Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2)

by Lewis Hastings

  As he merged with more traffic on Victoria Embankment he slowed once again, admiring the view as he always did. He was devoutly British, through and through, the product of British parents, both of whom, having served overseas with the Foreign Office, were once also fiercely patriotic.

  His eye caught one of the two silver dragons that sat either side of the road. Boundary markers for the City of London, they were just one of the hundreds of historical effigies that marked out London as a city of culture, statues, like so many, missed by the millions that walked and drove by them every day.

  However, as much as he admired them, his gaze was drawn to the iconic London Eye, for him a symbol of success, of wealth, of ‘look at me’. He clicked his thumb and forefinger together and pointed at it, “That’s more you Johnnie, my boy. Sleek but not too shiny!”

  He dropped down below the skyline as the Audi cruised into the Blackfriars Underpass. He lowered the driver’s window a touch so he could hear the Audi’s engine note reverberate off the enclosed walls as Frankie and his band belted out the chorus.

  John Daniel was also making progress through the relentless city traffic in his altogether more basic Ford.

  He had made the decision to head towards Cade. Driving a desk was fine, but like most career cops Daniel missed the thrill of the chase, and since the new boy had arrived, it seemed as though the chase was not only on; it was permanent.

  He was fit enough still, so why not? “Just don’t tell the wife”, he’d said to an audience of one as he skilfully whipped through the traffic, darting into gaps and grabbing opportunities as only an experienced London commuter could. Faint heart never won a fair lady, and timid driving didn’t get you to the church, or anywhere else for that matter, on time. He changed up through the gearbox and got the hatchback up to sixty. Not once had he used the discreet lights or sirens.

  He was on the Blackfriars Underpass now, also heading east. He came up behind an Audi and admired it.

  “Nice car,” he said out aloud, pulling alongside and performing a double-take as he recognised the driver as Hewett.

  The traffic was slowing them both now as they progressed in a stop-start manner along the partly tunnelled route that snaked alongside the Thames.

  Daniel fished around for his cell phone, opened it, typed an ‘H’ and found Hewett’s number. It began to ring. He looked across and saw Hewett doing his utmost to ignore the call. After eight rings he answered.

  “John Hewett.”

  “John, John Daniel. Frank Waterman asked me to ring for a chat. I’m on the way to support a colleague but seeing as though I’m actually alongside you I thought I would strike whilst the iron was hot. After all, neither of us are going far in this bloody traffic.” He laughed, forcing a response from Hewett who looked genuinely startled.

  “Indeed. Bloody traffic. John, would you mind, I’m waiting for a rather important call, from the um…Home Office. I’ll promise to catch up soon. Coffee, at my place, how does that sound?”

  Daniel knew how and when to recognise being fobbed off, but decided to play along.

  “Sounds good. I’ll crack on with rescuing Cade.”

  “Cade?” Hewett no longer seemed to be in such a hurry.

  “Yes, one of my team, you’ve done a bit of work to support him already.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that John, but what has he done now?”

  “Oh, other than causing chaos across half of London chasing a bunch of bloody tearaway Eastern Europeans hell-bent on emptying our ATMs…not much, really.”

  “Sounds fun. So exactly where is he now?”

  “Your guess, John. Your guess. Last update I had was that he was heading into a building to follow a girl – who might well have the answer to who tried to gun down one of my staff on a tube train a short while ago. It’s a rather convoluted story, but needless to say Cade seems to be on their trail. I pity anyone who stands in his way.”

  “As I say, sounds fun. I miss the chase, John, more international stuff these days, dashing here, flying there, you know how it is I’m sure. Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of your precious time, look after that bounty hunter of yours, I hear he’s been offered a chance in Lyon. My advice would be to take it and get out of town before he becomes a target.”

  Hewett cleared down, leaving Daniel to ponder what the last line of the conversation meant. He saw the Audi accelerate briskly and indicate left. It cut across the two lanes and disappeared up a side street.

  He decided to make some progress himself, lifting the lid on the central armrest and initiating the sirens, the flickering strobes beneath the grill added to the effect and he was soon dominating his way through the underpass, enjoying the thrill of rapid response driving through almost stationary traffic. Who wouldn’t, given the chance?

  The two desperately wet and exhausted males clambered through the larger tunnel and into a smaller one, slightly higher, above the current high-water mark.

  Gheorghiu looked back, seeing his colleague immediately behind him, he pressed on into the dark.

  Ten minutes later, but only a hundred metres away, they turned left and headed back towards the light. The stench inside the tunnel made them both heave. Even Constantin, who, upon self-reflection had sunk as low as he could go, now considered this to be the lowest point in his life. He wished his bastard of a mother had drowned him when she had the chance.

  Minutes later they had reached the metal grill, similar but less significant than the last they had looked out of, across the green and grey surface of the River Thames.

  Dropping down the outlet, they collided with the aging metalwork and paused for breath, wiping their faces of filth.

  “OK, Constantin, like I told you. Yes?”

  The older male nodded and laid down in the rising water, his back to the tunnel and his feet up against the rusting grid. Gheorghiu joined him and they began to kick the framework of the Victorian ironwork. It resisted.

  “Kick harder. This grid is all that lies between you, me and the outside world. If we are caught, especially you, then the game is over. The next bars we will see will not be so weak. Kick!”

  Stefanescu had slowed the stolen boat to a crawl. He’d been travelling at twelve knots in the King’s Reach, and at that speed was not likely to attract anyone – lawful or otherwise. But now he dropped the speed again, almost drifting at three to four knots. The on-board VHF radio hissed into life on channel 14. He expertly ignored it and whatever the bland male voice was saying.

  The depth of the river allowed him to edge up to the Embankment. He cruised eastwards and came up alongside the First World War vessel, the HMS President, her black hull and white superstructure standing out against the green-stained river walls.

  Almost anticipating a voice, or a shout of warning that never came, he was on edge, coiled and ready. Why did he always have to be the one to expose himself to such danger when his useless brother lived a risk-free life?

  His mind wandered as the smaller boat reached the end of the President.

  Trying to be discreet was becoming a nuisance. He accelerated slightly; the bow lifted, and he navigated down the river towards the Blackfriars Millennium Pier. A few minutes later and looking over his shoulder he was back alongside the impressive river walls once more. He could see the meeting point ahead.

  Cade turned in the half-light and beckoned to the younger officer to join him.

  “Any news on that radio of yours?”

  The constable was wearing an earpiece now, a moment of inspiration following the instruction from Cade to turn the volume down.

  “Nothing governor. Shouldn’t we wait for backup?”

  He was right.

  “You’re right, but we haven’t got time. Go back if you need to. I won’t hate you, but when they are dishing out tea and medals at the palace, don’t come crying to me when your name isn’t called out by HRH. Besides, they won’t attack us, we’re the coppers!”

  It didn’t help at all, but like so many juni
or police staff it was often easier to agree with a senior officer than it was to walk away and face the dreaded ‘canteen culture’ conversations that followed later. And this boss seemed like a good bloke. He paused for a moment to think of his family, then nodded and stepped into the shadows.

  Cade held up a hand – military style.

  ‘Stop. Wait.’

  “Did you hear something?”

  “No, sir.”

  She was holding her own, kicking against the tide and holding her face up to the grid, turning at every opportunity onto her back and trying to relax. If she could just stay afloat sooner or later, someone would come to her aid.

  The gag did its job, tied tightly across her mouth, and reinforced with the pressure of the water prevented her from screaming, but more importantly it now caused her to panic. She knew she had to take control. How much longer could she sustain this? As fit as she was, she was beginning to lose the battle. She was drowning, second by second.

  She began to think of her parents – the two people that meant the most to her, then remembered once more the day she passed out, resplendent in her number one uniform, and how her father had wept. They were genuine tears of pride. He smiled, but it was a forced smile.

  “All I need to do now is protect you from the dangers of conflict. Please pick your battles, my girl.”

  Her mother stood behind him, trying to summon her own smile. What would they think right now, what would they think?

  Her upper body dropped below the waterline and she began to sink to the brick-lined base of the tunnel.

  Let go, Mary. It’s OK.

  “It’s giving way, brother! Kick harder! Once it is loosened we can make enough space.”

  The encouragement was all he needed. He leant into the grid and drove his right foot into it again and again. It started to move. The stone was strong, as robust as the day it was laid, but the union between the brickwork and the iron was weaker; age and a combined daily onslaught of water has loosened its grip.

  “We only need enough room to slip through!”

  Although Gheorghiu was shouting, no one other than his immediate companion could hear him. Not the river users, the oblivious pedestrians walking along the Embankment above them, not even Cade and John Nicol a constable barely out of his probationary period and now following an older, and he’d hoped far-wiser boss into yet another unfamiliar situation.

  The bar lost its battle. They took it in turns to feel below the surface until Constantin managed to get a strong grip. He was beyond exhausted but the chance of salvation, monetary rewards and the first hot shower in a week provided all the encouragement he needed.

  “Brother, I will hang onto the bar with all my strength. Get behind me and pull me backwards. We will do this. Stefan will be here soon. To save us.”

  Gheorghiu was now subservient and had wrapped his powerful arms around Nicolescu. The combined strength of both men moved the bar for the first time in over a hundred years.

  Gheorghiu pointed below the water.

  “We need to get down there and swim.”

  Constantin looked astonished.

  “No. I cannot do this. I cannot explain. But you go. I will stay.”

  Gheorghiu wiped more water from his face and breathed in heavily through his nose, anger building.

  “The reason I am here, up to my neck in human waste, is for you Nicolescu. I could be in a hotel bed with a whore now, but for you. The boss thinks you are worth saving – that you have skills that he needs – needs to reward! And this is how you reward me?” His face reddened. He leant forward and grabbed Constantin by the scruff of the neck.

  “Whatever the reason, you are going. When I count to three, you go down and I will push you through. It is just a second underwater. When you get to the other side, hang onto the bars and stay quiet. Either that or you can go back in there and die with that stupid girl. You can drown too, for all I care. Go on, you selfish little man. Go back and die.”

  If only to spite his departed mother. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “OK.”

  Hewett pulled into Broken Wharf and slowed, easing the Audi into a business area surrounded by barriers and CCTV systems. It was a nightmare location, but one he felt confident he could talk his way out of. He would stay in the car, exiting only under extreme circumstances. If the police came, he would identify himself and forget about his plans, either for the very near future or, if the circumstances altered, forever.

  They had absolutely nothing on him. Amateurs, at best.

  He checked his watch. Reliable as ever. He looked at his phone. A full signal, but no missed calls. He could wait. No one would dare move him on.

  “It’s there again. Did you not hear it that time? A dull knocking?”

  “Yes, I heard it that time, boss.”

  “Come on mate, let’s go and whilst we are up to our nuts in bad guys please call me Jack. OK?”

  They moved more rapidly through the same hallways and down into the building until they came to the cellar.

  “Looks like we get wet from here on in pal.”

  They moved quietly and in sync. Cade liked Nicol, he was young but mature and looked like he could handle himself in a fight.

  They reached a semi-open, partly flooded doorway and squeezed through. Cade was waiting for the almost inevitable blow to the head – so always went first. He heard the sound again, closer this time, but it had changed, it was no longer industrial; it was animal. To be precise, human.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Daniel pulled his car onto the pavement behind an eponymously named Transit van.

  He slipped his phone into his pocket, got out and locked the car. He was joined moments later by the shift inspector who had also just arrived on scene.

  “John Daniel.” A quick shake of hands took place.

  “Andy Jennings. Marvellous weather. What do you need my team to do, boss?”

  “Thanks Andy, shake the trees, lift the manhole covers, do whatever you can to find anyone connected to the attack on DS Roberts. Oh, and if possible locate my DI would you. He’s a northerner, probably likes warm beer and rugby league, a little out of place in the big city. But for Christ’s sake don’t say I told you or he’ll have my guts for proverbial sock stays.”

  Jennings, a young veteran, was already en route to his team of five when Daniel called him back.

  “Sorry, Andy. Between you and me, if you see a rather nice Audi pull up with a good-looking bastard behind the wheel, will you let me know? Immediately.”

  “Absolutely sir. One of ours?”

  Daniel paused. “I thought so. But I’m not sure anymore, I’m not sure.”

  Hewett tried his best to relax. He ran his hand over his cell phone, saw Daniel’s number on his list of recent callers and gently pressed his index finger against the call button, causing the crystal display to distort but not enough to initiate the call.

  He knew he was about to make the biggest decision of his adult life, a chance for a truly hedonistic lifestyle, and all he had to do was betray everything he had publicly stood for. And he had stood for it for rather a long time; for how long, he couldn’t recall, but it had been a while.

  He had said and done the right thing over and over again, he was what the Foreign Office chiefs described as ‘highly thought of’ and in order to get to where he was now he had had to bend the rules occasionally – they all had, they all did. But a debt was a debt, and one he knew he had to honour. Why he had ever allowed himself to become embroiled with them, he would never know. Was it the cars? The girls? Or the bizarre antithesis of loyalty that attracted him?

  He was on the first phase of the roller coaster; tick-tick-tick, and heading to the top. When his solitary car reached the summit he had a choice, get off or stay on board. Was it the thrill of the ride that drew him in?

  Or was it the chance to be truly debt-free?

  His windscreen was starting to fog, so he turned the ignition back on. Better to give the impress
ion that he was only a temporary visitor to the myriad sets of prying electronic eyes. He watched as the mist danced away from the green glass and then gazed across the river, to the south.

  His phone throbbed against his left thigh and brought him promptly back to life.

  He looked at the screen. Private number.

  “Hewett.”

  “Oh dear Mr Hewett, why so formal? I would have thought with everything that my dear brother had told me that we would now be classed as friends.”

  The voice was familiar, accented, but not Stefan’s. It began to laugh, sending a chill across Hewett’s neck and shoulders.

  “Jackdaw?”

  “Please. That name is reserved only for people who fear me, Johnathan. You surely do not fear the man who saved you from financial ruin, do you? Who bailed out your parents’ considerable socialite debts? Well, do you?” He paused for effect.

  “Who provided you with the means to buy that car that you now comfortably sit in? Turn on the heated seats Johnathan you sound like you have a chill, my friend.”

  Hewett shivered again. He had to stop this, redeem himself before his own people even began to learn of his treachery. They would support him, he was sure. But in truth, he was far from sure. In fact, he was sure of only one thing. They would hang him out to dry.

  Jackdaw was still waiting for a response. “Are you there, Johnathan? Speak to me. Tell me you are still with me, with us…come on, you just have to say the words.”

  “I could hang for this, you know.”

  “Who was it said ‘We must all hang together or assuredly we will all hang separately?’”

  “Benjamin Franklin.”

  “Thank you. I do so like to be educated. And you Johnathan are a very educated man, a company man, a government success, in the ascendency too from what I have been told, you have lived a perceived wealthy lifestyle, but we both know you will never be rich. There is a difference. I am that point of difference. You know what you need to do. Now do it.”