Once upon a Spook (The Spooks series Book 1)

by Gary Tulley

  “I beg to differ Rogon on that one. Assuming that Conway had a case to answer, Granger would have been a prime witness for the prosecution wouldn’t he?” Slowly Rogon’s late interest began to filter through.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong Mike, but are you suggesting Granger’s murder was one of convenience? If you’re right, then we do have a motive which…”

  “If I happened to be a bookie,” Eastern interrupted. “I certainly wouldn’t want to lay odds against Conway not being involved. The analysis stinks to high hell!”

  When expressing his own view, Rogon found himself forced to concur. “When you look at it from that angle, the picture becomes that much clearer. In fact…” he went on. “I’ll liaise with Division to lay on a 24/7 update for us to consider. That is, until the initial investigation expires.” Equally satisfied that there was nothing more to gain, until specific information become available, the two switched their dual attention into constructing a covert letter. This, in turn, would set out explicit demands in exchange for shared SP. Namely, crucial evidence to support if necessary, a legal claim on the bearer. In this case, a certain Conway senior, alleging his participation in detail consists of acts of conspiracy coinciding with money laundering.

  It was also agreed that the said letter would be code signed ‘CAGE’, that being a euphemism extracted from their joint names. The claim would then be delivered by a courier company of repute, purely to avoid suspicion, and further addressed to a gentleman’s club that Conway was known to frequent. Working on the assumption that Conway senior could be guilty as charged, a question of contact came into play.

  “This could be a tricky one Mike; we need to contrive a working relationship with the man. But one that can’t be traced back to the system. What are your instincts telling you?”

  “Nothing really changes Rogon, we are agreed to let Conway do all the running by putting the onus on him. Together we have a set agenda and we need to see it through.” Without delving, Eastern sensed a wave of scepticism mounting up in Rogon’s direction, at his bluntness.

  “Why do I get an impending feeling of one way traffic where your concerned Mike? I can only presume you have something up your sleeve.” Grunting, Eastern acknowledged his perception.

  “I have as it happens, and, as theories go, I like to think that mine is fool proof… this is what I have in mind.” He went on to explain in detail his intended game plan to Rogon.

  “Harking on assumption once more, we could include in our letter an added rider that should he request a meet, on the grounds of a financial settlement to relinquish our demands for instance, that he then places an advert in the local ARGUS newspaper, preferably in the holiday and travel column under the heading:

  THE WEATHER IN ROME IS GOOD FOR THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, AND EVEN BETTER ON THE 26/04/2010 AT 3PM UNDER THE CLOCK INSIDE BRIGHTON MAIN LINE TERMINAL

  We then sit back and see what happens.”

  “The station, you don’t think it’s too open Mike do you? I’m thinking the intervention of Joe Public of course?” queried Rogon.

  Confidently putting his mind at rest, Eastern continued where he’d left off: “I’ve got no qualms about it at all Rogon, surveillance wise, the location in hindsight gives us an edge. Having said that, I wouldn’t trust that bastard as far as I could drop him.” He paused to allow a dormant thought to surface. “Besides, who’s to say he won’t use a plant anyway?”

  “And if he does, what then?”

  “We simply walk away. If we show face, he’ll misconstrue it as a form of weakness…it has to be Conway or nothing at all! Let’s not forget that we are calling the shots here, and given time it will prove to be his downfall.”

  “Right! I reckon that just about sums it up then Mike, the 26th you say? That gives us a week to set it all up. I suggest that you take some time out as well in the meantime I’ll run our conclusions past the PM’s secretary. As for me, I’ll continue to remain in touch…oh, there was one other thing.”

  “Go on.” He was hedging.

  “The guard they’re holding on the Terry Bryant murder. I’ve been informed that they’re getting close to obtaining a full blown confession out of him. If he sings then Conway won’t be applying for his pension anyway.” There and then their meeting was dissolved, leaving Eastern to his own designs

  Arriving back in the village, he didn’t hesitate to contact Joan. She assured him that she was fine, and would be staying on in Bloomsbury per se.

  Waiting for a kettle to boil over didn’t figure in Eastern’s make up. Before his head hit the pillow that night, his proactive mind had been alive swirling with plans of his own. Which also included enlisting the aid of DS Curtis.

  CHAPTER XVII…A ticket to nowhere

  Emerging from out of the shower cubicle, Eastern slipped into a warm towelling robe and made his way into the lounge. Stopping off at the ‘mini bar’ he busied himself by mixing a drink before making himself comfortable on an adjacent chaise longue. An arm’s length away, his leather clad ‘bible’ sat conveniently on a mall drinks table. Raising his glass in anticipation, he stopped short as the carriage clock on the mantle piece chimed 10am, causing him to grin. “I’ll drink to that.” He murmured and allowed a wave of satisfaction to wash over his heated frame before stating, “I could well get used to this Rogon. It’s called ‘getting a life!’ but you wouldn’t know about that. Would you? Cheers!”

  Thirty minutes and an additional Scotch later found him on the second call of the morning. “Jonnie?”

  “Hi Mike, good to hear from you, it’s been a while. I presume this is a social call?”

  “Yes and no mate! The way my life is panning out at the moment it’s anything you want it to be. More importantly, how are you coping with the state injected ‘holiday’?” It was a throwaway line, forcing Curtis into an induced cough.

  “Struggling as well you can imagine Mike, although I still get a cheque paid into my account every week. But you know me mate, I need to get busy. I should have known that the Conway case would have its complications. In retrospect, I should have asked for a posting, but that’s easy after the event. How about yourself?”

  In spite of their past camaraderie, Eastern reluctantly found himself forced to play down his present spooks image, and return to basics. “I’m still on the case as it were, but nothing too heavy you understand.” He then decided, for reasons of his own, to drop the Conway saga completely and move on. “Can I be frank Johnnie? I’m looking for a favour.”

  “Mike, for Fucksake! Where have you been all my life? Just name it. My existence at the moment extends to the nearest shopping mall and back. Right now I couldn’t even tell you what I did 10 minutes ago.” In ignorance, Curtis had inadvertently played into Eastern’s hands simply by misconstruing the word ‘favour’, to hopefully obtain covert SP relevant to the case. Eastern then made it quite clear as to his intentions, and the reason for his call.

  Curtis listened intently as he divulged a coordinated proposal, which would entail an undercover role on his part. As was expected, and bearing in mind his forced exodus, Curtis leapt at the chance to play a significant role alongside Eastern, in what the latter regarded as being a ‘personal matter’. In closing, it was made clear that location, times and dates would be verified 24 hours before his services were required.

  With the availability of time gifted to him, Eastern felt that the possibility of a clandestine meeting with his nemesis would be counter productive by leaving nothing to chance. Having refuelled his glass and consulted his ‘bible’, he lost no time in dialling a further beneficial number.

  “HQ…Desk Sgt Hayes…can I be of any assistance?”

  “I’d like to speak to your DCS Gleason, if it’s at all possible?”

  “If you can furnish me with your name sir, it may help your cause.” Came back the reply.

  Eastern bowed to ‘jobs worth’ and made himself known. A few minutes later and the right connection, the Sgt informed him “y
ou’re through Sir.” Using Major Travers as a reference, Eastern identified himself by supplying Gleason with an additional code name, enabling him clearance to pursue his intended conversation. Ten or so minutes later, a relieved Eastern was informed that a package containing certain information would be delivered to him later on that day by car.

  To the majority of people, the noise of a doorbell sounding off can at times be an irritant. In Eastern’s case it became a welcome reprieve. Mindful of the fact that he would require a form of ID, he opened his door and found himself confronted by what turned out to be a plain clothed DC, who handed over the desired package. Once indoors, he carefully removed the contents, which revealed a dozen or so photographs, consisting of various mug shots, and an accompanying letter.

  Without delving, it quickly became apparent that a percentage of the photos were marked with a distinguishing cross. Having digested the full contents of the package, he printed off a complete new set of the mug shots, and added a directive letter of his own design. Shortly afterwards, a revamped package could be found wending its way via a renowned courier company on to a designer destination.

  Relaxing and knowing how to utilise it is one thing, but boredom is as exclusive as can be, leaving Eastern to find out the hard way. Even the chance of taking a flying visit to London for the day out spent with Joan was dashed, purely by spooks dictating events on a daily basis. Finally the breakthrough he’d clamoured for reached boiling point, by emerging five days later, heralded by the hyped up voice of Rogon breaking the stalemate.

  “Yeah, it’s good news Mike, we have had a response at last so now we have to assume that Conway has taken the bait.” He went on to state that their proposed reply featured in the latest edition of the ARGUS. As a result, a car would be made available in an hour’s time to fetch him in for a detailed briefing and seal their intended plans on operation code named ‘CAGE’. A few hours later, a deflated Rogon expressed his own personal views on the outcome of their discussion. “I guess that just about sums it all up Mike. I’m pretty confident that we haven’t missed anything out, but if I have, now is the time to speak.”

  “That won’t be necessary Rogon, knowing that our house is in full order, the outcome rests solely in Conway’s corner.” The meeting was then adjourned per se, after further agreeing that Eastern would be acting as the decoy spokesman on the day. On the return journey back to the village, Eastern had a change of heart and asked to be dropped off in the vicinity of his old flat. Apart from the ongoing smell arising from the existing dampness, and the token grief from a door lock that had a life of its own, nothing it seemed, had really changed.

  His intentions once inside the bed sit were pre planned as he went about his routine in a business like manner. Disconnecting his landline, he rummaged through a mountain of personal demands and junk mail purely out of habit. Minutes later, and satisfied there was nothing to be gained for his trouble, he opened a small concealed wall safe and removed a cloth covered item. It was then slipped reverently inside his coat pocket. Seemingly at ease with himself, he gave a last lingering glance around the room. Turning the key in the lock, he left and made his way downstairs. Once outside, he shuddered involuntarily as a blast of cold air caught him out. Immediately opposite, the captivating odour of cooking issuing from the ‘OVERDONE RASHER’ wafted across the street, prompting him into making a snap decision.

  “Yeah, why not? It’s been a while, besides I could use a coffee.” The unmistakeable tones of the proprietor Benny Weismann, greeted him as he entered the café.

  “Hi Mike! It’s nice to see you…you’re getting to be a stranger already.”

  Ordering a coffee, Eastern let it be known that he’d been currently involved on a case which entailed working out of town, hence the lapse in custom. Eastern’s spontaneous appearance had now struck a memory nerve with Benny, making him eager to offload a pent up mystery. “…and so by now Mike, I’m thinking to myself, things ain’t kosher. In fact, that’s the second time this week that the ‘face’ comes in demanding questions about you. But don’t you worry my boy I always keep schtum. Besides, the ‘shmuck’ never spent a coin.”

  A recipe of concern added to a sudden adrenalin rush are not compatible with hot coffee it seems. Pushing his cup to one side, Eastern invited Weismann to describe the stranger to him as best he could. The most prominent observation being a scar above the left eye. Satisfied with the play back, Eastern was quick to extend his gratitude. “Thanks for the SP Benny, I owe you one. Knowing what I know now I’ll take a rain check on the coffee if you don’t mind.” Throwing a £10 note on the counter, he exclaimed “I’ll be in touch.” Turning on his heel, he left like a man bent on a mission.

  Five minutes later having secured a cab, he found himself back inside his flat poring over the mug shots that he’d previously copied. Moments later his body stiffened as one face in particular seemed to reach out and grab his attention. The knowing look engrained on his face spoke volumes. “Well, well. You’re even uglier than Rogon is, you sad bastard!” He said with conviction. “Now let’s see what your CV has to say, ah here we are. Lenny Robbins, age 39, career criminal…dozen or so convictions ranging from GBH to a get away driver.” The last reference caused him to start, as a past altercation came back to haunt him. “Yeah, it all fits. I reckon we’ve met before Mr Fucking Robbins, although the next time will be on my terms.”

  “Cometh the hour, cometh the man,” That is, if fate is led to be believed. In this particular case, the ‘man’ just happened to be assistant Chief Constable Conway. With less than 24 hours left to go prior to their alleged meet coming to fruition, Mike Eastern was fronting a tight rope schedule based on a war of nerves. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He would insist if challenged. “Not only that, but it gives a man an edge, and that’s the key.” He’d been expecting it for some time now so he wasn’t unduly concerned when the phone finally kicked off. It also reminded him that he had two calls of his own to pursue.

  “Rogon! What took you so long?”

  “You can blame Division for that Mike, but I can assure you that the wait is well worth it.” Temporarily, Eastern’s mind could be found lodged elsewhere, and it didn’t include a third party presence.

  “Division? We’ve got our own damn agenda, I don’t…” Rogon was forced to intervene and quickly dispelled any outside interest.

  “It’s our show and always has been, the reason I’m calling is there’s been a major breakthrough in locating the owner of the PIB. All thanks to Division, I have to say. Apparently, Reggie Greenford, as he was known, sold up some years ago and moved to Spain. In fact, shortly after the reign of protection racket existed.”

  “Are you now telling me that they’ve managed to track him down?” A short lull followed, implying to Eastern that Rogon could be hedging on something.”

  “It would appear.” He went on, “That our less than explicit editor was killed in a ‘sensitive’ hit and run accident 12 months after settling in. To make matters worse, the report stated that it was dark at the time and even worse that there were no witnessed. I’ll leave you to form your own conclusions on that score. Incidentally, he was succeeded by a daughter who is currently residing in Essex and, so I’m told, currently available for questioning for what it’s worth.”

  “Was there any motive attached to his death at the time?”

  “Not as such, although the Spanish police at one point suggested that blackmail could have been behind it. On investigation, Greenford’s bank account it seems went up and down like a flaming yoyo.”

  “Shit! It doesn’t get any better does it?” Eastern sounded off. “Conway’s even left a stink in Europe by the sound of it. That’s what comes of having the benefit of an offshore account. Somebody had a nice ‘sweetener’ and bloody untraceable in the bargain.” With priorities at the heart of the matter, Rogon had ensured that everything was in place from his end for the following day, since having top level clearance to proceed with their
join enterprise.

  Surprisingly enough, Eastern rejected a late offer to be ‘hot wired’ in the knowledge that Conway’s position and experience could, for some reasons unknown, possibly work against him. Having said that, he did leave Rogon with a later poser to grapple with, by admitting “I’ll be using a few ideas of my own on the day.”

  That evening, after showering, a subdued and mentally tired Eastern decided that cooking for one was a non starter and eventually settled for a curry takeaway and the promise of an early night.

  Just before retiring, he dealt with two outstanding calls. The first of which was brief to say the least, and apart from hello and goodbye, consisted of four words but each riddled with anticipation. The first call stated that ‘Rome is definitely burning.” The second call entailed a lengthy conversation with Joan, and finished on a high note. Not long after, any doubts he may have harboured as regards a sleepless night suitably vanished as his head collided with the pillow.

  They say ‘they’ being the operative word and for the majority of this case is that your initial instinct is generally the right one, and yet with pompous disregard, nobody had bothered to question his views on the subject - based purely on his exclusive maverick style when confronted with an explosive issue. The moment that he awoke the following morning, he felt an impending sense of foreboding. Without hesitation, the negative thought became a distant statistic. As he summed up its departure later, “To hell with it, don’t they know that I get off on that line of thinking?” would be his answer to all of his critics. “Besides, a problem only becomes a problem when you exasperate it. Personally, I much prefer the word challenge.” So here endeth the first lesson according to Mike Eastern.

  That apart, there was no way he could have forecast how many ‘lessons’ he would need to confront that same day as minute by minute, the huge central clock inside Brighton Station ticked mercilessly away, bent on an exclusive countdown, before climaxing into a pre-arranged meet between himself and his decadent nemesis Conway Senior. With less than an hour to go, Eastern’s mind and body leapfrogged from a sense of normality into one of reality. At least he was now reassigned to whatever lay in store and in the process, leaving Rogon as a mere spectator for once. Although in hindsight he did carry one nagging thought that in spite of his singular commitment, the latter would never stray far from the perimeter of a situation.