The Oxford Code

by Ray Christie

  The container ship ‘JSC Liana’ had arrived early that morning from the Jawaharlal Nehru Port in India. When Trevor was notified of its approach, he immediately left his penthouse on Canary Wharf as he wanted to have his eyes on the goods. This was his last remaining get out of jail card. Jonuz had the appropriate licenses and authorisations signed over from the directors of Jakarta Shipping. After the fall of Hekuran, he was next in line within London to fill the void. An indiscrete front company of the Mafia Shqiptare bringing into the UK thousands of tonnes of goods every week. Human trafficking was left to other companies, this one was almost legit, the main purpose of these companies was to show an income for the top Krye and to provide visas and work permits for Kryetars, their underbosses, allowing them entry to the UK legally. After which they would be moved along to other areas of operations as business needs required.

  Stacked with ISO-standard containers of industrial parts, textiles, vegetable oils, plastics, and pharmaceuticals this new world of charter agreements was all new to Trevor. Still, the old spy enjoys learning new mechanisms of world order, he adds a new string to his puppets, making him a more complex and dangerous puppet master. Grinning to himself he walks over to the kitchenette and carefully washes the Glencairn whisky glass, enough whisky for now. His Italian leather shoes made little noise as we walked softly back towards the desk, squeezing, and relaxing the muscles in his arms allowed fresh blood to circulate, like a powerlifter preparing for their max. Jonuz was flicking through the fresh wads of banknotes Trevor had laid down in front of him a couple of hours ago. The desire to count and play with it was too much for him.

  “Bank of England, pleasure is all mine,” Jonuz says to himself, unaware Trevor is now standing behind him.

  Catching him at the end of his little speech Jonuz has no time to inhale, the marine grade stainless steel wire rope is wrapped tightly around his throat cutting through his skin into the windpipe. With great force, Trevor pulls the two ends of the wire across themselves as Jonuz panics and kicks out against the heavy desk forcing the two men crashing to the floor.

  Like a lion holding onto its prey Trevor tightens his grip on the wire, he can hear the bubbling of frothy blood and spit coming from the mouth of Jonuz while his legs kick and thrash pointlessly against the desk. The thin wire cuts deep into the flesh causing blood to seep out and cover Trevor’s hands, he lays there for another minute until Jonuz stops twitching.

  “Bloody taking too long you piece of shit,” Trevor whispers into his ear as he gives the wire a final tight squeeze before pushing the dead man off the top of him. Laying Jonuz’s head against the edge of the desk and floor Trevor lifts his heavy leg and stamps down with all his weight onto his neck. Snapping it. He stuffs the cash back into his sling bag whilst retrieving his firearm from his waistband, checking the monitor on the wall allows him a view of the corridor outside, all clear. Now he switches the screen to the cameras covering the carpark. He can see a couple of targets, Jonuz’s security playing chess outside. Seated out of the rain just under the canopy, smoking and drinking cans of energy drinks, next to them is the black Bentley Mulsanne, polished and ready to take him and Jonuz to Knightsbridge to celebrate their new venture. Big blokes with bulges on their hips, locked and loaded, more wet work, Trevor thinks quickly. Trevor cutting all links had no wish to celebrate with these men, he needed one job from them, now it was time to close shop, his goods already on the truck and heading to the garage he had no time to waste. From his pocket, he pulls the pin out of a white phosphorus grenade, throws it towards Jonuz and exits the room.

  Sprinting down the corridor he screws a silencer onto his Sig Sauer, crouched down he moves around the corner and opens the emergency exit where he can see the two men hunched over their board game. With seconds running low he sprints across the lightly gravelled carpark. The sound of rain hammering against the polycarbonate carport drowned the sounds of his footsteps. Slowing to a creep he draws the weapon up to eye level and squeezes the trigger. The first round enters the back of the Albanian’s skull spraying blood over the next target. The burly enforcer looks up with a face of astonishment and confusion quickly followed by fear. Reaching towards his hip grabbing for his firearm the next round Trevor fired went through his cheek. Closing in Trevor fired a round each into their heads, he then quickly scans the surrounding carpark for threats before searching their pockets. Finding a set of car keys, he jumps in the Bentley, slides his sling bag to his front and starts the ignition. He can hear the sounds of explosions coming from the office he just left while the surrounding buildings have all caught fire their alarms ringing loudly through the London skies. Trevor catches the sight of Jonuz’s blood over his face and neck from the rear-view mirror, his hands leaving blood prints over the steering wheel. This needs to be managed well he reminds himself, thinking of a buyer for such a nice vehicle will come after, always money in everything he turns his hands too. He powers the beast of a wagon out from the carpark and onto the wet road. Weaving in and out of traffic he turns on his new burner phone, hits the pre-set number in France, after waiting for it to ring he hangs up, a few seconds later he redials and repeats the same. A minute later the phone rings, Trevor presses the green button, “Hello, Wrigley’s Engineering,” after providing the first part of their pre-agreed recognition phrase there is a brief pause, the caller responds, “Sorry wrong number I was looking for Insurance.”

  Chuckling to himself despite the circumstances Trevor tells the paranoid René what he was hoping for. “Time to close up shop my good friend, dissolve our partnership I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, really, I still have clients without goods, perhaps you can take care of my business needs, yes”? René always looks for the easy way out.

  “That I cannot do, your invoices will be paid at the end of the month, but I need you in London to sign the paperwork, I hope I can meet you in the next few days, in your own time.” With that Trevor hangs up, he removes the battery and SIM from the phone and discards the phone out the window. The SIM card is crushed in his teeth and swallowed. Trevor’s own trick.

  ***

  Rambouillet, France

  René had casually walked outside of his house, located one hour from Paris. Answering the call using Trevor’s techniques, the call he did not want, but one he knew would be made eventually. Breathing the fresh moist air carrying the scent from the wet woodland pine surrounding him. The taste of nature mixed well with the Romanée-Conti he was drinking a minute ago. A large property built in seventeen seventy and located in a quiet village on the edge of Rambouillet forest provided René with a place far from the hectic city life. Taking a moment to compose himself he considers his options. Trevor had asked him to sign the paperwork, looking around the property he scans for signs of danger, he can feel a tingle running down his spine. He wished it had not come to this, signing paperwork was the committee’s way of speaking about eliminating someone. Actions that René had left behind many years ago. A man of his standing should not be getting his hands dirty, even if it meant organising a hitman to do the actual work, this is still too close. He was not an operations man; he had chosen not to be anymore. Thinking back to the call, Trevor said, “In your own time,” which translates as ‘urgently,’ in other words, it simply means the proverbial has hit the fan. Heading into the warmth of his country home he closes the heavy oak door behind him before fastening the heavy bolts securely. He quickly walks across the terracotta floor tiles towards a feature built to look like a supporting wall for the grand staircase. Groping at the top of the wall he found the pin he was looking for, releasing this he was able to slide the oak panel portion of the wall out of its groove exposing a hidden entrance. Once inside he fixed the oak panel back in place and flicked a switch, he could now work the keypad and open the trap door down to the basement. It has been a few years since he felt the need to be down here. All his younger years in the special forces, before he joined the intelligence side, accumulated in a wealth of knowledge about fire
arms. His favoured way of killing however was the compound bow, crawling through the undergrowth after deer and creeping up slowly until he sends forth the arrow at speeds of three hundred feet per second. An honourable kill. A man of fine tastes René takes his hunting seriously, following his prey for hours. London is a different landscape, the time will be limited, he chooses his tools carefully.

  ***

  Strasbourg, France

  Eastern France reminds Anjeze Kokalari of her early days, in and out of European cities under different legends. Her artificial life history allowed her to move around undeterred by the European counterintelligence professionals. Guiding politicians with her information, analysing intelligence, and conducting operations, dropping men as she went. Working on her own, guided only by Trevor for this trip, she can absorb more of her surroundings, perhaps it comes with maturity or experience. She has over the years began to develop a sense of what life will be like ahead, fattening her retirement purse she accepts Trevor’s kindness. Offering her this work will lift her wealth and social standings as comparable to a Marchioness, her dreams of beginning a new life as that of an aristocrat are only a few hours away. For now, she sits back in the capital of the Alsace region and realises how beautiful the streets, buildings and rooftops are. The vivid red geraniums arranged neatly in their boxes which protrude proudly from every shop window, iron gilded wrought signs hanging over doorways, the scent of warm baguettes from the boulangeries or the inviting scents from the fromageries drifting from street to street. Not to mention the handsome staff attentive to her needs. Anjeze looked to be lost in admiration, dreams, and memories, at least that is what anyone observing her would surmise. Perhaps a well-off divorcee making use of her new life, shopping and dining out until late, no home to rush back to.

  Seated under an umbrella by the canal she is picking her way through a charcuterie board. The waiter returned with her extra olives. She had requested the picholine and cerignola olives to accompany her mettwurst and Allgäuer Bergkäse with dark rye bread. Adding the French and Italian olives to the smoked German sausage and the hard-Bavarian alpine cheese was not a necessity for Anjeze, having the handsome waiter remain nearby and come to her table in an instant was her aim. With a low cleavage and a cheeky smile, the age gap meant nothing to the young man, he enjoyed the flirting, the teasing, and the constant compliments of this rich and playful woman. However, this posh and mysterious woman had her own intentions. The table was reserved by her the night before, a perfect vantage point. From the position of her table Anjeze has now spotted the men getting into a black BMW, she knew they would pass by her position, the only road out from their hotel. Calling the waiter over once again, the well-mannered and groomed young man, she asked for his hand and in a swift movement placed a neatly folded fifty Euro note into his hand, “You are not extremely busy, please sit for a minute and share some air with me, I want to look at you darling.” Smiling and blushing the young man slides his chair in close to Anjeze until their legs are touching. Covering the view from the men in the BMW as it passed by Anjeze looked just like another cougar with her young arm candy. Her birdwatching skills built up over the years collecting intelligence have paid off, that was a clean pass now she will enjoy the rest of her meal in the off-chance Frank has been doing his own counter-surveillance. She doubts it, ‘He’s an online geek,’ she thinks to herself, ‘Too long since he has been operational.’ Nonetheless, she will stay a bit longer if only to tease the young man, perhaps she will have company tonight. Anjeze lays her hand on the young man’s thigh, her cleavage now adds a higher level of distraction as she leans forward to slip the surveillance camera discretely back into her bag. One of Russia’s most experienced, deadly, and intelligent operators. Her early years involved not just assassinations and covert surveillance but high-risk work as a honey trap. Honing her skills today by the canal she knows Frank will be captivated by her presence, ‘What a walkover he will be.’ She smiles as she takes a piece of Mont d'Or cheese from her plate then playfully pushes it deep into her mouth using her finger, laughing softly at the wide-eyed and excited young waiter.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Switzerland air space

  The captain made the announcement regarding the flight from Zurich to London, just under one hour and forty-five minutes. Jack was wide awake, thankful for the prompt air hostess lugging the coffee jug down up to him every twenty minutes. He went over the plan Sam had laid down in great detail. The comfortable seat in business had allowed Jack to stretch out his leg and massage his ever-troubling backside. It seemed like months since he was stumbling around London, disorientated and paranoid. Locations, routes, and safe houses etched into the back of his mind. It was these neural scars that led him to the house in Crimsworth Road. In time he will laugh, not yet, these next few hours will bring out the dark side in him, the side he needs to finish the job. To finally close all past accounts and look after his team and future. Feeling fresh and prepared he was ready for action.

  “Firepower!” Once again, he looked over at Sam for reassurance once again.

  “In the car as promised, same as all the rest, I gave the list and my guy won’t let me down,” Sam was contently reading the Tribune de Genève newspaper he picked up before boarding.

  To blend in with the rest of the frequent flyers they both made an effort to ditch their old clothes and after doing some airport shopping both were immaculately dressed. With his strong jaw and muscular frame, Sam now presented a perfect picture, a man one would find on the front cover of a glossy men’s magazine. Once Ben dropped Jack and Sam off at the airport, they took the opportunity to purchase new clothes for the short trip back to England. Opting for a grey two-button suit, a pair of brown leather Wolf and Shepherd breakaway dress boots and a burgundy tie, tied in a Prince Albert knot to complete the image. Jack himself went somewhat less stylish choosing a woollen navy suit and a white French cuff dress shirt, opting for a pair of oxford shoes he completes the image of any other businessman. He sets about synchronising the two Breitling Navitimer Aviator watches he picked up as the last boarding calls were made, he carefully adjusts the dials as he orders another coffee from the passing hostie.

  “Nothing, I can’t find anything regarding previous meetings we have had over the past few days,” whispers Sam. Pointing to the tablet screen, “Swiss air provides us with access to all major international digital newspapers, that’s over two hundred open sources and not one mentions London, Paris and so on, it’s like nothing has happened.”

  Jack looks slowly around the cabin, looking at the men and woman fixated on the screens, scrambling over the information being fed to them by their favoured news providers. Paid subscribers, in the dark, the lot of them.

  “Well, guess what? If we do what we do best and not make the headlines it’s a win, in and out mate,” with a smile Jack hands Sam one of the watches and gets ready for a meal and his last coffee before touching down in Heathrow.

  ***

  London, England

  Soon after arriving at terminal two and clearing customs without any unnecessary questions Jack and Sam walked separately. Jack headed to Boots and picked up some Schwarzkopf hair dye, Bvlgari aftershave, surgical spirit and some first aid equipment, then he set off to buy a couple of cheap phones and SIM cards. Sam, as planned walked to Ted Baker and Hugo Boss, he then quickly purchased some street clothes consisting of sports jackets, cargo pants, polo shirts and runners. Moving across the shopping area of the terminal at the same speed as fellow passengers he entered the men’s toilets and proceeded to one of the end cubicles. Jack had waited for Sam to enter ensuring no followers, safe there had been no surveillance that he could see he then followed after Sam. Inside the large men’s room, he occupied the neighbouring stall from which they passed each other the purchased goods. Starting with the Schwarzkopf they both massaged the hair dye into their hairs, taking thirty minutes to make a difference time was then spent removing the labels from their new clothes and preparing their
phones. Setting up with the network providers they swapped numbers and made the necessary calls to cement their plans.

  “How’s your head?” Jack asks softly from his cubical.

  “Time to clean up and head off I reckon,” with no time to spare Sam flushes his head in the toilet washing off what is left of the hair dye.

  Seconds later he hears Jack flushing, head in the toilet scrubbing around the hairline ensuring no obvious homemade attempts at removing the greyness. The business shirts were now makeshift towels, used to wipe and dry their toilet washed heads. A few minutes later both men were standing at the sinks splashing the Bvlgari wood neroli perfume on their faces and running the wet fingers through their hair. An attempt to remove the smell of hair dye and at least feel clean, then a final check on their image and Jack makes for the exit, Sam will follow a couple of minutes behind. Making a mental note of each person in the bathroom Jack walks briskly towards the exit and grabs a taxi.

  ***

  Directing the taxi to Hounslow Central Station Jack pays the fare, exits the vehicle, and makes his way on foot south on Lampton Road, making no obvious checks for a tail. Takes a left and enters a Pub, once inside he walks to the bar orders a pint then heads to the bathroom. Exactly were Sam told him it would be hidden; he finds the Heckler & Koch VP9. Going into the cubicle he checks the piece and the mag, satisfied he flushes the toilet and heads back out to the bar. Taking in the fellow patrons he pays for and carries his pint to a back corner and waits.

  About ten minutes later Sam enters grabs his pint and walks off to the poker machine area out the back. After a few minutes, he returns and takes a seat in front of Jack. Both men now armed leave their pints and head back out the back exit to the car park.