “Yes, you are right, my friend. That was the day I came home and decided to kill them both, actually. Dear mother and my adoring father. I had such a wonderful day. When I got back mother was too busy to listen…” He mimed her racing around the house. “Always too damned busy. So I put a knife through her windpipe. Heard it slice through the cartilage. She didn’t smile after that. Father looked so horrified. I think my thoughts were that he would be lonely. So, if memory serves me correctly, Jack, I hit him with a hammer. And again. And again until his skull could resist no more. When I touched it, it felt like pigs liver.”

  “And now you have us where you want us. Can’t say I’m in any hurry to know what the plans are here, but at least it’s better than a hammer blow.”

  Alex picked at and pulled a hair from his nostril, examined it in the half light, then flicked it down into the void. He checked his watch. He did disinterested rather well.

  “In a few hours you will find out just how devious Constantin is. And seeing as though you, and me and him will never meet again, it may be time for some honesty. I dislike you immensely, John Cade. Immensely. But I admire your spirit. Hence not clubbing you to death with a hammer. This way is both entertaining and painful. The clock starts now. Look down, see the water, it’s arriving. Soon time to see if you can work as a team. Take care of one another. Either way, see you in hell.”

  Cade and Blake looked down. The water was swirling in from a place in the tube. The tide must be on the way in. Cade knew he had about two hours, three at most, before the levels defeated them.

  Blake whispered. “An hour at most.” As he discreetly rubbed the plastic tie against the metal hoop, burning his wrist to the point of bleeding.

  Cade frowned. Then realised Blake was working out high tide figures, about six metres, the rough height of the tube or at least near to the gantry.

  “Gentlemen, you are not working as a team! Come on. If you want any chance of surviving, you must...work…as…a…team.” He clapped his hands in glee. It was the first time he had smiled in days, possibly weeks. “Many hands make light work. Simple. Blake, you go first. Oh…did you want a clue?” He pulled a sad face, rubbing his fists at the sides of his eyes. “Try the barrel.”

  Cade moved, and then so did Blake. They balanced, allowing Cade to look into the green barrel. All he saw was as mass of broken glass. Cubes of it, brown, safety glass, neat little cubes with razor-sharp edges. Just beneath the surface he could see a package, simple, wrapped in white paper.

  He pushed his hand into the glass and recoiled. Safety glass? Hardly, his fingertips bled, ten cuts or more, slicing the delicate skin.

  The water was swirling around them now, noticeable, slightly deeper than it was when the day had started. Cade flicked bits of the glass away but for each piece he moved another tumbled to fill its place. It was like gold mining in a sand dune. Like playing Jenga with the devil.

  He could hear Alex laughing. “Come on Jack, your life is at stake, dig deeper. There may be a sword in there, or a knife.” The three men on the gantry all laughed in a sneering way – they were enjoying the moment.

  Cade ripped a piece of his shirt, then using his teeth as a vice, wrapped it around his fingers, forming a barrier, then carried on digging until he reached the paper. He exhaled, feeling the fresh blood oozing into the cloth. He retrieved the package and unwrapped it. It contained a pen and nothing else.

  The water rose.

  At Scotland Yard the command team plus their senior and lead analysts sat around a microphone, knee-deep in a voice conference with the Home Secretary and the police minister.

  Halford spoke first.

  “So, to recap, you have everything in place and it’s just a matter of time before you lock these people up. Correct?”

  “Correct, sir.” Roberts nodded at the microphone, steepling his fingers. He preferred it when he didn’t have to look into those cold black eyes.

  “However, in the mean time you have lost so many of your team…” He scanned a report in front of him. “…A senior detective, one of your best analysts, a detective sergeant, and now your main man Mr Cade has failed to turn up
for work – along with the cream of the crop from the Foreign Office Mr Blake. Perhaps they are together somewhere having breakfast, Mr Roberts, eh? What do you think?”

  ‘I think you can go and…yourself!’ Was going through his frenetic mind.

  “Yes, you are also correct on that score, sir. We have grave concerns for Mr Blake and Mr Cade, they are…” He was interrupted.

  “Absent without leave, detective inspector. Absent. Without. Leave.” He deliberately missed out the word Chief and then emphasised the next, almost spat them out into the microphone. And he enjoyed each more than the last.

  “We need to move on. Execute the plan today. The weather forecast is appalling, we cannot delay. If Cade turns up, dead or alive, you can deal with him after the event. He’s one man. Right, go about your duties. I have nothing more to add. Home Secretary?” He looked at her, boring holes through her eyes and out of the back of her head. He was infatuated with her, yet he knew she despised him in equally large amounts.

  “Look after one another, DCI Roberts. We cannot afford to lose a single person more. Not one. Do I make myself clear?” It was obvious she was very much on their side.

  “Crystal ma’am. Thanks, all for now, I’ll update via the reporting lines as and when we get anything new.”

  They called the flow of intelligence into a cell an ‘inject’. Any new piece of information was collated, then analysed – then, if the analyst didn’t have a complete picture, a request to collect more intelligence was sent out. The people on the ground were the collectors, every man and woman in blue, and those in jeans and hoodies. They all had a part to play.

  So far the only inject the team had was that Cade and Blake were missing – presumed dead.

  “You think he’ll show up, John?” Roberts was genuinely worried.

  “What do you think? He’s the recovering alcoholic at an all you can drink cocktail party. He’ll surface Jason.”