Three Lives Down (A Dan Taylor thriller)

by Rachel Amphlett

  He caught movement at one of the windows on the top floor of the house; a curtain fell back into place, and a shadow moved out of sight.

  He coughed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began what he hoped appeared to be a leisurely gait towards the barbeque area.

  Despite the pool being cleaned prior to his arrival, late summer leaves already floated on the water.

  He wondered whether he would keep the house after his business was concluded.

  He suspected not.

  He preferred the sights and sounds of the capital, not the countryside, with its wide open spaces, rolling meadows, and prying eyes.

  Despite what people thought, it was much easier to hide in the city; people ignored the activities of their neighbours. Here, the slightest change would be commented upon, analysed, and reported if the locals were in any way suspicious.

  Malikov made a mental note to call his real estate agent as soon as his guests had departed.

  It would soon be time to move on to new challenges.

  He turned at the sound of the back door closing.

  Krupin hurried towards him, and Malikov noticed the mobile phone clutched to his chest.

  Krupin ignored the two armed bodyguards that kept a respectable distance from Malikov and waited until he stood next to him before he spoke, his voice an undertone.

  ‘It’s him,’ he said.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He sounds scared,’ said Krupin. He moved to hand over the phone to Malikov and then seemed to change his mind and pushed it closer to his chest. ‘With respect, we need to be careful,’ he said. ‘If he panics, he may do something that will expose us, despite the guarantees we have in place.’

  Malikov nodded and beckoned for the phone. He took it from Krupin’s hand and then walked a few paces away, took a deep breath, and put the phone to his ear.

  ‘You have been told not to call me unless there is an emergency.’

  He listened to the caller, the man’s words tumbling over each other.

  ‘Slow down,’ grumbled Malikov. ‘Tell me, does anyone suspect you? Are you being followed?’

  He waited and watched a flock of starlings arc over the woodland beyond the house. The air was beginning to cool as twilight began to settle over the countryside.

  He realised the caller had stopped talking and was waiting for him to respond.

  ‘Stick to the plan,’ he said. ‘And don’t call me on this number again.’

  He ended the call and passed the mobile phone back to Krupin before pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands.

  ‘Do you think he suspects anything?’ asked Krupin.

  Malikov pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. He’s panicking about how to contain the rest of the story and wondering who leaked it to the press.’

  He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and then pointed at the phone. ‘Destroy that. I want no trace of that call, understand?’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Good.’ Malikov turned back to the house and then paused. ‘Are there any more loose ends we need to discuss?’

  ‘None,’ said Krupin. ‘I will make the necessary arrangements.’

  ‘See to it that you do,’ said Malikov. ‘I hate surprises.’

  CHAPTER 30

  Dan heaped extra sugar into his coffee, stirred the hot liquid with enthusiasm, and grabbed his cup and a second one for Mel and hurried from the kitchen back to the conference room he and Mel now commandeered.

  It hadn’t been difficult – the rest of the EPG analysts, led by Neil Evans, had been busy with briefings and other assorted meetings since Porchester had arrived back in the city.

  The whole office had mobilised following the press conference, yet Dan and Mel had been largely ignored, despite being the ones who had effectively led the investigation to date.

  ‘You’ve definitely pissed off someone,’ Mel had complained. ‘There goes my chance of a career-enhancing opportunity.’

  Dan had spent the first four hours pacing between the conference room and Mel’s desk and hovering outside Evans’s office, pestering the man’s assistant until she’d allowed him five minutes with him, exasperated.

  Evans had been stoical.

  ‘You’re still technically off duty,’ he’d explained. ‘You’ve done more than enough. Go home and get some rest.’

  Dan had ignored him, returning to the conference room in a blacker mood than before.

  Mel had lasted another thirty minutes of his grumbling, until she’d handed him a twenty pound note and sent him in search of food.

  Luckily, there was a takeaway pizza shop two blocks from the office that still served food late into the evening.

  Now, Dan sipped on his coffee and stared out the window, watching the lights from a large aircraft as it took off from Heathrow and then banked across the urban sprawl.

  His mind was a jumble of thoughts, but one kept rising to the surface, refusing to go away.

  Until the story about the stolen isotope had broken, Porchester had kept him close, asking for regular updates. Now, he and Mel had been cast aside, despite the fact that they offered expertise the government could use.

  ‘It’s just politics,’ Mel had said when he’d first voiced his thoughts an hour ago. ‘They’re still dealing with the fallout of the PM nearly losing his job.’

  ‘Bad choice of words.’

  Mel had ignored him and had turned her attention back to her laptop screen.

  They’d decided to pursue another angle. Instead of waiting for Porchester or the PM to reach out to them, Dan wanted to find someone who could get a message to the PM on his behalf. Or tell him where David and Mitch were, given that the government was dealing with a crisis the founding members of the EPG were well-equipped to support.

  ‘This guy might be worth checking out,’ said Mel, her mouse working across the biographies under the photographs. ‘He’s got a reputation for being one of the PM’s longest-running supporters.’ She turned the laptop to face Dan. ‘Maybe he knows a way to get in touch with him without going through the usual channels.’

  ‘Will he help us?’

  Mel shrugged. ‘It’s worth a shot, I guess. I’ve made some enquiries – discreetly,’ she said, before he could interrupt. ‘And he’s rumoured to be the one that uncovered the plan to oust the PM last month.’

  Dan took the mouse from her and clicked on the photograph of the Member of Parliament. A new webpage opened, with more detail.

  ‘George Heatherington. Currently the Member for Whitton-upon-Thames. He’s written or co-authored several articles about the European Union debate and has a reputation for clearly setting out the pros and cons without being biased.’

  Dan straightened and stretched his back, before he started to pace the small space behind Mel’s desk. ‘Pros and cons,’ he muttered. ‘I guess on the one side, there’s the expense of leaving it, and on the other, plenty of opportunity to explore trade deals without the restrictions of the EU.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll know how to contact the PM?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Dan. ‘Maybe we can ask him to get a message to the PM for us. I can’t understand why he isn’t more involved in this business with the stolen isotope. Usually, by now, the phone here would be ringing off the hook with his office demanding updates.’

  ‘All right,’ said Mel and pulled out her mobile phone. ‘Let me see if I can persuade Heatherington’s office that you need to meet with him.’

  ‘Tell them it’s urgent,’ said Dan, leaning over to hit the ‘print’ button on the open webpage. ‘I’ve got a feeling we’re running out of time.’

  CHAPTER 31

  Dan hitched up the handbrake and sat forward, leaning his arms across the steering wheel.

  Exhaustion had driven him from the conference room at two in the morning to one of the first aid rooms on the second floor of the building. He’d crawled into the narrow bunk, rolled onto his side, and slept fitf
ully until a cleaner had discovered him at daybreak and shooed him from the room.

  He yawned.

  Beyond the windscreen, the asphalt of the car park gave way to a grassy bank that sloped gently towards the river. Wooden bench seats had been installed along the grass, linked together by a concrete path that snaked next to the river, weaving in and out of ancient trees that cast dappled shadows in the summer light.

  An official-looking car was parked a few metres away from where Dan sat, two security men standing next to it, their arms crossed over their chests, their eyes obscured by sunglasses. One faced him; the other’s attention was given to a man hunched on one of the wooden benches next to the river.

  Dan checked his watch and then slipped from the car, stretched, and slammed the door shut.

  He knew from experience that it would be better not to approach the man on the bench without checking in with his security team first, and he withdrew his identification card from his wallet as he walked towards them.

  The shorter of the two men took his card, nodded, and then handed it back and gestured towards the bench.

  ‘He’s waiting for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Dan.

  He pocketed his wallet and made his way across the last of the asphalt and then stepped over a low chain linked between the posts that separated the car park from the river.

  A mist had formed in the early hours of the morning and was now beginning to lift from the water course and surrounding landscape. The aroma of the riverbank reached his senses as he drew closer to the bench.

  For a fleeting moment, he was reminded of childhood adventures on homemade rafts, and then his attention snapped back to the present as he reached his destination.

  ‘Mr Heatherington?’

  ‘That’s correct. You must be Dan Taylor.’

  ‘Thanks for seeing me at short notice.’

  The man looked up but didn’t stand. ‘Your friend said it was urgent.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  Dan did as he was told and stared out at the river flowing past, copying the stance of the man he sat next to.

  The Right Honourable George Heatherington was a stalwart in the Prime Minister’s cabinet, a back-bencher who had, according to Dan and Mel’s research, been an active Member of Parliament since his late twenties. Never one to make too much noise, he had a reputation for fairness, thoroughness, and a keen sense of loyalty. Now in his late sixties, he sat with his hands folded in his lap, a beige coat folded on the seat next to him, his thinning white hair lifting gently in the breeze.

  ‘Why here?’ asked Dan.

  ‘I like it. Gives me space to think,’ said the politician. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked after a moment’s silence, his pale blue eyes boring into Dan.

  ‘I’d like to know where the Prime Minister is,’ said Dan. ‘Apparently he’s not been seen in the UK for several weeks now.’

  Heatherington chuckled. ‘Oh, he’s around,’ he said, gazing across the river to the opposite bank. ‘Just very busy at the moment.’

  ‘Did you know anything about the EPG?’

  ‘Your lot? Not really, no. Can’t say I do.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t know where I can find David Ludlow or Mitch Frazer either?’

  Heatherington locked eyes with him. ‘No, no I can’t.’

  Dan exhaled and looked away. He was being played; he was sure of it. ‘What can you tell me? You agreed to this meeting, so you must believe there’s something I need to know.’

  ‘I have a message for you,’ said Heatherington. ‘From the PM. He says to be patient, and that you should stall your enquiries for a day or so, until he can bring you up to speed personally.’

  Dan twisted round to stare at Heatherington. ‘We have a rogue terrorist gang on the loose with a stolen isotope. Why the hell would he want me to stand down?’

  ‘There are other matters at play here, Mr Taylor,’ snapped the older man. ‘Matters that you’re not privy to, and that must be dealt with by other means than your typical gung-ho methods.’

  ‘Gung-ho methods?’ Dan fought down his anger. ‘Is that what the PM thinks of our successes?’

  ‘Calm down,’ said Heatherington and held up his hand. He glanced over his shoulder towards the cars. ‘And keep your voice down.’

  Dan kept his eyes on the elderly politician. ‘Then explain to me what the hell is going on.’

  ‘Lately there’s been talk of another attempt to overthrow him.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Heatherington sighed. ‘Even before the failed spill last month, there were people in the Party who weren’t happy with the Prime Minister’s view that this country remain in the European Union. Or his insistence on going ahead with coal-seam gas fracking, even if it’s simply because he wants to show the public that this country should stand on its own two feet when it comes to energy production. Too controversial, especially in the year leading up to the next General Election. Likely to lose it for us, you see?’

  Dan nodded, not wishing to interrupt.

  ‘Well, a few of the old boys decided that enough was enough. Better to cut ties with the European Union and seek out a new oil and gas deal with the Russians. With or without the blessing of the PM.’

  ‘Hang on – what?’ Dan frowned. ‘Isn’t that a bit extreme?’

  Heatherington squinted at the horizon while he seemed to contemplate his answer. ‘What you have to understand, Taylor, is that the media are being used to convince the general public that it’s very detrimental being part of the European Union. Especially for us British. We’re too scared to say no, you see?’

  ‘No, I’m not sure I do.’

  ‘Look at it this way. If the French disagree with an EU directive, they simply ignore it. We British, on the other hand, go all out to obey. We love a bit of bureaucracy.’ He snorted. ‘It’ll be our undoing, if we’re not careful. Especially with the EU Human Rights Act binding our hands so we can’t even kick known terrorists out of our country. On top of that, we’re obliged to our immediate neighbours to share energy supplies. You know as well as I do the sort of situation that can lead to.’

  ‘So, go back to your comment about the Russians,’ said Dan. ‘What’s all that about?’

  ‘It’s the damn EU sanctions against Russia,’ explained Heatherington. ‘Britain has a few of its own sanctions against trading with Russia, but they’re not as stringent as the EU’s. Actually, they’re as weak as all hell.’ He cleared his throat and checked over his shoulder to see where his security men were and then, satisfied they were out of earshot, turned back to Dan. ‘There are always loopholes, if you catch my meaning.’

  ‘So, if Britain broke away from the EU, however long that would take, what’s Russia got to do with the current situation in Parliament?’

  ‘The PM’s got it into his bloody head that the only way to stop this beloved country of ours from facing an energy crisis every year is to explore the possibility of using coal seam gas fracking to supplement our supply from the North Sea. Try to keep everything British,’ said Heatherington. ‘Although we’ve developed ways to get to oil and gas deeper under the seabed than ever before, it’s still going to run out one day. And no-one wants a nuclear reactor in their back garden.’

  ‘There are a few people that aren’t too keen on fracking, either,’ said Dan.

  Heatherington held up a finger. ‘And that’s my point, m’boy. Hence why the PM was most insistent the project in Northumberland went ahead in secret – to get the results in and prove to the general public that there was nothing to fear from it.’

  Dan leaned back on the seat and then jerked forward as the wooden slats rubbed against his stitches.

  So that’s why the isotope was stolen, he thought. To embarrass the PM, and expose the project as being too dangerous.

  He kept his thoughts to himself and instead scratched his chin before asking his next question. ‘And the Russians?’

  �
�Lining up to sign new gas contracts with us,’ said Heatherington. ‘As soon as Britain leaves the EU, it can get its gas supplies from whoever it damn pleases – and the Russians are desperate to sell. The EU sanctions are crippling them. We’d be able to name our price on the first swathe of gas contracts and ensure supply for the next twenty years at a fraction of the normal cost.’

  Dan whistled through his teeth. ‘So it’s got nothing to do with a dirty bomb, and everything to do with embarrassing the PM into cutting a deal with the Russian gas companies.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Heatherington. ‘Cheap gas would help win the election – energy prices are going up year on year and will only get worse.’ He squinted at the horizon as a swan began its graceful descent towards the water. ‘For the past decade, the government has been handing out winter payments to pensioners,’ he said and then turned to Dan. ‘With an ageing population, how sustainable do you think that course of action is?’

  ‘Do you think recent events have been encouraged by the Russians?’ asked Dan, his thoughts turning to the Russian assassin he’d fought off in the hospital.

  ‘I’m certain of it,’ Heatherington said. ‘The PM’s fracking plans are very unpopular and have a lot of his fellow party members nervous; even though the split was avoided, there’s still a lot of tension in the ranks. I suspect the Russians are encouraging the discord with promises of lucrative back-handers if the party members can persuade the PM to drop the fracking programme, split from the EU, and buy cheap Russian gas instead.’

  ‘And if they can’t convince him?’

  Heatherington sighed. ‘Then I fear they’ll do whatever it takes to get rid of the PM.’ He glanced up at movement to their left. ‘Looks like I’m being summoned,’ he said and stood.

  Dan looked over his shoulder and saw Heatherington’s security men advancing towards them. He got to his feet, collected Heatherington’s jacket for him, and extended his hand.

  ‘Thanks for taking the time to talk with me,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Heatherington. He slipped his jacket over his arm, nodded, and turned to walk towards his security men, before he stopped and looked over his shoulder.