The must-read new blockbuster thriller

by Tony Kent

  When he spoke again the subject had moved on.

  ‘OK. So you’ve no idea where the lawyer or reporter are now?’

  ‘None at all. They’ll have gone to ground if they have any sense. Same is true of Lawrence’s family. They’ve just disappeared. Hopefully with Devlin.’

  The room fell silent once again. A silence only broken when McGregor placed his oversized hands on his desk and propelled his wheel-mounted chair backwards, forcibly exhaling as he did so.

  ‘My God, Joe, this is one hell of a mess.’

  ‘It’s more than a mess, Callum,’ Dempsey replied. ‘This department is potentially compromised. All the agencies are. There are things going on which someone in intelligence must know about. Turner being placed on the SO19 team. The lawyer meeting McGale without any of us being told. The check on his phone records that must have led them to Devlin. Intelligence has to be involved in all of that. This is a full-on conspiracy, Callum. And we’re ten yards behind the pace.’

  McGregor looked towards the ceiling as Dempsey spoke. He leaned back in his chair, covering both his mouth and chin with a single enormous hand. He stared into space as Dempsey’s words sank in. He was considering how he could best regain control of the situation, Dempsey thought.

  Finally he took his hand from his mouth and looked back at his agent.

  ‘You’re right. Someone in the department has got to be in on this. Maybe more than one. Which means we don’t know who we can trust.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And that makes you the right man at the right time, doesn’t it? Everyone else thinks I’ve kicked you off of this, Joe. So no one is going to question where you are while the main team gets on with the investigation.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  Both Dempsey and McGregor knew that the agent was getting precisely what he wanted.

  ‘But if I’m off the books,’ Dempsey asked, ‘what are my parameters?’

  ‘At your discretion. We need this cleared up, Joe. And cleared up quick. Do whatever you have to. Just make sure it happens.’

  Dempsey nodded and without another word he turned and left the room.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  The cold of the morning air burned Joshua’s lungs as he drank in each mouthful of hard-earned breath. The sights of London’s Hyde Park passed him in a blur as he pushed himself ever harder. The unseasonal warmth in which England had recently basked was gone, replaced by the sting of the morning chill. It made Joshua feel more alive than he had in days.

  Joshua pushed himself to move even faster. Forced his body to do things that he had previously taken for granted. The speed at which he covered the acres of London’s largest park would have been impressive for a man half his age, but as the years advanced he hit that speed through gritted teeth and sheer bloody-mindedness. No one could outrun time. Age was stalking him. Had been for a while. As Joshua drew each tortured breath he found himself wondering, once again, whether his current assignment was a job too far.

  Ignoring the park’s landmarks, Joshua used his own sense of direction to bring him south. His speed remained constant in spite of the screaming demands of his ageing body. Only his goal mattered: to reach the end of the run in a time that improved upon yesterday’s.

  The gates at the southern end of Park Lane marked one of the UK’s most prestigious addresses; certainly its costliest. Joshua turned left as he reached them and edged onto the straight path that ran alongside the half-mile length of road. With a glance towards the massive bronze statue of Achilles that stood to his left, he prepared to break into his final sprint. This burst of speed would take him the last half-mile to Marble Arch and conclude the torturous element of his morning exercise regime.

  Joshua took the first steps with the force necessary to hit top speed in the shortest time. Perhaps today he would have hit his peak, but after just a few paces at his top speed, he was brought to a sudden halt by the sound of the dreaded ringtone.

  Pulling up, he cursed to himself, breathing hard. Fumbled through his baggy running clothes for the vibrating handset. Found it. Put the receiver to his ear without looking at the screen.

  ‘I was starting to think something had happened to you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Joshua replied. ‘I was jogging.’

  ‘I wasn’t worried. Although with your breathlessness from a little exercise, maybe I should be?’

  Joshua refused to rise to the bait.

  ‘What do you have for me?’

  ‘Not on this line,’ Stanton replied. The answer invited no debate. ‘Memorise this number, then destroy your phone. Purchase an unregistered pay-as-you-go handset for cash and call me back. I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Wait!’ Joshua exclaimed. ‘It’s 7.30 in the morning. I won’t be able to pick up a handset for another hour and a half at the earliest.’

  ‘Then I’ll expect your call at 9 a.m.,’ was Stanton’s terse reply. It was followed immediately by the sound of the phone line being cut off.

  Joshua shook his head at the abrupt disconnection. And at his enforced subservience to a man far from his equal. Not that there was anything he could do about it. For now, at least. With the number committed to memory, he sat down on the grass leading to the Achilles statue and dismantled the phone’s handset.

  The established line of communication to Stanton had somehow been compromised. That much was obvious. Joshua wasted no time speculating on what form that compromise had taken. Instead he gazed at the massive bronze Achilles that was still ahead of him.

  The statue had been cast from the cannons captured from Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo and raised to commemorate that victory. One of Joshua’s favourites, the sight always brought him to a halt. Today, though, it had a different effect. For the first time he thought of the man portrayed by the statue, rather than the victory it represented. He contemplated the similarities between himself and the mythical hero. Both gifted soldiers whose pride overtook duty. Both warriors who dealt out death as naturally as others took breath. Both giants in thrall to inferior men.

  Joshua hoped that his own story would have a happier ending.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Joshua was back in his hotel chair as the clock approached 9 a.m. With the new handset’s battery plugged into the mains socket, the touchscreen came to life. He punched in Stanton’s new number and waited for the ringtone.

  A single ring. Same as always.

  ‘Punctual as always, Sergeant. It’s a pity you haven’t been so reliable in the rest of our dealings.’

  ‘As much a pity as your failure to keep me informed of the necessary details.’ Joshua would not let the barbed comment pass. ‘But that’s not helping, is it? What do you want?’

  ‘I want you on the next plane to Belfast. Michael Devlin and the reporter are both in the city. I want them dealt with once and for all. Do this and you have my word that our relationship is at an end.’

  Joshua was surprised by the lack of any threat in Stanton’s instructions. He tried not to show it.

  ‘Do you have any idea where I’ll find them? It’s not that small a place.’

  ‘At the moment I don’t, but that will change. And you were right about Michael Devlin. He does seem to be rather more than I had realised.’

  ‘Why the change of heart? I thought you said he was “just a lawyer”.’

  ‘Not that it’s important, but events have placed things in a different light. Mr Devlin holding his own against you was one thing. That could have been luck. Or a bad day at the office.’

  Joshua baulked at the insinuation. But still he held his tongue.

  Stanton continued.

  ‘But hours later Devlin encountered two more of my people. Good men. One of them is now in intensive care with a hole where his face should be. The other is in a morgue. Any man who comes up against the three of you in twenty-four hours and walks away needs closer attention. I intend to give him that.’

  Joshua processed the information. It caused a number
of different emotions. First among them was relief, that his talents had not deteriorated as much as he had feared. Two other professionals had taken a beating at Devlin’s hands. One of them fatal. That lessened Joshua’s failure.

  But the news also raised the stakes. Joshua could feel himself being pulled towards a final reckoning.

  ‘You’re clear that this is it for me? I kill Devlin and Truman, plus whatever loose ends they raise in Belfast, and I walk away?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I won’t find that I have to deal with the Lawrence family too? And God knows what else?’

  ‘I’ve told you that you have my word, Sergeant.’

  Stanton was becoming impatient. No effort was made to hide it.

  ‘Let me worry about what I have to deal with. You just take care of Devlin and Truman and you’re free.’

  ‘I won’t fail.’ Joshua spoke through gritted teeth. He hated his predicament. ‘Just get me the information I need and I’ll wait for your call in Belfast.’

  ‘One more thing, Sergeant.’ It was Stanton’s turn to keep the line alive. ‘You should also know that Joe Dempsey has complicated things.’

  The name made the temperature of Joshua’s blood drop.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In that you were right about him, too. He seems to have come much closer to the truth than I’d anticipated. To the extent that he obtained my telephone number and spoke to me directly.’

  If Stanton had been speaking about any other man then Joshua would have dismissed it as a lie. A manipulation. But Joe Dempsey?

  Yeah. I can believe that, he thought. And it explains the panic over the phone.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That’s unimportant. What matters is the fact that he reached me. It means that he has achieved much in a very short time. The man is highly motivated, uniquely talented and he intends to stop us. So you need to be prepared for his intervention.’

  ‘Just prepared? Wouldn’t it be safer to take the fight to him? Before he causes any more trouble?’

  ‘Not at this stage,’ Stanton replied. ‘The last thing we want is to bring that man any closer to us than he already is. If we can keep him at bay, we keep him at bay.’

  Joshua listened to every word. He assessed both the content of what was said and the underlying message. The latter was simple. Despite the impression Stanton was trying to give, he was a frightened man.

  ‘Understood?’ Stanton finally asked.

  ‘Understood.’

  Joshua disconnected the line without another word.

  He lay back on the bed and considered what he had been told. The room’s panoramic window offered a stunning daytime view, but Joshua saw only his own thoughts. As his mind ran through Stanton’s words he allowed himself a wry smile.

  This thing now had only one ending. Joe Dempsey was involved, which meant only one of them would finish this alive. It was impossible to tell who it would be but at least one thing was certain: regardless of which one survived, Stanton would not live to see the fruits of his endeavours.

  FORTY-NINE

  Sarah awoke with a start from a disturbed sleep. Wracked by the trauma of the last twenty-four hours, her exhaustion had been too great to fight. She had fallen unconscious within minutes of returning to the hotel.

  She lifted her head from the pillow and looked around. There was not much to see, but still her eyes slowly cleared as she dragged her mind and body into consciousness.

  Still half-asleep, she leaned over and reached for the bottle of mineral water on the bedside table. As she did so, she registered two unexpected sights. The first was the makeshift bed she had laid out on the floor beside her own, entirely untouched. The second told her why. Michael Devlin was sat on the chair in the corner of the room, still dressed and bloodstained from the horrors of the early morning.

  Sarah raised herself up onto her elbow and faced him.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Michael did not reply. He did not even look up. He made no effort to hide how he was feeling. The effects of the morning were plain.

  Sarah pushed herself upright and gazed intently at the man. Had he been broken by what he had been forced to do? It was a thought she could hardly contemplate.

  Sarah’s mind returned to the horrors of the previous night. She had thought nothing could shock her more than the burning remains of Jack Maguire and the violent escape that had followed. But within hours she had been proved wrong. What she had seen in room 6.3 was so close – so visceral – that the memory made her gag.

  The first thing Sarah had noticed when Michael had helped her to her feet was the blood that masked the left side of his face. It had come from both his existing wound, and from several fresh ones. And it had brought the reality of what she had experienced crashing back in.

  With it had come the rush of adrenaline. She had jumped to her feet. To run or to fight? She did not know which, and nor would she ever. Instead she would remember the most shocking sight of her life. The man she had attacked with the golf club, face down and lifeless in a pool of his own blood.

  The next minutes were less clear in her memory. Fear and panic saw to that. But she could clearly recall the pain in Michael’s eyes. The shock that had overtaken him as his adrenaline drained and the reality of the situation set in.

  It was in these moments that Sarah had taken the lead for the first time. She had galvanised Michael, all but dragging him from the office as quickly as she could, out of the building and into the night, where they had begun their short journey through the shadows and back to the hotel.

  Sarah shook off the memories. She would not allow them to overtake her. Not now. Instead she pushed herself up onto her feet and shook off the emotional paralysis that had been threatening to grow.

  She approached the silent Michael on still-faltering legs. Crouching beside him, she placed her hands on his knees.

  ‘Michael, we need to get moving.’

  Sarah gazed upwards into his downcast eyes as she spoke.

  ‘I need to get you some fresh clothes, then we need to leave.’

  Michael did not seem to register the words. He certainly did not acknowledge them when he spoke.

  ‘What about last night?’ Michael asked. His voice seemed almost nervous, his eyes uncertain. ‘Doesn’t that matter? After what you saw me do?’

  ‘All I saw you do was what you had to.’

  Sarah’s voice was firm. Strong. She meant every word.

  ‘You kept us alive when the odds were stacked against us. Somehow you managed it.’

  ‘But how I did it, Sarah. You saw. Doesn’t it change things? Doesn’t it make you want to get away from me?’

  ‘Why would it?’

  ‘Because . . . it wasn’t just instinct.’ Michael’s voice was now even quieter. He sounded ashamed. ‘I wasn’t jacked-up on adrenaline or anything like that. I was calm, Sarah. And I knew what I was doing. I knew exactly what I was doing.’

  Sarah took a moment to understand what Michael was saying. To understand why he was saying it. The additional time did not help her.

  ‘Does that matter? You saved our lives.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Michael replied. ‘I just know that what you think – about me, about the depths I can sink to – matters. What you think matters.’

  Sarah listened. She noticed the uncertainty in Michael’s voice. The loss of confidence worried her. If they were going to survive, the one thing they needed above all else was a fully functioning Michael Devlin.

  ‘Michael, are you worried that you’ve scared me away?’

  Michael nodded slowly. Then he shook his head. He seemed unsure. He took a few moments and a few deeper breaths and then he spoke again.

  ‘I . . . I . . . I think I just, I don’t know if you’ll want to run. Now that you’ve seen the real me?’

  ‘What do you mean by that? The real you? Who’s the real you?’

  ‘The man you saw last night. The man who picked up a shard o
f glass and slit another man’s throat. I didn’t think I was capable of that sort of violence any more. I thought I’d put it behind me. But I meant to kill him, Sarah. I wanted to kill him.’

  Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She was unsure how to respond.

  What does he want to hear, she thought. And what do I want to say?

  The truth was, Sarah was conflicted. Not about what Michael had done. That had been necessary; if he had not killed their attacker then they would both be dead. But what he was saying now was something more. Michael was admitting to a past Sarah had not known about. To a capacity to go to whatever place he needed to. In order to survive. In order to win.

  She knew that Michael’s admission should concern her. But it did not. And not just because a capacity for violence was useful in their current predicament. It was something more than that. There was something about Michael. Something to which Sarah already felt a connection. A connection that, judging by his need for her to accept what she had witnessed, Michael seemed to feel too.

  She looked back up into his eyes. She needed to snap him out of it, but she did not know how. In that moment a brusque approach seemed best.

  ‘Michael, you did what you had to do. That’s it. It doesn’t matter what I think.’

  ‘I understand,’ Michael said. His voice was empty, suggesting to Sarah that he did not understand at all.

  Without another word he rose to his feet, turned his back, walked into the small en-suite bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  The sound of the running shower was almost immediate. It added welcome noise to the room’s eerie quiet. Sarah was thankful for that as she took Michael’s place in the chair.

  Staring out of the near window, her eyes took in nothing from the scenes below. She was once again lost within her own thoughts, trying to make sense of the man she was with. A man to whom she had entrusted her life.

  Sarah’s internal conflict was fuelled by a paradox. She had been shocked by what Michael was capable of, but at the same time she had been comforted by that capability. Michael’s charm and charisma concealed a capacity for cold, deliberate violence. But, in the circumstances, that was not bad news.