“What is that smell?” Asked one of the Russians downstairs, indeed all of them could detect it. John who still had not helped the injured man tried to determine the soil and cheese like odour that was actually starting to become quite pungent,
“Smells like rotting flesh.” John said, “It’s coming from the attic.” He knew exactly where it was coming from; West had to be responsible for it. Walking over from his position slightly to determine the cause,
“Jack?!! What’s that smell?” He shouted. The three Russians looked surprised; John had just given away the existence of a second man upstairs,
“Jack!!” He continued, as his attention was firmly fixed on the ceiling. Still no reply from his partner as John took another breath to shout again, this time that little bit louder. But the large sharp sound of a crack rang out; splinters flew out of the part of some wooden crates at the side, causing John to duck.
“John, what was that? Who’s firing?” Asked West through the floor as John spun round to see the three Russians fleeing out of the door. Realising they were taking the opportunity to flee, the lead terrorist picked up his gun and fired straight at John. Only the rapid motion of his getaway prevented him from getting a clear shot, thus saving John’s life,
“STOP!!!” he shouted as he turned his weapon, but too late. Not even getting a chance to fire as they three were out of the door; the only thing he could hear were the blaring sound of sirens, getting louder and louder as they someone arrived on the scene,
“John, you alright?” Asked West through the attic floor,
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He reassured as he lowered his weapon, “But our Marxist friends have bolted.”
“Let them go.” Said Jack.
“Why?” Puzzled John.
He didn’t get an answer, at that moment the door burst open as swarms of police forced their way in like a tidal wave. Standing up, John saw the officers, there must have been about forty, including the ones outside, no doubt having the entire warehouse surrounded,
“I’m an intelligence officer.” Said John, not wanting to be arrested,
“I know you are.” Replied a voice, instantly John recognised the sound,
“Inspector Waterson!!” He said as he appeared in the doorway,
“I figured you would try and find Jack. You probably already knew you were being watched. Tracking you was the perfect way to lead me all the way to West while your friends in MI5 are off on a wild goose chase. I’m disappointed in you, you must have tracked suspects in your line of work and you couldn’t tell that you were a victim yourself? Oh dear…so, where is he? I presume he’s here.”
John complied, “He’s upstairs, you can get there round the side.”
“Thank you.” He said as he walked back outside, “Officer, remain with this man, he can come outside, but don’t let him go.”
Waterson made his way around to the fire escape leading upwards where Jack lay, opening the door to enter the attic as John freely walked outside with an accompanying officer,
“Look you just missed three Russian terrorists, they’re armed, one of them is injured quite badly.”
The officer replied in kind, “We heard some kind of gunshot as we approached.”
“Yes, they fired at me, but I’m unhurt. You see I’m an intelligence officer, it’s vital you find those men so I can interrogate them.”
The officer decided to challenge John on this point, “Do you have proof of this?”
“Yes I do. Inside that building there is a chest, it’s full of clocks. I’ve reason to believe that they may be used for something.”
“Like what?” Replied the officer sceptically,
John continued, “I can’t say too much but they are linked, as are the three men as terror suspects to something big.”
The officer was not totally convinced, but was open to hearing more. John could see this clearly,
“If you don’t believe me, talk to Inspector Waterson, he’ll confirm my story.”
The officer believed part of the tale, “Oh Inspector Waterson came to us from New Scotland Yard, said something about tracing two intelligence officers. So I guess you’re one of them?”
“Yes, I am. But I need to find those Russians.”
“Don’t worry, they couldn’t have got far. We’ll find them.”
Suddenly a large sharp bang rang out causing everyone to turn around to see what it was. It sounded like a gunshot, but there was no time for deliberation, a huge crashing sound of smashing glass, louder than the shot filled the air as huge shards of broken glass flew out causing everyone to flee he immediate area. Sharp jagged pieces fell to the floor like daggers, each on with the potential to maim or kill. Looking upwards the source was a large attic window, yet throughout this deadly shower fell a body, backwards, hitting the ground with a bone crunching thud a couple of seconds later.
Once the dust and glass had settled, John and the other police officers rushed over to the fallen person. Bending down each officer knew who it was even as they rushed over; to John the face was instantly recognisable,
“Inspector Waterson!!” He said, shockingly. Covered in shattered glass, his face and hands covered in blood from the cuts, nobody checked to see if he was alright, there was no point, he had a clear gunshot to the forehead. He was dead instantly. Looking upwards, all he saw was the shattered window frame but with no sign of Jack, he did not know what to think at all, he just stared upwards, not even noticing if there was any commotion from the police or not. Only a commotion from the side broke his trance as officers dragged the three Russians back to waiting vans. John immediately got up and confronted them,
“Wait, I…I need to talk to them, I’m in counter intelligence.” He asked the arresting officers as they bundled the suspects in the back of their vehicles,
“Sorry, you’ll have to ask someone else. These are coming back to the station; you’ll have to talk to them there.” Was the reply he received. He was too stunned to argue, at least they were caught and in custody,
“Can you smell smoke?” He then asked rather curiously. Turning round he heard even more commotion as the officers were busy moving away from the building. White smoke rapidly turning to black billowed out of the attic, the hint of orange flame flickered out of the upper floors. John knew what Jack had done,
“Oh no you don’t Jack! Not this, first you kill a police officer, then you try to destroy the evidence!! You’re not getting away again, I swear!!”
He couldn’t let Jack go again, not a second time. Knowing he was here to stay for the time being, wherever Jack went, no matter out of character, he had to follow. If he didn’t, he could be implicated in the death of Inspector Waterson. Knowing there really could be no sign of Jack at the moment, he committed himself to discovering the truth to all this.
Chapter 18:
The next morning, the banks of the River Colne, 09:15am. Standing over the burnt out remains of the now ruined warehouse, John stood looking over the sight. The black charred shell of the structure still stood tall in the abundance of white smoke which protruded from every orifice. From the distance he was observing from, John could see the site was still busy with activity, fire crews who had arrived earlier were now in the process of damping down in a prevention of another ignition. Looking over the sight in the clam still morning gave him the time to think things over quite definitively, the seagulls over head the only interruption to his train of thought,
“I’ve been such an idiot. Jack was playing everyone all along, me, the security services, everyone. And now he had killed a serving police officer, deliberately, without authorisation or a kill order. He foiled everyone, for whatever ends only he knows. Now he has dragged me into this mess, destroyed his own career and possibly ruined mine. He will be seen as a traitor…and so may I.”
He began walking along the river bank, the long grass brushing past his trousers as he shuffled past deep in philosophical thought. Such was the profoundness of his thinking that he faile
d to notice just how far he had walked. Only once he raised his head did he notice the surroundings he found himself in. Making his way to a more rural part south of the docks he was in pretty unfamiliar territory but it didn’t matter,
“I’m trying the think what could have gone wrong. Where and when the hell did West turn? What could have persuaded him to betray the very thing he swore to protect?”
Determined to find out, locating Jack would be a good start, but where? The rustling noise of the long grass in the breeze continued as he walked, but the noise of the shoots wafting in the wind were only now beginning to irritate him, it was as if something other than nature were disturbing them. Pausing, John turned toward the field to his right. His back to the river, the grass expanse before him showed no visible signs of life, yet he suddenly had the feeling that there was something there. Coming off the track he ventures into the field; the grass now taller bent and crushed as he made his way across the land in near knee high foliage,
“Jack?” He shouts while pausing. It was an extreme long shot, and it would most likely be met with complete silence,
“John. I’m here.” A voice responded; John just stood there in silence, stunned. It was indeed West’s voice. Frantically John looked around to try and find the source of the sound, but all he could see was a grassy field, apart from that nothing. Although it was clear that the sound was coming from approximately ahead,
“Come closer.” Jack continued teasingly,
“Where the hell are you?!! What the hell happened yesterday? You’re a killer; you murdered Waterson and set fire to the warehouse to destroy the evidence!!”
“No you are wrong….”
“Wrong?!! I’m not wrong, you’re the traitor!! You played me, the security services…the only reason why you wanted me along here was to cover your back with those Russians!!”
“I’m sorry John.” Said Jack apologetically,
Overwhelmed by anger, John marched further into the field with more vigour than before,
“I’ll find you, even if it’s the last thing I’ll do I’ll find you Jack West. You want to throw your career away than that’s fine!! But don’t drag me down with you!!!!”
Jack responded in a tone completely opposite to John’s, almost as if he was controlling the situation,
“You can do whatever you like.”
Pulling out his Walther, he made his way toward the point where his best guess said was the source of West’s voice, but in an open field, where was he? He only got around two hundred yards before he got his wish as the breeze which was whipping up swayed the grass, around his legs seemed more disturbed ahead of him. In what seemed like a slow motion action, Jack rose out of the grass to face his accuser. John raised his pistol at the almost instantaneously same moment as Jack, who has raised his Walther in response; clearly the two former partners had lost all trust for one another. With the barrels of each pistol side by side and almost touching, like crossed swords John and Jack stared each other out across a distance apart of only a few feet. John’s more intense, fuelled by the anger and resentment for the mug and fool Jack had taken him for, Jack’s more distant, as if he had lost all hope and did not care anymore,
“You have to fire.” He said to John,
“Believe me-‘
“You know what you have to do. You must fire.”
John was at near breaking point by now, but his head was still in control, but only just,
“I want answers.” He demanded,
“You will get your answers in time. Now if you do not shoot me, I will fire back. You must fire.”
“No, only you can explain answers!!!” Shouted John,
“You are weak and pathetic John. I always knew you were not cut out for anything.” Said Jack in a cool manner. He really did not care anymore,
“You are weak John…weak…weak”
“SHUT UP!!!” Snapped John,
“Weak….”
In a fit of red mist John squeezed the trigger. Blinking and snapping out of his rage as he did so, he was surprised to find West still standing there. He started to feel slightly ashamed, ashamed that he let his emotions cloud his judgement, was West right, was he weak? There was no time for that, almost instantly he was just as surprised to find the gun light,
“This gun, it’s empty! You took the ammunition out of the clip!! It’s useless!!”
“Yes, I removed the bullets before I gave it to you. In knew it was empty all along.” Revealed West,
“And you put me in that position with those Russians…You bastard.”
Choosing not to respond, Jack slowly and deliberately pulled back the weapon, diffusing the standoff somewhat. In the background he could see other figures entering the field some two hundred yards away and closing fast. With each step they were becoming ever clearer, Harvey, the investigating officer and three other officials from MI5 were approaching the scene. Clearly MI5 had caught up with them,
“Game’s over Jack.” Said John as the officials were getting ever closer,
“The game has only just begun.” Was the response as he suddenly pointed the firearm directly into his chest; alarmingly John tried to save his former friend,
“JACK NO!!!”
He fired the Walther, jerking back as the full force of the bullet smashed through his chest, causing an explosion of blood to stain John’s face in a deadly shower. He fell back, body soaked in a red stain emanating from a coin sized hole in the chest that was rapidly haemorrhaging. The three MI5 officers reactively pulled out their weapons while Harvey and the investigating officer approached. Bending down, he could see that Jack West, in a pool of blood was dead, killed by his own hand and by the tormenting demons of conscience inside his mind. Falling back in shock, no emotions showed as the event has yet to hit him,
“John.” Said Harvey as they approached, the investigating officer checked over the corpse before indicating to Harvey that Jack was indeed dead by a simple look and shake of the head,
“John listen to me,” He reassured, carefully removing the Walther from John’s shocked hand, “Come on, let’s go.”
Carefully standing up, John could not keep his eyes off his former partner, the shock overtaking the grief for the moment, as he was led carefully and tentatively away from the scene.
One week later, a quiet graveyard in a small London suburb church. A small gathering of people, dressed in respectful black surrounded a hole in the ground. Inside a dark brown wooden coffin rested in the dug-out clay bottom. Fresh, it bore silver plaque with the name JACK WEST. The morning mist shrouded the gravestones perfectly in an eerie atmosphere, the hazy morning sunshine coupled with a shrieking of crows, the only things to shatter the peacefulness of this resting place. Beside the open grave stood Hudson, staring into the hole at where his friend lay, thought running through his mind, so many questions, so much unanswered. Being the end of the funeral service, the congregation could not stand there forever, although they were given as much time as they needed, slowly dispersing one by one. John was the last one to leave, perhaps fittingly, not moving, just staring, until Harvey came up to him, both dressed identically in their black suits, white shirts and black ties,
“John, the investigation into West’s activities is now complete. I thought you should know.”
John responded vaguely, “What?”
“It means you are now in the clear. I’ve reinstated your clearance in the department; you can come back to work. It’s what Jack would have wanted you know, for you to come back in from the cold.”
John understood what his boss was telling him, yet there seemed almost no point,
“It’s difficult…I will, thanks.” He said quietly. Harvey retreated to join the rest of the group who were by now making their way from the grave to the cars parked at the top of hill at the graveyard entrance. John was left on his own, wondering if it was all still worth it.
Chapter 19:
It had been two days since Jack West’s funeral. John, sat in th
e office opposite the now cleared out desk formally occupied by his deceased partner, stared out over to the empty space that was still so raw. Everything seemed so still, so calm now that Jack wasn’t here. It certainly a large void, one that John never appreciated, when West was alive. The silence and reflection was only shattered by the ringing of the phone, almost jumping out of his frame of mind he quickly picked up the receiver to answer,
“Hello?” A familiar voice came over from the other side,
“John, its Harvey. Have you got five minutes?”
“Sure.” He said, wondering what it could be.
“Come and see me in my office.”
“On my way.” He said putting the receiver down. Could it be something linked to the case they were dealing with? Or was John to get a new partner? Leaving the office he made his way to find out.
Knocking on the pine wooden door to Harvey’s office he waited for the permission to enter,
“Come in.” Said the Section chief as John popped his head round the door,
“Close the door will you, take a seat.” He said gesturing to one of the charcoal leather seats in from of Harvey’s oversized modern glass desk. Doing so he took his place without saying a word, but Harvey had some news of interest,
“We’ve received more intelligence on Victor Bruenstein, specifically his whereabouts. I want you to lead on it.”
“OK,” Said John in a rather unsure tone, “Will I be acting alone?”
“Yes, since you know most about this, I want you to follow up any leads.” Harvey’s tone softened slightly. He knew the death of Jack West still run raw with the whole section,
“Look I know it’s only been 10 days since Jack’s death, it still touches us all. He was a very great asset to the team and a good friend, to you more than anyone. But your feelings cannot cloud your professional judgement, I’m asking you to pick up where Jack left off, can you do that?”
John didn’t need to hesitate in answering, “Yes, I can.”
Pleased at the answer, Harvey continued with his brief, “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Follow me; let’s go to the briefing room.”
Three Faces of West (2013) Page 22