by Angus McLean
‘Back at the flat, why?’
‘It’s time to join the Secret Service. We’ll have to swing by your place on the way.’
While she used the landline on his desk to start calling he drifted out to the hallway and used his mobile to call his American counterpart.
Michael was a CIA officer stationed at Grosvenor Square, the US embassy in London. Moore knew he would be almost up-the American was a healthy living Bible-basher from Iowa, who was always up before dawn.
Like most American spooks that Moore had met he was smart and a solid patriot, but very guarded in what he would give away. The conversation took less than two minutes and Moore moved on to his Aussie contact.
Stevo was an officer in the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation-ASIO-based in Canberra. They had staff in London too, but Moore knew Stevo from years back. It was about 2pm in Canberra and Stevo stepped out of a meeting to take the call. He listened to Moore’s request and promised to call him back shortly.
He stepped back into the office just as Katie hung up and waved his credit card at him.
‘Business class from Gatwick at 7am on BA,’ she said. She hiked her shoulders. ‘No economy seats available, sorry.’
Moore checked his watch. ‘Half past four,’ he said. ‘We need to move.’
He grabbed keys from his drawer, locked up and led her across the road to where the Mondeo was parked.
It took fifteen minutes to race back to the Forsythe and grab Katie’s bag, and another twenty to get back to Camden and into Moore’s flat. He grabbed a suitcase and packed enough gear for four days, including a plain black lightweight suit with a couple of shirts and ties. He couldn’t take any weapons with him, and just hoped that Jedi would have something for them at the other end.
He considered taking the Jag but the Mondeo was a company car, so less risk to him. They had crossed the bridge and were on the A3 passing Wimbledon Common when Stevo called back, his broad Aussie twang filling the car over the hands-free set. So far they hadn’t seen a single traffic cop or other Womble.
‘Total DL, Robbo,’ he said, ‘Paul Parker was kidnapped in Jakarta in October, turned up dead in the city about ten days later. Official version is he drowned and it probably happened when he wandered off drunk and fell in a stream. Great tragedy for the family, rah-de-rah-rah, y’know the drill. There was some speculation in the media that he’d been snatched but we quashed that pretty quick.’
Moore nodded silently, his hands locked on the wheel as he flew down the A3220.
‘And the real version?’ he asked.
‘Went there alone after some kind of fallout with the old man, supposedly to find himself or some gay shit. No question he was there for a good time-we got int that he’d been buying ganja and what-have-you off locals, behaving like your average naïve dickhead twenty-two year old backpacker.’
‘What kind of fallout?’
‘He was a bit of a dropkick, getting into drugs and hookers, not really the sort of scene the family approve of too much. The old man threatened to cut him off from the family tit unless he sorted his shit out-he didn’t, so he got cut off. Pretty pissed off apparently, threatened the old man and basically buggered off.’
‘Never to be seen again.’
A traffic camera flashed as they raced by and Moore was pleased he was in the company car-things like tickets could be dealt with.
‘You got it, mate.’
‘So why d’you say he was snatched?’
‘One of the boys on the ground got word from a source that he’d been grabbed by ISIS.’ There was a pause. ‘And when I say snatched, we weren’t entirely convinced on that, which ties in to the cause of death.’
‘Not drowning then?’
‘Na mate-he was found in a stream alright, but he was dead before he ever hit that. He actually had a weak heart and was on meds for it, but looks he stopped taking them and took other substances instead. Basically his heart blew out and he just croaked it. That’s not public knowledge though.’
‘So he was maybe tortured, put under stress?’
They were nearly at New Malden now, making good time, as long as they didn’t get pinged by a traffic cop.
‘That’s the problem mate, there was nothing. No sign of that on him at all. No other injuries.’
Katie stared at Moore with a puzzled expression.
‘Anything else strange about it, Stevo?’ he asked. ‘I mean, it’s all a bit odd but there’s still nothing really to work with is there?’
There was another pause and Moore thought they’d lost the connection for a moment.
‘This is the real guts of it mate, and like I say, it’s on the total down low, yeah?’
‘Of course mate.’
‘Our guy over there was doing some work on it, and things just didn’t feel right to him. He got control of the body and on pure gut instinct, did some hand swabs of young Mister Parker. Came back positive for traces of explosives.’
Moore and Katie stared at each other now, both thinking the same thing.
‘Was that verified?’ Moore asked.
‘It was a hundy mate, don’t you worry. It sent up all sorts of balloons around here, I can tell you.’
Moore pondered this bombshell for a few moments as he drove.
‘Was that as far as it went?’ he finally asked.
‘Pretty much mate, it all came to a dead end in Indo. The body got sent back and got buried as well as the story. It got some media interest for a little while but the real facts never floated out-certainly not the explosives part. Can you imagine the shit storm that would cause?’
Moore could, and he knew why both a wealthy family and a government would want to keep it all quiet.
‘Any links to any other similar cases that you know of?’ he prodded.
There was another pause and he knew he’d hit paydirt.
‘Officially no, mate.’ A long pause, and Stevo dropped his voice. ‘But if you were interested in that sort of thing, you’d probably want to look at the American girl Sinclair from a year or so ago. I did, and there are remarkable similarities.’
‘Yeah I’m waiting to hear back from my friend here on that.’
Stevo chuckled. ‘Bishop Michael? Good luck on that one mate. This is all to do with the Oldham girl, I take it?’
‘It is,’ Moore confirmed. He hung a left onto the A298 and overtook a battered Fiesta hatchback that was dawdling along. ‘It all seems a bit familiar really.’ On a whim, he asked, ‘Ever hear of the White Lambs?’
More silence. ‘No, not specifically, but that phrase popped up when we dug a bit on young Mister Parker. It was a password or something he used…a login maybe?’
Moore glanced at Katie. ‘To a chatroom?’
‘Could be mate, I’d have to have a look again.’
‘Can you come back to me on it Stevo? I think it could be important.’
‘No worries mate, I’ll buzz you back later eh?’
They rang off and Moore turned to Katie. The Mondeo was still sitting on seventy as they closed in on Sutton.
‘Any thoughts?’
She considered her response before speaking.
‘Nothing good,’ she said.
Chapter Forty Eight
The history books showed that The Battle of Crete took place in 1941, resulting in huge loss of life for both the invading German forces and the Allied troops attempting to defend the island.
Left high and dry without the heavy weapons and equipment they needed, the Allies fought bravely against an invasion by air but were ultimately defeated. Between the 21st of May and the 1st of June the Allies withdrew from Crete, mostly from the small port town of Sfakia on the southwest coast.
Many troops did not make it. Over 21,000 died or were captured, and some remained behind, banding together either with other troops or with the Cretan Resistance to wage a guerrilla war against the Germans.
It was a resounding defeat for a vital foothold in the Mediterranean, follo
wed by a vicious war of resistance where brutality was the norm and executions commonplace.
To mark the 75th anniversary, a series of formal occasions was being held. The main event was a commemoration ceremony on Saturday the 28th, to be held at the Sfakia International Hotel overlooking the bay where many of the Allied soldiers were extracted from.
Guided tours were bringing large groups of tourists, including many New Zealanders, Australians and British, as well as mainland Greeks. Both the NZ RSA and the Aussie RSL were sending parties of veterans and representatives, the handful of vets all now nearing 100 years of age. Formal groups of dignitaries were flying in, most of them only staying two or three days.
As Moore ran his eye over the list on his iPhone, Katie shifted in the seat beside him. She’d got the window but had fallen asleep as soon as the wheels left the tarmac. He wondered at the lack of stamina shown by the youth of today.
Mind you, he had to remind himself, she had shown plenty in the short time they’d had in London. She was an energetic and creative lover, making him feel young again, and he sensed a change in himself.
The funk he had slipped into prior to this mission was gone. His doubts about his own abilities had dissipated and he felt much more focussed, driven from within by the fire of old. Thoughts of Michelle were gone, leaving just a lingering bad taste and a nagging wonder about any potential fallout from that whole sorry episode. McGregor and her could both go to hell, he’d decided.
The drama with The Cutting Crew or whatever they called themselves still lurked in the background of his subconscious, and he knew it needed to be sorted with Wizz. First thing to do when he got back. For now it was put aside and he was on the job.
This was it; game on.
He looked again at Katie’s face, peaceful and untroubled in sleep, a lock of dark hair falling across her cheek. She was young and beautiful and full of life.
He had no idea where it was going-whatever it was that they had-but for now he was just going with the flow.
He settled back and closed his eyes. Heraklion was still nearly three hours away, and he needed to sleep when he could.
Jedi knocked on the door at 3pm.
Katie let him in and he put an aluminium briefcase on the table then took a moment to admire the suite they’d booked. It was the third floor of the Majestic Hotel, a classic Mediterranean establishment with a reasonable view over Chania towards the harbour only a couple of blocks away. The sun was pouring in through the open doors to the small balcony, and the ceiling fan circled lazily, moving the warm air around but doing nothing to drop the temperature.
‘Good flight?’ Ingoe asked, as Moore emerged from the bedroom, freshly changed.
‘Can’t complain,’ Moore said, giving a wry smile, ‘had to go Business Class though, sorry-apparently Economy was full.’
Jedi cocked an eyebrow but didn’t bite. ‘Lucky you got the worst room to make up for it then, eh?’ He crossed to the open doors and shut them. ‘The room’s been swept but who knows who’s outside. The Brits and Aussies are here, plus the Greeks obviously, the Germans and the Italians. It’s a veritable smorgasbord of politicians and agencies here at the moment.’
Katie filled glasses from a pitcher of iced tea and they took seats on the twin sofas, Moore and Katie sitting together at right angles to Jedi.
‘I read your email,’ Jedi began, referring to the encrypted message Moore had sent him from the departure lounge at Gatwick. ‘Interesting reading. Broken down individually, there’s not a lot there, but collectively it certainly forms a picture we need to be looking at. I’ve briefed the rest of the contingent on the potential risk, and as a result things have changed. Vince and Nga were going to be a reserve team in case we needed them, but they’re now on the CP team for the High Commissioner and the Minister.’
‘Oldham himself?’ Katie interrupted.
Jedi nodded. ‘He has a couple of his own guys, Police Protection Services guys, but the High Commissioner doesn’t. We were just going to be backing them up, but things have obviously changed. They are officially not armed, but it’s the usual accepted rule that what the hosts don’t see, they don’t worry about.’
‘So we’re the new back-up team?’ Moore guessed, and Jedi nodded again.
‘Plus I need you two to be eyes and ears on the ground. I want you on deck for all the official events-I’ve got a schedule for you-and when you’re not doing that you’re out in the crowd being tourists, watching and listening. If anything goes down I want early warning and I want problems dealt with. Understood?’
‘Got it,’ Moore said, and Katie nodded.
Jedi tossed his head towards the case on the table. ‘There’s your kit there, anything else you need, let me know. The first event you’ll need to be on deck for is a cocktail evening tonight, starting at seven. Briefing here at six, so you’ll need to be ready.’ He eyed Katie’s shorts and T-shirt pointedly. ‘Hopefully you’ve got appropriate evening wear.’
She pulled a face. ‘Unless you want me in a cocktail dress, I’m all good.’
Moore couldn’t suppress a snort, and Jedi gave him a critical look.
‘You could tidy yourself up too, sunshine,’ he rasped. ‘A shave wouldn’t go astray.’
As Moore’s cheeks flushed Jedi stood and made for the door. ‘I’m next door,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘see you at six.’
‘Time check?’ Moore asked as the door closed.
‘Ten past three.’
‘Right, we need to boogie.’
He got up and crossed to the aluminium case, popping the catches to reveal an array of kit set into foam lining.
There was a charging unit for the two hand held radios, earwigs and wires, covert Safariland hip holsters, belt pouches for the spare pistol magazines, and a pair of Sig Sauer P229 9mm semi autos.
While Katie got the radios on the charge, Moore checked the weapons. They had two spare mags each and there were two boxes of ammo-more than enough.
A good CP job resulted in no dramas and a smooth ride for the principal, and he was confident in the abilities of Vince and Nga to execute their roles perfectly. Despite that, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of dread in his gut.
They loaded their weapons and Katie concealed hers in the bum bag she’d brought with her, securing it round her waist. Moore tucked his in the front of the waistband of his shorts, and they were good to go.
The hotel was situated in the Topanas district of Chania’s Old Town, an area of narrow winding alleyways and historic buildings, many of which had been converted into hotels and eateries. It was busy tourist season and the cobbled streets and walkways were thick with foreigners, many laden with daypacks and clad in hiking gear.
An ideal cover for terrorists, Moore mused as he led the way, his bulk forcing a gap through the throngs.
Eleftherios Venizelos Square opened up ahead of them, the centre of the Old Town, and he skirted the crowds stopping for photos and browsing, and instead followed his nose down to the Venetian harbour.
The waterfront of Chania was what he had always considered to be classic Mediterranean with the promenade along its wide mouth, backed by stone and brick buildings with canopies over tables and chairs, the water just a few metres away, a full marina and a constant flow of tourists interspersed with locals.
It was the sort of place he imagined would be fantastic for a romantic getaway with a beautiful girl, and the thought brought a wry smile to his face. At least he was partway there.
The dry air was nearly still and his shirt was sticking to him already. He moved out of the flow of pedestrians and stopped outside a café, looking enquiringly at Katie. She nodded appreciatively and grabbed the only free table. A waiter was on them immediately, taking their order for two iced orange juices.
Moore felt himself start to relax as he sat and stared out at the blue waters of the harbour, the ancient lighthouse sitting out there at the tip of a walkway, the sun beating down. The stresses of the last few day
s were taking their toll and he was tired, but he couldn’t switch off. His mind was constantly going, churning over the intel they had and figuring out what they were lacking, scanning the passing crowds for a familiar face or a suspicious movement, continually thinking, digesting, analysing. Despite the fatigue in his body he knew he was too keyed up to relax properly. Later, he told himself, you can relax later.
He glanced sideways at Katie, sipping her juice through a straw and watching the passers-by from behind dark glasses. Her toned arms were bare beneath her blue singlet, and her hair was down. She had bought a straw fedora with a colourful band from a street vendor near the hotel, and it was pulled down over her eyes.
Moore ran a hand through his hair and felt the joints in his neck click as he leaned back. He drained his glass and set it down on the table.
Katie took the hint, crunched some ice and stood. Moore tucked money under his glass and they headed along the promenade, skirting slower moving tourists but not moving with any great urgency.
‘You ever been here before?’ Katie asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.
‘No. Been to Greece, but not here. You?’
‘No.’ She smiled behind the glasses. ‘It’s on my “to do” list.’
‘My granddad was here in the war,’ Moore said. ‘He and his brother were both at Maleme airfield. Granddad got wounded pretty badly, spent the rest of the war in a POW camp. His brother was killed.’
‘So the Army runs in your blood then,’ she said.
They turned into a side street and headed back towards the hotel.
‘Yes and no.’ Moore gave a crooked grin. ‘It was for their generation, but not for my Dad. He was a pacifist, kinda justified it through Grandad’s experience in the war. He protested against Vietnam, all that shit. Even did some jail time for burning a car at a protest.’
‘Wow. Not what I would expect from your gene pool.’
‘No. As you can imagine we’re quite different. He’s never been the biggest supporter of my career choices.’
‘And a criminal to boot. Bad-ass.’
Moore grunted. ‘Hardly. I think he spent about six months gardening at some low security clink. Came out and went back to teaching, buggered off and left Mum with the kids. Last seen shacked up with some hairy arm pitted greeny in New Plymouth.’
