by Chris Ryan
Bald said, ‘You told us this was about diamonds.’
Soames stiffened. ‘I had no choice. The Russians were threatening my position. There was no time to explain everything. Besides, I didn’t know how much you had been told about our operations here in Sierra Leone. It’s only when you rescued me from the West Side Boys that I realised you didn’t know about the orphanage. Obviously, you’ve both been kept in the dark by your superiors.’
Anger clamped its fingers around Porter’s throat. Like it had him in a chokehold, cutting off the air to his brain. He felt an immense pressure building between his temples.
More than anything, he needed a fucking drink.
‘Why here?’ he said. ‘Why Sierra Leone?’
‘Simple,’ Soames replied. ‘Life here is dirt cheap. No one asks any questions, no one causes trouble. All that civil war, crushing poverty and lack of government infrastructure makes it easy to steal children from the villages without anyone kicking up a fuss. Besides, we had no choice but to shift our operations from the UK. Hosting these sessions in London was increasingly difficult. Too much risk of media exposure. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours.’
Porter nodded slowly. There had been the usual tabloid rumours, allegations of a Westminster paedophile ring that sexually abused young boys. Every so often you’d hear something on the news. Some dirty old MP with a fondness for kids. Now he understood why Tannon had been so curious about the VIPs making unannounced visits to Sierra Leone. Because they were visiting this place.
Nausea tickled the back of his throat.
Bald shot Tully a screw-face. ‘You knew about this place?’
Tully grinned. ‘Of course I knew, you dense cunt. I’m the day manager.’
Soames saw the look of confusion playing out on Bald and Porter’s faces and stepped in.
‘Bob’s in charge of the day-to-day operations at the orphanage. He’s been doing a fine job since he started working here, I must say. Keeps the children in check. Makes sure they do their best to entertain our guests. Brings in more kids from the surrounding villages whenever we need them.’
Porter stared at Tully and felt sick.
Dozens of children have gone missing, Tannon had said.
‘You took the kids,’ he said.
Tully grinned again. ‘Like I said, fellas. This is the best job I’ve ever had. Top pay, good hours, and the kids are dead easy to find. If anyone of them step out of line, you cut them up and get another one. Simple.’
There was a note of pride in Tully’s voice, and a sadistic gleam in his eyes. Porter looked away from him. Nodded at Soames.
‘You’re the one running the network?’
‘Running is rather a strong word, I think. I merely provide the location, the transport and the children. What my Westminster friends get up to behind closed doors is entirely up to them.’
Porter glanced over at the monitor. On the screen, the retired general had moved over to the sofa, helping himself to a joint while the boy lay in a foetal position on the carpet, weeping. The Tory MP with the wire-framed glasses sat on the other sofa, tugging on his flaccid penis while another boy sucked on his toes. Porter looked away with a wave of revulsion. He glowered at Soames.
‘You’re fucking sick. Once the Firm hears about this, you’re finished. Both of you.’
Soames smiled faintly. ‘I sincerely doubt it.’
‘The fuck are you talking about?’
A quick smile flashed like a knife at the corner of Soames’s mouth. ‘Your handler really didn’t tell you anything, did he?’
Porter said nothing. The pounding between his temples grew louder. Soames took another step towards him. His smile broadened.
‘What do you mean?’ Bald said.
‘MI5 knows about this place already, you fool. They know what goes on here.’
Porter felt a slash of cold air on the back of his neck. A shiver spider-crawled down his spine. Turning the blood inside his veins to ice.
‘Bullshit.’
‘It’s the truth,’ Soames insisted. ‘I work for them. I run the orphanage on their behalf.’
Porter shook his head furiously. ‘Why the fuck would the Firm get involved in running a paedo network?’
Soames waved a hand at the stacks of CD and the computer monitors. ‘Look around you. This place is an intelligence gold mine. Everything that goes on here is recorded with secret cameras rigged up inside the building. Every buggering session is filmed. Every individual who abuses an African boy or girl is captured on camera, the footage copied onto disc and handed over to Five for safekeeping.’
‘This place is a honey trap for paedos?’ Bald said.
‘One of several, actually. There are other sites similar to this one in South Africa, Canada and Belize. Among others. Not every diplomat feels safe travelling to Sierra Leone, naturally.’
Porter shook his head. ‘The Firm would never allow that.’
‘Oh, really?’ Soames chuckled easily. ‘Think again, John. There are paedophiles in every corner of government. More than you might imagine. Senior civil servants, army chiefs, cabinet members . . . the list is endless. Thames House decided long ago that it was infinitely more profitable to blackmail these men rather than report them. They provide us with intelligence, spying on colleagues, that sort of thing. The individuals concerned are in no position to refuse Five’s demands, of course. If the footage was released, it would ruin them.’ He smiled. ‘Why on earth do you think the Russians were so desperate to find this place?’
‘The footage,’ Bald said.
‘Correct.’
‘How did they find out about the orphanage to begin with?’ Porter asked.
‘One of the children escaped a few months ago. He ran off to the West Side Boys and told them what was going on at the orphanage. The Russians got word through their rebel contacts and decided to rob me. They were going to kill me, take the footage and use it to strong-arm our government. I couldn’t let that happen. So I killed their agent. The man you found in my office.’
‘Why would the Russians be so keen to get their hands on footage of a few dodgy old British paedos?’
‘If the Russians stole this material, they would have cast-iron proof that MI5 was actively involved in running a top-secret paedophile network, using war children. The fallout would be politically toxic. Five and Six would be instantly discredited, perhaps even dismantled. The knives would be out inside Westminster. Our national security would be put at risk, along with the hundreds of operations and thousands of field agents we’re running around the world. It would be nothing short of a disaster.’ Soames paused. ‘Which is why we must remove the CDs at once. Everything that is stored at this site has to be taken away.’
‘What the fuck for?’ Bald said.
‘The orphanage has been compromised. No doubt the Russians have already notified their superiors at the FSB as to the whereabouts of the orphanage. This facility is no longer secure for our purposes. We’ll have to relocate, before reinforcements show up.’
‘Where to?’
‘Guinea. I own a ranch in the countryside. If we move now, we can make it across the border by first light. Once we’re out of Sierra Leone the footage will be secure.’
Porter shook his head. ‘That’s not part of our mission.’
‘I agree with Soames,’ Bald said. ‘We can’t let the Russians get their hands on this stuff, mate. If word got out, the press would have a fucking field day.’
‘Why don’t we just torch the material?’
‘Out of the question,’ Soames replied. ‘The Firm has invested a lot of time and effort in running this place. The footage is too valuable to destroy.’
Porter gritted his teeth. The pain in his shoulder had dialled down to a dull, constant ache, the blood sticky against his skin. I don’t mind being sent halfway round the world to a bloody war zone, he thought. I don’t even mind having to protect the life of the guy who shafted my career. But I draw the line at putting my
balls on the line to save a bunch of Westminster paedophiles.
Soames saw the look of uncertainty on his face. He made a sidelong glance at Tully, then looked back to Porter.‘Call your handler if you don’t believe me. He’ll tell you the same thing.’
There was a challenge in his eyes as he spoke. Porter hesitated and glanced at his mucker. Bald shrugged as if to say, ‘Your call.’ Porter set down his assault rifle on the desk. Fished out the Russian satellite phone from his back pocket.
‘Sod it,’ he said. ‘I’ll make the call.’
Soames looked relieved. He looked at the piles of CDs and wrinkled his features in thought. ‘Someone should head back down to the main road. Bring up one of the wagons so we can load up all the material and computers. There’s too much here for us to carry down by hand.’
‘I’ll go,’ Tully volunteered.
‘Good man, Bob.’
Tully hesitated by the doorway. ‘I’ll need a weapon.’
Porter frowned at him. ‘What happened to your collector’s item?’
The guy held out the M1911 pistol. He had the grip and receiver in one hand. The rust-coated slider mechanism nestled in the palm of the other.
‘Slider’s fucked. I checked to make sure there was a round in the snout, when you asked me to cover you both. Bastard snapped clean off. It’s useless.’
‘Bob makes a good point,’ Soames added. ‘If the Russians have sent for reinforcements, he might run into them on the main road.’
‘What about your secondary weapon?’ Porter asked.
‘Left it in the wagon,’ Tully replied dismissively. He turned to Bald, nodded at the AK-47. ‘Come on, Jock. I thought we were friends. Do us a solid, mate. I saved your arse back at the hotel. The least you can do is sort me out with a piece.’
Bald wavered, then handed over the rifle. ‘Here, mate. Take it. There’s more than half a clip in there. Should be enough to send any more Russians packing.’
Tully gratefully accepted the weapon and smiled at Bald. ‘Cheers, fella. You’re a good mate, you know.’
Tully grabbed the rifle and stepped out of the building. Porter couldn’t get a signal inside in an enclosed space, so he ducked out of the room too. Bald followed, then Soames. Porter flipped up the antenna and paced east towards the building site, pointing the phone skywards until he found reception. After eight paces two bars flashed up on the display. He punched in the number for Vauxhall that he’d committed to memory. Although the display characters were in Cyrillic, the numerical layout and graphics were broadly the same as the Motorola, and Porter had little trouble operating the handset. He hit the green icon for Dial, then waited for the call to patch through.
The phone rang and rang.
No one picked up.
They don’t recognise the number, Porter thought. They’re not going to answer.
He was about to terminate the call when a voice on the other end of the line said, ‘Who is this? How did you get—’
‘It’s me,’ Porter interrupted.
‘Porter?’ Hawkridge spluttered. In the background Porter heard the tap-tap of keyboards, the chorus bleeps of ringing phones. He imagined the agent sitting behind a desk in a climate-controlled office somewhere inside Vauxhall.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Hawkridge continued. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you for hours.’
‘Battery died,’ said Porter. ‘We’re at the mine. We’ve got Soames.’
A long pause played out on the other end of the line. ‘Whose phone are you calling us from?’
‘The Russians. One of them had a sat phone on him.’
Another pause. ‘You fucking idiot. This isn’t a secure line. The FSB is probably listening in on us right now.’
‘What did you want us to do?’ Porter said. ‘Our phone’s dead. We had no other way of reaching out to you.’
Hawkridge said, ‘Make it quick, then. What’s the situation? Have you secured the mine? If you’re using a Russian sat phone, then I presume you’ve taken care of our friends.’
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘The Russians are dead. We’re at the orphanage now.’
‘I . . . see,’ Hawkridge said. Slowly.
Porter said, ‘Soames told us about the paedo network.’
‘I see.’
‘He reckons the Firm is helping him run this place.’
Silence.
The guilty kind.
Porter looked across his shoulder at the front of the compound. He could see the security lights glowing in the distance, the dark oblivion beyond. He briefly wondered where the kids had gone. Perhaps Tannon and Solomon had seen them running out of the compound and come to their aid, he thought.
‘John? Are you there?’
‘You fucking lied to us,’ he said.
‘There’s no time for any of that now. Listen to me carefully. I’ll make this very quick. Is Soames there with you now?’
Porter looked back towards the outlying building. Soames and Bald were standing four metres away, at the edge of the building site. Bald at his two o’clock, Soames at his twelve. The ex-Rupert had his arms folded across his broad chest, a smile trembling on his lips. Tully was still there too, standing at Porter’s ten o’clock and clutching the assault rifle he’d borrowed from Bald. Porter briefly wondered why Bob Tully was still hanging around the compound.
‘Well?’ Hawkridge snapped. ‘Answer me, man.’
‘Yeah,’ Porter said. ‘He’s here. Why?’
‘I need you to kill him. Soames. He has to go.’
TWENTY-SIX
2047 hours.
Porter said nothing for a beat. He just stood rooted to the spot, gripping the sat phone and staring dead ahead at Soames. The ex-CO of 22 SAS was looking at Porter with a face so blank it could have been packaged and sold as paint canvas.
‘Did you hear me, John?’ Hawkridge said, his voice burning in Porter’s ear. ‘Soames knows too much. The man is a threat. You have to get rid of him and destroy everything related to the orphanage. Torch every scrap of evidence. We can’t let these materials fall into the wrong hands. Do you understand?’
He still said nothing. The same thought repeated inside Porter’s head on a loop. Why would the Firm want to burn Soames? They’ve gone to great bloody lengths to protect him, and now they want him dead.
It doesn’t make any sense.
‘I’ll make sure there’s a reward for you and Jock at the end of it all,’ Hawkridge continued. ‘A big reward. You have my word. Say yes if you understand my instructions.’
‘Yes,’ Porter said at last.
A sigh of relief shivered down the line.
‘Good man,’ said Hawkridge. ‘Now finish the job.’
Click.
Porter kept the sat phone pressed to his ear for a few seconds for effect, listening to the dead line. He made a sidelong glance at Bald and pointed with his eyes at Soames. Bald flashed a quizzical look at his mucker. Soames just stood there, uncomprehending. My AK-47 is out of reach in the building, Porter told himself. But I’ve still got the Makarov. He could feel the pistol stuffed down the back of his combats, the Bakelite grip pressing against the small of his back. He had eight rounds in the clip, Porter knew. More than enough to get the job done.
A hot thrill ran through his veins as he lowered the sat phone and reached around to retrieve the Makarov. He visualised blowing Soames’s brains out. How good it would make him feel.
Then a voice said, ‘Lose the piece, fella. Nice and fucking slow.’
Porter froze.
Looked up.
Tully stood five metres away, pointing the AK-47 at Porter. The muzzle eye-fucked him. Tully’s index finger curled around the trigger.
Ready to blow my brains out.
‘Drop it,’ Tully repeated.
Porter stayed very still. His mind rapidly processed the situation. There’s no play here, he thought. There’s no way out. I can’t put the drop on Tully. He’s already got his weapon raised. By the time I’ve retri
eved the Makarov and lined up to shoot, he’ll have pulled the trigger. At a distance of five metres, it was impossible to miss a target. Especially for a Regiment-trained shooter. All you can do is try to buy yourself a few moments.
‘What the fuck are you doing, Bob?’ he said. ‘We’re on the same side.’
‘Not any more, fella.’
‘What do you mean?’’
Soames stepped closer and smiled. ‘You really should work on your poker face, John. Honestly, you’re far too easy to read. I knew as soon as I saw you speaking to your handler that Five has turned against me.’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Soames chuckled to himself. ‘Oh, come on. Do you really think I’m that naïve? I always suspected Five might try to get rid of me eventually. It’s in their nature, after all. The only thing Thames House loves more than a secret is making sure they have exclusive ownership of it. That’s why I cut a deal with Bob.’
‘What deal?’
‘To keep an eye on you two. And to stop you from making a move against me.’
Porter gritted his teeth and glared at Tully. The guy showed no reaction. He still had the assault rifle raised, the barrel trained on a spot between Porter’s eyes.
‘Last chance. Put down the fucking gun.’
‘Do as he says, John,’ Soames urged.
All eyes were on Porter as he slowly withdrew the Makarov from the back of his waistband. He bent down, placing the pistol flat on the ground next to the Russian sat phone. Then he stretched to his full height and side-footed the gun across the ground towards Tully. Soames grinned triumphantly. Porter could feel the muscles on his neck pulling tight with rage.
Then he heard a deadly click at his two o’clock.
The sound of a pistol hammer being cocked.
Porter looked across. He saw Bald holding the PSM in a firm two-handed grip, aiming directly at Tully. The pistol Bald had taken from the dirty old German back at the hotel. Porter had almost forgotten about it. So had Tully, judging from the look of complete surprise plastered across his face.