by A. R. Zander
“Who are you?” said Harper, as one of the men threw some clothes in his direction. “Where are we going?”
“Wait for the briefing,” said a voice from behind one of the masks.
The motorcade roared off down the road. As the adrenaline wore off, the remains of the drugs in Harper’s system kicked back in and his eyelids started to droop. He gave in and closed them completely.
“Good job people. Let’s get this guy to the finish line.”
- Chapter 45 -
A New Beginning
Alpha spotted Varndon through the crowd and raised his newspaper. They walked down the busy east London street in silence until they reached the local market. The throaty tones of Arabic, Urdu and Hindi fought for prominence in the market’s tight enclaves and the strong smell of fish filled their nostrils. Alpha stopped to look at some of the produce, before ignoring the sales patter and moving on.
“They’re laughing at us William, these people.”
“I tend to ignore these parts of London,” replied Varndon.
They walked on further into the market, the jangly sounds of bhangra accompanying their footsteps. Alpha brushed an empty cigarette packet from a bench and sat down. “It’s places like this where our wars should be fought. This is the frontline now.”
Varndon snorted. “You know the Head Girl’s opinion. She prefers to try to ‘understand’ these fucking jihadi bastards for some reason.”
“She’s out William.”
“What? When?”
“As of today. And that incompetent fool over at MI5. You’re looking at the new head of an amalgamated security services.”
“John…”
“And I’m going to need a number two. I want you next to me at the top.”
“I don’t know what to say, I’m flattered.”
“Say yes.”
“Okay, yes.”
“Come on let’s walk.” They stood up and walked further through the market. A group of young North Africans sat outside a café, laughing loudly and smoking hookah. The café owner hung around the entrance to the door, watching passersby and inviting them inside.
“This is what we’ve been waiting for William.”
“It’s what the country’s been waiting for. What the country needs.”
Alpha stopped at an Islamic bookstall and picked up some pamphlets. He flicked through the pages and gave some money to the young boy standing behind the counter. “How can it be that this garbage is legally sold on our streets? Why are people not in jail for buying this poison?”
“Because they’re all fucking cowards.”
The stalls began to thin out and they turned a corner onto a canal towpath. Alpha stiffened at the sight of a homeless man sat under the bridge just ahead of them. He had Indian or possibly Sri Lankan features and held his hand out as they walked past, encouraging them to place some money in a small cup.
“Where are you from?” said Alpha, bending down, but not getting too close.
“Please, please.” The man smiled widely and pointed to the cup.
“This is just it William. The shittiest aspects of empire on our own doorstep.”
The man squealed as Alpha stepped back and drove a foot into his head. As he tried to scramble to his feet, Varndon produced a knife from his inside pocket and thrust it into the man’s temple. They watched as his limbs flailed around and waited for his last movement. As soon as he had stopped moving, Alpha threw the pamphlets down on top of him.
“There’ll be no more bowing down to the terrorists or the criminals or the extremist homosexuals that pollute our streets William. I’m going to restore order to this broken country. Restore its integrity.”
Varndon shot a short look back to check there was no one around. “You need to think about the media. They’ll fight you, and they’ll infect the public with their bleeding heart nonsense.”
Alpha grunted. “We’ll give the public a reason to be courageous.”
“How so?”
“Terrorists are not the only ones that find bombs useful. We’ll hit a major city. Probably something chemical. The sight of thousands of British citizens reduced to vegetables should be enough to persuade the less enthusiastic.”
“What can I do?”
“I want to you coordinate the aftermath. There’ll be an immediate clampdown: domestic renditions; new restraints on the media; quarantine zones for dangerous elements. We come down hard when the fury is greatest.”
“I won’t let you down John.”
“The Foreign Secretary will make a speech tomorrow to announce my appointment. I’d like you to be there.”
“Of course.”
They emerged back onto the main road. Rush hour had passed and the crowds had diminished. “And everything is sorted in Poland I presume?” said Alpha.
“We won’t be hearing from Harper again.”
“What about the other three?”
“They’ve been put out to pasture by the Met.”
“Are they going quietly?”
“It looks like it. They’ve got a lot to lose financially if they don’t. I’ve got people on them just in case. We don’t want to take any chances.”
“Good work.”
Alpha’s phone rang and he reached into his pocket. “Yes.” As he listened to the voice on the other end, the satisfaction faded from his face. “When?” His eyes flicked up towards Varndon and the corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily. “Meet me back in the office in 30 minutes. And I mean 30 minutes.”
“Problem?”
“It’s Poland.”
“But he’s secure. I made sure of it.”
“There was a raid. The personnel were wiped out.”
“What about the detainees? John?”
“All accounted for, except one.”
“Harper?”
“Yes.
“What the hell is going on?” said Varndon, raising his voice. “Who the hell could get into our black site?”
“Whoever it was, after tomorrow, they’ll soon understand they’ve picked a fight with the wrong man. I promise you that.”
- Chapter 46 -
The Return
Cohen and Russell stepped off the train at St Albans and made their way outside to the taxi rank. A few schoolchildren in smart uniforms were smoking on the pavement, keeping an eye out for teachers and parents.
“Wilbur Rise, next to the pub,” said Cohen.
The cab pulled out of the car park and up the road. They passed a few shops, wove their way through the pedestrians and out onto a country road.
“This one here?” shouted the driver.
“Looks like it.”
They paid him and the cab disappeared back off into the town.
“Not a bad place he’s got here,” said Russell. The gated cottage had a thatched roof and gravel drive. Morton walked out the front door to meet them and shook both their hands.
“It’s my brother’s place and he’s out of the country,” said Morton. “He’s a bit of a security buff, so it’s tough to get in or out unnoticed. Thought it would suit our needs.”
They all walked into the house and sat down at the solid oak kitchen table. Morton chucked a newspaper down in front of them. Alpha’s face stared out. He was posing by the Thames in an open-necked shirt. His smile accentuated the lines on his forehead.
“I know you said he was on his way to the top, but I didn’t expect it to be this week,” said Cohen.
“He delivered on Vitsin,” said Morton. “He’s written his own ticket. They’re parading him to the press tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Down on the Strand.”
“We got nowhere with our contacts,” said Russell. “Couldn’t find anyone that had an inside line on the guy.”
“I spoke to my people too,” said Morton. “They’re either bullshitting me or they’re shit scared. Special Branch and MI5. No one wants to say anything about this guy now he’s going to be heading up both services. He s
eems untouchable.”
Morton picked a slim electronic panel out of his pocket. A red light was flashing and it vibrated in his palm. “Someone’s set off the perimeter alarm at the back of the house.”
They rushed through the kitchen door and up the stairs to a back bedroom. Morton flicked on a computer screen and clicked a couple of icons, bringing up a delayed recording from the camera on the back gate. They watched as a dark-haired figure vaulted the wall and landed in the garden before sloping off towards the house.
“How long is that delay?” said Cohen.
“Wait...”
Cohen looked out the window and down the garden. A few blackbirds flew around the bird bath in the middle of the lawn, fighting over some seeds, but nothing moved.
“It was at least three minutes ago,” said Morton.
“What was that?”
“What?”
Cohen gestured towards the hallway. The door had closed while they had been looking at the computer screen. Russell looked at Morton and shaped his hand into a gun, but Morton shrugged and pointed downstairs. There was another creak outside in the hall and this time they all heard it. Russell pushed himself up against the wall next to the door and picked up a metal wall bracket laying on the carpet. Cohen walked up to the door with Morton close. He signaled down from five to one with his fingers and pulled the door swiftly towards him. They both charged forward and stopped abruptly, face-to-face with the man from the security tape, standing at the top of the stairs.
“You need better security gents.”
“Jesus God,” said Morton. “Harper.”
*****
Harper picked up his cup and gulped a mouthful down. “That’s the first proper cup of tea of I’ve had in weeks.”
“Get it down ya,” said Morton.
The cup rattled on the table as Harper’s shaking hands placed it down on the wood. He struggled to ignore the falling sensation that had plagued him since he left the facility. He concentrated on the wall and fended off the worst of it.
“Was there a need for all the theatrics?” said Morton. “You could’ve knocked on the door you know.”
“You had some unwanted guests hanging around at the back.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry. They’re tied together just off the path. They’re not snooping on anyone for the time being.”
Cohen looked out of the window towards the path. “Where the hell did they take you after Heathrow?”
“Some off-the-map shithole prison where people disappear. I’ll save you the details.”
“How did you escape?” said Russell.
“I had a guardian angel. Looks like they stepped on the wrong toes somewhere along the line.”
“Whose?”
“I’ll explain everything.” Harper picked up the newspaper and put his finger on Alpha’s face. “But first things first. We have to take this guy down before he gets the crown on his head. Or we’re finished.”
“What do you suggest?”
“There’s a way. But we need to move fast.”
- Chapter 47 -
For England
The noise of the crowd bounced off the high buildings on either side of the Strand and washed over Alpha as he stood and waited by side of the stage. The sea of people stretched back to Trafalgar Square. They were his people now. All of them. He turned to see Worthing’s ministerial car sweep round the corner and park up next to a metal barrier. The Foreign Secretary exited the vehicle and walked towards him with a cabal of aides following behind.
“Foreign Secretary.”
Worthing broke off from his entourage and lowered his voice as he shook Alpha’s hand. “This is a big day for the country John. There have been too many setbacks under your predecessors. Too much complacency. I want today to signal a new dawn for everyone. Let’s make sure we get some good headlines out of this. Show the public we mean business.”
“Foreign Secretary, we are in complete agreement.”
“Excellent.”
They walked up the steps to the back of the stage. Television cameras pointed towards them and around 30 journalists lined the rows at the front. Alpha spotted Varndon nearby, watching over the melee. Giant widescreens to the side of the stage introduced Worthing to the crowd.
The Right Honourable Francis Worthing, Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs.
He waved as he walked towards the microphone. An enthusiastic roar came from the party faithful that made up the front half of the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, apologies if we kept you waiting. We are here today to introduce you to the first head of a newly created domestic and foreign security service.”
Alpha watched as the cameras flashed on Worthing.
“The national security threat is constantly evolving. To get stuck in an outdated mindset is to give our enemies the upper hand. Our appointment is a man that understands the world we live in. It is this kind of modern thinking that we need to employ if this country is to thrive and move forward. We need to anticipate all the dangers to our democracy and show that these security services we so value are still the best in the world. Now without further ado, I’d like to hand the stage over to John Tremaine.”
Alpha posed for a few seconds as more cameras flashed at the stage.
“Thank you Foreign Secretary. My….”
The sound of his voice trailed off as the speakers died overhead. Alpha tapped his microphone, but there was no sound. “Can someone…” He looked towards the technical area at the back of the stage. The crowd put their hands over their ears as the speakers emitted a loud crackle and the widescreen flicked onto plain white. The white faded, replaced by the image of two men sitting on a distant balcony. The ornate brickwork of the National Liberal Club was recognisable above them. Worthing’s face went pale as he heard his voice booming out of the speakers and saw the reporters reaching frantically for their pens.
“I think I’ll have the lemon chicken. I’m famished.”
“What ‘s going on?” shouted Alpha. “Turn it off.”
Members of Worthing’s entourage ran towards the technical area and started shouting at the operators.
“The Chinese are never happy.”
“Well, all the same, they didn’t particularly appreciate us starting a small war on their patch.”
The technicians pushed and flicked switches, but the film kept playing. Alpha and Worthing stood frozen to the spot, watching their faces in horror.
“The PM is particularly pleased that we did this without the Americans. Giving the cousins a reminder that we are still around is never a bad thing.”
“And where is the Vitsin boy now?”
“We have him here in London. He’s perfectly secure.”
“Secure is the least I expected. Is he onside?”
“We don’t know at the moment. He’s not saying anything.”
“Not saying anything? What’s your read?”
“Honestly? I don’t think he is on our team. I don’t think he is on anybody’s team. He’s somewhat of an oddity.”
“The priority here John is not to utilize what he has. The British government is not some casino banking operation. The priority here is to make sure it cannot be utilized by others.”
Worthing grabbed one of his aides by the scruff of the neck. “TURN THAT FUCKING THING OFF!” The crowd fell silent as Alpha paused on the screen, contemplating his answer.
“We have certain options to achieve that.”
“I imagine we do. I’ll leave it to your discretion, but let’s just make sure we are back to square one on this. The square when the boy did not exist.”
“I’ll take care of it myself. You can rely on me.”
The screen crackled and cut to Alpha walking alongside Varndon by the East London canal. The scene looked idyllic as the two men strolled side-by-side next to the water.
“Terrorists are not the only ones that find bombs useful. We’ll hit a major city. Probably something chemical
. The sight of thousands of British citizens reduced to vegetables should be enough to persuade the less enthusiastic.”
The first sentence looped over and over as the camera focused in on Alpha’s gnarled and angry face.
“Terrorists are not the only ones that find bombs useful. Terrorists are not the only ones that find bombs useful. Terrorists are not the only ones that find bombs useful. Terrorists are not the only ones that find bombs useful….”
The journalists erupted into a barrage of shouting and questions. Alpha couldn’t take his eyes off the screen as the sound faded out and the picture disappeared. As he looked back at Worthing, the Foreign Secretary darted towards his car and away from the crowds. He searched the crowd for Varndon’s face, but he was gone. He stepped back as the angry faces in the crowd hurled abuse in his direction. A soft drink bottle landed next to his foot and the liquid exploded over his trouser leg.
“You fucking people. You fucking scum.”
He picked the bottle up and threw it back towards the crowd before turning and running back down the stairs. “Where’s my bloody car?”
“It’s over Tremaine,” said Cohen, walking down the steps after him. “You’re finished.” Alpha looked up to see Morton and Russell advancing on him from the side of the road. A line of police officers watched nervously, unsure of the right move. The noise of the crowd rose from the other side of the stage and crashed over them.
“Detain these men,” shouted Alpha. “They’re suspended police officers.”
“Stay where you are,” said Morton.
The officers looked at each other and didn’t move. Alpha backed away and looked for an escape route. Another roar erupted from the crowd and he lunged at the nearest woman police officer, wrapping his arm around her throat and pulling her gun from its holster.
“Get back, all of you,” he said, pointing the barrel at her head.
They all moved back as he dragged her towards a side road and disappeared from view. Russell went to move forwards and Cohen stopped him. “Stay where you are, we can’t risk it.”
