Chameleon

by Michael K Foster

  Mason held his composure, but only just.

  ‘Here’s my problem,’ the second nameless officer continued. ‘We’re convinced Margaret Cooper was murdered for what she knew. In representing the CPS against one of the Russian investment banks, it meant she had direct access to all of the case files.’

  ‘So that’s what all this about?’

  The officer nodded. ‘Looking at the evidence, forensic foot casts recovered from Chopwell Wood are a direct match to those taken from the Sanderson Law Chambers, and a property of interest in London. In other words, we now have three positive links to Yavlinsky.’

  ‘Sometimes you get lucky.’ Mason shrugged.

  ‘Not in this case. You’d obviously figured out the break-in at the Sanderson Law Chambers was connected to this barrister and followed it up at your meetings with DI Swan at Ponteland Police Headquarters.’

  When he’d finished, Mason stared at him in stunned silence. Holy shit, he gasped. These bastards were five moves ahead of him, he needed to catch-up. This meeting wasn’t about local criminals anymore, this was way over his head.

  ‘So, you now believe Yavlinsky was responsible for killing the barrister?’

  ‘No, I didn’t say that. Neither did I say he killed her. What is fact, though, is that when Yavlinsky broke into the Sanderson Law Chambers we believe he may have photographed vital evidence that would incriminate the Russian investment bank at the forthcoming Newcastle trial. Not only that, we’re still unable to trace one of the key witness’s whereabouts.’

  ‘You mean the hedge fund auditor, Stephen Rice?’

  The senior officer nodded. ‘Yes, and he was auditing one of the city banks at the time of his disappearance.’

  ‘I had an inkling that Rice was implicated. If not, then why did he go missing?’

  ‘You were certainly on the right track, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘So, what’s Rice’s connection in all of this?’

  ‘Shortly before his disappearance, we know he was working for one of the Russian leading banks and was backed by some very prominent people.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Off-shore financiers, lawyers, corrupt politicians––’

  ‘So, Rice is obviously a key player in this money laundering operation?’

  ‘Very much so.’ There was a hint of impatience in the senior agent’s voice, suddenly. ‘When Rice realised what he was letting himself in for, he wanted out. But it’s never that easy, not where the Russians are concerned. Having decided to come clean, he went to the Metropolitan Police with his story.’ The senior officer smiled cynically. ‘Once the Joint Intelligence Committee were involved, they quickly realised the threat that Rice posed to our national security – and that’s when he took flight.’

  ‘So, where is Rice now?’

  ‘Nobody knows – not on our side of the fence at least.’

  ‘Is he still alive?’ Mason asked.

  ‘We know that British Intelligence has contacted him on several occasions, and that Rice seemed willing to turn Queen’s evidence. But there lies another problem. . . how much information did Rice give to other people involved in the trial?’

  ‘It sounds like Yavlinsky’s sole mission is to hoover up anyone with insider knowledge of this Russian banking scam?’

  The officer shook his head mutely. ‘That’s our understanding of it.’

  Nerves jangling, Mason gripped the tubular metal armrests to steady himself. ‘What I can tell you, is that a few weeks prior to Margaret Cooper going missing she’d arranged to meet someone regarding Rice’s whereabouts.’

  ‘Which suggests she was probably set up, then silenced,’ the second officer added.

  ‘By whom? Yavlinsky?’

  Gregory leaned in closer without holding eye contact. ‘He certainly fits the bill.’

  ‘So, why was the trial moved to Newcastle and away from the capital in the first place?’ Mason asked.

  ‘That was the Joint Intelligence Committee’s decision, along with the Home Office,’ the second officer confirmed. ‘They were testing the water out – tugging at the shirt sleeves of the Russian investment bankers in the hope that one of them might break.’

  ‘If Yavlinsky broke into the law chambers and copied Cooper’s Outlook calendar, he would have known all of her contacts and movements,’ Mason replied.

  ‘Besides important information regarding the trial.’

  ‘Shit!’ Mason gasped.

  ‘These people are ruthless professionals, make no mistake about that.’ The two Special Branch officers exchanged glances as if to emphasise the point. ‘Had this young boy not spotted Yavlinsky at work, I fear this case would have gone unnoticed.’

  Mason folded his arms across his chest, a defensive stance. ‘I always thought that Cooper was caught up in something sinister. If these people are prepared to eliminate anyone with incriminating evidence against them, then young Martin Kennedy is now in serious trouble.’

  ‘We’ve already taken care of that aspect,’ Gregory replied authoritatively. ‘He’s been moved to a safe house.’

  The senior officer shifted his weight and smiled. ‘How would you describe your current fitness levels, Chief Inspector? Let’s say on a scale from one to ten?’

  ‘If you’re trying to pension me off, I feel fucking terrible,’ Mason replied.

  ‘And what if we’re not?’

  ‘Then I’ve never felt better.’

  The two officers stared at one another and burst out laughing.

  It was Gregory who spoke next. ‘This case has obviously taken on a whole new meaning. Knowing your previous background working with MIT, how would you feel about taking on a special assignment?’

  ‘What are you proposing, sir? Another shit advisory role?’

  ‘No, no! This would be a front-line policing position.’

  The senior officer stared across at Mason and smiled. ‘Your number one priority would be to protect the boy, and anyone remotely connected in this forthcoming trial. We know what Yavlinsky is capable of, but that’s a matter for you people to consider.’

  ‘I presume we’re looking at a close protection role?’ Mason said pointing at the files.

  Gregory shrugged. ‘I’m confident you’re the right man for the job.’

  ‘Yeah, and I’m no James Bond,’ Mason smugly replied.

  ‘Why not sleep on it and give me your answer in the morning?’

  The second officer spoke next. ‘I don’t have to tell you that this case is covered by the Official Secrets Act. Signing it has no effect on which actions are legal, as the act is law, not a contract. In other words, you are both bound to it, whether or not you have signed up to it.’

  Alarm bells ringing in Mason’s ears, the senior officer’s words suddenly hit home hard. This was a dangerous assignment he would be undertaking, so it had to be on his terms.

  As the two Special Branch officers stood to leave, the senior officer turned to them, and said, ‘Thank you, gentlemen. As soon as you’ve given us the green light to proceed, we’ll set the wheels in motion.’

  Mason let out a long sigh of exasperation, still unsure what to make of it all. One thing for certain, though, he was back in the driving seat again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  With every movement sending shooting pains throughout his body, Jack Mason gingerly made his way towards Superintendent Gregory’s office. It had been quiz-night at the Ship Inn in Benwell the previous evening, and his team had come in last as usual. After crawling their way to some seedy backstreet Indian restaurant in Forest Hall, the last thing he remembered was falling out of a taxi. The rest was awash in a haze of alcohol confusion, and the mother of all hangovers.

  It was part of Mason’s nature to worry when caught in two minds. Ever since childhood he detested making life changing decisions. Now that Special Branch was involved, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that this would be a dangerous assignment he would be undertaking. It was never easy. The last
time he’d worked with the Security Service was back in 2003, and that concerned a consignment of arms that were being supplied to splinter terrorist groups in Africa. He’d been stuck in a private room in the Travellers Club on Pall Mall at the time, whilst two floors down a group of MI6, CIA and Libyan intelligence officials were having a very long lunch over a major arms deal. He was much younger back then, and more agile.

  Reluctant to get involved, Mason knew the enormous risks he would be undertaking. But he loved the buzz he got from it – the unbelievable adrenaline rush from catching the bad guys and bringing about their downfall. But there lay a bigger problem, as you never knew who the real enemy was. Once government intelligence officers were involved, you always knew you were working alongside double-agents – people whose allegiance lay on both sides of the fence – risk takers who knew the consequences of being found out. Those days were behind him now, although yesterday’s meeting had certainly given him a lot to think about.

  The moment the Area Commander looked up from behind his desk, he could see his mood was upbeat. ‘Ah, Detective Chief Inspector. Coffee?’

  ‘I’d love a cup, sir.’

  ‘It’s on its way over.’

  Eyes glazed over, Mason took up a seat opposite and flipped open his notebook. The last thing he wanted to hear was another round of questioning. Pen poised, brain stuck in first gear, he sat back and waited for the punchline.

  ‘Have you come to your decision yet?’ Gregory began.

  ‘No, sir,’ Mason relied flatly. ‘I’m still wrestling over the problem of team selection.’

  ‘Let’s not get too hung up over that, we have far more important issues to discuss.’

  ‘It’s a simple matter of principle, sir. Now that I’m fully fit for duties, I resent having to take my instructions from a junior ranking officer.’

  Gregory let out a long slow breath, his expression grave. ‘I’ve just had the Chief Constable on the blower, and he’s already been in contact with Special Branch. It seems the latest intelligence reports coming out of Millbank confirm the Russian Mafia could be involved in this money laundering scam – and in a big way, apparently. Some of the information is highly sensitive, of course, and we’re not getting the full picture. That said, the CC is naturally keen we get moving on our part of the operation.’

  Coffee arrived, brought in on a tray by a young secretary with the Times newspaper tucked neatly under her arm. Mason waited for the door to close behind her before continuing. ‘Does this mean the Chief Constable will be overseeing our part in the protection operations?’

  ‘No. That still remains with me.’ Gregory stared out of his window and stroked his chin in thought. The man looked at odds with himself, as though his retirement plans had suddenly been put on hold. ‘He still has an active interest in the proceedings, of course, especially now that Joint Intelligence Committee are involved.’

  Curbing his emotions, Mason mulled this over. Change unsettled him, and the landscape had altered considerably these past few years. Political correctness had gone mad, and far too many officers were too scared to speak openly, not to mention cultural appropriation. Not so in Mason’s case, he was determined to get his point across no matter whose toes he trod on.

  ‘What will my new role entail exactly?’

  ‘I take it you’re still interested in heading up the operation?’

  ‘As long as I have a say in team selection.’

  Gregory nodded in reluctant agreement and exhaled through clenched teeth. ‘What came over rather strongly at yesterday’s meeting with Special Branch was our role in keeping the local community safe. Who else at the Sanderson Law Chambers knew about these illegal money transfers with the Russian investment banks – that’s what we should be asking ourselves.’

  ‘Apart from a few clerks, no one, I suspect.’

  Gregory looked strangely unnerved as he put his pen down in thought. ‘We need to be absolutely certain. If not, the consequences could be catastrophic.’

  ‘What about the other Russian banks involved?’

  ‘That’s a matter for the Home Office and Special Branch to sort out, as much of it involves shell companies who are registered in overseas tax havens. Who is responsible for the wire transactions is none of our concern.’

  ‘I take it our task is to hunt down Grigori Yavlinsky and bring him to justice?’

  ‘Far from it,’ Gregory replied, looking troubled. ‘Our role is purely one of close protection – looking after the likes of young Martin Kennedy and anyone else who is caught up in this.’

  ‘Are you saying that this is purely a holding role?’

  ‘If the Russians are refusing to cooperate with the British government it means we’ll be working closely with the Joint Intelligence Committee. Once your team’s in place, the Chief Constable will give us a broader indication as to what is expected of us.’ Gregory shook his head as if resigned to the fact. ‘I take it you do have a few people in mind?’

  ‘Yes and no. I was––’

  Gregory raised a hand to interrupt. ‘Good. You’ll need to keep your team small. No more than a dozen officers. Any more and it won’t be manageable. We also need to consider giving young Martin Kennedy adequate protection during the daily school runs.’

  ‘It sounds like you already have a plan in mind?’

  ‘Social Services are looking at a foster mother in Seaton Sluice, and he may need to be given a new identity at some point. That said, the Chief Constable isn’t at all keen on the idea, as it could throw up all kinds of problems.’

  ‘I tend to agree with him on that.’ Mason nodded. ‘I presume the boy’s father’s house isn’t suitable?’

  ‘Phillip Kennedy is still out on licence; it’s not a viable proposition.’ Gregory glanced at him sternly. ‘Once you’ve made your final team selection, I’ll be holding a briefing in my office. In the meantime, we’ve set up a firearms refresher course for everyone involved in the case.’

  ‘What about Special Branch will they be involved?’

  ‘Not at this point. They will be acting as an intelligence gathering service, of course. Any additional support will come via the Chief Constable.’

  Mason whistled through clenched teeth. ‘This is beginning to sound like the real deal.’

  ‘Make no mistake about it, Chief Inspector. This is a dangerous assignment.’

  ‘It’s definitely not your everyday police operation, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Good, we understand each other perfectly then.’

  Mason checked his notes. ‘There is one further question if I may – team selection. Does that include taking on specialists?’

  ‘Specialists?’

  ‘I was particularly thinking about David Carlisle and his criminal profiling skills.’

  The Area Commander thought a moment. ‘Allow me to run it past the Chief Constable Constable, as I’d hate us to get off on the wrong footing especially at this early stage in the proceedings.’

  Mason nodded and scribbled down some notes.

  ‘Will that be all, sir?’

  ‘Yes, for now. In the meantime, I’ll make the necessary arrangements with Special Branch and let them know of your decision.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  As Mason stood to leave, he felt another searing pain in his side. Recovery was painstakingly slow and a constant reminder as to just how close to death he’d actually come. Loath to admit, there had been some on the force, only a few, who questioned whether he would ever make a full recovery at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Chameleon was up at the crack of dawn, and after a jog through the quiet suburban streets of Belgravia he arrived back at his luxury apartment just in time for the seven o’clock news bulletin. He showered, changed into a T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms and poured some cereal into a bowl. Breakfast wasn’t his thing usually, he preferred eating in the evening. It was a habit he’d adopted from his military days, as troops fought better on empty stomachs. It had ser
ved him well over the years, and if it meant you could run faster and dodge bullets, he was happy to stick to the plan.

  At the kitchen table thinking, he fired up his laptop. Always suspicious of the British postal system, he stared down at the bubble padded envelope and wondered how people could be so trusting. The Organisation had been quick to respond after his whistle-stop visit to Stuttgart, and he was quite looking forward to his new venture. Never one for shying away from a hazardous assignment, he knew what the envelope contained. Sometimes they carried an official rubber stamp under the postmark: FRAGILE DO NOT BEND.

  The most crucial element, as far as Chameleon was concerned, had it been tampered with? He held the envelope up to the light and checked to see if the minute strand of hair was intact on the seal. Not that it made one iota of difference, as the data on the USB memory stick inside would be encrypted. Curious, he slid the kitchen knife under the sealed flap and removed the contents from within. After loading the memory stick into the laptop USB port, a password box appeared. Next, he typed in the eleven-digit code and waited for the file to upload. Seconds later a dozen high density images burst across his laptop screen, and he read the large caption:

  STEPHEN RICE – HEDGE FUND AUDITOR.

  Next, he checked his subject’s physical features, including height, physique, and most importantly his outward appearance. He had handsome, fair-skinned looks, and a good head of ginger hair. Not that he took much notice, but Rice wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  ‘Hello, and welcome to the real world,’ Chameleon whispered softly.

  As his cursor hovered over a central tab box, he clicked on it and a street map of Bristol popped up. His first impressions were how much investigatory effort had gone into the operation. Six locations, all highlighted and supported by a wealth of information including contacts, summary sheets, building diagrams and possible escape routes. Not that it was a problem to him, but of all the places Chameleon had visited over the years he’d never been to Bristol before. He’d read about it in his military training days, but that was as far as it got. There again, he thought. It could work to his advantage as nobody in Bristol knew him from Adam, let alone what he would be doing there.