The Oxford Code

by Ray Christie

  Jonuz and his team finish their whisky and remove the bodies as per contract, their professional services are second to none and always employed by Hekuran to clean up the dirty work. These new Albanians contract all work out to each other, once committed, you as an individual cannot leave. Moving from safe house to safe house carrying out orders and receiving cash for your services. If you refuse the work, yourself and your family back home will feel nothing but pain until your short life expires. Jonuz knows that every member of his crew would double-cross him at any point to escape with the winnings. He knows this because that is what he would do, and it is what he is planning.

  ***

  The Jaguar was now well out of Luton, driving to London. Only stopping once to pick up a passenger. Hekuran never meets anyone. Always sending a cousin or brother instead, although crime is where the money is at, it is rubbing shoulders with the elites that Hekuran believes he can become wealthy and famous. Another Roman Abramovic. Stepping out of the Lords Country Club in Bushey Heath, Hekuran is confident no one knows who he really is. For those educated at Eton or graduates from Sandhurst, he was simply a banker, a high roller, one with blue blood during his early youth. Using his extortion rackets to invest in shares began his life of upper-class tendencies.

  Walking lightly over the gravel to the Jaguar, Hekuran paused as he always does to gaze over the immaculate grounds and the old English architecture. He has a vision of a great manor, built in the Tudor style, with an entrance leading his visitors to his favoured blackened oak timber with whitewashed plaster inlays. A lover of the English novelist George Orwell’s work Hekuran is trying to shake his past.

  The driver excuses himself as he interrupts Hekuran’s thoughts to open the rear door for him. Once he collects his thoughts Hekuran gives the driver a simple nod. The driver would be the last human Hekuran would ever see. A bullet fired from the clock tower of the Bentley Priory Museum 800 meters to the East entered Hekuran’s skull. A solid man, arms that would suit a woodcutter and a chin made of granite he stood his ground for what felt like minutes to the driver despite having a hole blown out the back of his head. In slow motion he gradually fell backwards, knees locked thumping loudly to the ground sending white gravel spreading far and wide from the dead dreamer.

  The quiet professional causally disassembled his FR F2 sniper rifle. He climbed down from the clock tower and entered a work van, stolen hours earlier and sanitised for this job. Driving out Mansion House Drive in Stanmore the professional displayed no emotion. Today was nothing special, nothing exciting, no different than most days. “Qui Court deux lievres a la fois, n’en prend aucun,” he tells himself, ‘one hare at a time.’

  SIX

  London, England

  Ben and Sam commandeered a car and worked their way to St Pancras International station. A play on the outdated ‘posse comitatus.’ They had followed protocol when their objective was compromised. Their job is to deny knowing anything or anybody and escape. Jack had disappeared into the dark when his partner Johnston was dragged unconsciously into a transit van, they had no chance to engage when the tactical police stormed in. Mark and Gordon did the same when they lost sight of Jack when he got separated. Also believing Jack had now been captured distance needs to be created.

  Driving North in their stolen mythos black Audi RX crossing the River Thames and passing Paddington Sam the passenger navigates. “Take this right, thirty miles per hour now, maintain a gap, turn left then second right, fifty miles now.” Ben listens intently to his navigator but cannot understand how the operation unfolded, “This op, despite meticulous planning quickly turned into a disaster, who comprised us?”

  Sam did not take long to think, “That’s Franks job to find out, he will turn out something, keep driving I’ll figure it out, this is a shit area, undercovers everywhere, indicate left fifty meters.”

  The operators know this area of London well, spending some time previously keeping high-value targets connected to the British Mosque and Islamic Worship centre under surveillance. Despite those faithful worshippers following the path of their God a small number of jihadist recruiters attempted to infiltrate the vulnerable from London’s inner cities for their caliphate in Syria. Ben rolls the Audi to a quiet stop on Cromer Street and they make their way to the international train station crossing Euston Road on foot. The car would not be too suspicious here for a few hours, or at least until nightfall. By that time, they will have made their trip out of England.

  Ben and Sam choose to work together when on black ops, their history operating side by side spans over ten years in special operations with the British 22nd Special Air Service Regiment. They also went through selection together after joining the Paras a few years before. Finished in theatres of war such as Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, and countless deployments to Africa on capture or kill missions, hostage rescue and regime changes. Doing these new profitable off the record operations allow their small teams to do their own missions, planning and partner selection. If things go pear-shaped, they need to count on the man next to them to follow orders without fear or hesitation. Trust is something that takes years to discover and years to build on. With many years of extreme controlled violence mixed with substantial amounts of hard cash, the lure of faraway calm tropical islands to retire becomes appealing. What brings these two together to continue their trade is the excitement and thrills of such high-risk work. Simple things such as knowing their capabilities and reading each other’s minds greatly speed up their decision making. Their plan to ditch the car in this area and walk to the station needed no discussion.

  The two walked side by side, no daydreaming, idle chit chat for the keen observer, whilst keeping all senses at full capacity. Any car that approaches them Ben and Sam would view the occupants carefully, examining for signs of threat. Those looking for the two could exist via the police, the unknown team, or their own agency to close the ‘account,’ or even hapless junkies looking to ‘roll’ someone craving for their early hit.

  Their small unit always knew the only way to silence people is to put them in the ground. This morning no one knows from whom the threat is coming from. The first car to approach too fast and pull to a stop will likely draw their last breath.

  ***

  Of the six-man team, the last two also make their way to one of their own prearranged locations.

  Known only to a handful of key personnel, official safe houses are one of many not just in Europe but worldwide. For the team to get their safehouse an encrypted message was sent to the account holder in the hours leading up to the mission, an address was then provided in return. In the event of any changes or missions overflowing to other areas resupplies are necessary. The assistance provided can be lifesaving due to the equipment provided and the ever-increasing amount of addresses on the books. Supplies stored there range from medical, ammunition, vehicles, fuel, food, and cash. It is the joint decision of all the six men before the mission to select one of these or to use one of their own private safe houses depending on how the event played out.

  It is fitting for Gordon to have this job of organising the safe house and providing such details to the rest. Spending his military career in high threat situations carrying out reconnaissance work for the small unit of British Special Forces, known as the pathfinders. With a Master of Forensic Behavioural Science in his bag of tricks, Gordon loves pulling people to pieces, easily able to catch the mood of his area of operations.

  He loved hiking over mountain ranges and walking long distances cross country but dropping uninvited into hostile lands using a HALO or HAHO approach was what he loved most. Doing what was needed to do for his country then disappearing without a trace, these are the ghosts of the military. It was Gordon that sourced their own locations, from beachfront villas in the Italian coast, rooftop apartments in Paris, ski chalets in the Swiss Alps and farmhouses in the German countryside. Gordon secured the best properties, with the stolen Russian money, those with great countersurveillance positi
ons, stable local governments, good food and pleasant neighbourhoods.

  The idea was to have a number of safe places to regroup and be at arm’s length from the agencies. Sometimes the men took their families or girlfriends there when taking time out between contracts. It was usually the Parisian apartment that was decided on as the location that everyone would meet at if something was not right. This was the first time that the supplied safe house from the agencies would not be trusted.

  Moving across the water to France from England was never a challenge for Mark. Growing up working on fishing trawlers off the coast of Scotland he was a gifted sailor. His love of the ocean and adventure moved himself to take on the more challenging career of deep-sea welding. Extremely fit and a strong swimmer he began to get bored working in the North Sea, with its bleak surroundings, no women and what seemed like a continuous winter he opted for new pastures.

  Many years ago, Mark had a chance encounter with a retired naval officer, a respected man who had travelled the world with many stories never to be told. It was his off the cuff remark that Mark’s talents should be used in the military that lit a flame deep inside him. A few years later the flame engulfed him. He joined the military and eventually, he was a welcome addition to the SBS (Special Boat Service). His love of the marine environment, trips overseas on training and deployments, coupled with a strong mix of thrilling adventure provides Mark everything he could ask for. Frequent trips to San Diego to spend with the US Navy Seals became a great opportunity to network with more quiet professionals.

  Maintaining friendships with a number of these specialists with worldwide resources gives one a range of options when under pressure. Or when sensitive movements of people or cargo are required. This is the time that Mark suggests to Gordon his contacts can be helpful in crossing the English Channel. As before Mark always comes up with colourful methods to cross oceans with his team by his side. From the most prestige form of travelling as guests of the QE2 to a shrimp trawler in the South China Seas. Before ditching the unit’s operation burner phone Mark made a call to someone with access to the harbour masters list containing names of ships heading to France, he then finds the man he needs.

  Portsmouth to Cherbourg in France usually takes three hours on a fast catamaran, Mark, and his sidekick board just before the ferry is set to depart. A quick discussion with the captain about the logistics and to France they set sail. Their car taken from the London streets was abandoned in Morrison's shopping mall, a short distance from Charles Dickens’ birthplace. A reliable contact will arrive shortly to move the car to another place in England before torching it, in an attempt to erase their movements.

  “Qui Vivra Verra” quips Mark, standing with his gaze fixed on the ever-shrinking English harbour. Steady as a rock on his feet he is checking for observers amongst the tourists and recreational fishers dotted along the coastline. Never satisfied that they have departed unnoticed he inhales a deep breath of the fresh English Channel’s salty sea air and enjoys the wake trail left behind them. Gordon, on the other hand, is planning his arrival in France and how they will get to Paris quickly due to Mark’s round-about direction. “Hire car Mark, what do you reckon?”, “I’m happy to grab one from the street” Mark replies with a grin, not taking his eyes off the wake. Rolling his eyes Gordon continues working alone on his plan, leaving Mark to continue his surveillance for any boats trailing them. In the past the team would simply fly business to Paris Charles de Gaulle under the guise of diplomats, now due to operational security, they all make their way to Paris by different means and directions. Hoping to shake off those looking for them.

  ***

  Kings Cross, England

  Not far from King’s Cross Station, a small private phone shop would have in-stock items that Ben and Sam require. Sam had hung back covering Ben as he approached the shop to make the purchase. Moments later Ben emerged, crossed the street, and entered the Great Britain Hotel. Approaching the reception, he observed a young female concierge working silently on an iPad. Sliding a hand through his thick dark hair he moves forward and puts on his charm. “May I have the Wainscot room with the view of the street darling?” he then pushes through with further demands. “My bags have been delayed at John F. Kennedy and I desperately need a couple of new suits and some other items for today, could you be a sweetheart and arrange the following…”

  With new clothes, shoes and other items arranged Ben makes his way to the room. The dark walnut panelled room allows Ben a great vantage point up and down Pancras Street, now to sit and wait for Sam to make his way up the street and into the Train Station to check for a tail.

  Sam had watched Ben depart the phone shop and enter the luxury hotel, he continued his observations for a further twenty minutes and once he was confident of no followers he conducted his part. Walking briskly up the street and darting into St. Pancras International Station he was sure Ben would be doing his surveillance part from one of the finest boutique hotels in London. Walking quickly through the Station and exiting via Midlands Road, Sam took a long detour back towards the Great Britain Hotel and selected his seat in the Peach & Lime restaurant. He ordered the sea bass with globe artichokes with Meunière sauce, and a glass of Grüner Veltliner Eiswein to accompany it. Sitting one table back from the floor to ceiling windows provided a protected view of the street and lobby which gave Sam a strong vantage point. Not long after this Ben entered the restaurant and took up a seat at the opposite end of the room.

  ***

  Frank Harlow is the units go-to man for everything, the quintessential old boy of Eton. Able to lay his hands on everything from leaked cabinet documents, sordid details of politicians and classified documents from a range of countries outside of the five eyes. With several degrees a PhD and an associate professor in Cybersecurity, he is the expert white-hat hacker and one whom travels in dark areas of the web. No one knows much more about him other than his love of antiques, county cricket and weekend fly fishing trips to Northumberland. When previously asked by Jack to provide a number of unofficial passports for the boys, Frank quipped “May get myself one also then old chap.” Always wanting to feel in the middle of the action, Frank came up with the goods, and as sure as night follows day Frank proudly showed off his own passport. Likely will never be used, although Frank enjoyed this moment showing Jack and the boys his new identity, ‘Ulrich Maximilian Schweighöfer.’

  Jack had provided his team with two new passports each, for their eyes only and to be used only when going off the books. Not even the agencies knew. These were to be contained within their personal bug-out kits strapped to their bodies before they embark on any operation. Earlier he destroyed his agency issued passport, and he suspected his team would have done the same. As Jack steered his Audi through the streets out of London, he knew which airport would provide a flight allowing his new equipment. Activating his new phone and dialling a number from memory Jack is putting together his worst-case scenario plan.

  Driving West on the M4 from London towards Heathrow he drafts an email then separates the SIM card from the phone and dumps them both before making a turn North on the Parkway to an airport he trusts. RAF Northolt has long been a safe location for Jack, nowadays the base operates both military and private flights. “Long time,” Jack shouts from the window of his Audi at the lean figure walking out of the Main Guardroom. Mitchell, an old Sandhurst mate, walks over and smiles at the sharp arrival of his new passenger. “It has been too long, nice to see you, park quickly and let’s walk.” Judged by the short sharp telephone conversation earlier with Jack he realises time is precious.

  Nothing appears odd to Mitchell as his services are routinely called for to whisk unknowns about Europe. He remembers all too many close encounters serving in the Unit with Jack years ago before taking his pilot training. After which he spent time transporting HVTs to various black sites around the globe.

  The Audi is emptied of anything incriminating, then Jack and Mitchell walk to the newly resurfaced runwa
y where the fuelled Cessna Citation II awaits them. “Wheels up in ten mikes unless there is anyone else joining us” enquires Mitchell.

  Jack shakes his head, “Ten mikes it will be.”

  “You will find some of what you were after in the cabin, short notice I’m afraid but there are clothes and a drink for you.”

  Jack sits back as the Cessna climbs and quietly pours himself a glass of Rémy Martin's XO while he contemplates his next move.

  ***

  After a couple of drinks, Ben returned to his room and enquired about the items he requested, the concierge had been very efficient and promised to deliver within the hour. Sam continued his surveillance whilst unpacking the new phone that Ben dropped onto his lap when he had earlier gone to the restroom. Sam logged into an email account, read a message in the draft folder, deleted it, and left his own message in the same folder. By seven pm the newly acquired clothes had been delivered to the Wainscot room and Sam got the call to come up and change.

  Stepping out onto the road the two smart figures blended in with those commuters in this upmarket area in the city. Purchasing two business premier tickets for the 20:01 train to Paris they looked like any other distinguished businessmen in the carriage. Allowing ten-minute boarding time before the gate closed, they both found their seats whilst observing each and every passenger in their surroundings. Through their earpieces, any important information could be silently relayed to each other if required. As it appeared the boarding was successful, and no known observers were found. At exactly 20:01 hours the train left on its two hours and sixteen minute trip from St. Pancras International bound for Gare du Nord, Paris.