The Shadow Of Medea (Luke Temple Series Book 1)

by James Flynn

  Mulberry’s heart thumped against his chest. “My man is on it, he has my full resources. He will get her back and deal with Temple.”

  The South African stood slowly and faced away from the chair, then without warning he turned sharply and delivered a kick that knocked Mulberry clean off the chair and onto the bare stone, winding him.

  “Don’t make me have to clean up your mess … I am very thorough.” The South African smiled. “You want the money; you will do your job. Find the GIRL!”

  With that, Aegeus pushed the earplugs in and whipped the hood back over Mulberry’s head.

  41.

  The three of them sat at a large circular table. The remnants of breakfast lay forlorn on their plates. The dining room was a vast cavern, a couple of modern art paintings hung from one wall and a silver-rimmed bay window stretched across the other. As usual the sun was trying to beat its way through the clouds. Seona sat back and let out a loud yawn accompanied by an exaggerated stretch; she could really do with a massage. The breakfast had been cooked and served by staff and there had been a large selection of cheeses, pastries and cooked meats; Seona had gorged herself.

  Alice had left a pile of clothes for her to choose from. Being a kidnap victim was not an easy thing to dress for; she didn’t know what was going to be thrown at her next. She had opted for a pair of dark denim jeans; she clocked the label as Gucci, and had thrown on a black top with a Burberry label. She couldn’t fault the Frenchman on his sartorial style. She glanced across at Luke who was now decked out in a pair of light blue jeans and a Calvin Klein t-shirt. His hair had been washed and the curly mop was now slightly more tamed. He had also shaved.

  Seona couldn’t help but scan him, in these new clothes she could see his physique a lot clearer, or perhaps it was just that she knew now what the physique was capable of. He looked fresher and more handsome, in an unconventional way. His nose was still badly bruised but there was something about him that Seona was drawn to; she was scared by the thought but she had never met anyone like him. She dismissed it, and let out another yawn, it was nice to be amongst more familiar surroundings with a bit of luxury, however briefly.

  “So what do you want to do now?” Seona asked Luke.

  Aubert took out a lighter and one of his cigarettes and began puffing.

  Luke turned to Aubert. “So, just you and the staff?”

  “Just me and the staff. Of course, I entertain many people here, but they won’t be showing up uninvited, as you know, privacy is important for me. I never found time for …” he paused, “... relationships, although I hate that word … so yes, just me.” Smoke escaped as he spoke.

  “I need to check the coverage; surely this place has a few TVs, Aubert?” Luke asked the Frenchman.

  Aubert stood and escorted them into the front lounge. Three large white leather sofas were placed around a fireplace that was the centrepiece of the room, the flume stretched off at an angle to exit through the ceiling, and the fireplace could be walked around as a feature. The trio circled it and headed towards the front bay window that looked out over the driveway; Aubert picked up a square remote and flicked a button; a whirring noise started and a screen descended against the wall to their right. Luke nodded his approval, and then with the flick of another button the screen came to life. A European sport channel flashed up first. They were talking in German and Luke heard them making a comment about some German football player and how outrageous it was that he was getting paid so much when he was so bad. Aubert tapped in three numbers and BBC News 24 appeared; a British man in a blue suit who was holding an umbrella talked directly to camera:

  It was from here, the world famous Plaza Hotel overlooking Central Park in New York, where less than forty-eight hours ago Seona Latvik was kidnapped. It is believed that Miss Latvik emerged from the hotel for a late-night walk alone, and as she turned southbound down 5th Avenue, the men attacked. We know that a fire-fight took place on 5th Avenue between the kidnappers and Miss Latvik’s personal security, two of which were killed and a third hospitalised. We are yet to hear any word from her father, Russian billionaire Prussias Latvik.

  The NYPD and FBI have hinted that a terror group could possibly be responsible for the kidnap, and that no ransom demands have been made at this stage. The authorities are not releasing any further information at this time but a source close to the investigation has claimed that a Belarusian terrorist group calling themselves the Belarusian Public in Exile have been linked with the kidnap. We will bring you all the latest as it happens; this is Anil Rahad, BBC News, New York.

  Luke could see tears running down Seona’s cheek. Aubert punched in three different numbers and a European news network flashed up. The female anchor chatted away in French and a picture of Seona flashed up:

  Mademoiselle Latvik has been missing since the early hours of Friday morning. The authorities say that she was kidnapped from outside the Plaza Hotel and, as of yet, have made no comment as to who they think is responsible. However, sources are claiming that a group known as the Belarusian Public in Exile, a terrorist cell that has long-running disputes with Russia, are responsible. Mademoiselle Latvik’s father Prussias Latvik is a Russian gas oligarch and has not yet made a statement. The authorities have not released any images of the terrorists but we have managed to obtain this CCTV footage taken outside the Plaza just before the attack.

  Luke’s blood ran cold; on the screen was a grainy time-lapse image taken from the security cameras covering the Plaza entrance facing out onto the street. A person walked past the camera and Luke knew instantly that it was him. Fortunately, even on Aubert’s HD screen, the TV channels hadn’t been able to clean the image up enough for him to be recognisable.

  As if to make his point really hit home, Aubert punched in a further three numbers and CNN now popped up. A male and female anchor were this time talking about the state of the American debt restructuring but along the bottom of the screen a rolling news banner was dominated by details of Seona’s kidnap, with updates, as well as her picture and the grainy CCTV footage being shown on loop.

  Aubert flicked off the TV, seeing the distress that it was causing Seona.

  “Sorry, Mademoiselle, but you both need to know, this is no small thing.” He turned to Luke and addressed him in French. “You see now why I don’t want you here? What did you expect from all this, Temple?”

  Luke heard Aubert but blocked him out; he was replaying the news reports in his mind, analysing every word that had been said. He felt his world closing in, he was focused not on the fact it was global news but on who they were claiming carried out the kidnapping. Luke had always known that the kidnapping would make world news, but if he had got in and out as planned it would never have been his concern. The Belarusian Public in Exile was not a group that popular culture would spew out at every possible terrorist attack such as Al-Qaeda.

  Luke had first encountered the Belarusian cell whilst on assignment in the Ukraine for Group 9. He had spent six months tracking and monitoring a Middle Eastern businessman who was thought to be laundering millions of units of currency through Europe, specifically the Ukraine. The Ukraine borders Belarus and, at first, intelligence suggested that the Belarusian Public in Exile were actually trying to cut a deal with the businessman to facilitate large amounts of funding. Luke thought this current link must be false; the BPE was brutal but completely incapable of organising and executing the kidnap of Seona from New York.

  Luke was spinning. The release of the BPE to the media had been calculated; very few people knew how active they were. They were focused on doing as much damage to Russia as possible. Luke’s pulse was rising. The only people that could have released such an authentic story were intelligence agencies and that meant the implications were catastrophic. Surely it can’t be?

  “Luke, they have taken him, haven’t they? They’ve got my father ...?” Seona asked quietly.

  Luke looked at her, her eyes seemed bluer than ever before, they held so much pain. “We
need to erase you,” Luke spoke softly.

  Seona took a step back. “What?”

  “You just became instantly recognisable. We need to erase you. We need a chemist.”

  Luke’s mind was pulsating with thoughts. Seona had to change her look, it was necessary to disappear in a crowd, and half the world would now have her face etched in their minds. The simple fact was that, when confronted with a crowd of people, the human process of recognition is completed in broad strokes: hair colour, height, body shape. It had to be altered.

  Can the agencies be involved? How? Why?

  The CCTV image couldn’t be cleaned up by the TV stations but Luke knew intelligence agencies could clear the pixels up very easily and construct a full image of his face. The consequences pained him. But his identity hadn’t been released to the public, there was no mention of a name. Still, there was someone pulling the strings of the investigation. Luke knew that if they released his image around the globe, his world would implode ... Alex Rowland would have risen from the grave.

  “Seona, I need you to go upstairs and put on as many items of clothing as you can. No questions yet, just go and do it. Then, later, we can sleep. I’ll see you down here in five minutes.”

  Seona knew it was pointless arguing; she felt sick after the news reports. They’ve got my father. She went to get changed.

  Aubert sparked up another cigarette. “They have him, you know, I guarantee it.” His cheeks seemed rosier than normal. “The whole thing stinks of a cover-up, it’s all too big.”

  “I was double-crossed. We were meant to snatch her and deliver her to an airfield in Canada. That was my role in its entirety. They took her and tried to kill me.” Luke saw no point in lying.

  “There is a chemist in the village we passed. When you return you must rest. I don’t want this at my doorstep, but it is here so now I want to make sure you pass through smoothly. Later, I will show you a few things in the outhouse. Your plan?” Aubert coughed gently as smoke caught in his throat.

  “This Medea is the key, it’s all I have. Tomorrow evening we will travel into London.” Luke turned to look out of the window. “She’s dead, Aubert. Before all this I thought it was probably a ransom job, or a power play by someone, I didn’t really care which. I was wrong, this is something else ... I think this is being run by an agency.” He let the implications sink in. “The cover stories, the silence from her father, silence from authorities ... in any kidnap case they always want the family to appeal within the first twenty-four hours. It’s all been taken off-plan. Now she’s in serious trouble.”

  Aubert joined Luke’s gaze. “But they didn’t count on you, Temple.”

  42.

  Mulberry flashed his key card over the sensor in the lift and pressed the button for floor twelve. The doors closed and the lift smoothly ascended. Mulberry had spent the afternoon trying to regain composure after his encounter with Aegeus. The lift pinged open and Mulberry walked at pace to the first glass security door, flashing his key card and waiting for the red light to turn green. After two more security doors, he was striding down the corridor that led to his office.

  The SIS building was no ordinary office, even on a Saturday it was buzzing with life, but on the twelfth floor he was alone. He closed his door, walked over to his window, pressed the electronic switch that operated the blinds and waited for them to swivel into place, blocking out the light. He felt less exposed with the blinds closed; it was all psychological but it helped. As he drained a large glass of bourbon, Mulberry powered up his computer and typed in the secure network code showing on his keyring-sized generator, it was a number that was randomly generated every morning.

  Mulberry closed his eyes and took a long, meditative breath before a loud beep jolted his eyes open and he checked the electronic clock on the screen: 3.30 p.m. As punctual as ever, Mulberry muttered to himself, clicking the mouse cursor on a flashing yellow icon. A full-screen video popped up; it was blurry and the audio was crackly. As a result of the SIS building’s advanced firewalls, any incoming messages or broadcasts had to be passed through intense security checks then scrambled and re-calibrated so that no external parties could monitor anything.

  After a minute or so, the image cleared, and Sir Peter Villier sat staring intensely at Mulberry.

  “Hello Sir, how are you?” Mulberry started.

  “Let us get down to it, shall we, David?” Sir Peter sat in front of a plain white background; he was wearing a tailored grey suit and red tie. “What the bloody hell is going on? This is an unmitigated disaster.”

  Mulberry composed himself and had the story ready to recite. “They beat us to her Sir; they lifted her from the Plaza.”

  “And was it the Belarusian group?” Sir Peter asked

  “We assume so, Sir, yes.”

  “You assume? You assume? Assumption is a terrible mistake in our business, David. I want certitudes and I want them now! It is all over the bloody news, the world is watching and we are not acting. I want her found!”

  “Of course, Sir. We are doing everything we can. It is difficult, Sir; our team who failed to get to her first was off-record, as requested by yourself … so now we are having to hit official channels to cover up the media.” Mulberry wanted another drink.

  “Give me a full report,” Sir Peter demanded.

  “Well, our American cousins have been very gracious and are filtering any details being released at this time. We have informed them she is one of ours and they are releasing what we tell them. We believe from reliable intel that she has been brought back here to the UK, Sir, and we are currently tracking all of Prussias’s offices and regular flying routes. If, as we assume, it is the Belarusians, then we expect some form of ransom demand in the next twenty-four hours.”

  Sir Peter’s tone turned grave. “And what if they don’t make any demands, and just want to send a message; a very graphic message?”

  Mulberry thought he could sense sadness in the old man’s demeanor. “Sir Peter, I feel strongly that if they wanted to send a message then there were far easier and less elaborate ways to do so available to them … I know this must be hard, Sir.”

  Sir Peter didn’t speak for several beats. “It seems to be that whatever they want with her they are getting the coverage that their cause desires. I cannot let them hurt her, David. I have been trying desperately to get hold of Prussias since this all happened and have not yet succeeded.”

  Mulberry nodded. “The same our end, Sir; we have been unable to get in contact with him.”

  Sir Peter’s head dropped. “She is … very important to me, David. Seona is like a daughter to me and I want her back safe. Make sure that happens.”

  Mulberry wanted to ask Sir Peter where he was, but he knew better. “Of course, Sir. I am working around the clock on finding Miss Latvik. I will be briefing all the channels in an hour, and they will be fully aware that if she is found they are not to make a move without informing me directly.”

  Mulberry was telling the truth, but not for the purposes of handing Seona back to her family.

  “Ok good, but I expect it to all go through us, and us only; I will not tolerate one of them locating her and making a move without us. This is our operation. Find her, David. And fast.”

  With that, Mulberry’s screen switched to a Live Stream Disconnected window. He was becoming sick of everyone telling him how fast they needed Seona found.

  Mulberry leant back in his chair, the room was silent. The meeting had gone as well as he could have hoped for. Seona meant a lot to Sir Peter so the pressure was to be expected; Mulberry was starting to understand the meaning of the phrase ‘stuck between a rock and a hard place’.

  He had been so preoccupied with finding Seona that he hadn’t paid much attention to Prussias Latvik’s absence. For now, that was a blessing; he didn’t need any more media coverage, the news had already spread like wildfire to all channels. A statement from Prussias would only add oxygen to the flames.

  Sir Peter was st
ill buying the terrorist story, which gave Mulberry the freedom to use the agencies’ resources to full effect. The channels he had referred to were Scotland Yard, the Met, Special Branch and MI5. He needed to tighten the noose around Temple’s neck. If that meant gaining help from other agencies so be it.

  He would make it explicitly clear that it was his operation and if Seona was located he was to be informed first, that way he could take control and snatch her for his own ends, delivering her to Medea.

  His heart sank slightly at the thought of Temple. He would have to make everyone one hundred per cent clear that they would be looking for a ghost. In fact, it would be easier to find a ghost.

  Mulberry poured another glass of whiskey and downed it. He picked up his desk phone and dialled a number. “Hello trouble, is mummy there? It’s daddy …”

  43.

  He strolled into the brightly lit station and Sarah came running over. They were the only two people in the large arrival hall. He wanted to say something but Sarah pressed her lips tightly to his.

  He took her hand and began walking towards the stairs leading up and out of the station. They had only managed two steps when the crack of a gunshot echoed around the empty expanse. Suddenly, Sarah’s hand was no longer in his. Bullets began to flash around the station, the sounds of fizzing velocity and the sharp clangs of metal against the walls; he couldn’t see any gunmen but the bullets kept coming. Panic gripped his heart, Sarah would be hit any second.

  The low rhythm of an approaching train started up. Where was she?

  The train rhythm was getting faster and louder. His panic reached breaking point. There she was, frozen to the spot amid the hail of bullets. He had to reach her.

  The train became deafening, his heart was thumping against his chest. Five more steps. He could see her eyes; tears filled them.

  He was only two steps away, Sarah was screaming his name: “Alex, Alex, Alex”… Then the world around them exploded into a fireball. Her shrill scream filled his ears as the darkness enveloped them.