Cade stood, waiting.
“Why me? There were plenty of others. Apparently it was all about trust. The UK was struggling, you see. Post-war, post wars, in fact. Post-industrial action. Oil shortages. Strikes. We needed people. We knew that the Commonwealth had provided in huge numbers and was still a rich vein. Many of our public transport and health care workers came from the islands, from the far-flung corners of the world. But we’d run out. Money was short and word had reached those distant lands, Britain was no longer the place to head to.”
“And?” Cade was as cold as the air temperature.
“And the team that I joined was tasked with finding a way of getting new people, under the cloak of secrecy, but they also needed a return on their investment. They traded people for minerals, for commodities, for gold and diamonds.”
“Hang on, that makes absolutely no sense, John. So, we take their people and also their wealth?” Cade shook his head. “Now listen…”
“No Jack, you listen. There are countries in this world that have too many people and not enough food or land or water. By taking those people and giving them a new life, we believed we were doing the right thing. It took twenty years for me to learn of the truth behind it. I’d left long ago, re-joined the normal ranks of the Met Police and got my promotions the hard way. I was threatened with demotion and a life of looking over my shoulder if I ever told the truth. I’ve carried it with me like a little boy carrying the Sunday newspapers to his rich customers…a load of which you cannot comprehend.”
He stopped talking. Cade knew he was struggling. But he needed to hear it.
“I’ve carried this burden for so long. Why do you think we left here to live in New Zealand?”
“So why now? Why re-connect with the old ways?”
“I got a call from Tom’s son. He begged me to come and listen to his last words. The thing is, I knew them already. So, I suggested he contact you. I knew you’d do it. You see, the old guard has all but gone, most have died of old age, they were senior police commanders, all part of the cigar smoking, Jaguar driving old boys’ club. The army too. Senior men, even a general. All gone.”
“So why not let attrition do its thing and let this plague die a natural death?”
“Best question yet.” He nodded. “They had kids, Jack. And those kids became police officers and military commanders and businessmen. All as greedy as their fathers.”
“Jesus. This isn’t the remnants of some past corrupt dynasty then? This is alive and well and living in a swanky apartment overlooking the Thames. Unbelievable.”
“And you’ve been involved in it too.”
“Me? I don’t think so.”
“Ah, but you have. We selected you a while ago to try to come up with a vaccine. Remember that day you met Nikolina at the airport in the east Midlands?”
“Of course. How could I ever forget?”
“She thought she was running from a terrible man.”
“She was John, of that there’s no doubt.”
“Oh, I agree, but her husband Alex, well he came to conquer, and steal and shuffle back to his filthy den with his band of misfits and ill-gotten gains.”
“Stefanescu? No, John, I think you are tired, you’re getting your stories mixed up here, mate. Alex was…”
“Alex is dead. But when he was alive, you’ll recall he was blackmailing the government over the documents he found?”
“I can hardly forget, now can I?”
“You never saw them, did you?”
“No. I didn’t think it was important. I knew they were likely to damage some fiercely held reputation, so I did my job and recovered them, placed them back where they belonged.”
“A bit of close-up magic was done on you, I’m afraid. The story you were told was a cracker, worthy of Clancy, or Child or James, but a story nonetheless. The truth was that Britain continued, continues to be the hub of modern people trafficking. Right now, there are places all around this country that are being used to house people from across Africa, India, China…brought here for a new life.”
“So why didn’t you just do something about it?”
“I did. Come on, we need to move.”
“Oh no. Not so fast. What did you do exactly? I need something to allow me to look at you in the cold light of day and still respect you.”
“I went for tea with the Prime Minister.”
“What sort of tea does she drink?”
“What?”
“You heard. Answer that and I know you are telling the truth.”
“Ginger. With fresh lemon.”
“OK, I grant you one last sentence.”
“I told her all about Op Griffon.”
“Griffin or Griffon?”
“Same thing, Jack. Body of a lion, head and talons of an eagle. Ruthless creature. Like the members of the team. All except one John Daniel and one Thomas Denby. We’ve spent the last few years getting people safely into the country via an old team of men and women we trust more than life itself. An old boys network the likes of which you wouldn’t believe. The likes of those that stand at the Cenotaph each November in their berets and fading ribbons.”
“Strange that such an iconic memorial also happens to be in Whitehall where you all worked.”
“Hardly, it was how it was and still is. What was interesting was that Tom’s office looked out onto Devotion. Mine onto Humanity. Ted Reddington’s onto Fortitude and…”
“I’m not with you.”
“The four words carved on the Cenotaph memorial, Jack.”
“That’s only three.”
“Indeed. The last person sat and looked at Sacrifice.”
“And who was that?”
“Sir Patrick Lane. MC, DSO and a few bars.”
“Should I know the name?”
“Only if you study British history and military conflicts.”
“Coincidence that he shares the same surname as our PM!”
“Is it?”
“No. Christ JD, you’re telling me that the PM is his…” He calculated for a split second. “Granddaughter?”
“Nail struck firmly about the temple, my son. Well done. Making a little more sense now?”
“One hundred percent. The PM’s grandad was involved in people trafficking?” He shook his head. “No wonder she wants this locking down and sweeping under the biggest carpet we can find. John this is…”
“Explosive? Yep. And it’s been a boil that was about to burst for ten or twenty years, longer. Tom’s the last of the old guard. His last ever run ashore as a sailor was meant to bring this all to an end.”
“And what about the new guard? How do we deal with them?”
“We don’t.”
“We just let them carry on?” Cade’s eyes narrowed.
“No. We cut off the supply chain at the source. Pay the people of Guinea what they are truly worth, give them hope, find them work, there are new international companies appearing all the time. The area is rich in minerals, they just need someone to show them how to extract them.”
“Hang on, that bit I get. But leaving the second and third UK generations to live off the proceeds of years of misery is not just wrong it’s criminal.”
“So is much of what goes on beyond the closed doors of government Jack. Don’t be so bloody naïve. It’s a balancing act. If I advised you to buy gold and it slumped tomorrow, my intent was still honourable.”
“But people are not gold.”
“Agreed. But they are a commodity to some people. Everything and everyone has a price. It’s all currency at the end of the day.”
“And you agree with this?” Cade was starting to doubt his friend.
“Me? God no. I’ve spent years distancing myself from this and them – check my bank accounts, I’ve lived a life that can be attributed to rank in the police and some parsimonious living in my youth. My integrity is not for sale. Not to anyone. Why do you think I’m currently knelt down in a damp and freezing building in the middl
e of a bloody marsh? I’m here because I want to help an old man close the door on this once and for all.”
“And how will he do that exactly?”
“He’s got the key.”
“Physically?”
“Potentially. How many steps did you count?”
“Thirty-two. Twenty-eight to go.”
They walked the remaining paces and found themselves at a staircase.
“Down a level?”
Seven more again to the left.
They stopped.
“Well, if this is where we find the holiest of grails it’s a bit disappointing.” Cade scanned the area, taking the chance to use the flickering overhead light from the helicopter.
They stared at a wall. Old stone, weathered over time and fighting off moss and mould, decaying slowly. There was nothing there but a few old initials. Napoleonic graffiti. The more they looked, the more it became obvious. They were what Denby would have called scuppered.
“Now what? Start tearing the wall down? Why are we here John? Let’s call it a night. We need to go and help Jason and his team rather than scurry around like archaeological rats in a ruin.”
“They’ll be fine. Come on. Give it another ten. I’ve waited a very long time for this.”
“Going well so far for you?”
“It was, until this crazy cow turned up on the scene wanting what she said was her heritage. It’s all greed. We were working with the Guinea ambassador, a few carefully chosen people in the military, specifically from Whitehall and a philanthropist whose name would shock you, but for all the right reasons.”
“I’m beginning to wish I’d never asked.” Cade shivered. As his mother used to say, someone had walked over his grave.
“Tom once told me that it was easier to count the stars in the Milky Way than it was to figure this all out. You and Jason just happened to unravel things a little quicker than the PM hoped. But I know she’ll be delighted with how it’s going now that Pandora’s Box is well and truly opened. All we need now is a leader to see this through, to round up the corrupt and rotten and put them all away, behind closed doors.”
“Well then, surely that person has to be the Home Secretary. Last time I looked, he was responsible for policing and national security.”
“Repeat this and go to prison with him.”
“Eh?”
“The current Home Secretary is also responsible for Operation Griffin. In more ways than you could ever imagine. His bank balance is far healthier than his soul. Put it that way. And when his predecessor got fortuitously hit by a bus, people did look over their shoulders somewhat…”
“You think he was responsible. That’s rather serious, JD.”
“Can’t prove a thing on that score. But everything else…”
“Then we need to get the bastard locked up.”
“Yes, Jack, you do.”
“Me? I think I’ve earned my knighthood JD, not that it will ever eventuate. Why me?”
“Because on paper, I’m implicated up to my arse. I’m innocent and so is Tom and a few notable others. You have to believe that. But I can’t. It needs someone that the PM can publicly trust. Tick. Who is connected to the government? Tick. Who isn’t deeply linked to Griffin? Tick. And who still has an authority to investigate as decreed by the PM herself.”
“Tick. Starting to make sense now. What about Hewett? He’s good at falling into pig shit and coming up smelling of Chanel No. 5”
“Ah, dear old Johnnie. No, you see, he fell at the third fence.”
“He’s linked to Griffin?”
“He’s the strand of spaghetti that the PM was sucking one end of and came up with Cartwright on the other end staring her in the face.”
As analogies went, it was perfect.
“Hewett is connected?”
“Via his parents. A lot of money in the bank that he refuses to touch. It’s gained interest every day. He’s worth a small fortune. Morally he considers himself bankrupt until someone can find a way of spending it for the greater good.”
Cade held out his hand. “JD, I think this now makes sense. Sorry I doubted you.”
“It still doesn’t to me, mate. I would have doubted me. I’ll open the bottle of Talisker when we both get back down under and we can put all our moral skeletons into a shallow grave somewhere. Deal?”
“Deal. I’d prefer a deep one, though. Lead-lined, Marianas Trench.”
He stopped. Breathed quietly. Held up his hand, edged back onto the walkway. The shadow was large, man-sized, but he’d know it anywhere.
He tapped Daniel, whispered in his ear. “It’s her. It’s Doto. On three.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Twenty feet away, Reddington had also stopped Roberts.
“It’s them. I’d know that outline anywhere,” she hissed into his left ear.
Roberts tapped her twice on the shoulder. “On three.”
“Now!” The pair ran at Doto, causing her to sprint to her left. She collided with Daniel first, then Cade. Clarke was gone, running as fast as she could, back to where she thought the main door was.
Cade was knocked to the ground. He scrambled back up and began the pursuit through the darkened corridors of the old building. He could hear footsteps behind him.
“Jason, is that you?” he yelled.
“Yep,” came the panting reply.
“Go back the other way!”
The circular building was a five-minute sprint for most people. With Daniel and Cade on her heels, Doto knew time was against her. She looked down, back into the pit that Clarke had explored. It was a possible escape route. She leapt into the dark and hoped for the best.
“Where the hell did she go?” Daniel was breathing heavily.
“By the sound of the crash, down a level. Come on, there must be some more stairs somewhere.” They made their way, quicker now, eyes working correctly in the half-light.
She’d landed heavily into the bushes that lined the central floor, then with adrenaline coursing through her veins had made it to the doorway and back up the staircase, counter clockwise.
They missed each other by seconds.
“She’s not here, Jack.”
Bleeding from an arm wound, Doto was back up to the first level and running as fast as she could to the main door. She found Clarke wrestling with Briton and could hear Roberts and Reddington approaching fast.
She delivered a kick to Briton’s head, timing it with her run and grabbing Clarke. “Come on. We need to get to the boat.”
India Nine Seven banked heavily. With no passengers on board, Gower was in full combat mode.
“Come on, you little beauty.”
He lined the Eurocopter up and doused the island with light. It was the only weapon he had at his disposal.
Everyone on the ground did their best to blink away the dazzling beam which skimmed and skirted with the movement of the chopper. Gower was missing his crewmate right now. A steady hand on that light would be just perfect.
He came in close. There, outside the fort, were two women. One smaller, white, the other was far larger and as dark as the night.
On the ground a hundred feet away was a prone female. She was out and down.
Roberts yelled through the corridors. “Jack. We’ll head back to the boat. You search the other side. We should eventually meet in the middle.”
He ran outside where Reddington had stopped over the prone figure of Briton. “She’s OK. A bit dazed. She’ll live. Come on.”
They ran towards the shoreline.
As Doto sprinted recklessly towards the old rusted hulk, the floodlight lit her up. Rabbits in headlights had never looked more shocked. Clarke shielded her eyes, trying to run ahead, staying close to her accomplice.
With the vision in both eyes burning, the women struggled, but kept moving forward, desperation setting in. Any desire for monetary gain was gone, now they just needed to survive.
Gower steered the chopper to the left, lighting the pair up,
but not dazzling the pursuers. The rain lashed against his windscreen.
“India Nine Seven?” Came a female voice over his headset. He ignored it. ‘Not now. A bit busy.’
On the ground he could see the two women, pursued by Roberts and Reddington. There was no sign of Daniel and Cade. He assumed they were in the fort still.
Doto stumbled, then fished into her pocket and retrieved the white flare gun. Mick Baker had bought the best. If they had ever taken the Medway Girl out into the channel to start their epic journey, he wanted to be able to send a signal all the way back to London if necessary.
The tall woman from Kamsar stopped, levelled it, and fired the first one-inch cartridge. It fizzed across the gap between the two groups at over three feet a second, hitting Clarke. The trauma alone was a shock. It was just a plastic gun. It looked like a toy at first, but the cartridge ignited mid-air and upon contact with Clarke’s skin it melted everything nearby. At over two thousand degrees Fahrenheit the strontium nitrate ate away her skin, causing her to scream so loud Gower swore later he heard it in the safer confines of the Eurocopter.
Doto reloaded the second cartridge and fired it up and at the helicopter. It shot through the sky and exploded seconds later, causing Gower’s night vision to cease. Now all he could see was the flare and pray he knew where the horizon was.
Fitted with a military grade visor to prevent laser strikes, he wished he’d had it in place. He steadied the aircraft. Looked for somewhere to put it down, if, as he put it eloquently, it all went slightly tits up.
Doto reloaded and pointed it at Roberts and Reddington.
“I’ve got one more after this. I will shoot you.”
She stared at Clarke who was rolling around in intense agony, first trying to extinguish the brutal pain and secondly questioning why her partner in crime had shot her.
“It’s over Doto. Our teams will be here soon. Give up. Whatever you expected to find is long gone. Please.” He held his hands up in what the Home Office called a non-threatening gesture.
The Angel of Whitehall Page 55