The Angel of Whitehall

by Lewis Hastings

  She shrugged. “You are right, Sergeant. When my grandfather told me to sort this out, I took it as an order…and as a serving soldier I can still be prosecuted for murder. Whereas you, right now, as a serving police officer can face prison for life, twenty years at the very least, or face your maker, knowing you did at least one honourable thing.”

  He sat in thought and nodded. But Briton had seen enough, she stooped down and picked up the nearest G36, released the safety and shot him twice. Once in the groin.

  She waited.

  “Hurt? Good. That’s for what you were going to do to my mother.” She fired again. Muzzle up under his chin. This time there was no drama. No questions, therefore no answers. Just one round to the head.

  Red knelt quickly, uncuffed him and placed the Glock next to him. Everyone’s prints were everywhere. Good luck to the CSI that had to sort that lot out.

  The whole building was as bad a crime scene as the Met would ever come across. How they would write it up was their business. The problem was most of the deceased were technically their people.

  What Captain Susan Reddington needed to do was what they did in Afghanistan. It was on their T-shirts that they wore when having a beer.

  Keep Calm and Say Nothing.

  McGee pushed the door in and yelled “Armed Police! Put down your weapons!” She’d seen enough. She had to do something, and surely the troops would be here soon?

  She heard the racing engine of one, possibly two cars.

  As she stepped into the void rapid footsteps announced the presence of Daz McNulty and his team. “Brave Bridie, brave.”

  “I knew you’d get here sooner or later.”

  “Down on the ground, on the ground!” shouted a well-built Irishman, dominating the two blondes as his colleagues scanned and swept the large illuminated car park.

  “We are friendlies. All threats are down. I am Captain Susan Reddington, Army Intelligence Corps and this is Kate Briton. She works for us too. This lot are rogue. They captured Miss Briton. I came to try to find her. The sergeant there did the decent thing and tried to calm them down. They were like hyenas. In the end it got too much for him. He shot himself.”

  McNulty looked at McGee.

  “As the lady said, Sergeant. They are friendly. I saw it all. Let them up and let’s search this place thoroughly.” She’d hopefully cashed in an ace, probably the whole royal household.

  The team of eight moved through the building as swiftly as their predecessors, securing rooms and evidence as they went.

  “Place is like a mortuary Bridie. Shall I call in the troops?”

  “I think you’d better, whilst I have a chat with Captain Reddington outside.”

  “You bloody well owe me for what just happened in there.” McGee poked Red with an angry index finger and stared at her until she looked away. “I mean it. I laid my career on the line for both of you. You’ve got five minutes to state your case for the defence or I’ll just call that squad out and you’ll spend the rest of your lives in custody. There’ll be no get out of jail card either. I need to know.”

  Reddington waited a second. Cleared her throat. Her stare was colder than McGee’s. “Trust me you don’t want to know. The last person that tried to out cold stare me was Captain Scott. You did well, but you lost.”

  “In the staring contest or in general?”

  “The latter. You know that Doto Adesida has gone don’t you? She was your primary target, not me. Find her, you find the answer. Why do you think Kate and I were here?”

  McGee grabbed Reddington by her lapels and pushed her up against the wall. Reddington didn’t resist, but she spoke first.

  “You have lovely eyes. Anyone ever told you that?”

  It knocked her offline for a second. She gradually released her grip.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact they did. But he’s dead. Shot by someone as bad as that cow that according to you two just leapt out of the window. Now, I’ll ask again. Why?”

  “DS McGee we were here because the UK government asked us to be. It is way beyond your need to know. Call it degrees of separation. Call it what you wish. Either way, what I’m about to tell you will blow that sweet Yorkshire mind of yours and fill those baby blues with wonder.”

  “Are you hitting on me?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No, actually I don’t. Just get to the point.”

  Reddington outlined her story as best she could – it took longer than five minutes, but then great stories do. She made sure that McGee knew everything. Her place in the army, her role in the Intelligence Corps and importantly why she had been chosen to get close to Adesida. It was that part that took the longest to digest.

  “Hang on, are you telling me that you two are sisters?”

  “On paper yes. It all happened before you were probably born. I suspect the seed was sown before I was too.”

  “They thought that far ahead?”

  “Further. Where money is concerned, people will plan to the nth degree. People that work for governments don’t normally think that way as they are paid every couple of weeks, regardless. What we are talking about here is sheer human greed, where humans are the real commodity, not gold or silver or gemstones – they are just the cherry on the icing on the cake.”

  “So what? That’s a question my law tutor told me to ask and ask and ask again.”

  “The so what here is what you saw in there was a necessary response DS McGee. And I would do it again. Kate is my daughter and what she did, she did to protect me. You understand that don’t you?”

  “I do. I don’t have kids, might never at this rate, but I understand the bond between a mother and a daughter. I need to know was Hancock and his team part of this operation?”

  “Are you asking me if they were corrupt, and unpleasant and the fine upholders of the law like you and Mr. Cade, then yes, yes, and no.”

  “I saw what they were about to do. We don’t tolerate corruption or that sort of behaviour in the Metropolitan Police Captain Reddington. If I had been armed, I would have shot them too.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it. Sadly, your synopsis of the Met is somewhat offered through rose-tinted glasses. You have a couple of senior staff who are way out of their depth as far as debt and behaviour and lies are concerned. Our job was to try to flush them out. You’ve heard of Operation Griffon?”

  “I have. A while ago now though?”

  “You’d think it was buried long ago, but no, it’s like a compost heap at times your organisation. The recently cut flowers on the top along with the cabbage leaves and potato peelings, but down in the depths there’s a heat generated by the process of rot. In the dark, among the worms and the insects is where you will find Commander Steve Payne.”

  “Constant or nagging?”

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s an in-joke. Are you serious? Does Jason Roberts know about this? What about Jack Cade? Who knows?”

  “I do. Kate does. John Daniel does, the PM does and now you do. Treat the information I’ve just provided you with like a firework that is still quietly sparkling. Because beyond Commander Payne there lies a whole new world of rot and decay and a box of cheaply made, imported fireworks.”

  “Care to expand?”

  “No.”

  “Would it help if I arrested you for the murder of four police officers?”

  “Four? I only shot one. Kate shot two.”

  “Looks like the one with all the lip has just lost his fight for life.”

  “Then arrest us both DS McGee.”

  “I feel I should, but I also have a strange gut feeling that you are on my side. You know Jack hasn’t forgiven you for knocking him out with a collection plate, don’t you?”

  She smiled. “That was the moment he finally found God, albeit in a rather unconventional way. You know I could have easily killed him, don’t you? This whole undercover, trust me-don’t trust me saga is getting tiring. I’ll soon be ready to pull the pin.”

 
; “Could you join us? Stir up the hornets’ nest, rake through the compost bin and pull out the worms?”

  “Trust me it’s tempting, but the team I work for sit at a whole different level to yours. And worms, let me remind you are the most valuable part of a compost heap. Bridie, you’ve made the right call, and as lovely as it is chatting, we need to go and find Doto – find her, you find the other grubs and bottom dwellers, find them, you find the answer to the riddle.”

  “And when you find the answer to that?”

  “You work out just how lucrative the human slave trade is in the United Kingdom in 2016.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “The girls? No. But I know a man who does. And I need to find him too. Think of it like a really bloody awful virus. Look beyond the sufferers and eventually you’ll find the cause.”

  McGee stepped out of Reddington’s way and pointed to her car.

  “Mi carsa su carsa.”

  Reddington laughed for the first time in months. “Your Spanish is almost as bad as mine, but I see what you did there. Yes, we’d love a ride.”

  “Any idea where to?”

  “Get me to Tom Denby as soon as you can. I’ve got one question to ask him. He’ll either remember or he won’t.”

  The three women got into the car, Briton in the back and Reddington in the front passenger seat as McGee drove back towards Whitehall.

  Half an hour later she would take a call from Roberts.

  Chapter Fifty

  Kent, England, 2016

  The unmarked blue Audi A4 continued south east on the A2 or Watling Street, another one of England’s ancient Roman roads.

  On board were two uniformed staff from the Met Police Roads Policing Unit, a little off their area to say the least. They had spotted a blue Bentley that matched some intelligence that they’d viewed before they had set out on their roving patrols. The harder you worked, the luckier you became. Wasn’t that what they said?

  “What do you reckon? Worth a pull?”

  “Plates don’t match. But there’s something about it. Been bugging me since we left our patch.”

  “Agreed, and we are now officially way off our area, but how many of those beasts are on UK roads? Can’t be many, could be on false plates? Nice to have a look inside. Run it through the box, anyway.”

  The Box was a term of endearment for the Police PNC2 system.

  They called it in.

  “That comes back to a blue 2005 Ford Mondeo over.”

  The driver looked at his colleague. “Bingo. Come to papa.”

  “Ever pursued a stolen Bentley GT before? Reckon we’d have a cat in hell’s chance?”

  “We’ve both got Audi engines!” he said with a smile, knowing that the Flying Spur had one twice the size and with twice the power, but about half the range. With a top speed of one hundred and eighty-three if the driver decided to go, they would go and the patrol car would rely on a skilled driver, some air support and a large bucket of luck.

  “We’ll wait until the road straightens a touch then light him up.”

  Jacqui Clarke stared back at them long enough in the mirror to momentarily drift off the centre line. She eased it back. No need to attract their attention. She had a job to do, and if all went well, she was looking at a bank balance enhanced by six noughts.

  Money was the root of all evil. And these days the cops were following the money. The banks were on board too. And as a result, it was a little harder to hide it these days. So you banked with friends, who were happy to look after it for a price. And the sort of sums they were talking about, that price was just fine.

  She slowed as they left the A2 and entered the A289, then accelerated again, using all of the mighty V8 engine’s power. The Audi accelerated too, just enough to stay in touch.

  “Ready?”

  The co-driver rested his hands on the light system, just above the radio, which was set to their home force, the Met Police.

  They called in the incident. But no one in Kent Police heard a thing.

  A valuable and critical two minutes later, the passenger realised they were on the wrong channel, then called in the event to the correct one.

  It was then that Clarke lit the blue touch paper. The Bentley squatted down, just a little, its enormous tyres bit into the tarmac propelling it along the road. Tonnes of steel and plastic and leather being forced at light speed along a road that was almost built for the car. Smooth, straight and fast, with just enough deviations in the road for them to hide for a while and extend their lead.

  “Keep going for about six miles. Don’t slow down. The car can take it. Do not let them catch us.” Doto made it quite clear that there was no margin of error.

  At a hundred and sixty and with its initial burst of acceleration, the Bentley left the Audi in its wake. As the blue leviathan approached the roundabout and Four Elms Hill, it almost drifted sideways into the lane.

  Clarke locked the brakes on. The huge car came to a halt. No fuss. No screeching of brakes, no smoke. Just massive deceleration.

  “What are you doing?” yelled Doto.

  “Keeping us safe,” replied Clarke calmly as she reversed quickly up a small farm track that led to a new housing development.

  ‘Your new home for the future,’ announced the sales board.

  It would do for now, thought Clarke as the Bentley ticked over, waiting for the next command.

  “Hello Kilo Alpha this is Mike Papa Tango Uniform One Two we had a vehicle failing to stop A289 heading east. VRM is something like Echo Golf Six Four One One Four.”

  “Received. You say something like and had?”

  “Roger. Past tense now. The thing took off like the proverbial scalded cat. Possible direction of travel given its speed is along Four Elms Hill. We’ll see if we can catch it up.”

  “Received. We are sending some local units. That comes back to a 2014 Bentley in blue.”

  “It was certainly a blue Bentley, but we think it was the new model. Just launched.”

  “In that case. Stand by one.”

  The Audi carried on along Four Elms Hill at over one hundred and twenty, casual traffic moving out of their way, as all good motorists did in the United Kingdom. Their sirens ricocheted and twisted and turned as they made real progress, but still knew they were some way behind.

  “Tango Uniform One Two, a further search of the database shows those plates to have been stolen in London some time ago – two years in fact. Also off a blue Bentley.”

  “Roger, we are now Peninsula Way heading east. Suggest your local units conduct a sweep of the area and once we hit the end of this road, we’ll double back.”

  To their south east and on board a blue and yellow Eurocopter, Cade spoke into his phone to the operator at the Kent Police control room.

  “We are entering your force area and need armed response back up. Location to be advised.” Cade called over his cell phone, above the noise of the rotors.

  “Yes, received sir. Be advised our own air support team are en route to the general area. We would appreciate knowing any updates as soon as they are available. For simplicity’s sake, please identify yourself as Orion and your aircraft is to maintain its callsign of India Nine Seven.”

  “Yes, received over. Orion out.”

  He spoke to his teammate, sat in the rear right seat of the Eurocopter, a few words into the microphone which hissed as all aviation comms equipment seemed to.

  “You content to work on the intel that Carrie and Dave have come up with Jason?”

  “What else do we have right now, Jack?”

  “Be positive. I think we’ve gone from three-fifths of fuck all to four.”

  “I was hopeless at fractions, but I feel so much better. Lovely countryside down there.” He stared down out of the window as civil aircraft criss-crossed the skies towards some of the busiest airspace in the world. They came from the north, from the east across the English Channel, south from southern Europe, by the hundreds, stacked up
and ready to land.

  “How long can we do this? Roberts called to the pilot.

  “Two hours tops. Plenty of fuel down there.” He pointed at the county of Kent in general. “Any plans? Anywhere you particularly want me to be?”

  It was the most sensible question they’d had all day.

  “Go towards the Channel, stay on the north coast. That feasible?”

  “Hugely. Weather is good. Ceiling perfect. We can be up here for a good while yet, but if need to be a bit more tactical that will burn the fuel a lot quicker. I hope you are both good passengers?”

  Neither man replied. Roberts could feel sweat on his top lip but convinced himself to ignore it.

  Cade’s phone rang. “Yes.”

  “Jack, we’ve tapped into some CCTV in the city. Your contact at the Security Service came good too, quite an ace you cashed in there.”

  “That was no ace that was one of my nine lives. What did he tell you?”

  “They’ve been picking up some chatter on the lines about diamonds. It’s a rare gem in among the usual stuff they listen to.”

  Cade smiled. “I see what you did there, Carrie. Right now, we are hovering above the Garden of England looking for clues, and the only thing that seems to be happening is DCI Roberts’ breakfast of muesli and blueberry yogurt is rising to the surface. He winked at Roberts, who looked away, then started clawing at the plexiglass window.

  The pilot’s voice buzzed into Roberts’ headphones. “Slide it backwards, sir. Anyone that hurls in my cockpit gets to clean it, stand by, I’ll turn slightly, save you getting a…”

  Roberts pressed his face to the opening and heaved. The purple vomit splattered down the side of the blue and yellow chopper and dripped down onto the unprepared people of Kent.

  “As I was saying…” Cade continued.

  Roberts heaved again. “Christ, when is this going to stop…”

  “Have you and Dave managed to add any more…”