Scion

by Murray Mcdonald

  “Holy shit! You’re saying Baker, Transcon and Hughes are all linked into this?” The President took a few seconds “Are you telling me the conspiracy is about to place a man in the most powerful job in the world?”

  Jennings nodded enthusiastically, delighted the President had come to the same conclusion so quickly.

  “So why the hell are we standing on a tarmac next to a fucking plane engine, instead of issuing arrest warrants?” demanded the President.

  Walters took over. “Because we believe we are being bugged, we don’t know who we can trust and we have absolutely fuck all proof.”

  “Hughes!” suggested the President.

  “Just issue the order and we’ll take him into custody, Mr President,” smiled Jennings.

  “Do it!”

  Chapter 64

  It had taken over an hour for Butler-Jones to detail his findings for Scott. The file he pulled from his bottom drawer was almost a foot thick and dated back almost 24 years. Butler-Jones it appeared was the diametric opposite of what Scott had initially believed him to be. It was clear from the detail and effort he had gone to, Butler-Jones was an exceptionally loyal, just and fair man. A man he felt sure would have been very similar to his own father.

  “As you can see, Transcon has three CEO’s and one CFO. They have been there from Day One and from the records I’ve tracked, they were the four who took charge following the death of your father.”

  Scott looked down at the four names, four men who thought they were on top of the world, untouchable, gods, deciding who should live or die. And four men who were about to die themselves.

  “Charles Russell, Peter Astor, Andrew DuPont and Henry Freeman are going to be very dead men.”

  “But what about the company? I can go into court tomorrow morning and claim ownership, in accordance with the clause. It’s airtight, you are the legal and rightful owner of Transcon. It’s yours for the taking.” Butler-Jones waved the contract in front of Scott.

  “I don’t care about the company, an eye for an eye is all I want right now. If I go to court, I can’t then go and kill them. I’d be the number one suspect. No, I’m sorry, first things first. They die and then if we have time, we’ll worry about anything else.”

  “Scott, I understand you want revenge but murder is a very serious path to take and knowing what these men have done, an extremely treacherous one at that!”

  Scott had told Butler-Jones most of what had happened over the last few days but had not told him of his rather unique career.

  “Don’t worry, I know how to look after myself and anyway I’ve got some help meeting me later.”

  Butler-Jones gave up. It was obvious that emotions were running too high to waste time arguing. He’d try again once Scott had calmed down.

  “Do you want to stay for dinner?” asked Butler-Jones, hoping he could tackle the subject later.

  “No, I’m sorry I’ve got another meeting which I’ll miss if I don’t leave soon. But I’d love to come back and meet the family,” said Scott pointing to the photos.

  “Niece and nephew, I’m afraid,” replied Butler-Jones sadly. “My wife and I tried but it wasn’t to be.”

  “I’m sorry but I’d still love to come back and meet your wife and perhaps hear more about my father. And again, I’m so sorry about the rib.”

  “Not at all and I’d love for you to come back and please think about Transcon. Removing these men from the power they have would be as good as killing them. Trust me, powerful men fear failure more than death.”

  “I will but please don’t mention this to anybody, not even your wife. I haven’t been here, my very existence puts your life in danger. In fact,” Scott took a thousand dollars from his back pocket and the papers and bank account details for the bank in Geneva and handed them all to Butler-Jones. “Consider this a retainer. You are now officially my lawyer and covered by lawyer-client privilege.”

  Butler-Jones smiled, the quick thinking and pragmatic approach to the situation reminded him of one man. “You are your father’s son, Scott Kennedy.” Butler-Jones patted him on the back as they walked to the study door.

  Twenty minutes later and with the enemy names, he was on the train back to London and speaking to Ashley who, having just arrived back in Geneva, was searching for everything she could find on Eduardo Ramirez.

  “Holy shit, Transcon? They’re massive! Fucking hell!” she exclaimed as the information sank in.

  “So don’t worry too much about tracking Ramirez, we’ve got our bad guys,” suggested Scott as a final thought.

  “OK but it would be nice to find a link and just tie everything up neatly.”

  Scott couldn’t disagree and tried to relax. He was not looking forward to the next hour. Somebody had sold him out and he just prayed it wasn’t the Prime Minister.

  At 22.13 the train drew to a stop in Marylebone and thanks to the underground, Scott was walking across Parliament Square in the heart of central London by 22.45., under the watchful gaze of two of the world’s most proficient assassins.

  Chapter 65

  At precisely 22.40, the two cars pulled out from the underground garage of the Pimlico safe house. The cars were exact copies of two DPG, Diplomatic Protection Group, police cars that worked for the Royal and Diplomatic Protection Division of the Metropolitan Police Force and were responsible for the protection of the UK Prime Minister amongst other VIP members of the UK government and foreign embassies.

  The two Metropolitan Police emblazoned red BMW’s roared down the street and within two minutes were stationed just moments away from Downing Street. Should anyone take any interest in the two cars, however unlikely that may have been, the cars matched their real counterparts exactly, right down to registration plates and vehicle identity codes.

  Ideally, they would have waited until almost 23.00 before arriving on site. However, a diversion had been arranged that was, unfortunately, out of their control and could mean up to a ten minute deviation in their plan. Although not perfect, the diversion was going to give them exactly the edge they needed.

  ***

  With the time nearing 23.00, she checked her blackberry device. She had expected an update before then but nothing further had come through. The instruction remained the same, 23.00, London. She raised the magnifying scope and took another look through the top floor window, the lounge of Prime Minister Adam Smith came clearly into view, she scanned across the building and focused in on the bedroom. A large four poster dominated the room. However, both rooms were empty, with only two minutes to go, she was beginning to wonder whether something had gone wrong.

  Chapter 66

  “GO, GO, GO” shouted Jennings into his phone.

  Ten miles South East, six members of the anti conspiracy team moved in on Stephen Hughes’ Washington Apartment. Jennings had been confident the president would order his detention and had set up his men accordingly.

  The portable battering rams made short shrift of the main door and the six flooded into the hallway and raced up the staircase towards his apartment door on the first floor. Again, the battering ram annihilated the door and within a minute of breaking through the first door, Stephen Hughes was being restrained and handcuffed.

  The lead agent called Jennings.

  “Got him and he’s thanking us! He’s acting like we’ve just saved his life.”

  “Excellent, take him back to the safe house and remember don’t let anybody outside of our unit know we’ve got him. We’re acting on behalf of the President himself. Even the Attorney General cannot know.”

  The instruction to his agent was irregular to the point of being illegal. The FBI reported to the US Attorney General, the highest ranking law enforcement officer in the government. However, if the conspiracy were centred around Transcon, the Attorney General was just as likely to be as dirty as Hughes was.

  “Got you, we’re on our way.”

  ***

  Ernst had just finished ripping the Metropolitan Police Chie
f a new anus when his phone rang. He excused himself from the office, comfortable in the knowledge that his priority was to assist in the capture of Eduardo Ramirez. As he walked into the corridor, he pressed the answer button.

  “Ernst,” he answered.

  “Mr Ernst, hi. My supervisor suggested I call you direct. As per your instructions, we’ve been keeping an eye on Stephen Hughes.”

  “Yes,” confirmed Ernst apprehensively.

  “About two minutes ago, a bunch of guys, who I can only assume are Bureau, busted into his house.”

  “Fuck! Where are they now?”

  “Still inside, no hold on…they’re just coming out. He’s cuffed and being pushed into one of their cars.”

  Ernst considered the risk. He knew Baker had thought it minimal but he couldn’t agree. He made a decision. “Make sure he doesn’t get where he’s going alive!”

  “What about the bureau guys?”

  “Whatever, just don’t get caught!”

  ***

  The FBI guys didn’t stand a chance. As they were making their way into their vehicles, the blue van that had been parked on the other side of the road, came careering towards them. The side door flew open and a wall of bullets crashed into them.

  The two shooters had XM8 assault rifles, the newest rifles under development by Heckler & Koch, with a fire rate of over 750 rounds per minute. It did not take long to run through the 200-round drums on each rifle and for all movement to stop in the two cars. With a positive id on the body of Stephen Hughes, the side door of the van was closed and the wrecks of the two FBI cruisers left smouldering in the street. Job done.

  ***

  The moment the phone rang, Ernst hit the answer button.

  “Well?” he asked gruffly.

  “Well what?” demanded Sam Baker.

  “Oh sorry, I thought you were someone else. How can I help?”

  “I should have mentioned before but didn’t think it was important. However it probably is. Stephen Hughes called me earlier this afternoon.”

  Ernst felt as though he’d just been punched in the stomach.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing, he got my secretary but he may have left a trail.”

  If he had, it was a fluke. Hughes had no idea about Baker’s connection to Transcon but with his demise, he wasn’t going to be around to clear up any confusion. If he were being used as they suspected, his death would implicate an otherwise squeaky clean Baker.

  “I’ll call you straight back!” rushed Ernst, hanging up on his boss without so much as a goodbye.

  Ernst redialled the previous caller and was hopeful when it was answered immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Ernst, don’t…”

  “Job done Sir!” he interrupted.

  “Shit!” Ernst hung up and called a very fucked off Sam Baker who was about to get even more fucked off.

  Chapter 67

  As Scott walked across the square, he began to sense that somebody was watching. He couldn’t see anybody but knew someone was there. Leaving the relatively well lit square behind him, he continued onto Whitehall, darker and quieter. If anyone was going to try anything, they’d do it there. He scanned ahead and caught sight of one drunk leaning awkwardly against a wall, urinating and another slumped in the doorway obviously waiting for his friend.

  Something didn’t seem right, he knew nobody was expecting him but there was something about the drunks that just didn’t ring true. For a start, there were very few bars in the area and certainly none that would allow patrons to become quite as inebriated as these two. Scott prepared himself as he drew closer, both appeared to be unaware of his presence but that could have been to draw him in.

  With less then two meters between him and the closest drunk, both spun and jumped towards him. Scott was ready and jumped back, just keeping out of their reach, his fists up and ready to repel any attack.

  “Shit, we nearly did it!” shouted the first drunk to the second.

  On hearing the voices. Scott immediately relaxed. “Bastards!”

  Kirk and Kyle, had got the message he had sent them. Their latest sanction had been in China and they had just come straight from there. Scott instantly knew from their playfulness that neither knew what had happened to the island and his family. The K Squad were a tight bunch and an attack on one of them was a declaration of war on all of them.

  As Big Ben approached 22.50, Scott turned to them and asked them to sit down on the doorstep behind them. Scott brought them up to date on what had happened. Neither believed him to begin with but the sombre expression soon made them realise it was not a wind-up. A whole island and its community had been wiped out. Kirk and Kyle had been welcomed openly on the few occasions they had visited with Scott and both felt a huge loss. They took some comfort from the news that none would have suffered but like Scott, the grief was short-lived. Anger began to boil and the demand to know who was responsible soon bubbled to the surface. Vengeance was now the priority. Grief would wait until scores were settled.

  Scott gave them the two minute version of what he knew, the link to Transcon and the belief that they were responsible and that ultimately, it was his fault. Both Kirk and Kyle reacted strongly to his guilt, asserting that the only guilty parties were those who had a hand in pulling the trigger. Scott had lost just as much as they had when the island was bombed. Their family was his family, their home his home.

  Scott heard the first chime of Big Ben and realised they needed to get moving. As the second chime sounded, the three were up and walking towards the Downing Street entrance. They didn’t hear the third chime. The explosions drowned out Big Ben and any other noise for the next ten minutes.

  Chapter 68

  The London Eye had been built to mark the new Millennium and stood over 135m tall. The wheel, on opening, was the largest observation wheel in the world. Standing on the banks of the Thames, it towered over the government buildings across the river and was only a few hundred yards from Downing Street. Originally planned to last only five years, its popularity had secured its permanency as a feature on London’s skyline.

  Although closing at eight during the winter months, the venue was available for hire for corporate events in the evening. The insurance company who had hired it that evening were celebrating the success of a recent merger between two competing organisations. Only three of the thirty two capsules were being used as with only seventy guests and each capsule holding up to twenty-five, the rest were superfluous. In any case the event was done on the cheap. The Champagne was really Cava. The food consisted of nuts, crisps and sausage rolls and the new MD had screwed the venue manager down to the barest minimum cost for the use of the Eye.

  There were therefore more than a few surprised guests when two barges that were moored in front of the Eye began to let loose the most amazing firework display. None more so than their boss who just hoped he wasn’t going to get stung for it. The fireworks were tremendous, lighting up the sky and booming across the city. The speed and ferocity of the show left hardly a second between bangs. With each flash of colour, a corresponding bang echoed across the skyline.

  The duty manager at the Eye stared in disbelief. Nobody had told him they were going to let off fireworks. He didn’t have a permit and it was going to cause all kinds of trouble. At the same time, however, it was absolutely the best firework display he had ever seen. Even the Millennium displays from around the world would have struggled to compete. Within seconds, his ears were ringing. The ferocity of the explosions were surely not normal, he thought as the sky continued to explode.

  Of course, the insurance company had nothing to do with the fireworks. Mike Hunter had arranged it all as a diversion, no permit had been obtained and none would have been issued. The fireworks were way beyond the legal requirements allowed in the UK. There would most definitely be hell to pay but they would never find out who had arranged it. Everything was untraceable, even the barges which had been t
owed down earlier in the day were owned by a shell company that until that day hadn’t existed. In any event, nothing could be done until the show was over and that would be ten minutes after it started and about seven minutes longer than the UK’s PM had to live.

  ***

  As the sky lit up, the two police cars burst into life, their blue lights switched on and both accelerating down Whitehall. As the explosions began to ring out, both cars raced towards the iron gate that secured Downing Street and flashed their lights to gain entry. As expected, the sight of the familiar cars did the trick, the gates swung open and the metal barrier that would stop a tank began to lower into the ground.

  The confusion of the sudden explosions and the arrival of the speeding police cars had got them through the gates. The hard part was done.

  As they sped past the first line of defence, the passengers in the cars shot the four policemen that had just let them in. The explosions overhead covering the spit of the silenced H&K MP5SD’s. Within seconds, the two vehicles were at the front door of Number Ten and the two policemen covering the door were also shot. Five men poured out of the car and dispatched another two police guards, one of the men snapped open the boot of the first car and withdrew a small rocket launcher, flipped it onto his shoulder aimed and blew to smithereens the iconic symbol of the British government, the front door of Number 10. A further guard died in the blast while another three who had rushed to see what was happening were mown down before they even had a chance to raise their weapons.

  ***

  All three of them paused as the flash lit up the sky and they saw the blue flashing lights career down Whitehall and turn sharply into Downing Street. Without thinking, they all began to sprint as the explosions literally pounded their ear drums. They knew the fireworks were not normal. As they reached the gate, the sight of the dead policemen confirmed their suspicions while the flash of light from the door up ahead told them they had to hurry. Whoever was attacking the PM had already breached the house.