Forgive No More

by Seb Kirby

  A woman shopper screamed. Other passers-by sought to care for her, assuming she’d been hurt in some way. In that time, Asputi had clambered in, the doors of the SUV had been closed and Bandini and his captive were on their way.

  The captive was quick to protest. “My name is Agent McGraw, Federal Bureau of Investigation. What you’re doing is a crime under US International law. I advise you that my government is pledged to address every transgression of this law.”

  Bandini was unconcerned. He removed the iron bar from the rear document pouch of the vehicle and struck McGraw hard across the face, breaking his teeth. “This is the one law.”

  Bandini smiled. As he’d supposed, capturing the man in broad daylight in one of the busiest locations in London had presented no special problems. It was no more difficult to lift a man off the street here than it was at home in Florence. All the rewards were for those with the courage to act. The rules were the same here.

  They searched McGraw, took away his Glock, found his phone and disabled it.

  They took him to a deserted factory unit on an industrial estate in Harlow.

  McGraw soon learned about the power of raw, unannounced violence. Ten minutes with the iron bar, much enjoyed by Bandini, was enough. His man was talking as if he was not going to stop.

  Bandini stood back to admire his work in bloodying the man. “Tell me, Signor McGraw, why it is you were following us?”

  McGraw replied through broken teeth. “Because it’s my job.”

  Bandini unleashed another blow with the iron bar, breaking the fingers on McGraw’s right hand. “When I say why, I mean why, not because. You understand me?”

  When McGraw stopped screaming, his reply was more precise. “You are a target.”

  “Target, how?”

  “Dust on your shoes. From the hacker’s apartment.”

  Bandini smiled. “So, someone knows we are here?”

  “No, I’m following to know who you are.”

  Bandini raised the iron bar again, as if to strike.

  McGraw flinched.

  No need to hurt the man any further. He was his now.

  “So, Signor McGraw, tell me the real point of your mission?”

  “To find Blake.”

  Bandini was intrigued. “So, tell me, how do we find Signor Blake?”

  McGraw was pleading for his life. “I’ll tell you if you let me go.”

  Bandini smiled. “You tell us. We let you go.”

  “We have intelligence where Blake will be. Tonight. That’s how to find him.”

  “So, where?”

  “In the East End. The Miller and Ploughman. He’ll be there to collect a parcel.”

  “And you know this from where?”

  “From one of Bishop’s men.”

  “Bishop?”

  “The one Blake will be meeting.”

  “And tell me, Signor McGraw, why would you know this?”

  “We paid good money.”

  “Ah, money. That is something everyone can understand.” He paused. Maybe it was time to end the misery of this man. But then a further thought. “Who has been assigned to Blake for the visit?”

  “Just me.”

  “No one but you?”

  “No one.”

  The iron bar was raised once more.

  McGraw winced. “It’s the truth. It’s all I know.”

  Bandini turned his back and addressed Asputi. “Finish him.”

  The Glock was placed to McGraw’s temple. Asputi fired. McGraw was gone.

  Bandini was pleased with the day’s work, even though shopping for presents now had to wait for another day. He had a fix on Blake. Bandini couldn’t wait to get to work on him. Blake would capitulate in the same way they all did and give up the location of his wife. Bandini would kill them both and be back in credit with Matteo. And the presents would then be needed for when they went home.

  He looked back at the agent’s body. It was necessary to be more careful this time. It had been a mistake to allow Asputi to deal with the body of Reid. It had been foolish to dump it in the Thames. No wonder Alessa Lando was alarmed.

  They dragged the body into the back yard of the deserted factory. There was no one to see them as they raised the hatch on the empty fuel storage tank and pushed the corpse in.

  Chapter 22

  Agent Bedford caught sight of Adam Weston for the first time as he walked across the cobbled street on the East side of Covent Garden.

  He needed good news. McGraw had been out of contact for too long. Bedford could not begin to think how he could explain to Maynard how he had lost touch with him. Having Weston in full view was the first break of the day.

  It was a rewarding moment. The RFID dust had done its job. Following the blinking blue pin on the locator app for the past hours without knowing how much latency there was on the tracking system had been stressful. But there must have been enough EM sites in this crowded part of London to activate the transponders on the soles of the target’s feet to produce a continuous trace. And now real time contact had been made.

  Bedford followed and watched as Weston entered the HiTec Store. The agent knew at once this was the meeting place with Blake. Where else would a geek like Weston choose but a computer store?

  It was time to take a chance. If he got this wrong, Maynard would be loath to send backup next time.

  Bedford called his boss. “I have the location of the meeting, sir.” He gave the coordinates. “I’m requesting backup.”

  Maynard made no attempt at encouragement. “OK, you have it, Bedford. But make sure you get it right this time. You hear me?”

  “Loud and clear, sir.”

  It would take fifteen to twenty minutes to get here from The Haymarket. Bedford hoped it would be quick enough. The likelihood was that Weston had arrived early. His mind worked like that. He would need to be clear everything was as he wanted before Blake arrived.

  Bedford waited and watched.

  Still no sign of Blake.

  Here came backup. Three agents and no sign of McGraw. He must have his reasons. The sting on Weston and Blake still needed to go ahead.

  So, four men counting himself. That should be enough.

  He wanted to get his hands on Weston. Running like that had been an embarrassment Bedford could not afford. The threat of Walls Unit was still real. Weston must not be allowed to run this time and then with a little work he would become compliant. He was the type.

  Bedford checked the Glock in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket and felt the rush of satisfaction that came with knowing he was in control.

  He deployed the agents as would-be customers inside the store.

  When Blake arrived they’d be ready.

  Chapter 23

  Recent events worried Nate Craven.

  True, he now knew where James Blake was. But beyond this almost everything else pointed downhill.

  Debbie Miller didn’t know that Craven had taken the precaution of bugging her phone. Her conversation that morning with Maynard in London had made interesting listening. The tie-up between Debbie Miller and Maynard was a matter of real concern. They’d worked together in Chicago and were still close. Just what was the intelligence Maynard was sitting on? Was it the same material Bedford had?

  Overall, Craven knew he’d been right to be wary of the inconsistencies. More of the loose ends from Town Lake were beginning to show.

  And the bigger picture was now also worrying him.

  He’d lost touch with the Landos and had no idea where he stood with them.

  He called Agent Marvin Bryce into his office and seated him in a chair facing the desk.

  Bryce was the remaining member of the team apart from Debbie Miller and Craven himself who’d survived Town Lake. He was the only one left standing who knew the full detail of the arrangements Craven had in Mexico. And he was the only black man on the team. He was Craven’s one true ally. There was no doubt their friendship was the kind that would survive even if there
was an end to the easy money coming out of the drugs business in Tijuana.

  After playing Bryce the recording of Debbie Miller’s phone call, Craven began. “Marvin, I hope you can see that Debbie Miller is becoming a problem we need to find a way past.”

  Bryce wasn’t fazed. “It’s not good. Just what’s coming out of London?”

  “I thought we could depend on Bedford but now I’m not so sure. I don’t think he can do a job for us after all. He’s too controlled by Maynard.”

  “And Maynard is talking with Debbie Miller.”

  “Bedford tells me he has a recording in which James Blake is saying stuff that’s best not spread around.”

  “Where’s the recording now?”

  “In a secure location Bedford knows but he’s backing out of helping us. We could maybe still get to it. Before it gets out within the Agency. We need to find a way.”

  “Sure, Nate. Just give the word. Whatever you need. You know I’m here for you.”

  “Maynard’s the bigger problem. You understand?”

  Bryce nodded. “As you say, we’ll find a way. We’ve done it before.”

  Craven was encouraged enough to go on. “It’s not the only reason I called you in, Marvin. I want you to give some time to working on where we’ve got to with Matteo Lando. You know Town Lake wasn’t terrorism, don’t you?”

  Bryce showed no surprise. “I didn’t have to work too hard to see through that. And it hurts.”

  Craven looked serious. “I know how you’re feeling. We lost too many of our own.”

  Bryce was becoming angry as he visualized again what he’d seen that day. “Men and women I would have laid down my life for. Men and women who saved my life more than once.”

  “I feel your anger, Marvin. You know Ravitz was targeted by Matteo Lando.”

  Bryce nodded. “What do you want me to do? There’s no way it can be business as usual with the Landos. Not now.”

  “It has to be that way for a while. Until we can find a sure fire way of moving against them. And anyway, the money from Mexico is good. You have to think of getting your kids through college.”

  “What do you want me to do first, Nate?”

  “Go to London. Clean up the problem with Maynard. Make it look good. Get us some closure. Then we can have a clear run at the Landos. Give it back for what they did to our own.”

  Chapter 24

  It was afternoon and the street performers around Covent Garden were out in force to make the most of the opportunities presented by the crowds of tourists and local shoppers thronging the place. The old market had reverted to the mixture of shops, cafes and street theatre it had been in the days before it had been pressed into service as a wholesale vegetable market. With the vegetable market now relocated, it was free to do what it had done best in the previous two hundred years – offer itself as a melting pot for those seeking the unusual and the remarkable.

  I wanted to mix with the crowds. I needed to forget my solitary existence since leaving Ambleside. The smiles of pleasure of the watching couples and families as they took in the street entertainers made me feel alive again.

  You couldn’t help being engaged by the street performers. Here was one who somehow presented himself as a crouching dog that could have come straight from The Wizard of Oz lying flat on the pavement, long furry ears hanging down the sides of his face, the main part of his body somehow concealed to reveal just that dog’s face looking out through a kennel entrance. When he spoke, unsuspecting passers-by shot back in surprise. What he said was dry, philosophical. “I don’t mind if the world is about to come to an end just don’t include me in it.”

  Further round the square on the area of cobblestones at the far end of the market another entertainer held a large audience spellbound. He was perched on top of fifteen-feet-high stilts and made much of how difficult it was to stay balanced there. In his hand he held a tennis racket with the strings removed. To the amazement of the crowd, and while still perched on the stilts, he succeeded in passing his whole body through the head of the racket, first his head, then his arms and shoulders, then his chest and pelvis and then down his legs and under his feet, all the time fifteen foot aloft on the stilts, teetering and about to fall off. And all the time maintaining the most brilliant banter, cajoling the crowd into placing money in the upturned hat left on the cobbles beneath him.

  Just being here, in the sunlight, surrounded by so many smiling people, brought me back to the realization that life was never meant to be as difficult as it was for Julia and myself. People knew ordinary lives with ordinary pleasures and I envied them every bit of that. But I knew I couldn’t remain here. I had to tear myself away. It was time for the meeting with Adam Weston.

  I made my way into the HiTec Store that faced onto the square. Inside was the expected hubbub of activity as, campus-like, young and old tried out the products. I’d been there just a moment when a twenty-year-old girl in jeans and sweatshirt came up to me and whispered. “Don’t look around. Adam sent me. Just follow me. Make it look like we’re not together.”

  I followed her to the rear of the ground floor where amongst the throng of shoppers Weston was waiting. He looked different. More determined than when I’d met him at his apartment. “They tried to put the bum on me, to get me to inform on you but you need to know I’m better than that.”

  I whispered back. “You mean the police?”

  “FBI. Look, we don’t have time. They’re over there.”

  He gestured towards two men seated at the bank of consoles on the far side of the room. “They followed me here. The tall one on the right is the one who visited me just after you left my apartment and threatened that if I didn’t play ball and spy on you they’d put me away. I told him I’d go along with it. But I was never going to make it easy for them. And I’m sure they have more men here, trying to make themselves look inconspicuous.”

  He handed me an envelope containing the first half of the money. “Take the money and get out of here.”

  “What about you?”

  There was a determination and resilience about him I had not expected. “I know a way out of here and they won’t be able to follow. We’ll both be OK.”

  The girl in the T-shirt who’d first approached me typed numbers into the keypad next to the door nearby marked Staff Only and it opened for her. We went inside and closed door behind us.

  “She works here?”

  Weston nodded. “Out the back, downstairs and into the street. There will be enough people milling around for us both to get away. The Feds don’t have the door access code.”

  I was impressed by his courage, surprised that he’d overcome his fears.

  We made it out to the rear of the building and mingled with the crowds heading towards Covent Garden station.

  I was concerned again as we parted. “Thanks for taking the risk. It means a lot to me. You have somewhere you can be safe?”

  “I’m with good people. You don’t have to worry on my behalf.”

  With that he was lost in the crowd. I had half the money I’d arranged Weston to acquire for me. Given what he’d just told me, it would have to be enough.

  Chapter 25

  When the message came through to Debbie Miller she knew as soon as she saw it she wouldn’t pass it on to Craven.

  Miles Blake had been traced to Tijuana. Instinct told her to say nothing and get down there to find out what the Englishman knew. The problem was finding a way of doing this without alerting Craven.

  She called in to Craven’s office and sat down opposite him. “Nate, I’ve been thinking about what you said about the aftermath of Town Lake getting to me and making it difficult to see things straight.”

  He smiled. “I hear you, Debbie. We’re both in the same place. We’re both still in shock. It’s good you’ve taken care to understand what I was saying to you.”

  She worked hard not to register her disbelief at Craven’s attempt at sincerity. “I’m trying to make sure it doesn’t g
et to cloud my judgment.”

  “So, how can I help?”

  “Maybe I need a break, Nate. Some place to unwind. Come back refreshed.”

  He was smiling. “Take ten days. We can manage while you’re away.”

  She was playing him well. Appealing to his desire to sideline her. “It might be for the best, Nate. I’ve always wanted to spend time in Hawaii.”

  She thanked him.

  When she went to the travel agent to book the tickets the only destination under consideration was Tijuana.

  Chapter 26

  Weston thought he was clever disappearing from the back entrance of the HiTec Store with Blake like that. Blake was gone but Weston was still there to be caught. It was the least Agent Bedford could do to appease Maynard.

  The beauty of the RFID dust was that Weston had no idea it was there. Bedford noted that the movement of the flashing blue pin on the locator app had stopped. Weston must have decided it was safe to lie low until those searching for him gave up. He was about to find that was an unwise assumption. More puzzling was the fact that the second trace was no longer there. Perhaps McGraw could provide an answer but he still hadn’t made contact.

  Bedford briefed the backup crew and gave them Weston’s position. “Move in on him as a group. Make out he’s a friend.”

  The location was the crypt of St Martins-in-the-Fields just off Trafalgar Square. It served as a vast underground coffee place. If you weren’t being tracked as Weston was, it was a good place to hide.

  They found him seated alone at one of the wooden-benched tables on the far side, nursing a coffee and pretending to read one of the brochures about the work of the church. He flinched as Bedford and the three in the backup crew moved in and took seats beside and opposite him and began acting as if they’d just met up with a long lost friend.

  “How did you find me?”

  Bedford smiled. “You don’t get to know that, Adam. It was foolish to run.”