Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2)

by Lewis Hastings

  “Just do this one thing for me, Niko and we can begin to create that new identity. You can even help to choose your name. How exciting would this be?”

  He was patronising at times, but powerful. Above all, he was the key to her future, to getting her daughter back and living a life where checking the reflection in a shop doorway was no longer an essential pastime. He was doing what he had planned for greed, for his future financial portfolio – in a way they were not dissimilar. Her needs though were not financial, but she had a hunger too. They were an unforeseen team, Nikolina Petrov, the girl prodigy of the Bulgarian Intelligence Services and the British man they called Michael Blake.

  Shaking his head, clearing his mind of the last few days, Hewett knew that life had changed for the better. He often had his greatest successes when he took risks. He was debt free. Financially, at least. His family name would remain disagreeable to a certain self-proclaimed master criminal who had lost nearly half a million pounds in the bargain. Hewett was able to live again, but he knew he would always have to look over his shoulder at those same reflections, a car door closing rapidly, footsteps. Was now the time? Had they come for him?

  The hardest part of his life, moving forward, would be identifying his enemy. He contemplated heading overseas – he had the requisite visas to enter any country, he just needed to ask. He had the financial backing, and he had a reason to get out of Europe for a while. But where? With half a million pounds and a small bag of diamonds, he could easily set up home in any of the four corners of the world.

  The first thing he needed to do was to visit his mother, tell her that he was fine but moving onto a new role. She of all people would understand – the old fox was probably connected to his world far more than he could ever have realised as a young and impressionable boy.

  Then after putting a roof over his head, he needed a new car and a watch. In that order. The watch would take longer to choose. He had lost his somewhere along the way. He surmised that it was probably sitting on the wrist of a twenty-something boy from a city further east. Either that or in a bag in a custody facility with an onlooker declaring it to be of dubious origins. Real watch, fake owner.

  The new replacement watch had to be right. Stainless steel, clinical, cold, with a coal-black face and sweeping second hand and a trademark cyclops lens over the date. It had to feel as if it were hewn from a solid ingot of steel.

  Oh, and a new wardrobe, a must, an absolute must. A call to Anderson & Sheppard should resolve his issues. Three suits. One navy blue, one light grey and a charcoal pinstripe. Not brown, it just didn’t work. White shirt, blue shirt, pink shirt, two each of those. Belts, two. Matching socks and handkerchief and shoes, Loakes, polished, classic brogues, one black, one brown. After all, he could hardly convince the old, or potentially a new country, to take him seriously in a stained paper prison suit, could he?

  More importantly, he couldn’t return to his old apartment. He had stripped it and put everything into storage, assuming that he might not return from his soiree with the Stefanescu brothers. He had left instructions and the key with an old friend – a sassy lady indeed who knew how everything worked.

  If only he had known that Stefan was actually an ally. What was it that was said? More twists and turns than a Florida theme park? He wouldn’t know, Disney was hardly his thing.

  The drive back to Scotland Yard was quiet. Daniel and Cade were both pensive, but for different reasons. Suddenly they both spoke, followed by a round of ‘after yous’. Cade went first.

  “I don’t get it John. You were convinced that Hewett was bad to the bone. I trusted Valentin, and I was right to, but Stefanescu. I’m still not sure. He has a lot to gain by getting rid of his brother, and who’s to say we aren’t just being used to act as a massive bloody lever? He’s got blood on his hands.”

  “I think I agree on all counts, mate. To be honest, I’m ready to jack it all in, sell up, head to New Zealand and start that café by the beach. You should come too, Lynne and I are heading their early next year for a recce. Do you good to experience the place. Somewhere far from anywhere. I hear the locals are friendly and you never know you might meet the girl of your dreams one day. I can picture it now, you are sat in a bar on a stunning waterfront somewhere warm…and in walks a girl!”

  “I should be so lucky.” Cade was smiling for the first time in days.

  He didn’t realise it but Daniel had sown a seed that would take years to germinate.

  They took the lift, turned right and walked into the main office. It was the usual mix of phone conversations, tapping keyboards, one-to-one chats and an underlying wave of banter. It was, in that respect, no different to any other police station the world over.

  Roberts was given the rundown on Stefanescu and Valentin and lastly, Hewett.

  “I don’t know which one I’m least pleased about. I’ll go with Stefa-bloody-nescu. One of that bastard’s men broke my arm. I’ll never play the flute again.”

  Once again Roberts had brought some of his much-needed light-hearted repartee into the office, an office on the tenth floor of one of modern policing’s most iconic buildings. The Yard, as it was known with affection, was due to close at some point, so rumour had it, and another story that was circulating among the team was that their current operation was coming to an end.

  It fell to Detective Constable Del Murphy to ask the question.

  “Guv. We’ve heard that Breaker is coming to an end. Is this true?”

  Daniel looked at Cade. “Do you want to answer this one?”

  “Del, team, the answer is yes, but only because we have been so incredibly amazing. And I mean that sincerely. We’ve hunted them down, recovered sizeable sums of cash and diamonds and now something worth more than gold – of which, sadly I can’t discuss. But the time has come for us all to move on, and me with it. It’s been a blast. I know I will return here one day, Mr Daniel too, possibly on holiday, as I know he is looking at heading to the Land of the Long White Cloud to start a new life with Mrs Daniel.”

  He took a moment to reflect.

  “I can go knowing the team is in great shape, with some good people. You know Maori in New Zealand have a saying, I won’t try to pronounce it, but essentially it asks, what is the most important thing in the world? And the answer is, the people, the people, the people. It means a lot to me to know that I had you all alongside me. Without a doubt, the best team I’ve ever worked with. But I must bid you farewell.”

  The team took it in turns to shake Cade’s hand and wish him well for his next chapter. He walked over to O’Shea’s desk, took a letter from his jacket and placed it in between the buttons on her keyboard.

  Roberts joined him. “Alright mate?”

  “I’ve had quieter stations to work at Jason. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “You know what I’m talking about. JD filled me in. She’ll miss you.”

  “And me her. But I’m told I have to leave, and she needs calm, not the chaos I seem to attract – Carrie O’Shea does not need me in her life at the moment. I’ll come back for her one day.”

  “I’ll be sure to let her know.”

  “It’s in that letter, Jason. The ball is lovingly placed into her court now.”

  “So now what?”

  “Pack up here, clear my things from her flat, head back to Nottingham, do the same up there, make sure I visit Penny and let her see how happy I am, probably visit a few old friends and acquaintances and then…and then head to Lyon and see what order I can bring to Interpol.”

  “You stay in touch. That’s an order, one day I’ll outrank you so consider it one for the future. I’ll miss you too, you know. It’s been superb. Painful at times – we won’t mention Harrier and that incident – but fun, it’s certainly been fun. Now go before I get emotional.”

  Cade shook Roberts’ hand and then pulled him in towards him for a heartfelt hug. “Thanks, pal. I owe you. Send me an invite and I’ll return one day.”

  “You d
on’t need an invite. Part of the team, remember?”

  He walked back to O’Shea’s desk, recovered the letter and then walked out of the office. He got to the main door, stopped, waited for a sizeable audience, then turned to call back to Roberts.

  “Oh, Sergeant Roberts. Mallory St John called. It’s pronounced Sinjun, apparently. He runs the alternative gentlemen’s club on the Embankment. Anyway, he wanted you to know he’s waiting to hand your ID back. Reckons he’ll whip you into shape. Says he can’t wait to take your cuffs but leave your wife at home.”

  Cade winked, his azure blue eyes were lacking their normal sparkle, but they were still blue – as deep as an ocean on the other side of the world.

  As Cade left, Roberts was theatrically berating him and his abilities, but it all was for show – he rated him highly and wondered what it would be like Monday morning without him.

  An hour later, Cade was at O’Shea’s Old Queen Street address. He walked into the flat and looked around, lowered some flowers into a vase, added water and placed the envelope next to it – he aligned it twice, knowing that the owner would want it just so.

  He walked through each room, checking that there were no obvious signs of the event that had nearly killed her, then. He took a moment to look around the lounge, recalling what might have been, wondered how things had changed so quickly then placed his access card on the kitchen worktop, clicked the latch on the door and walked out, down the stairs and quickly onto the street.

  His phone throbbed in his coat pocket. It was Roberts.

  “You missing me already, dear?”

  “Ha ha, very funny. I was just ringing to say I got my driving licence back. My good lady dropped me off at The Rack. All very amenable. The facilities there are great, they’ve got a gym with ropes and restraints, even a sort of pommel horse with a large rubber handle.”

  “Jason, tell me you are not being serious. I worry that three minutes in the vice-like grip of Harrier the transvestite hooker has rendered you liable to be sucked in by our Mr Sinjun and his band of merry men.”

  “Ooh, Mr Cade, is that a euphemism.”

  “No, Sergeant Roberts, it’s not. Clean your licence in bleach, you never know where it might have been, used to cut cocaine or involved in some type of crack at the very least.” He didn’t give Roberts time to reply.

  “Good night.”

  He pulled his coat up and around his neck and tucked his scarf up and under his chin. Winter had arrived in London. The buildings were grey, the people too, the trees skeletal and the sky charcoal. The river dark and brown, ever-flowing to the sea, carrying his dreams and nightmares.

  In New Zealand it was summer. He hailed a black taxi cab.

  “Where to governor?”

  “The nearest travel agent, please.”

  He leant back in the seat, metaphorically waved goodbye to everything that had been a part of his recent life and began a mourning process that would last for years. His promise to Roberts was not a shallow one. He would be back. One day.

  Chapter 35

  London, December 2014

  Cade was a man of strong morals and integrity. He believed wholeheartedly in keeping a promise.

  Having left Scotland Yard in the summer of 2014 and finishing an unpaid stint as an advisor to the Dedicated Cheque and Plastic Crime Unit, he had headed offshore. It had been a series of events that had driven him away. It was nothing personal, and not a single crossed word had ever occurred with his old team. He just knew. He knew that he needed to keep moving and more to the point that he had to step away and let Jason Roberts lead the team.

  In the ten years that followed the success and ultimate demise of the Operation Breaker team, Roberts had been promoted to detective chief inspector – taking Dave Williams with him as his detective sergeant.

  Cade had visited the team after what was supposed to be a sabbatical, a series of jaunts around the world and ideally finding a new life in New Zealand. Unfortunately, the ghost of Christmas Past had come back to haunt him. He had once led the team to great success, from the front and at the expense of his own health, but there were too many spirits pursuing him. He still had the dreams – often at the most inappropriate times.

  That summer of 2014 would be cathartic. He had arrived back at the Yard. Another set of circumstances had forced him to abandon his new life, board a plane to London and regroup with his old team saying a brief goodbye to his now retired boss, who practically pushed him onto the aircraft.

  In the immediate aftermath of the event, in which a well-organised team of criminals had visited a small and exquisitely beautiful part of New Zealand and unleashed hell via a targeted series of attacks, Cade had found himself back in the thick of operational policing, in his mind it was 2004 and he was knee-deep in organised crime. He was still an operational police officer.

  Where his years of experience and skill had failed him was quite simple. He had allowed the mind and body of a forty-year-old to be captivated, captured almost, by a pretty girl, ten, twelve years his junior. She was there for a reason; he knew that now. Her journey had commenced with two things in mind, two separate pieces of information that needed clarifying and dealing with.

  The first was genuine and heartfelt, to find Cade and thank him for caring about her mother, for showing her in a few tempestuous days that human kindness did still exist – and without agenda.

  The second task was to carry out her mother’s wish – to furnish Cade with one half of a powerful document. A document so damning that it would potentially set back relations and financial success ten or twenty years. It was a document that had been missing, presumed sold for many years.

  Sadly, her cover as a tourist, who happened to be travelling in the same region as Cade now lived was poorly planned and Saptelea Val – the Seventh Wave – as they had become over time – were able to easily identify and locate her. Their goal was to kill her, recover the files and flee, all within the realms of what would look like a simple vehicle crash, involving a tourist in a far-flung corner of the world, where their criminal group were not known to operate.

  They had failed to anticipate a love struck former British officer.

  Cade was so blinkered that even with his extensive policing experience he had missed it – missed the plot, literally, the act and the links to his past. Why was it not calling from the rooftops? If it feels too good to be true, it probably is. How many times had he said that to potential victims?

  Most of the old Op Breaker team had moved on, but a few remained, loyal to Roberts and the fight against crime syndicates. They held one such group as a standing order item on their monthly briefings – that group was known simply as the Seventh Wave or when time was of the essence – Seventh.

  Roberts took every opportunity to drive home the issue of bank ATM offending which had spread, becoming more technically savvy and lucrative. There were new methods coming online too, some so advanced that the police were yet to see them in action, let alone understand them.

  It was a rare event to catch anyone in the act. It was even harder to calculate just how much damage had been caused to the financial sector in ten years. Millions were always a good start in any conversation.

  Having watched the team perform, Cade had offered his services as an unpaid advisor. John Daniel had told him there was no such thing, but Cade, who had recently put the word Consultant on his simple business card, was still financially independent and able to travel around the world, picking up work when he chose to. He lived a pleasant lifestyle that was funded by that word consultant, the interest from his savings and the profits from the best restaurant in the ocean side town he had learned to call his second home.

  He had propagated a series of seeds sown over fifteen or so years that were now bearing fruit – and he was in demand. And it felt very agreeable indeed.

  He would never forget the damage that Alex Stefanescu had done to him and a select few people, some of whom he liked, one he was sure he probably would ha
ve grown to love. Equally, he couldn’t forgive himself for the harm he had caused to her.

  He had spent weeks, probably months hunting for the group, in the great city of London, across the south east of England and ultimately into Europe.

  Alex had been arrested without incident by a specialist unit in Spain. His brother Stefan, had, much to everyone’s disbelief turned up at the Foreign Office headquarters with a get out of jail free card and an explanation that Cade, nor Daniel were able to accept. Valentin Niculcea, a man none of them had met, became an ally, and a family of females with the surname Petrov disappeared into Bulgarian folklore.

  There were others out there. Some had managed to escape, others had lay in waiting, sitting back and watching, waiting for the moment their leader initiated what he called the third phase. The first was to target the banks, their machines and their accounts. The second was to advance things a little – raise the ante – steal jewels and a set of documents. The third was still future state, pending the return of the Jackdaw. It was already planned – target a Major event and use it as a smokescreen for something far more lucrative. All it needed was the man himself. For now, no one knew where he was. He had the financial networks and reputation to make a call and go to ground until he was safely able to re-emerge. On that score, the clock was ticking and the pages of the calendar falling to the ground. Any day now.

  The middle name of ‘Bloody’ had ceased to be used when people were referring to Johnathan Hewett – Foreign Office darling and poster boy for the British government. He had somehow pressed reset on his life, burying the skeletons firmly underground, somewhere. Cade thought he envied him, but deep in his own closet he kept returning to the mistrust that Daniel had cast upon him. And if John Augustus Daniel, Detective Chief Inspector, Metropolitan Police said something was not right, then frankly, it bloody well wasn’t.