by Gary Tulley
"I take it we are talking legal harassment here, Mike?" enquired Rogon with an air of subtle conviction. Eastern made it quite clear that he didn't need a cue when replying.
"I'm surprised that you're not already aware of the local 'plods' (police) involvement. As far as Spooks are concerned, I'm left out in the cold, feeling pissed while waiting for something to happen. Meanwhile, the 'Bill' are getting off on a non- productive surveillance trip! Personally, I don't give a shit providing it doesn't interfere with my private life. Cards on the table. If you want to make this brief work, then you 'd better call your dogs off, because Brezznov is going nowhere all the time he's getting grief...I mean, would you? Give the asshole some credit!"
Without question, the moment became game, set and match as Rogon caved into Eastern's logic. "You're understandably right of course Mike, leave it with me and rest assured I'll deal with the situation. Is there anything substantial that you'd like to add?"
On reflection, he should have known better than to have asked, but Rogon, being himself, and politically insensitive, to a fault, had, in in another world, co-written a Government manual titled ...'The idiot's guide to the impossible' and could now be found to be co-habiting his disturbed brain.
Being subjected to the token role of intermediary while Eastern and Rogon were busy crossing swords, had extended one man's patience, by fringing on the age-old adage that 'Dead men don't tell tales', agent 'B' finally decided there and then
to put their session in perspective, based on a 'license to kill' forum.
"It seems to me that this Brezznov guy is making a damned good job of winding up the pair of you and you're getting nothing back in return. Why the hell don't we put a cap on it by using some constructive initiative? Grant me a Whitehall sanction for a 'hit' Rogon, and I'll simply take the bastard out...end of story!"
As expected, Rogon's thoughts lay elsewhere. He appeared to be unmoved by the illicit proposal choosing to retain his rigid persona. "If I thought for a minute that there was the remotest chance 'B', I wouldn't hesitate to sanction it....but you know Whitehall and their cryptic guide lines. As things stand, it's paramount that the mission that we are undertaking, has to appear to be whiter than white in the run-up to succeed. Although in retrospect, the idea itself carries a lot of appeal by releasing the Government from untold grief, should Brezznov manage to achieve his alleged 'scam'."
At this juncture, Eastern's present reasoning ran on a parallel akin to Rogon's definitions, and dismissed the abysmal scheme out of sight. "I suggest that we all calm down and concentrate on some radical thinking, by drawing our attention to the fact as to why he's gone to ground full stop. Putting aside the 'Bill's' presence for a moment, I strongly suspect he might have smelt a rat. This makes my priority to get him on side fading out of sight."
"Damn the man's perception, this could end in game over at this rate." Rogon interjected.
"Yeah right, in more ways than one," agreed Eastern, and rounding up by quipping, "At the moment, I've got more chance of taking the Pope out on a bender than retrieving any SP." Agent 'B' then proceeded to make his presence felt by underlining a throwaway supplication.
"It's only an idea...but..." He hesitated briefly to convince himself that his plea might be considered even as a last resort. "Supposing, just supposing, we were to break with tradition by commandeering the local 'plod' to pull him in on 'suss'? (suspicion) Assuming of course, that you can establish a reliable source of contact, Mike? If nothing else, it's bound to piss him off...what do you think?" Shaking his head with added reluctance, Eastern was adamant in reply.
"That I'm afraid it is a total negative mate, when you consider the legal power he could lavish as a crutch. He'd be in and out of custody quicker than bleedin' Houdini. No, the way I see it is to catch him, 'bang to rights', and then let the law do a number on him." Rogon complied with a nod and referred to his previous statement.
"As I said before, this mission has to be executed by the book." Moving on, he drew their attention to another supportive although nagging issue. "It has occurred to me that we could be looking at Brezznov's alleged monetory 'heist' from the wrong
"I'm not sure I know where you're coming from, Rogon," replied Eastern with a blank look. "We can only assume his motive is based on the evidence he's entitled us to."
"Exactly, and that is what's worrying me, Mike," he fired home, "I think that is exactly what he wants us to believe. I'll remind you of the fact that he's changed his strategy once before in case you have forgotten. Who's to say he won't do it again?"
"Okay, so what line of reasoning are you now suggesting?" 'B' enquired. Rogon, in order to magnify the issue, took his time before answering.
"In a word, diamonds, gentlemen plain and simple. We could be looking at complete supremacy over the world diamond market, associated with an audacious fraud." Eastern's outward body language dismissed Rogon's views out of sight.
"The whole concept is crazy and lacks substance. The bare facts alone bear that out. I mean, think about it for a minute and consider this. The creep has just served life for his passion with stones (diamonds)." He broke off rather abruptly to process a further underlining thought laced with cynicism. "Surely the guy couldn't be that naive...could he?" Rogon had now unwittingly allowed a seed of doubt to surface, the proceedings and, in the process, was confronted with a can of worms to exorcise in the time designated for a debrief.
“You have to say Mike, that at the end of the day, diamonds generate extreme power when placed in the hands of an illicit franchise element. This in turn could well evolve into a massive monopoly investment.” He paused, gathering his thoughts to stake his claim and continued, “just imagine the scenario in the hands of an ambitious and career criminal like our
man Brezznov? You have to say the idea gives credence to my reckoning. Therefore, on that evidence, I rest my case." To make matters worse for Eastern, who still remained unconvinced, agent 'B', as an interested partner, then threw a stoic lifeline of allegiance to his cause, by upholding Rogon's logic.
"I'm with you on this one Governor," he remarked solidly, and averted his attention toward Eastern. "I'm sorry, Mike, but experience can't be ignored. My take on the subject tells me that Brezznov given the opportunity and timing , could be in a position to hold the world banking organization to ransom. As a remedy, I refer you both to my original strategy, that being and I quote...when confronted with a mad dog you put it down!" Needless to say, either by design or personality clash, the meeting quickly evaporated as an air of negativism took control.
The journey back to his flat a short while later, found Eastern in a somewhat turbulent mood. And resigned to the fact that he'd been systematically outgunned by the system. Alternatively, the added thought that his nemesis was still out there foot- loose and sharing his world was fast becoming a burden too far. Once indoors and overdosing on frustration he decided to seek some solace in a bottle. His efforts however, hadn't escaped the sensitive eyes of his of his partner Joan Travis.
"You can call me a liar, Mike, but if I didn't know you any better I'd have to say that it's obvious you've had a bad day at the office. That's the third Scotch you've down loaded in the last hour. Do you want to talk about it, or is it a State secret? In which case just forget that I asked." At any other time, a simple token nod of the head, one way or the other, would have sufficed as a means to an end. It would seem that Eastern was now in a state of denial as he appeared to be oblivious to her presence , and, indeed, to her enquiry for that matter.
"That's strange." Joan mused. Reaching out she shook his shoulder in a gentle manner, "Mike! Are you okay? You seem a little distant...did you hear what I said?" Whatever subconscious door she had been knocking on for a form of contact, suddenly opened as he spun round to face her. His distorted face morphed into a mask of realization , causing her to start as his blazing eyes steeled into her own.
"Of course!" he exclaimed in a pronounced tone, "how could I be such a klutz?.The a
nswer has been there all the time in black and white telling me: and to think I couldn't see it." By now he was almost shouting as he gripped her arms forcing her to listen. "Ruby!...Brezznov! It has to be." A bewildered Joan was left struggling with an irrational situation that was rapidly spiralling out of control. Confronting him with her own demons seemed the only way forward.
"Mike! For God's sake, you're frightening me. You're talking in riddles and not making any sense, besides which you're hurting me." Reverently, he air-brushed his grip on her arms apologising as he did so for his unwarranted outburst. Finally leaving off to reply in a slow and controlled voice.
"It has to be...Ruby and Brezznov! That's the connection, it's too much of a coincidence not to be." Meanwhile, Joan could be found still left floundering in a recipe of sheer frustration and total disbelief at his uncharacteristic display.
"Names...conclusions....what!? What the hell does it all mean, Mike darling? I honestly feel I don't know you anymore." Without prompting, he took her in his arms and consoled her before declaring his interest.
"It means baby, that I'm pretty damned certain I now know where Brezznov has gone to ground." Pointing at a nearby chair he indicated to her to sit down. "I guess I've got a lot of explaining to do Joan. Emerging from a wilderness of despair into one of sensibility, suddenly seemed like an easy act to follow.
"That's the most defining suggestion you've come up with all night," he gushed with enormous relief. On hindsight her timely observation had put the whole charade into perspective. Taking the nearby bottle of Scotch into account, she gestured directly at it. "I reckon you had better pour me a large one as well Mike. I have this impending feeling that we are both in for a long night." Having replenished their glasses he focused his attention toward a nearby newspaper by bringing it into play. Gathering his thoughts he explained his previous out-of-touch actions.
"Basically I owe it all to the Clarion (local rag), who indirectly handed it to me on a plate. Here, see for yourself," he drew her attention to the horse-racing section. "Tell me, what do the headlines do for you on page three?" Slowly Joan scanned the print looking for a form of recognition. The content that briefly caught her eye read as follows....top weight RUBY WARRIOR'S five wins in a row. Shaking her head Joan exchanged a meaningful glance at Eastern.
"I wouldn't even know where to start, Mike, unless..." she faltered to consider a possible connection.” Unless."……
"Go on," urged Eastern.
"Well...stupid really..."
"I'll be the best judge of that, Joan," he interrupted. "Just take your time and say what you're thinking.." Joan gazed searchingly at the wording once again . Finally a flicker of recognition clouded her face, giving way to her thoughts.
"Obviously the word 'Ruby' becomes prominent. I'm now thinking precious stones...along with diamonds which in turn alludes to Brezznov's first love. There! How did I do?" she gasped. His body language alone was proof enough to show that he was totally rapt at her prognosis.
"Do!? Better than you'll ever know, Joan. The word 'Ruby' was the key into opening the door to my problem, and."
"I still feel that I'm missing something here," she interjected. "Namely the link between Brezznov and the word itself."
"And you've every right to, Joan. Let me explain. Sometime ago during a conversation I had with him inside, he inadvertently let it be known that he owned a country residence situated in the sticks, but within easy reach of London Gatwick International airport."
"Convenient for strategic purposes no less."
Precisely! I couldn't have said it better myself. But more importantly Joan, the name of the residence was prefixed by the word 'Ruby', as in Cottage or House."
"Right! I can see that it all makes sense now. So tell me, with that in mind, where do you intend going from here?"
"Ideally, it makes sense to get Rogon involved as soon as possible. It shouldn't be too much grief to pinpoint the location, I'd have thought, simply by scanning the Land Registry. Assuming of course, the property isn't logged under another pseudonym. If our hunch turns out to be kosher, then the spin off from that in terms of guilt-edged SP could turn out to be priceless." From then on, their evening reverted into one of spontaneous celebration., made possible by Joan's earlier submission. It could be a long night. Either way, nobody, it seems, could be heard contesting her theory.
CHAPTER 9...Mission Impossible.
Forty eight hours had now elapsed since Eastern's bespoke revelation alluding to Brezznov's 'bolthole'. His hunger for some positive feedback via Rogon, could be found running neck-and-neck with a roller coaster. Fortunately, Joan was on hand to offer a sympathetic shoulder as a get-out clause. Once again he forced himself up from out of his chair and began to pace up and down like a caged animal. "Two poxy days and still nothing! And all for a simple yes or no." Eastern fumed. "I can see now why MI6 keep their distance. I'm starting to compare Rogon to a chinless wonder."
Either out of sympathy or the need to intrude on his routine, the sudden interruption emerging from his mobile did at least offer him a spasm of relief. It only mproved as he confirmed the origin of the caller. From then on, his impatience got the better of him as he went for the jugular. "Rogon! Where the ruddy hell have you been all my life!?" he blasted. "And don't even think about feeding me any of your bureaucratic shit." As a third-party reluctant observer, Joan was forced to cringe as Eastern continued to offload his pent up frustration. "This call had better be worthwhile my friend. I'll remind you that nothing short of a result will suffice. Do you understand?"
Question! How does one define the workings of a Government 'android' when under pressure? In Rogon's case the powers to be had ensured that a safety mechanism or bypass became a legal requirement, when confronted with an anger situation. "Hello to you too, Mike. It's comforting to know that your allegiance still lies with the agency. And vital that you keep an open mind on investigative SP. I also note your complexity in this matter. You can rest assured that your initial supposition regarding Brezznov's whereabouts have proved to be conclusive. I applaud your tenacity."
"Yeah, and I fucking love you too, Rogon," barked Eastern. "So give me the wider picture while you're on a roll." A short hiatus followed as Rogon gathered himself. He opened up by confirming that Brezznov's alleged 'bolt hole' was indeed a reality. The SP itself came to light following a 10-mile radius sweep surrounding Gatwick IA. Listed under the heading of 'Ruby' cottage as supposed. Location wise, it lay some three miles east of the airport, set in a small hamlet known as TINSLEY GREEN, and situated midway and flanked on both side between the M23/A23. As was suggested previously, the cottage itself was set in a prime position should the likelihood of a spontaneous exit from the country become a necessity." He went on to say that the Registration plates on a dark-coloured 4x4 Range Rover parked in the drive of the property, verified Brezznov as being the owner of the vehicle. Thus far, Eastern had every reason to be upbeat, given that the cast-iron SP was a creditable step in the right direction. Having said that, the temptation to have one last swipe at Rogon and his coveted 'lost' forty eight hours, was proving to be too hot to handle. Suffice to say, he didn't make any apologies for it's inclusion.
"I suggest that in future, your agency logistics might well want to consider an extended sabbatical, and reap the benefits of a refresher course, when dealing with theories." As was to be expected, his personal observations fell way short on direction, leaving Rogon to relish the final word.
"May I remind you, Mike, that time itself is measured in favourable results as opposed to verbal scepticism." Managing to stifle a chuckle at Rogon's prophecy, Eastern labelled it merely as being Government protocol. He then placed the latter on the spot regarding their next move. "Knowing where to find the guy now, changes everything, wouldn't you say, Mike? We are in a strong position to monitor his every move. With added caution you understand. And as you so rightly recommended, it's imperative that he is made to feel completely unaware of any alien activities
."
"Absolutely! So, where do I fit into this latest scheme of events?" demanded Eastern with an air of longing. "Boredom quickly becomes a habit, a fucking bad one at that, and I'm used to working at the top end as you know."
"Unfortunately Mike, Brezznov, through circumstances, is dictating the run of play at present, in spite of our latest source of SP. Everything hinges on him contacting you again. As personalities go, you're better equipped to understand him more than anybody. No. I'm afraid we are back to the waiting game once again, and if that's what it takes to get a result I'd willingly settle for that." For once, Eastern was forced to admit that Rogon had got it right. Although he wasn't prepared to give the latter the satisfaction of divulging his own inner thoughts.
In winding up, It was also agreed that after some differences, agent 'B' would be responsible for carrying out a one-to-one surveillance at 'Ruby' cottage, until such times that a change in circumstances implied the need to negotiate his position. Right from the start, Eastern had cast doubt on 'B's' role while acting as undercover agent. A difference of opinion being, "You have to agree Rogon, the man is a loose cannon at the best of times. He'd think nothing of 'blowing' (killing) Brezznov away just for the hell of it. I just hope he doesn't jeopardise the state of play." Rogon then hit back by stating.
""After a lengthy consultation I issued 'B' with a waterproof proviso, and one which convinces me he will certainly adhere to." Seventy two hours had now elapsed since Brezznov's bolt hole had gone public, leaving Eastern totally isolated. The only ironic consolation he could hang on to concerned Brezznov's health, of all things.
"At least 'B' has managed to keep his trigger-finger out of the equation, otherwise it would be breaking news by now," he explained to Joan in conversation. And then three days slipped by and just as quickly became four. Only this time it carried an edge aligned with relief. It was a Friday evening when the breakthrough finally became a statistic. The Scotch he'd imbibed as a companion felt good, as it slid off his palate before hitting the back of his throat. But not in the same league as the ring-tone issuing from his mobile. A hasty glance told him all that he needed to know.