by Mike Winter
Mike Winter
The First Time
First published by DN Publishing in 2016
Copyright © Mike Winter, 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
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Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
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1
December 1st 2008 – M4 – Swindon, 17:30
Tom Black had been stuck in traffic close to the junction he needed for almost thirty minutes. The rain pounded on the windscreen, the wipers working overtime to clear the water that was obstructing the view of the target in the car in front. The series of blue flashing lights which had passed him on the hard shoulder five minutes ago indicated there had been an accident somewhere in front of him.
His target was driving a silver Ford Mondeo, which blended in perfectly with the driving rain and the clouds which had descended earlier that afternoon.
This was Black’s first official mission as an agent working for TEP (Threat Elimination and Prevention). The remit was to follow Ross Scott, a member of the local CID, who was suspected in assisting an Islamist terror suspect in the supply of weapons, as well as a little drug dealing on the side. Once at Scott’s home, the order was simple: confirm the location of the terror suspect, eliminate them both and secure the weapons.
Black began his training with TEP six months ago, after spending four years in the armed forces. Late-twenties, he was considered naïve by his superiors, but with undoubted talent, hence his selection despite his young age and troubled upbringing. Drink, drugs and petty crime had seen Black through his teenage years fuelled by the unexplained disappearance of his father on his twelfth birthday which set him on a path to almost complete destruction.
“Agents with fucked up backgrounds make the best recruits,” was the statement uttered to him a few weeks into his training. “They rarely have anything left to lose, which suits us fine.” Will Hamilton, head of TEP didn’t have a sensitive side. He was brutal with the facts, and delivered them with a chilling honesty. Nothing was held back. “You’ve lost your father, wife, daughter, and your mother can’t remember your name. Your country is all you have left, you may as well try and save that hadn’t you?” As heartless as it sounded, Black agreed. It was his escape. If it hadn’t been for TEP, he’d probably have died from alcohol or drug abuse; either that or serving a lengthy prison sentence for car theft, or worse.
It was all true. Black returned from Afghanistan every bit as troubled as he had been after his father disappeared. His family took the brunt of his frustrations on a daily basis, and when the offer from TEP was put to him, he decided it would be best for everyone. He would no longer have to see his daughter cry or his wife tremble every time he became agitated.
The traffic ahead starting to move, albeit at a snail’s pace. Black let out the clutch slowly, and the car inched forwards, ensuring the gap between him and the Mondeo stayed at just a few feet. The torrential downpour wasn’t subsiding and the build-up of water on the tarmac was almost lake like. Cars on the opposite carriageway were misjudging the depth, aquaplaning on their way past. Gradually the junction to the motorway appeared and the Mondeo in front signalled to exit. Black pressed down his indicator and followed it down the slip road.
2
TEP Headquarters, Tower Gateway – London, 17:45
“Black is almost on target,” said Sarah Barnes, her eyes glued to one of her two monitors sat on her untidy desk. Paperwork and open files were strewn across every possible space. The clear desk policy memo had fallen on deaf ears. “He’s five minutes from the address.”
“Why the hold up?” A voice shouted from the other side of the office. Will Hamilton walked over to Sarah’s desk, his long face red with rage. He stood over Sarah, his bulky six foot three frame was intimidating. “He should have been there an hour ago.”
“Traffic, sir. There’s been an RTA on the M4. All clear now.” Sarah replied. She felt nervous; she needed to get something off her chest, unfortunately Hamilton wasn’t the most approachable of people. “Sir, I have a few concerns over the mission brief. I should have aired them before Black went to ground, I’ve just not had the opportunity.” Hamilton’s face was now a deep purple; the veins in his neck pulsating. He looked as if he could self combust at any moment.
Sarah Barnes was in her early thirties with long, dark brown hair. She was plain to look at, but had a friendly approachable look about her. She had worked at TEP for three years, starting work as an analyst, quickly working her way up to run the IT and communications department. She also had involvement in prepping agents prior to missions and highlighting and potential reasons for concern to her superiors. Those reasons often fell on deaf ears as far as Hamilton was concerned. He handpicked the agents and allocated the missions. He didn’t like being told he was wrong.
Unfortunately for her, Sarah had developed a particular fondness for Tom Black. On the face he was cold, heartless, devoid of any emotion, however she had seen glimpses that there was more to him than meets the eye. She had spent time with him. There were things he had said about his past. She had read his file. It was heart breaking.
“Sarah,” his tone was surprisingly calm, given his threatening pose. He knelt down by her desk. “We are on the verge of Black being on point with the target, and you tell me you have concerns. The briefing was over a week ago. What in God’s name are you concerned about?”
Hamilton had run TEP since its inception in 2002. It was a covert branch of MI5; off the books so the Government could maintain deniability if anything went wrong. Hamilton ran a tight ship.
Sarah knew what she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t make their way from her brain to her mouth. She was stumped and fearful of saying the wrong thing. Hamilton rarely listened to other people’s opinions, whether it be one of an agent or of an analyst like herself, although now she felt cornered, he wouldn’t leave until she had said her piece, no matter how ridiculous she felt.
“I’m concerned Tom, sorry Agent Black isn’t ready for active field missions.” Shit! Sarah thought to herself. She had referred to him by his first name.
“Tom? Are we on first name terms with our agents now Sarah? I don’t recall you ever referring to one by their Christian name before.” Hamilton wasn’t particularly interested in her concern over Black’s competence, he now had a hunch; the seed had been planted that there was more to Sarah’s doubts than meets the eye. TEP agents were forbidden to have any kind of relationship other than professional with anyone in the organisation.
It was at this moment she decided she wasn’t going to hold back any longer.
Hamilton would never let the matter drop anyway. “I’m concerned he isn’t ready. I’ve read his file. The things he witnessed in Afghanistan; what happened with his wife and daughter; the disappearance of his father. This man is emotionally and mentally unstable. He may have flown through his training, but we’ve seen men like this before, sooner or later, they snap.”
Hamilton was far from impressed. “A word of warning Sarah-do not become involved with our assets. Do not concern yourself with their history or what happens to them in the field. Agent Black possesses all the skills and experience we need. If he fucks up, we cut him loose, he’s on his own. It’s the way it has always been, you know that, you’ve been here long enough to see it with your own eyes.” Hamilton now went for the kill, his voice was now more threatening, with a certain intent. “Whatever the fuck is going on with you and Black ends now, with this conversation. Unlike him, you have plenty to lose. Now get back to what you do best and push some fucking buttons!”
Sarah didn’t look back as Hamilton walked back to his own office. The door slammed. She glanced to her left and right; none of her colleagues seemed to have noticed. With relief, she looked back towards her monitors. Black was on target, his GPS position showing on a satellite view of the area surrounding Swindon. His voice startled her as it came through her earpiece. “Sarah, I’m 300 yards from the target address. Standby.”
3
Target Address – Swindon, 17.55
Black parked his Vauxhall Astra at the bottom of the cul-de-sac. He made sure he was away from the street light; he wanted to be under the cover of darkness as much as possible. The rain continued to fall and there was barely any wind, so the torrential stream of water was almost vertical. The sound of the water on the roof of the car was tranquil and soothing, although for Black this wasn’t the time to relax. He opened up the glove box. Inside was a reel of metal garrote wire, with a handle at each end, his only weapon for this particular mission. The aim was to cause as much pain to the target as possible, to extract the information needed, before finishing him off. A gun was no use in those circumstances, half of the time, the target would think you are bluffing, or simply not care.
Ross Scott had entered his home five minutes ago. It was a modern detached house at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, a small grassed garden to the front, his Mondeo parked on the gravelled driveway, a path leading to the rear of the property and similar sized properties to either side. The fact that Scott lived in a detached house was a relief to Black. There would be less chance of being heard by neighbours should the situation become a little noisy.
The majority of the houses on the small street looked like family homes; the standard two cars on each drive, all the gardens perfectly kept. Black looked through the windscreen, which was becoming ever more clouded with condensation from the damp air. A sense of sickening regret occupied his mind. This was once his life; after his return from one of the tours of Afghanistan, he bought a family home with his wife after the birth of their daughter, Kayleigh. Less than two years later, that perfect, clichéd family life met an abrupt end.
Black snapped out of his state of reminisce. The anger would soon follow; the anger he felt for himself for what he had done to done to his family and the suffering he had caused them from his own hands. That anger would soon be unleashed on Ross Scott.
The house adjacent to Scott’s was unoccupied. A for sale sign stood crookedly on the front lawn. Black could make out its silhouette in the warm orange glow of the street light. Black had visited the street every evening for the last five days. He’d learned from his recces that viewings on the house were pretty much non existent, and he would be uninterrupted making his way through the side gate of the property, into the back garden and over the four foot high fence separating the two houses.
Black checked the time on his watch. Scott had been inside the house fifteen minutes. The faint glow of the living room light made its way through the curtains and persistent rain. The weather was perfect for Black; it meant very few people would be wandering the street, and the rain and darkness, coupled with his black hooded bomber jacket would make it difficult for him to be identified with any clarity by passers by.
Black took the garrote wire from the glove box and placed it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He tapped the miniature ear piece which was fixed in his left ear. “Sarah, do you copy?”
There was a brief silence, before some slight static and Sarah’s voice. “Yes. Are you ready to move on the target?”
“Copy that,” replied Black. “Moving in now.” Black opened the door of the Astra and slowly exited the vehicle. He looked round; there was no one to be seen, and the only noise was the constant pattering of the rain falling on his jacket and the metallic thud of the drops hitting the car. Black made his way down the cul de sac; it was around two hundred and fifty yards to the target house. Black made sure he kept close to the inside of the footpath whilst walking on the pavement, to stay out of sight of any unlikely passers by as much as he could. He needn’t have worried, no one was foolish enough to be taking a stroll on an evening like this.
Black reached the house next door to Scott’s. He stood at the end of the front lawn; there was no fence separating the road to the grass, all completely open plan. Black made his way down the block paved driveway, slowly, constantly checking his surroundings. A house on the opposite side of the street had a down stairs window partially open, he noticed a rising cloud of steam rushing out from the gap in the frame. Whatever was cooking smelt good.
Black stood silent for a few minutes. He looked at the house in front of him. There were no lights in any of the windows, which he was guessing meant no one was inside. The last thing he wanted to do was surprise a would be house buyer. Black grinned to himself. It would take a lot longer for the seller to find a buyer after tonight.
Still checking his surroundings, Black moved towards the side of the house, where the narrow passage way led to a tall iron gate. Pools of water were collecting, the rain clearly too much for the drainage to cope with. There was a small padlock on the gate, pointless thought Black as it would never be sufficient enough to stop even the most novice of thieves. Black pulled a bolt cutter from his jeans pocket. It cut through the padlock with ease. Black removed it from the gate and put it in his pocket. He slowly pushed the gate open; there was a soft moan from the hinges, masked by the continuing downpour. The rear garden was enveloped in darkness. It took Black’s eyes a moment to adjust, the glow of the streetlights now behind him.
There was a sudden noise which pierced through the damp night air. Black looked over the fence to the adjoining garden. A glow of light spilled out onto the rear lawn. The figure of Ross Scott appeared in the opened doorway, cigarette in his mouth. Black moved silently back to the side of the house, out of view, he hadn’t been spotted, yet. Black peered round the corner of the house; he could see the condensation rising from Scott’s breath, along with the smoke from his cigarette. He would have to wait until he had returned inside the house, then make his move.
Each second seemed like minutes, and the rain continued to fall. It was so torrential that it had started to seep through Black’s waterproof jacket, giving Black the first sense of a cold chill since he had left the vehicle. After five minutes or so, Black heard the thud of the back door slamming; he slowly looked round to Scott’s garden; he was no longer visible and Black was confident he had returned inside. Black moved quickly, checking his surroundings as he moved, he sprinted across the adjoining garden, leaping over the fence which separated the two. Black almost slipped as his feet touched grass on the other side. The grass was waterlogged and his feet sunk into the sodden ground with every step. Black slowly knelt down, and lay spread out on the grass lawn. He wanted to check in case Scott was looking out the window for some reason and the lower down he was, the less likely he was to be seen. Even though the blinds were closed, Black could see the light was turned on in the room downstairs, so his entrance would have to be sudden as th
ere would be no darkness to hide him. He inched up, and slowly made his way to the door where Scott had been stood moments earlier. Once Black had reached the door, he stood and waited for a moment. The rain was subsiding; it had turned into a mere trickle. He listened. Silence. Black was now fully focussed on what lay in wait on the other side of the door as he slowly pulled down the handle.
4
There was no resistance as Black slowly pulled down the handle; the door wasn’t locked. He thought it was unusual, however he didn’t have time to think about why. The point of entry had been made, and to turn back now would be foolish. It was likely Scott simply hadn’t locked the door. Black inched the door open, light forcing its way out of the orifice. The light quickly darkened, a shadow moving its way in between the light and the door. He had to move now. Black put his full weight behind the door, and with his shoulder, slammed into it with full force. There was a cry from the other side, and a dull thud, the sound of wood connecting with something equally as hard. Black looked round; he was stood in a modern kitchen, white cupboards, with spotlights shining down on Ross Scott lying in a crumpled heap on the black tiled floor, blood pouring from a large gash above his eye. He was still conscious, but barely.
Black knelt down, and grabbed Scott by his wrists, dragging him across the kitchen floor to the dining table. He picked him up underneath his arms and sat him on one of the brown wooden chairs. Scott was still dazed. He looked up at Black, blood slowly pouring down his cheek. “Who are you?” he muttered softly, not full realising what was happening.