The Spy Whisperer (Ben Sign Mystery Book 1)

by Matthew Dunn

  Undercover assignments.

  “Would you entertain his application? No other favours. He’ll have to pass the physical and mental tests to get in to Henley. And if he doesn’t pass those and the Henley training process, then that’s as far as it goes. I just want to give the lad a break.”

  When the call ended, Knutsen said to David, “I’ll help you with the application process. The god of police has just said that anything you’ve done in your past doesn’t pertain to your future.”

  “Pertain?”

  “Never mind. I’ll also get you a dictionary.” Knutsen smiled. “You’ve got a job interview coming up with one of the finest police forces in the world. You need to get a suit, shirt, tie, and black shoes. No gangster bling for you any more, Mr. Man.”

  David was overjoyed. He ran into the kitchen shouting, “Mum! Mum!”

  Wendy was in tears as she walked into the lounge while holding a tray containing a pot of tea and cups. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  Knutsen stood. In a formal voice he said to David, “Squeaky clean from now on in. You got it?”

  David nodded, brimming with enthusiasm.

  Knutsen held out his hand. “No fist pumps for you anymore, David. You’ve just graduated into manhood. That means we shake hands.”

  David shook hands, smiling as wide as a Cheshire cat.

  “Get on your smart phone and research Wyatt Earp. He started out life like you, though in the States. His early life didn’t go so well. The law wasn’t his friend. But he became one of the best cops in America.” Knutsen grinned. “The best cops are always the ones who know the wrong side of the law. Next Monday I’ll buy you a suit. I’ll be here nine AM sharp. Now, fuck off and download the Met application form.”

  David laughed. “I owe you one, man.”

  “You can call me sir. And I’ll put you through hell to make sure you graduate top of your class at Henley Police Academy.”

  When David was in his bedroom, Wendy poured tea. Her hands were shaking. “You’ve no idea how much this means to me. Did you encourage David to apply to the police?”

  “No. In fact, we never spoke about my job. Either it rubbed off, or he just wants to protect his mum.”

  “Whatever the reason, my goodness me, I couldn’t have asked for better.” Wendy asked, “Is that why you came over? David? Job applications?”

  Knutsen sipped his tea. “Actually, I was as surprised as you at his decision. I need your help. And I’m out of my league on this one. There’s a woman who’s just suffered a bereavement – her husband. She’ll want somewhere to stay but it must be her private space. I’ve got a flat sorted, but I’ve no idea what to put in it, aside from a bed and other furniture.”

  “She’ll choose.”

  “I know, but this is an emergency. I need stuff – cosmetics, bathroom soaps, everything just to tie her over for the next few days.”

  “Where’s the flat?”

  Knutsen put down his tea and touched Wendy’s hand. “I trust you so much that I can’t tell you. It would endanger you and David. It’s a police matter.”

  “She might be hunted?”

  “Yes.”

  Wendy was deep in thought. “What colour is she?”

  “White.”

  Wendy laughed. “Just because I don’t have a cock between my legs doesn’t mean I know what white girls like.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve still got a head start on me.”

  “When did her husband die?”

  “Today. He was murdered.”

  “Fucking hell.” Wendy patted her hand against her braided locks. “What hair colour is she?”

  “Blond.”

  “Real colour or dyed?”

  “No idea.”

  “Age?”

  Knutsen shrugged. “Late thirties. Forties. Something like that.”

  “What scent does she wear?”

  “Scent?!”

  “Perfume.”

  “I don’t know! I’ve only met her twice.”

  “So, you’ve not had sex with her?”

  “No, Wendy!”

  Wendy patted him on the hand. “Okay. I know exactly what we need to do. You’re absolutely right. We need to create a private place for her. But it must also be a kind place. I’ll get what you need to see her through the next forty eight hours. Most of it will be wrong, but that doesn’t matter. No one complains that hair products are wrong when they go to their hotel room. There’s a pharmacy down the road that’s open tonight. We’ll start there. What about her clothes?”

  “I’m going to her house later. I’ll collect them.”

  “Fold them carefully. It’s awkward. You’re going to have to get her knickers and bras. I suggest I come with you to her house after shopping and do that. You can tell her that a woman packed her undies. Would that be okay?”

  Knutsen kissed Wendy on the cheek. “That would be more than okay. But I must warn you, there’s blood in her bedroom.”

  Wendy shrugged. “Us women are used to far worse than that. Let’s get this lady sorted.”

  Sign entered Katy’s hospital room. The two firearms officers were clad in uniform and body armour and were holding Heckler & Koch submachine guns. Using his phone, one of them took a photo of Sign and sent it to the commissioner. Their boss replied and confirmed the man in the room was Sign.

  “Could you wait outside the door?” Sign looked at Katy Roberts. “I’d like a moment alone with her.”

  The cops hesitated.

  Sign said, “There’s no window in the room. The door is the only way in and out. She’s safe.”

  Reluctantly the officers complied.

  Roberts was in a bed, sitting upright. Her nose was covered with a plaster cast. Her eyes were red and her hair dishevelled. She was staring at the wall and didn’t seem aware that Sign was in the room.

  Sign pulled up a chair, sat next to her, and held her hand. “Katy, it’s Ben.”

  Slowly, Katy moved her head and looked at him. “Ben… Ben Sign.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” His tone was quiet and sympathetic. “I’m so very sorry to hear about your loss.”

  “Loss?” Roberts’ voice was distant and weak. “I didn’t lose my husband. I found him. In our bedroom”

  “Yes you did.”

  “I… I need to make arrangements. Funeral.”

  “There’s no rush for that.” Sign chose his words carefully. “Your husband’s in the care of police and specialists who are examining his…”

  “Body.”

  “Yes. His body. Friends and family will help you with the funeral. And if you don’t have many of those, Knutsen and I will help.”

  It was clear that Roberts was in deep shock. “I can’t go back there. I can’t. My home. How could I? It’s not my home anymore. It’s a murder scene. My husband… Elliot.” She gripped his hand tight. “Is this what your world’s like? Men coming into houses and talking about national security while murdering people?”

  “Sometimes it can be. Katy, I need to ask you a question – aside from the Archer and Lake suicides, are you working on any other cases at the moment?”

  Roberts shook her head. “The commissioner said I had to be ring fenced. Only work with you, he said.”

  “Have you done any other work recently that could be perceived to be an intrusion on national security?”

  Roberts rubbed sweat off her brow. “No.” She started weeping. “My husband was killed because of Lake, Archer, and my liaison with you. And I was… Jesus, I did unarmed combat training where I got a few bruises, but I’ve never been punched as hard as I was this evening. It was like a hammer hitting my face.” She touched her nose.

  “The doctors say your nose will be fine in a few hours. A day or two at worst. But it will hurt for a while.”

  “Hurt? I’ve got worse pain that will last far longer.”

  “I know.” Sign recalled how he felt when his wife was murdered. It took him years before he stopped reaching out in his slee
p, hoping to put his arm around her only to wake up in the middle of the night realising he was alone and she was gone. “I’m very sorry that I brought this on to you and your husband.”

  “You? You didn’t do this. The person who killed my husband did this!”

  Sign was motionless. “The police bereavement service will help you.”

  Roberts withdrew her hand from his. “Tea and sympathy brigade? They can’t bring him back.”

  “No, they can’t. I have two propositions that may help. I’m on very good terms with the landlord who owns the flats in West Square. The landlord has agreed to let you the flat immediately below mine. You’re in danger. Knutsen and I will be on hand to negate that danger. You can have the flat for a few days or far longer if you choose. Right now, Knutsen is getting the place fitted out. And he’s collecting your things from your house. A woman is helping him. Only she will handle your more delicate belongings, although Knutsen won’t allow her to know where you’re being re–housed. Would that be okay?”

  Roberts nodded. “I need to clean up the blood and sell the house.”

  “We have people who can take that burden off your shoulders.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll move in to the flat.” She was shaking. “What is the other proposition?”

  “I wonder if you’d like to keep working with us to find the bastards who did this to Elliot?”

  Roberts replied, “I’m in no fit state.”

  In numerous places around the globe, Sign had been in similar situations with his foreign agents. The agents were amateurs, recruited by him to spy on their countries. Sometimes their nerves would crack; other times they would be confronted by severe threats to their lives; and on a few occasions a colleague or family member of theirs had been murdered. One of the hardest parts of being an MI6 case officer was to persuade agents to carry on risking their lives. But judgement was needed. Sometimes the case officer needed to know when to back off and let the agent retire from the secret world. Sign wondered whether his judgement was accurate right now. Should he let Roberts retire? Or should he encourage her to get back to work?

  He said, “You can’t grieve until you know why this happened. On a battlefield, a soldier can’t walk away, even though his mates have been destroyed. He has to continue fighting. Only later do the demons kick in. Before then, he has to kill what’s in front of him.”

  Roberts looked into his eyes. “You send people to their deaths.”

  “Sometimes yes; sometimes no. Twenty four hours after my wife was murdered in South America, I had to go to Mumbai to meet a chemistry professor who was attempting to sell biological weapons to Yemen. I just wanted to sleep; let the world eat me up. The professor pulled a gun on me. I smiled. Part of me wanted him to pull the trigger. But then I thought about my wife and what she’d want. I knew she’d want me to stop my death and stop potentially thousands of deaths in Yemen. I put a knife in the professor’s throat and held it there until he was dead. Blood was all over my arms. It was messy. I washed up and got on a plane to London. When I arrived, I was met by my MI6 boss at the airport. He told me to go to El Salvador and find my wife’s killer. It took me three months. And along the way, I had to cut through a number of bandits. But when I found the identity and location of the killer, I spoke to him while holding a gun against his head. He was only twenty seven, but a ruthless gangster. He told me the reason he’d killed my wife was because she worked for an NGO that was funnelling food into his country but not to his criminal gang. I thought, my wife died for that? It felt such a waste. I shot him. I was a different man back then. When I returned to my London home, grief overwhelmed me and I collapsed. But I did at least have closure that the piece of scum who killed my wife was off the planet.”

  “Your accent has changed.”

  Sign smiled. “It bends with the wind.”

  “I didn’t know you had a wife. I didn’t know she was murdered.”

  “Why would you? For most of my adult life I’ve been kept secret. That might sound alluring. Quickly, it becomes otherwise. If you’re secret, you don’t exist. If you don’t exist, you are not alive.” Sign’s accent returned to that of an aristocrat. “Grief is purgatory. And I died a long time ago. The question is, will you tread a similar path? Or will you give up on everything?”

  “I… I…”

  “Forget about the next few years. Time and grieving will deal with that. Focus on the next few months.”

  Roberts winced as she got out of bed. “I want to get out of here. I want to catch my husband’s killer.”

  Sign looked at her while wondering if he’d just made a godawful mistake. “We’ll get the doctors in here to make a final assessment. Once you’re out of this silly smock and properly dressed, I’ll drive you to your new home. It’ll have to be a convoluted drive because I’m certain the killer is watching you, me, or Knutsen. But I’ll get you there safe and sound. By the way, can you wash men’s clothes?”

  “What?!”

  Sign winked at her. “I didn’t say any of this came for free.”

  “You have to be kidding me!”

  “I might be. That’s for you to decide.” Sign smiled. “I’ll wait in the corridor with your burly bodyguards. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  CHAPTER 15

  John Smith met Karl Hilt in a grubby pub in north London. Most people would have wondered why someone of Smith’s refinement would be in the establishment. But, Hilt understood – it was the last place anyone would expect to find Smith; therefore it made an excellent meeting location.

  It was noon. The pub only contained four other customers and a bored–looking bartender. Smith was sitting by a corner table, half a glass of beer in front of him. Hilt sat opposite him and said, “She’s out of the hospital. Eleven thirty last night.”

  “Armed police took her?”

  “No. Sign.”

  Smith’s expression was neutral as he said in his icy accent, “He has more skills than the police. He knew you’d be on her. I assume he put her in a car. Where did they arrive?”

  “I lost them at Piccadilly Circus. I wouldn’t have done if you’d given me a team. The place was heaving, but we could have still put a box around Sign.”

  Smith chuckled. “Piccadilly Circus? He’s taking the mickey. It was theatrical and a finger up to you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Hilt added, “I went back to her house in Weybridge. She’s not there.”

  “She won’t be. I doubt she will ever go back there.” Smith took a sip of his beer and winced. “The beer’s flat, and this place smells like a fishmongers.” He smiled. “But you and I have tasted and smelled worse.”

  “True. I once had to eat goats’ balls in Afghanistan while pretending to be a U.S. Green Beret playing hearts and bleedin’ minds with the locals.” He leaned across the table. “Where’s he taken her?”

  Smith looked out of the adjacent window. “If he was dumb, he’d have taken her to a safe house somewhere in the country, or even overseas. But Sign is the opposite of dumb. He’d know you’d track her. And if I gave the command, you’d kill her. I know what Sign has done. He wants Roberts to continue to liaise with him on matters that are important to me.”

  “Murder? National security? What is this about?”

  Smith returned his gaze to Hilt. “If you persist with those questions I will get you a team of men. And they’ll put bullets in you.”

  “Alright, pal. I get your point.” Hilt could easily kill Smith. But his employer’s money was important to him. Plus, Smith’s mind was beyond his reach. “Where is she and what’s the next move?”

  Smith smiled. “I will tell you what has happened since last night. Sign has decided that he only trusts Katy Roberts in the Metropolitan Police Service. He will have used his expertise in human character assessment to reach that judgement. Think of it this way – she’s a pawn he’s sent out on the chess board. She’s too committed to the fight. He knows that. So, the best he can do is put knights around her. And the reaso
n he’s done that is not just because of chivalry. He needs her to flush you and me out. He’s worked out that whether she’s in the game or not, I can crush her. It would be a message to him. Where is she? Extremely close to Sign and this man Knutsen. What’s the next move? Forget Roberts for now. She serves no purpose, unless things deteriorate. So, we have a change of plan. Put your energies into Sign and Knutsen. But take some time off first. I want Sign to get frustrated that nothing’s happening for a period of time. In one month’s time, I will do something that should peak Sign, Knutsen, and Roberts’ interest. I will call you before that event and give you details of a specific location. That’s when you’re back on duty. Watch Sign and Knutsen. But keep your distance. If Roberts, Sign, and Knutsen do nothing it means Roberts is no longer the Met liaison to Sign; no one else in the Met has taken over her job; Sign and Knutsen are no longer advisors to the police. But, if they move after my next event, we have a problem.”

  “Shouldn’t I just solve that problem?”

  Smith smiled. “I know exactly what you’re referring to. No. Taking Sign out of the equation would put me back to square one. I’d have to work out who has replaced him and is causing me problems. That person won’t be as good as Sign, but he or she would be given infinitely more resources. I’d have a highly trained pack of dogs on my back.”

  Hilt had no idea what Smith was talking about.

  Smith knew that. “I keep my own counsel. It’s best you don’t know what I know. That said, if I give the order, kill Sign, Knutsen, and Roberts.”

  Four hours later, Knutsen knocked on the door of the flat below Sign’s flat. “Katy. It’s Tom.”