Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2)

by Lewis Hastings

  “Motorcycle courier just delivered it Jason, very light, so it’s not a gold bar!” She chuckled as she walked off, “I’ll leave it with you darlin’.”

  Roberts slid the brown bubble wrap envelope across the desk.

  “Special delivery for Mr Cade…” He playfully tapped the side of his nose.

  Cade stopped the package with his palm and looked at the writing. It was a computer typed label with no return address.

  He looked at O’Shea, “Too thin for a bomb so I guess it’s an invite to the Queen’s next garden party…” he tore open the envelope and instinctively looked inside to see a clear snap lock bag.

  Roberts saw immediately that Cade’s expression changed.

  “What is it, mate?”

  “I’m not sure, there’s a small note in here too…stand by one…”

  O’Shea continued to help Campbell populate the board with events, but became aware of Cade’s silence.

  “Jack?”

  “It’s nothing, Carrie, just something from my old force. Right, a cup of tea is in order, let’s get our collective thinking caps on. Hopefully, we’ll get the footage from the overnight job and we can start to put a few of the pieces back into the jigsaw.”

  “Absolutely old boy. The shame is that half the Met’s finest now want a piece after that bloody explosion last night. Have you seen the headlines?”

  “No. Show me.”

  Roberts took the signal, and both men left the room with Cade quickly walking into Daniel’s office unannounced.

  “Don’t bother knocking, gents.”

  “I didn’t sir. Put some gloves on and look at this.”

  Cade slid the envelope towards Daniel, who had removed a pair of latex gloves from his desk drawer. Roberts was equally intrigued.

  Daniel squeezed open the aperture and looked inside. He saw it for the first time too.

  “What is it, Jack?”

  “Let it fall out, it’s pretty clear.”

  The clear bag dropped onto Daniel’s desk. The bag, not dissimilar to a container used by a drug supplier, was new and had a small label attached, upon which was written the date and the name: Carrie O’Shea.

  “OK Jack, so it’s a piece of Carrie’s hair, other than it being weird what exactly does this mean?”

  “Boss, I don’t know, but I don’t like this one little bit. I’m trying to think when someone has been able to get that close and importantly why would they take the trouble to send it to me?”

  Daniel took a moment to sum up his thoughts, conscious that whatever he said would be taken as gospel.

  “Jack, the cut on Carrie’s neck?”

  Cade was a step ahead of him, but didn’t want to acknowledge the reality that was crashing into him like a charging All Blacks front row veteran. This was really going to hurt.

  “No, sorry, boss. The two can’t be connected. Can they?”

  “Yes, Jack, I think they can. But I say again, what does this mean? Keep a close eye on that girl of yours, Jack. Given what happened with Nikolina, I do not want another one of our team going missing. Understood?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  For once Roberts was not quick to add a lurid and mocking line.

  The footage arrived into the office, the compact disc was removed from the container and the entire team gathered around to watch it. They were joined by a member of the Flying Squad, a specialist unit that was now paying the matter some attention.

  Gary Preston, a ten-year member of the squad, had been there and got the T-shirt and he’d pretty much seen it all. But this latest series of attacks interested him greatly.

  “So The Sweeney is on board at last, Gary my son? About frigging time. We’ve been asking for help for weeks and now we get a bloody explosion you are interested?”

  Preston’s reply was cool and calculated. “Yes, Jason I am.”

  “Well, with all due respect you can fuck off if you think you are taking this off us.”

  Preston smiled “Charmed I’m sure. I’m actually here to help as I have a background in explosive methods of entry. Can we agree to some entente cordiale rather than jumping down each other’s throats?”

  Cade leaned across the desk. “Jack Cade. Pleasure to have you on board Gary. Happy to learn from you.”

  Preston returned the olive branch, “Thanks guv, I’ve heard only positive things about you since the job with the bus. Terrible business. How’s the backside?”

  “News travels fast!”

  “Not as quick as your arse, Jack!” Roberts was back on form.

  Preston looked back at Roberts, “Look if it helps Jason, I’ve spent the last month in South Africa. The local police there have seen around a hundred of these jobs and they reckon it’s the tip of the iceberg.”

  “So do you think this is the work of South Africans?” It was Daniel.

  “No boss, far from it. I think your team is on the money. The recent ATM activity is classic Eastern Euro, they are the acknowledged experts but they are also adaptable. Why spend a day getting three or four hundred quid when you can hit one machine and take the entire contents?”

  “But the risks are higher Gary.”

  “They are boss, it’s the old risk versus consequences game. Some of their lower-level offenders are expendable.”

  “You speak as if you know a little more about this than I would have thought healthy for the squad. It’s not exactly your remit this is it?”

  “We’ve been watching them for a while, sir, if I’m honest. But you are light years ahead. If or when they move into using shooters, then we’ll look to take over. Until then, it’s your show.”

  The footage started. It revealed two subjects, all agreed they were most definitely male. They wore tracksuit bottoms and training shoes with hooded tops. All very stereotypical. However, unlike their streetwise local cousins, these boys were elevating the ante.

  Daniel nodded to Preston, who took his lead.

  “Right folks, see how these two are heading back and forth to the ATM. It tells me they have a car nearby, so that’s a start point. Jason, perhaps one of your guys can draw a perimeter around the bank and check all CCTV locations?”

  Roberts nodded.

  Preston continued, “OK, now it’s getting interesting. The guy on the left is collecting cylinders, one has oxygen, the other acetylene, and the wire enables a charge. Simple science really, but it takes some balls as I saw a good number of dead people in Johannesburg who failed to get the recipe right. This kit goes with one hell of a bang, trust me, I’ve heard it.”

  He talked the team through the process and then got one of Roberts’ squad to slow down the imagery.

  “Any second now…BOOM!”

  The team was impressed.

  “Shit on a stick would you look at that?” This from a very impressed Roberts.

  “Amazing, isn’t it? I’ve seen ATM imagery from Brazil that shows half the bank frontage blown away, it’s a very fine art.”

  There was a light knock on the door. It was Cynthia Bell.

  “Yes, Cynthia.”

  “Just had a phone call from the bank manager boss. He said that if it had been just before a long weekend, it would have been a whole lot more. But for now without a final tally, he reckons fifty thousand.” She let the figure hang in the air before she walked back to her desk.

  The team looked at each other before Cade spoke.

  “Guys, girls, I think it’s fair to say the ante has just been raised.”

  Roberts replied, “Agreed Jack, the problem was we thought we held all the aces but these bastards have a royal flush.”

  They rewound the imagery and ran it again. Cade spotted it at exactly the same time as O’Shea.

  “Boss, the older guy…he thinks he’s disabled all of the CCTV, but he failed to knock out the one at the pet shop next door. As a result, we can see him. I think the blast has blown his scarf away from his face.”

  Cade continued, “Just zoom in onto his face if you
can, it’s about 00:45:00….yes there! And pause. Right, get that image out to the masses. I want that toothless bastard in custody.”

  As soon as he had finished the sentence he looked at Roberts. It was a case of great minds.

  “We need to speak to Harrier.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Lucy, it’s Jason. Talk to me.”

  “I’ll talk to you if you use the right bloody name!”

  Roberts looked around the office, noting that he was alone.

  “OK, Harrier, talk to me.”

  “That’s better. You need to get a grip on yourself, young man.”

  Jesus, he’d been on the phone less than thirty seconds and already she was flirting.

  “Yes, yes, Harrier, enough. I need to know if you know anything about the explosion at the bank last night. Have you seen your man again?”

  “No, and no. Next question.”

  “Do you have any way of contacting him?”

  “I do.”

  “This is painful, Lu...Harrier. Can you let me have the number?”

  “I can.”

  “Now!”

  “Ooh, I love a man who dominates me. Such a refreshing change. It’s…”

  Roberts transcribed the number into his pocketbook and thanked Thomas for his time.

  “Thanks for your time, Lucy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “For crying out loud. OK, I get it, it’s fucking Harrier!”

  “Ooh, now there’s a nice thought Sergeant. TTFN.” She blew a theatrical kiss down the phone, hung up and returned to applying his foundation. She had a busy day ahead ‘and time, darling, well time is money’.

  Cade and Daniel were discussing the bank raid when Waterman entered the office unannounced.

  Cade motioned to stand but was ushered back to his seat.

  “Gents. I see we have some new evidence to play with. The commissioner has given you another fortnight. So, two things. One, make this count and two, do not, I repeat, do not let them blow up my bloody branch. Waterman then proceeded to tell the credit card joke about his wife and the thief. Daniel and Cade feigned interest and laughed at the right moment before Waterman made his excuses and left.

  “Two weeks, Jack. Enough?”

  “Enough for what, boss? We still have no real clue what or who is hitting us. SOCO reckon there’s bugger all from the bank, any evidence was destroyed along with the bank. Made one hell of a mess by all accounts.”

  “Brilliant, so we have a group of merry men robbing from the averagely well-off to feed the poor and no one has a blind bloody clue who it is?”

  “Sorry sir, no, not yet. But we will. We just need a break.”

  “Don’t we all, Jack. The sooner Mrs D and I bugger off to New Zealand, the better!”

  “Boss, some bird called Fleming is on the blower. Wants an urgent chat with one of you.”

  Roberts stared at the ceiling. “Brilliant, all I need.” He unnecessarily re-knotted his bright orange tie and got up from the desk.

  Cade, ever the white knight said, “I’ll deal with Fleming, you get some more work done on the research. I need to know if we have any way of plotting where this is likely to happen next.”

  As Cade walked off to answer the phone he heard Roberts say, “The impossible I can achieve Jack…miracles? They take a little longer!”

  Cade picked up the phone.

  “Jack Cade.”

  “Ah Detective Chief Inspector Cade, good to speak to you. Julia Fleming from the BBC. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Julia, tired but fine. It’s Inspector, by the way, I haven’t quite reached the heady heights of DCI yet. How can I help you?”

  “Thank you, Inspector. Apologies for the promotion. I’m sure if you crack this case of terrorism, you’ll soon get that third pip. Now, I’ve been talking to…”

  Cade cut her off.

  “Julia, which case of terrorism? Where? When?”

  “Well, last night of course at the Barclays Bank branch.”

  “Julia, I need to meet with you, but what we discuss stays between you and me, for now at least. If you release any of it I will personally hold you responsible. I will charge you with obstruction and never, ever watch Panorama again. Do we have a deal?”

  She paused, slightly bristling as a result of his brusque approach, but somehow she liked what she heard. He set standards, and she liked that in a man. Besides, he looked a bit of a dish from the recent press image, so yes, coffee would be nice.

  Thirty minutes later, Cade was interrupted by one of the team.

  “Boss, phone call again. Male this time, sounds foreign, sounds really pissed off too. Probably Romanian TV!”

  “I’ll be there in two.”

  He looked across at O’Shea who was staring into space.

  “You OK?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You OK, you looked miles away?”

  “Oh yes, just thinking.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “All sorts, Inspector. All sorts. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Dinner tonight, on me? We need to spend some time together.”

  “It’s a date. I’ll wear a red rose.”

  As Cade walked to the main office to answer the call he sensed all was not right with his girlfriend. He’d go back after the call and resolve whatever issue was eating away at her.

  He picked up the phone smartly and said, “Jack Cade.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Mr Cade. We speak at last. It has been a long time.”

  The voice was heavily accented, Russian? Possibly Czech? It was almost that of an English person putting on a clichéd spy movie voice.

  “I’m sorry, have we spoken before, Mr?”

  “My name is far from important, Inspector Cade. But no, as you ask the question, we have not spoken before.”

  “But you said it has been a long time?”

  “I did, yes. What I mean by this is that I have waited a long time to speak to you, we have so much in common – do we not, Jack?”

  Cade paused, waving to a colleague and writing down hasty notes on a desk blotter.

  ‘GET THIS TRACED!’

  The officer ran off to find Roberts, unsure just how he was going to carry out Cade’s request.

  “I’m not sure just what we have in common, sir, but please go on, tell me how I can help you?”

  “Ah, the ever well-mannered English man. How charming you are. I’m sure women flock towards you with your impeccable etiquette and boyish good looks. Women like Miss Carrie. Such a lovely girl, not pretty in the conventional sense, but lovely nonetheless.”

  Cade was now very interested in the conversation. He looked around to see if anyone else was as attuned as him. Roberts appeared and held up a piece of paper.

  ‘No idea, Jack. We are running it through the telephonist.’

  Cade shook his head. There must be some way to trace the bloody thing.

  The voice spoke again.

  “Mr Cade. I can help you. Write down this number. It is the number you are frantically trying to trace. Why make your life so…difficult. We can work together.”

  The voice laughed. It was a distinctive laugh, animal-esque, haunting.

  Cade took the number and handed it to one of his team. He shrugged his shoulders, aware that it was futile. The voice wouldn’t deliberately give his location away, and Cade knew the voice belonged to someone sinister. This was not a routine welfare call.

  “Thank you. I am obliged to you. So, again, how can I help you, Mr…?”

  “Jack, Jack, Jack…” He said it quickly, in succession, his tone slightly raised. Again, there was that visceral tone to his voice.

  “It is about how I can help you, my dear. Like I say, we have so much in common. You are a leader. I am a leader. You are a good-looking man, I am a very good-looking man. I have wealth, you on the other hand don’t, but you have your principles and they are like jewels to you. Why, Jack, we even share a
name.”

  Cade listened intently, trying to decipher the meaning of the call. The voice continued.

  “You like women, I like women. In fact, it appears that we liked the same woman. That was such a terrible shame, Jack. You see, a girl like that cannot be shared among two men – for fun yes, but not for love. Never for love. And I loved her, and I love her daughter and you made me punish her dear mother, Mr Jack Cade. You. Not me. No, it was you.”

  The faceless voice took a moment, then continued.

  “You see, her death is your fault. You killed her. I’m sure she thought of you last as the water seeped painfully down her throat. Glug, glug, glug…”

  “Who the hell are you?” asked a now angered Cade.

  “Aha, now we are interested. Me? I am no-one, a black shape that swoops in to watch a funeral, a mischievous being that steals jewellery, a bird that pecks the eyes of the dead from their lifeless bodies, Inspector. Peck, peck…peck. ”

  Cade could visualise it now.

  “Look, what exactly is your point? You said you could help me. I’m intrigued.” He was trying his best to remain calm, in control, with the upper hand.

  “But I can. Here is what you must do. That pen in your right hand. Start writing.”

  Cade pressed the pen into the surface of the paper, wishing it was the male’s carotid artery. The pressure was building when the voice started to outline his needs.

  “Number One, Jack – you need to relax. You must stop the rather attractive Miss Fleming from writing a story about my people being terrorists. This is an outrage. We are connoisseurs of crime, not terrorists! Even criminals despise terrorists.” He laughed his trademark laugh.

  “Are we at least in agreeance here, Jack?”

  “OK. You are just simple thieves? Agreed?”

  The voice laughed again.

  “I see what you did there. Number Two. Go and investigate someone else, Mr Jack. There are plenty of Albanians and Russians in your city, West African money men, Jamaican Yardies. Go and trouble them instead. Leave me and my people to earn some money to feed our starving children.”

  “And three?”

  “Oh yes, of course, Number Three, my favourite thing of all. Keep a watchful eye on your girl, Inspector, she may not be as pretty as my poor, wretched Nikolina – and nowhere near as pretty as my beautiful daughter, but to be fair to your girl, she has something interesting about her.” He was quiet for a moment, but then continued slowly.