The Newsmaker (Volume One Book 1)

by Tom Field

  “No,” Ward said, “Thank you for your time.”

  He turned and walked towards the door to leave the room.

  “Mr Chennell. We will continue to give you all the support you need, but next time you come to see us, please show a little more respect; I have very powerful friends both at home and here who can easily get someone demoted. That is just a friendly warning,” Ashurst-Stevens said.

  Ward stopped walking and turned around,

  “I lost a good friend of mine last night due to information that came from this office, Sorry if that pisses me off and I seem a little abrupt. The truth is, we are getting nowhere and there is a bomb going to go off somewhere in New York in a week or so and we don’t know where to even start looking, so if I am agitated, please understand why.”

  “I had no idea about your friend, the man who was here with you last time?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Ashurst-Stevens looked genuinely shocked and saddened by this news,

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I understand your anger now. Mr Walker will be available for as long as you need him after the next couple of days. We have an awards ceremony tomorrow night, and after that, he is yours for however long you need him,” Ashurst-Stevens said in a much softer tone of voice than Ward had previously heard him use.

  “Thank you,” he replied and walked out of the room followed by Lucas.

  When they got in the elevator, Ward said,

  “They just don’t understand us these people, do they?”

  “No. But they pay well,” Lucas replied, and smiled a big grin.

  ‘I’m going to kill you’ Ward thought, as he nodded back, ‘I’m going to kill you for Gilligan’.

  When he got back in the car McDermott said,

  “How did it go?”

  “Better than I expected.”

  “Paul called; he has taken Tackler back to his place and wants to know where to go now?” McDermott asked.

  Before he could answer his phone vibrated in his pocket and he saw Lawson’s number on the screen.

  “How’s your date in Central Park?” he asked.

  “Not too good, I’ve just told her the date will have to be rearranged for another day,” Lawson replied.

  “Did you ask exactly what I told you to?”

  “Yes I did.”

  “And?”

  “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “There are still things that we have to understand and quickly, but we are on the final lap.”

  “What do you need now?” Lawson asked.

  “We are all close to Park Avenue. Meet at Nicole-Louise and Tackler’s. I guess it’s time to lay everything out.”

  THIRTY ONE

  Aidan Lucas wished he had opted to take out the guy who he had just escorted out of the building first, instead of the big guy who looked like Marvin Haggler.

  He knew why he had made the choice; it was a question of size.

  He was trained to take out the biggest threat first and his instincts told him that in an unarmed contest, he would struggle to overcome the big guy. He made his choice and it was a good shot after all, he reminded himself. The bullet had hit him in the stomach and knocked him off his feet like a paper doll. This Chennell guy had just moved quicker than he expected and perhaps he had underestimated him.

  Sometimes people do underestimate others; he knew that from his time in Seal Team 6. He didn’t fit in with them because he was too quiet; he had convinced himself of this over the corresponding years, after they had dared to tell him he wasn’t up to their standard. Sure, there was the mess in Afghanistan, but that was down to their team commander, not his ability; even though it was him who had taken the fall.

  They had been given a straightforward mission to get into an old farmhouse in the Kunar Province to rescue a UN delegate, extract him and then disappear. Intelligence had suggested there would be minimal resistance, but when they approached the building they had come under intense fire. Lucas trailed around the back of the building. He had not ignored his commander’s orders to approach from the front as they suggested in his court martial; he was thinking on his feet, like a good Seal would.

  Four of the team got killed that day and they put it down to Lucas not taking out the guy at the right front of the building. At his court martial, they even implied that he was a coward and he had frozen, but that was never the truth. The people in command wouldn’t know a good Seal if they saw one.

  Sure, he didn’t mix with the team and that was the problem all along, he told himself one more time.

  When he had set up for the kill at Hubert Street, on the 3rd floor of the building opposite the apartment block that he knew they would be visiting, he had visualised two straightforward kills.

  The first opportunity that came was the one he took. They were talking and standing about six feet apart. In hindsight, it would have been better to take out the Chennell guy first as the big guy was likely to move a lot slower.

  On a positive note, he told himself, he can enjoy killing him even more now, after he dared to bad mouth the Seals. Lucas had made a good living as a mercenary and then a bodyguard on the back of being an ex-Seal, and the payday that he was getting now would set him up for life. He felt strong and he knew that he was a lethal killing machine when it mattered most. The guy who had just left the building, whoever he was, made a very big mistake in bad mouthing the Seals.

  He walked into Martin Walker’s office and Walker looked up at him in with fear in his eyes.

  “Why does he want to see you?” Lucas asked Walker in a menacing tone. A tone that got lost somewhat at the end due to the exaggerated droll he insisted in putting at the end of the last word in each sentence he spoke.

  “I don’t know,” Walker replied.

  “Are you lying to me Walker?”

  “No. I have not been out of your sight since I was kidnapped,” Walker replied nervously.

  “About that,” Lucas said, “I want to run through that again.”

  Walker looked terrified,

  “I have told you all I know and everything that happened,” he said, “I told you I will do everything you have told me to do and I have.”

  Lucas walked around to the side of the desk where Walker was sitting. Walker instinctively hunched his shoulders and his face winced.

  “Since when do you tell me anything?”

  “I’m sorry,” Walker replied.

  “Not good enough,” Lucas said. He then grabbed Walker’s neck in his left hand and slammed his face hard down onto his desk, his forehead smashing hard against the keyboard which sat in front of his computer screen, flipping it up onto its side. He then delivered a solid, quick right hook that smashed into Walkers kidneys which took every last bit of breath out of him. Walker screamed in pain, but was more concerned with trying to breathe and so Lucas loosened his grip. He walked back around to the other side of the desk and sat down in the chair positioned directly opposite and watched in total amusement as Walker slowly regained his breath. Lucas could see the pain that he was in, and he got real gratification from this. Walker started to cry. Light sobs that he tried to disguise, but Lucas could see the tears running down his cheeks. You don’t mess with the Seals he thought to himself.

  After a few minutes of amusement to Lucas, Walker finally composed himself enough to look up and make eye contact with him.

  “Now, tell me what happened again?” Lucas demanded.

  “The fire alarm went off, you and me walked out, that guy punched you and put you on the floor, two guys grabbed me from behind, and two other guys sort of boxed me in so I couldn’t move, and I felt them shuffling me away from the building, and the next thing I know I’m in pitch black and all I heard was scuffing and big doors and car doors opening and that was it, until the man started asking me questions,” Walker replied.

  “Tell me again what he said about the British guy?” Lucas asked.

  “He said that he wanted them both dead but only one had bee
n killed. He said that I was to arrange a meeting with the British man and I would ring him and tell him when a meeting was arranged.”

  “Ring him then,” Lucas said, leaning back in his chair and cupping his hands behind his head, a gesture that sub-consciously told Walker he wasn’t listening much to him and he didn’t believe him.

  “I gave you the piece of paper with the number that they gave me,” Walker pointed out.

  Lucas dug into his pockets and pulled out the piece of paper that Walker had given him upon his return from his ordeal and threw it across the desk to him.

  “Put it on loud speaker,” he demanded.

  “What do I say, we haven’t arranged a meeting,” Walker asked.

  “Tell him that he should give you a time and you will fit in with him.”

  Walker looked down at the number and dialled it. It rang five times and then a male voice answered it,

  “L & B Auto Repairs, how can I help?”

  Walker had no idea what to say. Lucas shot him a threatening look,

  “I need to talk to someone about a meeting,” Walker stuttered.

  “A meeting about your vehicle?”

  “No. About a meeting someone at this number wants me to arrange with someone.”

  “I think you have got the wrong number sir, this is an auto repair shop.”

  Walker started to panic.

  “But I was given this number to ring to let someone know about a meeting I was arranging,” he pleaded.

  “Then someone gave you the wrong number. If you don’t want your vehicle looked at or repaired then you can meet who you want, but I suggest you check your number again.”

  The line went dead.

  Walker looked at Lucas and frowned,

  “Dial it again and this time properly, you weasel.”

  Walker dialled the number again,

  “L & B Autos. How can I help?” the voice said.

  Walker hung up the phone.

  Lucas looked at him and said,

  “You are lying to me Martin. You know what happens when you lie to me,” and he stood up slowly and walked around to Walkers side of the desk.

  Ward and McDermott were walking up the stairs to Nicole-Louise and Tackler’s apartment when McDermott’s phone vibrated. He listened and then hung up. He looked at Ward,

  “Walker made the call,” he said.

  “That was quicker than I thought,” Ward replied.

  “Why would he make the call when no meeting has been arranged though?”

  “Because he assumes that once he has instruction on when to meet me that he will tell Abbi Beglin, who will tell Lawson, who will tell me, and then I will get in touch with him.”

  “You could have just given him your number?” McDermott said.

  “I needed to see how desperate he was.”

  Tackler opened the door. He looked at the two of them and then looked over their shoulders to the left, and the right, and then smiled; clearly pleased that Lawson wasn’t with them.

  “On your own I see,” he said.

  “Lawson will be here in five minutes,” Ward said as he walked past Tackler straight into the apartment, catching a glimpse of Tackler’s smile visibly dropping as he passed him.

  Nicole-Louise was at her workstation.

  “How far have you got?” he asked Tackler.

  “We’ve both got very far,” he replied, “I’ll wait for Nicole-Louise to explain.”

  Ward looked over at the table where Nicole-Louise had her laptops and computers illuminated, and saw the live feed still running of the guy who was tied to the chair with the hood on his head.

  “Has anyone been to give him water or feed him?” he asked.

  “No idea,” Tackler said, “I’m not working on that part.”

  “What are you working on?” Ward asked, waiting for Nicole-Louise to speak in her own time.

  “What you told me to. The money trial, the bank accounts, the history of Walker, and the payment transfers to your bomber,” Tackler replied.

  Ward had learned over the years that the best way to deal with Nicole-Louise was to let her explain how brilliant and smart she was. He knew that when she got to explaining what she had found that he would have to endure a long explanation, probably switching between them both in doing so, but he also knew that they would have everything he needed. He knew that they still wouldn’t have the ‘Why?’ but he was sure he would know by the end of the day. Nicole-Louise and Tackler would always work it out.

  “Hello Ryan, Mac,” she eventually said as she turned around.

  They both nodded.

  “So, from the beginning, where are we?” Ward asked the two of them.

  There was a knock on the door; Tackler trudged over to answer it.

  A beaming Lawson stood there.

  “Hello Tackler,” he said.

  Tackler snorted.

  “So, where are we?” Lawson said looking at Ward and McDermott as he walked in.

  “We were just about to find out,” Ward said.

  “If you can be quiet for two minutes,” Tackler said sarcastically.

  “What did Beglin say?” Ward asked Lawson, ignoring Tackler’s animosity towards him.

  “She confirmed that Martin Walker was the man who oversaw the productions of both the Louvre and the Westminster bombings, and that he schedules every report and nominates the appropriate team to report,” Lawson replied, “She’s nearly as smart as Nicole-Louise,” he added.

  “I feel sick,” Tackler said and glared at Lawson.

  “OK, let’s get to it,” Ward said, “Firstly, this guy in this live feed, do we know who he is?” he asked, looking at Nicole-Louise.

  “No idea,” she said, “But I know where he is,” she added.

  The whole room went quiet and looked at her.

  “You didn’t think of mentioning that before?” Ward asked, sounding a little disappointed.

  “I only found it about thirty seconds before you knocked on the door,” she said firmly. Ward smiled back apologetically.

  “So where is he?”

  “I traced the original source of the IP address and…”

  “Nicole-Louise, I know you are a genius, you two are the best in the world, but we really need to move on this, we don’t have much time left,” Ward said sternly.

  “OK. He is about ten blocks away on East 70th, building number four; in a basement by the look of it,” she replied equally as sternly.

  Ward, Lawson and McDermott looked at each other.

  “I want you to do one thing when we are gone, Nicole-Louise,” Ward said, “Get me the UKBC News schedules for the reporting teams on both bombings, OK?”

  “OK.”

  THIRTY TWO

  “Do we need any of the team?” McDermott asked Ward as they were heading towards East 70th Street.

  “No,” Ward replied, “Unless you are getting scared in your old age?”

  “Where do you think this guy in the hood fits in?” Lawson enquired.

  “What do you two think?” Ward asked them both.

  “It could be someone who knows that a bomb is going to go off or the guy they are going to set up for it,” McDermott replied.

  “I think you are both part right,” Ward said.

  “Clever us,” Lawson said sarcastically.

  “Guessing often leads to the wrong conclusions,” Ward replied.

  The truth was, Ward had a very, very good idea who was under the hood and why, he just had to be sure. The end game was coming, and it would simply come down to who was the smartest out of three people, one of whom was him.

  They reached East 70th Street in just under five minutes and drove slowly past apartment block number four. It was a ten storey building, built out of a mixture of grey cast concrete and brown brick.

  To the right hand side there was a drive to a parking lot. They turned at the end of the street and came back for another look. There was nothing that indicated there were spotters outside. They turned ag
ain and drove down for the third time,

  “Take the drive and park in the lot,” Ward said to McDermott.

  He carefully inched into the drive and moved down past the side of the building, and pulled into the wide parking lot at the rear.

  “Park here,” Ward said.

  At the back there was a set of steps that descended down, to what they assumed, would be a door at the bottom.

  “There’s our basement,” Lawson said.

  “Go and check it out Mike,” Ward instructed.

  Lawson got out of the car and headed off in the direction of the far right corner of the building with the intention of sweeping around all the way across the front to get a complete overview of what was there.

  “He’s good, isn’t he?” McDermott said.

  “Yes he is,” Ward replied, “All ex-SAS are. His only problem is that he doesn’t know just how good he is.”

  “Maybe you should tell him now and again?”

  “When he stops thinking with what’s in his pants so much, I will,” Ward replied.

  McDermott smiled.

  They watched as he swept the front of the building and then walked up the side and disappeared out of sight.

  Ward’s phone vibrated, Lawson’s name appeared on the screen.

  “Problem?” Ward asked as he answered.

  “There are two guys down the bottom of the stairs; both middle eastern, it looks like they are having a cigarette break,” Lawson said, “I’m going to go inside from the front and check out the access from the inside of the building to see what we have.”

  “Two so far,” Ward said to McDermott, “So whoever it is must be important.”

  They waited without speaking.

  Both of them were playing out the possible scenarios that they might face in their heads. There was an exceptionally high chance that they were both visualising the same thing and the same outcome.

  Ward’s phone vibrated again.

  “What have you got?”

  “There are two more outside the internal door; there is a sign saying, do not enter - sewage leak, swinging from a plastic chain at the top of the stairs. The two guys are wearing white overalls, posing as workmen,” Lawson said.