by Powell, Mark
‘Don’t you dare walk off, boss.’ He slowly turned and saw Ying smiling at him.
‘Hey, you, how you feeling?’ he said softly, sitting down on the edge of her bed and placing his hand on hers.
‘I am okay, nothing too serious. I’m glad to see you. Was it you and Brian that got me out?’
McCabe looked at her and paused. ‘Yup. Someone had to.’
‘Are you okay, not hurt?’ Ying seemed anxious.
‘I’m fi ne,’ McCabe replied
Ying’s face was now visibly showing concern. ‘What do you mean
“I’m fi ne?” Brian? What happened? Tell me,’ she said hoarsely as she tried to sit up.
‘Ying… ’ McCabe whispered as he placed his hand on her shoulder.
‘Stowe didn’t make it. He was killed getting you safely out.’ He could not let her know that Stowe had, in fact, recklessly run in and got himself shot. McCabe knew Stowe had given his life to save Ying, no matter how he went about it.
‘Oh God!’ Ying then broke down, tears streaming down her face.
McCabe could only sit there and hold her hand; he knew Ying needed to grieve.
Sometime later, Ying composed herself. She sat herself up slightly in her bed as if to make herself seem more dignifi ed. Looking at McCabe, with some effort, she pushed out her question. It was hard for her and her shaky voice showed this.
‘Did he suffer … was it bad?’ she asked
‘No, he would have felt nothing at all.’ McCabe knew that was a quantum breach 290709.indd 251
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lie. Even McCabe could see from Stowe’s body that he had been shot fi rst in the kneecap; extreme pain would have resulted from that. It was then experience that told McCabe that Stowe would have stared down the barrel of his killer’s pistol for a few seconds before being shot in the head. Any man, no matter how tough, would have momentarily winced at that.
‘I see. Well, at least he didn’t suffer. But he died for me.’ Ying then started to cry again.
‘You can cut that out. Stowe would not have wanted this. We have a code in the forces: when one of us dies, we celebrate, drink his whisky, do not grieve. It’s about the memories. We all die at some point.’
McCabe was now trying to snap her out of it.
Then, after a short while, she replied. ‘Tell me, boss, how do you handle the bad dreams? I keep seeing that room, the one I was held in, hearing the footsteps on the stone fl oor, the drowning feeling. I wake up and scream.’
McCabe held her hand very tight, realising the effort it had taken for her to ask such a question. He allowed a pause before he replied, not wanting her to think he had not given it thought. He knew, in fact, the correct response only too well.
‘Well, you think of something very cool, something you love. You see it in your mind, keep focused on it, then the bad memories fade away,’ he said confi dently.
He didn’t wish to tell her that such memories tend to remain for a long time. Mental scars are hard to heal.
She seemed to like his response, and smiled, her face still swollen and bruised, which made it all the more disturbing for McCabe to see such a sweet smile surrounded by such bruises.
McCabe hated women-beaters; in his mind, they were weak. He had enjoyed dealing with Hajj; the bullets that took him out were wrapped with a layer of revenge from McCabe and Stowe. He suddenly recalled how they had found Ying seated in the chair, half-dead, the canvas bag left over her head. It turned his stomach. He then snapped back to quantum breach 290709.indd 252
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reality when Ying spoke.
‘Where is Brian, boss? Can I see him?’
McCabe looked at her. ‘That won’t be possible, babe. His body was taken back to the UK. They bury him today. It will be a very small affair, only a few of his mates. And Trent, of course, his boss.’
‘What? Why are you not there? Why did you not tell me sooner? I loved him, boss.’ Ying then completely lost the plot.
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THIRTY
As the coffi n containing the remains of Brian Edward Stowe was lowered down into the freshly dug grave, the few mourners in attendance simply stared down on to the lid of the coffi n. A simple brass plaque engraved ‘Brian Edward Stowe—a man, a warrior, a friend’ refl ected the light as it descended to the earthy fl oor. A single red rose was thrown in, landing, as if planned, on top of the brass plaque. The hand that had so accurately tossed it in belonged to none other than Mooney. McCabe had asked him to do so, a gesture from Ying. Mooney’s massive frame was supported by a single crutch; no amount of pain or discomfort would have kept him from carrying out McCabe’s request.
Trent was standing a few yards back from the edge of the grave, his posture tense, his face strained, his hands placed in the pockets of his dark blue raincoat buttoned up against the wind. The other mourners were members of Stowe’s immediate MI5 team, each paying their last respects. Those who really knew Stowe were not there. Like McCabe, they were scattered across the various corners of the globe.
The fact they were not there did not in any way detract from the level of respect Stowe commanded, nor was it a sign of how much sadness they felt at his loss. It was more they each had their own way of mourning and remembering him. Some would toast his memory in drunken stupors, within the army barrack bars; others with a single shot of whisky in front of an open fi re within their own home; others quantum breach 290709.indd 254
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as they walked their dogs in a windy park. McCabe would never forget; he would visit Stowe’s grave when the time was right and lay his ghost to rest. Stowe had gone, that was fact, but his memory would remain in the minds and souls of many a man still very much alive.
As Trent swallowed a shot of whisky, he sat back hard in his chair and pondered his next move. Khun Surat was still at large. Interpol had been placed on alert and Surat’s every move would be tracked, recorded and analysed. The agencies would be looking for ways to trap and have him arrested. Multiple charges of drug traffi cking, money laundering, even aiding and abetting known terrorism would be levelled against him. For now, his whereabouts remained unknown.
Maybe he was holed up in the luxury of his lavish home near Chiang Mai, Thailand.
Trent’s mind was not, however, on Surat, but the Rain Angel. His explicit orders had not been carried out. Stowe and McCabe had failed him, which now presented Trent with a big problem. This woman had information that could hurt him. And not only him, but others far more important and infl uential. The ‘Shadow Men’ would not be pleased. Trent would have to fi nd her, deal with her, and fast.
As Trent dialled a number, it rang for only a few seconds. ‘It’s Trent.
Put me through, please.’ His voice was shaky and unsure.
After a few moments, his call was taken. The man’s voice on the other end of the line was explicit and clear. ‘Trent, you have, it seems, an issue to deal with. We know that she is still alive. Make sure this issue is dealt with swiftly. You will not be granted another opportunity, is that clear?’
‘Understood. It will be taken care of.’ Trent then hung up and took another shot of whisky, closed his eyes and settled back in his chair.
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THIRTY-ONE
As Ying sat comfortably on a sofa in the lobby of the Fullerton Hotel, she felt good. Her face was almost back to normal; two weeks in hospital had sorted her out. Thanks to her mother’s home cooking, she had also gained ten pounds. The bank had given her all the time off she needed, months if required.
As McCabe appeared, his beaming smile immediately catching Ying’s attention, she stood up and put out her arms. McCabe walked up to her and hugged her.
/> ‘Hi, Ying! You look so much better.’
‘Yeah. I’m feeling so much better. Not sure when I will return to work though, if at all. Not sure I can go back.’
‘I know what you mean, I’m not going back. That much I can tell you,’ McCabe said
‘Oh, what will you do?’
‘Not sure. I’m not without options; a few weeks of bumming around, spending time with my daughter, for sure. I have missed her.
No rush to make a decision.’
As Ying sat back down, pulling McCabe by the arm to join her on the sofa, she enquired, ‘So what’s news, you must have some? Did they… ?’ Ying then paused.
As if knowing what she was going to ask, McCabe responded. ‘Yes, his funeral was okay, I heard. I will visit him soon. Maybe we can go see him together? By the way, I had my old mate Mooney go along.
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Mooney was also part of our rescue team. He was there with Stowe at the very end. He dropped in a red rose for you. Hope you don’t mind.’
‘Oh goodness, thank you so much. That is so sweet of you.’ Tears then started to appear in Ying’s eyes.
‘Okay, that’s enough of that, come on.’ McCabe started to change the subject. ‘Fleming has retired from the bank on a fat pension, which I fi nd insane, but at least he’s gone. Oh, and that fat pig of an auditor was fi red: he was made the public scapegoat, so there is some justice in the world after all.
‘The rights issue to Tai Investments was unwound and taken over by the Bank of England. Tai Investments has been shut down, as has Moon Star, and Surat is under investigation for multiple charges ranging from money-laundering to murder and terrorism, so the old rat may serve time in prison yet. Mooney says “Hi” by the way.’ McCabe then sat back and crossed his legs, desperate to draw Ying off of thinking about Stowe too much.
‘What about Aziz?’ enquired Ying, much to McCabe’s surprise.
‘Oh, his body was found bloated, fl oating in the river, near that warehouse, a plastic bag over his head, poor sod.’ McCabe almost felt sorry for him.
‘Oh my God! Poor man,’ Ying replied.
After chatting for an hour about work, what had happened and life in general, it was time for McCabe to go. As he stood up, he looked down at Ying. ‘You will be just fi ne, babe. I will see you soon, promise.
Okay?’ McCabe winked.
‘You take care too, boss. Please stay out of trouble.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ McCabe replied.
Ying then stood up and placed her arms around his neck; she kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him. Her lips then mouthed ‘thank you’ and she sat back down. ‘It’s okay, you head off. I will wait for my mother. She’s going to join me for tea.’
‘Okay. See you.’ With that, McCabe turned and walked off towards the entrance.
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‘Wait!’ Ying shouted.
McCabe turned sharply. ‘What is it? You okay?’ Concern edged his voice.
‘The envelope, the CD with the information, did you ever get it? It had details of Aziz’s transactions, names of people in Tai Investments, Afzal Jihad members, what looked like names of all kinds of people and stuff.’ Ying was for a moment excited.
McCabe’s face said it all. ‘God no, I had forgotten all about that.
Where did you leave it?’
‘At the hotel. In an envelope addressed to you.’ Ying’s face now showed concern.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll have it retrieved or tracked down. Don’t worry yourself about it anymore; start your life again, okay?’ McCabe then turned again and headed off, waving his hand over his shoulder.
‘Oh, okay. See you.’ Ying then turned and went back to wait for her mother. She realised that she didn’t really care about the CD anymore.
Momentarily it seemed important, but in reality it had caused far too much pain and was best forgotten.
As McCabe paused and stood still for a few moments in the lobby, he felt at peace. His life in some ways was about to start all over again.
His past experiences and knowledge would equip him somehow for a new adventure. It mattered not to him where he went, or, indeed, what he ended up doing. The fact was he was free, free forever of his corporate shackles and the stress and uncertainty that came with his last job.
The bank had in the end been very generous in that they had awarded him with a pay-off large enough to cover his expenses for the next two years. It was a small token of their appreciation for trying to save them from the unscrupulous hands of money launderers like Aziz and Surat. The irony was that the cash Tai Investments had provided via the rights issue, dirty money or not, had in fact saved the bank from a liquidity death. So the reprehensible acts of Aziz had in a strange way helped them in the credit crisis. The Bank of England ultimately had to take over the investment to clean the entire issue up. The new Banning’s quantum breach 290709.indd 258
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chairman had his work cut out to rebuild the bank’s reputation.
McCabe’s bosses knew as well as he did that his days as a trader were at an end. The call of the external world was too strong; the adrenaline that fed his veins, the drug he needed to survive, was provided only by a very different form of adventure. McCabe also knew that, from the bank’s perspective, having a highly trained killer on its staff was not perhaps what HR really wanted.
As he started to walk off and cross over the historic Cavanagh Bridge, he thought back to his decision: the single shot he should have taken to kill the Rain Angel, but simply didn’t. Something in him said no, much to Trent’s annoyance.
Had he taken the shot, she would have most certainly died. At such short range, the impact from his Sig would have killed her instantly.
Instead, he was left with the memory of her eyes, looking at him down the barrel of his gun. Then those words she had uttered, the meaning of which he had no idea, they hung in his head.
‘Things are not all they seem, Mr McCabe. Look closer to home, at those who lead… ’
As he continued to walk, he reached the river pathway on the other side of the bridge. The warm air felt good, tourist boats were moving up and down the river. As he stood taking in the air, he felt sure that somehow he would meet the mysterious lady again. He could almost feel her presence. His left index fi nger started to itch, which it did when he sensed danger. Could she be observing him right now?
The location of the CD was now weighing heavily on his mind.
Given it had cost Stowe his life, he had to fi nd it and see if it could tell him about the people behind the dirty money scam. There was always dirt higher up the food chain; that he knew. The people he had met were just the puppets. Surat was still out there, no doubt plotting his next wave of crime.
It was that thought alone that struck deep into McCabe’s character, quantum breach 290709.indd 259
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revenge was a natural instinct for him. Too many things were still open-ended for his liking. Why was the Rain Angel allowed to walk away?
Why was Trent so reluctant to give her up; she was clearly a woman not to be trusted. The information must in some way expose her completely and others. How far did the rot extend to the British Secret Service, he wondered. Something about Trent bothered him, not that he could place his fi nger on it, but again instinct told him that Trent was in some way linked to what had happened.
There was little choice. McCabe had to have the CD safe in his possession. It would, he hoped, provide the answers he needed. With that thought in mind, he turned and walked off; he had a plane to catch.
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Doc
ument Outline
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE