The Shadow's Code

by Miles Goodson

  Lindon’s flight to England had been smooth and uneventful. They landed at Oxford Airport approximately forty-five miles from central London. Ground staff didn’t ask any questions and the landing facilities were good. The plane stopped in front of a hanger by the end of the runway.

  Lindon disembarked last behind Rena and two other tradesmen who were traveling on a different job, but hired by Dino. The other tradesmen had been the only highlight of the flight and had argued more than once in the air. Clearly they hadn’t worked together before. One was a young man, mid twenties, very tech savvy. He had been hired to keep a perimeter secure using little more than a laptop. The other man was much older, mid fifties; he was not interested in technology. He was going to provide the old fashioned surveillance. They were working for a bank CEO who had recently received death threats that were considered credible. The young man felt that his senior didn’t appreciate what he did. The older man felt that his junior was lazy and too reliant on his precious laptop.

  “There’s no better surveillance than the human eye,” he had retorted more than once to the young man when he had shown him his programs that were ten times better than humans, and already busy replacing them. It was a classic debate between different generations. It was a more common argument than Lindon expected in this line of work. Clients liked new technology, however they still felt safer with a tough as nails mercenary present. The tech savvy college dropouts were good at stopping security cameras being hacked or emails being stolen, but gave them little reassurance of physical defense. As a compromise agencies supplied both, which pleased clients with a mix of technology and human instinct. The men and women of the two generations were not as enthusiastic about the blend of new and old school as the clients.

  Lindon and Rena were happy they were not going to have to share a vehicle with the two men from the plane. An Audi A8 pulled up to collect Lindon and Rena. The prince wanted to meet them straight after his flight landed. He was due to land at Heathrow in three hours and had sent the car ahead to pick up his protection and escort them to Heathrow. They were instructed to wait until his flight landed. Once it did, their job for the next few days began. They were on 24-hour duty from the moment the prince landed on British soil. Lindon inspected the itinerary. There were very few areas that he thought would be of any trouble. The most concerning were a few restaurants that the prince was booked into with a reserved table instead of a private room.

  Lindon’s mind drifted during the car journey to Heathrow. Traffic was slow. He stared out of the window at the overcast sky. He couldn’t wait to get to Sweden and imagined being at his retreat, warm, sat by a fire, without a care in the world. Instead he was sat in a traffic jam on the M25 motorway that was prone to long traffic tailbacks. Lindon looked down at his hands and glanced over at Rena. Her head was pressed against the headrest and facing out of the window. She had taken the opportunity to power nap. A skill that was imperative when being employed to work 24 hours on demand and on call at every moment.

  The oil prince landed five minutes later than scheduled. He was flying on a commercial airline for the first time in two years - his personal private jet was having an overhaul - he flew first class with a private room, shower and double bed. The Airbus A380 allowed first class passengers to depart separately and the prince went straight to priority queues to pass through security. His assistant travelled with him - in economy class – and was instructed to wait for his baggage at reclaim whilst he went ahead to meet his staff. A man holding up the prince’s name waited by arrivals. Lindon and Rena stood nearby. The prince recognized them from the pictures the agency had supplied. He walked towards them, ignoring the driver holding the sign with his name. Plans for the day were discussed immediately and any changes to schedule were noted by Rena. Lindon assured him everything would go smoothly and fifteen minutes later they all left Heathrow. The prince travelled in the back of a grey Bentley Flying Spur with his assistant and driver. Rena and Lindon followed in a Mercedes G-wagon that the prince owned but never used.

  Chapter 16

  Warren hung up the phone after a short discussion with Bill. He was instructed to stay home until the evening. Bill told him about his upcoming meeting with James and Roger to which Warren wasn’t invited. Now housebound, Warren sat down at his desk in the living area. Agent Jefferson had walked through the front door whilst Warren was on the phone. He replaced Agent Carlos who had covered the night shift.

  Agent Jefferson was working the longest hours of all the agents watching over Warren. This didn’t reflect his seniority or experience; he had chosen to be the closest agent. It was invaluable experience to be guarding someone so close in a real world scenario. Jefferson had aspirations to one day become one of the few men on the planet to be trusted to guard the president of the United States. His superiors had already spoken to the secret service about a possible move and they had reacted positively but wanted agent Jefferson to gain more experience in a high-pressure situation. So far he had worked 78 of the last 96 hours on the job.

  Warren made pancakes for breakfast and tried to settle in for a day of sitting at home. Two hours passed. Warren was tired of watching the football highlights from the night before and the sports news offered little in the way of new information or entertainment.

  “Can’t I just go to the store or something?” Warren asked Agent Jefferson, knowing the answer.

  “The order is to stay at home, until we hear otherwise, you’re not going anywhere,” was the stern response.

  “C’mon, I could go out yesterday, what’s so different about today?”

  “I don’t make the rules, I just follow the orders.” Barely a muscle moved on Jefferson’s face when he answered; then his radio crackled.

  “Everything OK in there? We’ve got a guy hanging around the front porch, doesn’t look like a mail man,” one of the agents in the car outside said.

  Jefferson sprung into action, moving towards the door with one hand on his gun.

  “Give me a description,” he said into the radio.

  “Elderly male, wearing a baseball cap and grey winter coat, blue jeans, about 5’7, medium build, you want us to go over and talk to him?”

  “Hold on, let’s see what he does,” Jefferson answered as he moved next to the front door and stood just off to the side. Warren remained in the living area frozen to the sofa. Knock. The tension immediately increased. Both men in the car were now ready to pounce; one had already opened his door and removed his gun from the holster. Agent Jefferson took a slow breath then opened the door halfway, concealing his left arm.

  “Oh, hi, my name is Larry Sheer. My wife and I are a little lost. Could you direct me to Luther Street?” said the man.

  Agent Jefferson looked him up and down and was about to speak when he heard the man’s wife scream from the window of a car. She was a plump woman with a squealing voice. She had her head and an arm out of the window of a sparkling red 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T coupe that was parked a few houses away.

  “Larry, gun, that man’s got a gun, behind you!” The panic in her voice was loud and clear. Agent Mendez had jumped out of his car too early and without Agent Jefferson giving him any signal. He was ducked down with both hands holding onto a handgun charging toward the old man. Larry stuck to the spot. His jaw was frozen and his legs turned to jelly.

  “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” Agent Jefferson shouted at Mendez who immediately stopped in his tracks. He holstered his weapon and stood up straight. His face turned red; all the adrenaline that had been pumping through his body dropped to his feet. Mendez looked like a lost boy in the middle of the road. Agent Jefferson was glaring at him but remained silent. Larry turned and attempted to take a step away from the door. Larry’s wife was now standing in shock next to the car, holding onto the open car door to steady herself.

  “Err, sorry, I will try a different house.” Larry tried to conceal a tremble but despite his best efforts it was obvious that he was afraid and in shock.
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  Agent Jefferson immediately put on a charm offensive. No one was meant to know they were there. Agent Mendez had blown their cover. The last thing they now needed was an old man telling everyone he spoke to across the city about men with guns wearing suits in a residential area. The press would be festering across every street in the city trying to find them. The hunt for a juicy story would be irresistible.

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding” Jefferson smiled as he spoke. “How can I help?” he asked.

  “It’s OK. Really. I will try somewhere else.” Larry was now too afraid to move without permission but eager to get away.

  “It’s OK sir, what did you need?” Jefferson spoke with as much kindness as he could muster.

  “Just directions, I and my wife have driven from Virginia in my pride and joy, the red car over there, to come and visit our son. He lives on Wendle Street. It’s off Luther Street. It’s near here I’m sure but my wife can’t get her cell phone to work. I don’t understand phones that aren’t connected to a line. I really just need directions but I can leave you fellas be,” Larry waffled as he desperately tried to stop shaking.

  Although Agent Jefferson didn’t know the area well he had driven down Luther Street several times when escorting Warren to the Army base. “No problem, take a right at the end of street. Then hang a left. It’s the second street on your right,” Jefferson said with a smile.

  “Oh, OK thank you.” Larry waved his hand as he turned. He could just about feel his legs again.

  “Oh and no one needs to hear about this. Just a misunderstanding, OK?” Agent Jefferson flashed the bright shiny badge he had on his belt buckle and changed voice to a more authoritarian tone.

  “Yes. Yes. No problem.” Larry’s voice was weak as his throat dried up. He walked back to his car and his wife flopped into the passenger seat looking as if she had seen a ghost. They spoke for a moment, Larry repeatedly told his wife to calm down before he fired up the 426-cubic inch V8 Hemi motor. With a crack and burble it erupted into life and the vehicle slowly crawled forward.

  Jefferson kept the front door open and watched from the porch until the turn signal began flashing on the right hand side of the car. Then it disappeared from view. Warren had managed to stand up as he had heard the events unfold. He was now stood at the window looking down the street.

  “Dammit!” Agent Jefferson said. He had lost his usual cool calm tone. A vein on his neck throbbed. He pulled his radio out. “What were you thinking? You just fucked the whole thing! FUCKING IDIOT!”

  There was no response. Jefferson turned to Warren. “Go. Pack a bag. We’re leaving. You won’t be back here for a while.”

  “What, why?” Warren asked.

  “Get your things we gotta go!” Jefferson snapped. Warren didn’t move and didn’t respond.

  “Fucking do it now!” Jefferson raised his voice at Warren for the first time since they had met.

  Warren began to understand the seriousness of the situation and went straight to his bedroom and stuffed a pair of jeans and some other clothes into a bag. Jefferson continued to bark orders from the hall.

  “We gotta move you. We will go to the Army base first. You ready?”

  Warren nodded his response and the two men walked out to Warren’s car. In some ways Warren was relieved to be outside. Even if it wasn’t in the circumstances he wanted. Jefferson got behind the wheel. It was the fastest drive Warren had ever experienced on a public road. After hearing his Nissan’s poorly V6 screaming at 5500rpm for most of the journey he again told himself that he needed a new car. In the journey of speed he thought about a new Mercedes or BMW. It stopped him concentrating on being a few inches away from other cars’ bumpers.

  Bill got the bad news just after landing at LaGuardia Airport.

  A car was waiting for him in arrivals that had been sent by James. Bill advised them to hold tight and he would call back. Roger had landed on an earlier flight and had already made his way to the tower block. He entered the metal elevator; the whole building was sparse. The heating had broken down for the third time that month. It affected the hallways and lower floors but the CIA had back-up generators and their own sealed heating/air conditioning system in case of a chemical attack.

  Roger warmed up after leaving the elevator and walking along the CIA’s lower floor. He knocked on an office door number 12. James greeted him and both men sat down and discussed anything apart from the reason they were there. Sports, weather, family; they discussed everything they could whilst impatiently waiting for Bill. James then received a call from Bill telling him he had landed and the mishap at Warren’s house. Roger was annoyed and said as many unkind things as he could fathom about Agent Mendez.

  “Well what do we do now then?” Roger asked James.

  “Well I’m sure Bill will want to discuss this when he arrives but I would suggest we move Warren to a secure house or keep him at the base.”

  “I don’t understand why we haven’t done this already. The man needs to be kept alive at all costs,” Roger said, pacing the office. James paused, he realized that once again Roger was trying to assert himself as the decision maker when in reality he was the furthest from it.

  “Yes but we thought there was little reason to believe that the next move would be on Warren. Kioshi would be trying to track down the key man in all of this. If it is indeed Koishi is doing the killing and if he knows of Lindon’s existence.”

  Roger looked out of the window at the cold city below. “I think he would have realized we were mobilizing, he would go for Lindon, he’s the prize. He’s the man at the center of all this,” Roger said.

  “Yes but what if he doesn’t know that?” James said.

  “We don’t know what he knows, maybe he thinks he’s done, that everyone is gone and he’s gone back to Japan at the Emperor’s garden,” Roger answered as he started to pace again.

  “So what if he is? What’s he gonna do with a seventy year old bomb? I mean we would never use it, not now. Not with Japan being such a close friend. Clearly he’s not working for their government, they wouldn’t want to start World War Three. They’re got bigger worries, like the North Koreans. Now there’s something to be scared about. Maybe if it was the Russians or even the Chinese, but the Japanese, I don’t know, seems like if it is Kioshi then he’s just on a revenge killing spree,” James said.

  Roger pressed his index fingers together and rested his chin on the tips. “Well I don’t think it’s the Japanese government either. But how many terror organizations are out there that have nothing to do with the governments of the country they operate from, loads! And most of them do it because of some old agreement or double cross that they’ve decided to take exception to. This sounds more like one man’s vendetta. But who knows. I mean if we’re meant to be so friendly, why didn’t we just disarm the bomb and shake hands?” Roger said.

  “Now that’s a question for Lt Felix, he made the decision to leave the bomb there and no director of the CIA will challenge one of the last decisions made by Lt Felix before he left service,” James said as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Ah yes, Lt Felix. Have we made sure it’s not him behind all of this? I mean if there was any man out there with the knowledge of all this it would be him?” Roger said with a smirk.

  “Lt Felix is 84 years old and dribbling in a retirement home with dementia. He couldn’t plan a trip to the store let alone the assassination of high-ranking members of the program. Last time I spoke to him he struggled to remember what he had for breakfast the day before,” James said as he unfolded some paperwork.

  “I heard it’s all an act. If there was ever a man that could pull this off I think it would be him,” Roger said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Well then I will call up the Oscars as he must be putting on the best act in I’ve ever seen. The man is of no use to anybody now. You’re welcome to travel to Florida and get one of the nurses to wheel him out to you and ask him about his military days but if you get more t
han a few grunts and an angry stare then you’re a magician.”

  Both men sat in silence for a moment. They tried to work out an impossible question. Everything they were doing seemed backward. Nothing seemed to stack up. There was something they didn’t know and it was becoming an itch they couldn’t scratch.

  Bill knocked then opened the door. His nose and ears were red, the Manhattan weather had suddenly changed and a strong wind was sweeping the city with cold air. He blew his nose in an overused tissue and was wise enough not to bother offering to shake James’s or Roger’s hands.

  “Afternoon,” James said. His eyes looked at his watch without his head moving.

  “Afternoon Bill, grab a seat, we were just discussing Warren,” Roger said.

  This drew Bill’s attention immediately; he collapsed into the chair. His sides pressed heavily against the bolsters reminding him of his pledge to his wife to lose 25 pounds before Christmas.

  “Good, what do you think, I mean, we should move him, right?”

  Both Roger and James nodded but remained silent. Roger then stood. “Excuse me, I’m going to make a phone call.”

  Again James had to sit and make small talk about sports, weather, family, and then, curiously, wing tip shoes. Bill was considering buying some from Macy’s since he was in Manhattan and needed some for an upcoming Army event. Roger walked back in.

  “OK, the time has come, I’ve spoken to the big man. He wants us all in the Oval Office.” Roger then turned to Bill, “Including Warren.”

  “Seriously?” James asked, confounded. Surely Roger could have called the president half an hour ago instead of sitting around waiting for Bill to arrive, he thought.