The Newsmaker (Volume One Book 1)

by Tom Field

  “Who’s the big boss?”

  “Lord Ashurt-Stevens.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In a secure meeting room on the third floor, which is strictly out of bounds.”

  At that moment, the whole room went quiet, like a scene from an old western movie when the man with no name walks into a bar. Every person in the room apart from Ward and Lawson looked up at the giant screen. They instinctively followed the lead of everyone else when they heard the musical introduction for the news programme. A stern looking newsreader started relaying the information about the explosion and the deaths of the Japanese tourists and then Abbi Beglin appeared on the screen, clearly somewhere inside the building, informing the viewing public that, “The news editors have been assisting MI6 in the search for the Paris bombers prior to this morning’s events and we believe that they knew this scene of devastation, this scene of destruction was a possibility,” she proclaimed.

  “How can they be that stupid? There is an unwritten rule that they all abide by. They know the panic that will cause,” Lawson said as he put his hands behind his head and exhaled long and hard.

  “Ring your bosses and get your end of it sorted. It’s best I do this alone,” Ward said.

  “Do what?” Lawson asked, and then watched Ward walk over to the elevator and press the ‘Up’ button.

  Lawson then understood.

  He stepped out of the lift on the third floor and immediately located the secure conference room. There were two guys standing outside a closed door. One in his thirties and the other greying a little and in his early forties; they were both fit-looking and muscular. Not your average security guards he thought. Bodyguards, close protection and probably ex forces, but not enough to deter him in the slightest. He approached the door and they adjusted their positions so they were filling up the doorway.

  “This area is out of bounds, Sir, please return to a lower floor,” the older of the two said.

  “I need to go in there now,” Ward said calmly.

  “As I said, Sir, this area is out of bounds so please return to a lower floor”, he repeated, this time trying to sound assertive and threatening.

  “And as I said, I need to go in there now.”

  The younger guy moved a step forward and said,

  “Last warning, please leave this floor.”

  Ward had never been one for posturing, he just saw that as wasting time, so he took three steps forward and stopped about two feet away and raised his hands in an open palm gesture as if he was about to try and reason with them and then with lightning speed, he brought his right foot forward with all of its force and kicked the guy between the legs. He immediately doubled over and fell to the floor on his knees. Before the other guy could react, he swung a left hook full onto his nose, and as it connected he could hear the bone break and the guy’s head shot back and smashed hard against the oak panelled doors. The guy slumped to the floor holding his nose. He had no need or desire to inflict more pain upon them. He respected anyone who had been in the forces, and he was aware that they were probably only employed for the fact they looked the part rather than their capabilities, and on a pretty poor salary too, so he decided against further strikes instantly. The doors opened sharply and a tall, thin man in an expensive looking suit looked at him and then at the two guys on the floor,

  “Mr Lawson or Mr Chennell?” he enquired.

  Ward didn’t respond.

  “Fair enough, I understand your need for secrecy and so no name is needed,” the guy said, “I’m Lord William Ashurst-Stevens. Pleased to meet you,” he added, holding out his hand.

  Ward ignored the invitation to shake his hand,

  “Where is Walker?” he demanded

  “Walker has gone home to rest; it will be a long night.”

  Behind Ashurst-Stevens were three men seated at a table, all over sixty and all looking totally unfazed by the commotion they had just heard.

  Ashurst-Stevens saw Ward looking at them and said,

  “My legal advisors, the best that money can buy.”

  And they probably were the best.

  “How can we help you? You have our full resources at your disposal.”

  Since he had left MI6 and became one of the ‘Deniables’, the most rewarding part for him was that he didn’t need to conform to rules, and certainly didn’t take legal threats seriously. He knew that he could shoot all three of them there and then and it would never be his problem to sort out. It would be down to Centrepoint, but at this moment in time, he needed to confirm something, so he played along.

  “I’m so sorry about your men, Sir. No hard feelings?” he said, looking at the lawyers for effect.

  “Of course not. You men do a sterling job and you are under a lot of pressure right now, so we will forget it ever happened. Agreed gentlemen?” he replied, looking at the lawyers. They all nodded in agreement.

  “I would like to look at the footage ten minutes before and ten minutes after the explosion in Westminster if I can?” he asked politely.

  “Of course, I’ll get Walker to run through it with you now,” Ashurst-Stevens replied.

  “I thought Walker had gone home?”

  Ashurst Stevens smiled and just said,

  “He must be refreshed already. Let me accompany you downstairs.”

  They headed into the corridor and walked towards the elevator.

  “I want to know. Why would you say that about MI6 and cause panic?” Ward asked.

  “That was Walkers idea I’m afraid. As soon as I knew about it I stopped it, hence my legal team being here with me. I know the rules; I will smooth this over and put it down to misinformation. Walker is a good man and a great editor, but he had visions of a Pulitzer Prize, I think. He will be reprimanded accordingly,” Ashurst-Stevens replied.

  “OK,” Ward said. “Just put it right.”

  They stepped into the elevator and Ashurst-Stevens pressed the ‘One’ button. They never spoke again and when the doors opened on the news floor they stepped out and every single person in the room gazed over towards them both.

  “Mr Walker is over there in the meeting room. He would have been briefed about assisting you in every way by now. Any problems, here is my card with my direct number. Please keep in touch,” Ashurst-Stevens said.

  “I have one question?”

  “Ask away?” Ashurst-Stevens replied.

  “What’s on the second floor?”

  “Our financial, advertising and marketing departments,” Ashurst-Stevens replied, “Why?”

  “I just wondered why it seems the busiest floor in the building,” he replied as he turned his back on Ashurst-Stevens and walked over towards Walkers office, leaving Ashurst-Stevens to ponder what he had meant by his question. He walked straight into the meeting room without knocking and saw Walker sitting alone at the large table.

  He looked terrified.

  “I’m sorry, it was a bad error of judgement,” Walker said immediately, “We will correct it in the bulletins from three onwards,” he added.

  “Show me the footage for ten minutes before and ten minutes after the explosion at the Abbey,” Ward demanded.

  Walker turned on the giant TV again and played the footage. In the ten minutes prior to the explosion, the Secretary for Culture, Media and Sport was talking about the need to invest public money in the world famous Abbey, whilst it stood behind him like a towering symbol, carved perfectly out of centuries old stone. The camera then zoomed close up to the Abbey and showed the cracks in the stonework, while the reporter’s voice-over explained the structural defects that had been discovered. The camera then went back to the Secretary who continued to say that the welfare cuts the Government were imposing were on a separate agenda, when behind him, a black cab pulled into view, stopped, and exploded with a deafening noise and bright white flash.

  Ward stood up. “I need to be able to get hold of you at all times.”

  “There is still another ten minutes of footage,” Wa
lker said.

  “You have a direct dial number?”

  Walker handed Ward his business card.

  “I don’t understand, I thought you wanted to see all of the footage?”

  Ward turned and walked out of the room and eventually found Lawson talking to Abbi Beglin in the building’s reception area.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  As Lawson turned to follow him, Beglin shouted after him, “Make sure to ring me tonight Mike.”

  “Did you confirm whatever it was you needed to confirm?” Lawson asked.

  “Yes I did. I know what’s happening. And I have an idea how to stop Fulken.”

  “Want to share?” Lawson asked.

  “No,” Ward replied, “Trust me on this Mike; you don’t want to get involved. I need to go home to New York to check some things first.”

  “Charlie is expecting us in twenty minutes,” Lawson said.

  “Then we had best be quick.”

  NINE

  Charlie ‘Dunno’ Dunman always held court in the East End of London in a place called Stepney, and he conducted his business from a pub called The White Horse. It was a rundown building that looked totally neglected from the outside with the paint peeling off of its grey walls. It looked out over Stepney Green Park and never had any customers apart from those who did not know the area and wandered in there by mistake, before being promptly told to leave. The account books showed a steady and profitable flow of customers, but this was simply to make it look like a functioning business. Inside, the floors were bare, and the boards had not seen any varnish for over twenty years. Just inside the entrance, there were two tables either side of the doors, which would always seat Charlie’s trusted lieutenants, four to a table, and another group of men seated four tables behind, either side, forming a pathway to the bar. To the left of the bar there were toilets and a fruit machine, and to the right, three booths. The booths were divided by old pine screens and the chairs were covered in the worn burgundy material that old English pubs always used, tucked under battered tables that were as solid as they were worn. The left hand booth seated Charlie’s four most trusted men, his killers, and to the right his accountants and solicitors, three of each. He called this booth his ‘Think Tank’. Charlie always liked to double check things, and then check again. The centre booth was where Charlie sat, always alone, and when he needed to discuss something with someone, he would shout their name and they would be sitting next to him by the time the last syllables of their names faded. It was a place where people who knew Charlie never wanted to be summoned, because it generally meant it was unlikely they would return home. Lawson had introduced Ward to Charlie when he was chasing a group of mercenaries, who were operating across Europe for an American investment company. Charlie had not only found out the names of the mercenaries but where they were heading next and all within twenty-four hours. From that day, Ward had asked for Charlie’s help on numerous occasions; the last time being a week ago, when he needed a meeting arranged with Urmus Misker, the child trafficker.

  Charlie’s real name was Charles Dunman. He used the surname ‘Dunno’ because the British loved their irony. Charlie knew everything that happened in the criminal world throughout the British Isles. And always a long time before the security agencies did. Charlie didn’t like dealing with standard police, hence the standard reply of “Dunno” when they questioned him. The truth was; Charlie knew everything. He knew for sure who Ward really was and he liked him a great deal. He admired the fact that he didn’t play by the politically correct rules that governed the world nowadays. He also liked how he had an old fashioned view that bad guys were OK if they kept their own house in order; which meant the old, women and children were never harmed or intimidated. Not like these modern day criminals who had no morals. Charlie was in his late-fifties and still looked frightening. He was just over six foot and had a solid neck which supported a head that was shaved bald and a face that looked like it had survived a thousand back street brawls. Which it had.

  But Charlie was a smart man; highly intelligent and intuitive. He was also the king of an empire that spread throughout Britain and was worth well over two hundred million pounds. The police and security services left Charlie to his own devices and in return, he did what was right. In the late nineties the police across England were hunting a murderer and rapist known as ‘The travelling Ripper’, a man who had killed fifteen women across the country and left no clues to his identity. The police were getting nowhere. The Metropolitan police top brass asked Charlie to help with the search in return for effectively leaving him to his own dealings, unchallenged. Within three days ‘The Travelling Ripper’ was caught and the police revelled in the glory of how efficient and smart they were. In truth, Charlie had got the information regarding the drivers from every haulier in the country by means of theft, intimidation and what he felt he was owed, and his ‘Think Tank’ identified who it was by simply establishing delivery routes, dates and times. Charlie had helped the security services out many times since.

  Ward and Lawson walked up to the doors of the pub and stepped in. Charlie’s lieutenants stood up and then sat down immediately when they registered who it was. They walked through the pathway of tables and up to Charlie’s booth.

  “Alright Gents?” Charlie asked in a thick cockney accent, standard speak for any real East End gangster. “How are you Mikey? Still shagging anything that moves?”

  “Of course I am Charlie. You still robbing old ladies?” Lawson replied.

  Charlie laughed and gestured for both of them to sit down. He looked at Ward,

  “I found the cab company who delivered it and know how it went down. I assume that is why you are here?”

  “Partly,” Ward replied.

  Charlie raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Another thing he liked about Ward was that he was never predictable like the rest of them. Lawson raised an eyebrow at the same time. “The other part?” Charlie asked.

  “Lets’ do the cab first,” Ward said.

  “Simple really. A geezer phones up A to B Cabs in Hyde Park, says he wants a cab to the airport, so they jump at the chance of a big fare. They pick him up down in Argyle Street and the geezer spins him a line that the cases are for someone else who needs collecting from the Abbey,” Charlie replied

  “No one at the cab company would find that odd?” Ward asked.

  “Odd? Don’t be naive, who do you think does most of the drug transporting throughout London? Picking up packages and delivering them is normal. The supplier is not in the cab, the cab company are just doing their job and deny all knowledge of what they are carrying, after all, it’s normal practice and the police are left scratching their arses as usual.” Charlie said with a snort.

  “No information on who made the call I guess?”

  “Afraid not. It was a disposable mobile. I’ve already checked.”

  “Time of call?”

  “Yesterday evening.”

  Ward looked at Charlie and smiled,

  “I have a question to ask you Charlie. You have a pen and paper?” he asked.

  Charlie called over the booth to where his think tank was sitting and a small piece of paper and a pen was in font of Ward within three seconds. He wrote something on the paper and folded it, and then slid it across to Charlie who picked up the paper and read the question, and then without pausing, he wrote something underneath, folded it up and slid it back to Ward, who without reading the answer, picked it up and put it in his pocket.

  Lawson looked at Ward.

  “Don’t tell me, it is best I don’t know?”

  Ward just nodded.

  “Thanks Charlie,” he said and stood up to leave.

  “By the way,” Charlie said, “Misker seems to have disappeared,” and he gave Ward a big smile followed by a wink.

  “Where now?” Lawson asked.

  “Take me home,” he replied, “I’ve got to make a call to Washington.”

  TEN

  Washingto
n D.C.

  Centrepoint’s frustration with Ward’s inability to keep him informed of his movements was under control because he knew where he was. He had ordered Lawson’s bosses to keep him informed of his movements at all times. Both Lawson’s phone and car had trackers on them. Ward never shared information as he worked a mission, but he could normally work out his progress by the resources he asked for, but that was it. There was nothing in writing, no records, just a straightforward summary. He would then make a personal record of events, in a code that only he understood in his private legers, and secure them in a bank safe in Washington. There was enough information in the ledgers to bring down the Governments of the UK and the U.S, and if the truth of their operations was ever known, it would probably result in the international community alienating both Governments for a long time. He had instructed missions to be carried out by his team of ‘Deniables’ in every member Country of the European Union, every country in the Middle East, the African nations, every country in the Americas as well as Russia, Korea and China and therefore, his political sway was most impressive.

  London

  “Can I ask you something?” Lawson said.

  “Of course you can,” Ward replied.

  “What did you ask Charlie?”

  Ward paused for a second and then said,

  “Mike, I want you to know that you are one of the few people that I trust in the world. The fact that we always work together isn’t luck, I request you, and only you, every time, without fail. I won’t work with anyone but you in the UK because I don’t think there is anyone as good as you or as capable of watching my back as you are,” he said, and saw Lawson visibly grow in the driver’s seat.