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

by Gary Tulley

  "A secret? No! A fact? Yes! When you stated, that we were now back in business, earlier, I'm in a position to rubber-stamp that for you. Now get this. A report has been issued, via the Sussex police, that Brezznov, of all people, has been sighted on the outskirts of Brighton. Would you believe?"

  "No kidding! Details.....can you be more specific?" spluttered Eastern.

  "It appears that he was spotted less than an hour ago, when checking out of a petrol station off the A23 adjacent to Clayton Hill."

  "Yeah, I’m familiar with the locale, although I'm slightly confused about the actual sighting itself."

  "Confused you say?"

  "Yeah. The fact that there's no 'mugshot' of him, as yet, in the public domain, throws a doubt on the claim."

  "I can put your mind at rest on that account, Mike. As luck would have it, the person who verified the sighting, happened to be an off duty-prison warder from HMP Foredown who was visiting family in Brighton at the time."

  "That's conclusive enough for me. What about vehicle ID...plate number etc? Any joy there?"

  "I'm afraid not, Mike. To quote the warder ' It all happened too quickly....a fleeting glance, except to say that Brezznov wasn't alone, inasmuch as he had a driver as a companion'"

  "Really!? Now that in itself is food for thought. Anyway, apart from stating the obvious, why did the warder report the incident? Seeing as though he wouldn't have been aware of Brezznov’s role in the 'heist'."

  "Namely, because he was aware that he'd violated his parole licence weeks ago."

  "Of course, I'm not thinking straight. To be honest, I'm still struggling with the idea that the arrogant bastard is back on the 'manor' again. If he's looking to do some unfinished business, then he needs to be at the top of his game. As things stand, he's rode his luck once too often, you have to say."

  "And some," concluded Rogon, "Incidentally: the driver of the vehicle himself. Have you given any thought as to his ID?" Off the cuff, positivism could be reputed as being a form of arrogance in itself. In Eastern's case, surmising wasn't even an option when he replied.

  "Even given half the facts to mess with Rogon, I'd wager that it was the elusive William Gauntly behind the wheel."

  Winding up their briefing, and mindful of the sighting alluding to Brighton, Eastern proposed that he would continue the investigation at street level, in collaboration with his 'snout'. "The fact that gainful information at street level, is classed as first hand," he emphasized, "equates as being word-priceless." An hour later, found Eastern rapt in deep conversation with evergreen 'snout', Ray 'news' Carter. "So, like I say, just do what you're bloody good at. I badly need a result on this one. So I don't give a shit who you upset to make it possible. The quicker you get it sorted, the sooner you get your dough. And remember, the minute something breaks, I need to know about it through the usual channels. Irrespective if the SP is trivial or otherwise, it's that bleedin' important to me. And, before I forget, you just had a raise in pay on this one....this time its fucking personal."

  CHAPTER 19...Day of reckoning Part 1.

  Patience, they say, is a virtue (providing of course you've got the patience that is to sustain it) forcing a philosophical and somewhat disillusioned, Eastern into rewriting the script. A week had now gone into retirement since his business arrangement with Carter and, as yet, he had nothing to show for it. "I reckon the bloody 'underworld' in Brighton has gone on a sabbatical," he bemoaned to Joan at the breakfast table. "Unless Carter has lost his touch." Sympathy is a great crutch, and coming from a woman, tends to make a problem that much more accessible, especially where Joan was concerned.

  "No news is good news, Mike, think about it. I can't see Brezznov walking up and down West Street waving a banner with 'I'M BACK' written all over it! Carter has never let you down in the past and the 'CLARION', remember, have kept to their part of the bargain. Everything is in place, you can't do any more. For what it's worth, the image that they've created of him, literally screams out that he's public enemy no1. If it makes you feel any better, Mike, the biggest mistake Brezznov has made so far is taking you for a fool."

  "I love you too darling," echoed Eastern, pausing before replying confidently, "Yeah, you're right, Joan. Sooner or later something will give and when it does, I'll be on hand to pick up the pieces. That's a guarantee. By the way who's the letter from?"

  "Letter? Oh, it's from Toni...my journalist friend from London, if you recall."

  "Of course I remember her. Has she still got that flat in Hove?"

  "Yes, in fact she's written to say that she is travelling down the day after tomorrow, and that she intends staying over for a couple of days."

  "A 'girlie' weekend eh? The break will do you both good. I presume you'll stay at the flat with her. Cram in as much as you can...yeah?"

  "Great idea, Mike. I'm sure you'll cope on your own without me around?"

  "Don't worry. I won't be alone, Joan, I'll give DS Johnnie Curtis a bell (a serving police officer and acquaintance attached to Brighton CID). I can't see him turning down a night out, strange, when I think back."

  "Uhm, sounds ominous, Mike. Do I get to know what is bothering you?"

  "The police corruption case of course!" (a former ordeal involving Joan's ex husband some months previous ). Without thinking, he unwittingly perpetuated her question. "I'm sorry darling. I didn't mean to bring up the past. It just came out."

  "That's fine, Mike. I've resigned myself to moving on. There's no point in dwelling on the bad times. Anyway, I'm sure that Johnnie will make ideal company for you."

  Forty eight hours later, satisfied that Joan was safely lodged at Wilbury Road Hove, he decided to contact DS Johnnie Curtis for a proposed 'meet'. "Hi mate...yeah...it's Mike. Who else. What are you up to these days?"

  "Nothing exciting, same old shit different day...know what I mean? So what's occurring I ask myself? If I didn't know you any better, Mike, I reckon you could well be involved in this current Brezznov case?" A sustained silence prevailed as Eastern gathered his thoughts. Curtis had inadvertently put him on the spot and he needed to deal with it. Going public on a phone line could prove to be dangerous. The less said about the case the better.

  "I reckon State security would beg to differ on that score, Johnnie," he remarked jokingly, and hoped it would suffice. "Besides," he continued, "I don't need the grief these days....know what I mean. I'll be honest. I've got some time on my hands right now. Maybe we could possibly meet up for a drink tomorrow night. What do you say?"

  As responses go, Curtis didn't need asking twice and supplied Eastern with the appropriate arrangements and left it at that.

  Briefly, his thinking slipped from one scenario to another as he disengaged the receiver. Somebody, he noted, had been trying to get through to him while in conversation with Curtis. Within seconds of checking the number out, a much relieved and apprehensive Eastern made the desirable connection. "Carter! Where the bleedin' hell have you been all my life? It's been almost a fortnight since our arrangement and fuck all! So whatever you've got in the way of SP had better be kosher."

  "Mr Eastern...guv, you know me," whined Carter, "It aint been easy I promise yer. This Brezznov geezer is a major player and bloody exclusive with it. The guy is obviously corrupted with dough so he's in a position to buy his own silence.

  You know how it works. If the word on the street isn't there, then it's not anywhere. As it happens, I got lucky. I've got another client in the CID who I deal with now and again. He's a bit 'sussy' (dubious). One phone call from me to the right people and his pension winds up in the 'karzy' (toilet). Know what I mean? Anyway, I've had a word, and your man Brezznov is definitely back on the 'manor'."

  "So, is that it? retorted Eastern. "I could have worked that one out for myself, you cretin, I need more than that, Carter. For what I'm paying you I want the dog's bollocks in return. Like I said before, this time around it's bleedin' well personal."

  "I hear what you say, Mr Eastern, but I can't give you
what ain't there. Although, for what it's worth, my client made it clear that he was 'under orders' from above to keep shtum (quiet) where Brezznov is concerned. And that's why I'm short on the SP."

  "Uhm, even with what you've got on him? Shit! Why do I get this feeling that something is going down that I don't know about?" Eastern mused.

  "Yeah, same as, I thought, it sounded iffy at the time. I'm sorry guv but I can't give you what ain't out there. I only hope that you manage to nail the bastard."

  "That is one certainty you wouldn't want to bet against, Carter. Trust me I will. I'll give you another forty eight hours from now in the event something breaks. Meanwhile, if I don't hear from you, the usual arrangement applies...be lucky." He then hung up.

  The following day became a lesson in patience and cold comfort thrown in. Not having Joan around made him realize the importance of their relationship. At least the

  anticipation of meeting up with DS Curtis once again, had given him something to relish.

  That same evening, while seated in a secluded bar off West Street, Eastern opened up to Curtis and emphasized his frustration over the Brezznov case. "I'm beginning to feel like I'm the last person who knows what the hell is going on. What little information I have managed to obtain via my, 'snout', appears to be public knowledge. And as for that bunch of plastic puppets at HQ, I'd get more feedback from a tailor's dummy...know what I mean?"

  "Yeah, I know where you're coming from, Mike, believe me, you're not alone on this one. Not that I know any more than you do, I hasten to add. In fact, apart from very selected few. By that, I'm talking the CS (chief superintendent) upwards. You can't help but get the distinct feeling that Brezznov, in name alone, is synonymous with taboo."

  "So it's not only me who's out in the cold then, Johnnie?"

  "Far from it, mate' this manufactured silence that's in operation, is leading up to something big. Trust me, you heard it here first."

  "It's all so bleedin' unnecessary. It's fair to say that Brezznov, has got the establishment by the bollocks. When I think back, a colleague of mine had the right idea some months ago. When you're presented with a mad dog, you put it down!" (The reference being to agent 'B' and his philosophy toward enduring grief)

  "Legal termination eh, Mike?"

  "That's one way of putting it I suppose. Sometimes you have to do bend the rules to suit...know what I mean?" Having exhausted their intense conversation, their time was spent in genial banter until closing time, and a firm resolution to keep in touch.

  Twenty or so minute later, after dropping Curtis off via a taxi, he arrived safely back in the 'village'. Once inside his flat, Eastern lost no time in pouring himself a nightcap, and duly headed for the comfort of an armchair in which to mull over the evening as a whole. Foremost on his mind, centered on Curtis's startling revelation towards an internal police security blanket. "At least my gut instinct hasn't lost its touch where that's concerned." He confided in himself, ' I can only hope that it surmounts to being for all the right reasons'.

  Downing the last of his 'poison', he decided to check his landline for any possible messages, having previously disconnected his mobile for sanity reasons. In total, there were two messages for him to conjure with. The first extolled simplicity, while the second call, left him reaching out for his trusted bottle of Scotch. Not that he needed an excuse for a drink, but trading with the likes of Rogon at twelve midnight in full verbal flight demanding an explanation for living, fully epitomized the expression 'piss off' in anybody's language.

  Purely on the grounds of inhuman blackmail, Eastern felt loath to continue listening to Rogon's impassioned plea akin to Queen and Country. Whereby, he would be plucked for safety at 5pm the following morning from Mother Earth as we know it, and then transported by car to a secure installation located within a stone's throw of Downing Street. Needless to say, sleep that night came at a premium, as a mixture of apprehension and high expectancy took control of his senses. And then it became early morning and time to leave. The process involving his departure, he noted, even down to the vehicle he was bundled into, including his habitual blindfold, had an exclusive take of its own. Unlike his normal routine, Rogon's scripted message, and the erratic timing of the event, had seen to that. "There has to be a climax to all of this," he firmly convinced himself.

  With so much anxiety baggage going on inside his head, it subsequently drained the duration of the journey by cutting time. The same could be said regarding the sequence of events that followed, as he unceremoniously exited the limousine. Still blindfolded and flanked by two burly bodyguards, he traversed a five-minute assault course consisting of stairs, lifts and corridors, before eventually coming to a sustained halt. His blindfold was then removed by a bodyguard, who then ushered him into a plush seat which he gratefully accepted.

  Instinctively, he stretched his eyes to gain some form of recognition as to his surroundings. Focusing in on Rogon was the easy part, although he did have an immediate problem in distinguishing the two dignitaries seated next to him. Habitual as ever, Rogon was the first to break the silence with the use of a double-edged introduction.

  "Good morning, Mike, I trust your calling wasn't too much of an ordeal? Please, take your time to get adjusted. I'm forced to pre-warn you, that the content of what we're about to discuss in the next hour or so is highly sensitive, and embodies State security at the highest level. With that in mind, any decisions that you arrive at throughout the proceedings, will I stress, require extreme consideration on your part."

  "Yeah, I get the picture, Rogon. Nothing changes...does it? Except of course, the added bullshit. Although I'm beginning to sense that this meeting hasn't got the makings of a vicar's tea-party. Having said that, you can rest assured, that you have my full attention."

  "Thank you, Mike. If we are to reach a satisfactory conclusion as to what's on the table this morning, it's imperative that we remain in unison."

  Slowly and surely, the relevance of the meeting began to bite, and Eastern wanted more in the way of introduction.

  "Before the briefing gets underway, I want to know who I'm dealing with, Rogon. If things get personal I'll be looking for assurances that sort of thing. You understand?"

  "Absolutely! And you have my word on that, Mike, but first things first. I'd like you to meet the P.M's private Secretary, David Goodridge, on my left, and representing the Metropolitan Police, seated to my right, Commander Grant Baxter. Feel free to express an opinion at any time, Mike, and question every proposal on offer. Your input, as always, will be paramount should a veto situation arise."

  "I don't have a problem with that, Rogon. The quicker we are done here the sooner I get home...right?"

  "And so you shall, Mike. And, before I forget, you should also be aware that the proceedings are being taped." Having dealt with the standard protocol, Rogon declared the briefing in session and pivoted his opening gambit toward 'public enemy no1'. "Brezznov!" he expounded, "Is, as you're all aware, fast becoming an embarrassment to say the least. The sooner he's back behind bars, the better. I think we all agree on that score. However, removing him from society is proving to be a problem, which in turn leads me onto you, Mike. And your role in the scheme of things.'

  "Huh." Eastern muttered in a derisory manner. '"I was wondering how long it would take before you got me involved. Don't let me stop you now."

  "With all due respect, Mike you're the one person who could bring about Brezznov's downfall. And that claim, is fully supported by Commander Baxter, along with Goodridge here."

  "If I didn't know you any better, Rogon, I'd have to say that you're hiding something from me. Patronising doesn't work for me, as you know. Normally, you send for me...give me a brief...and I deal with it...end of." Grim-faced, Rogon averted his attention toward team Government. For a few minutes the three men remained fully engrossed in a whispered huddle. Finally, Rogon broke ranks and issued Eastern with a firm directive.

  "Tomorrow morning, Mike, should you wish to accept t
he proposed mission on offer, you will be required to front a State-engineered operation, code-named 'Cuckoo's Nest'."

  "Uhm, sounds impressive, Rogon. All you've got to do now is convince me it's kosher. So, cards on the table, lets hear some straight talk." Without further ado, a much relieved-Rogon signalled his intention to continue.

  "Before I elaborate on what we have in mind, you need to be aware of the risk factor involved, Mike. This operation, should you undertake it, and bearing in mind Brezznov's involvement, will be potentially dangerous, to say the least......"

  "........I wasn't expecting it to be a flaming walk in the park Rogon," jolted Eastern, but I do accept your point. The way I see it, the guy has shot his bolt. In spite of his financial pull, he knows damned well that he can't get out of the country, and therein lies his problem. We have to assume now, that he's done running. And for reasons of his own, has decided that Brighton suits his destiny."

  "You seem pretty sure of yourself, Mr Eastern," asserted Baxter, 'Maybe you know something we don't."

  "If I did, Commander, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Lets just put my theory down to experience. I refer, of course, to my enforced time spent at HMP Foredown with Brezznov. A 24/7 internment, shackled to a guy like him, can reveal certain characteristics to emerge. Foremost in his case, as I recall, being one of sheer arrogance. And as we all know, that particular trait has been the downfall of lesser ambitious criminals than Brezznov in the past. With that in mind, I rest my case."

  A sustained silence prevailed, allowing Eastern's analytic prognosis to sink in.

  "Touche, Mr Eastern, I'm beginning to feel that I might have underestimated your underlying capabilities. Although I take no satisfaction where caution is concerned, you understand. On the face of it, I think we're going to get along just fine." Breaking off, he motioned to Goodridge who looked better suited holding a 'Bridge' hand for a form of redress. "Is there anything you'd like to add at this point?" Baxter enquired hotly.