The Omega Sanction

by Tomas Black

  He stared at Rhodes’ body, but found no peace.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  A Kiss Goodbye

  Drum woke early. He pulled up the blinds and stared out at the London skyline. The light from the low autumn sun danced playfully on the Thames. The storms of the last few days had all but dissipated, leaving the streets cleaner and fresher. It was as if the rain had washed away all the blood – at least temporarily. Even now new players would be entering the markets to fill the voids left by the failures he had cleansed.

  He headed for the shower and stopped. Is this what he called home? Stevie was right: who lived here? The room bore no trace of him. It could be a hotel suite, featureless and generic. This wasn’t a home, it was a billet. Why was that?

  It was 7:30 am when Drum made his way downstairs. He was surprised to see Alice behind the reception desk.

  “Didn’t think I’d see you today?”

  Alice was dressed in her smart business attire. She wore the same dark-blue suit she had interviewed in. Her hair was perfectly coiffed once more and held in place with her butterfly hairpin. She noticed him staring and moved her hand absentmindedly to it.

  “Sorry. Can’t be without this. Giles gave it to me, years ago.”

  He smiled and changed the subject, “How’s William?”

  Alice beamed. “Much better. Doesn’t remember much – thank God. I blamed it on a plate of bad jellied eels.”

  Drum laughed. “Good I’ll pop up and see him this afternoon.” He looked at the small woman. She had been through so much and yet here she was manning his reception desk. Business as usual. “And what about you?

  Alice considered the question. Her pale-blue eyes regarded him – a teacher examining her student. He always felt she was testing him. “Oh, I’m alright. Best to keep busy. No good sitting at home moping.”

  He thought he’d better broach the next subject, although he was dreading her answer. “What about your plans?”

  “Well, I’d hoped you would let me stay on for a bit – until I sort out my pension, if that’s alright? I’m seeing someone this afternoon.”

  He felt relieved rather than pleased or perhaps a little of both. He couldn’t imagine anyone else running the place now. “Alice, that’s great. I was hoping you’d stay on. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  She smiled. “You’re very sweet. I must admit playing bowls with your father all day could get a little tedious – but let's try not to get mixed up with any more Russians.”

  They both laughed.

  He went into his office and made a start on a backlog of paperwork that had accumulated over the past month. Invoicing, bills, meeting schedules – a business didn’t run itself.

  He was working on a very large and satisfying invoice for Roderick, Olivier and Delaney when his email pinged. It was from Raj. McKay had assured him that there would be no issues over his assistant’s immigration status but, after his detention, Raj had decided to spend some time visiting relatives back in Delhi. Drum scanned the email and realised that Raj wasn’t coming back. He’d accepted an offer from a large Indian outsourcing company to be their Chief Security Officer. He thanked Drum for his mentoring over the past year and hoped he would understand. After his treatment at the hands of the security services, Drum understood completely. But this left him without a security analyst.

  “Knock, knock.” Stevie poked her head around the door. “Alice said it was alright to pop in.”

  Drum couldn’t help but smile. “Stevie, of course. Come on in.” He moved from his desk and hugged her. “How are you doing?”

  Stevie looked up at him. “I’m fine. A bit shaky still, but Poacher said that was normal.” She sat on the end of the couch while Drum perched on the side of his desk.

  “I gather McKay was pleased with the H&B material,” said Drum.

  “The guys a pig. I told him about the number on the back of the photograph. It was similar to the encryption key you and Raj use to store secure information. Mueller used a similar service. He just snatched it out of my hand and stomped off. How do you put up with him?”

  “We can’t always choose who we work with. He came through in the end. That’s all that counts,” said Drum.

  There door rattled as Alice backed in carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.

  “Thought it was time for morning tea,” she said. “Give it a minute.” She took a seat next to Stevie on the couch. “I saw Raj’s email. Pity. I liked him.”

  Drum thought that Stevie being here was not a coincidence. “So, Stevie. What are your plans?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought. Probably go back to Cambridge and see if I can resume my Masters.” She fished a key from her jacket pocket. “I thought I’d better return this.” It was the key to William’s flat.

  Drum turned the key over in his hand. William was never going to go back to that flat. He looked at Alice. She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to one side as if to say ‘get on with it’. “Apparently, we have a vacancy. Raj’s old position – if you’re interested? It comes with an apartment to rent.” He tossed the key back to her. “What do you say?”

  Stevie broke into a broad grin. “Yes!” Then she started to sob.

  Alice poured the tea. They chatted and made plans for the coming weeks. Alice insisted that Stevie finish her Masters – at least on a part-time basis. Drum told her to take a few days and sort things out. As she was leaving Alice spoke to her in Russian. Stevie blushed and said her goodbyes.

  “What was that all about?”

  “I told her that now you were her new boss she had to keep her hands to herself.”

  “Very thoughtful of you,” said Drum.

  ~~~

  It was mid-day when Alice poked her head around the door. “Commander Fern to see you.” She shooed Fern into the office as if she was reluctant to enter. “I’ll leave you to it, Ben. I have an appointment. See you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Alice,” said Drum.

  Fern crashed onto the couch and regarded him. She was back in civilian dress. The jacket of her smart grey suit had been tailored to accommodate the bulge of her sidearm. Drum guessed from her demeanour that he was in trouble.

  “So, why didn’t you call?” she asked.

  “You’re looking especially gorgeous this afternoon.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  He reached over and pointed the desk lamp at his face. “It weren’t me guv’nor. I was at home, tucked up in bed.”

  She laughed, despite herself. “I was told you went off with that Russian tart in her fancy car.”

  Drum was surprised. “Anna?”

  “Whatever alias she goes by. I spent the night with Harry.”

  Why hadn’t he called her? He seemed to have a blind spot for the women he cared about most. They were back to dancing around each other. “Sorry, Fern. You’re right. I should have called. Anna and I had some unfinished business …”

  “I bet you did. What is it with you and Russian tarts?”

  He’d never told Fern who Anna really was. He’d spent a lifetime keeping secrets, compartmentalising people according to the information he shared. “C’mon Fern. Don’t be like that.” He stood. “Let’s go and grab a coffee.”

  “Harry’s fine by the way. Wants to talk to you.”

  Drum paused. She was here to tell him something and whatever he said wasn’t going to change her mind. He waited.

  She said, “I’ve resigned from the force.”

  He was stunned. “Why did you do that?”

  Fern looked down, a frown creasing her brow. He realised it must have been a painful decision. Having spent years working her way up to the rank of Commander, she now intended to leave it all behind. “I realised after the raid on the vault how ineffective being a policeman is. You and ROD achieved more in a few weeks than I did in the years I spent chasing Abramov and his mob.” She slumped back. “I didn’t exactly shine when I blundered into the vault tha
t night.”

  He wondered if he’d been too harsh with her on the roof. He’d been frustrated with the way the operation had panned out. But then many operations ended up going awry. It was hardly her fault that Stevie had driven off. “You stepped up and made a call. Blowing those doors was the right thing to do. I had no right to question your decision.”

  “Anyway, I’ve gone as far as I can in the service. Time for a change.”

  He didn’t think his reprimand on the night was the real reason she was leaving. And then he realised. “You’ve been talking to Harry. Which means you’ve been talking to Phyllis.”

  Fern stood and walked over to the window. “She’s offered me a job in New York. I’ve accepted.”

  His heart sank. “Fern … really?”

  She moved closer to him and absentmindedly ran her fingers over the lapels of his jacket. Her face was close to his. She smelt of jasmine and citrus. “It wouldn’t have worked out between us.”

  He took her hands in his. “We never really had a chance to try …”

  She pulled him towards her and kissed him gently on the lips. “You have too many secrets, Ben Drummond.” She planted one last kiss on his cheek, then moved to the door. “Phyllis said it wouldn’t be too long before you were back in New York. Don’t be a stranger.” She turned and walked out of the door and out of his life.

  He watched her as she disappeared through the passageway that led back to the street. He continued to stare at Thames not entirely convinced that she was gone. A riverboat sounded it’s horn as it approached Tower Bridge. He looked to the City beyond. Despite the events of the last few days, the vast financial machine would continue to turn, regardless. It did not pause and it did not sleep. Like the mighty Thames, a river of money would continue to flow into the financial heart of London, keeping the economy beating. And with it the flotsam of the criminal underworld.

  And Ben Drummond would be waiting.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Parlimentary Privileges

  The lights were off when Sir Rupert entered Treasury room 4a. This was his domain, his bolt hole when things turned bad. He walked over to the oak desk and switched on the table lamp - a relic from the war. It was rumoured that Churchill had used it to read by in his bunker. It was his now. The dim light barely illuminated the desk, but was enough for him to find the bottle of Bushmills he kept in one of the drawers. He poured two fingers of the amber whisky into a crystal glass and then gently lowered himself into his favourite red leather chair beside the desk.

  He was about to raise his glass when he noticed a shadow by the door. It rose slowly in one smooth motion. No sound. He peered into the unlit corner of the room, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The shadow advanced slowly, moving silently towards the light until he could make out the silhouette of a figure.

  “Who’s there!”

  “Hello, Sir Rupert.” The voice was quiet, calm, a seasoned professional who had done this many times before. He thought he recognised it.

  Sir Rupert put his glass down slowly on the desk. “Who is it? Show yourself.”

  The shadow moved a little closer towards the light. “Don’t you remember me, Sir Rupert?”

  Sir Rupert stared at the figure before him, now lit by the ghostly half-light of the lamp. His hand reached once more for his glass and rested there as if the touch from the cold cut-crystal would bring him some solace. He knew this person - this shadow - because that is what she always was - a ghostly apparition, appearing from the dark, bringing death.

  “Hello, Alice … glad to see you’re still alive.”

  Alice smiled grimly. “No thanks to you.” She tilted her head to one side, the half-light catching the silvery-white of her hair and the polished breach of a gun.

  “Thought you had retired?” said Sir Rupert. “You should have bloody well retired!”

  Alice slowly reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out the fat barrel of a suppressor and screwed it onto the gun. A Sig Sauer, if he wasn’t mistaken. Alice always did favour a Sig.

  “Don’t think I didn’t try,” said Alice. “Even though you fucked me over my pension, I still tried. Water under the bridge and all that. Joined my local bowls club. Met a nice man. Things were going well …”

  “My God! It was you – you were the MI6 insider protecting Drummond!”

  Alice smiled and gave the suppressor one last twist. “Good Lord, no – although I did try to warn him about bastards like you.” She brought the gun level with his chest.

  Sir Rupert gripped the glass tighter. “Look here, Alice, I was only doing my job. Queen and Country and all that. Didn’t know you were involved. Had no intention of hurting the old boy –”

  “His name is William. He and his son … well, why am I telling you this? I gave the best years of my life to the service. Threw it away for self-serving bastards like you. And what did you give in return?” she spat. “Serve your country – you sanctimonious bastard! You’re nothing more than a common criminal.” Alice tilted her head slightly to one side. She favoured her left eye.

  Sir Rupert began to rise from his chair, still gripping his glass. “Alice, Alice we can work something out. Alice –“

  The sound of suppressed shots in quick succession cut him short, throwing him back over the chair. Hardly any sound at all. ‘Phut, phut.’ A double tap, just as she had been trained to do, all those years ago. The smell of cordite in the air … behind her. Alice spun around, almost a reflex, but age had slowed her allowing time for a hand to grab the barrel of her gun and pull it to one side.

  Anna was standing there, her recently fired gun by her side. She held onto the barrel of Alice’s gun. “Sorry, Alice – couldn’t let you do it. You’re not sanctioned anymore.”

  “Fuck me – didn’t they tell you never to creep up on someone with a gun. I could have shot you.”

  “Maybe …” said Anna. “It’s best this way. Can I take it?”

  Alice relaxed her hand, allowing Anna to slip the Sig from her fingers. She suddenly realised she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled. Her fingers were stiff. Fuck old age.

  Alice sighed. “Maybe you’re right …”

  Anna gently took her by the arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Alice hesitated. “Benjamin … He doesn’t need to know about this”

  “Of course not, if that’s what you want.”

  Anna turned to leave, but Alice still hesitated. “And tell your masters at Vauxhall Bridge that he's not an assassin. He's served his country. He’s out of the game. Tell them …”

  Anna turned to face Alice. “Why does he matter so much to you?”

  Alice looked at the young woman in front of her. How much she had changed. Anna was not the same person she once knew. She kissed her gently on the cheek. “Because, like you, he’s family.”

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  Tomas Black was born in the UK and grew up in London's East End. He spent his formative years working in and around the great markets of Billingsgate, Smithfield, Borough and Petti Coat Lane. These markets feature in his books. After graduating from the University of Sussex, he taught in a College of Further Education for several years before taking a post graduate Diploma in Computer Sciences and found himself in the City of London, writing code to track the inventory of gold bullion for a major bank. He spent the next twenty five years working in the City and other major financial centres around the world as a computer consultant, specialising in the Audit and Security of financial
systems. He now travels the world and writes.

  His latest project is The Omega Sanction, the first novel in a series of thrillers set in the financial centres of New York and London. It follows the exploits of a group of investigators that work for Roderick, Olivier and Delaney. On Wall St. and the City of London, they are simply called The ROD.