by A P Bateman
Jeremy Hoist was seated at the table. He looked anxious and was tapping the table with his fingers. His leg bounced up and down tapping his heel occasionally on the rubber compound floor, but he stopped abruptly as the man entered the room. “You can’t hold me here like this!” he shouted. “I want a solicitor!”
“Naturally,” the man said calmly. “Firstly, allow me to introduce myself; I’m Malcom Swift. I need to get a few details from you, if you don’t mind. And then we can get you a solicitor, if you so wish.”
“Why wouldn’t I want one?”
“Well, it’s just so formal. There’s no going back, you see?”
“No?” Hoist looked at him obstinately.
“Well, we have CCTV of you entering an empty office, computer mainframe time sequencing of the file in question being downloaded onto an external drive at the sole computer in that room, footage of you leaving the room and nobody else entering that room for over ten minutes. Now, that would seem to be enough to prove that you are responsible for the theft of classified information. A treasonable offence. I am reliably informed that would carry a seven-year custodial sentence.”
“I’ll take my chances!” Hoist snapped. “I was coerced! I was in danger if I refused.”
“I understand,” Swift said. “It must have been awful. For you to do that.”
“Err, it was.” Hoist looked bemused.
“And there is always the chance you’ll get bail.”
“Exactly,” Hoist said.
“I’m not sure you’ll be granted protection though.”
“Protection?”
“Yes,” Swift turned to the file and started to read. He spent a few minutes scrutinising the sheets of paper in front of him.
“What do you mean, protection?”
Swift looked down his nose at him. “From the people who want you dead, dear boy.”
“But he was killed.”
“One shooter was,” Swift said. “But the other one, the woman, she fled the scene.”
“What woman?”
Swift stood and gathered the file together. “Excuse me, I have to check something.”
Hoist called after him as he closed the door behind him. “What woman?”
“He’s looking puzzled,” Caroline said to Barbara. “There’s something to work with along that line.”
“Yes dear,” the woman said. “We have done this before.”
“Sorry.” Caroline looked up as Malcom Swift stepped into the booth.
“We’ll give him a few minutes.” He picked up the jug of coffee which Alice had laid out on the table and poured a cup. “Do you know if he smokes? There’s nothing in the file.”
“No, I don’t,” replied Caroline.
“Pity. If he does he’ll be hanging out for one. I’ll try him in a minute. And he’s had no refreshments?”
“None.”
“Good.”
Alice coughed politely to announce herself. “Sorry, this has just been emailed over from Forester’s office, for the attention of Ms Darby. It’s a copy of the latest update from Special Branch.”
Caroline took it off her and thanked her. She read the front cover and did not notice Alice withdraw discreetly. She thumbed through, then turned to Swift. “You can use this.” She passed him the first two sheets which contained photos taken from various CCTV feeds. “The woman who did the shooting this morning was a Russian citizen named Alesha Mikailovitch. Thirty years of age, known prostitute-stroke-escort and former drug addict. Wanted by Interpol for the murder of a drug baron in Georgia, that’s Black Sea, not United States. The drug baron was a mafia kingpin known to have committed or at least ordered over twenty murders, so I don’t think it’s a priority on Interpol’s books but she’s wanted nonetheless.”
“So what was she doing with Hoist?” Barbara asked.
Caroline smiled. “Well I guess that’s your job to find out.”
“Sassy,” Barbara smiled. “Let’s get to it then.”
14
Detective Inspector Hodges studied the toxicology report and took out his mobile phone as he read. It rang three times before it was answered. “Forester, Hodges,” he paused. “I have a lead on the drug used on your officers.”
“Excellent. How so?”
“There’s a drug dealer on my patch who is looking to get a whole lot bigger. Drug squad nicked a couple of his street dealers a few weeks ago. They had cut cocaine with Ketamine and Gamma-Hydroxybutyrate. That’s sometimes called GHB. They were selling it as a date-rape drug. Fast working on account it was packaged up in powder form inside gelatine capsules. It was so much stronger than Rohypnol. It was also too heavy on the ketamine. That’s a painkiller for horses. Most of the woman it was given to had it spiked in their alcohol. They didn’t remember a damned thing. Two young college students are still in comas. The toxicology report is identical. I’ve had copies and appraisals sent over.”
“Good work. Keep me informed.”
“Will do.” Hodges ended the call and turned to DS Mathews in the driver’s seat. “Okay let’s knock them up.”
The bar and nightclub would open for happy hour at around six, but for the next few hours it was closed, although there were lights on inside. Nightclubs needed a lot of cleaning and restocking and Hodges had it on good authority that there would be staff inside for most of the afternoon. It was an imposing building in the daylight, a refurbished, reinvented foundry. There were parking spaces all down one side and a decked and covered smoking area at the front. Red velvet rope and brass bollards separated the entrance and waiting area from the street.
Hodges led the way and stopped at the front double doors. He thudded on the glass and waited. There was a woman inside at the bar. She looked up and saw the gathering of police officers outside, but instead of coming to the door, she walked casually behind the bar.
“Right! Get the big key on that door!” Hodges shouted and stood aside for the largest of the four uniformed police officers to bring the battering ram. It was a solid pile driver of red metal two and a half feet long and he positioned it against the join of the two doors, brought it back in one slow and steady motion and then sent it forwards with huge force, shattering the lock and smashing the doors open amid a shower of glass and wooden splinters as both windows shattered and the wood split.
Hodges strode into the foyer, followed by DS Mathews and the uniformed officers. A tall black man walked out of a side door and stood before them. He was an imposing figure at least six feet four and eighteen stone. His shoulders were rounded and his pectoral muscles were visible through his tight-fitting silk shirt.
“I didn’t order no bacon. Haven’t you pigs heard of knocking?” he motioned towards the shattered doors, his biceps straining at the shirt sleeves. “Somebody’s going to be paying for that!”
Hodges looked around him. Two bouncers had shown up, the bar wasn’t open yet, but Hodges knew that they were the dealer’s security. He also knew how torn and impotent they were at this moment. Caught between loyalty to the man paying their wages and taking on the law. The law always won. Hodges knew it, the drug dealer knew it and the heavies knew it.
“Why don’t you ladies go and shoot up some more steroids and pump a few more weights before show time?” Hodges suggested. “I’m going to talk to your boss. If you don’t bugger off now, I’ll arrest you.”
“For what?” A wall of a man asked. He was the nearest and largest of the two bouncers, but neither looked as imposing, as threatening as their boss. “You’ve got nothing on me.”
Hodges turned around. “Constable, give me your Taser.” The officer stepped forward and handed over the yellow plastic Taser which looked like a toy gun.
“What are you doing?” The bouncer stepped backwards a pace. “You can’t use that. I’m not doing anything!”
Hodges made the XT26 Taser ready and aimed it at the man’s stomach. A red dot appeared from the laser sighting system. The man looked down at his stomach and flinched. “Now, swee
tie pie, fuck off, or you’re going to get fifty-thousand volts in your guts. You won’t want to work those abs for a while.”
“But I’m not doing anything!”
“You’re obstructing the police and you’re posing an intimidating and threatening presence.”
“Okay!” The man shrugged at his boss and tapped his colleague on the shoulder. Both men walked through the bar and out of sight.
Hodges handed the Taser back to the officer, who holstered it and looked a little relieved. The detective turned back to the black man and smiled. “So Solomon, how’s that Nigerian passport looking? The visa must be about due to renew, no?”
“What is this? My paperwork is just fine, man.”
“I’m going to cut to the chase here,” Hodges gestured the uniformed officers away, nodded for his detective sergeant to stand back a few paces. “Solomon, I know you had that date rape concoction manufactured.”
“Drug squad didn’t have shit. That’s why I’m walking around free. Free to earn in a month what you earn in a year, man. I’m a legitimate businessman.”
“You’re a worthless piece of shit drug dealer,” Hodges stared at him. “You made a drug and sold it to men who use it to get what they want from woman with no regard for their safety, health or wellbeing. You have made rape easy to commit and difficult to prove.”
“I want my lawyer, man.” Solomon stuck out his chin indignantly. “I want you out of here.”
“No,” Hodges said. “I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only. I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here for information. Your drug was used recently to subdue four people so they could be killed horribly. I want to know where it was sold, who was selling it, when the batch was made and I’m going to make you an offer and you’re going to accept it.”
The big man looked at the detective for a moment. There was something in Hodges’ eyes, a sincerity that he found hard to ignore. “Which is?”
“A stay of execution,” Hodges said.
“Huh?”
“You tell me everything I need to know, and I’ll give you time to get your affairs in order. You cease your drug operation, get rid of your supplies. You destroy your stocks of this rape drug. By the time the police come back into your life you will be a clean and respectable business man.”
“Or?”
“This drug has directly aided terrorists in killing four MI5 officers. By the time I’ve finished with you you’ll be linked as an ISIS sympathiser. I know you are a Sunni Muslim. Okay, I’m sure with running a bar and nightclub, you’re a completely crap Muslim, about as bad as I am at being a Christian, but the link is there. It will stick. Your mother lives in Bermondsey, right? She has cancer, am I right? She’s undergoing chemotherapy. I understand she has a good chance of survival. How’s the health service in Nigeria? It would be awful for her to be deported as a terrorist sympathiser, whilst you’re in prison and your funds and assets are frozen.”
“Bastard!”
“I haven’t even started yet!” Hodges snapped. “There’s your sister, your daughter from your first marriage, your new wife, your father in Nigeria hoping to come over soon. I hear he has a heart condition. No doubt our glorious NHS would be able to help that out with expensive medication, a bypass or stent.”
“This is intimidation. My lawyer…”
Hodges held his finger to his lips. “This isn’t the same sort of thing you’ve been up against before, Solomon,” he said quietly. “This is spy stuff. You don’t help out here and one day there’s a car bomb under your Bentley. A mercury tilt switch and some left over Semtex from a raid in Northern Ireland years ago. Or a tiny drop of polonium in your mother’s chemo treatment. They lost four agents, they won’t take it lying down. I can get your muscle to bugger off with the threat of a Taser. Christ! We test them on each other on courses! Just think what the dirty world of espionage could do if you were found to have supplied the drug that helped terrorists kill their own.”
Solomon held up his hand. “Okay!” He looked thoughtful for a moment then stared at Hodges. “What do you want to know?”
15
Hoist looked at the woman opposite him. She read the file, but said nothing. He tutted, but she did not look up. She drank some of her tea, put the cup back on the table, didn’t take her eyes from the page.
“Where’s Swift?” Hoist asked. “And who are you?”
Barbara kept reading for a few moments longer, then looked at him. “What was your motivation for betraying your country?”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Why did you kill your colleagues?”
“What?”
“Did you drown them also, or just provide their details?”
“I didn’t drown anybody!”
“But you don’t deny providing their details?”
“No, err yes… Wait!” He ran a hand through his ginger hair. “Look, I haven’t done anything like that.”
“Oh but you have. You downloaded a classified file and days later four people with their names on that file, their personal details, are dead. Murdered.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Sure.”
“I didn’t! You have to believe me!”
“I don’t have to do anything.” She pushed her chair back and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Hoist asked indignantly, but she was already at the door.
“Give him twenty minutes,” Swift said to Barbara as she walked into the booth.
Caroline poured a coffee. She spooned in a teaspoon of sugar, deciding it was going to be a long day. She looked at Swift, who was opening a packet of cigarettes. “So what now? You go in all nicey-nicey?”
“Something like that,” he replied. “He really is a first class shit, isn’t he?”
“Not big on remorse,” Barbara said, pouring herself a tea. She helped herself to four sugars. She slurped loudly as she drank. She spooned in another sugar and stirred. Caroline looked away. “Oh, I’m sorry dear. Are you the sugar police? Must be with your figure. You’ll get a waistline like me one day. Can’t keep twenty-seven inches for ever. Twenty-five years working all hours for Queen and country takes its toll.”
Caroline said nothing. She looked at the file on Mikailovitch. She had not seen her for real, but she felt a personal connection. The woman had almost killed her in Hoist’s apartment, but she had fought back and forced her to flee. She was sure more than anything that she both wished she had killed her, or would do so given the opportunity. She had not killed before today, and it surprised her how little emotion she felt having killed the attacker this morning. It had simply been self-defence, and in light of what had been inflicted upon both the MI5 and Special Branch surveillance teams, she felt a satisfaction that was both difficult to supress and so far guilt-free.
“Right, I’ll go take a turn,” Swift said. He walked out of the booth and a moment later he walked into the room. Hoist looked up and Caroline could see that he was irritated.
“I want a drink,” he said. “And I want my solicitor.”
Swift held up a hand. “I will get you a drink in a moment,” he said calmly. “And please, for all our sakes, we don’t want lawyers involved just yet. You’ll regret it, you really will.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No. I am trying to help you,” he said, watching Hoist frown. “You see, if we can ascertain what has been done, how badly it effects national security, how best to create some damage limitation, then maybe we can keep all of this under wraps. You can help us; we can help you.” Swift took out a cigarette, lit it and blew a plume of smoke over towards Hoist. Hoist waved the smoke away with his hand. Swift inhaled again, blew another plume of smoke at him. Hoist wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I’m sorry,” Swift said. “Can’t smoke in government buildings, usually. A bit different here, so I’m making hay.”
“Why is it different here?” Hoist asked.
Swift blew another plume of smoke at him. It dispersed int
o a cloud in front of Hoist’s face. “This place doesn’t exist.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a safe house. It has to be safe. There are a few all over town. We have them all over the country.”
“So nobody knows I’m here?”
“A few people,” Swift replied. “A very small group.”
“What’s going to happen to me?” Hoist asked. He looked worried, some of the arrogance gone.
Swift stubbed the cigarette out in his empty coffee mug. He blew the last lungful of smoke at Hoist. “Well, that depends.”
“On what?”
“On you,” he paused. “And of course how big the group gets.” He looked at Hoist, who was frowning at the comment. He smiled as he stood up. “There are four dead agents. Two were deep cover operatives. Embedded in an Islamic extremist group who are on the verge of making very big waves indeed. The other two are both handlers. They have been the link between other groups like this and the information and intelligence reaching both MI5 and MI6 where people like you process it and funnel it through departments for appropriate action.”
“But what would happen if the group became bigger?”
“Well, nobody knows you’re here. The Special Branch boys will be stood down as soon as our own security is in place. We’ll use diplomatic protection, and they don’t investigate. It doesn’t take a brilliant brain to imagine how hurt and disgusted some people would be by your actions. You could be lost in the system, disappeared. Look around you. This is a soundproofed room. The floors were put in during troubled times. IRA terrorists may well have ended up here for an interview without coffee. That’s what we used to call an interrogation.” He walked to the door, turned and looked at the man hunched over the table. “Notice the drain on the floor?” He smiled as Hoist looked at the grate under his chair. It was like a large shower plughole. “That would have been put in to sluice away blood, excrement, all sorts of horrible matter that big men would beat out of someone like you. But don’t worry, we don’t go in for all that anymore,” he smiled. “Well, not unless we really have to.”