Once upon a Spook (The Spooks series Book 1)

by Gary Tulley

  Alighting from the bus outside the Station became the easy part. In contrast the minute he entered the main terminal, a massive surge of adrenalin boosted a natural flow of expectancy. Basic instincts then took over, as he decided to head for a mobile refreshment stand, suitably adjacent to the central clock. In spite of having the percentage advantage of cover, he sensed a feeling that a thousand pairs of eyes were boring directly into his back.

  Aware that it was only still 2.45pm, he noted that the main terminal was exceptionally busy for the time of day. Not that it was of any consequence on his part. The only interest surrounding him lay in the path of one person. He felt his throat tighten up in anticipation causing his mouth to run dry. With time on his hands, he ordered a coffee before deciding to make his first move. Although his vantage point allowed him the benefit of a clear view, it was only made possible when a break occurred due to the thronging crowds of would be commuters. In the event there was no evidence to suggest that as yet, his covert offer had been taken seriously.

  At least he had the added advantage of recognition, should Conway decide to play ball, by having first hand knowledge of the man overall. As opposed to the latter attempting to do business with a complete and utter stranger…or so he thought! Minutes later Eastern’s body stiffened and he appeared to be distracted. Slowly lowering his coffee cup, he allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch into the first phase of a smile, tinged with relief. No! He hadn’t made a mistake, although it took a double take to satisfy himself. He could just make out the figure of a man, notably holding a newspaper under his arm, while standing directly underneath the shadow of the clock.

  “Could well be I’m in business at last,” was his initial feeling. Discarding his coffee, he took a leisurely stroll toward the lone figure. In no time at all, he realised that his assumption regarding Conway’s participation was now flawed, owing to the fact that the alleged stranger was none other than the getaway driver who’d previously made an unsuccessful attempt to run him down. Luckily for Eastern, the only eye contact between the two had been made on his own behalf. Forcing himself to make a snap decision, his reaction was short and swift, turning on his heel he strode away from the scene to regain his composure, at the same time grabbing himself some all important thinking time.

  According to the clock, he only had three minutes left, in which to form a genuine conclusion. With so many possible scenarios flying around in his head at one time, his pumped up brain needed to click into overtime. Foremost on his mind would be to make a decision based on contact. The chances being, that the situation could well formulate into a catch 22 situation. In so much as he would be damned into fulfilling the meet with the obvious decoy and therefore literally blowing his cover. Or, at worst, damned if he reneged on the deal anyway, fearing that it would show a sign of weakness on his part.

  “Fucksake! It was never intended to turn out this way!” He cursed, and rebuked himself for undermining Conway’s art of deception by backing him into a corner and forcing him to put his neck on the line. In the end, it was a case of put up or shut up, as Eastern suddenly halted in his tracks. “I’ve never yet walked away from a situation that spelled grief.” He told himself through gritted teeth. “And I don’t intend to start now!” This was now Eastern at his best by wallowing in a scenario he felt comfortable in. Any paid up shares he may have invested with sensibility in mind, became instantly devalued.

  Grim faced, he turned on his heel and headed for the clock, while facing the prospect of an unconventional date with a decoy. At the very last moment, he veered off course, deciding that he’d approach Conway’s whipping boy form behind, to gain an element of surprise. Given the situation, you could almost excuse Eastern for his well mannered diplomacy as he tapped the figure on the shoulder. “Excuse me…were you expecting to meet somebody here?” He enquired. Completely caught off balance, the man swung round to confront him. A look of utter disbelief etched his face as recognition set in. As auditions go, his effort was deemed to be brief as the exist doors closed tight behind him.

  “You?...you…but!”

  Capitalising on his strategic move, Eastern was swift to put him out of his misery. “Yeah, guess who? You arsehole. I’m the last person you expected to see, not that it’ll do you any favours of course. You’re getting a bit of a bad habit fucking things up just lately.” Leaning forward Eastern then spoke low and meaningfully into the traumatised man’s ear. “I happen to know that you’re on Conway’s payroll, which makes you a long time loser. You should know that the guy doesn’t give a toss what happens to you. For once in your shit life do the right thing and expose the arrogant bastard for what he is. Whatever way you look at it, I think you need to brush up on your dominoes. I’m told that Bellmarsh are looking for new members at the moment…know what I mean?”

  Pent up retaliation then broke surface, leaving his aggressor to reply with a verbal backlash of his own. “You’re all mouth Eastern.” The man retorted. “I should have taken you out the last time we met. You haven’t got a clue as to what’s going down and who you’re dealing with. You’re way out of your league. Take my advice, do yourself a favour by walking away while you’re still breathing.” The last thing he wanted at this stage was to make a scene, and Eastern was aware that their confrontation was beginning to get heated. Foremost on his mind meant cutting his losses by forcing a closure of some kind. Unfortunately, the hood had unexpected ideas of a rather more drastic scenario.

  Without any warning, the sudden sensation emerging from the snub end of a revolver made contact with his ribcage causing him to gasp. “I should have known better you fucking freak. The newspaper! You obviously didn’t buy it to read. I presume there’s a shooter hidden in there.”

  “You’d better start believing it Eastern, and I’m well paid for using it. From now on, you do as I say, got it?” Convinced that his oppressor meant business, and the chance that the public might be exposed to danger left Eastern with no choice but to go along with his demands. Just then, his gaze was averted as he glanced over the hood’s shoulder. He made out the sight of a man in full flight, weaving his way through a horde of people in his direction, intent on catching a belated train or so Eastern imagined. At the last moment, the impulsive commuter veered directly into the gunman’s side, catching him totally unawares. The sudden impact in turn, jolted the firearm from his possession, and left it spinning harmlessly on the ground. Eastern immediately kicked the offending weapon safely to one side. With no fight left in him, the hood offered little resistance making it easy for Eastern to overpower him. Meanwhile, the alleged commuter recovered the firearm by way of a handkerchief and turned to confront a much relieved Eastern. From the off, it became obvious that the two shared more than a chance meeting. “Thanks Johnnie, I was beginning to wonder where the hell you had got to. Mind you, you’re timing wasn’t all that bad mate. I owe you one.”

  “I’ll keep you to that, Mike.” DS Curtis replied emphatically. “But you did say to keep a low profile as I recall. It was only when I spotted the newspaper that I realised the arsehole couldn’t have been a crossword fan…know what I mean?”

  “Yeah right, never off the case eh? Listen, you’d better get on your toes, the railway plod are on their way over…I’ll contact you tonight and thanks again.”

  The best part of an hour later, was spent recycling Police protocol at Division. Soon after, Eastern took advantage of a lift home with Traffic patrol. Minutes before climbing into the squad car, the sudden appearance of CS Gleason venturing across to him later gave rise to mutual concern. Gleason was clearly rehearsed on Eastern’s presence, by leaving a nasty little taste in his mouth when expressing his views on the outcome of the station incident per se. It wasn’t what he suggested but the manner in which it were implied that ignited a dormant cell of doubt to reappear should the man’s integrity come under scrutiny.

  “Eastern! You’re getting to be a bad habit just lately. They tell me that this latest involvement is the sec
ond life threatening assault in as many weeks.” Pausing for a brief moment as if to select his words in summing up, he continued in a sardonic manner. “It makes me wonder just how lucky can a man get, considering the facts. I would need to take heed if it was me, should a third attempt rise.”

  Eastern was nobody’s fool, and prided himself on his perceptivity. This had now left him convinced, that their spontaneous conversation was far from being kosher. On the journey back to the village, his congested mind became reluctant to let the matter drop. Once indoors and with the uplifting benefit from his first Scotch of the day, he allowed his recharged brain to trigger off a series of alarming facts consistent with the car park incident at Division. “Fact one, how would he driver of the vehicle have possibly known that I was going to be there at that time? Fact two, he would have needed to have been aware prior to my arrival and likely directed from a third party source. Fact three, the only person who could have known my movements had to be CS Gleason, whom I’d spent a good hour with when discussing certain aspects of the case.”

  Based on a whim and a reference, (he reminded himself of the past conversation that he’d had with Joan’s step father), in his eyes Gleason came across as being untouchable and a credit to the uniform. Conclusion: “If my judgement holds any substance, I could well be forced into asking myself that just maybe, the person who has remained our enigma for so long, our ‘Mr Big’ has been genuinely lurking in the background all this time, and myself and others haven’t been aware.”

  For his part Eastern wasn’t buying Major Travers’ version, experience had taught him otherwise. And on balance, when provided with the facts, like it or not Gleason’s involvement in a would be conspiracy held water. His case only got better with each mouthful of Scotch, as he surveyed the theory of a Conway and Gleason double act. “At least now I’ve got something of interest to throw at Rogon when I phone him later to explain how the meet panned out.”

  If, as they say, ‘news travels fast’ then Rogon must have been sitting in the next room exploring his comments. Minutes later and full of expectancy, he gently lifted the phone. All bets were void as the cutting tones of Rogon claimed his air space. “Before you attempt to explain away, what could have resulted in a major situation with far reaching consequences…” Eastern had heard and experienced more than enough for one day. Right now he didn’t relish a verbal confrontation, especially coming from a plastic so called colleague.

  “Rogon, shut it! I can well do without your verbal crap. Now you damn well listen to me you fucking moron. I don’t recall anything in my brief mentioning a vicar’s tea party. As far as I’m concerned, we had a result today. Not only is there one less arsehole on the street but I’ve also come up with a new theory, conducive to the case that could prove to be gilt edged. The evidence alone is admissible, I suspect that the IPCC will have a field day on the strength of it.”

  “Really? My apologies, I guess I was a touch too judgemental, your latest theory sounds promising. I’ll order a car…”

  “Not today you won’t Rogon.” Eastern snapped. “The rest of the day belongs to me. Whatever I’ve got to say is going to have to wait until tomorrow morning. Sometimes you seem to forget I’ve also got a life, and right now it’s outside of the agency.” Smugness! Or just plain downright resolute? His delivery method wouldn’t have wavered either way. The sheer satisfaction in knowing that Rogon had completely absorbed his latest theory had been compensation enough.

  The evening was still young enough to enable him to occupy himself with his own devices. First consideration on his agenda lay with DS Curtis, by extending his gratitude for his timely intervention earlier on in the day. Eastern brought him up to speed on the events following his assailant’s arrest, and the likelihood that Conway Senior could possibly amount to being the ‘tip of the iceberg’ as conspirators go. In closing, Curtis made his position clear should his assistance remain an option, in spite of being in limbo.

  The flip side to most theories is that they do tend to blow up in your face, occasionally due to an over active brain. There’s always that nagging reminder that just maybe you could be wrong. Right now Eastern’s head began to resemble the likes of a punch bag, and with every scenario surfacing, the pain just seemed to get worse. “For Christ’s sake!” he exclaimed in frustration, “I’m letting the poxy case get to me. I need something more solid to wrestle with. Of course! Why the hell didn’t I think of that before?” Downing his Scotch, he grabbed his mobile and hastily dialled an out of city number from memory. Seconds later he made the connection.

  “Travers residence, lady of the house speaking. How may I help?”

  “I apologise for phoning you at this hour, but please could you inform the Major, that Mike Eastern would like a word, thank you. Oh, and it’s rather important.” He added.

  “Hold the line, Mike, I do so hope it isn’t a problem, I’ll put you through to the study.” Came back the reply. Moments later, the unmistakeable tones of Major Travers honed in.

  “Hello dear boy. What appears to be the trouble? Margaret suggested there might be a problem.” Eastern then went on to emphasise that his call was of a delicate matter the backbone of which entailed personal information regarding DCS Gleason’s background. At this stage, he elected to keep his single minded theory under wraps to avoid the possibility that his enquiry could lead to a misrepresentation of personalities. A foreboding silence ensued as Travers digested the facts.

  “That’s rather a tough one old chap, code of ethics and all that…what! Mind you, I presume your motive for asking has to have a bearing on your current investigation. Having said that, I feel that we can find some middle ground here.” Eastern then attempted to further his knowledge over and above what he already knew about Gleason which included a much sought after opinion on the latter’s relationship with his acting superior, assistant Police Constable Conway. It wasn’t long before a mental picture began to evolve in his mind, as certain impromptu facts began to emerge.

  High on the list concerned a little friendship between the two, stemming back to their public school days together, followed by a dual military association. In conclusion, the Major also let it be known that their social lives extended to sharing a membership at a particular private members club, “situated in Hove don’t you know?”

  It was a jubilant Eastern that recharged his glass following the call. Based on the fact that he was already aware of the club’s existence, an idea began to form in his mind. The difference being that this time around the outcome would rest solely with himself.

  The next morning, a regenerated Eastern drove to the Brighton office, owned by Inner City Courier Services Ltd who’d previously dealt with the conveyance of his own original blackmail letter. With the aid of his exclusive ID he made himself known, and asked to see a copy of the original delivery note, that accompanied the package left in their charge. Scrutinising the form only got better. The two signatures featured on the receipt, one signed the other printed, would be priceless as future admissible evidence. “I’ll be taking this document along with me, so I advise you make a copy for your own files.” He explained to the manager, “and should he be on the premises, I‘d like a word with the courier who delivered it.” Once the driver appeared, Eastern produced a head and shoulders copy of a figure taken from a photograph and confronted him with it. “Do you happen to recognise this person at all?” He enquired. “Take your time, it happens to be important you understand.”

  The driver’s reaction to his request only confirmed his suspicions, that the blackmail letter had been conveniently secrete thus leaving Conway oblivious to its contents.

  “Sure, I wouldn’t forget that face in a hurry!” he exploded. “Right bumptious type as a I recall. I remember asking him if he could locate the person who’s name was on the package and he said he’s not available at the moment, but I’ll sign for it and make sure he gets it. I only needed a signature as proof of delivery so it didn’t make any difference to me. Not only
that!” he emphasised, “The tight bastard didn’t even tip me.” Eastern thanked him and nodded sympathetically.

  “There was one other thing. Your delivery procedure, how does it work?”

  “I simply carry a clipboard containing a biro on a chain, and hand it over to the customer to endorse the delivery note.”

  “I see. So he would have to hold the clipboard while he signed them?”

  “Absolutely, like I said.” With visions of forensics in his mind, Eastern had nothing to lose and made it clear he would need to remove the clipboard for detailed examination. He thanked the manager once again and made his way back to the village. For the second time in as many minutes, his mobile reminded him that Rogon was never off the case. Chuckling to himself, he continued to let it ring on a premise that it would finally piss him off. But once indoors, there was no escape, not that he was concerned. His day had started well, and he had every intention in making sure it stayed that way.

  CHAPTER XVIII…The beginning of the end

  Eastern had good cause to feel uneasy. The bland expression on Rogon’s face began to radiate a form of negativity. He should have guessed that his luck only lay in one direction, with an added time limit attached. An hour or so earlier he had been feeling on top of his game, but he hadn’t reckoned on the intervention issuing from a timely bout of cynicism aimed in his direction.