Dead Secret

by Peter Kozmar

  He returned the papers to the envelope and took out the next cluster of papers. These were emails from the law firm to different clients; some names appeared on multiple emails. Andy looked at the names, he recognized the British Prime Minister, the Prime Minister of Iraq and some other names which read like a who’s who of world leaders. The emails had the same message: the delivery had arrived and the firm has taken its standard commission of fifteen percent.

  Andy returned the second cluster into the envelope and removed the third cluster. The papers outlined a UN plan to help the people of Iraq reconstruct their devastated country after Daesh had been eliminated. The plan detailed the multi-national companies involved and how much the UN would be paying for their services. The narrative on the front page of the document said that, due to the timescales and sensitivities of the engagement, they would bypass the UN’s standard procurement processes.

  Andy found a few sheets of paper which contained transcripts of telephone calls. Andy read the first one of the transcripts:

  ‘Your arranged call with the United Nations, Mr. Prime Minister.’ Sir Geoffrey Tomlinson, Private Secretary to the Prime Minister.

  ‘Thanks Geoff, before you put him through, turn the recording off. This is a private call.’ Prime Minister, Charles Morley-Wood.

  ‘Mike, how’s New York treating you? It’s been some months since we last caught up, you must bring Melissa with you when you’re next in London. Amber would love to see Melissa.’ Prime Minister, Charles Morley-Wood.

  ‘It’s great. Time’s flown by. You wouldn’t believe it’s been nearly two years, it still feels like we arrived just last week. The Big Apple has an amazing buzz about it. The place never sleeps. Melissa just loves the shops. Amber should spend a few days here, it’s nothing like London.’ Personal Assistant to the UN Secretary General, Michael Webb.

  ‘How are the arrangements coming along?’ Prime Minister, Charles Morley Wood.

  ‘The funds will be transferred next week via Geneva. You need to keep your end of the bargain when the vote comes up.’ Personal Assistant to the UN Secretary General, Michael Webb.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Henry will deliver the vote for us. I take it his pension fund will be topped up as agreed?’ Prime Minister, Charles Morley-Wood.

  ‘Yes. Henry’s pension fund will be okay. Oliver will write to confirm the transaction has been completed.’ Personal Assistant to the UN Secretary General, Michael Webb.

  ‘Great. We must catch up Mike, when are you next over?’ Prime Minister, Charles Morley-Wood.

  ‘In about two weeks, for a long weekend. It’s to celebrate my mother’s seventieth birthday. So it’s a bit of a family get together.’ Personal Assistant to the UN Secretary General, Michael Webb.

  ‘Is Melissa coming over?’ Prime Minister, Charles Morley-Wood.

  ‘No. She can’t stand my family! I’ve given her apologies and said she has a book tour she’d committed to.’ Personal Assistant to the UN Secretary General, Michael Webb.

  ‘Will you have time to have a night at Chequers? Can I tempt you with our wine cellar?’ Prime Minister, Charles Morley-Wood.

  ‘That would be great.’ Personal Assistant to the UN Secretary General, Michael Webb.

  ‘Good, I’ll have Geoff organize it. I’ve got to fly. Mike, it’s been great to talk. See you in a few weeks at Chequers.’ Prime Minister, Charles Morley-Wood.

  Andy put the transcripts back into the envelope and sealed it. He looked out across the city. This is why Fiona flagged it with the British Government. The Prime Minister and other Ministers have been taking bribes from the UN. Andy removed his cell phone and called Hobbs. He listened as the call connected. After a few rings she answered his call.

  “Hi, Andy, how are you?” Hobbs asked.

  “I’m better than yesterday. Dortman and Vladim saved me from the worst of myself.”

  “That’s good to know, what’s been going on?” she asked, an edge of concern in her tone.

  “Quite a lot has happened, but I haven’t got time to bring you up to speed just yet. I need your help on a small matter.”

  “What can I do?” Hobbs enquired.

  “I need the address and a photograph of Anthony Clement-Bridges, he’s MI6’s man in Wellington. He works out of their Consulate.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to have a quiet chat with him, but not at their Consulate, it could be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Helen repeated his word as a question, the edge of concern becoming clearer.

  “There are many trails which lead back to the Brits. Clement-Bridges may know something. He could be involved. Either way I need to speak with him tomorrow when he arrives at the station.”

  “I’ll look into this for you and I’ll email you the details. Do you need any help from Brad Trojan and his team?”

  “No. If Trojan had done his job in the first place, Mark wouldn’t have been spooked and run,” Andy replied bitterly, barely able to control the anger rising in him.

  “Andy, I’m not going to be able to help you after today as I’m clearing my desk and heading to Brussels in the morning, I’ve an early flight. My apartment is packed and it’s take-out for me tonight after my goodbye drinks.”

  “Thanks for the heads up, your posting has come up quickly,” he said.

  “Time flies, but wish me luck.”

  By the time Andy had said, “Good luck.” Hobbs had already ended the call.

  ***

  When Andy reached the hotel, he checked his cell phone and saw an email from Hobbs with the address and photograph of Clement-Bridges in his inbox.

  At dinner that evening, Andy told Vladim of his plan to meet the MI6 officer when he arrived by train in Wellington the next morning. Vladim suggested Dortman could drive him over the Remutaka Hills to the Wairarapa to catch the morning train with Clement-Bridges. Andy agreed.

  CHAPTER 29

  Dortman dropped Andy at Woodside Station, a short distance from the upmarket Wairarapa town of Greytown, which Andy was already familiar with. The isolated station was located in the shadow of the brooding Tararua mountains. There were only four other cars parked in the car park as Andy made his way onto the platform to join a small band of morning commuters. He didn’t have to wait long for the 6:53am train, bound for Wellington, to arrive.

  Before Andy could find a seat, the commuter train pulled away from the single platform. He chose an aisle seat next to a middle-aged man who had also boarded the train at Woodside. The man wore a dark three-piece pin-striped woolen suit, crisp white shirt and dark blue tie and had the air of a corporate lawyer.

  Andy unbuttoned his overcoat and turned to the man. “Anthony, it’s good to meet you, I’m Andy Flint.”

  The man concealed his surprise at being engaged by a stranger who knew him by name. “You have me at a disadvantage … Mr. Flint? Do I know you?” he asked.

  “No, we haven’t met. Amy Carter gave me your name.”

  “Oh, you know Amy?”

  Andy nodded, “I’ve been asked by the New Zealand Government and the United Nations to investigate an issue at the United Nations office in the city.”

  “Oh, yes, I did hear something on the grapevine about that incident, a real tragedy and utter waste of life. You say you’re investigating it? What have you found?” Clement-Bridges asked.

  “The gunman used the name Craig Jones and carried a British driver’s license and passport.”

  “Yes, I did hear that from Amy too,” Clement-Bridges said nodding his head.

  “You’re well informed,” Clement-Bridges smiled at Andy’s compliment, then Andy asked his next question, “Did you know Matt Temple?”

  “No, I’m not familiar with that name.”

  “Did you know that was the real identity of Craig Jones?”

  “No.” Clement-Bridges tried to feign disinterest.

  Andy carried on, “He was with your SAS. Now, can you explain why there was an armed SAS Staff Serg
eant running around the New Zealand killing people?”

  “Why would I know? I’m a trade attaché at the Consulate.”

  Andy laughed, then his tone became serious, “Do you really take me for a fool?” Clement-Bridges looked stung. Andy continued, “You mentioned Amy Carter. Only a small community would know Carter or have any contact with her.” Andy let his words sink in, “I knew what you looked like, I know where you live, I know what you do at the Consulate. I think I’m well informed, so don’t try and play me.”

  Clement-Bridges held up his hands in mock surrender, “Okay, you got me!” Before Andy could react the train entered a tunnel and the carriage was plunged into semi-darkness. The noise of the diesel locomotive, rail bogeys and wind-rush reflected off the narrow tunnel walls making it impossible to talk or be heard.

  The tunnel was surprisingly long and, once it re-emerged, the train slowed and pulled to a stop at a another rural station, Maymorn. A surprising number of commuters climbed on board, the doors closed and the train moved off before they’d taken their seats. This train must be on a tight schedule, Andy thought, as he looked at the passing greenery.

  Out of the window to his left, Andy looked up to the peaks of the hills which dominated the valley. Andy tried to speak just as the train entered another tunnel, making conversation impossible. Fortunately, this tunnel was much shorter and as they emerged into daylight, he took the opportunity to continue his questioning, “You knew Fiona Armstrong.”

  “Is that a statement or a question?” Clement-Bridges replied.

  “Why did she come to you?”

  “A few months ago she approached the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London to say she’d come across information which she couldn’t share with her own-chain-of-command. She thought we’d be interested.”

  “A few months ago?”

  “Yes, eight or nine weeks ago. Her file went all the way up to the Deputy Under Secretary before it came to me. We met and, from what she shared with me, I believed her to be a credible source.”

  “What did she share with you?” Andy asked.

  “You’re looking into this on behalf of the UN aren’t you?” Clement-Bridges looked dismissively at Andy before he continued, “You have a conflict of interest, so I don’t think I can share that with you.”

  Andy felt stung. His anger started to build, but he needed to keep calm, “Actually, my contract with the UN finished last night, so there is no conflict. My son was one of the UN team in that building … he escaped ... then Matt Temple murdered him shortly after I had found him.” Andy leaned close to Clement-Bridges and spoke into his ear in a low, slow, deliberate tone: “I think I deserve to know.”

  “I’m sorry to hear your son was murdered, that’s tough,” Clement-Bridges paused for a moment before he continued, “You killed Temple from what I’ve heard, is that true?”

  The train slowed as it approached another station, Upper Hutt was the name on a sign screwed to the station building. It was a longer platform and packed with a line of commuters waiting to board. When the train stopped the commuters crowded round the doors to the train and, when they opened, all of the empty seats were quickly occupied. Andy looked down the carriage and saw passengers standing in the corridor clustered around the automatic doors.

  “Is it normally this busy?” Andy asked.

  “Yes, these days it is. The cost of petrol and the number of new housing developments out here in Upper Hutt means the trains are pretty packed in the morning and afternoon. It gives me fond memories of the cramped commuter services we have in the Home Counties in England.”

  Pleasantries over, in case anyone had been curious enough to listen in, Andy pressed on, “To be clear, you were running Fiona as an asset and you had sight of the information she provided?”

  Clement-Bridges looked out of the window in silence for a minute, before he answered Andy’s question. “The thrust of the intelligence Fiona provided focused on corruption at the UN. That’s why she couldn’t pass it on through her usual chain-of-command. She hoped the British Government, being a permanent member of the Security Council, would use it to route the corruption out.”

  “What did you do with the information?”

  “Everything I received I sent to Ceausescu Towers in Vauxhall. About a month ago Fiona said she’d come across actionable intelligence. Vauxhall advised me to forwarded it to them and await further instructions. Fiona didn’t handover the information and I’m still waiting for instructions from Vauxhall.”

  “So, why did a British SAS Staff Sergeant travelling with fake ID, turn up in New Zealand? How come he used a pistol purchased by the British Government and sent to Iraq where it was conveniently lost? Can you explain how the pistol he used happened to have a silencer issued to MI6?”

  Clement-Bridges gave a nervous smile, “You’ve done very well in piecing all this together.”

  “You Brits have your fingerprints all over this and I still don’t know why these murders happened. That’s what I need to figure out.”

  The train weaved its way around the harbor, the open water just meters to their left. Andy had fine views of Matiu/Somes Island and the narrow harbor entrance in the distance. To the right of the train, the highway had filled with the morning rush hour traffic. Andy felt this commute, even with the full carriage, offered pretty spectacular views, especially on a bright sunny morning like today.

  “What do you know about Craig Jones, or rather, Staff Sergeant Matt Temple? You do know of him don’t you?” Andy asked.

  “Yes, I did know of him. I’d heard he was an effective operator, able to work independently and keep a cool head under pressure with an ability to act with extreme aggression and without hesitation. A surprisingly rare set of skills. The Service had used Temple on a few occasions when a surgical, kinetic effect was needed, however, HMG wasn’t averse to hiring out its assets to support its allies and partners.”

  “What do you mean?” Andy pressed.

  “Let’s just say, sometimes, HMG is approached with requests to provide certain … capabilities to our friends. These requests are considered if there is a favor they can return or, alternatively, if it helps secure a lucrative defense contract.”

  “Was Temple working for someone else?” Andy pressed, he felt he was about to find another piece of the jigsaw and move a step closer to working out who was behind the attack on the UN office and Mark’s killer.

  Clement-Bridges looked Andy straight in the eyes, “All HMG operations within New Zealand come across my desk. This one didn’t. So I can only assume Temple wasn’t working for us. Who? I don’t know. But it wasn’t us.”

  The train slowed, they were approaching the main station. The famous silver colored ‘Cake Tin’ stadium passed to their left as they pulled into Wellington. Andy thought about the next question and how to ask it without giving too much away. “In your Government, if the Prime Minister referred to someone called Henry, who do you think that could be?”

  “Henry Templeton, the Foreign Secretary. They went to Eton and Cambridge together. Then, with family money behind them, they both went into politics. Each had the other’s back, all the way up to the top. Why do you ask?”

  “What could he tell me about Kavell, Knight and Schroder?” Andy asked before adding, “They’re a law firm in Geneva.”

  The blood drained from Clement-Bridges’s face. His demeanor changed as he folded his arms across his chest and said, “This conversation is over.” Andy had hit a nerve and now was even more curious. The two men sat in an uncomfortable silence for the rest of the journey.

  The commuters stood and collected their belongings as the train pulled into the station and prepared to stop. When the doors opened, the train disgorged its passengers onto the platform and off to their working day.

  Once the line of waiting commuters thinned out Clement-Bridges stood and alighted from the train, Andy followed, but not quick enough to prevent a couple of commuters getting between them. He weaved around them
and quickly caught-up with Clement-Bridges. Andy stuck to Clement-Bridges like glue as they were carried along by the throng of morning commuters through the cavernous entrance and out into the city. Clement-Bridges continued to ignore him, but as they walked out of the station, he stopped at the top of three limestone steps and turned to face him. “Mr. Flint, you would be wise to drop your investigation, forget about it and go home. If Kavell, Knight and …”

  Clement-Bridges didn’t finish the sentence. His expression changed to a grimace. He groaned, clutched his chest and fell heavily to the ground where he rolled down the steps to the paving stones on the sidewalk. A trail of blood marked the route down the steps to where he came to a rest lying face up, his lifeless eyes staring up to the blue sky. Blood oozed from a large chest wound and started to pool around him.

  A woman to Andy’s right screamed. Andy remained frozen to the spot. Time stood still. He watched as two women ran towards the bleeding body. One stuffed a scarf into the chest wound to try and stem the bleeding, the other started CPR. Andy broke from his trance and realized he was still in danger, he dodged left for cover and stood behind one of the wide sandstone entrance pillars.

  “Someone call for an ambulance!” one of the women shouted out.

  “Too late! He’s dead!” cried the other.

  CHAPTER 30

  Andy remained concealed from the gunman behind the stone pillar as the two women tried in vain to bring Clement-Bridges back to life. A large crowd had formed a tight circle around the body; some were capturing the macabre scene by taking photos or filming it.

  Andy removed his cell phone and called Carter. She answered after a few rings. From the background noise, she was driving. A child’s singing indicated she was on the school run. “Hi, what can I do for you today?” she sounded relaxed and cheerful.