by Bryan Murray
* * *
Back outside the hospital, the Group leader was already on the phone to his superiors and the local police were now cordoning off the area.
“Yes, sir,” he began. “The Lady President of the hospital board was killed, plus three of my men and four were wounded, but Corona is safe and away from the attack scene. She was never close to being compromised.”
A voice on the other end answered. “Confirmed, we have Corona back under guard. Now, get the road blocks set up immediately. I want that area sealed tight!”
The Group Leader looked around at the devastation. “Yes, sir,” he turned off the phone and turned to his second-in-command. “Okay, I want every TV tape commandeered so we can check the crowd.”
His Second-in-Command looked concerned. “I’m afraid they took out the CCTV, sir, but we’ve still got the BBC footage.”
“In that case commandeer that immediately!”
“Yes, sir, and we’ve also had a break.”
“Like what?” the Group Leader inquired.
“Two people in the crowd said they could identify one of the shooters!”
The Group Leader was immediately interested. “Okay, get them to the BBC control van. I’ll be there in 5 minutes and I need tape rolling!” he moved off to give instructions to the other security personnel.
* * *
Five miles up the road, Quinn’s car slowly merged onto the busy M5 Motorway and mingled with the northbound traffic.
CHAPTER 8
Not many miles away in the beautiful Cotswold village of Broadway, close by Cirencester, Jake and Sarah were having an enjoyable late lunch at the main hotel in the picturesque village. A hotel with rural charm but a place that proudly exhibited its repeated awards for exports, in view of the unbelievable portion of the hotel’s revenues that were earned each year solely from American tourist dollars!
They had spent an enjoyable morning visiting the nearby village of Bourton-on-the-Water, to see the Miniature Village, which was a magnificent recreation of the village within the village, where the local craftsman’s miniaturization of each building in the village had been a long-standing tourist attraction. Inside the miniature village, Jake and Sarah had walked among the tiny houses like two giants.
They were finishing an enjoyable ploughman’s lunch, a traditional meal in the UK and enjoying a second cup of coffee, when on the TV behind the bar, they looked up in shock, as did the other occupants of the bar, when a newsflash came on the screen. The Newscaster’s voice echoed around the bar as the bartender turned up the sound.
“We interrupt this program,” the Newscaster began. “With news just coming in of a failed assassination attempt on the life of Her Majesty the Queen!”
Around the bar the patrons gasped in shock. “My God!”, “No Way!” was the shocked response as the Newscaster continued. “Gunmen opened fire on the Royal car when Her Majesty arrived to open a new hospital outside Tewkesbury in Gloucestershire.”
Jake turned to Sarah. “My God! That’s not far from here!”
Sarah’s mind was already racing. “You don’t think...Naw!” she whispered.
“Think what?” Jake asked.
“Oh, nothing. For one crazy moment I was thinking that this may have something to do with us?”
Jake looked at her. “That would be incredible!”
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
In the background the Newscaster continued. “Three security guards were killed and others injured and the President of the Hospital Board, Lady Rebecca Witherston was also killed before the gunmen fled. The authorities have cordoned off the area and TV footage is being studied. This is John Melton, News 2, we’ll be back with more breaking news.”
Jake turned to Sarah. “Jeez, this place is getting worse than the US!”
“Looks like it.” she replied.
Jake signalled to the waiter. “Check please?”
* * *
Back in the cordoned off area outside the hospital, an MI5 chopper came in to land and SCS (Senior Civil Servant) John Hargreaves, the Head of Counter Terrorism for MI5 arrived. He was in his 40’s, slim, dark hair and immaculately dressed, wearing his old school tie. With him was his assistant, Operative Hugh Strickland, heavily built, balding, also in his 40’s. They approached the Group Leader of the Queen’s Security Detail.
Hargreaves introduced himself. “John Hargreaves, Head of Counter Terrorism, MI5, this is our case now.” he announced somewhat pompously.
The Group Leader was extremely courteous. “Captain James Morrison, Royal Security Detail. It’s all yours, sir. We have two eye witnesses who claim they can identify one of the gunmen and we were getting ready to run BBC TV tape footage to try and get a match in the crowd.”
Hargreaves nodded. “Thank you, Captain, shall we go take a look? What happened to the MI5 CCTV footage?”
“I’m afraid the shooters took it out!” Morrison replied as he led the way to the TV control van. As they approached, another of his officers was escorting the two eye witnesses into the same van.
Inside the control van, the Officer introduced the two men to Morrison, Hargreaves and Strickland. “These are the two men who claim they saw one of the shooters, sir.”
Hargreaves looked closely at the two men, clearly not a man to be trifled with. “You are absolutely sure about this, gentlemen?”
The First Man answered. “Yes, sir, it were only for a second, mind you.”
The Second Man nodded in agreement. “Same here, but I reckon I’ll never forget that face!”
Hargreaves motioned to the TV Technician who was patiently waiting. “Okay, let’s roll the tape from just before Her Majesty arrived, slow it down when you are filming the crowd.”
“Yes, sir.” The Technician started the tape as everybody watched closely, particularly the two eye witnesses.
On the screen the camera first took in the general scene in the street and then went back to the Reporter on camera, before going back to local shots of the new hospital. Finally, the camera went back on the crowd as both eye witnesses were studying the TV monitor intently.
The camera was slowly panning across the happy, smiling crowd, waving flags and jumping in excitement until suddenly, in the crowd, Quinn, looking like Jake, standing partly in the shadow of a large tree, came into view waving a flag enthusiastically. As the camera panned past Bill and Mickey, they were conveniently tucked out of sight behind taller spectators in front of them.
The First Witness spotted Quinn and screamed. “Stop! Stop! Go back!
The Technician quickly rewound the tape until Quinn came back on the screen and the Second Witness pointed to the screen. “Yes, yes, that’s the guy, the one in the hoodie!”
Hargreaves put his hand on the Technician’s shoulder. “Okay, hold that and enhance the picture to full screen of the man in the hoodie.” The Technician did so. When the picture filled the screen, looking exactly like Jake Harrigan, Hargreaves turned to the Technician. “Okay, download that into Operative Strickland’s computer?”
“Yes, sir.” The man replied.
Strickland gave him his laptop and the Technician quickly transferred the picture of Jake to the computer.
Hargreaves then turned to the two eye witnesses. “Thank you, gentlemen, you’ve been most helpful. Please leave your contact details with the officer here.” The men nodded before leaving, escorted by the officer who brought them in.
Strickland then looked at Hargreaves inquisitively. “ID scan, sir?”
Hargreaves nodded. “Yes, Hugh, let’s do a fast scan of the entire data base?”
“Of course.” Strickland replied as his fingers flew over the keys to locate the photo image comparison software and downloaded it to his screen. Suddenly, on one half of a split screen, the recent picture of Quinn, dressed as Jake came up, still somewhat in shadow under the tree, but easily discernible, and on the other half of the screen the faces of thousands of other men flew past at lightning speed.
After what seemed a long time, the moving half of the screen stopped to show a picture of Jake! It was the picture taken days earlier when he had been photographed as he came through immigration in Heathrow!
Hargreaves was watching the screen closely. “Excellent! What’s the source, Hugh?” he asked.
Strickland flicked more switches before answering. “Photo ID Heathrow, incoming immigration, sir.”
Hargreaves was looking closely at the screen. “When was it taken?”
Strickland clicked on the screen, the extremely sophisticated MI5 software kicking in. “Five days ago.”
“Any supporting comments?” Hargreaves inquired.
Strickland consulted the screen. “Mandatory back-up dialogue on this type of photo ID, shows the man is Jake Harrigan from the US, here for the funeral of his grandmother in Swindon Village outside Cheltenham.”
Hargreaves was thinking out loud. “Drill deeper, let’s see who this chap really is?”
Strickland’s fingers flew over the keys again. “According to this, he’s ex-CIA, sir!”
Hargreaves was in shock. “Oh, my God! Go on?”
Strickland continued. “He now runs his own security business with his partner.”
“Partner?” Hargreaves was curious as Strickland was continuing to punch his keyboard.
Strickland continued. “Her name is Sarah Schaumberg, a former Israeli, now a US citizen, ex- FBI.”
“Is she with him in the UK?” Hargreaves inquired.
Strickland flicked more switches. “Yes, they arrived on the same flight!”
Hargreaves was looking more concerned by the moment. “My God! CIA and FBI trying to assassinate Her Majesty!” his mind was racing. “Did he give an address where he was staying?”
Strickland punched another key. “Yes, sir. 65 Crescent Gardens, Swindon Village, Cheltenham.”
“That’s not far from here,” Hargreaves was thinking out loud. “You said he was over here for his grandmother’s funeral, that’s if we can believe him? What’s the name of his grandfather, if he’s still alive?”
Again, Strickland’s speed was impressive. “Jake Donovan, sir,” he suddenly looked surprised. “Oh, my God!”
“What is it?” Hargreaves inquired.
“This chap is ex-MI5! I don’t believe it!”
Hargreaves was now in full control. “Very well, send a couple of squads to check it out. We need to get back to the office quickly, so let’s take a look at the other footage of the attack?”
They watched what was left of the shocked BBC cameraman’s footage of the violent action at the Royal limo, where Quinn could be seen again with his two accomplices, both with their faces masked.
Hargreaves was incensed. “Damn, those chaps with the gunman were wearing masks!’ he turned to Strickland. “Keep checking, we need to get back to London, now!”
As they left, the TV Reporter who had been at the assassination attempt, had been sitting in the back of the control van listening and he was already making notes feverishly. He turned to his boss who had also been in the background. “This is dynamite! I need a video bite, like right now?” His boss nodded as all the rest of the TV team went into a huddle.
CHAPTER 9
With a most enjoyable day in the English countryside behind them, Jake and Sarah finally arrived back at his grandfather’s home and parked in the driveway. Jake looked at Sarah and smiled.
“So, what do you think of England?”
She smiled back. “Just beautiful, but all that traffic and driving on the wrong side of the road would drive me crazy!”
“I know what you mean.” they climbed out of the car, walked up to the door and rang the bell.
Stephen opened the door, a smile on his face. “Hi, guys, come on in, Gramps is in the living room.”
They walked into the living room and the TV was on. Jake Sr. was riveted to the screen. “Hi, Gramps.” Jake began but the old man suddenly raised his hand to silence him.
“Shush! Listen!” he pointed in shock at the TV as the Newscaster seen earlier in the hotel in Broadway, was back on line with a news update. “The good news is that our beloved Queen was not harmed, although we all mourn the loss of Lady Rebecca Witherston, the President of the Hospital Board, who was waiting to greet Her Majesty and unfortunately killed in the attack, together with three of the Queen’s security guards,”
Jake was nodding in confirmation that this was basically what they had heard in the hotel, until the Newscaster took a breath and touched his ear piece before delivering the next devastating news. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have just heard that the authorities have already identified one of the gunmen!”
Jake was impressed. He turned to his family. “My, that was quick!” his eyes opened wide in shock, however, when suddenly a picture of himself appeared on the screen as the Newscaster continued. “The gunman has been identified as an American, Jake Harrigan. A wide dragnet is already in place to bring this man to justice!”
Jake and his family were in deep shock. “Holy shit!” Jake exclaimed.
Sarah was already switched on. “My God, Jake, like we said earlier, this could be what it was all about!”
Jake’s mind was working at top speed. He looked at his grandfather. “You know I didn’t do it, Gramps?”
Jake Sr. nodded. “Of course, so you must both leave - NOW!”
Jake nodded. “You’re right, the security people could be here any second!”
Jake Sr. reached over to the coffee table and tossed Jake his car keys. “Take my car, they’ll track your rental in a heartbeat!” he also opened a drawer and gave Jake his old service revolver and spare ammo.
Jake was already heading for the door. “Thanks, Gramps, I’ll be in touch.”
Sarah grabbed his arm. “You mean we’ll be in touch!” she turned and gave Jake Sr. a wry smile. “Thanks, Gramps!” they both grabbed a jacket and Sarah grabbed her purse.
Jake Sr. was thinking fast. He held up his hand to stop them for a second. “Don’t call here, Jake. I walk the dog every night to a pub down the road called The Cherry Tree. I’ll be waiting from 8-10 the next three nights. Good luck, son!”
Jake nodded as they rushed out. “Thanks, Gramps!”
Outside, they jumped into Jake Senior’s old, red Vauxhall Zafira Tourer on the driveway and drove down the road before turning right onto the fast-moving parkway. Even as they turned right, two black Government SUV’s turned left in the opposite direction, heading for Jake Senior’s home. Sarah spotted them and turned to Jake. “Looks like we made it with seconds to spare!”
Jake drove along a concerned look on his face. He turned to Sarah lovingly. “Look, Sarah, there’s no need for you to be involved in this. It’s obviously someone trying to set me up, so you can bail out, head back to the US till this blows over.”
She smiled at him as he turned on the car radio. “No way, partner,”’ she replied. “We’ve been in worse scrapes than this and believe me, two heads are better than one!”
He looked at her, a wry smile on his face. “You sure?”
Before she could reply, the radio announcer kicked in with an update on the attack on the Queen, now adding that Jake had been identified as one of the assassins together with his accomplice in the attempted assassination, his partner, an Israeli woman, Sarah Schaumberg, also announcing that roadblocks were now in place across the area to apprehend them both.
Sarah looked at Jake, a wistful smile on her face. “Now we’ve got to stay together, partner!”
Jake nodded. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”
* * *
A few miles away in a safe house that Quinn had organized for his team, they were also listening to the same radio broadcast. Quinn was smiling. “Now, isn’t dat sweet,” he began. “We got no need to claim responsibility since tings went wrong. We just let dat Yankee bastard an’ his bitch take de heat!”
Mickey heaved a sigh of relief. “Tank God fer dat. But what about payin’ back de money
we spent on de operation, Sean?”
Quinn smiled. “I told ye not to worry, I got me a plan!”
* * *
In a safe house in Belfast, Northern Ireland, Seamus Brady, a thin man with grey hair in his 60’s, the Head of the Army Council of the RIRA, was on the telephone to one of his colleagues. “I don’t believe it! Not the damned Queen!” he growled.
His colleague, Daniel Murphy, tall, dark-haired in his 40’s, the Finance Director of the RIRA answered. “Exactly, an’ you know we’re gonna get the blame as usual!”
Brady came back on the line. “We are clean, I suppose, Daniel?” he inquired.
“Far as I know, Seamus, all units reported, except for one.”
Brady sounded concerned. “Lemme guess, Quinn?”
Murphy quickly checked the file in front of him. “Right, but that could be just a coincidence,” he thought for a moment then covered the phone with his hand, calling into the adjoining room. “Rosie, can you bring in the cell accounts file, please?”
“Yes, sir.” was the reply as Rosie, small, chubby with dark hair appeared and handed Murphy the ledger.
“What d’you need, Daniel?” she asked. Murphy spoke to Brady on the other end of the line. “Hang on a second, Seamus,” he turned to Rosie. “What’s the status on Sean Quinn’s budget?”
She picked the ledger from his hand and leafed through the pages. “Fifty tousand pounds and down to ten tousand!”
Murphy looked shocked. “And what was the forty thousand spent on?”
“No details yet.” she replied.
He nodded to her to leave. “Thanks. Rosie,” he went back on the phone. “Hi, Seamus, sorry about that.”
“How does it look?” Brady asked.
“Not good, Quinn’s spent forty grand on some shit with no receipts as yet!”
“Jaysus!” Brady replied. “Keep a tight rein on that crazy bastard, Daniel and freeze the balance till I tell you, okay?”
“Will do.” Murphy replied.
