“Take a seat, officers. Would you like a cup of tea, or a coffee?”
“Tea, please. Thanks. Two sugars. White please, and the same for ma’am.”
“Christ, what time is it?”
“It’s eleven in the morning, Michael. Did you sleep alright?”
“Yes, as well as could be expected; passed out on the sofa. I’ve just thrown up in the toilet, but thanks for asking.” Pete brought the teas in.
“Cheers buddy! Nice one.”
“Get that down your neck, mate; that’ll do you good.”
“Anyway, what can I do for you this morning, officers?”
“We need you to come down to the station with us this morning, Michael. Your friend can come with us; we just need to clear something up with you, if that’s ok.”
“Clear what up?”
“We’ll explain more down at the station.”
After finishing our tea, Pete and I got dressed and accompanied the officers to the station, where two more police detectives met us.
“Hello, Mr Fox. If both of you could follow me, please.”
We were led out the back into a small box room smelling of stale coffee.
“Do you both want a cup of tea?”
“Yeah, go on then, Officer.”
“Can we smoke?” Pete asked.
“Not in the building.” He smiled as he closed the door. Ten minutes later a smart looking man carrying a folder entered the room.
“Hello! Michael, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I am Detective Mark Dupes from the London Metropolitan Police. I am running the investigation into the death of your wife, Mrs Hannah Fox. We need to ask you a few questions about her, if that’s ok with you?”
“Go ahead, Sir.”
“Can you tell me what car she drove?” I answered his questions.
“What were her plans that day? Did she meet anyone else?”
“All I know is that she went to work that morning, and took my daughter Frances to school, the same as she does every other morning.”
“Ok. So she has lunch at work then, does she?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Why is this important to the death of my wife?”
“Mr Fox, have you had anyone ....how can I phrase this.....have you had any threats to you or your family in the past?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Answer my question, Michael, please. It is very important.”
“Ok. What is said in this room stays in this room: is that ok with you? Turn the tape off then, as this cannot be recorded.” He nodded.
“Go on, Michael.”
“I am Ex SAS and now work for a private security firm abroad. I also do jobs for MI5 now and again. Not long ago I was in Paris looking after a certain person’s son who was a target for the Al-Qaeda.”
“Whose son was that, Michael?”
“A French billionaire. He was some big shot, with the right contacts if you know what I’m saying!”
“Carry on.”
“They put a bounty on the kid’s head for 150,000,000 Euro. We set up an ambush and the three targets were taken down.”
“So they were Al-Qaeda then?”
“That’s what I was told. Then when I got back to Paris I bumped into an old friend who wanted me to follow an ex IRA boss called Ryan Killeen.”
“Killeen, that’s interesting. Continue.”
“It was close, and I was compromised. They tortured me until a team was sent in by the Security Services. I’ve been resting up ever since.”
“Tell me about Killeen.”
“He was a big time IRA suspect; retired from the job. He now deals in weapons with the Taliban.”
“Michael, I don’t think your wife’s death was a road traffic accident. I think she was murdered.”
I slammed my fist down on the table.
“What did you just say?”
“I think your wife was murdered.” I was in shock. Pete calmed me down.
“Talk, now!”
“On attending the incident, we found an empty car with stolen plates. It was reported stolen last week. There are no witnesses to the incident; however, we did match up some DNA to a suspect. His name is Mohammed Husain Bennemara.”
“Ok, so what are we saying happened here?”
“Michael. Mohammed Husain Bennemara! The Taliban murdered your wife.” I felt numbed by the news.
I stood up from my chair. Pete and the detective looked up at me.
“Michael! Killeen and the Taliban are working together, mate. The foul up in France has really pissed them off!”
“KILLEEN!” I screamed out his name. Even though the Taliban had been partly involved in the death of Hannah, it was Killeen that I held responsible.
The following morning I picked up my daughter and stuck Griffer in the car. Pete had decided that the best thing for Fran was to get as far away as possible from me, out of harm’s way. He lent me a few quid and then I drove up to my uncle’s house in Evesham, Worcestershire.
They were happy to see us, welcoming us both in with open arms. My uncle was very touched. It had been a long time. His wife, Barbara was in her fifties and worked as a cleaner at one of the high schools. My Uncle Robert was a welder.
Barbara put Fran to bed.
“She went down a treat, she did. As good as gold, she was!” Barbara was happy.
“Bless! I think she’s touched by having a little one here.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right, Uncle.” We sipped on our tea. Uncle Robert sat staring at me.
“So what brings you here then, Michael?”
“Ah, you know – this and that.”
“Now, tell me the truth, Michael.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“Are you in trouble, Michael?”
“No! Of course I’m not in trouble, silly!”
“I could always tell when your father lied to me, and you’re doing the same. That little bit of your mouth gives it away.”
“What bit?”
“Yes, that bit. Let’s have a stronger drink and you can tell me all about it.”
Now that’s what you’d call a double vodka!
“Come on – out with it, then.”
“Ok. I need you to look after Frances for a while. I could be in danger.”
He took a swig from his glass. “I know your wife has just died Michael but why are you in danger?”
“I just am. I need you to look after Fran for a couple of weeks whilst I go away. Will you do that for me? I’ll give you keep money, so you won’t be short.”
“Don’t be silly, you daft bugger, we’re family! Barbara, can you come here, please.”
“What’s up, darling?” She stood there with her hands on her hips.
“Our Michael is going away for a short while, maybe two weeks, and wants to know if we can look after Fran for him over the holidays.”
“Of course we can, Michael! I know times are tough with your loss and all that, love. She’ll be just fine with us, darling.” I felt the weight drop off my shoulders.
“Thank you, Uncle. Cheers, Barbara!” She smiled as she went off to the kitchen.
“Oh, and Michael! I know what you do for a living but please come home in one piece, for your daughter’s sake. She’s just lost one parent; she doesn’t need to lose another, if you catch my drift.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
Two days later, I made my way back home. I phoned Pete and arranged to meet him in London. I couldn’t sleep for shit, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Hannah and Killeen. “How did he find out about her?” My brain would not rest.
I tried to call Pete again for reassurance, but to no avail. I had so much racing through my mind. One of the ideas was selling the house. I couldn’t live here now my Hannah was dead: it wouldn’t be right. At last I must have dropped off, and woke to find Griffer sprawled over my belly and licking my face. He still had a bowl of biscuits, so he’d
survive for another day.
“You ok, boy?” He wagged his tail.
“How’s my big boy doing?” He barked for a walk.
I went downstairs and opened the fridge for a drink of milk, but I had nothing in at all. There were just two Weetabix left in the cupboard and a mouldy old piece of bread. I took Griffer for a nice long walk to clear my head, with Griffer taking the biggest shit ever! He was all I had left now: my darling wife was dead and my daughter up in Evesham. I made my way home with a tear in my eye, my blood boiling at the thought of Killeen.
From the corner of my eye I noticed a bottle of Rosé. I spent the rest of the day walking backwards and forwards to the shop, buying more and more wine, before going straight up to my room and downing each bottle.
When I woke up next morning I found myself collapsed in the toilet, my head killing me. I was only glad that Frances wasn’t there to witness this; she would be so upset. Stan had left me a message on my mobile. What the hell did he want now? I sobered up a bit before I rang the bastard. The time was nearly 15:00hrs.
“Hello!”
“Alright, mate: it’s me, Michael; you left me a message on my mobile. Sorry, mate, I was out of it.”
“How’s Frances?”
“She’s coping; you know how it goes.”
“Yeah, I sure do. I remember when I lost my wife to cancer many years back. You remember?”
“Yes, mate, I do remember; it was horrible wasn’t it.”
“Just keep each other strong and you’ll both make it.”
“Anyway, enough of the niceties. What do you want, mate?”
“Fancy a job? Meet me on Thursday at half one-ish at Kelly’s café, just off Arthur Street, yeah?” Griffer was sitting next to me eating the chunks of vomit off the bathroom floor. I felt sick.
“I’m so sorry Griffer, now fuck off!”
“Hello, you there?”
“Yeah, what’s the dog up to?”
“Ah, nothing; just being a dirty bastard. What job you on about? My wife has just been fucking murdered: it’s bit of a bad time at the moment, mate.”
“It’s got a good side to it, mate!”
“Yeah, and what the fuck’s that then?”
“It involves Killeen and his little rag head mates abroad! You up for it?” It didn’t take me long to answer!
“Abso-fucking-lutely!” I hung up, threw my mobile down and hit the bottle again. By 01:30am I was completely wrecked. I woke up in another circle of vomit. Rubbing the chunks off my face I got dressed and walked to the shops to buy more alcohol and a scratch card for £2. When I got home, I used a two pence piece and scratched away: £2! Even I managed a faint smile. Walking into the hallway, I picked up my recorded mail, delivered over a week ago, and sat down at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and my £2 scratch card winnings, using a knife to scrape off the last bit on the corner. Taking a sip of wine, I carefully opened the letter.
With love from Allah!!! – Killeen X
I put the letter down on the table, letting out a scream of rage. Then I downed the rest of the bottle, rang up Pete, and told him to get his arse over to mine now.
He made me a coffee and called the detective in charge. Everyone attended mine for a cosy chat.
“That bastard killed my wife, Pete!”
“It’s looking that way, mate.”
“It sure fucking is!” My very soul was filling with rage. Within the hour everyone had left. I sobered up and got ready to meet Stan the next day. I put on a shirt and tie, and scrubbed myself up a little. I even tried to have a shave but ended up cutting myself to bits; it didn’t work out to my advantage: I ended up looking like a thug!
I caught a bus to the other side of town to meet Stan. The café was half-empty so I sat down and waited for him to arrive.
“Can I have a brew, love, please? White, two sugars, darling.”
“Coming right up, love.”
Stan was ten minutes late when he finally turned up. I hate late people: it really pisses me off.
He ordered a coffee. “What you been up to then, buddy? Anything new to add to your overwhelming story?”
“Nah, mate! Just the same old rubbish.”
“Sorry to hear about the wife, mate.”
“Yeah, I’m trying not to think about it. But, thanks, yeah.”
“Is the little one ok?”
“Yeah, she’s top class, Stan.” I rubbed my hands together.
“I want that fucker, Stan! I want him so bad.” I clenched my fist and Stan grabbed my arm before I knocked ten barrels of shit out of the table.
“Calm down, you’ll get your chance. I know it’s fucking hard, but try to relax and I’ll give you that chance. I want you to wipe out the lot, Michael. You said you wanted a job?”
“Yes please, mate! I need to get some money in for Fran, plus I need to get that wanker, mate. You know how it goes.”
“This is a big job; it’s working with MI5 and the US agencies.”
“Bugger me! What crap are you going to get me into now then?”
“Don’t say it like that! Do you want this job or not?”
“Yeah, alright then, mate.”
“Well, I suppose I do owe you a favour.”
“I need say no more then, buddy.” We both laughed.
“This is a big one, mate. Are you sure you’re ready for it yet? Is Fran all secure?”
“If it has anything to do with Killeen, then I’m more than ready to jump straight in.”
“Yeah, and that’s what I’m afraid of. You’re going to end up in a body bag soon enough.”
“Not before I take that piece of shit with me.”
“I’m going to open a file now, Michael, and it’s a “read only.” If you tell anyone, your head will roll. Do you understand me, Michael?”
“Yes, Stan! Now show me the file.”
File 51 – RESTRICTED – TOP SECRET
Reference: 2012345/897/JKL
Appointment: HM GOV/CIA
Date: 24/03/2012
Annex: Sabre Six
Case Notes:
The British Anti-Terrorism Agency (Sabre Six) wants an emergency mission to destroy any threat supported by Al-Qaida immediately.
A team of Special Forces will be deployed to Pakistan, crossing over into Afghanistan. From here, they will be deployed on foot and eliminate a top member of the Al-Qaida organization, Mohammed Santé Janjev.
Mohammed has been responsible for supplying weapons to the Taliban in Afghanistan, resulting in the deaths of collation troops. The weapons are supplied by Ryan Killeen. Killeen is a secondary target, and if identified is also to be eliminated.
Sabre Six. (CIA Directorate) Simon Morris
“We need to take the lot out, mate! If Killeen is there, take the shot. If anyone stands in your way, take the shot. Do whatever it takes. We need these lads taken out of the arena.”
“What protection have I got?”
Stan smiled. “You don’t exist. We know nothing about you. It’s Black Ops, mate. You know how it works!”
“Do you want him or not? I’ll hand him to you on a plate if you so wish.”
“No, I want to take him out fair and square. The battlefield will do.”
“Count me in! You have a deal mate, count me in! When do we set off?”
“I’ll phone you later next week. Get things sorted back at home first.”
He finished his coffee but before walking out the café passed me a brown envelope. Inside I found photos of Killeen and Mohammed and his kids and family, together with maps, and grid references. The lay out of the base looked simple enough. It was all there for the taking!
I decided that for Fran’s safety I would move her up with her Nan in the north of England. She would be given police protection, and that would make me feel a lot better.
C
hapter Four: Sabre Six – File 51
Stan joined my team in early 2004. He wasn’t actually quite what I had expected. It was my first experien
ce of meeting such a grand character, one that I would never forget!
Iraq 2004 – Behind Enemy Lines
Sergeant Michael Fox: 22 SAS Regiment – B Squadron:
Stan was a top member of my team; a very useful tool indeed. I was the Squadron Sergeant, Stan was my second in command. He was a bit of a ladies’ man. Back in Hereford, there wasn’t a weekend went by that he didn’t have some cheap tart hanging off his arm, but he was a funny lad and everyone loved him. The other members of my team were Keith and Nigel, or “Nig” to us back in Hereford. Keith was from Oxford and was a very well-spoken young man – Mummy was very rich, you see. His father had died in the summer of 1991; he had been a stockbroker. Keith, my dear old friend, was a hard-as-nails kind of person. He was a very gentle character unless you jacked him off, but his bark was always worse than his bite. Nig was a crazy black fella, married three times and divorced three times. His current girlfriend worked in Asda on the tills. He had no children and no prospects. All he wanted in life was women and the Regiment.
It was my round down at our local. Stan racked them up and Keith chalked his cue. It was time for a regimental pool competition.
“Three quid to win. Deal or no Deal, mate?”
“Deal! I do hate taking your money, though, buddy!”
“Dickhead, take the shot!”
“Knob head!” Stan lined up with his pool cue and hit the white ball into the rack of balls as hard as he could. There was a large ‘crack’ as the balls scattered around the table.
The bastard potted the black and the game was over.
“You thicko!”
“Go get the beer in, Stan, you twat!”
“Yeah, I think I’d better.” He hid his face in shame.
After the pool competition was finished, (which Smudge from 264 won, scaly bastards!) we sat round our little table drinking ourselves into an early grave. By the time the night was over, most of us were worse for wear; Nig was rat-arsed and Stan had fucked off with some tart. We decided enough was enough and walked back to barracks with a greasy kebab and a cool can of diet Pepsi.
Sabre Six : File 51 Page 5