The Newsmaker (Volume One Book 1)

by Tom Field

  “You two take the front of the building, Lawson and I will take the back,” Ward said to McDermott and he watched as father and son sprinted out of the garage towards the alleyway.

  Ward ran down the pathway next to the garage and followed it to a door which was locked.

  Lawson said,

  “I’ve got it,” and Ward moved to the side as Lawson lifted his right foot and smashed it into the door frame just below the lock, and the wood splintered and the door flew open.

  As Ward ran in, he saw three doors numbered one to four on the ground floor and a flight of stairs to his right. He headed for the stairs and sprinted up them, pulling his Glock out without breaking stride, with Lawson right behind him.

  They sprinted up four flights of stairs and reached the landing of number eighteen. They slowly walked towards the door and took up a position either side of it. Ward put his ear to the door.

  It was all quiet.

  “The door could well be rigged with explosives,” Lawson said.

  Ward nodded.

  “How are we going to do this?” Lawson asked.

  “Knock I suppose,” Ward replied and he knocked on the door three times.

  Lawson smiled and rolled his eyes.

  No answer.

  Ward knocked again three times.

  There was still no answer.

  Ward tried the handle and it moved all the way down and the latch disengaged.

  He looked at Lawson,

  “Feeling brave, lucky or stupid?” Ward asked.

  Lawson smiled at him and said,

  “All three,” and he pushed past Ward and walked straight through the door and into an empty room. All that was there was a few pieces of sparse and worn furniture.

  Lawson walked through the living area and checked all the other rooms,

  “Nothing,” he said to Ward as he came back into the living area.

  Ward sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes.

  ‘Where would you run to Fulken?’ he asked himself.

  “He could be anywhere by now,” Lawson said, “He will disappear.”

  “Not if he is being followed.”

  “By who?” Lawson asked.

  “By us,” Ward said as he pulled out his cell phone and called Nicole-Louise.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “We’ve found the bomb and McDermott’s team are taking care of it now,” he said, just as the two McDermott’s stepped into the room, “But now we need to find Fulken.”

  “Thank God,” she said, “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “Hack into the city’s CCTV and find out when he left the building which is almost on the corner of Lexington Avenue and East 51st Street, follow him and then bring it up to real time so that we know where he is. I will need a running commentary as he moves,” Ward replied.

  “I can do that.”

  “You have to Nicole-Louise,” he said.

  “I will.”

  FORTY THREE

  Nicole-Louise had hacked into the CCTV cameras by the time Ward had pulled himself up from the sofa in Fulken’s apartment. She had a perfect view of the building, and could see three Range Rovers and a Mercedes, all black, parked behind each other in a neat line. She began rewinding the footage at eight times its normal speed.

  She saw the two Range Rovers reverse back out of sight, then the Mercedes, leaving the Range Rover that Wired and Wallace had arrived in.

  As she looked at the last remaining vehicle, she noticed someone walking out of the building and she paused the footage. She looked at the time in the right hand corner of the screen. It was 11:35pm.

  Just fifteen minutes ago.

  Walker and his son both stood up and walked over to her workstation,

  “Is that him?” Walker softly asked.

  Nicole-Louise adjusted a few buttons on a control toolbar on the bottom of the screen and zoomed in.

  He was wearing a brown jacket and a baseball cap. While the quality was not perfect, it was clear enough to give her a definitive identification,

  “Yes, that’s him,” she said to Walker.

  Tackler came out of the bathroom and said,

  “What’s happening?”

  “They’ve got the bomb, now we have found Fulken, and he is fifteen minutes ahead of them. We have to find him.”

  Tackler went over to his workstation and pressed his screen into life,

  “What area are you looking at?” he asked, as he tapped furiously on his keyboard.

  “I’m looking at the apartment building on the corner of Lexington and East 51st.”

  “OK, I will get into the camera on Lexington and East 52nd and see what I can see.”

  Nicole-Louise dialled Ward’s number and put it on loudspeaker,

  “What have you got?” he answered.

  “He left the building fifteen minutes ago,” she said, “He headed north.”

  Ward looked at Lawson and said,

  “We need to move now,” and headed towards the door.

  McDermott and Paul walked into the apartment just as Ward and Lawson reached the door,

  “It’s done,” McDermott said, “Walsh has disassembled the bomb completely, and they are packing it into one of the Range Rovers now.”

  “Different class,” Ward replied, and Lawson nodded his agreement.

  “You need to assemble everyone downstairs, we are fifteen minutes behind him, your three teams and us,” Ward said, as he paused and pointed at Lawson, “Means four separate units hunting one man in a three mile radius.”

  “He hasn’t got a chance,” McDermott said.

  “Are you still there Nicole-Louise?” Ward asked.

  “Yes, I can hear everything.”

  “McDermott has three teams that need to be kept in the loop on where Fulken is when you find him,” Ward said, “Can you do that so that you keep us all open?”

  “I can do anything,” she replied, “Get them to all dial into my cell number and I will do the rest,” she added.

  Nicole-Louise looked at Walker and his son; they still looked petrified,

  “What about Mr Walker?” she asked.

  Ward had actually forgotten about the two of them.

  “Can he hear me?”

  “Yes,” Walker senior replied loudly.

  “You can go now Mr Walker,” Ward said, “Nothing can hurt you now,” he added in a calm voice, more to reassure the son than the father.

  “If you don’t mind,” Walker replied, “Can we stay here until you have the bomber?”

  Ward could picture the fear on both of their faces, and for the first time, he gave a thought to the trauma that they had both been through, and how jumping into his world would be completely intimidating to the strongest of men.

  “Any objections Nicole-Louise?”

  “None.”

  “Nicole-Louise?” Ward said, “Find him.”

  Asif Fulken could not believe what had happened.

  This was all down to the man on the phone, he knew it.

  Damn that man he cursed to himself.

  He had nowhere to go; all of his allies and support networks had been wiped out by this man, and even as he crossed 3rd Avenue and continued down East 51st Street, he could not stop thinking about where he recognised him from.

  He had to find a safe haven, a place where he could blend in and not be recognised.

  He knew that by now, they would be checking CCTV footage and they would be following him. He could spend time finding a shop and changing clothes, but that would be time he did not have.

  All that mattered now was survival.

  He knew that if he got far enough away, he could easily get lost in the crowds, as he did in Paris and London, and so he continued to walk, briskly but not fast enough to attract attention.

  Where did he know the man on the phone from? He asked himself over and over. He has ruined everything.

  When he reached 2nd Avenue he turned north.

  There were sti
ll a large number of people milling around, enjoying the nightlife, and he felt safer in their company. Finding a man alone in a secluded street was easy, in a busy street he could easily hide.

  Most of the revellers were students, drinking way too much, and no doubt the future politicians and liberals, who will continue with their open door policy to people with his beliefs. That’s why this will never end, he told himself.

  Unless the CIA have another fifty of the man on the phone, that could possibly finish it.

  But who was he, he asked himself again.

  Where do I recognise him from?

  Ward and Lawson were sitting in the Mercedes and while Lawson was trying to connect his cell phone to the car charger deck, Ward closed his eyes and leant his head back against the head rest.

  Where would I go if I was Fulken he thought to himself? I would want to be near crowds, more chance of getting lost.

  He would want to escape New York and get as far away as possible, but he wouldn’t be thinking of leaving the country too soon.

  He was sure that Fulken would have planned an escape route for after the bomb had gone off, but that would have been heavily reliant upon the police and the security services being pre-occupied with the aftermath of the explosion, making it easier.

  No, Fulken was panicking, and he was probably trying to piece his escape plan together as he moved. Ward’s thoughts were broken by Lawson,

  “It’s me, can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Nicole-Louise replied

  “Have you found him yet?” Ward asked.

  “We are on it now. We have him crossing 3rd Avenue and continuing on East 51st. We are now only four minutes behind him.”

  “We are just pulling onto East 51st now,” Ward heard Wired say through the speakers.

  “When you find him, injure and detain him first, there are still things I need to ask him,” Ward interrupted.

  “East 51st Street here we come,” Lawson said.

  Asif Fulken was still walking, but unable to establish a clear plan in his head of where he was going.

  The face of the man on the phone kept coming back into his thoughts all the time. He had never been so distracted in his life.

  He continued up 2nd Avenue and was grateful for the fact that the student nightlife seemed to be in full flow.

  He scanned them all as he walked the Avenue and thought how ungrateful they are to live the life they live, with no suppression, and their excessive comfort and wealth. And then he resented them because that was the life that he had planned and craved so much.

  The man on the phone would have lived a life like that.

  His British accent, and affiliation to the Americans, how he said he was one of them, told him that he had probably spent a life being raised in sickening wealth in America, and then sent to one of those expensive boarding schools on the outskirts of London, for an education that only the wealthiest can buy.

  He would have lived a life like that, while his own people lived in poverty and destruction, with no basics, such as decent schooling or hospitals.

  He hated the man on the phone for the first time.

  He admitted to himself that he admired him for his skills in their field, but now he hated him for his privileged life.

  But who was he and where did he remember him from?

  He consumed his thoughts as he turned off of 2nd Avenue and headed east along East 57th Street.

  As Ward and Lawson reached East 23rd Street Nicole-Louise’s voice echoed around the interior of the car,

  “He has left East 51st, and has now headed onto 2nd Avenue,” she said, “We are trying to find him now.”

  “Wired, you take the end of East 51st, Fringe, you take the top of 2nd Avenue, and we will come up from the bottom of 2nd,” McDermott’s voice said.

  “We will take the middle of 2nd Avenue off of East 51st,” Ward said.

  They drove along East 51st and came to 2nd Avenue.

  He looked out of the window as Lawson slowly moved the car along.

  He saw people outside bars, smiling and laughing, and thought that they would never know how close they came to witnessing death and destruction on their own doorstep.

  He watched how groups of students came out of bars, arms linked, their faces adorning smiles that only those who have not joined the real world yet possess.

  They drove past one café and he noticed someone standing up at the end of a large table, holding a leather bound book, and reading to the captivated audience that were packed around the table.

  He saw groups of people deep in discussion, probably discussing politics he thought, and he wondered if this would be the next generation of CIA analysts.

  He saw couples walking the street hand in hand, looking happy and content, and genuinely believing that they had found their one love, even though in six months’ time, they would be feeling the same thing about someone completely different.

  The young minds, the future.

  The young Americans.

  He closed his eyes again and leant his head back into the head rest.

  He could still picture the people outside and then, for the first time since he started chasing Fulken, he exhaled a long, content sigh and his face broke into a smile.

  Lawson looked at him when he exhaled and noticed the smile.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

  “I know where he is going,” Ward replied.

  Asif Fulken reached 1st Avenue and turned into it heading north.

  There were more and more people walking around and it seemed to be getting busier, so he was starting to feel a little more in control.

  He had walked past six officers of the NYPD and none of them had given him a second glance.

  He was now starting to blend into the background and soon he would melt away.

  The man on the phone was probably chasing him right now and he wondered how close he was.

  His face, he knew that he had seen it before but where was it? He thought yet again to himself.

  In another life they may well have been good friends he thought. A thought that made him smile.

  He had always believed that he had no equal in the world, but the man on the phone had changed that perception.

  He would disappear and never see him again, but he had a feeling that it would take a long time for him to forget him. He was now feeling positive.

  He had enough money to live well, four million dollars, which would enable him to get his family together and set up in a new country, maybe in South America. As long as there was a beach, he would be happy.

  He wondered if the man on the phone had similar dreams; dreams that one day he would stop running around in the mad world that they lived in and lead a normal life. He concluded he did. Everyone did.

  He continued along 1st Avenue, milling through the crowds of young people laughing and smiling, and then he smiled to himself. He knew where he would go to disappear and the man on the phone would never find him.

  But who was he?

  How did he recognise him and why couldn’t he remember him?

  Ward had told Lawson where to drive to and Lawson said,

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes,” Ward replied.

  “OK, but shouldn’t you tell the others?”

  “No, let them carry on, if I am wrong, they are still closing the net so we find him either way.”

  “Are you going to be wrong?”

  “Have I been wrong yet?”

  “Can I ask you something?” Lawson said.

  “If you must,” Ward replied.

  “Why do you shoot some people in the face and others you don’t?”

  The question took Ward by surprise.

  “You were in the SAS, you tell me?”

  “How do you know I was in the SAS?”

  “I know everything about you. You think I am going to let someone cover my ass who I know nothing about?” Ward replied.

  Lawson
smiled,

  “I guess not, so why the shooting in the face? They remind you of someone?”

  “It’s a psychological thing. I only do it when I want to know something,” Ward replied.

  Lawson looked blank.

  “Think about it? You have two people in front of you that both have the information that you want. What do you do? What were you trained to do?” he asked.

  “You identify the weakest link,” Lawson replied.

  “Exactly, so you shoot the one that is less likely to talk in the face, obliterate the person they know, let them see the blood and the brains, and it’s much more effective than a hole in the chest,” Ward replied.

  “I must tell my brother to get that written into the SAS training manual,” Lawson said, rolling his eyes, “Sometimes I think there are things very, very wrong with you.”

  “So, have I answered your question?”

  “You have. But considering you weren’t after information from half of the people you have shot in the face, I shall draw my own conclusions,” Lawson replied.

  Ward ignored him.

  They arrived at their destination and parked the car.

  “Let’s go,” Ward said and climbed out of the car, “We will take either side of the entrance and wait, we shouldn’t have to wait too long.”

  Asif Fulken walked up 1st Avenue and was now one hundred per cent confident that he would be free and out of New York within the next twenty-four hours. After that it would be easy.

  The man on the phone was good but not good enough. He continued along 1st Avenue until he came to East 63rd Street turning onto it and heading east. One more block and he would be in the sanctuary of where he was heading. He could see the entrance at the end of the road and he felt an excitement that he had not felt since he was a raw recruit back in his early days of the FFW. He had come a long way since then.

  He wondered if the man on the phone had taken a similar journey.

  Rising up through the ranks of the organisation at rapid speed and being held in the same high regard as he used to be. At least that was until he was sold out, and he lost his faith and then he became the enemy.

  No doubt the man on the phone had lots of enemies within the CIA; the best always had resentment aimed towards them eventually.