Shades of Loyalty

by Paul Stretton-Stephens

  They drove for a few hundred metres, past the cemetery, and the target turned left into Festing Road.

  Meanwhile, Delta Two had continued in the flow of traffic and, in order to remain parallel with the other team, had driven to the traffic island then turned right onto Cromwell Road and onto Eastern Parade.

  Dom called Delta Two. “Delta Two, this is Delta One. What is your position? Over.”

  “Delta One, we’re on Eastern Parade travelling west and just approaching Helena Road on the right. Over.”

  Dom rapidly scanned the satnav.

  “Delta Two, this is Delta One. Roger that. Continue past Festing Road, I repeat, Festing Road, and pull over near the small lake area, maybe on St Helens Parade. Over.”

  Dom has been doing this line of work for a long time and trusted his gut instinct. He and the teams had spent an hour familiarising themselves with the immediate area upon their arrival. They’d already planned routes, rendezvous points, emergency egress and extraction points. It was second nature to all of them; that’s how they survived.

  The target drove to the end of Festing Road, indicating their intention to turn right as predicted.

  “Hold back a little,” Dom said. “The others are around that junction. Let’s see where this pair is going.”

  As they approached the junction, Dom couldn’t see Delta Two and the target was just leaving his sight around a left-hand bend.

  “Pick it up now, so we don’t lose sight.”

  The driver sped up with just the right tempo so as not to attract attention. They neared and then rounded the bend. Until that point, they couldn’t see the target nor Delta Two due to the dense overhanging trees and shrubs, and an awkwardly placed bus stop.

  “Hold back, he’s pulling over. And would you look at that? He’s parking right behind Delta Two.”

  “Delta Two, this is Delta One. Do you have a visual on the target? Over.”

  “Delta One, that is a big affirmative. Are you coming up behind and shall we effect the op now? Over.”

  Dom watched as he approached and saw that the target and his passenger were leaving their vehicle. Nearby was a group of about twelve elderly people ambling alongside the parked cars.

  He made a judgement call.

  “Delta Two, this is Delta One. Negative. Wait, wait, wait. Over.”

  Dom’s van pulled over about fifty metres behind the target’s vehicle. They watched as the target and his companion filed around as they stepped over the low fence and walked towards the lake.

  Dom got out of his vehicle to get eyes on the target.

  The target continued towards the end of the water, which featured a broad curve to a point where the path widened. The two suddenly sprinted and then leapt up onto the perimeter wall of the grounds. Once on the wall, they descended to the roadside and ran in front of the traffic onto the promenade on the seafront. They were now out of sight.

  “Delta Two, this is Delta One. Do you have them in sight? Over.”

  “Negative, Delta One, I’ll send a mini drone. Over.”

  “Roger that, I’ll wait for the image. Over.”

  The door of the van opened, and a hand stuck out with an open palm facing upwards, upon which sat a mini drone. Within seconds, the drone’s rotors had kicked in, and it took off high into the sky. The controller in Delta Two guided it high above the tree-lined path, high enough to be above the treetops. It followed the curve of the path and took up position in a treetop. Its onboard HD camera relayed live images to both vehicles, and they caught sight of the target and his companion. They watched them approach a café kiosk and make an order. They waited, received their drinks, then took a seat on a nearby picnic table, sitting across from one another.

  “Delta One, this is Delta Two. Over.”

  “Go ahead, Delta Two. Over.”

  “Delta Two, targets relaxed, taking a drink. No counter-surveillance evident. They seem relaxed to be targets. Over.”

  “Delta Two, this is Delta One. I see what you’re saying, yet the intel has been coming in on this X-ray for quite some time now. Maybe he’s just overconfident. He’s young and probably thinks that he is invincible. We’ll soon see. Over.”

  Fifteen minutes later the pair looked as though they were finishing their drinks.

  “Delta One, this is Delta Two. Over. They are on the move in the direction of their vehicle. Over.”

  “Delta Two, this is Delta One. Let’s wait until they return to their vehicle and effect the op then. That is unless things change here. Keep your eyes peeled. Oh, and is there any sign of their mate that left them earlier? Over.”

  “Roger, Delta One. We haven’t seen any sign but will keep a lookout. Over and out.”

  The targets dodged the traffic on the main coast road, scampered back over the wall and dropped down on the other side onto the lakeside path. They were busy talking as they sauntered towards their vehicle. As soon as they came into sight, the mini drone was brought back into the van.

  “Hello, all stations. This is Delta One. Wait, wait, wait.”

  The pair left the concrete path and were now on the grassy area, just about to step over the small wire fence towards their vehicle. The target took out his car keys and pressed the remote unlock button.

  “All stations. GO, GO, GO!”

  The target was heading for the handle of his door when three armed men approached, one from the front and two at his rear. They said nothing. Instinctively, the target attempted to reach inside of his bulky hoody, and as he did so, a blow rained down on the back of his head and another in his right kidney, causing him to drop and buckle at the same time. As he was hooded and PlastiCuffed, he was relieved of his holstered Glock pistol and searched for more covert weapons. They found none, although they did relieve him of his two mobile phones and car keys. He attempted to call out and was met with a full-on assault in his midriff, causing a sharp intake of breath and gasping under the hood. They dragged him into the van of Delta One where a member of the team joined him to search more thoroughly, before administering a sedative.

  The target’s passenger friend had been dealt with swiftly. He hadn’t even reached the other side of the vehicle when two of the team forced him to the ground at gunpoint. He was gagged, hooded, PlastiCuffed at his wrists and connected at his ankles. He was also relieved of his mobile phone, knife and small Smith & Wesson revolver.

  “Throw him in the back of the truck and lock the doors,” a team member suggested.

  Within seconds, he was in lying prone in the rear seat foot well of the truck from where, under the strong sedative, he could barely hear anything prior to his inevitable unconsciousness. The two vans departed and disappeared into the traffic.

  Chapter 6 – Helping Out

  It was 13:30 hours. Jago slipped into a quiet doorway in St Christopher’s Place, a popular area for bars and restaurants just off of Oxford Street. He had just finished a meeting with his long-time friend in MI5, Brett Chambers, in Carluccio’s restaurant. As Jago called Abi in Control, he noticed that Brett had started to disappear among the throngs of menu-reading customers. He kept an eye on Brett’s direction, unconsciously watching his back.

  “Abi, do we have anything regarding the significance of the dates yet?”

  “Not yet, Boss, I’m still running the possibilities, and nothing is jumping out at me. The obvious thing may be a payday, anniversary, or even a standing order. But unless we know what connects all the dots, we’re in the dark. Did you get any info on the target destinations? Are there any known links?”

  “No, nothing, but I have someone taking a look at a different angle for us. He’ll call later. If I’m not around, he’ll be on a secure line. His name’s Brett. How is Dom getting on?”

  “He has both targets, and they’re en route to the House of Hell. Once he’s there and all is secure, he’ll stand down his team. He asked what time you would arrive?”

  “Tell him that I should be there by 1600 hours, 1700 at the latest. He can alwa
ys start without me.” Jago paused. He knew only too well that the targets didn’t stand a chance with Dom. “Does he need anything?”

  “No, Boss. He’s all good. I’ll pass on your message.”

  “Okay, I’m going over to Orenid Finance. I’ll be in touch.”

  For some reason unbeknown to him, Jago had continued to look in the direction Brett had headed after their meeting. His friend was just reaching the end of St Christopher’s Place and coming out onto Wigmore Street. As Jago finished the call to Abi, he glimpsed two men leaving their seats outside of a brasserie. One was tall and athletic and wearing a dark suit; the other smaller but stocky in build. Both had very dark hair and olive-coloured skin. It may have been a coincidence, but the manner of their movement had purpose. They appeared to ignore everyone around them and they weren’t talking as they were walking. Their gaze was forward, in Brett’s direction. By this time, Brett was nearing the junction of Wigmore Road. Jago called Brett, who invariably wore an earpiece, but this would not have unduly alerted his followers.

  “Hi, thanks for the meeting just now. I thought that you should know that you may have company, possibly two Middle Eastern or Asian males, about two to three hundred to your back.”

  “That’s great, that’s all I need. Do you have a description?”

  Jago relayed their descriptions.

  “Brett, my first impression is that they don’t seem too careful. They’re sticking together and not worried about anyone on their tail. I’ll sweep my area for any others before I close in. Can you take them to RV3 via RV5?”

  “Okay, will do.”

  Jago and Brett had established rendezvous points across the city over the course of many years. Jago needed a strike point and was quick to identify the first potential location. Brett maintained his usual pace and took a dogleg path across Wigmore Street to Jason Court leading onto Marylebone Lane. He continued in a northerly direction past Bentinck Mews and the Ivy Café. He remained on Marylebone Lane and approached RV5, the café on the corner of Cross Keys Close.

  Brett called Jago. “Approaching RV5 in one minute.”

  “Good, I’m close by. Don’t go into the café. Turn right in Cross Keys Close and go into the restaurant directly in front of you. They’re holding back so speed up your step as you turn into the close and they won’t know where you’ve gone initially. And then call in for one of your support teams.”

  “Got it, I’m turning the corner now.”

  Brett stepped up his pace as instructed and almost burst into the restaurant. Once inside, he went straight to the rear of the restaurant area and asked to make a reservation for the evening. While Brett was waiting for the smart maître d’ to look through his bookings, he kept a close watch on the entrance through the small, partially screened windows. He also made the coded call for support. As he was making the call, and just as expected, two dark figures passed by, with one stopping momentarily in an attempt to peer inside the restaurant. At this point, Brett casually dropped to the floor, pretending to tie a shoelace, knowing that he would be shielded from view by the maître d’. He waited before slowly rising to discover that the man had moved on.

  Outside, the pair had reached the end of the dead-end close. They looked for an open door or passageway. There were none. And then they felt like they were in the presence of someone.

  Jago stood leaning against a red-brick wall on one side of the close.

  “Can I help anyone?”

  They looked at each other. The stocky man spoke with a Middle Eastern accent.

  “No, no thanks. We’re lost, but we can find our way.”

  As he spoke, his companion had started to draw out a knife from his waistband. He advanced towards Jago with a glimmering six-inch blade. Meanwhile, the speaker began moving towards him as well. Jago weighed up the options: keep the pistol holstered and minimise the noise or take them both out quickly. He chose the first option, enjoying the exhilaration of hand-to-hand fighting. He was good at it and was always ready for some practice. As the knife swiped towards him, he easily avoided its reach and deftly stepped inside towards the attacker, taking the knife arm and twisting it back on itself. The rest of the owner’s body followed, hitting the cobbled ground with a resounding thud.

  The knife was released and Jago stomped on the assailant’s throat while breaking his wrist. As he turned, the second man arrived and clumsily made a grab for the knife that was now on the floor. As he stooped to reach for it, Jago took the advantage and launched a swift kick to the man’s side. He was winded and tried to get up, only to be kicked full-on in the face, which finished him. His companion was in agony, desperately trying to breathe and get to his feet. Jago stepped over and kicked the man square in the balls. The crumpled heap was going nowhere and gave no resistance as Jago relieved him of his Caracal pistol, complete with orange insert, wallet and mobile phone.

  Brett arrived at the scene.

  Jago smiled.

  “Oh, nice of you to turn up at last. Here I am slaving away to protect you, and you show up when it’s all done.”

  Brett looked at the state of the bodies and then at Jago. His face was blank, almost as if he were in shock or disbelief.

  “Okay, so you think I’m losing my touch, eh?”

  Brett didn’t reply.

  “That’s alright because I can fix that.”

  And Jago bent down to grab the groaning man’s abundant hair, lifted his head and punched him in the face.

  “There, is that better? Now go and search the other guy and take photos.”

  “Right, okay. Support will be here in two minutes,” Brett said, spurred into action.

  Brett rifled through the pockets of the stocky gent who was out cold. Apart from a wallet and some credit cards in different names, there wasn’t much to be gained. However, Jago had more luck. He’d taken the man’s mobile phone and was busy looking at photos of Brett and some Arabic text on it. He tossed the mobile to Brett.

  “You’d better give this to your boys, who had better be here soon.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, one could think that if this pair is part of a grab team, there must be at least another one of them nearby, possibly in a vehicle. Let’s hope your boys get here first.”

  “Do you mean that they—”

  Jago butted in. “Yes, it looks as though you were their target. What kind of stuff are you into these days?”

  A nondescript grey van appeared around the corner. It drove slowly down the close, flanked by two armed men who were continually looking about them.

  Brett received a message on his mobile. It was the support van’s registration. He quickly verified the van and breathed a sigh of relief.

  He turned to Jago. “It’s okay. They’re ours.”

  A white van entered the close behind the support van. Shots rang out, and one of the support officers dropped. The grey van drove a diagonal across the close, shielding Brett and Jago. The driver alighted, moved to the front of the vehicle and joined the other support worker in returning fire.

  “Keep an eye on this pair, I’ll give them a hand.” Jago was gone, pistol drawn ready to assist.

  The driver was returning fire over the van’s bonnet while the other was shooting with a narrow arc of fire from the restricted tailgate view. The van was taking hits. Jago knew that the assailants were using machine pistols, and possibly two of them. He crawled partway under the van and could see the feet of one assailant. Jago fired a few rounds, bringing the man down to the ground, and shot him again twice in the torso. On the left, the support officers had wounded the other who was making his way to the front of the grey van, firing heavily — so much so that the driver was unable to return fire and the officer at the tailgate couldn’t see. As the attacker neared the bonnet of the support van, Jago rolled under the van and fired multiple shots from his prone position. The assailant stopped shooting, slumping to his knees against the wall, still with weapon in hand. Jago got to his feet while training his
pistol on the man’s head as he closed in. The man lifted his weapon slightly, and that was excuse enough for Jago to finish him off. Not that he needed one.

  A second support team arrived with an armed response unit. They secured the area and Jago gave his report and slipped away.

  His mobile rang. It was Brett.

  “Jago, thanks for that. Thanks a lot. I’ll get that info over to you ASAP.”

  “No problem, Brett. Stay safe.”

  Jago kept his mobile in hand for another call.

  “Abi, will you tell Dom that he’s on his own. I got waylaid and won’t be able to get to him. We can’t wait, so he’ll just have to get on with it.”

  “Okay, Boss, will do. You okay?”

  “Yes, sure, never better. I’ll call in later.”

  Chapter 7 – The List

  Jago entered a tall, glass-walled structure in the heart of the financial district. Moments later, he was being accompanied by a smart young lady who reminded him briefly of Rebecca. He hadn’t really had time to think about her and took delight in the moment. They reached the desk of the CEO’s gatekeeper, a busty redhead in her forties, whose face was adorned with freckles below the line of her Gucci-framed glasses. The young woman introduced Jago.

  “Mrs Poole, this is Mr Gale. He’s here to meet with Mr Atkins.”

  Mrs Poole dropped her head and peered over her glasses at the young woman. She said nothing and looked down at her diary which was open at the day. She then turned to Jago.

  “You don’t appear to have an appointment. And an impromptu meeting with Mr Atkins is out of the question. Good day.”

  She turned side on to her computer and ignored the pair who looked at each other is disbelief.

  The young woman stood with her mouth wide open and her arms outstretched. She clearly did not know how to respond to such rudeness. Jago winked at the young woman and asked her, “What’s your name?”

  “Jane, I’m Jane.”

  “Jane, it’s been lovely to meet you. I’m Jack. Now please get a proper job and don’t ever end up like that.” He pointed to Mrs Poole.