The girl in question, Nikolina Petrov, had arrived into the lives of the Metropolitan Police team led by Roberts. Alongside, and guarding, or rather what he referred to as ‘nurturing her for intelligence’ was Sergeant Jack Cade. They had arrived as a pair, inseparable and yet entirely unconnected.
Cade’s professional connection was actually very clear, even though he had repeatedly questioned why this wasn’t a task carried out by the Home or Foreign Office, or even the security services.
‘Jack. On behalf of the British Home Office, find out what this girl knows. We need a breakthrough in the area of criminal syndicates targeting this country. This is not a job for any of the teams you have alluded to. End of. These are travelling criminals and unless we act, they are here to stay. We need a break, an opening, and this may be the chance we have been looking for. It matters not that you are a ‘mere’ sergeant, this girl trusts you and you alone must exploit this trust. That is the reason why. Within reason you have our support and we will make whatever you need available.’
When Cade had first met her, a hundred miles north of London at a regional airport near the city of Nottingham, she was broken; both her heart and her body were fractured. But her mind was as sharp as one of Carrie O’Shea’s much-favoured pencils. Petrov had a story to tell and when she had first looked into the azure-blue eyes of her interviewer through her own bloodshot, but equally piercing green eyes she had found him to be both physically attractive and more importantly, trustworthy.
It wasn’t what he said that gave her this assurance, but the way he said it.
Petrov had escaped from a relationship that centred exclusively on a male who considered himself, via dubious gypsy folklore, to be her husband. The marriage was self-governed and binding. He had chosen her. And that was the end of the courting phase.
‘Do what I ask and your life will be filled with material things. Accept that I will have other women and that occasionally I may respond unfavourably towards you.’ This was how she had interpreted their relationship.
‘Your bruises will heal in time, my dear…’ was how he wrote off his incessant appetite for brutality.
She had met him in a bar, a place called Byzantin, apparently alone, naïve and completely unaware of his status in a part of the city that he arguably ran, practically owned. He certainly owned a number of palatial properties, more vehicles than he could ever drive, and a plethora of local government officials, all too eager to be his friend, were nestled comfortably in his back pocket.
What the male, Alexandru Stefanescu did not realise was that his newfound, lithe yet immature lover was there with a precisely defined goal. Whilst still in her teens she had been groomed, trained and almost indoctrinated by her wonderful father’s employers – the Durzhavna Sigurnost – the Bulgarian Intelligence Service.
The aim was simple enough. Kill Stefanescu – who was also referred to by the self-imposed nickname of the Jackdaw, due in part to his familiar cackling laugh, but equally because the ornithological world considered the inquisitive bird of the same name to be an expert thief.
Stefanescu had embarrassed the Bulgarian government once too often and had taken to mocking them via his well-crafted criminal syndicate, who were as adept at hurting people as the businesses they targeted. Moving high-end vehicles around Europe was enough to keep him on Interpol’s radar, the agency having at any one time at least two staff monitoring his progress from their headquarters in Lyon, France.
As far as they could see he had successfully avoided trafficking drugs around Europe and further afield. His reputation had been won by virtue of his love for money, preferably cash, but electronic transactions would often suffice – and as his techniques had been enriched, so had his enviable offshore bank balances.
As skilled as the Interpol staff were, they were always three steps behind him, chasing their own tails, acting upon informant information that more often than not was provided by Stefanescu’s own network of people.
His avaricious nature meant that sooner or later someone, somewhere would catch him, but on the rare occasions he was produced to a judge, he would either walk away, having discreetly enhanced the prosecutor’s own account or escape using a network of associates. There was simply no denying, he was a very gifted criminal with a network that was growing and potentially viral in nature.
And it appeared that in mainland Europe in 2004 criminal syndicates were beginning to realise that there was more to gain from cooperation than conflict.
Nikolina’s plans had changed. She had probably failed to kill Stefanescu, despite waiting a painfully long time to do so. Contrary to her external feelings, she had grown to love him – Stockholm syndrome had played a part. Her captor had become her lover and in time he had provided for her, in ways she could only have dreamt of in her former home. He had fathered a child too – a child that had become the first person he had ever truly wished to protect.
The issue though was that as compassionate as he was becoming, he still had a ruthless, spiteful streak, and that scared her. She needed to leave, to formulate a plan for the future, one that provided for both her and her daughter Elena.
Until she was able to create that platform she had to go, to leave her safely in another part of Europe and deal with him either to the letter of the mission, or as best as she could.
But in order to carry out the mission, she had to first say goodbye to her little girl – and that would prove to the single hardest decision of her young life.
Stabbing a Ricin-laced mechanism into his thigh and escaping from their opulent Spanish home was supposed to be simple, but the poison had diluted over time, and whether it had done its job remained a worrying unknown. She daren’t go back or enquire. She needed to vanish.
Petrov could not look back, she had neither the opportunity nor the courage. She left Spain during the night, having changed her appearance and her identity, praying that he would die a slow and rather exquisitely painful death, or at best leave her alone and continue to love and protect their daughter until the day came that she could reunite with her and allow her to make her own mind up about the truth, about her father and importantly about why she left.
She had put things into place; written Constantin, left messages with a few people. They were selected as they were people she both loved and trusted and hoped that the stories she had told her baby – about their beautiful homeland and her heritage – would act as an umbilical cord for the future.
Whether he knew it or not, for now, Jack Cade was her plan. Every minute piece of it.
Roberts stood in the middle of the close-knit team and continued with his eulogy.
“It is my honour to raise a glass to our friend and our colleague, Clive Wood. May his memory live on within the team, and for all the right reasons…”
Roberts paused, beginning to feel emotional at the sudden realisation that for the first time in his career he had lost a staff member. He stopped, took a moment to control himself and then quoted from an anonymous poem, in time reaching the last line.
…Come walk a beat on Heaven’s streets, you’ve done your time in hell.
He let out a profound sigh.
“Team. The Thin Blue Line just got thinner.”
He glanced at O’Shea.
She was the first to raise her glass.
“Detective Clive Wood, a proud man, and forgiven for his sins, especially being Welsh. May you always rest in peace.”
The team all followed Roberts’ lead – even the barman Roger Walsh raised a pint in the officer’s honour. It was the least he could do given the amount the team spent in the place.
Roberts took a long glug of his drink before placing the glass on a stained and peeling beer mat and asking for silence once more.
“Guys, forgive me. Be upstanding, I have another toast.”
The team stood and held their glasses, ready for the next announcement. They were used to adulation among their close-knit group. To quote their boss, who they adored
, ‘no other bastard will praise you!’
“To Jack Cade, the Northern Monkey. Part of the team!”
“Jack Cade! Part of the team!”
Cade, unused to such camaraderie, took a long and slow gulp of his drink before placing his glass onto the counter.
“Jason, if I may?”
“Mon pleasure.”
“Team, and I’ve worked with a few… I just wanted to thank you for your hard work, your commitment and for embracing everything I have said, and agreeing to everything I have asked for.” He looked around the nicotine-stained room, its walls and ceilings a shade of ochre only reserved for such buildings.
“It’s not always easy when a new boss arrives and most of us despise change, but trust me when I say be the best you can be and I will back you all to the hilt. Now, if you would flatter me for a few more seconds, I would like to quote my Shakespearean namesake Jack Cade?”
A few staff raised their eyes to the ceiling. Surely now was not the time to quote the Bard himself?
At his theatrical best, Cade entered the middle of the crowd and climbed onto a bar stool. It wobbled causing a few sharp intakes and then he settled, turned around from his new lofty position and commenced what many thought would be a long, drawn-out and painful adaptation. He waited for silence then adopted a character voice, pretty effective too, at least O’Shea thought so.
‘I thank you, good people: there shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score.’
It took a few seconds, but what followed was a genuinely appreciative cheer.
Roberts seized the moment.
“Right, you lot take up Jack’s most generous offer, then bugger off to your loved ones. Rest well and remember, look after each other. I don’t want you back to work until ten o’clock tomorrow, earliest…”
He scanned the room and noticed John Daniel had arrived.
“Guys, guys, I’m sorry. At risk of being lynched – one, last thing.” He received a combined moan of disapproval.
“I promise this is the last toast… Our new boss had arrived to buy us all a drink for a job well done before Sergeant Cade’s most indecent proposal. Therefore, it would be rude, no outrageous to turn down such a benevolent offer. Everyone meet Detective Chief Inspector John Daniel. JD to his friends, but he assures me I can call him Detective Chief Inspector!”
Daniel moved to the front of the group, leaned on the back of a worn, green velvet upholstered chair and allowing the room to settle spoke from the heart.
“Thank you, Jason. You’ll go far, I’m thinking Essex…Listen team, it’s always hard when a new boss arrives, you worry about what they will do to the group? What they will change?” The speech was familiar. “Well, let me assure you, having seen what I’ve seen in the last few days, only a fool would make any substantial changes and I hope you’ll quickly realise that whilst I’m many things, a fool, I am not.”
There was an approving sound around the bar. He was saying the right things.
Cade looked at a man who he felt he could trust, something tangible told him to.
“Finally, and yes, unlike your boss here, I do mean finally. I’d like to add to the toasts if I may be so bold?”
Nods of endorsement occurred around the bar.
“I never had the pleasure of meeting them, and I hear Detective Wood was a fine man and he will, I know, be sorely missed. But there is someone else, if I may?”
There were signs of encouragement from the group.
“I never met her either, but I heard she was a true warrior, a brave young woman in a foreign land whose life was cut short all too soon. It is incumbent upon every man and woman in this team to ensure her legacy is achieved. We need to find out why she came to Jack and then to us. This young lady left behind all she knew, including her daughter. I want to know what secrets she carried, and I believe you are the people to reveal them. May she please not die in vain? Rest in peace Nikolina Petrov.”
The team stood for the last time that day, emptied their glasses, and one by one left the bar after shaking the new boss’s hand.
Tomorrow would be another day.
Chapter Two
“Jack, do you have a minute?”
“Of course sir, what do you need?”
Daniel was forthright and honest. He also liked what he saw in Cade.
“Jack, I want you to consider a permanent transfer to this force, see it as a promotional opportunity. Jason is going places and won’t be with us forever. Come down here and try something different, we could certainly do with your skills and it seems as though you have been a lone voice on the issue of Eastern European crime, until now. Forget the fact that we are the best force in the country – this stuff is new, developing, unchartered waters and like it or not you have unwittingly become the subject matter expert in a field of probably a dozen people. So?”
Daniel let the offer hang in the musty room, his words clinging to the walls and joining a thousand lost conversations.
Cade pondered the offer.
“Is it as easy as that, sir? Just pick up and come here, accept a promotion I haven’t even applied for? Seems a little passé to me. It just doesn’t happen that way. There’s stuff to do, things to consider. There’s the application process, HR, interviews…referees…”
Daniel held his hand up.
“It is that easy or I wouldn’t have asked. And before you ask, yes. I’ve run it by Malcolm Johnson and he’s one hundred percent behind it. I think your circus analogy hurt him a little, but he liked your honesty. We’ll have to interview you, of course, but you appear to be the only applicant. We’ve taken the liberty of speaking to your force for references and they accept on your behalf. It would appear that you have a few notable friends up north. So, what’s it to be?”
“Putting it like that boss, I have little option. Besides, there’s very little back at home for me these days. If you can accept the overly clichéd movement of a brass-necked, gritty, northern copper into the metropolis, then I accept.”
“This is reality old son, not some dog-eared paperback you’d find in a bargain bin. And I’d hardly call you gritty, except for the bits that the doctor has yet to pick carefully out of your arse. Good man, come round to my place for dinner tomorrow night if you are not too tired? Be good for you to meet Lynne, Mrs Daniel, great cook and all round general bon vivant.”
“Again, an offer one cannot easily turn down. Do you have comfy chairs to sit in? My aforementioned arse feels like a championship dart board.”
“We do! Oh, and Jack…”
“Boss?”
“Bring the girl with you too, help balance the numbers a little.” He winked, grabbed his jacket and left.
“Girl boss?”
“Oh, come on Jack, you are surrounded by bloody coppers, do you really think your secret is safe? Everyone knows that you and Carrie are an item. She’s a lovely girl, you could do a lot worse and I suspect she will be loyal…” He paused. “Sorry. Too soon?”
“Not anymore, sir. It’s evident that my old force let you read all of my personal file. Did the part where I almost knocked out a uniformed inspector not bother you?”
“Hardly. Good call. If he’d done that with Mrs Daniel, his days as a marathon runner would be over.”
Cade frowned.
“I meant he’d be competing in a wheel chair Jack.”
“But he could still compete…”
“Not if I slashed his tyres.”
Cade walked out into a brighter day. O’Shea was waiting for him.
“Come on you, let’s head back to my place for some sleep. It’s been an incredibly long couple of days.”
He smiled and started walking. After a hundred paces he put his left arm out and nodded to it, O’Shea took his lead and linked her own arm through his.
“What if anyone sees us Jack, you a sergeant on the team and all that, aren’t you worried about your reputation?”
“Ah, you see that’s where you are wrong Carrie, up until
ten minutes ago I was a sergeant, but I am afraid I am no longer.”
“Dear God, man don’t tell me you’ve resigned?”
“No, of course not, do you think I’m mad girl?”
“Sacked?” Her voice was almost pleading him to say no.
“No, Carrie. But thanks for your confidence. I just got promoted, and there’s another thing…”
“Do go ahead, Inspector, I’m all ears…”
“And great breasts too, so I recall…”
She pulled her arm back and was about to slap him on the backside, but seeing his eyes widen, she stopped millimetres from her target.
“I hate it when you keep secrets from me. Go on, please, tell me.”
“I’m moving to London Carrie, turns out my skills are finally of some use.”
She beamed, placed her arm back through his, rested her head on his shoulder and allowed him to pull her closer to him. It was getting chilly, but she felt a sense of genuine warmth for the first time in years.
They got to her flat, kicked the door shut behind them, closed the curtains, undressed and fell into her bed. Within ten minutes O’Shea entwined around her newly promoted man and drifted quickly into a deep sleep. Cade was five ahead of her.
It was later in the day when Cade found himself deliberating, long enough to change his mind twice, possibly more. Should he accept her offer?
They had only been acquainted for such a short amount of time. Yes, there was a tangible sense of chemistry – albeit he didn’t quite understand its exact place in his current jumbled ‘I just need a few days to myself’ and most recent lifestyle.
“It’s up to you, boss. If you are not comfortable with the offer, then by all means turn it down. I’m a big girl, I don’t make offers like this without thinking through every aspect of risk. I’m a female, you are a male, you are the boss and I’m a subordinate. OK, perhaps an element of risk exists, but really, I suspect the last thing that will be at the forefront on your mind when you arrive home and walk into the apartment will be ‘I really must seduce my best analyst, after all the last person to do that became impaled on a piece of sharpened graphite...”
Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2) Page 2