by Wes Markin
‘So was your patronising tone.’ Willows got out of bed and started to get dressed.
‘Fine. Be like that. I’ve got a lot to think about.’
‘Whereas I don’t?’ Willows widened her eyes. ‘Because I’m single, this is easy for me? Not only am I having to come to terms with my sexuality, but I’m in danger of becoming a homewrecker … yet, it’s all about you and your anxieties.’
Pemberton looked down as Willows finished getting dressed.
By the time, Willows was dressed, Pemberton was on her feet, ready to apologise. ‘Look … I’m sorry, that was on me. I get carried away with the self-pity sometimes.’
Willows rose her eyebrows. ‘You’re telling me.’
‘Back to bed?’ Pemberton said, raising her eyebrows too. ‘Please?’
Willows sighed. ‘I just need a bit of space today, Lorraine, okay? You’re right. Last night was tough. I’ll ring you later, promise. I’m going to Mike’s for breakfast now.’
‘Yes, and I’m due there for afternoon tea! What does he want?’
‘I guess he feels guilty. Possibly, he’s stressed, and probably wants some friendly faces. We’ve been through a lot together over the years. Some truly horrible things to be honest. He’s lost a lot of people close to him in that time.’
‘Isn’t it best we just go together now?’
‘It’s not what he asked for. He probably wouldn’t mind but, to be honest, I’d appreciate the headspace for a couple of hours.’
‘Have I fucked this up, Collette?’
Willows shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I think you just have to decide what you want … and fast.’
‘I’m going to need more time,’ Pemberton said.
‘I know,’ Willows sighed. ‘But I really don’t know if I’m the person that can give you that … you can see yourself out. Just post the key back though.’
Pemberton watched Willows leave the bedroom and then climbed back into bed.
She lay down and stared at the ceiling for ten minutes.
‘Shit!’
She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.
‘Breakfast in bed? In prison? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!’ Wheelhouse brought the tray closer to him and ran his nose over the bacon and sausages. He looked at Firth, who was sitting in his desk chair, and winked. ‘And it’s not even my birthday, honey!’
Firth winked. ‘Enjoy Herb, you’ve had a tough deal of late.’ He looked up at Harris. ‘You can go now.’
The guard smirked. ‘Am I not invited to breakfast club?’
‘We’ll be using big words,’ Firth said.
‘Funny. How about some gratitude for bringing your boyfriend his bacon and eggs?’
‘You forgot the HP Sauce.’
‘Good job it paid well. Although, how long’s that going to last now that reliable George is in intensive care missing his eyes?’
Firth heard Wheelhouse drop his fork onto his plate.
‘Dickhead,’ Firth said.
Harris put his hand to his mouth. ‘Oops! Did I spoil his breakfast?’ He sniggered and left.
Firth sighed and looked at Wheelhouse who was staring over at him with wide eyes. ‘I was going to get to it. I just wanted you to enjoy your breakfast first. And I didn’t order room service to butter you up either. I only found out about George an hour ago.’
‘What the fuck does this mean?’
‘It means that Buddy sent some men to torture George.’
‘Because of Vanessa?’
‘Why else?’
‘How did he know who it was? How could he have known?’
‘He didn’t, or at least he didn’t before. I don’t know what George said to them before they put his lights out.’
Wheelhouse pushed his tray away. ‘With that kind of torture going on, everything, I imagine. How careful were you?’
Firth widened his eyes. ‘I’ll ignore that question, Herb. You’re shocked … as was I earlier.’
Wheelhouse hit the metal ladder attached to the bunk. ‘He always was a canny fucker that Buddy. He’s got more enemies than pounds in the bank, and yet he immediately suspects the jailbird.’
‘We were stupid, Herb. I warned you over the costs of vengeance. Granted, I never thought these costs would be so swift, and so brutal.’
‘Now what?’
‘We wait, Herb. If George talked, if Buddy knows, it won’t be long until we hear from him.’
‘Are we safe in here?’
‘We couldn’t be safer. While we continue to pay Harris and his lackeys, he’ll struggle to get to us. But this won’t go away. He’ll want payment for his loss, but I’ve no idea what he’s charging.’
‘Our lives, perhaps?’
‘More than likely. Hopefully, he’ll be patient enough to wait until we’re released. We might outlive him.’
‘Buddy Young is not a patient man.’
‘No, he is not. One of his men will be in that visitor’s room sooner rather than later. Until then, we are going to have to be vigilant.’
‘And our money?’
‘Most of it will be okay,’ Firth said. ‘George only holds twenty percent of the money in our main accounts. He keeps the records for these on his work computer, and in his paper documents in his office. He holds no records of the other eighty percent hidden away in separate accounts. Worse comes to worse, George will have given up the existence of the smaller accounts under torture, but I doubt Buddy’s men will have felt the need to press further. These accounts will have looked rosy enough; they wouldn’t have suspected the existence of more.’
‘So, you reckon only twenty percent of our money is compromised?’
Firth nodded. ‘And I’m hoping that when Buddy does calm down and makes his play for compensation, he accepts that twenty percent.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
Firth sighed. ‘Well then, we don’t want to make parole while he’s still breathing … but I’m confident he will do. Like I said, he’s not patient. Potentially, he may have to wait over ten years for revenge. He knows he won’t live that long. Seeing us broke and destitute might be the best he can hope for.’
‘He could still take our money, and then have us murdered in ten years anyway.’
‘Buddy Young is old-school. He’s a vicious, ruthless man, but he isn’t a backstabber and a cheat. Everybody knows that Buddy can be taken for his word. He prides himself on his integrity. If he takes the twenty, we’ll live to enjoy the eighty.’
‘Still, twenty is a lot—’
Firth was on his feet before Wheelhouse could finish his sentence. ‘Aren’t you getting this, Herb? I warned you of the costs, and you still wanted to move forward. And now, I offer you the best-case scenario, which is survival, and you’re turning your nose up at it?’
Wheelhouse glowered and looked away. ‘Not turning my nose up at it. I’m just pointing out the fact that it’s a lot of money.’
‘Do you have a better solution?’
Wheelhouse sighed. ‘When did you set all this up with George anyway?’
‘I didn’t. He did. Standard practise for our bent accountant. He only told me about it when I approached him to pay for the hit. I told him I was worried about repercussions, and he told me this was how he helped protect most of his clients’ wealth. A separate invisible account. He told me that if anyone came looking, they would be duped into thinking this was the client’s total wealth. He did it mainly to evade the law, but it would come in handy if anyone more sinister came sniffing.’
‘I’m not sure I like it. What if he snuffs it? How am I going to access this invisible account?’
‘Easy. There’re three of them. There’s a silent partnership at play here. They all have their own clients, but they share their profits. Any of them kick the bucket, the clients’ details are immediately picked up by one of the other two.’
‘Sounds like a lot of trust is required here.’
‘Come on, Herb. Look at their typical clientele
… they wouldn’t still be here if they were in the business of ripping people off.’
‘True,’ Wheelhouse said, nodding.
‘So, pull that tray back over, try and relax a little, and enjoy the breakfast I spent a fortune on.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I wouldn’t take it back. Whatever to the money. If he cared even a smidgeon for his granddaughter as I cared for Janice, it will have been worth every penny. And I’ll pay you back your twenty percent, Doug, you know I will.’
‘That’s up to you. I’d pay anything to see you happy. You’ve always been a good friend to me.’
As Wheelhouse continued to eat, Firth looked at the letter to Patricia on his desk. He’d forgotten to give it to Harris to put in the mail but would do when he returned.
He stroked the envelope and then looked back at Wheelhouse, who was attacking a rasher of bacon.
To new beginnings. Firth though. Enjoy your breakfast, Herb. It’s the least I could do today.
‘And as you can see, Bryan,’ Yorke said from the other side of the dining room table, ‘I’m feeling ten times better. I slept well, and I’m off the sofa. At least for breakfast.’
‘That’s great news, sir.’ Bryan took a mouthful of tea. ‘Sir … I know you don’t hold me in the highest regard, but I’ve been here before, and I hope you listen to me … things change quickly when you’ve experienced trauma. It can be manic. One minute you can be high as a kite, but the next minute …’
Yorke jolted. Bryan’s acknowledgement that Yorke was not his greatest fan was shocking. Yes, there was truth in it, but Yorke’s own failings over the last day, and the growing evidence that he was also far from infallible, caused a wave of guilt to wash over him. It hadn’t been a mistake to be critical of Bryan – that was necessary; the mistake had been not to counterbalance criticism with compliment. ‘I apologise for not being kinder to you Bryan. During your career, there’ve been moments when you’ve supported families through the unspeakable.’
Bryan blushed again. ‘Thanks sir … I never knew you thought like that. In the past, you’ve been quite vocal over some of my screw-ups.’
‘There’s a big difference between holding someone to account, and considering them a failure, Bryan. You’ve made mistakes and I ensured you were held to account. I’d do the same with any member of my team.’ He paused and looked away.
In his dream, he’d told Alfie and Janice that he wasn’t a liar.
But hadn’t he just lied?
He wasn’t holding Jake to account, was he?
‘Are you okay, sir?’
‘Yes, just came over all funny for a second there, Bryan. It’s the pain medication. As I was saying, I should have told you long ago how much I respected what you did for Iain following the murder of his wife, and how much you supported Holly and Ryan Mitchell when they lost their son. You’re a good person and a necessary person. Don’t think I’m pushing your support away. I’m not. I just don’t like people fussing over me, never really have.’
‘Thanks sir. I appreciate—’
The doorbell interrupted them.
‘You want me to go, sir?’
‘No, let me. I need the exercise.’
Yorke left the kitchen, and saw Patricia coming down the stairs to his left. ‘I’ve got it.’
Patricia stopped half-way down. ‘Okay, I’ll go back to rousing Ewan and his visitor.’
‘Separate rooms?’
Patricia smiled. ‘After your conversation with him, I don’t think they’d have dared to try any different.’
‘It wasn’t that bad.’
Patricia raised her eyebrows and walked back upstairs.
Yorke answered the front door. It was Willows. ‘How’re you feeling, sir?’
‘Well everything is a milestone and answering the door to you is an important one.’ He backed away to allow her in.
Willows held up a paper bag as she passed him. ‘Croissants. Freshly baked from around the corner.’
Yorke smiled. ‘Make that the most important milestone yet.’
After Ewan opted out of breakfast by running down and grabbing a handful of toast for Lexi and him, Yorke, Willows, Bryan and Patricia enjoyed the croissants. Beatrice was asleep in Patricia’s arms.
It was clear to everyone that Yorke was struggling to eat. The cut on his face burned every time he put something into his mouth, and his ribcage felt like it was going to burst every time he swallowed. One by one, they continually asked him if he was okay.
‘The next time someone asks me that question,’ Yorke said, ‘I’m going to say no.’
Awkward looks passed between them all.
‘Okay, point taken,’ Patricia said, stroking Beatrice’s hair, ‘no more sympathy.’
‘Sympathy is unsettling,’ Yorke said with a smile, ‘I’m not used to it.’
Patricia played an imaginary violin. ‘I promise to bring you breakfast in bed next time you are ravaged by man-flu.’
Yorke wanted to offer her a sardonic smile but knew that would hurt his cheek too much. He opted for ‘Ha-ha’ instead.
Willows smiled. ‘Anyway, on a more important note than sir’s feelings, I’ve read the ash cloud’s days are numbered.’
They all looked out the lounge window. The sky was swollen, and another torrential downpour couldn’t be long away.
‘Well I, for one, can’t wait,’ Patricia said, ‘Some daylight would be fantastic.’
‘Life back to normal again,’ Bryan said, ‘Sounds like bliss.’
Yorke kept his opinions to himself. Obviously, he wasn’t opposed to normality, but the end of Operation Tagline still rankled him; it had been a long time since he’d failed to see out an operation and restore justice.
He felt his blood boil when he thought of Borja Turgenev still walking free. He killed an innocent woman, and elderly man, and almost imposed extreme loss on his family. It wasn’t about Yorke himself bringing Borya to justice, he’d never been that conceited. It was just that he was now forced to trust others to do this.
And considering recent revelations, trust was in short supply.
‘To be honest, the world is a chaotic place,’ Willows said. ‘These days, I just see chaos as normal.’
Bryan and Patricia were silent.
Yorke smiled. There was Collette Willows. She’d come back from her recent experiences just fine.
From his car, on the other side of the road, Jake watched Nina Livingstone stroll down her father’s drive. Until Nina’s arrival, he’d been watching two kids in the adjacent driveway playing badminton, making the most of the fresh air before the sky burst open again.
As always, Nina ran her fingers down the side of her father’s red Porsche Boxster. She was a creature of habit, and Jake now knew those habits well. They were habits he wanted to preserve; so, he was here to warn her, and her father, that they’d been located. His one good deed. His moment of redemption before leaving.
Peter Livingstone, formally known as Alexander Antonovich, the ex- soviet military intelligence officer, opened the door to his daughter.
Jake watched Nina go into her father’s house. Saturday’s routine was slightly different to the weekly one. She’d stop for a drink first before driving them both somewhere for brunch. Jake planned to follow them, stop alongside them outside the café, and warn them. He didn’t want to risk doing it here. Being sighted outside their house would be a disaster. The less reason to make himself a target for Article SE, the better. Jake wanted to disappear an irrelevant man.
To be honest, he couldn’t believe Alexander Antonovich had lasted this long. The Russians were usually resourceful when locating their traitors. Alexander had also thrown major clues their way in the form of popular books on Josef Stalin, albeit under his British name, Peter Livingstone. The UK government had been very generous with Antonovich’s new identity. They’d given him a degree in history from Oxford University, a PHD, and he’d scored a lucrative job reporting for the National Geographic.
T
his was all about to come to an end for Antonovich. He would have to run, but at least he would survive.
One of the kids won a point against his brother and whooped in celebration. Jake thought of Frank and felt a hollowness inside.
He phoned Superintendent Joan Madden. She answered on her fourth ring.
‘It’s DS Jake Pettman. I won’t be coming in today.’
‘What are you contacting me for, officer? You have a line manager.’
‘In fact, I won’t be coming in again, ma’am. Ever. I’m done.’
‘Are you feeling alright? You’re not making any—’
‘I know.’
She didn’t respond.
‘I said I know about you, Superintendent Joan Madden.’
Jake felt a burst of adrenaline when one of the young boys burst out onto the street chasing a shuttlecock. He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw there was no traffic coming.
‘And what is it you think you know exactly, DS Pettman?’
‘I watched you pick up the USB stick from the squat in Tidworth.’
‘Did you now? Clever boy … I guess that puts a whole different perspective on our current conversation.’
‘I guess it does.’
‘And what do you intend to do with that information, Jake?’
He’d never heard her address him by his first name before; it was unnerving. ‘Nothing. I just told you - I’m done.’
She laughed.
He held in his anger, and instead watched the two boys lamping the shuttlecock back and forth.
‘You’re not done, Jake.’
‘We’ll see about that—’
‘Do you know who we work for?’
‘I’m irrelevant. They’ll forget about me soon enough.’
Madden laughed again. ‘Do you really believe that? No one is irrelevant, Jake. No one. You are dealing with the most careful organisation that ever existed. There isn’t a single T that isn’t crossed, or a single I that isn’t dotted.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘You’ll fail, Jake. The best thing you could do, right now, is come to HQ and talk to me directly. We’re on the same side.’
