by Karl Holton
Day 12
West Carriage Drive, Hyde Park, London
8.31 a.m.
Wallace stood up, cleaner given the water that Paddy had thrown all over her to remove the blood. She’d told him she was fine three times as he’d carried her away from the direction of the shooting and put her on the ground behind a wall. “We’ve got to go,” she said, sprinting away towards the main road behind them.
Paddy’s bulk made him a slow running partner as they ran out into the carriage drive that crossed the park.
Running towards the car sitting in the disabled parking, Wallace was putting on the latex gloves she’d taken out of her pocket.
Benedict came into view via the car park.
She pulled open the car door and reached in over the body and placed her fingers on the carotid artery. It’s Tommy, she thought as she felt the gentle pulsing in the tips of her fingers. “He’s alive.”
As she moved back out of the car, she noticed the mobile phone sitting on the dashboard. She took out her phone and started to dial.
“What are you doing?” Benedict asked.
She glanced at him, seeing his disapproval. “We need to get paramedics here and completely clear the area.”
“Fuck that,” Benedict snapped. “Paddy, drive him to Narrow Street now.”
Paddy stood there and closed his eyes, tipping his face towards the sky.
Around them police and MI5 were directing the public away from the area. The chaotic background had no impact on them.
“This is a crime scene and we need to find out exactly why someone would leave Tommy like this … then use his phone to text me where he was,” Wallace demanded, pointing inside the car. “That phone sent me this,” she said, holding up her phone again.
Benedict touched his beard. “I’ll give you the answer once we’ve got him away from the sniper whose blowing people’s heads off. Remember, the guy lying on the ground over there beside the swan.”
Wallace stepped towards him shaking her head. A drop of blood fell from her eyebrow onto her arm. She felt the burning determination inside him and could see this was an argument she wouldn’t win. “You said it was a goddess.”
He smiled at her then turned to Paddy. “Get him out of here … call Pip and ask her to get a doctor to the house. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
Paddy moved towards the car as everyone’s earpieces crackled.
“It’s Oxley, he wasn’t on the roof of the hotel. The police marksman up there heard the shot from lower down in the building. We’ve just breached the door to the room … he’s gone.”
Benedict touched his earpiece. “Oxley, is there a shell case in the room?”
“Yes, it’s beside the window … 0.50 calibre.”
“Tell the manager we want every piece of CCTV, paperwork and all staff that can give us an ID on the guy that was in that room,” Benedict said. “We’ll be there soon and if he mentions a warrant or court order tell him I’m bringing a police officer with a gun,” he looked at Wallace. “And she’s very keen to use it on someone.”
Wallace pointed at him in silence.
“Will do,” Oxley replied.
Benedict looked at Paddy. “Go.”
Chapter 58
Day 12
London Hilton Hotel, Park Lane, London
12.27 p.m.
For ten minutes, Benedict had been staring at the view all the way down the edge of the Serpentine to the goddess. The room was cool as the window had been left open until a few minutes ago when a forensic team member had closed it. Two of the forensic team were still working the scene.
Wallace could see he needed time to think; they’d reviewed the scene at the goddess and met hotel staff and reviewed the CCTV. There were a few images of a figure moving through the hotel but nothing with a quality view of his face due to a baseball cap.
Her phone vibrated as a message arrived. It was from Watkins; ‘Rowe has admitted to the conspiracy about letting them know about Speaker’s Corner – nothing else. He says he has no names of those involved’. She walked over beside Benedict and held the mobile out in front of him so he could read the message.
Benedict looked at the message. He tipped his head sideways gesturing for them to leave the room. As they walked out he stared at the door, which had been forced open. A boot mark could be seen beside the lock.
They walked down the corridor to the lift where he stopped her pressing the button. “What do you think?”
“Before I tell you, don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” she asked.
Benedict rubbed his eye. “About what?”
She pushed out a deep breath, exasperated. “What happened with Tommy? How did I get a text from his phone and who would knock him out in the car so we could find him?”
He smiled. “I’ve told you what I know already. There’s more going on here, Wallace, than we know. A few days ago someone helped me kill the kidnapper of Hanson’s daughter and just disappeared. A few hours ago someone stopped Tommy from coming to the statue and getting killed. Someone is helping without coming out in the open.” He brushed his hand over his face. “Right now we’ve got enough on our plate; we don’t need to worry about someone who’s helping us. We’ve got to find this sniper before he hits his target … and I want to know why he’s after Tommy. I mean the real motivation for behaving like this.”
She looked at him, sensing that they needed to move on.
“Go on, tell me what you think?” he asked.
She flicked the band off her hair, straightened it and reset the band. “Rowe gave him Speaker’s Corner yesterday, so we would expect him to be ready for that site. We have CCTV of him arriving at the hotel at 8.13 a.m. this explains why he needed to kick the door in … he was short on time. It means he moved to here which he would only do if he knew he needed a view of the goddess.”
“Which means?”
“He was in a hurry meaning he also knew he had a time constraint at the goddess site,” Wallace said. “This suggests he also knew when Tommy was going to be there.”
Benedict leaned against the wall beside the lift. “Keep going … I need you to just keep talking; just say what comes to mind.”
“He was carrying the rifle in that case so he didn’t attract too much attention. He’s organised and careful. He’s cunning and adaptable and he knew the geography as he knew that this room had a view of the goddess. He’s skilful because —” The memory of the tourist’s head and the noise crashed into her thoughts, forcing her into a momentary daydream.
He noticed and touched her arm. “Anything else?”
She jumped back to the present. “In profile terms we’re talking about someone who has the skills of a sniper but who’s prepared to take a risk to get to the target. He’s taken a huge risk coming in here, breaking into a room and then exiting the hotel so brazenly … so he really wanted to get to Tommy.”
Benedict tipped his head down and scratched his forehead. “Yes, that’s it, Wallace … risk; he had to take the risk.”
Her eyes tightened. “What do you mean?”
“Why would a skilled sniper familiar with being hidden and out of sight take all these risks? It’s been bothering me since what happened at the pub in Essex; why would someone who is clearly very skilled do jobs like this one after another so quickly, increasing his risk of being caught? He must have a very strong reason to do this.”
“Money?” she asked.
“I don’t think this guy is killing like this for money. If it was for money he’d be more calculated. He’s taking a huge risk of getting caught working this way. I have a feeling that there’s more to it than that.”
She gave him half a smile. “You sound like you know who it is.”
He pressed the lift button. “I think I do … and I think I know why he’s doing it.”
She watched the lift number increasing as it approached. “Why?”
“Revenge.”
Chapter 59
Day 12
Flying Point Road, Southampton, New York
12.28 p.m. GMT (7.28 a.m. Local)
Urna smiled at the computer camera, which was transmitting his face to a piece of software that was converting it to a perfectly realistic 3D avatar. This was being sent to a video conferencing system broadcasting it across the globe. This system also modulated his voice, allowing him to transform into the many individuals he pretended to be, both inside the organisation and to the outside world.
This morning he was Jack Hemingway the famously reclusive hedge fund manager who ran the business from the Greenwich, Connecticut office. Every month, as Hemingway, he attended an online investor meeting with the twenty largest institutional investors in the funds.
He hated doing these early morning chats with them, but it was a chore that had to be done and given the timing they had to start early. He was an hour into this call and his patience was waning. “So everybody, are there any other questions?”
“Yes, I have one,” said a voice.
Urna maintained his smile. The system was sophisticated enough to pick up changes. “For the benefit of everyone on the call, please state who you are and your question.”
“This is Robert Seymour from Credit Suisse, New York; I was wondering if you could explain your reasoning for the increased cash holding across the funds?”
“Now that is a very good question, Robert,” Urna said slowly, giving himself time to think of a good response. “We understand that as investors you want us to be fully invested. However, our models are showing us that there are opportunities to acquire certain assets cheaper than available at this period end. We’ve been looking at particular sectors and countries and feel that globally these warrant a cash carry at this time.”
There was a short silence.
Seymour coughed. “We’re looking at the end of July numbers here, Jack. Have you been able to take these opportunities yet and if so can you tell us where they’ve been invested?”
Urna laughed at the camera. “We haven’t invested these funds yet and we’re monitoring the opportunities very closely. Therefore we cannot give you any details … I’m sure you understand.”
“Come on, Jack,” said a familiar voice to everyone. It was Jeremy Anton from Goldman Sachs, New York. “We’re all friends on this call. You can trust us … we’re bankers.”
Everyone on the call laughed.
“You have form here, Jack,” Anton said. “You’ve picked up some assets at a discount that we haven’t seen. If you’re watching something … why don’t you throw us poor Wall Street guys a bone?”
The laughing continued.
Urna pushed out more false grins. “My job, Jeremy, is to manage the allocation of funds that you’ve all given me. I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I divulged this information.”
“So will this be invested before the end of August?” Seymour asked. “Will we see the result in the coming month end?”
“I don’t know the answer to that yet, Robert,” Urna said. “We obviously won’t be pulling the trigger on anything unless our models tell us we’ve hit the right price.” From experience, Urna knew he’d said enough to keep them quiet, which he allowed to continue for a few moments. “If there’s nothing else, ladies and gentlemen, I have to attend another meeting.”
“On behalf of everyone, Jack, I want to say thank you for the meeting,” Anton said, taking the position of the main spokesman. He liked to ensure everyone remembered that they were the single largest investor. “We haven’t seen you in Manhattan for years; it would be great to catch up at some point.”
“Thanks for the invite, Jeremy, but I don’t spend much time in one place … I’m too busy looking at these opportunities for you all.”
The chuckles softly resonated through the speakers as Urna felt his mobile phone vibrate.
Urna grinned at the camera. “Sorry, I really do need to go. Please send across any other questions you have by email and we will get back to you individually.” He terminated the conference call on the computer.
He looked at his mobile. The caller ID said LMX UK. “Lomax, good news?”
“Sorry, I have only bad news … can I speak directly to Jasper? It would be —”
“Just tell me Lomax …”
Lomax sucked in a deep breath. “The information from the second police contact you gave us was compromised. We should have stuck with what our first contact was telling us. They must have discovered that the second one was working for someone and fed him a ruse.”
“But we told Raske that it was one of two sites,” Urna stated.
“Yes, and he’d been watching the second one for a while then he worked it out and … he had to improvise to get to the target. He couldn’t see the correct place from where he was so he had to move and get into a good position quickly.”
Urna rubbed his forehead. “Did he get to the target?”
“Unfortunately not; something happened … we don’t know the details yet but the person he shot was a tourist … not Tommy Gibbs. He says he couldn’t see the face from the distance he was at and he shot the person that spoke to the police officer we’d told him about. It seems they lied to the second contact and told him she wasn’t meeting Tommy … when she was at the place our first contact told us.”
Urna gritted his teeth. “Raske has missed Tommy Gibbs twice now. I thought this guy was supposed to be the best.”
“He never even got to see Gibbs this time. He didn’t appear at either site. If we give him the information that gives him a clear shot he won’t miss,” Lomax said, leaving a moment for the wave of anger to crash on the shore. “There’s something else … much worse.”
Urna put the mobile phone down on his desk and pressed the ‘speaker’ button, scared the news might make him do something to it. “Tell me.”
“The painting we gave Moraru … it appears that it was a fake.”
Urna put the tip of his finger on the desk beside the phone. “Explain how that might have happened?”
“Bas doesn’t believe he has any reason to distrust the art dealer who brought this opportunity to us. The guy is well known and isn’t hiding. He’s told us everything he knows about the thief that brought him the painting.”
Urna tapped his finger once on the desk. “You mean the one who now has forty million euro of our money?”
Lomax knew that Urna would have managed this risk. “I appreciate that this is an issue but finding the thief and getting the money should not be a problem.”
“Let’s hope it isn’t … I’ll deal with the money; if the thief is still in Paris tell Bas to get someone ready to deal with him,” Urna said. “I’m much more concerned about Moraru. Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes, he was trying to speak to you in the last hour but he couldn’t catch you … so he called me. He isn’t happy,” Lomax said, his stomach churning as he paused. “He’s decided that he cannot trust us. He doesn’t want to hear from us again.”
Urna allowed his finger to hover over the end call button. He watched it trembling in the air. “I’ll email you once I’ve dealt with the money in the thief’s account,” he said, letting his finger come down on the mobile’s screen.
A guard knocked on the office door.
“Come in,” Urna said.
The guard entered and stood still. “Sir, the helicopter is ready to take you to Greenwich.”
Urna nodded, picked up his small briefcase and followed the guard outside to the helipad. He stepped into the back of the helicopter alone, sitting in one of the black leather seats. The guard had placed a coffee in the cup holder beside his seat. They rose into the air and he stared out across the turquoise blue Mecox Bay towards the Atlantic’s horizon. This was where his men had deposited the body of Jack Hemingway eighteen months ago.
Chapter 60
Day 12
Narrow Street, Limehouse, London
1.18 p.m.
Even though Hanson was answering his question, Bene
dict stood close to the Thames and caught himself watching the breeze along the river waft through Wallace’s hair. He brought his thoughts back to reality and noticed Pip focusing on him through her sunglasses.
“Sorry, what was that, Ray?” he asked.
Hanson, Paddy and Wallace stared at him.
Hanson picked up the glass of water on the table. “Tommy is upstairs. He’s resting, with Oxley watching him. The doctor has looked him over and says he’s got no wounds or trauma on him, except for the ones that Paddy gave him.”
Paddy moved his feet. “He woke up in the car … I thought it better that he stayed asleep for the journey.”
Pip was still watching Benedict. “Whoever put him to sleep injected him with Propofol … straight into his artery.”
“That wouldn’t be easy to do,” Benedict said.
Wallace stepped up to the table and sat down. Pip now observed Paddy check out her shape as she sat down beside him.
Benedict had noticed something inside the house that wasn’t there before. They were standing against a wall; two wrapped packages in slightly different sizes. He could tell what they were by the dimensions; they’re paintings.
Wallace looked at Hanson. “What do you think Tommy knows?”
“Straight to the point again, DI Wallace?” Hanson said.
Wallace put a fingertip on the table. “Tommy Gibbs should be in police custody. I know he’s here because MI5 are letting it happen … but please don’t try and use that to avoid my question.”
Pip laughed. “I wish you’d worked with me at Interpol.”
Wallace glared at her. “Don’t try and help him. I want to know why Tommy is here. Why has MI5 overruled the police and let him come here?”
Hanson looked at Benedict and shrugged, which Wallace copied.
Benedict rubbed his beard. “We think he knows the person behind this. We suspect that this person used Gibbs to get the drugs off the Horne gang and then killed the Gibbs gang. They were going to try and hide the drugs theft within the gangs … by killing everyone involved, no one could confirm a third party was involved.”