Portrait Of An Assassin - Richard Godwin

by Near To The Knuckle

  “And Lauren?”

  “Her too.”

  “What are you doing about it?”

  “We’re keeping them under surveillance. I’ll call you tomorrow with more information.”

  I went to bed and worried about Lauren.

  XVII

  It’s all about the line of communication. Military training. And if the line isn’t straight, people get hurt. Orders lack transparency and suddenly you’re in a shark pool, swimming through blood.

  Morris called the next morning.

  “We’re planning something that could take Hinch and Spengler out completely. They’re the only ones who know what you look like.”

  “And Lauren?”

  “We’re putting two men onto her first thing Monday morning. If anyone tries anything, they’ll deal with it.”

  I got to her flat at twelve o’clock. She opened the door in her dressing gown.

  “It’s a bit early,” she said.

  “Thought you might need a bit more help.”

  “You can open a few boxes while I have a bath, if you like.”

  “Show me which ones.”

  I spent the day with her and by the end of it, her flat was looking more homely.

  I wasn’t going to take any chances, so I sat outside all night. Just far enough away for my car to be invisible. I saw her lights go off just before midnight.

  At nine the next morning two guys turned up in a black Ford. I phoned Morris and gave him the reg number.

  “They’re our men.”

  “Tell me if they see anything.”

  As I drove back I began to feel a little easier about Lauren.

  I started to set a trap for Hinch.

  ***

  I figured he would head straight for her old flat.

  I had the keys, which I said I’d give to the estate agents for her.

  Tuesday evening I went round there with a few beers and some food. I put all the lights on and waited.

  It wasn’t long before a blue Volvo pull up outside. It stopped, then drove off.

  It turned at the end of the street, circled the flat, then disappeared.

  Five minutes later it returned. There were two guys sitting inside. One of them was talking on his mobile.

  A few minutes later, the phone rang at the flat.

  “Hello?”

  “Is Lauren there?”

  “Who?”

  “Lauren Smiles.”

  “Oh, you mean the last flat mate. No, this place has been re–let. She doesn’t live here anymore.”

  “Got a number for her?”

  “No sorry.”

  I hung up and watched as they waited outside.

  I phoned Morris on my mobile and gave him the car reg and a description.

  “We’ll get onto it,” he said.

  An hour later they drove off. I waited and then made my getaway.

  ***

  I saw Lauren again on the Wednesday.

  She called to ask for some help.

  “There are a few heavy things I need lifting.”

  I went round there and had supper with her.

  When I left, the two spooks were still outside. They were too obvious. I wondered when she would notice them, annoyed that Morris had sent a couple of monkeys.

  ***

  The next day he called. I hadn’t seen Hinch or been back to Lauren’s old flat since.

  I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to carry out a double hit on this assignment, one of them unpaid.

  “We’ve dealt with it,” Morris said.

  “How?”

  “The car you told us about. It was back at the address you gave us. They were seen breaking in and leaving. We had them followed, and a few hours later they drove off from the location where we had them under surveillance. The car detonated. Both dead.”

  “Good. What about the other matters?”

  “Spengler?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ongoing.”

  I knew he wouldn’t give up that easily, but at least one part of this was tidied up.

  The British government really wanted this guy, and they were spinning me a line.

  XVIII

  I figured it was competition.

  Spengler had muscled in on deals the government wanted.

  I used some of my Mafia contacts to get what information I needed.

  Spengler had worked alongside the government for years, pulling off big deals.

  Like all people who have their uses, he became an obstacle. Got greedy. Started setting up his own deals.

  He got contracts the government wanted and built a pretty big empire.

  Clarkson and Spengler were on the verge of building their own army. They obviously had plans. Spengler had bought up a lot of land with shooting rights, enclosed spaces where he could train his men. Meanwhile, Clarkson was recruiting a lot of ex–military personnel, mercenaries with a good track record of killing.

  Morris had been with the secret service for decades.

  Behind him was a much more shadowy figure who was proving harder to identify.

  I knew there was someone powerful behind the orders and I needed to know who, if I was to feel this job was truly put to bed.

  The hook they’d put out for me led right along the line back to him, and it was his hand that was holding it.

  I called Martoni and he helped out.

  When he came back to me with the information I wanted, it confirmed everything I suspected.

  “The man giving the orders is very well connected, very high up, Jack,” he said.

  “Who is it?”

  “Your defense secretary, Alan Klein.”

  “That figures. Thank you.”

  I knew a puppet master had his hand up Morris’ arse, and now I knew who it was.

  Klein had almost lost the promotion he’d worked all his political career for because of his obsession with building up Britain’s nuclear arsenal.

  One of his rivals pulled out of the race unexpectedly, followed by a well–publicised sex scandal.

  He saw off the opponents and toned down his rhetoric once he was in, disguising his plan amidst well–massaged and confusing economic figures. He also gave the most generous tax–breaks to Middle England for decades, which went down well, and converted his image from that of a fanatic to a benevolent uncle.

  He had never stopped pursuing his goal and crossed legal lines in the pursuit of nuclear weapons.

  He’d known Spengler from his time in the City, and started up business dealings with him again. Then came the crunch.

  They were both after the same deals, and Klein didn’t like it.

  Still, they carried on dealing. Klein’s greed got the better of him when Spengler approached him over Syria. He got close to Clarkson on the deal. And of course Spengler and Clarkson got to know too much about Klein.

  Once he’d stashed his cash, he wanted Spengler and Clarkson taken out of circulation. It seems the files I’d got hold of were more important than the hit. Klein wanted his reputation intact when he retired.

  The money from my job came through and I banked one and a half mill.

  I stashed it in the Cayman Islands and got back to work.

  ***

  Late one Saturday night Lauren called.

  “You know you asked me about noticing anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it may be nothing, but there are these two guys I keep seeing. I think they’re following me.”

  “I’ll come straight round.”

  It was almost midnight when I parked in aside road near Lauren”s. As I walked to her flat I noticed the two spooks.

  Lauren was looking edgy.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said.

  “That’s nice to know.”

  “I shouldn’t have called you.”

  “Who are these guys? Can you give me a description?”

  “Not really. They’re kind of nondescript. But I’ve noticed them hang
ing around. When I went out this morning I saw one of them, and when I came back this evening I saw the other one walking after me.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “One of them is kind of burly.”

  “That’s it? They threatened you?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Look out the window. They’re there right now.” I peered from behind the curtain. “Black Ford. See it?”

  “Yeah. I see it.”

  Typical MI5 monkeys.

  “Who are they?”

  I shrugged.

  “Could be nothing. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it for you.”

  “You’re good at dealing with things, aren’t you? Who are you Lawrence?”

  “A friend, that’s all.”

  “Sure you’re nothing more?”

  “I could do with a drink.”

  “I thought you were going to take me out to dinner again.”

  “You tell me when.”

  “I start the new job in two days. I’ve been in to meet them, and they seem really nice. I think I’m going to enjoy working there.”

  “How about tomorrow night?”

  “Dinner? Yes. I’ve only got vodka.”

  “Vodka’s fine.”

  She was holding back, but I knew she wanted me to level with her.

  “You think they’re dangerous?”

  “Probably not. But as I say, I’ll get rid of them.”

  She gave me that look again.

  “Well, I don’t know what I’d do without you right now, Lawrence, even if…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but my life has changed so much in the last couple of weeks since I met you, all in the right direction, you know I wanted out of Global Nexus, especially after what happened, but it’s just what with being followed and moving, I feel like someone in one of those government Protection Programmes. My friends are all like ‘what’?”

  “I know.”

  “I was going to take a bath, but this got me a little freaked out.”

  “Why don’t you have one now, while I’m here?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Go ahead.”

  While she was out of the room, I called Morris on his private mobile.

  I was going to give him the run–around, see what he let slip. Also, I didn’t want Lauren knowing she was being watched.

  “I need you to move the two guys and replace them by the morning.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re no good. And make the next two more discreet.”

  I heard him sigh.

  “Very well.”

  She looked tired after her bath and I suggested she get some sleep.

  “I think I will. Thanks for coming round.” As I was putting my coat on she said, “The sofa’s very comfortable.”

  “If it makes you feel better. And don’t worry, those guys’ll be gone tomorrow.”

  She didn’t emerge again until nine thirty. When she did, I’d already seen the black Ford drive off, to be replaced by a grey Lexus now parked at the other end of the road.

  I had some breakfast with her and left.

  ***

  I spoke to Morris when I got back.

  “I need to know how you’re progressing with Spengler.”

  “I said I’d tell you.”

  “This isn’t moving fast enough.”

  “Look, this isn’t centred on Lauren Smiles.”

  “Either you fill me in or deal with him.”

  “We’re almost there.”

  “You don’t want this being exposed.”

  A moment’s silence echoed down the line.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t let an innocent party blow it for you.”

  “Two new men started this morning.”

  I would give him a few more days and in the meantime continue my own investigation.

  Reconnaissance and sabotage helped me out like two old friends.

  ***

  Martoni fed me some more information.

  “Klein’s a real son of a bitch. Turns out he’s been laundering money through British government accounts, and they know.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “He’s very good at implicating other people. They can’t get rid of him by regular methods because they would all look involved. He’s close to Morris. They go way back. And Morris, although not the most senior of secret service personnel, has a lot of strings to his bow. He’s good at hustling. Plays down his talents. I’ll send you the information through. That’s your plot, Jack.”

  “Thanks, Luca. “

  “Well, good luck. Don’t get killed, we need you. I’ll be in touch.”

  Martini’s information gave me everything I needed.

  Morris’s career was more interesting than I realised. He’d moved between MI6 and GCHQ. An expert in counter–surveillance, he’d served in the navy and been behind some of the biggest espionage operations since the cold war. He and Klein had been involved in a lot of business together.

  Publicly, Klein was just another politician. Privately, he had a cocaine habit and a love of race horses. His wife was a big spender who had never been satisfied with his salary. His lifestyle suggested he was getting something on the side and had been for years: holidays in the South of France, villas in Spain and Italy.

  He was nearing retirement and complaining to friends that he’d worked for years with little to show for it. His wife screwed young men, paid for them, and spent his money, telling him she could have done so much better if she’d married someone else. She was some ex–model whose career had died at twenty, who liked a bit of rough and kept him guessing.

  Klein regularly hung out the washing, and Morris was his cleaner. They had a cosy outfit going, and the taxpayer paid the commission on any shortfall.

  I was sick of the hall of mirrors: them watching me watching them. I started laying traps.

  I decided it was time they settled their account.

  ***

  Lauren was enjoying her new job.

  When I saw her she looked happy and relaxed.

  I asked her how things were.

  “Great. Good boss, a woman, which is a welcome relief from roving eyes and hands. Interesting work. Where are we going?”

  “A French place near here. That okay?”

  “Sure. I’m ravenous. It’s good to see you, Lawrence mystery man.”

  I knew she was curious to find out more about me, and appreciated the fact that she was not pressing me. The few questions she’d asked, I’d dodged.

  We had a relaxed dinner and I asked if she’d seen any more suspicious people.

  “No. I’d forgotten about it. What did you do?”

  “I just warned them off.”

  “Mm.”

  I changed the subject.

  We talked about her work and her friends.

  “They all love the new place and are dying to meet you.”

  “Oh?”

  “You can imagine. New guy takes me out of my old life, puts me in new flat new job.”

  “When you worked for Spengler–.”

  “Now, why am I not surprised his name’s come up? Yes?”

  “Did you ever get to know any of his closest business colleagues?”

  “Some. Who are you thinking about?”

  “Does the name Klein ring a bell?”

  She thought for a moment.

  “No. Is he important?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  It was good that she hadn’t had dealings with him.

  Back at her flat I could see she was tired. After a drink I left.

  “See you soon,” she said at the door and gave me a lingering kiss.

  “I’ll call you.”

  ***

  So long as they didn’t know I was onto them, I was safe.

  One eye on the monkeys, one eye on Lauren, I knew I was going to have to juggle hits while I crawled through the barbed wire.
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  I was about to carry out a few quick hits rapid as gunfire.

  And then the biggest one of all.

  No good sitting around drawing attention to myself. I didn’t want them guessing.

  Just yet.

  XIX

  I figured Martoni would make contact and he did.

  “I have an assignment for you. Urgent,” was all he said when the call came through.

  He was staying at Coleridge’s and I met him at his suite.

  “We need you to carry this one out, Jack,” he said.

  When I opened the file, I almost dropped the photographs.

  Staring back at me was an actor I’d seen countless times on screen.

  “Are you serious? Marcus O’Neill?”

  “I do not joke, my friend.” He paused, knowing I needed more information. “There are many things people do not know, many things that go on behind public lines. Before you see the photograph of a much loved, lauded actor, behind the scenes there is a very different story. There is a lot of information in the file. Read through it.”

  “Fill me in a little more.”

  “He has offended certain friends who have contacted us for a favour.”

  “Offended how?”

  “The man may be a good actor, for sure. I too have seen him and enjoyed his work, but like many of his kind, old age is something that causes them problems, their masculinity, their sudden lack of desirability among the female population, shall we say, grates on their egos.”

  “So?”

  “This particular man has a big problem.”

  “Look, many old men find it hard to age, they...”

  “What he has done, Jack, is use his status to set up a meeting with a young actress, a girl. Fourteen. He lured her to his hotel room and then forced her to have sex with him.”

  “He raped a minor, and for that he should go to prison. Why don’t the family contact the police?”

  “With his Hollywood connections it wouldn’t go anywhere, and he knows it. The girl is traumatised, the family have been violated.”