The Spook who flew over the cuckoos nest. (BOOK 2)

by Gary Tulley

  "Alex! It's been a while. Tying up loose ends you understand. I trust you're still available? As you are aware, I've been off the 'manor' for a short while, mainly for business purposes which will become clear within the next forty eight hours."

  "Yeah! Tell me something else I don't already know you pompous bastard." ( the reference being to his knowledge of 'Ruby' cottage), a smug Eastern told himself before replying in a casual manner. "Victor! Good to hear from you. Life has been pretty quiet since you've been away. And now you're back why do I get the feeling you're going to hit me with a proposition?"

  "Because I'm aware that your hunch is my gain, and that makes me feel good. As from now, I can predict that nothing will be allowed to stand in my way to achieve what I believe will be the heist of a lifetime. And you my friend will be part of it. To come out of this 'scam' as a loser is an option I wouldn't even consider. Every aspect and every pitfall had been checked and double checked. Alex, I will emerge as a winner, not only financially but as the man who fucked the system. Now that's what I call a guilt-edged double to invest in. Especially if you're contemplating a lifestyle you can only dream about."

  "You make it sound even more kosher, Victor, I've gotta hand it to you, your week in exile hasn't exactly been wasted, has it?"

  "You don't miss a trick my friend. Lucky for me though, I didn't have the pleasure of the 'Bill' breathing down my neck 24/7. The time I've spent away has been a bloody holiday. Those suckers would give anything to find my little part of paradise." Eastern afforded himself a wry smile of guilty pleasure as a mental picture of 'B' on the end of a pair of binoculars entered the equation.

  "Not half as much as you would for knowing what I know right now." He told himself. "And you think your one clever bastard? Well I've got news for you asshole, make the most of your freedom while you can and dream on. Because at the moment you're getting by on borrowed time." Prematurely lost in his own small world had now left Eastern to deal with his agitated nemesis.

  "Alex! You still there?" Momentarily he was off guard and found wanting.

  "Yeah....Yeah, I lost you for a minute. " He lied through his teeth. "Poxy reception I'm getting...hang on...is that any clearer?" It quickly became apparent, as Brezznov continued where he'd left off, that he hadn't suspected anything untoward.

  "Good! Now listen up, this is important. Seventy two hours from now, as a 'firm', we will be in business. Having said that, the strategy surrounding the mission remains with me. Now then. What I can tell you, is that it will all happen up West and..." Eastern hadn't bargained for an off-the-'manor' locale and pushed him for a reason why.

  "London!?" he questioned. "Why the 'smoke' of all places?"

  "Why? I suggest to you that the choice I've made is fairly obvious. When was the last time that you shit on your own door step, Alex? If I didn't know you any better, I would have to say you're beginning to under-estimate my potential. I can only presume that you're asking out of pure interest...am I right?" Inwardly, Eastern was left fuming for having allowed himself a rare moment of naivety for questioning Brezznov's game plan.

  "Without question Victor, your judgment does you credit. It is your call after all, so I don't have a problem dealing with it."

  "Good! I'm glad that you see that way, Alex. In the past, mistakes have cost me dearly, and that isn't healthy, so I don't intend going back down that road." Lowering his mobile, Eastern sighed with relief in the knowledge that Brezznov hadn't smelled a rat.

  "That's for sure! So, where do we go from here, Victor? The thought of putting one over the 'Bill' on a personal level does it for me. Getting off on that alone gives me a buzz. Know what I mean?"

  "Yeah!, like yourself." responded Brezznov. I've had ample time to think about this one, which means getting a result is that much sweeter. Moving on from that we need to discuss some finer details surrounding the operation. Ideally it makes sense to use an out of City venue for a 'meet'."

  "Couldn't agree more Victor. Not only that, knowing the poxy 'Bill', they've got this funny attitude about showing up when you least suspect it."

  "Exactly my sentiments," echoed Brezznov, and continued to commit himself to the script. "Tell you what, we'll do it nice and private. Let's say the 'Duke of York' pub at Sayers Common, It's just off the old A23 this side of HICKSTEAD International Show Jumping Centre."

  "I like your style Victor, so what day in particular are we talking about?"

  "This coming Sunday night looks a good bet to me, say around 8 o'clock. That way it leaves you twenty-four hours to dwell on the idea." Moments later, he pulled the plug on their conversation, leaving a contented Eastern with plenty to think about.

  "The only setback so far, as I see it. Is the lousy lack of SP revolving around the 'heist'." He relayed to Rogon that same day. "I can only hope that Brezznov will 'sing like a canary' tomorrow night. At worst, it will give us a clearer picture of what wer'e up against. To suggest that we are looking at an inner City bank job, and without a location to refer to, tells me he's got carte blanch to assign a target when and how he chooses to. He's waited a long time for this moment and that's why he's keeping any SP close to his chest. Any disclosure coming my way only relates to timing, and who's to say that's even kosher? Putting it mildly, Brezznov has got the State by the bollocks!" Eastern could have sworn that he heard Rogon wince, prior to concurring with his own thoughts.

  "Just the inclination of it makes my blood boil. Even I hadn't envisaged the amount of ground that we need to cover. This could mean bringing the 'Met' boy's in as a back- up cover. I mean, how the hell do you police a situation like this anyhow? No! This has to stay within the agency. At best, I'll save what SP we have got until we know different. And I'll endeavour to hold off Whitehall as best as I can...and," he emphasized, "if the Prime minister thinks for a minute he's being dealt second-hand news, then I might as well put my head on the block."

  At this point, Eastern found himself hard-pressed not to laugh at his mentor's self- assassination, by putting the complexity facing the situation into perspective. "As opposed to a personal indictment Rogon, I suggest that you face the fact in knowing that just for once you're in the real world as of now. And not in that starry-eyed glitz of bloody 'never never land'. So, to recap on the issue you have with Whitehall, I can't stress enough how important it is to keep the solution under wraps for the time being. If Brezznov gets the slightest sniff there's grief involved, he'll pull the carpet out from under our feet.." And went on, "On a personal level and having come this far I wouldn't be a happy man should that be allowed to happen. Besides, I can't imagine life without you around. Now that would be dull."

  Your uncanny use of words now leaves me somewhat confused Mike, so I'll act positive and take that as a compliment." His designer conclusion induced Eastern to chuckle when replying.

  Strange, and here's me thinking that you didn't have a shred of feeling left in that body of yours. On a more serious note, it is always wise to remember that Brezznov himself is only human and therefore liable to make mistakes. In his case and looking at the alleged magnitude of his operation, it can only result in total disaster for him, should he become sloppy in his approach. In other words, he would become vulnerable and that, my friend, is the moment that we could turn this whole nightmare around." Far from wishing life away, Sunday seemed to arrive unannounced for

  Eastern. Impatiently he once again consulted his watch and readily noted that the time had only lapsed some ten minutes from the previous check. With the current time now standing at 7pm, his over-zealous eagerness to be on the road was finally beginning to get the better of him. As usual, Joan had picked up on his trepidation syndrome by adding her own version of events. "For God's sake Mike! Look at yourself. You really do need to chill out. If I didn't know you any better, I'd have to say you're giving the impression that you've got a date with another woman. I can only hope for your sake that's she's worth it."

  Notwithstanding a domestic, Eastern also had to live with the f
act that his alleged date with his nemesis in an hour's time, hopefully didn't have the makings of a bum deal. As it turned out, he was forced to succumb to Joan's perception by putting his body language down to a correlation stemming from his ongoing love-hate relationship with Rogon on the one hand, and his fragile allegiance to Brezznov on the other. "I'm sorry darling, I was somewhere else.....you were saying?" For someone who epitomised the genesis of demureness, Joan's exchange to his pathetic plea of absence could be found to be in a class of it's own.

  "Just this darling. If you were to wake up one morning to find your 'balls' missing. I would like to think that I had done enough in persuading you to remember my initial observation!" Twenty or so minute later, Eastern exited Brunswick Square and headed for the A23 via Dyke Road. He was still scratching his head as he left Patcham on the outskirts of the city trailing in his wake. He figured that thirty minutes would give him ample time in which to do the short trip, with time in hand to gather himself. Following an uneventful journey he arrived at his destination. For a Sunday night, the car park, he duly noted, appeared at first glance to be crowded. Leaving him momentarily into doubting Brezznov's choice of venue.

  On entering the main bar, he paused and took stock to seek out any form of recognition. In spite of his diminutive bearing and the presence of other punters, he managed to hone in on Brezznov who'd by all accounts, made one end of the bar his own. Shadowing him as if joined at the hip, he could also make out ex-cop Tommy Brandon. Although he noted, Aubrey Thorpe Millington was nowhere to be seen. Swallowing hard, Eastern inhaled deeply and made his way toward the

  two figures. Brezznov himself was eager to make the first move by extending his hand as Eastern approached. "Alex! Glad that you made it. I was beginning to forget what you look like." Averting his gaze he indicated towards his side-kick. "You remember Tommy Brandon of course?". Declining a forced handshake on personal grounds, Eastern glanced around and suggested that they find a less conspicuous location to further their business. They had barely made themselves comfortable at an adjacent corner table, when Millington made himself known.

  With the introductions over and the benefit of a large Scotch to lean on, Brezznov indicated his intention to open up. "We all know why we are here, so I suggest a toast before we proceed to the success of universal crime gentlemen, so join me and raise your glasses to 'World Accounts Inc.'"

  Given his dominance he proceeded to lord over the meeting, which included certain drip-fed lurid details, on a need-to-know basis of the pre-planned heist. From the SP, he'd managed to ascertain Eastern gathered that the operation itself would take place the following evening. Some two hours later the meeting was dissolved on the pretext that to any inquisitive onlooker, their association had been no more than a trivial 'boy's night out'. On a personal level, Eastern had ended the evening on a high. And now found himself struggling to contain his illicit luck. For the first time in weeks, after experiencing a run of grief, he was now in possession of vital SP and the bonus of being a participant in a suspected masterminded criminal coup.

  Ten minutes or so after vacating the pub, a convenient lay-by offered him the security in which to contact Rogon at HQ, and subsequently off-load the verbal importance he'd managed to glean. Under normal circumstances, any contact using a specific security number that he retained, would officially be classed as being a 'CODE RED', privy only to Rogon himself. On this particular occasion the system wasn't without it's faults. And not before an exasperated Eastern finally made the desired breakthrough he craved.

  "You took your poxy time before answering Rogon, so what is it this time? And don't bother giving me that old chestnut, 'I'm currently in talks with the PM at present'. Right now, I'm on the A23 at Pyecombe, just north of Brighton, and I can hear loud and clear. So now I'm beginning to think to myself that the fucking agency is on a work to rule basis, and bollocks to the 'soldiers'. Let me remind you that I'm working on the front line, endeavoring to save your bleedin' neck and your pension. And that's besides my own!" If for one minute Rogon felt intimidated by his outburst, the he manfully kept it to himself by relying on his robotism persona to see himself through.

  "My apologies for not giving you a 'green light' earlier on, Mike. Unfortunately, this is without problems. As director of the agency, my affiliations, as you’re aware, extend and terminate at Whitehall and..." He wasn't allowed to complete his diplomatic monologue, as an irate Eastern steamrolled him into submission.

  "Crap! Do yourself a favour and tear up the bloody script you're reading. And if you can spare me the time, we need to discuss a major breakthrough on the Brezznov file. Seriously though, where are you at this moment in time?"

  "Good question. Earlier on this evening I was summoned to no 10 for a meeting 'extraordinaire' along with the PM. In fact I'm in a lobby now as we speak, having made my apologies." All things considered, Eastern wasn't totally convinced and pressed for some firm assurance.

  "Meeting, what on a Sunday? Sounds like a bleedin' private members dinner to me, on the Government."

  "Not a chance, Mike. In fact top of the agenda list is the alleged Brezznov affair itself, so any fresh substance you can throw at me, the better I like it." Eastern then went on to relate his evening's experience by setting out what details that were made available to him. As a result, it was now Rogon's turn to exact his own brand of consternation. "I can't believe you're telling me this. I'm actually struggling to take it on board, Mike. As lucrative as it is, Brezznov has caught the agency with it's pants down. The mere thought that he intends to carry out the 'heist' in the next twenty-four hours or so, is one thing. Attempting to police the situation at such short notice is incomprehensible. And that's without knowing where and what financial establishment he intends to infiltrate. At best, the current situation as it stands has the makings of my worst nightmare. Spooks will become the laughing stock of every Government agency resource from MI6 downwards. The facts when confronted, you have to agree, are beginning to read like a 'What happens next' comic strip! It wouldn't surprise me, for one minute, if the mission itself makes top of the bill on the Ministers Question time." Although somewhat disconsolate, Eastern nevertheless, still managed to salvage his own thoughts as an epitaph. "

  "Knowing the problem facing us makes me wonder, now, if 'B' had got it right in the first place."

  "Meaning!?"

  "Simply, that we wouldn't be having this bloody conversation. And that arsole Brezznov by default, would, by now, have full rights to a bleedin' body bag in the morgue!" It was always going to be a throwaway line and almost immediately become rejected out of sight, as Rogon decided to take the higher ground.

  "With only the one positive to come out of this farce, namely the 'heist' tomorrow night, I suggest we review the negatives and see exactly what wer'e up against."

  "You're not going to like what you hear, but seeing as you brought it up, here's a review of what we don't know. Firstly, the source of the 'hit'. Purely as an educated guess, I recommend that we throw a blanket cordon, say a half mile radius, around the City centre by pin-pointing Threadneedle Street as an integral map reference. From what I can ascertain, his choice of location would have to be a large sustainable and predominate financial banking establishment. And, with vital links of global proportion to be able to receive and carry out his intended 'scam'." At this juncture, Rogon appeared to be verbally drained, as the crux of the matter began to sink in.

  "I suppose it's too much to ask what sort of time factor that Brezznov has put in place."

  "Hazard a guess, I'd have to say late evening and taking in the early hours of Tuesday morning."

  "God! What a crock of shit he's handed us. I won't know where to start once the PM gets involved, let alone Scotland Yard. Knowing their role in all of this, I suspect an impromptu retirement is the best I could hope for under the circumstances." Stalwart as ever, Eastern was quick to express his own version surrounding any personality doubts, by dismissing Rogon's abysmal show of defeatism ou
t of sight.

  "To my mind, your pathetic attitude is nothing short of bollocks. Just remember, it's how you finish that counts Rogon. The emphasis is on Brezznov from here on if you're talking success. Remember, the most vital aspect in this happens to be me. And as far as I'm concerned, I'm part of the 'firm' (gang) and able to monitor his every move. So let's have some solidarity feeling from now on. I'm not here to take on any prisoners. From where I'm standing, Brezznov is just another unwanted package of shit that needs to be eradicated, so trust me when I say I will endeavour to bring him down when the moment is right." If his extreme confession made Rogon feel any better, then he kept his thoughts on the subject closely under wraps. Instead, he fast-forwarded their conversation into focusing on what might become a reality on the Monday night.

  "I can presume, at that rate Mike that the second he decides to make his move tomorrow night, you will be in a position to give me a 'code red' to act upon? As far as the PM is concerned I will assure him that contingency plans are in operation to counteract whatever route he chooses to take." Inwardly, Eastern now felt more relaxed within himself in knowing that Rogon had grasped the situation head-on, with confidence.

  "You're right on both counts Rogon, so I'll let you get back to your party and lie your way out of any grief . As promised, I'll be in touch one way or another."

  Twenty minutes or so later, found him in his apartment taking advantage of a spontaneous night cap, deriving from a personal touch by Joan via a bottle of his favourite tipple. From then on, he always knew that he was facing a long night ahead of him. As pre-arranged, Rogon received a 'code red' the following day, much earlier than he'd anticipated. In fact it was logged at 17.oo hours that evening.

  The message that transpired, came across as brief and conclusive in it's very nature, leaving a somewhat shell-shocked and disorientated Rogon to confront his Whitehall demons on a disorganized scale. The information itself, for good or bad, read as follows.