***
Scott was the first out of the car quickly helping Kelly and Harris out before rushing to the first car that was shot. Its smouldering wreckage, however, told him nobody had survived. He moved to the downed helicopter. The large bullet hole in the engine housing told Scott all he needed to know, Somebody was on his side. Whoever had taken the shot was an expert and had known exactly where to shoot. He looked around but knew the shooter would be long gone.
A very shaky Kelly appeared at his side and took in the scene.
“It seems somebody may be on your side afterall,” she said looking over her shoulder towards the same bridge Scott was looking at.
“Hmmm,” replied Scott. The more that happened, the stranger things got.
Sirens began to sound all around them as police cars, ambulances and fire engines appeared from every angle. Scott suddenly realised that Harris was not with them and remembered Harris’ head had thumped into the steering wheel as the car landed in the field.
“Where’s Harris?” he asked looking back at the car.
“He was just behind me,” replied Kelly searching the area between them and the car.
Scott ran back to the car and found Harris slumped to his right propped against the side of the car, a pool of sick by his side.
“Shit, quick get a paramedic over here right away, he’s badly concussed,” screamed Scott to Kelly.
Five minutes later, Harris was strapped to a board and being choppered to the nearest hospital. Scott and Kelly spent the next twenty minutes explaining what had happened and were only allowed to continue on their journey to London after the intervention of the Chief Constable. A helicopter arrived shortly afterwards to ensure they arrived at the Ministry of Defence with as little risk to the public as possible.
Chapter 22
Kenneth Coleman closed the door to his office and walked slowly to his desk. He knew the weight of the three deaths would haunt him for a very long time, particularly Jackson’s. He was a good man, although that was his ultimate weakness. He was just too good and he would never have understood. It was Coleman’s call. He could have brought Jackson in and tried to get him on side but it would just have delayed the inevitable.
He sat down at his desk just as his direct line began to ring. He subconsciously looked around the room wondering if he was being watched. Did they know he had just sat down?
“Hello?” he answered tentatively.
“Hi, is it done?”
“Yes.”
“And Walker?”
“We’ll find him,” replied Coleman firmly.
“You’d better!” retorted the caller ominously. “The fucker just screwed up our plans in England. Our problem has not been resolved.”
As the phone went dead, Coleman sat back in his chair. He had a funny feeling things were going to get a lot worse before they got better. He desperately wished they hadn’t reeled him in but they had and it now it was too late. His salary would never have paid for the life his position should have afforded him. Had he not worked for the government, he would have been earning ten times what he was. It was only thanks to them that his kids had the education and lifestyle he had dreamed of giving them. But today, the price was high, perhaps too high. Jackson was a good man, just like he had been.
Coleman knew in himself he was still a good man. He reached into this top drawer and without thinking anymore about what he was doing, he removed his silver plated Colt 1911A1 pistol and in one swift movement removed the top of his own skull.
Chapter 23
Henry Freeman’s office covered the entire top floor of one of Manhattan’s most illustrious skyscrapers. The impressiveness of the office was matched only by its occupant, Henry Freeman who was a man literally on top of the world. He was the Chief Executive Officer of the North American division of the world’s largest and most powerful corporation, Transcon. Corp. There was hardly a household brand left that had not been swallowed up by the leviathan, from soft drinks to the armament market, Transcon Corp companies were market leaders. If they were in a market they topped it. If they weren’t in it, it was because there quite simply wasn’t enough profit to be made. However, very few even knew the name, its existence was shrouded in secrecy.
Even the world’s most advanced computers would struggle to work their way through the maze of trust funds and dummy companies that led back to Transcon. That, however, had not stopped the conspiracy theorists coming up with a number of theories surrounding the corporate mystery. The most popular suggestion was that it was in fact just a front for the US government. Less popular was that the UK was re-building its once great empire and the more extreme, was that the company was under the control of the children of Hitler’s breeding programme, set up to create the perfect Aryan race, using the missing Nazi funds to build the Fourth Reich.
The board table in Henry’s office was bigger than most New York apartments. Over fifty chairs lined its perimeter of the table and they were filled with the Managing Directors or CEO’s of America’s larger companies, most of which were owned outright or at the very least under majority control by Transcon. The monthly board meeting was an extremely secret affair with the majority of attendees arriving by helicopter to avoid any potential recognition. A number of Transcon companies were public rivals and the connection to one owner would significantly impact their brand and ultimately their sales.
Henry sat at the head of the table and made decisions that would impact the majority of the population, decisions that made the ones taken by the country’s politicians almost insignificant but then Henry pretty much decided what government policy was anyway. Henry may be unknown in the public world but in the political world, Henry Freeman and Transcon were king makers. If you wanted to rule, Transcon had to want you to rule. Their control over the media was absolute. Opinion was made and swayed where they wanted. Wars started and ended on their say. Their ethos was simple, if it was good for business, it was good for Transcon.
Henry Freeman was a tall handsome man who cut an imposing figure. His fifty four years as a member of the world’s elite had been easy on his appearance and he could pass for a man ten years younger. His arrogant and assured manner commanded instant attention and his words followed to the letter. Henry had the power to captivate and terrify those he dealt with and nobody ever doubted they were dealing with a powerful and ruthless man.
As the conversation reverberated around the room, Henry cleared his throat, silencing the attendees and bringing the meeting to order. These men had no illusion that they served at Henry’s discretion and their total loyalty and obedience had been bought and paid for many times over.
Just as Henry was about to start, the door to the boardroom opened and a young and extremely attractive blond woman scurried towards Henry.
“Mr Freeman,” interrupted his secretary. “I’m so sorry to interrupt but I have an urgent call for Mr Ernst.”
Henry looked to his right hand man and most trusted aide, Max Ernst. Ernst immediately stood up, snapped his heels to attention and dipping his head slightly, led the secretary from the room. Ernst’s strong Germanic features, short cropped blond hair, piercing blue eyes and tall muscular physique were an intimidating sight. Everyone who met him assumed he was German. His looks were identical to a stereotypical Gestapo officer as portrayed in the movies. However, Ernst was in fact Russian and a former member of the KGB’s Alpha Group, the elite special forces unit and was in fact not unlike his stereotypical doppelganger in that he was indeed a cold blooded killer.
Ernst’s talents had first come to Freeman’s attention over twenty years earlier when Freeman needed a business rival to disappear. The former Alpha Group member had turned freelance assassin and was hired by Freeman through William Walker. Ernst had exceeded all expectations and had not only eliminated the rival but unveiled a plot to destroy Transcon. Ernst had acted on his own initiative, wiped out the threat and had been by Freeman’s side ever since. Ernst had an IQ in the genius level and unk
nown to all around him, was one of Freeman’s closest advisers as well as his bodyguard.
The secretary led Ernst as to her desk.
“It’s a Mr Hunter on the phone Sir. He says it’s urgent.”
“Transfer it to my office, please,” instructed Ernst as he walked across the large reception area to his office, strategically located next to the elevator and staircase - the only access points to the top floor. Nobody entered the office of Henry Freeman without Ernst knowing.
“What’s up?” said Ernst as he picked up the call.
Mike Hunter was the head of The Unit, a former deputy director of the CIA, a veteran of some of the CIA’s more infamous operations during the Vietnam and Central American scandals. He had been recruited by Transcon through Walker to set up and run their paramilitary organisation.
“Coleman just blew his own brains out!”
“Fuck!”
“It get’s worse. We missed Walker. We arrived at 6.30 and he was already gone but we didn’t know that until they had already taken out his wife.”
“Fuck!”
Ernst slammed his fist on the desk. Freeman had made it clear that Walker had to go. Walker had been Freeman’s closest advisor for over thirty years. His position as COO of Transcon’s corporate banking division was merely a cover for his real role, protecting Transcon and its owners. Walker had been banker, lawyer and confidant to all five of Transcon’s owners. His retirement the previous week had not been well received and the subsequent disaster at the weekend highlighted Walker’s failure to resolve an issue that had weighed heavily on all of the owners’ minds for many years. Ernst knew little of the detail but had managed to conclude that Walker seemed to know something that threatened the very existence of Transcon.
For that reason, the permanent retirement of Walker had been ordered and Ernst was given the responsibility for making it happen. Following Walker’s retirement, The Unit was under Ernst’s responsibility and so far, Mike Hunter was seriously failing to impress his new boss.
“I’m afraid there’s more. We also missed the target in England,” added Hunter nervously. The tension on the phone was palpable. Had Hunter had more notice, he would have retired before Walker. He did not relish the idea of reporting to Ernst. Mike Hunter was not a man who scared easily, having served in some of the world’s most bloody war zones. But every time he met Ernst, he felt as though he was one step away from the showers with no water.
“Are you deliberately trying to fuck me off?” snapped Ernst. Freeman had made it clear that whatever happened the man in England had to die and quickly. Every breath he took was a breath too many. Ernst had asked why but Freeman had told him all he needed to know was, the man had to die as an absolute priority, nothing had a greater priority. Whatever Ernst needed, he could have.
“Of course, not!” replied a defensive Hunter.
Ernst tried his best to remain calm.
“What happened?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Hunter explained what they knew. They believed that Walker had been tipped off and may have re-directed Clark’s efforts. He also explained that Clark had a freelancer with him, that The Unit had arranged to replace the mysterious Rosie. Which led to his final bombshell, Rosie’s escape.
Ernst was speechless. Killing somebody wasn’t that fucking difficult. As he let Hunter sweat, he started scratching 1’s onto his pad, diagonally crossing out each fifth one.
“Let me get this right. In the space of twenty four hours and in the pursuit of killing just one man, we have lost, by my count..,” Ernst paused as he tallied up the total. “At least 12 of our own people and that doesn’t account for any collateral casualties.”
“I appreciate that when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound particularly impressive,” agreed Hunter.
“NOT PARTICULARY IMPRESSIVE!” screamed Ernst his temper fracturing. “TOTALLY FUCKING HOPELESS IS WHAT IT IS!”
Realising he was screaming, he lowered his voice. “Twenty four hours, you’ve got twenty four hours to redeem yourself,” he said ominously.
Hunter had no illusion as to what the penalty would be. The instructions to retire Walker had shocked him as he had always thought Walker was untouchable.
“Hmm, we may have a problem. Without the NSA, it may prove slightly more difficult.”
“Don’t worry the deputy is also our man. He’ll get the top job.”
Hunter hesitated, not wanting to push his luck too far but felt he had to ask.
“We don’t have any contacts in the DIA, do we?”
“Why?” asked Ernst.
“We think they may be involved somehow.”
Just when Ernst thought it couldn’t get any worse, it had. He struggled to control his temper.
“Perhaps you better start at the beginning and tell me everything you know because I’m getting a bit FUCKED OFF trying to work out what the FUCK is going on here between your tid bits of information.”
Hunter, like a chastised school child, started from the beginning and told him everything he knew up to the point of this most recent call.
Ernst didn’t hesitate when Hunter stopped.
“I’ll call you back, after I’ve spoken to our man.”
Ernst quickly dialled a number.
“Good afternoon, Department of Defence, Secretary Nielsen’s’ office,” answered the receptionist.
“I need to speak to the Secretary immediately, please” said Ernst.
Chapter 24
The Boeing 787-800 was on its final approach into Chicago’s O’Hare International and was causing quite a fuss. One of Boeing’s first production models, that would be the aircraft’s first landing in Chicago and the first sighting of one of the most advanced airliners to take to the skies. However, the aircraft anoraks were firmly outnumbered as even the world’s newest aircraft couldn’t upstage its passenger, Republican presidential candidate Sam Baker, whose polling figures were recording a large lead and there were still four weeks until the election.
Sam’s rise to stardom in the republican party was nothing short of miraculous. He had been elected to the House of Representatives at the age of 26, to the senate at 30 and had become Governor of Florida at 42. Although Republican, his landslide margins could only be explained by vast numbers of democrats voting for him. The Yale graduate had it all, movie star looks, super rich, charm and an air of authority that could not be taught nor bought. He was tough on crime but understood and fought against the causes of crime, believed in the right to bear arms but wanted greater controls to combat criminals not week-end shooters. He was tough on welfare but wanted to help the truly needy and wanted to minimise taxes and maximise services by driving efficiencies.
The democrats had come to the conclusion long ago that Sam Baker was unbeatable. His debating skills were unequalled, his finances limitless and following an attempt to smear him, they had suffered a backlash that had resulted in a ten point swing for Baker. The media loved him, the viewers adored him and his constituents worshipped him. In fact Sam’s second term as Governor had been unopposed. The Democrats had run the numbers and seen sense.
The Governor of Florida had led the polls since he had announced his intention to run eighteen months earlier. He had been the republican’s first and only choice to replace the current two-term incumbent. The republicans were a dead cert to win eight years earlier and with the perfect president in waiting, the party chair had advised Sam to wait and perhaps try for Governor first. Yes, of course he could have been president but did he really want to retire at fifty when he could wait and ensure the party had control for at least 12 years? Nobody ever doubted Sam was destined for the White House. The incumbent had polled strongly after his first term and with Sam in the wings, the decision had been what was best for the party. Sam was always considered a guaranteed two termer and if the incumbent could win, the party would hold the presidency for at least another 12 years. Sam was again put on the back burner.
The 787 taxied to the wai
ting ladder and stopped. The door opened and the soon-to-be president elect appeared at the top of the stairs. His perfect smile greeted the onlookers and was met by a resounding cheer followed by a chant, ‘BAKER! BAKER!’ Flashlights lit up the dull October morning as Sam Baker descended the steps and ignoring the Secret Service agents, walked towards the crowd and ‘pressed the flesh’ with his potential voters. Everybody was greeted with the same respect and interest and despite having heard the same thoughts and feelings countless times over, Sam smiled and accepted them as though they were the best ideas he had ever heard.
A crying baby was thrust into his arms and he held it like his own, looking into its face and smiling. The baby’s eyes lit up and the crying turned to laughter. A picture that would cover the front pages of every newspaper across America and beyond. Handing the now happy baby back with a smile, he bid his farewells and God Blesses to the crowd, thanking them from the bottom of his heart for their support before being interrupted by an aide with a cell phone.
“It’s Mr Freeman, he says it’s urgent!”
“OK,” replied Sam, taking the phone.
A final wave was met by a cheer more normally heard by movie and rock stars.
As he stepped into the chopper, the rear doors closed, the Sikorsky S76D lifted off and the small flotilla of helicopters turned and dipping their noses sped off as one. Where his opponents used cars and an ageing airliner, Sam Baker travelled by helicopter and used his own personal airliner to fight his campaign. Money was an irrelevance and for every dollar spent by the democrats Sam spent five. His television ads ran almost non stop, covering every major channel during prime time shows. If somebody didn’t know Sam Baker was running for president, they had to be deaf, blind and living in isolation with no electricity. His brand recognition was second only to Coca-Cola.
Scion Page 11