Mudada

by M G Leslie

  "Deliberately?"

  "Gets my vote."

  "So he's running an errand for Price."

  The Chief of Staff nodded, "It certainly looks like it – and that’s the DEA’s view as well – although US immigration are hopping mad."

  "They’ll get over it. Have a discreet meeting with Price when he lands – I'm sure he'll be pleased to see a friendly face at Heathrow arrivals."

  "My thinking as well Sir – already reached out to the airline – I'm their driver for Price."

  "Thanks. Anything else?"

  "That's all Sir," said the Chief of Staff as he left the Chief's office."

  It was nearly midday as Price walked in to the arrivals hall of London Heathrow’s Terminal 3 – having enjoyed the eight hour flight from Miami – as usual taking in the benefits of the Upper Class bar, as well as the excellent service and food.

  As he walked up to the Upper Class desk to ask for his car service home, he was intercepted by the Chief of Staff, who said, “Mr Price, I’m your driver.”

  Price desperately wanted to throw his arms around his old friend. Despite his strength of character and bravado in front of Pete, he was glad to be back home and appreciated being met by his friend, as much as the Chief had known he would. However, he knew he couldn’t as this was a public place – so he restrained himself and said, “Thank you. Please lead on.”

  The Chief of Staff turned and they walked back to the car park and the Chief of Staff’s Range Rover Sport.

  In case they were being watched, Price made a point of asking if it was OK to sit in the front and the Chief of Staff said, “Yes of course Sir.”

  However, once the doors were closed, Price simply said, “Thank you – that was a nice gesture – I won’t forget that.”

  “You’re welcome my friend. You look like you need a rest.”

  “I do – but I also need to brief the Chief, so you should probably head for the office.”

  “Fair enough – he’ll be interested to know what you found out.”

  “Lots,” said Price.

  “As I understand it, you just blew our operation to track drugs out of Venezuela in the process – the narcotics guys a livid, just so you know.”

  “You have to trust me.”

  As the Chief of Staff drove out of the car park, he glanced at Price out of the corner of his eye and said, “That’s a given – I’m just saying there’s some pretty senior people who are not happy. So I really need you to come up with the goods.”

  It was Price’s turn to glance at the Chief of Staff this time, as he said, “I will.”

  “Good.”

  The men sat in silence for the remainder of the journey – both seemingly listening to the BBC’s Radio 2 until the Range Rover turned in to the car park of the MI6 Vauxhall Cross headquarters.

  As they started to walk out of the car park, the Chief of Staff took out his mobile phone and called the Chief’s personal assistant, “Julie – I need time with the Chief immediately.”

  “OK, let me free up his schedule. Can I say what it’s regarding?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Julie’s tone immediately changed, “Oh, one of those meetings – OK, you had better come straight up.”

  “Thanks.”

  As the Chief of Staff and Price made their way through the building, neither man spoke – then as they entered the Chief’s office, Price said, “Sir, my apologies for my appearance.”

  The Chief waived both men to sit down as he walked over to the door, “Julie – unless the world is coming to and end, please ensure I’m not disturbed.”

  “Of course Sir,” she replied. “Except by three coffees perhaps?”

  “That would be lovely – thank you.”

  The Chief closed the office door and slowly returned to the seat behind his desk. Once seated, he closed the file that he had been reading and sat back in his chair.

  For a brief moment, there was complete silence – then the Chief spoke, “Price. Welcome back – it’s good to see you in one piece.”

  “Thank you Sir.”

  “You should remember that there are very few places that are private in this world – including the COS’s Range Rover.”

  Price smiled. He hadn’t realised the Chief of Staff’s car was bugged. But on reflection, he wasn’t surprised either.

  The Chief continued, “Tell me the story – don’t leave anything out – I’m looking forward to you coming up with the goods you seemed so confident about half an hour ago.”

  “How long have you got Sir?”

  “As long as it takes my friend. As long as it takes.”

  Price sat back in his chair – relieved when Julie entered a moment later with coffee for all three men – then as she left the office and closed the door, he started to speak – explaining how he’d travelled to Africa, what had happened and every event that had taken place since.

  As he spoke, the Chief of Staff made notes – whilst the Chief just sat and listened – taking note of Price’s tone of voice, body language and eye movements. That was his strength – he could tell if someone was lying. Whilst he trusted Price and actually considered him a friend – this was business and Price had to be subject to the same scrutiny as all other officers returning from an operation – especially those that had suffered physical distress or torture.

  The whole briefing took three hours – then at the end the Chief said, “Thank you. Exemplary work. I agree – proceed in line with your plan.”

  The Chief of Staff looked up from his notes, “Sir – you know what that means?”

  “Of course I do,” replied the Chief. “I’m not stupid!”

  “Sir, I believe we need to seek higher approval,” said the Chief of Staff.

  The Chief looked at the Chief of Staff. He was clearly a little angry at having his judgement questioned – but he paused for thought before saying, “You’re right of course – I’ll advise the Foreign Secretary. Price, how long before this all kicks off?”

  “I’m expecting to meet First Class next Tuesday Sir. If he missed that meeting, then Thursday.”

  “Good. I’ll be seeing the Foreign Secretary on Friday, which gives us plenty of time. Price, unless you hear otherwise, proceed as you described.”

  There was a brief pause then the Chief said, “Anything else gentlemen? If not, I’ll let you go and get some rest Price.”

  “Just one thing,” said Price.

  Both men looked at him as he said, “Do you remember Jennifer Lee Sir? She was the alleged spy in Hong Kong that we removed.”

  The Chief didn’t look pleased, “That operation is closed now Price. It’s done – I need you to put it behind you. That’s the second time you’ve mentioned it. Why is this happening?”

  “I’m concerned Sir – as I say, her name was in the papers we found in Harare.”

  “The papers said Jennifer – unless I misheard you, they didn’t say Jennifer Lee. It could have been anyone – it’s a common name.”

  “But Sir. It is a coincidence.”

  “I appreciate you want to find the truth – but that line of enquiry is a dead end – literally – because she’s no longer with us. So put it behind you and focus on getting First Class back here. Understood?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Whilst price gave his briefing in London, Pete was on a flight making his way to Africa – unaware that his departure had been observed by Mancilla’s people at the airport, who, worst still – wanted revenge.

  So as Pete sat back drinking a Bloody Mary and saying to himself, “How can Price drink this shit – it’s just tomato juice made bad,” a completely different conversation was taking place in the background.

  "Where’s he going?”

  “He boarded a flight to South Africa – Johannesburg boss. He’s scheduled to land in about 8 hours."

  "Meet him but don’t hurt him – I want him captured and questioned. I want to know who he works for. I want to know what they want and I want
to know where they live – and then we’ll deal with him – and them. Do you understand?”

  “Yes boss.”

  Sadly, however, despite saying, “Yes boss,” Mancilla’s people had not been careful to pass on the same message to their contacts in South Africa – indeed, they hired a group of freelance mercenaries who took the message to mean, “Kill him.”

  From Pete’s perspective, he wasn’t expecting any trouble. He left Miami as discreetly as he had arrived and thought he was relatively safe – not realising that, as soon as he left Johannesburg airport, the mercenaries were following and waiting for him to make a mistake.

  With several hours to kill before his next flight, Pete decided to head in to the city for something to eat – a thirty-minute taxi ride on an average day.

  Johannesburg has many districts – and as with any large city, there are the safe and less safe ones. Pete had been there before and was aware of the increased security around the central business district, so this was where he headed – consequently, feeling relatively safe whilst walking along the modern street, checking his mobile phone and using the GPS map to get his bearings.

  When the mercenaries, in a 4x4 with blacked out windows, pulled alongside, Pete was still looking at his phone, checking how far he had to go to reach the restaurant. So when a man in the back of the 4x4 opened fire through a window, Pete didn’t stand a chance and just dropped to the ground.

  Fortunately, a plane clothes officer from the JPMD, Johannesburg’s Metropolitan Police Department, happened to be out shopping, and started running, un-holstering his gun in the process.

  But he was over hundred yards away. So despite shouting warnings, the 4x4 pulled up at the side of the road and the back door opened.

  The police officer suddenly realised that this wasn’t just another violent shooting – it was potentially a kidnapping – so he stopped, and crouching down to stabilise himself, took aim and fired half a dozen shots at the 4x4 and the open door.

  Fortunately, the mercenaries were just that – mercenaries. “We’re not paid enough for this,” the driver said as he stamped on the accelerator, screeching away from the side of the road as the officer ran forward to Pete’s aid – radioing for an ambulance along the way.

  Pete had taken multiple shots – including one to the chest. He was barely conscious, as the officer crouched down and said, “Stay with me fella. There’s help on its way."

  By the time Pete had been admitted to hospital and the staff had identified him as a British citizen and had contacted the embassy, Price, thousands of miles away, had arrived home and was sitting on the balcony of his apartment reading a book.

  Whilst Price’s work meant that he spent much of his time abroad, he did enjoy his time at home – the view from his balcony being a quiet section of London’s River Thames.

  Whilst, in central London, the River Thames is a large wide river, bustling with trade and tourist traffic, as it passed Price’s home in the leafy suburb of Surbiton, it was relatively quiet – mostly occupied only by people practising their kayaking or rowing – sometimes even fishing.

  As he took a sip of coffee and put the mug back down on a small wooden table that he sometimes also used as a footrest, Price was surprised to hear his mobile phone ring. He didn’t tend to get a lot of calls, as he preferred the numerous instant messenger services to stay in touch with friends. His view was, “If we want to chat – let’s grab a beer and some food and do it properly.” It wasn’t that he was anti-social – he just liked to be social in person rather than pumping radiation from the phone’s transmitter in to his head.

  However, as the phone rang, he put the book down, face side down so as to not lose his place, and picked it up. The number showed as ‘Unknown’ – so it was either an annoying sales call or work-related.

  “Hello?”

  He recognised the voice immediately – it was the Chief of Staff, “A family member has been taken ill.”

  Hearing the tone of voice and realising something bad had happened, Price picked up his book and coffee mug and carried them back in to his apartment’s lounge as he said, "Anyone I know?"

  “Yes – you’ll want to pay him a visit."

  “On my way,” was Price’s brief reply as he dropped the call, put the phone down on his dining table and finished his coffee as he put the mug in the kitchen – rinsing it out before turning it upside down and leaving it next to the sink.

  Some might think that rinsing the mug created an unnecessary delay, but Price never knew how long he would be away – so he always made an effort to leave the apartment clean and tidy.

  Five minutes later, the apartment was safely locked up and Price was in his BMW M3 heading for the A3, a main trunk road to central London.

  A further 20 minutes later, he walked in to the Operations Room in the MI6 headquarters at Vauxhall Cross with a rucksack slung over his shoulder.

  The Operations Room provides a central location where information from across the world can be displayed in one place – often a hub of activity that is used for real-time decision-making – often during difficult operations where operatives are working in extreme danger – often with a combination of satellite, flying drone and ground camera images displayed on the array of video screens.

  On this occasion though, Price stayed silent as he watched the Chief speak via a video conference call to the British Ambassador to South Africa and the Foreign Secretary.

  As the call closed and the men’s images were replaced by blank screens, the Chief of Staff, who’d also been watching silently, turned to face Price, “Good – you brought a bag.”

  Price didn’t bother with social graces, “Yes. What now?”

  The Chief spoke, “Pete has been shot in central Johannesburg. It seems he was booked on a flight to Mozambique but had a long stopover and decided to go to the city – we presume to pass some time – unless he planned to meet someone. Do you know any reason why he might go there?

  “No – although I know he’s been there before – so it’s possible he went to look up an old friend.”

  “Whilst on an operation?” asked the Chief of Staff.

  “I can’t think of any other reason,” Price continued.

  “So it wasn’t on your instruction then?” asked the Chief.

  “No. It was a foolish detour that appears to have gone horribly wrong.”

  “Yes indeed,” said the Chief. “We’re not sure if it was just someone trying to mug him or whether it was related to his reason for being there. The embassy is working on getting the detailed police reports. Although, initial feedback from the policeman that took him to hospital, is that they were professionals – so we have to assume the worst."

  "What is Pete’s status Sir?"

  “He’s in intensive care."

  “Conscious?"

  "No – apparently not – he’s on a respirator – life support – the works."

  "If this was a planned attack as you’re suggesting, they’ll go for him again Sir.”

  “He is being guarded. The embassy has arranged that. You missed the earlier part of my call just now. I have explained to the ambassador that Pete is a senior member of the Firm and it would be an international incident if anything happens to him. The Foreign Secretary has backed me up, because the South African police are kicking up a fuss that we hadn’t informed them. Frankly speaking – they are right of course, and I understand their frustration. But we had to give them a story so as to get the protection in place as quickly as possible and guarantee his safety. We’ll send our apologies to them once this is all over – or they’ll call in a favour at some time in the future – either way, Pete is being take care of – so don’t worry.”

  "He’s there on a diplomatic passport right Sir?"

  “He his now."

  The Chief of Staff interrupted, “Price, does anyone else know where he’s meeting First Class?"

  Price looked at the Chief of Staff and deliberately made eye contact so that the
Chief of Staff would have no doubt about his reply, “No."

  “Are you certain?” asked the Chief.

  Price wasn’t used to being questioned, or having his word doubted, even by the Chief. So he looked at both men, then with a very firm voice said, “Yes. I am certain. Aside from First Class, there’s only four people who know that – three of them are in this room – the forth is Pete.”

  “Did you or he discuss it with anyone?”

  Price was incredulous and disgusted about being question again – so raising his voice very slightly he said, “No. I didn’t discuss it and I’m sure he wouldn’t have either. Exactly what are you suggesting?”

  After a small pause, the Chief said, “Calm down Price. We’re just trying to cover all the bases.”

  “Did you discuss it with the Foreign Secretary or any other politician Sir?” asked Price – deciding that a counter-offensive was necessary.

  The Chief ignored the question and started to walk to the exit whilst saying, “COS – proceed as you and I discussed a short while ago. Price – take care of yourself.”

  Then he walked out as Price turned to face the Chief of Staff, and, a little disrespectfully, repeated his earlier question – although it came out more like a statement, “So – what now!!”

  The Chief of Staff ignored the obvious annoyance in Price’s voice, "You have half an hour to get to Heathrow. You’re booked on a flight to South Africa in ninety minutes time. Go and check out his status first hand. If you can get information out of him, then do so – then get First Class and come home. Questions?”

  “What if I get interrupted?”

  "Avoid all hostiles if at all possible. If you can’t – well you know the score – you’re going in with full diplomatic cover in both countries – so you’ll be armed. Just get back here in one piece with First Class alive by any means.”

  “Got it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Someone will pay for this."

  “Whatever Price – just do your job. Oh, and you’re booked on the back of a despatch rider to get you through the traffic to the airport – I know how much you like bikes.”