Double Cross: A gripping political thriller (The Cadre Book 3)

by Stephen Edger

  The 4x4 braked hard and pulled to the side of the road, before the driver climbed out and jogged back to where the Citroen’s wheels were still spinning in the air. The driver leant in and saw that White was unconscious in the front. He then peered into the back where Eve was groaning as she hung upside down. Her cheek had a long streak of lippie etched across it. Her eyes widened when she saw who had run them off the road. She began to speak but stopped when she saw the driver pull a small pistol from inside his coat. The gun recoiled twice as the driver shot Eve once in the heart and once in the head. Her head lulled to the side and the groaning stopped instantly.

  The driver returned to the front of the vehicle and looked at White once again. He pushed two fingers against the unconscious man’s neck and, feeling a pulse, he placed the hot barrel of the gun to White’s forehead, his finger resting uneasily on the trigger. He knew he was supposed to squeeze the trigger, and he willed himself to do it, but he couldn’t. Instead, he unfastened White’s seat belt and pulled him clear of the wreckage, leaving him on the grassy verge. He then returned to the Citroen and removed the petrol cap, shoving a handkerchief into the hole. He then pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the handkerchief, running from the site as the vehicle exploded in a ball of fire.

  50

  LONDON, UK

  12:30 (G.M.T.)

  Dylan looked around to check that nobody was watching him. The tourists, who were also sitting at the tables alongside the River Thames, seemed totally oblivious to him. He slid out the small gun from his front waist band and carefully checked it beneath the table cloth. He removed the magazine and felt the smooth round casing at the top. He faked a cough as he slipped the magazine back into the butt and listened for the satisfaction of it clicking into place. He checked that the safety catch was engaged before stuffing it back into his trousers. He raised his hands above the small round table and took a sip from the coffee cup, but grimaced: it was cold.

  He looked around again but there was still no sign of the man he was waiting for. The café was on the banks of the Thames, just down from the London Eye. He’d been waiting for twenty minutes already, and he didn’t like the idea that he was a sitting duck waiting to be taken out.

  A deep voice from over his shoulder made him jump. ‘Mr Taylor?’

  Dylan’s head shot round. The voice belonged to a tall man in a large overcoat, with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. He sounded like a public school teacher. ‘May I sit down?’

  Dylan nodded, a confused frown on his face. ‘I was expecting The Chairman to meet me. That’s what the message said.’

  Just after midnight, when White had returned to the hotel room and released him, Dylan had received a voice message on the phone he’d stolen from the woman at the fish and chip shop in Newham. He’d assumed it was for the original owner but had sneaked a listen, before White had returned the hotel room. He had been shocked to hear The Chairman’s Yorkshire tones inviting him to a meeting to discuss the future. He’d known it was The Chairman straight away, and had initially ignored the message. It seemed impossible that they could have known he had stolen that particular phone, but if they knew the number, that meant they knew where he was. He’d turned the phone off and removed the battery, and left the hotel straight away, taking White’s credit card, and some cash, in the process. He’d made his way to the city’s bus station and caught the first coach of the day, which just happened to be bound for Heathrow. When he’d arrived at the airport, just after three, he’d used White’s card to buy a ticket for the first flight to a non-European country, but, on his way to passport control, he’d changed his mind. They’d found him in Mexico and Southampton, so how long would he really survive before they found him again. He’d spent the next few hours asleep on a bench in the departure gate. When footfall had increased, he’d bought breakfast and decided to face his demons. The Chairman’s message had said he would meet Dylan at this particular café at twelve thirty, but Dylan had arrived early so he could watch out for misplaced faces; undercover operatives.

  He’d been sure it was a trap, which is why he’d used the last of the money he’d stolen from White to purchase the handgun. He’d never been a scout, but he knew the advantages of being prepared.

  The man in the scarf sat down at the chair across from Dylan and raised a hand for the waitress to come over. He ordered a hot chocolate and asked her to bring Dylan another cup of coffee.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering who I am,’ the man said when he could see Dylan watching him carefully.

  ‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ Dylan replied calmly.

  ‘My name’s Dillinger. I work for Her Majesty’s Security Services.’ He paused to wait for any kind of reaction from Dylan, but when there was none, he continued. ‘I have been investigating the inner workings of the group known as The Cadre for the last few months. Before you assume the worst, my department was in no way involved in the decision to execute Dreyfuss. It was only following that incident that we were able to step in and infiltrate them. What I’m about to tell you, Mr Taylor, is strictly confidential, you understand, what we call ‘Eyes Only’, however, I’m aware of your familiarity with The Cadre, so I’ve decided to speak freely to you. I must stress, however, that this conversation is not officially taking place, and, if forced, I will deny it ever occurred. I should also advise you that I have personally disabled the security cameras trained on this particular area of the city. As far as any of these tourists are concerned, we are just two acquaintances sharing a drink on a cold winter’s afternoon.’

  The waitress placed two cups in front of them. Dillinger handed her a note and told her to keep the change.

  ‘What do you want?’ Dylan asked matter-of-factly.

  ‘I understand you were expecting to meet The Chairman of General Financial this evening. What he planned to discuss with you, I don’t know. I can, however, confirm that you will not be meeting him.’

  ‘So what, you’ve come here to kill me? Is that how it works? He clicks his fingers and one of his minions does the dirty work?’

  Dillinger smiled, the contempt clear for Dylan to see. ‘Far from it, Mr Taylor. No, the truth of the matter is that The Chairman won’t be meeting with anybody ever again.’

  ‘You’ve arrested him?’

  ‘Not quite…’ Dillinger let the subtlety of his message sink in before continuing. ‘As I was saying, we infiltrated The Cadre several months ago and, at first, we underestimated just how mad The Chairman was. We needed to identify every member of the organisation so that we could round them up and…put them out with the trash so to speak. Needless to say, you remain something of an anomaly to us. You know all about the group but are not affiliated with their activities. It’s a bit of a conundrum if truth be told. We know that you were involved in the Dreyfuss affair, but given everything else that has befallen you since, we are loath to take any formal action against you. We’d prefer if this whole matter just went away, and taking you to trial would potentially result in all of this…this nasty business coming to the public’s attention. It wouldn’t be good for morale.’ Dillinger smiled thinly. ‘So, I propose that you pack up any final possessions of yours and go and choose somewhere warm to retire. I presume you stashed the cash you stole from Victor Stratovsky somewhere safe? You’re welcome to spend every last penny of it, and you will be left in peace, if you promise to keep your mouth shut.’

  Dylan shook his head incredulously. ‘You want to buy me off.’

  Dillinger closed his eyes as he gently shook his head. ‘No, no, no, Mr Taylor. Her Majesty’s Government wishes to thank you for your service in helping us to end a maniac’s coup. As a reward, we will not press charges against you for any activities undertaken in pursuit of that service.’ Dillinger drank his hot chocolate down in one long gulp, before standing. He leaned in and handed Dylan an envelope. ‘It’s over, Mr Taylor. Nobody knows who you are or what you’ve done. You’ve just been given a clean sheet of paper. It’s time for you
to start the next chapter of your life.’

  Dylan opened the envelope and saw cash and a passport. ‘What happened to him? The Chairman I mean. Who killed him?’

  Dillinger smiled as he straightened up. ‘His body will be discovered in the coming days. You need not worry yourself about him, just rest easy that he won’t trouble you again.’

  ‘How do I know I can trust you? How do I know this isn’t some ploy?’

  Dillinger tightened his scarf, and considered whether he should say anymore. He eventually fished a phone from his pocket and dropped it on the table in front of Dylan. ‘Maria Lenska and her daughter Elena are very much alive. I realise this may come as quite a shock to you, but I assure you it’s true. There is one number in this phone. Dial it now and you’ll be connected with Aaron Cross. He’ll confirm what I’ve told you.’ With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Dylan snatched up the phone and selected the only number in the contacts list. It connected on the second ring.

  ‘Hello?’ a groggy-sounding Aaron replied.

  ‘It’s Dylan.’

  ‘Dylan? Holy shit it’s good to hear your voice,’ Aaron replied, suddenly sounding sharper. ‘When I discovered your phone had been disconnected I feared the worst. How are you? Are you safe?’

  ‘Yeah, do you know what, for the first time in ages, I think I might just be? I just had the strangest conversation.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. He told me that Elena and Maria aren’t dead.’

  ‘They’re not,’ Aaron replied, his tone relaxing as he began to smile. ‘I found them, man. They’re a bit shaken up by what’s happened, but otherwise they’re both safe and well.’

  ‘I need to hear their voices. Can I speak to them?’

  Aaron chuckled. ‘They’re still at the hospital under observation. Do you realise how early it is here?’

  Dylan glanced at the phone’s display. ‘It’s nearly nine a.m.’

  ‘Oh shit, is it?’ Aaron replied, stifling a yawn. ‘I had a late night. I’ll tell you what, I’ll jump in the shower now and get my arse to the hospital. As soon as I see them I’ll phone you back on this number. That okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Hurry.’

  ‘I will, I will. We should probably get off the phone in case The Chairman is tracing the call.’

  ‘We don’t need to worry about him anymore,’ Dylan replied, explaining what Dillinger had told him.

  ‘He’s dead? You trust this spook?’

  ‘I don’t trust anyone anymore. That said, he gave me a clean passport and some cash and told me to phone you on this phone. I guess we’ll find out if he’s telling the truth in the coming days. If The Chairman’s body is found, we’ll have our answer.’

  ‘So it’s over then?’

  ‘It is for me. Is it enough for you?’

  There was a pause on the line as Aaron considered the question, before he explained what had happened with Victoria. ‘I started this quest to get justice for my uncle. I know who killed him and why. Those responsible are dead too. It’ll have to be enough.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  Aaron paused again. ‘I feel numb. I thought she was a friend, someone I could trust…I guess that just goes to show how powerful they were. Where are you now?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘Get yourself to the airport and hop on the first flight to Los Angeles. I’ll meet you there with Maria and Elena, and then I’ll take the three of you somewhere safe.’

  ‘You promise they’re still alive? It feels like I’m dreaming.’

  ‘If you let me jump in the shower, you’ll hear so for yourself soon.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Dylan said, standing. ‘I’ll see you soon, and Aaron, thanks.’

  With that he ended the call and placed the phone into his pocket. He placed the envelope into his coat pocket and looked into the crowd for Dillinger, but he was long gone. He half expected to hear a sniper’s bullet whiz into his back, but as he stood and walked towards the tube station he was relieved to be wrong for once.

  51

  SOUTHAMPTON, UK

  16:00 (G.M.T.)

  The first thing White noticed was an incessant beeping. He knew instinctively that it wasn’t an alarm clock, but, whatever it was, it was loud and constant. When he tried to open his eyes, the dull thud at the front of his head worsened. As he blinked against the bright light hanging above his head, the headache intensified. His mouth was as dry as a bone, but it wasn’t the same taste he usually experienced in the morning. Normally he could still taste the hops from the previous evening’s beer. No hops today. He tried to sit up but a shooting pain in his shoulders caused him to collapse back into the bed. It was then he noticed he was not in his usual bed: the pillows and mattress felt different somehow; more clinical.

  A gentle hand placed on his chest was followed by a young woman’s voice. ‘Everything will be okay.’

  He squinted up at the Asian lady wearing light blue hospital scrubs. She smiled warmly at him, and he couldn’t help but return the smile. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she promised.

  He leant back and tried to look around. The ache in his shoulders spread across the back of his neck too, so it was difficult to see much. The room was floor to ceiling white; the beeping belonged to an intravenous drip that was attached to his left arm. He moved his right hand over to examine the tubes closer and that’s when he noticed the large plaster cast protecting it.

  The nurse appeared over him again and gently returned the plaster cast to the mattress and told him he needed to keep it rested.

  ‘Where am I?’ he tried to say, but his throat was too dry and it ended up sounding no louder than a mumble. She held a plastic beaker of water in front of him and pushed the end of the straw between his lips. He sucked in the stale drink with a grimace.

  ‘You’re in the hospital,’ she said, smiling again. Although she had a slight accent, her diction was perfect. ‘You were in an accident. Do you remember what happened?’

  ‘Accident? I don’t remember an accident, like.’

  ‘Do you remember your name?’

  ‘Sure, it’s Tony White.’

  ‘Good, and do you know what day it is?’

  He had to think for a moment. ‘Friday?’

  She smiled again. ‘Good. You’ve taken a nasty blow to your head, causing a mild concussion, which is probably why you can’t remember exactly what happened. It might be that you begin to remember some details in the next day or so, or it may be that you never remember exactly what happened. It’s nothing to worry about.’

  White smiled sheepishly. ‘I think you’re the nicest doctor I’ve ever met.’

  She blushed slightly. ‘I’m a staff nurse and you’ve been given a small dose of morphine to help manage the pain in your arm.’

  He tried to sit up again but suddenly felt light-headed and settled for staying where he was. ‘What’s wrong with my arm, like?’

  ‘I believe you fractured it in two places, so it’s been set in a cast until it heals. You were very lucky that nothing worse happened.’

  He frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’

  She suddenly looked nervous, as if realising she’d spoken out of turn. ‘A colleague of yours is waiting outside. I’ll let her explain.’

  With that the nurse was gone, returning a minute later with Payne behind her. The D.C.I. thanked the nurse and waited until she’d left the room, before closing the door and moving towards White.

  ‘Tony, thank God you’re alright.’

  ‘What’s going on, Ma’am? The nurse said I’d been in an accident, but I don’t remember it, like.’

  He couldn’t help but notice the worried expression on her face. ‘What do you remember of today?’

  He closed his eyes whilst he tried to piece together what had happened that day. He’d woken to find that Taylor had done a bunk, he’d had breakfast at the hotel, and then…it was no good, he simply couldn’t remember. ‘I remember feeli
ng positive when I woke this morning, but it’s a blank after that.’

  ‘Do you remember arresting McManus at the docks last night?’

  A smile began to spread across his face as he remembered seeing the fear in McManus’ eyes during the interview. ‘Did you listen to Partridge’s confession, Ma’am?’

  Payne moved closer to the bed. ‘I did and we spoke about it on the phone this morning. The last time I heard from you, you were going to drive to her house and bring her in to make a formal statement about her involvement in the May terrorist plot. Do you remember picking her up?’

  He shook his head painfully.

  She glanced nervously over her shoulder to check that nobody was going to come in and interrupt them. ‘Well, evidently you did collect her, but somewhere between Brockenhurst and Lyndhurst you were involved in a car accident.’

  ‘An accident? I don’t remember that.’

  ‘An anonymous call was placed to the Emergency Services around ten, reporting the accident. When the paramedics arrived on scene they found you on the side of the road, presumably thrown from the vehicle on impact. The car was a smouldering wreck.’

  White found it hard to believe what the story, but given the cast on his arm and his aching body, it seemed to make sense. ‘Someone up there must love me, like,’ he said trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  Payne leaned forward. ‘They found Partridge’s body in the wreckage. Well, we’ll have to wait for the post mortem for formal identification, but everything suggests that it’s Partridge.’

  ‘Jesus!’ White gasped. ‘Were any other vehicles involved?’

  ‘Payne shrugged uneasily. ‘There was damage to the vehicle, which is consistent with impact, but there’s no way to be certain.’

  ‘Wait! Are you saying I killed her?’