Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2)

by Clark, Nicholas P

  “I am so glad that you said that, Jack. I told my men that you would see things my way. And truthfully we have better things to do than to clean your blood off the floors and walls of this place. It is going to be demolished, but not every officer in the South African police force is willing to turn a blind eye to the odd unexplained bloodstain. I will give you forty-eight hours and not a minute more. If by then you have some information that I can act on then we will forget this whole silly business. If not, we shall return and, as you put it, finish what we started.”

  A wave of intense relief pulsed through Jack’s body. He had escaped; for the time being. That relief soon disappeared when the door at the far end of the lab opened. Jack’s bound and gagged PA was pushed through the doorway by yet another heavy. Jack turned to Robert with his face filled with rage.

  “What the hell are you doing?!?!” Jack snapped. “What has she got to do with any of this?”

  “Hopefully she has nothing to do with any of this, but if you are innocent, as you maintain, then someone else at your business may know something. She will be the next person who I ask. Or if you decide to use your many contacts to try to get out of the country, then her life will be the cost of your freedom. Do we have an understanding?”

  Jack looked back to his PAand then to Robert. “We

  have an understanding,” Jack said, coldly.

  In that moment Jack drew determination from the rage which was coursing through his body. Robert would pay for what he had done to her. That retribution would be final.

  Robert waved a hand and Jack’s PA was led away.

  “I am glad that you have decided to be so reasonable, Jack. Now if you will excuse me, I have a press conference to attend. The country needs to know that the news of my untimely death has been nothing more than a silly rumour.”

  Jack was led back out to the car. As he sat passively in the back seat on the way back into the city, his mind was turning summersaults. Once he found out who was behind the bomb he would not have a

  problem sharing what he knew with Robert. After all, a dead man would be in no position to use that information.

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  Cannon to the left of them...

  When Jack had first dipped his toes in the murky world of international espionage back in the seventies, things were very simple. Hewas told to keep his head down as far as possible and that way he stood at least a slim chance of not having it blown off. His early battles with the IRA, and skirmishes with KGB agents, conditioned him into believing that the advice that he had been given was sound. For much of his working life he had lived by that simple rule and he went out of his way not to draw attention to himself. The 1990s stood that advice on its head, and Jack did not like having to make the adjustment as it was completely at odds with not only his training, but also his own instincts. To Jack, a spy should always adopt the mentality of an unfaithful husband. If the husband bought a new sports car, new clothes, new aftershave and so on, the wife would notice something was amiss. In seeking the right kind of attention from his mistress he also gets the wrong kind of attention from his wife.

  In South Africa promiscuity was not only tolerated; it was expected. Everything about the powerful in the country was over the top and oozing with new money. That new money had come flooding into the country from outside governments and some from private foreign investment. The politicians in South Africa, and corrupt officials at every level, wanted to get their hands on some of that very large cash pie, and they wanted to show the world that they had the cash once they got their hands on it—I have made it; I am someone. They had been living in servitude to an oppressive regime for so long that all sense of proportion went out the window once freedom and power was handed to them. They wanted to overthrow their old masters by in many ways becoming just like them. And so the greed, corruption, and a lot of the violence moved seamlessly from one ruling elite to the next. Wealth meant power, and power meant respect. With respect came security. No one messed with powerful people as they could make life very uncomfortable for anyone who did try. And if one or two troublemakers vanished without trace, it wasn’t the end of the world and such crimes went largely uninvestigated. Jack needed to be standing on the powerful side of the social divide and that meant that he had to be seen.

  Jack had to fit in with this world. If he was not like the others then they would treat him like an outsider; and in the new South Africa all outsiders, regardless of status, were tarred with the same brush. As an outsider he would never gain the kind of access to the rich and powerful ruling class that he needed in order to continue with his open ended mission. The new rich in South Africa were modern day princes and there was no amount of business, no matter how big or how small, that could be carried out without their say so. Money, justice, life and death; they controlled all of it and if Jack wanted access to them he had to make some pretty big sacrifices in terms of his own gut feelings. The many luxuries that were on call to take him to wherever he wanted to go, day or night, were a far cry from dodging British Army patrols talking barn in the badlands of Ireland.

  The cars, as impressive as they were, were nothing compared to the house that Her Majesty’s Government paid for. The ten bedroomed, mini palace, was situated on the North side of the city; as far away from the townships as it was possible to get and still live within the city. The house was at the centre of a small, gated community know as the Wallington, or the Wall, as it was known locally. Twenty other luxury homes made up the rest of the small community. With the

  in the dead himself out of night on the South Armagh border, or quickly of a bullet to the back of the head in some dirty

  exception of two of his neighbours, all of the other homes were occupied by foreign nationals. All were affiliated to international companies and at least seven of them had direct links to espionage. Jack had run as intensive a background check on each of his neighbours as he possibly could without raising too many questions. Those who worked in similar sectors to his company were not a major problem as no official who he approached gave a second thought as to why Jack was trying to gain an advantage over a competitor. To find an excuse to enquire after those who he had no links in business with were not so easily explained away. The services of other British agents and a few American agents were put to good use in trying to check up on the other neighbours; but even this extra support left enormous gaps in his knowledge. The best Jack could do was leave them well enough alone and hope that they would be wise enough to extend to him the same courtesy.

  The only thing that he liked about living in the complex was the high level of security that came with it. Guards on the gates and patrolling the complex; cameras looking at every car as it approached from outside. It was about the protection of wealth rather than the protection of the individuals living in those houses, and in a country obsessed with protecting the rich and powerful, this really was the safest place for him to live. There were no pets, and although children were permitted to live there, Jack had never seen a single child out playing. Then again, who in their right mind would bring a child to live in such a country as this? And the kind of people who owned those homes could have their children living wherever they wanted in the world.

  Crime in the townships was high. Crime against the middle class was also high, with home invasions and kidnappings for ransom being a very commonplace occurrence. Not so with the rich. The previous year there had been a number of robberies in another complex similar to the one Jack lived in. A few days later several men with records for robbery were found dead in the desert. They had their hands and feet chopped off and they were left out there to die slowly. The men may have had nothing to do with the robberies at the housing complex, but the message their deaths sent out was clear enough—if you need

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  to steal, then steal from someone as poor as yourself—our stuff is too nice for the likes of you. The cop had driven the Land Rover back into the city at high speed. Jack assumed that the trip to the aban
doned fertiliser plant had been off the official radar and that the cop was worried about being away in a police vehicle for too long. Such misuse of police property was not out of the ordinary and it largely went unnoticed, but there was always a point beyond which it would be silly to continue to take advantage of the system. Then again, he may just have been in a hurry because the wife would be angry if he showed up late for dinner again. Jack’s training had taught him never to assume anything about anyone, and to deal only in the facts, but with someone like the cop, facts were thin on the ground. So in spite of his training Jack deferred to his own experiences and his innate ability to read people. He had encountered all kinds of human beings from every conceivable background and occupation, and that huge wealth of experience meant more to him than training he received more than a decade ago, and which was being mothballed piece by piece as the world around him changed at an alarming speed. He would never completely rely on his own judgement, but with just a few pieces of information about a person, Jack was always able to come up with a background story for them that was very accurate; or at least accurate enough to serve his particular purpose. If he got a chance to surreptitiously ask the cop a few well directed, and subtly probing questions, he would take it.

  By the time that they pulled up in front of the heavy iron gates of the complex where he lived, Jack had created a skeleton back-story for the cop. Jack left plenty of room for error in that profile, in case some of the supposed details were incorrect; there always had to be room for error; if not, then when the unexpected happened, he would not be able to deal with it. The profile he had just imagined was not merely something for his brain to focus on while he was being driven back to his home. It was much more important than that. When the showdown with Robert came, and he was determined that it would one day happen, this cop could be there. Who he was would determine how he would respond when Jack finally made his move on Robert. To be

  able to anticipate how the cop would react could make the difference between Jack living or dying. He could not make such a detailed pro

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  file for Robert’s other goons; at least not yet, and so any advantage he could get his hands on would be welcomed with open arms. As they came to a stop in front short muzzle machine guns walked and they cautiously approached the Land Rover. One of the guards trained his weapon on the Land Rover. This was yet another sign of the importance of the people who lived behind those gates—any other civilian guard, no matter how well-meaning, who pointed a weapon at a police officer, would not have lived to do it again. There was a very clear hierarchy in the country and a security guard was a lot further down the food chain than a cop. The cops were the attack dogs of the ruling class, and they made their own rules as they went along to ensure the status quo was maintained. They could, and quite often did, literally get away with murder. So much so in fact that no serious attempt was ever made to cover up a police sanctioned execution. The guard with the gun looked genuinely worried, not because he feared that this was a fake cop, here to carry out an attack on the complex, but that he was a real cop who didn’t take too kindly to having a gun pointed at him.

  “Tell your guy to stand down before I stand him down,” said the Cop to the guard as he approached the vehicle. “I do not like having a gun pointed at me. And he looks a little bit on edge. I wouldn’t want there to be any accidents.”

  “He is only doing his job officer,” said the Guard.

  “I know that man, but he can only do his job once I have gone. Tell him now or I will take him in for questioning,” said the Cop. “That’s if I don’t view him as a threat and put a couple of slugs in his head first. Tell him!”

  The guard paused for a short moment before turning to his colleague.

  “Stand down,” said the Guard. “He is a Cop.”

  The other Guard paused, before lowering his weapon slowly.

  “I guess the police Land Rover wasn’t a big enough clue for him,” said the Cop to Jack. “God help you man, if this is who you have protecting your home. It is time for you and I to say goodbye.” The Cop got out of the vehicle and then he opened the door for of the gates two guards wielding out of their hut next to the gate Jack. For a moment the second Guard raised his gun again; but he quickly relented when the Cop shot him a disapproving glare. Jack got out of the vehicle and he waited for the Cop to impart a few last words of advice, or warning.

  “None of this is personal man,” said the Cop. “We all have to make a living. You know?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I know how important supporting a family is to a man,” Jack replied. “I would do anything for my wife and children too. How many kids do you have?”

  The Cop smiled.

  “Two baby girls. And she is my girlfriend, not my wife. At least not yet,” said the Cop, with a smile.

  Jack flashed back a smile of his own; sometimes the shortest fishing expedition catches the largest fish.

  “Anyhow Jack. Good luck to you, and don’t mess with the man. He will do everything that he said tonight and he won’t lose a moment’s sleep over doing it. I have known him for a very long time and there have been times when his cruelty has even turned my blood cold.

  Don’t give him an excuse. Think about your wife and your children.” Jack nodded sincerely as the Cop gave the speech. That he referenced Jack’s fictitious family spoke of how the Cop was a family man above being a thug for hire. If it came to a fire fight then he would duck and cover rather than take a bullet for Robert. Jack watched as

  the Cop got back into the Land Rover and drove off. He waved from the inside of the vehicle. Jack waved back. Jack then turned his attention to the Guard closest to him.

  “That isn’t a bad night Henry,” Jack said to the man, in a very warm tone.

  “Not bad Sir, not bad at all.”

  The Cop made a u-turn before driving back the way he had come. He turned and waved one last time as he drove away. Jack returned the gesture. The massive orange flash that then followed seemed to start somewhere on the inside of the Land Rover. It quickly grew; and within a split second it had engulfed the entire vehicle. Every window exploded outwards and the wheels lifted several feet off the ground. The flash retreated as the vehicle fell back to the ground, sending roll

  ing waves of flames out in all directions as it hit the road. A hot pressure wave hit Jack in the stomach and face and it instantly took his breath away as it lifted him off the ground and threw him backwards through the air like a doll. Pressure squeezed his head and his ears screamed from the pain. All sensation abruptly ended when his head made contact with the heavy iron gate.

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  Ghosts of Christmases Past

  Someone once told Jack that it is impossible to anticipate every possible eventuality; but that didn’t mean that he did not at least try his very best to do just that. The advice was given to him before he started his life as a spy, and he could not recall if it had come from a school teacher or a Sunday school teacher. The same person had then gone on to explain that we can all ready ourselves for times when trouble is heading straight for us; when the mortgage has to be paid, or when the tax year comes to an end; when the politicians announced a war in some part of the world that the young Jack had never heard of before. Those things he could steel himself for. But then there were those things that came at him completely out of the blue. The day his father died was a glorious summer’s day. He hadn’t been ill, and no one was expecting it. That was the kind of thing that he could never prepare for. The cop who just died in the Land Rover was a henchman to one of the most feared men in the country; he was someone who should never have been in any danger. No one was that brave; at least no one sane was that brave.

  In the few moments of semi-consciousness before Jack’s brain allowed him to once again take control of his body, the last few minutes were replayed in his head. There were the two guards and there was the cop behind the wheel of the Land Rover. That was it. There was

  no one standing by
the roadside with a remote control. There wasn’t even an innocent little old lady walking her dog in the distance. The cop, the two guards and the dead cop; that was it. The orange flash and massive bang played over and over again. make sense of what happened it started to draw Suddenly the present day merged with the past. His mind took him back ten years to the failed attack outside the Northern Irish town of Banbridge. Cathal, an IRA man, and Jack were driving towards the town in a lorry containing a massive bomb when they encountered an army checkpoint...

  Ten Years Ago... All of the confidence drained from the old man’s face. At the last checkpoint there were other vehicles to provide cover; this time around they were alone.

  “Drive on,” Cathal instructed.

  “You are the boss.”

  Jack applied pressure to the accelerator and he worked his way up the gears. He kept his foot on the accelerator. One way or the other, that lorry was never going to make it past the checkpoint. 500 yards, 400 yards, 300, yards...

  “What the hell are you doing!” Cathal yelled.

  “I would be more concerned by what they are doing,” Jack said, as he nodded towards the men at the checkpoint. Four of the soldiers were aiming their weapons at the lorry. Cathal looked out of the front window with horror. That was Jack’s moment. He slipped the lorry out of gear, opened the door and rolled out. His head made a sickening cracking sound as it hit the ground. As consciousness faded Jack could hear the sound of automatic gunfire. Everything went black.

  As his mind tried to on past experiences. The same sickly confusion that he felt on that day had now returned to bite him hard on the ass. When the police Land Rover from the present replaced the lorry as it sped towards the checkpoint, that’s

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