Enemy Within
By
William David
CHAPTER 1
(West Country England)
The rain is hammering down, I am soaking wet, and vaguely aware of the drips running down my neck and seeping in to my shirt collar. As I lie on the grass verge my eyes become accustomed to a darkness that is only slightly relieved by the young moon, and slowly, I regain a sense of my surroundings and what has happened. Looking down I see that my right jacket sleeve is torn, and wiping my forehead I see the smear of blood on the back of my hand. It's not only rain that is giving me that trickling sensation on the forehead.
I need to get up but feel stiff, and looking down see that I am covered in mud and that my left trouser leg is torn, almost shredded. On my feet I am unsteady but I turn around; below, down the slope, away from the road I can make out the remains of two cars. Mine, a silver Range Rover upside down with the engine still running, the exhaust fumes puffing out of the tail pipe, and to the left a blue Volvo estate car on its side with it's badly crushed nose half way up the base of a large tree.
There is an overwhelming smell of petrol mixed with the pooling rain and, as I look, the driver’s door of the Volvo moves upwards. The driver is alive and trying to get out. I automatically move forward to help but there is a lick of flame which instantly engulfs the car and driver, then with an almighty bang the car explodes and a blast of hot air knocks me to the ground again, seconds later a second explosion as the Range Rover goes up as well.
As I come round and open my eyes, there is the flash of blue and red lights, a blazing arc light from up by the road and people in fluorescent yellow jackets scurrying around and talking in loud voices. Two figures are leaning over me and I feel a jab in my right arm, then I am hoisted up, and the image blurring, I am moved towards the open doors of an ambulance.
CHAPTER 2
Three thousand miles away across the Atlantic Peter Asimov waited for his guest. He lay back in an armchair near the window sipping a Scotch that he had just poured out of a crystal decanter. He was tired and jet lagged, it had been a long flight from Kiev.
Looking around the room he mused; this is a nice place, shame that there isn’t the time to stay here more often. The Penthouse is quite extensive: a large living room, big enough to be furnished with five lounges, a sixteen-seater dining table, and three large screen TVs, a bar, and three en-suite bedrooms, each of which have balconies overlooking the city. The only fly in the ointment was the city, Washington! It all happened here so he had to be here sometimes to look after his various interests but he did not like the city.
There was a knock at the door and before he could respond it opened.
“Good morning Jack, thought you might not be coming,” said Asimov.
“I got held up and I only have ten minutes even now.”
“Where's your detail?”
“Outside the door, we need to talk in private.”
“Well, what can I do for you?”
“Don't piss me around Asimov, you know what we are here for. How are you going with that problem of mine?”
“Relax Jack, have a Scotch,” he said pouring him a large measure from the decanter and passing it to him. “In reality you should let Dalrymple go to the wall, someone would pick up the pieces. Unfortunately you and all the other shareholders would lose their money in the process, but that's life, you win some, you lose some.”
“It's all right for you Russian billionaires who robbed the state blind in the nineties, you can afford to lose a few million here and there; for us poor politicians this kind of investment represents our pension!”
“Now I am feeling sorry for you,” Asimov goaded, but seeing that his guest was about to erupt with rage hurriedly continued. “I have a plan for one of my finance arms to acquire one of your competitors that happens to be a British company called Control Networks based in Bristol, England. We have already approached them and if we are successful and acquire them we can lose your cash issues in the funding for the acquisition and the future development requirements of the merged entity. The secondary benefit is that this other company has the technology to potentially solve your technical issues as well.”
He looked at Asimov in stunned silence, then, “what made you select them?”
“Why, is there a problem? Our research shows they happen to be a company that is doing very well, have a lot of upside potential, need money, and could provide the product solutions you need.”
“I agree they could, it’s just such a coincidence.”
“What is the coincidence? I don't get you.”
“Never mind,” he said quickly ignoring the question and hastily gathering his thoughts changed the subject. “How quickly can this be made to happen? Things are becoming critical. The CEO briefed me a few days ago and he was very down beat on the prospects.”
“Well, suggest to him that we could solve his cash flow problems at the same time as providing the funds for this acquisition; that should cheer him up. You will of course need his help and enthusiasm to make the acquisition work.”
“OK, I will do that, in the meantime you need to make sure this happens. You owe me, so don't let me down.”
I won't,” said Asimov.
There was a tap at the door, “I need to get going,” he said looking at his watch as he moved towards the door.
“Nice seeing you again,” said Asimov, but the door was already closed and he was alone again. The truth was that there were still a few hurdles in the way of the acquisition, more than he had admitted. Getting over those hurdles would require a robust approach, to put it mildly! What could the ‘coincidence’ have been that his guest was reluctant to talk about?
Asimov resented the need to be involved in this. Over the past 15 years he had built up a large and vastly profitable business based on his acquisitions in Russia in the nineties. Those had been tough times and had frequently required extreme measures to ensure survival, but over the last 5 years he had been progressively cleaning up the corporation until it was now squeaky clean. The last thing he needed was an involvement in other peoples problems, although he acknowledged that there were favours to be repaid and more importantly favours that might still be needed in the future.
CHAPTER 3
Somebody is trying to poke my eye out, I jerk my head, open my eyes and see a startled figure in a white coat leaning over. I slowly look around, I am in bed, and a nurse is standing next to the doctor who has tried to look at my pupil and in the process woken me up. I have a bandage on my head and right arm, a drip in my left arm, and I feel really sore as I try to move. The nurse moves to restrain me. “Please lie still”. It all becomes a blur as I lose consciousness again.
Some time later I wake and the room is empty. I lie there with my eyes closed, feeling sore and fragile, and not too concerned about where I am, just pleased to drift in and out of sleep. Hours later I wake again and start to think again and remember what has happened, the memories are vivid. The repeated crash and bumping of the Volvo hitting the rear of the Range Rover as it tried to get me to stop or run me off the road, and then a particularly violent smash and the Volvo seeming to hook on under the rear tow bar, the loss of control, and the crash through the low dry stone wall at the side of the road. Finally, turning over, and the crashing and scraping sound as we careered down the embankment, a sudden jolt as the car slammed to a stop and the air bags exploding around me. The increasingly pungent smell of petrol as I come round hanging upside down with the seat belt biting in to my shoulder. Then mounting panic as the absolute fear of fire sharpens my senses, got to get out! The fight with the airbags, the struggle to open the door and undo the seat belt and then falling out on to the grass to crawl away up the slope. The explosion, I was lu
cky to be alive!
Am I seriously injured? I carry out an inventory. I seem to have both legs and arms, I am heavily bandaged around the chest, I can see OK, and I remember hearing the nurse so my hearing is OK. Everything seems to be there, so presumably not too bad although it is really sore to move much.
What a mess! It is a lie that you wake up in hospital having forgotten everything. I can remember everything only too clearly! I have to get out of here!
Gingerly, I swing my legs, one at a time, over the edge of the bed. Then I sit up. A flash of pain stops me in my tracks! Half sitting with one elbow on the pillow, I think, broken rib, it feels like it, maybe more than one. I gather the courage to move again and stand up, holding my upper body rigid so as to avoid the shooting pain.
Standing by the side of the bed I look down at the drip. Why do I have a drip? I can't believe that I have lost enough blood to justify that; it must be so as to administer a drug, a painkiller perhaps. Now what happens when you remove a drip? From watching those soaps on TV I think they just pull it out and put a plaster on. So I pull it out and with no plaster my right index finger applying pressure has to do.
Now what? Where are my clothes? In the wardrobe cupboard in the corner seems a reasonable guess although they were possibly too badly damaged in the crash to warrant keeping. I move over and open the door. No luck, except there is a dressing gown. Slowly I manage to slip this on and it fits! There's also a pair of towel slippers. I move across to the bedside where I find my wallet, watch, and some keys in the drawer. For some reason the ‘‘‘phone is not there. The watch tells me it is nine pm.
I carefully open the room door. I have to get out of here before they arrive! Outside there is a corridor with doors off to each side and the nurses’ reception desk is about 40 feet away to the right. In the gloom of the dimmed night lighting I can see what looks like a guy in uniform, a copper, slouching in a chair to the left of the reception, probably asleep. To the left the corridor ends in an emergency exit with a crash type door. Slowly I move out in to the corridor, there is nobody else around; presumably, only a skeleton staff at this time of night. Suddenly I hear movement and voices behind me round the bend further up the corridor so I open the first door and step in closing it behind me. Inside I sense there is someone in the bed, apparently asleep. As the movement outside comes closer I step in to the wardrobe and wait.
There is a rattle of a door across the corridor, the sound of a few words of conversation, then the door closing and the steps moving away. Miraculous if they do not notice my room is now empty! My luck is in, with miracles coming in twos. In the wardrobe is a man's suit! The trousers vaguely fit, with the legs rolled up, and the jacket also fits, 'though a bit loose. The hospital nightdress, under the jacket and trousers, looks like a polo necked shirt. All really quite presentable apart from the white towel slippers, but unfortunately there are no shoes. That cannot be helped and I move out in to the dimly lit corridor again. I look at my watch and see it is 9.30pm. Which day? Presumably the crash was a day ago and I have been here 24 hours. As I move over eagerly to the emergency door a flash of pain right through the left side of my chest brings me to a sudden halt and I scream silently through gritted teeth.
At the door I stand and look to see if it is alarmed. It appears to be wedged open. As I open the door and move on to the balcony steps outside I can see why. This is smoko's corner, where everyone comes for an illicit cigarette; there are butts everywhere. I am on the third floor and below me through the gloomy wet night I can see that I am overlooking the car park, the main entrance to the building appears to be on the other side. It takes me 20 minutes of stop-start effort to get down 6 flights of stairs to the ground. The exercise is gradually loosening the muscles and by the time I reach the bottom I can walk nearly normally providing I hold my chest rigid to avoid the shooting pains. There is no one around and as I pass the other floors I can see that all lights have been dimmed for the night. I wish it would stop raining! At the base of the steps I look around and wonder what to do. I am not exactly mobile so I need transport. I have no skills related to breaking in to and starting a car in the car park and it would be pushing my luck too far to hope someone has left their keys in the car.
I move around towards the front of the building. Here the entrance is a blaze of light making the concrete of the driveway and entrance porch to the Accident and Emergency unit glisten in the incessant rain. I slump down just out of sight behind a hedge, glad of the rest, and contemplate what to do. Above all I have to get out of here quickly, but plainly I cannot walk out and I am getting soaked! While I am sitting there an ambulance enters the driveway, lights flashing and pulls up outside the doors. The driver gets out and together with a colleague from inside the vehicle they quickly push a stretcher inside. Could I steal the ambulance? Did the driver leave the keys? Before I could answer the question the crew return. Opportunity gone. The ambulance moves off and it is quiet again.
Suddenly a car screams in through the gate, gets the bend wrong on the drive and takes a whole strip of carefully nurtured roses with it. It navigates back on to the drive and screeches to a halt outside the entrance. A man jumps out of the drivers’ door and runs round to the rear passenger door shouting as he goes. The door opens and a woman can be seen sitting there nursing someone or something on her lap. The man runs in to the doorway yelling as he goes and seconds later reappears with two staff and a stretcher trolley. What looks like a young girl is loaded on to the stretcher and all disappear inside with the man gesticulating and talking at the top of his voice.
In the meantime, there is a car, engine running. Miracle three?
I feel guilty but I am in the drivers seat quickly and off down the drive at a rate of knots. I quickly get on to the by-pass and then on to the motorway. I now need to find somewhere to rest up. A hotel and some shoes!
CHAPTER 4
Gerry Dawson, a balding middle-aged, anonymous looking and apparently innocuous civil servant has had a bad day. Beneath his calm exterior he is absolutely bristling with rage. The target had nearly been killed and then he had disappeared and there was no clue as to his whereabouts. An icy call a few minutes ago had made it clear that they did not approve of failures like that and he felt worried!
Earlier he had learnt that Martin Lever had been in a car smash the previous night; the vehicles had caught fire and the police and ambulance called. One man was dead, (possibly his contractor), and Lever in hospital. The police involvement would make things difficult. Now he had just heard that before they could get to him, Lever had disappeared from the hospital. It seemed he might have stolen a visitor’s car.
His PA knocked on the door and entered with a sheaf of papers and photos. Included are Images of a shadowy figure, (presumably Lever), outside the hospital. Pity that security staff were not looking at the monitors! He told Anne to find out where Naismith was and tell him to get in as soon as possible. In the meantime leave him and close the door. His demeanour made it clear that despite the hour she should stay until he said she could go.
He took a ‘‘‘phone out of his pocket and sent off a text message. Five minutes later and his ‘‘‘phone buzzed with the reply. He closed the Lever file he was reviewing, grabbed his jacket, and left.
Downstairs in the car park he got in to his car and drove out in to the evening gloom. It was raining, and the reflection of the street lights gleamed from the wet road surface. In 10 minutes he was down at the city wharf and in to an open space used as a car park. At this time of the day it was nearly empty with one car at the far end and another standing isolated in the centre.
He drove over to one end that overlooked where a lock linked the canal to the harbour, and got out. It had stopped raining and it felt fresh. He took a deep breath and looked at his watch, 10.30pm. As he looked up a set of headlights entered the other end of the car park and moved towards him, pulling up next to his car. He got in to the passenger seat. The car was full of cigarette smoke and he coughed v
iolently before getting the window open and cursing the driver
The driver looked like your typical 1950's East End villain stereotype. Late forties early fifties, thin faced and balding with his remaining hair left long and plastered across to conceal it, oversize jacket hanging on a spare frame, and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Could have been one of the Krays! “For gods sake put that out!” and, “what the hell went wrong Reg,” said Dawson in a raised voice. “This was a simple straight forward job. You were to hurt him a little as a warning, not try and kill him!”
Reg wound down his window and threw his cigarette out. “Don't know what happened Guv. Haven't got to the bottom of it yet.”
“Well you need to get a grip on this. First you need to find him and keep track of him and it needs to happen quickly! If we find him first I will let you know but keep me updated. Don't touch him unless I say so.”
“OK Guv.”
With that, Dawson got out of the car slamming the door, and drove off in his own car, tyres screeching.
Back at the office, Naismith had returned as ordered and sat talking to Anne while waiting for Dawson to return. “Watch out, he is in one hell of a mood” said Anne. “Something seems to have gone wrong. After he had a call this evening I thought he was going to implode! I have never seen him so angry. He thinks he hides it, but after 5 years I know all the signs, and he was looking as mean as I have ever seen him.”
“He's always mean and nasty,” said Naismith. I don't know how you could have stayed with him so long, and working these hours!”
“Money's good!” she replied.
At that point Dawson walked in and called Naismith to follow him in to his office and shut the door. He threw a set of photo's and background notes on to the desk in front of Naismith and said. “Drop everything else. Whatever it takes we have to find this man and quickly, so tell your team no more lazing around and get to work. When you've found him, don't go near him, just set up a tail and let me know immediately.” Dawson filled in the details of the last known location of Martin Lever and without another glance started working on his computer. Naismith picked up the papers and left, shrugging his shoulders as he passed Anne.
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