by Bill Ward
We’ll go to the office,” Powell said and led the way.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Once inside the office, Powell motioned with his weapon towards one of the chairs. “Sit down,” he said, pushing the American on the shoulder, when he was slow to sit.
Powell sat on the other side of the desk and played back the CCTV from outside the bar. The shooting had been captured clearly. He removed the tape and replaced it with an old tape from a few weeks earlier. He placed the recorded tape in his pocket. He was going to need to hide it somewhere safe once he’d dealt with the matter in hand. He didn’t want to erase the tape because it could be useful in the unlikely event they ever needed to defend themselves in a court of law. On the other hand, it showed Afina as the person pulling the trigger and it would have to be a last resort before it was ever shared with anyone else.
Powell half expected the police to arrive at any moment. Though he hadn’t seen anyone around when the man was shot, there was every possibility someone had seen what happened and dialled the emergency services. Certainly people would have heard the shot. The American’s friends might even decide to return or call the police.
“Let’s swap weapons,” Powell said to Jenkins. After doing so, Powell then gripped his own gun tightly to register his fingerprints. If the police did arrive, he would claim responsibility for shooting the man.
Then he turned to the American. “You have a name?” Powell asked.
The American sat silently, staring straight ahead.
“Guess I’ll just call you Yank in that case. So Yank, I want you to understand where I’m coming from. I don’t particularly give a damn about how you treated Al-Hashimi. He probably deserved everything you did to him. Neither am I too bothered about why the heads of MI5 and MI6 have still never heard the name Al-Hashimi. What I do care about is my bar and my house. You tried to destroy my home and me with it earlier tonight so I want to know why? Why are you, someone I’ve never met before in my life, intent on killing me.”
Again the American said nothing.
“Listen, I don’t have your specialist skills for extracting information. I don’t know how to prolong pain while keeping someone alive. I also doubt we have much time together so I’m going to keep this simple.” He walked over to Jenkins and whispered in his ear.
Jenkins left the room but returned in less than a minute carrying a cushion from the bar. He handed it to Powell.
The American’s eyes hadn’t shifted despite the comings and goings. Powell wasn’t certain he was going to get the answers he wanted.
“I don’t suppose you want to volunteer what I need to know?” Powell asked pleasantly. Gaining no response, he continued, “Look, you aren’t very old, younger than me for sure. If you don’t tell me who you are working for, you are going to have to find a new line of work. There’s not much demand for someone like you, if you’re crippled.”
Powell moved quickly and without further warning, holding the cushion directly in front of the gun, he fired. The noise of the shot was muffled by the cushion.
“Fucking hell!” the American screamed and grabbed for his leg.
“That’s your final warning, Yank. I just winged your thigh. The next bullet will go through your kneecap. And the one after that through your other knee before I then work on your ankles… I don’t have a lot of time.” Powell raised the gun again as if to shoot. “I ask again. Why are you trying to kill me?”
“Wait! It’s not you we were after. I was told to get rid of the woman and try to make it look like an accident. You were just in the wrong place.”
“Well that makes me feel so much better,” Powell replied sarcastically. “What’s your name?”
“Brown.”
“Who do you work for?”
The American hesitated and Powell took deliberate aim at his knee.
“Okay. Okay. I don’t actually know much about him. My former boss at the Agency asked if I wanted some work…”
“So you worked for the CIA?” Powell interrupted.
“Until a couple of years ago.”
“Continue.”
“My boss put me in contact with a Mr Barnes.”
“So you’re a private contractor?”
“Yes but most of my work comes from old contacts.”
“And what did Barnes want you to do?”
“Interrogate someone.”
“Al-Hashimi?”
“Yes.”
“So you discovered the information Barnes wanted?”
“Yes. He was pleased and I thought that was the end of the job but then he contacted me again and wanted me to get rid of the girl. I assumed he was tidying up loose ends.”
“So who do you think Barnes works for?”
“I didn’t really care but I assumed it was one of your government agencies. Probably MI5.”
“If he did, don’t you think he would have passed on the information about Al-Hashimi and he wouldn’t be asking you to murder a member of MI6, which is where the girl in question works?”
“I gave up questioning instructions a long time ago. And in my experience, inter agency squabbles are two a penny.”
“Did Al-Hashimi mention an attack tonight on the pub?”
“Not while I was questioning him but he may have done after I left.”
“What planned attack did he mention?”
“The Tory party conference was to be his next target. The girl must have told you that.”
Lara had indeed told Powell and he was just testing Brown. “Can you explain why the head of both MI5 and MI6 are completely unaware of such a planned attack?”
The American was thoughtful for a second. “Look, I regularly get used to extract information from terrorists using methods not palatable to governments. I actually believe what I do benefits everyone. If Barnes hasn’t passed on the information then there must be a different agenda in play.”
“Any idea what that might be?”
“My best guess would be someone must have a reason to want the attack to go ahead as planned.”
“Then why bother to get the information in the first place?”
The American shrugged. “No idea. I’ve found it easier just to do as I’m told and not ask too many questions.”
“Do you think Barnes is his real name?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“What happened to Al-Hashimi once you finished with him?”
“He was a broken man and giving up everything he knew so I wasn’t needed any more but the questioning would have continued for days, maybe weeks or months. They would go over every detail of his life.”
“Where is he being held?”
“I’m not sure. I was taken there by helicopter from London. It was somewhere in the country. He may even have been moved by now.”
“So tell me more about Barnes. How did he contact you?”
“He called me and arranged to meet. I knew he’d been passed my contact details and I was expecting his call.”
“Where did you meet?” Powell asked, hopeful of finally getting a worthwhile answer.
“The Mayfair Club. I would arrive, give my name and be shown to a meeting room. Barnes then came in and briefed me.”
“Do you have a contact number for him?”
“I have an email address for emergencies but I haven’t had to use it.”
Powell pushed a piece of paper and pen in front of Brown. “Write the email down for me.”
Powell picked the paper back up and studied the email address – [email protected].
“Seems Barnes has a sense of humour,” Powell commented, handing the paper to Jenkins.
Jenkins stared blankly at the paper. “Who the hell is that?”
“I think he’s the man who said: Power corrupts: absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Powell answered.
“He is,” Brown agreed. “I googled the name.”
“An email isn’t much use for finding him,” Powell admitted. “De
scribe Barnes to me,” he demanded.
“Tall, average build, grey hair, about fifty. I’m not great on your accents but he speaks like he’s important. A bit like your Queen.”
“Any distinguishing marks?”
“No, you wouldn’t notice him until he speaks. He’s an arrogant prick… What are you going to do with me?”
“A good question…”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Powell had secured the American in the basement. He was locked in the same place where a few months earlier, he had kept Victor prisoner. When he’d invested in the secure cage for protecting his valuable wines, he hadn’t envisaged it doubling so regularly as a temporary cell.
Powell crept upstairs to see if Afina and Lara were asleep. He’d phoned Brian and MI5 were sending a car to collect the American, which would arrive in about an hour so going to bed wasn’t an option. Powell could hear the girls talking as he neared the top of the stairs.
Powell was deeply concerned for Afina. She had proved herself able to handle extraordinarily difficult situations in the past but shooting someone could haunt the toughest of people. He certainly remembered the first person he shot and killed but at the actual time, he didn’t have the chance to dwell on it as he was caught up in a gun battle with several members of the IRA.
It was later that evening he thought about the significance of having taken someone’s life. He knew in truth he had little choice. It was kill or be killed. But despite the logic, Powell still felt troubled by what he’d done. The man he shot was only nineteen years old and looked like he’d barely started shaving. He was still a boy in many ways but he had chosen violence as a way of life. What pricked at Powell’s conscience was the knowledge the boy came from a family who were all members of the IRA. Had he really had any choice about living a life without violence? It was a recurring thought during the time Powell spent in Ireland.
There was a time Afina would probably have happily shot Stefan or Dimitry but she had recently succeeded in moving on with her life. She had a good job and close friends. Powell was feeling guilty, she was once again being dragged back into a violent world, not of her making. Her continued association with him was putting her life in danger.
There were similarities to his wife’s death, which had been the cause of many sleepless nights and guilty feelings. Vanessa had chosen to marry Powell but he had not made her fully aware of his dangerous lifestyle. Just being married to him had been enough to get Vanessa killed. With hindsight he felt he should have left the dangerous world he inhabited behind when he agreed to get married. He had acted selfishly and despite his love for Vanessa, made the wrong choices. He didn’t want to repeat the mistake with Afina. He needed to get her to safety, which would be as far away from him as possible.
“Brought some brandy if you’re interested?” Powell announced, holding up the bottle and three glasses.
Afina was sat on the sofa and Lara occupied the single armchair. They had immediately stopped talking when they saw him, which made him wonder if he had been the subject of the conversation.
He poured the drinks and handed out the glasses. He thought Afina looked even paler than usual.
“Cheers,” Powell toasted and downed his shot in one.
The girls did likewise and he refilled the glasses.
“What have you done with the American?” Afina asked.
“He’s safely locked away in the wine cage. Brian’s sending someone to collect him. They should be here in about an hour.”
“What do we do next?” Afina asked.
“Remember, if the police do ever ask you, you were upstairs in bed and you two can vouch for each other. I was downstairs locking up the bar. That’s all you know.”
“The man I shot… do you think he will die?” Afina questioned.
“I can’t be one hundred per cent certain but I doubt the shot was fatal. It didn’t look like you hit any vital organs. He may be in pain and out of work for quite some time but don’t lose any sleep over him. He would have killed us without any hint of remorse.”
Afina seemed relieved and took a further drink. “ I just pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. I’m amazed I even hit him.”
“I owe you a big vote of thanks, Afina. You saved my life.”
“I did what was necessary.”
“You were very brave,” Lara added.
“I had no choice. I could not let that man shoot Powell.”
“Lara’s right,” Powell said. “It was brave of you and I’m very grateful.”
“Did you learn anything from the American?” Lara asked.
“Nothing very useful. His name is Brown and he is ex CIA. He’s a private contractor and he’s currently working for a Brit called Barnes. He was brought in to interrogate Al-Hashimi. Seems that’s his speciality.”
“What sort of person ends up specialising in torture?” Lara was thinking out loud as much as asking a question.
“Sadly, there are plenty of people who enjoy hurting other people. Some of them end up in the army or working for the government. The rest end up as criminals.
“What Powell says is right,” Afina added. “I’ve known men like Victor and Dimitry, who enjoyed hurting people, especially girls.”
“What happened to them?” Lara asked.
“Powell killed them both,” Afina replied.
Lara looked at Powell but said nothing.
Powell decided he should change the subject. “Afina, I’ve been thinking and I think it would be a good idea if you go away for a bit. At least until this mess is sorted out.”
“This is my home, Powell. I am not running away.”
“Powell is probably right,” Lara agreed. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
“It’s nice you are worried for me but I think I’ve proved I can take care of myself. So I’m staying.”
It was too late at night to press the point any further. “We’ll talk about it again tomorrow,” Powell said. “Right now, I suggest you both get some sleep. We still have to open the bar as usual, tomorrow.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Powell insisted in the morning that Afina should take the day off work despite her protestations. The previous night had been traumatic and Powell wanted her to get away from the bar at least for a few hours, even if she wasn’t willing to take a proper holiday. At his suggestion, she agreed to go spend a fun day with Mara, who due to the nature of her work could always be flexible with her time.
Powell was pleased with his small victory. If there was to be any reprisal on the part of Brown’s friends, then there was a distinct possibility it would happen very soon. It would be safer for Afina, the farther she was away from the bar or more precisely away from Lara, who currently attracted danger like a magnet. Later in the day, Powell would encourage Afina to stay over at Mara’s or with her other friends. He didn’t want her returning to the bar for at least twenty four hours.
Once Afina had left, Powell made Jenkins some coffee and they sat down to try and make sense of everything. Powell always found Jenkins made a good sounding board for his ideas. They both came up with various explanations for recent events but each time they also found a flaw in their thinking. They were no nearer understanding why it was so important to kill Lara. Yes, she had seen Al-Hashimi tortured but Powell didn’t believe that was enough in itself to require her death.
Lara had undoubtedly stirred the proverbial hornet’s nest when she questioned the treatment Al-Hashimi received. By doing so, she had made someone feel threatened and Powell doubted it was just on the level of a slap on the wrist for overzealous interrogation techniques. Someone felt threatened because there was something so important at stake, even the tiniest risk to the operation had to be squashed.
Powell and Jenkins made Lara replay everything that had happened during the interrogation. They especially went over in detail everything Al-Hashimi revealed and everyone she had met during the interrogation. The next target was to be the upcoming Conserv
ative party conference in Blackpool. Brian had already passed this information to the police just in case an attack still went ahead. Al-Hashimi was out of the equation and with security tripled, the assumption up until the previous night’s bomb attack, had been that the conference was now safe. That was no longer so certain. There were still terrorists at large.
Powell was of the opinion Lara had seen or heard something that was supposed to remain secret but they were no nearer discovering what that was. As lunchtime approached, they took a well-deserved break.
Phoenix was truly shocked by the bombing of the club in London. The news was saying it was another terrorist atrocity and probably committed by the same people responsible for the marathon bombing. Phoenix had been under the impression Al-Hashimi was captured and being interrogated. Certainly he was no longer at the address where he was supposed to be staying. There had been no announcement about his arrest but that was surely because MI5 would be extracting information.
The bombing at the club suggested Al-Hashimi may have evaded capture. He was a brave and resourceful fighter but too much did not make sense. Where had he found the materials for another bomb? He had only been provided with enough Semtex explosive to make the marathon bomb. Maybe he had improvised. His training would have included instructions on how to make a bomb using the type of chemicals that could be found in normal consumer products, such as household cleaners.
This was the worst possible scenario. There would be heightened security everywhere tomorrow due to the threat posed by Al-Hashimi, which would put his own operation at risk. And there was nothing Phoenix could do. He didn’t have any way of contacting Al-Hashimi. It looked like his careful planning had been for nothing.
The only other possible explanation for the bombing was it had been carried out by a different organisation. Maybe not even an Arab based group but some group who hated homosexuals. It seemed too much of a coincidence. It must be Al-Hashimi. He knew for certain there were no other ISIS cells operating in the UK.