Backlash

by Jack L. Pyke

Martin glanced over. “Kidon? That some sort of Israeli cologne?”

  “You missed the military connection.”

  Martin frowned.

  “Oh.” Now Kes was interested “And just what would you know about Kidon, Mr Raoul?”

  Gray stayed on Martin. “Specialist department within Mossad itself, drawn from a military background, apparently. Our guest here isn’t interested in collecting the information gained on Mossad agents; he’s out to silence the double agents, as he was all those years ago. You were the buyer back then?” He paused. “The Bhasin case, when he predicted cells would migrate.... He’d seen you. It’s why he was so eager to leave. It’s why those Al-Qaeda cells have migrated over the past year....” He looked at Kes. “They got nervous hearing a Kidon agent was back on English shore.”

  “An official Mossad assassin given licence to hunt on British soil.” Martin leaned forward. “Now I’m impressed.” He looked over at Gray, back at Kes, down his body. “Your gun bigger than his? Can I lick it and see?” Then he frowned. “Question.”

  He won Kes’s attention.

  “We’re talking, what? Over twelve years here, right?” said Martin. “Why didn’t whoever paid for this bollocks give me a kick up the ass back then?”

  “Martin,” said Gray.

  “Here,” came the grinned reply, then Martin seemed to catch on. “Oh.... Jack wasn’t home back then, I was. The prats here that night would have mostly heard me say Martin with Mase.” He chuckled a little. “All those years... you’d have been looking for Martin. Well... until someone finally wised up.”

  “Hmm,” said Kes to Gray. “You have me at the duh-duh-disadvantage, Mr Raoul. I would really love to learn how many other cullers roam British soil... who calls them out... whether they are military-led and tied to MI6.”

  “Would it make you sleep any easier?” said Gray.

  Kes smiled. “Would force persuade you?”

  “Possibly. You have him at gunpoint.” Gray leaned back against the wall and folded his arms.

  Martin sniffed. “Possibly? Well hear the bastard in that. He’d allow poor Jack to be shot first before he’d divulge secrets.”

  “Business,” said Kes. “Mr Raoul knows you’d be shot today if I pushed for the name of his organisation. Although with Mr Raoul’s military history, the assumption is there that they are the UK’s equivalent to Kidon. Nobody knows, or is prepared to... divulge. So with you here? Mr Raoul’s conscience would survive eventually. But if it were Jack...” Gray got a nod. “Which is why he knows I can ask but he won’t be forced to answer. You’re not Jack, even though I really wuh-wish you were now.”

  “Huh. You used me as insurance so he wouldn’t push about your other... extracurricular activities.” Martin’s hand went to his chest. “Gutted, Gray. Fucking gutted. See me after school. Bring the cane. Maybe the horse twitch.” He eyed Gray up and down. “Definitely the horse twitch.”

  Gray tensed slightly as Kes pulled out an envelope. “Damage limitation between departments,” he said to Gray. “This is the name of the so-called Funder behind Mr Harrison’s and Mr Richards’ behavioural treatment. The man who gave me the intelligence regarding who Martin was and then was... persuaded to hire my specialist services. Also where he and the young garage mechanic will be once we are finished here. Little consolation knowing I arranged how they would be broken, but enough to give you something for the hurt done, and to satisfy a bruised British ego.” He put the envelope on the table. “I get a code, you don’t get me, but you do get this and Mr Harrison’s young mechanic.”

  “Unharmed.”

  “Shaken,” said Kes. “This is business, nothing personal.”

  “Nothing personal,” said Gray.

  “Erm.” Martin raised a hand. “Getting personal here... what’s in this for me?”

  “What would be your terms?” asked Kes.

  “Shoot her.” He shifted his head in Gray’s direction. “Please. I’ve tried stabbing, keeping Jack hostage, letting him see Jack fuck other people... I’m really running out of options here. I can add a real sweet please into that afterwards if you do. No dogs, I’ll just make sure Jack sucks you off real sweet.” He pulled a worried frown. “Unless you prefer the dog?”

  Kes watched Martin for a moment, then moved over to Gray. Martin raised both hands. “Talking here.”

  “Have fun with the Funder, Mr Raoul.” He stopped by Gray. “Mr Harrison speaks the codes, I’ll know if he’s lying.” He pulled out a smartphone and held it up, the suggestion clear that he no doubt had access to MI5’s Durbar database and the names and addresses that would come with Martin’s intel. “I’ll kill him if that’s the case. But he gives the right codes, you’re free to leave. Don’t ever cross my path again. I will kill you, mostly for petting a whore like that. Oh, and five minutes left.”

  “Nos da,” said Gray, not looking at him.

  Kes frowned, then Gray waited for him to leave. It suggested the room was bugged, but also that Kes was serious about letting them walk away.

  “What a rush,” said Martin, running a bloodied hand through his hair. “Can we do it again, naked? I’d really like to get fucking naked now. Fuck knows you’re feeling the frustration with not being able to fuck that over, right?”

  “Codes.” Gray kept an eye on his firearm on the floor. “Now would be a good time to remember it.”

  Martin gave a stretch, winced and grabbed at his arm, then levelled his gaze. “You’re wearing them, gorgeous.”

  Gray frowned and Martin let that smirk creep up. He came over and Gray shoved his hands away as he reached up to Gray’s neck.

  “Easy, princess.” Martin came back in close, his breath brushing the curve of Gray’s throat as he let his fingers trace up to Gray’s neck.

  “Thanks for keeping it safe for me.” A kiss came at Gray’s throat and he felt Jack’s black rope necklace shift.

  Martin eased away in the next breath and played the rope through his fingers until he came to the silver cross. “Thought it was important to Jack. Found it wrapped my throat often enough.” There was a shimmer of a smile, albeit a sad one. “Italian design. Always was big on family.”

  He pushed at the black cross that sat on the top of the larger silver one and a click came as the black one slid over to the side.

  Gray nearly groaned as Martin pulled out a thin roll of inch-long paper. All those years ago... the fight in the alley with Jack—the night Jack had lost the necklace during the fight with him, just who had gone back a few days later, looking so determined to find it? Had it been Jack scrambling around in the darkness for it? Martin...? A mixture of both?

  Did it even matter anymore? Other than Martin knowing he could have given Gray these codes in the beginning, nothing else mattered.

  Martin unfolded the paper. “Don’t take it personally, princess,” he said, that smirk still there. “I wanted to see who came out to play, too, let you measure dick lengths, so to speak.” He read out all of the codes, which no doubt covered the missing two, then he turned to the window, necklace dangling through his fingers like a Rosary, his arms wide open, and waited.

  Then was made to wait a whole lot longer. Kes needed time to find the codes on MI5’s database, and he knew the order to close it down could only come from Gray.

  “Like to make a point, these lot, don’t they?” said Martin, and the moment he finished...

  The sniper lasers flicked off.

  Martin looked down, then back over his shoulder. “None of you Intelligence ops want to risk getting dirty today.” But as he went to take the envelope off the table, Gray stopped him and took the list away.

  “That wasn’t meant for you. Neither is the necklace.”

  Martin came in close, all play dropped from his eyes as Gray took both off him. “It works both ways now. You can’t move twenty feet without my shadow fucking yours. So you just carry on rolling over for a petting so I can get my hands on this so-called fucking Funder.”

  Saying noth
ing, Gray picked up his gun and checked Martin’s arm. Satisfied it was only superficial, from a good shooter, he turned away and pulled out his mobile. The necklace was given a safe place back around his neck. It was his now, so was Jack, and he made that clear enough to Martin.

  Andrews spoke first on the phone. “Mossad? I saw him enter.”

  “Kidon. Get MI5’s database shut down. He has access.”

  “Fuck, shit,” said Andrews, and Gray heard him fumble for something. “Since when did the UK become their playground?”

  “Since a few MI6 ops started selling on intel about other Intelligence Agencies, including Mossad. Get the following two codes over to MI6, and if they’re still alive, get the two MI6 ops into protective custody. Kes will be moving quick to get the job done and get out of the country. Let the director-general know one has been passing on intel. I’d like to know who.” Gray gave him the MI6 codes, then opened the envelope. He recognised the address printed across it and was more than aware it could be a setup. He read the address to Andrews as he made it outside. “A development area for the Thames Tideway Scheme. It’s a storage-and-transfer sewerage tunnel that’s still under construction beneath the Thames. There’ll be construction access points.” Gray didn’t need to check that Martin followed, just held the door open to his Merc for him to get in. After he climbed into the driver’s side, he thumbed a switch that would distort any listening device. “Recon the sewerage tunnel, look for explosives, cameras. Two men should be there. If the area is clear, the Caucasian teenager with blond spiked hair is to be taken back to home. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “Let me know when the area is clean. And is the database down?”

  “I sent the code via beeper. It’s being taken offline, but it takes time.”

  “Just get it shut down and kept down until we find out how Kes got access via his smartphone.” After getting off the phone to Andrews, he put a call through to Rachel, needing some specific paperwork filed through for both him and Andrews. Andrews was to get his first.

  Martin snorted. “Aww, you need a safety blanket to suck on whilst they make it safe for you too? If not a blanket, I can think of something your mouth could take comfort with, now Kes has let you suck his.”

  Gray shifted into gear, ignoring Martin. Kes would have killed Martin easily enough, but he’d been stuck behind as much red tape as Gray had when it came to handling a director of G-Branch. Which is why Gray very much doubted there’d be any explosives; it was too overt for Kes, but that wasn’t saying other accidents couldn’t occur along the way.

  Chapter 39

  The Funder

  Gray arranged for an unmarked car to be left in Milton Road, not far from Acton Central. It had taken time to get there, giving his MI5 contact in Acton time to get what Gray needed. Acton itself was an area of west London, situated in the wider London Borough of Ealing. It was also the planned starting point for the Thames Tideway Scheme, running west through to Abbey Mills in the east.

  The main tunnel extended from Acton Storm Tanks, already working as a Thames water pumping station and storm water tanks site. The option should have been there to take Martin back, but with the main tunnel connected to a working flush system, the potential threat for an accident was... calculable, making getting there the priority.

  From the boot of the car, out of sight of the row of houses, he pulled out two red sewerage suits. They came with working gloves and full-face protective masks, enough to look the job and give Gray all the anonymity he needed. After slipping off his jacket and putting it in the boot, he eased into the suit.

  Martin watched, that smirk to his face. “I found your no-go area with kink.” He picked up the other suit. “No scat-play, according to that level of protection.”

  Gray ignored him as he pulled on his gloves. The protective boots would be needed when they got to the site. The gun he kept close, and Martin’s constant look up and down his body wasn’t anything sexual, just an attempt to find out where he kept the secondary device to the electronic tagging. And no doubt which pocket he also kept his Merc keys in. He turned away slightly.

  “You have serious trust issues.” Martin zipped up his suit, making it slow and with a lowered gaze that said Did I upset you at some point, princess?

  Gray kicked at the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel. The Merc had been pulled up close to Martin’s left, and Gray forced him down, his cheek now just inches from the back exhaust still simmering with heat.

  “Remember, you follow my lead.” Gray pushed him a little closer, forcing Martin to try and push back from the hot exhaust pipe. “For all your mouth and intelligence.” Gray came down close to his ear, “you have none of Jack’s skill when it comes to fighting me.”

  He pushed him away, closed the boot, and got in the unmarked car.

  Martin followed a moment later, rubbing at his cheek. “What,” he said as he got in. “Still no shafting after a fuck-over like that?”

  Gray looked him up and down. “Seatbelt. It’s the law now.”

  Martin gave a half smile. “You use it when it suits, huh? That law shit?”

  Gray shifted into gear. “Sometimes.”

  From Cobbold Road, Gray took a right onto Warple Way and found his way onto Acton Pumping Station. Residential homes and industrial units could be seen in the distance, but the site itself was nothing compared to the stench. The small blue and white plaque apologising for anyone “...experiencing odour” from the pumping station didn’t quite do the scent any justice either.

  “Romantic.” Martin wrinkled his nose. “Those work boots are big in the boot, yeah? I mean, if you’re getting me deeper into the shit, I at least want work boots big enough to measure the depth.”

  Gray looked at his watch, keeping an eye on the workplace and the men and women coming out and getting ready for lunch.

  “I really hope they wash their hands.”

  Gray snorted. That almost sounded like Jack. Almost. It had taken them two hours, via the stop point and wait for the car, to get here. Andrews should already be knee-deep. Gray hadn’t wanted the commotion with extra agents on site but understood that Andrews would have called in help. It would have been help from close... friends, the sort to not question why one man would be left and another taken from a field job, and that was fine by him.

  His mobile phone made itself known, and Gray unzipped his suit to get it out of his shirt pocket.

  “Tunnel and surrounding area clear of potential threat. I’m bringing out the boy.”

  Andrews. Gray pulled up the schematics of the site. The unmarked car came plain enough, but it had MI5 mod cons. “Is the boy okay?”

  “Shaken, naked, but he’s adamant that he wasn’t touched.”

  “How far in did you find him?”

  “Construction had been stopped on the new Thames Tideway tunnel,” said Andrews. “They were about half a mile in, the second still is. I’ve given management warning to make sure the tunnel is kept clear whilst it’s inspected further.”

  Gray studied the layout and found an access point from one of the existing combined sewerage overflow tunnels. It was a work shaft that would keep them away from the sewerage tanks but would allow them to get close enough to the half-mile point.

  “Make sure we’re not stopped,” said Gray as he pushed out of the car, the hood of his suit covering his face. He sent over details of the access points they’d be using.

  “Department of Social and Environmental Health Research papers have been issued. They know you’re due on site.”

  Rachel knew what cords to pull, and when. “Good. Get the boy back to Thames House home, give him a debrief, then take him to mine. You won’t be allowed on site until I’m there, so wait with him by security.”

  “Understood.”

  “Any news on our MI6 ops?”

  “One found. Reports coming in says he is clear. The second, female, left for dinner but never showed up.”

  “If Kidon has her, we’re
looking for a body. Run stops at Gatwick and other airports. Get her picture out.”

  “Grantham’s on it, sir.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  Martin appeared next to him, and after Gray pulled on his protective boots, Martin followed suit, also making sure his full protective face-mask was on.

  He’d fallen quiet now, but so too had Gray. What lay in the tunnel had been too long in coming.

  Even the new construction tunnel had every hallmark of being under development... cables running underfoot, scaffolding kept up here and there to offer extra support joints to the brand new circular concrete works, and the stench from the existing tunnels that still seeped through the walls. More money and so-called class, they still smelt the same as the man who lived on the council estate, but this is where they’d hid the connection since 1858, when an open sewage system had forced MPs out of the Houses of Parliament, with delicate handkerchiefs held up to their noses to escape the clash of the classes via their asses.

  Dust particles glinted in the beams of their helmet lights. They’d made it out of the workway into the main tunnel fifteen minutes ago, and the long walk now was dark, dank, and eerily quiet; sometimes intercepted with a low rumble of traffic over the manholes. Any other tunnel, the slow trickle of rainwater would run into a thicker sludge now, and flushers would be down here trying to sort out what humanity could force down into the toilet: nappies, nylon tights, mobile phones... the bullets would be cleaned and sent over to the Met. They had yet to find any alligators, though.

  A slight curve came ahead, and in the distance, a sniff filtered through, as though someone was crying but trying to hide it.

  Martin went to push ahead, but Gray pulled him behind as they rounded the bend.

  The man who knelt facing the curve of the tunnel wall was dressed in a light grey Westwood suit, hands held out wide. Feet were bare: no shoes, no socks, and both marked Andrews’ typical trademarks. Debris would cut into the pads of the feet, leaving traceable blood specs to follow if the subject tried to escape. So no shoes, no socks, but the snivelling suggested something had also been whispered in the man’s ear that scared him enough to keep his arms out wide long after Andrews had left. Or perhaps since Kes had left. The suit, although a fine class, was days’ old and full of grime and tears.