Deadly Game

by Matt Johnson

  ‘That will be a job for the lawyers to sort out, to see if they can be arrested and then extradited.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  We exchanged a hug and a promise to keep in touch.

  ‘You stink, Finlay. If you’re going straight home to Jenny, I suggest you have a shower before you get too close to her.’

  We said our goodbyes as I turned the ignition key and started the engine. As I was about to pull off, I realised the conversation with Wendy had distracted me. I hadn’t checked her car. I gripped the steering wheel and edged forward.

  Nothing happened.

  Chapter 102

  Dawn was breaking as I pulled up outside the safe house.

  A light was on in the main bedroom. I let myself in through the front door and crept as quietly as I could up the stairs. All was quiet.

  In the half-light I could see the door to Becky’s room was slightly ajar. Gently, I pushed it open and leaned in to look in on my daughter. A small night-light cast a soft glow across the bed. I stood, silent, so as not to disturb her. It was a wonderful experience, listening to my own flesh and blood breathing, gently and steadily. She was deeply asleep, her tiny fingers wrapped around a small bear wearing a familiar blue uniform. I took a deep breath, stepped backward, closed the door and then walked into the main bedroom.

  Jenny was awake. I dropped my clothes onto the floor and, as I climbed into bed, she rolled toward me and extended her arms. I moved closer, pressing up against her skin. She felt warm, her skin soft and sensual. Her hands stroked the back of my head and neck. ‘You smell of fireworks,’ she said, softly

  ‘It’s been quite a night,’ I replied, only then remembering Wendy’s advice to take a shower.

  ‘I know. Toni Fellowes rang – she wants you to call her in the morning, by the way – she told me to check the news updates. I was still listening in as I heard you open the front door.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘That the missing policewoman had been rescued following a joint operation between the Met and Gloucester police. It was you, wasn’t it? That’s what you were doing down there.’

  ‘Yes, I was there. Sorry it took so long.’

  ‘I was worried, and if I’m honest, a bit angry … but then I thought. That girl is someone’s daughter. If it were my daughter … well, I’m just glad it was my husband that was looking for her, my husband that helped find her. Was she alright?’

  ‘We were just in time.’

  Jenny pulled me tight. ‘I’m so proud of you Robert Finlay. I want you to always remember that…’

  The words faded as I closed my eyes. In the darkness, I smiled. Exhaustion released my mind from all thoughts, both conscious and uncontrolled. Sleep, irresistible and comforting, drew me in.

  I welcomed it with open arms.

  Chapter 103

  Grahamslaw studied his companion as she ordered a second round of coffees.

  He now understood why she had insisted they meet privately, and away from the Yard. What he had yet to work out was why she had chosen to confide such sensitive information in him.

  He allowed his focus to switch to the window. Outside, along Strutton Ground, shoppers and commuters wandered past, blissfully unaware as to the content of a conversation that had been taking place just yards from them. In many ways, he envied their ignorance.

  Toni Fellowes paid the barista and, with her purse tucked under her arm, she held his gaze as she returned to their table.

  He slid the Hastings file to one side. ‘Best not get coffee stains on it, eh?’ he said.

  Fellowes sat opposite him, the scent of her perfume wafting gently in his direction; Rive Gauche, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  ‘What happened to the WPC that was rescued?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s OK we think. Time will tell. She’s in a convalescent home in Brighton for now.’

  ‘And the outstanding traffickers? I heard two of them got away.’

  ‘One of them did, for sure. We found the other one dead on a railway line a couple of days ago. He was in a real mess and might not have been identified very easily, except for the fact we found Relia Stanga’s severed hand in his jacket pocket.’

  ‘Nasty.’

  ‘We think the main suspect has headed back to the continent, but we’ll catch up with him soon enough, I’m sure. Now … what about this file here?’

  ‘Have you finished reading the official version?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes … if what you’re saying is true in this alternative – and I’m not inferring it isn’t – that official report is sanitised.’

  ‘For obvious reasons … that you now understand.’

  ‘Indeed. You’re quite certain of your evidence to implicate MI6 in the killing of the Increment men?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Well, at least I got one part right; it was Colonel Monaghan behind it.’

  ‘And it was only due to his belief that Finlay and Jones both had an affair with his wife that he decided to include them as part of his brief.’

  ‘How did Finlay take it when you told him?’ asked Grahamslaw.

  ‘Surprisingly pragmatic. To be honest, I think he had an inkling there was more to it. He’s happy it’s forgotten about.’

  ‘He’s no fool. So, if the news didn’t cause upset, I’d figure you’re right – he probably knew something. Why did you choose to tell him?’

  ‘For the same reason I’m telling you. If something happens to me, I want someone to know why; someone who might be able to see justice done.’

  ‘You’re confident Finlay won’t go after this Green character?’

  ‘He won’t … and we’ve agreed he will keep it from Kevin Jones. Jones would want to get even, I suspect.’

  ‘Yes, I think he probably would. So, telling Finlay and me is a kind of insurance?’

  ‘With a difference. The people I’m insuring against won’t know this policy exists.’

  ‘It might be useful if you remind Green you have a means to expose him, just in case? Without mentioning me or Finlay, of course.’

  ‘Fair point. I’ll give that some thought.’

  ‘And you think that also having me know about this Al Anfal organisation will help you? It might have the opposite effect – add me to the list of those at risk.’

  ‘Not if you keep it to yourself.’

  ‘It’s useful. And I wouldn’t be surprised if their existence becomes public knowledge one day.’

  The barista was closer now, cleaning tables. Grahamslaw waited until he had collected the crockery from their previous drinks before continuing. ‘You know … when I first started this job I was given a bit of advice by my predecessor: beware the men in suits.’

  ‘He was telling you not to trust people like me?’ said Toni.

  ‘That’s what I took it to mean, at first. But then, as time wore on, I came to understand what he was really referring to. Yes, it applies to spooks, but it can also refer to bureaucracy – the system, the old boy’s network or simply the established way of doing things.’

  ‘Anything that wears a suit?’

  ‘Exactly. In your case, it would suggest you’d be wise not to rock the boat.’

  ‘To heed the warning, you mean?’

  ‘That would be my suggestion, yes. What do you intend to do, now that this report is finished?’

  ‘I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately. For a while I thought of quitting.’

  ‘Yours isn’t an easy profession to move on from.’

  ‘True. And I’ve just learned that I’m up for a promotion to Section Head.’

  ‘Is it a shoe-in?’

  ‘Not exactly … but let’s just say my information comes from a good source.’

  ‘Will you take it?’

  ‘I think so, yes. I’ve had an education in the last couple of weeks, an introduction to the real world, you might say.’

  ‘The world of the spy?’

  ‘The world of dishonesty and subterfuge.
I’ve discovered I can hold my own in a world of hidden agendas, where using people to fulfil your duty to your country is acceptable, but also where it’s ok to use people to fulfil personal ambitions.’

  Grahamslaw noticed Toni’s smile transform into a wicked grin, like that of a naughty boy who had just performed some fiendish practical joke. He wondered what thoughts it revealed. ‘And that’s somewhere you want to stay?’ he asked.

  ‘Not only that, I think it’s something I’m quite suited to … now that I know the rules of the game.’

  ‘Was it Le Carré who called it a “deadly game”?’

  ‘Quite possibly …’

  The Anti-Terrorist Commander drained his coffee in one. He understood only too well how Toni had now come to terms with using people. She had done it with Finlay and got away with it. Maybe now might be a good time to tell her he knew, or maybe not. He leant back in his seat, slowly came to a decision and met her eyes.

  ‘We should talk again, Toni,’ he said. ‘Maybe over dinner one evening? We could talk about things other than work for a change.’

  Returning his gaze, with a hint of a playful smile, Toni said ‘I was thinking the same thing. In fact, I have a black dress in the office I think would be perfect.’

  I bet you have, he thought. And I bet you know a lot about many subjects we haven’t yet discussed. As he stood to leave, he paused for a moment, wondering how best to leave things. In the event, he just smiled, and headed out into the fresh air.

  It could wait.

  Chapter 104

  Julian Armstrong leaned back in his leather chair.

  The frame creaked. It was late. The fire had long since burned out as he worked. So absorbed was he in discovering the wording of the document, he had forgotten to add extra logs and then hardly noticed as the house started to chill.

  The script was a mixture of ancient and more modern language, as if it stemmed from an original plan that had been modified and adapted to meet changing circumstances. From what he had deduced, Al Anfal was already over a hundred and fifty years old.

  A half-empty tumbler of Penderyn sat next to the computer screen. He hadn’t touched it for several hours.

  Outside the house, the mountain was bathed in low cloud. All around, the early-morning light was grey, every surface damp and chilled. Reaching for the whisky, Armstrong took a large swig and then swept his spectacles onto his head. With his free hand, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had promised himself he would destroy the Al Anfal file as soon as Finlay left. Temptation had proved too strong. Now, he was beginning to wonder if he had done the right thing. He had suspected all along that the document was far more than he had revealed to the curious policeman. It was. Al Anfal was a veritable Pandora’s Box.

  Possessing it – even simply having knowledge of its content – was a curse. As if knowledge of the Jihadist political agenda wasn’t enough, the document revealed the incredible plans to lure Western powers into conflict with Middle East dictatorships, creating power vacuums that represented opportunities to seize power. How it had ever come to be in the possession of a former SAS soldier, he could only guess.

  Armstrong reassured himself. He knew if he had destroyed the document without finishing the translation, he would always have wondered. The academic in him cried out to retain it. The survivor warned otherwise … and reminded him that he had made a promise.

  He placed the half-empty glass to one side, opened the doors to the log burner and lit a small fuel block. Topping the burner up with kindling, he waited as the flames grew. Doubts remained.

  There would be no turning back. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never see the likes of the document again.

  Slowly, he lifted the top sheet from the pile, studied it for a moment then started to crush it into a small ball. The fire was now growing. The welcome heat, comforting.

  The survivor prevailed. This is going to take a while, he thought. But it was the best thing to do. The first sheet started to burn. Soon it was joined by a second and then, a third. And then he stopped. What was he doing?

  Turning to face the sideboard, he sought out the only source of independent advice he had. ‘What would you do, Mary?’ he asked of the photograph.

  His wife didn’t react, didn’t move or even register the question but still, she gave him the answer he sought. ‘Be brave, Julian, be brave.’

  He sat back, pulling away from the growing heat, drained the whisky glass, stood … and stretched his aching frame.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Be brave.’

  Acknowledgements

  To my agent, James Wills of Watson-Little Ltd, I extend my thanks. Not simply for your counsel, but for your friendship. For taking the time to listen to me when all was not well and for saying the right thing at the right time.

  To my editor, West Camel, I save a huge hug. You have taught me so much in the last couple of years. I cannot thank you enough.

  To my inspirational publisher, Karen Sullivan, thanks for having faith in me and for providing the opportunity to realise this ambition.

  To my good friend Danny and to Roddy Llewellyn, I extend a thanks for your time and generous advice. I hope the result does it justice.

  And a special mention to my friend, Sian Phillips (@_Sians) who proofreads with such skill and looks after my blog with such creativity.

  At home, my partner Heather who has read, checked, commented and made incredible suggestions as I worked. Without her, Deadly Game would never have been written. Finally, to Harry, Xhosa and Buddy, my four-legged companions. My little mates who listen to me and help me unwind as we walk the Welsh Hills together and make plans for book three. And to Harley, who sadly passed before this work was complete.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Matt Johnson served as a soldier and Metropolitan Police officer for twenty-five years. Blown off his feet at the London Baltic Exchange bombing in 1992, and one of the first police officers on the scene of the 1982 Regent’s Park bombing, Matt was also at the Libyan People’s Bureau shooting in 1984 where he escorted his mortally wounded friend and colleague, Yvonne Fletcher, to hospital. Hidden wounds took their toll. In 1999, Matt was discharged from the police with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. While undergoing treatment, he was encouraged by his counsellor to write about his career and his experience of murders, shootings and terrorism. One evening, Matt sat at his computer and started to weave these notes into a work of fiction that he described as having a tremendously cathartic effect on his own condition. His bestselling thriller, Wicked Game, which was longlisted for the CWA John Creasey Dagger, was the result.

  Follow Matt on:

  www.mattjohnsonauthor.com

  Or Twitter:

  @Matt_Johnson_UK

  Copyright

  Orenda Books

  16 Carson Road

  West Dulwich

  London SE21 8HU

  www.orendabooks.co.uk

  First published by Orenda Books in 2017

  Copyright © Matt Johnson 2017

  Matt Johnson has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publishers.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-910633-66-3

  eISBN 978-1-910633-67-0

  Typeset in Arno by MacGuru Ltd

  If you enjoyed Deadly Game, you’ll love …

 

 

 
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