ThornScope_Federation of Europe

by KC McLaren

  Brad turned and smiled, “That would be good, mate. A nice warm glass of British Beer,” he said trying to mimic a cockney accent and instead talking like an Australian being chased by a kangaroo.

  “I’ll make sure we put ice in it for you.” Egil replied, pointing out the next turning to get them onto Warwick Road that would lead to St. Pauls, a nice little sightseeing. Again, Brad gave away a little clue, Egil thought. Warm beer. Not in these pubs, mate and not for a long time have we ever served warm beer. Now all I need to find out is when you were last in the UK, and why.

  The Range Rover glided along the roads as Egil pointed out directions, passing St. Pauls onto Cannon Street.

  “You guys come to the UK often, are you based here?” Egil asked.

  “I’ve lived here before, but not for a while.” Brad replied. “It’s changed since I was last here, seems a lot bigger. If I remember, Canary Wharf was not that big a deal. Is it still like a ghost town?”

  That’s a long time ago, Egil thought. Would put you around the middle of the 1990s on your last visit. If Brad was working for any intelligence group around that time that would make him late thirties.

  “No, not at all,” Egil replied. “It’s now one of the major financial districts in the UK. Tens of thousands of people work and live at Canary Wharf and the Docklands. It’s prime real estate too. You would need at least two to three hundred thousand just to buy a rabbit box there.”

  Brad laughed, “I take that’s in sterling not dollars then?”

  “Sure is. The most expensive ones, penthouses, run into the millions, and you would not get much change from ten million these days.”

  They were close to the bottom of Cannon Street. He told Brendon when the road arced to the left turn right and follow the signs for The Tower of London.

  Something in Egil’s mind took hold. The research he had done on Beckett all those years ago. The vetting for him and his company. Nothing serious, just the low financial and assets check but talking about penthouses rang a bell of sorts. Did Beckett have a property portfolio in and around the London area? Something to check, the problem was how? He was not tracking a Jonathan Beckett, the name on the ops sheet read different. Well, he thought, that is something else to add to Jason’s list. He smiled to himself.

  The falling snow had all but gone and the clouds in the sky gave way to a bright starry night. If Jason could get satellite images around the bar area, it may give them a clue of the targets next destination. It was a long shot, but worth it. He had not decided yet if he would share any outcome with the two Americans sitting in the front. Either way though, Egil was more than convinced, the targets would not be in the bar now. He decided he would text Jason asking him to look into any properties Jonathan Beckett may have had in and around London, around Canary Wharf and the Docklands. He could call Thames House himself and request the information. But he didn’t know what comms Jason had set up with Lucy, his red-head fiancé and didn’t want to risk the possibility of another flag raised.

  The Americans weren’t much for talking. What was their real connection to Jacobs? The knowledge of another two-gun hoe types running around the London Tube got Egil thinking there were others in the command structure. The connection had to be with Jonathan Beckett. Why had Beckett turned up now and why was he on a watch list for cybercrimes?

  They past The Tower of London and coming up to London Bridge Egil told Brendon that from here on to follow the signs to Canary Wharf. So many questions, Egil thought, whatever the case though he would sort this out. His mobile vibrated again, it was Jason. He told him he was at Canary Wharf and had spoken to the security guards. They couldn’t give much more information apart from they felt sure one of them had a bad injury. The other one had blood coming from his head, but it looked superficial.

  “Seems your testicle squashing pepper girlie had a hand in it,” Jason laughed. “Man, I wish we could get video. I would buy the popcorn.” Jason explained he had got the text about the background check on possible properties Beckett may have had in the area. Nothing so far from Lucy as for the satellite that was a no go. Lucy would need to put a formal request into GCHQ which would cause eyebrows to raise.

  “However,” Jason went on, “we may be in luck with something else. Apparently, One Canada Square,” the tallest skyscraper in Canary Wharf, “has some rather high tech surveillance CCTV right on its little roof. And here is the fun part, it’s Lucy’s remit to keep them monitored and working.”

  Installed on the tower after 9/11, the secretive camera’s formed a network around the city on key tall buildings to scan upwards rather than downwards. Over the last few years though, and with ThornScope coming on line, they served more as normal surveillance around Canary Wharf.

  “OK, do what you can,” Egil said mindful of Brad eavesdropping more than usual.

  “One last thing Egil, I took photos of the American’s when I left the camera room. Not got anything yet on the taller one, the other one seems to be CIA but his file is locked. Lucy is trying to get ID’s; I should know something by the time I catch up with you.”

  They past Tower Bridge then headed for The Highway which took them through the Limehouse Link Tunnel and brought them out on the main road into Canary Wharf.

  “Good, speak later,” Egil replied and disconnected the call.

  Chapter 21 | 1 Millharbour

  WITHOUT FINISHING THEIR DRINKS Jonathan followed Sara to the back of the pub house. She kept looking over her shoulder making sure he was still in tow. Although the events of the day so far had been overwhelming and harrowing, he felt a calmness come over him that kicked his brain into analytical mode. It zoned into the events of the day, playing them out and analysing every aspect.

  Sara opened the door to the exit at the back which came out onto a small courtyard that stored beer barrels and what not for the pub. The afternoon had now slipped away and he could feel the ice cold on his face. He looked up, at least the snow had stopped and the sky was becoming clear.

  At the end of the yard Sara opened a gate that lead onto a narrow lane. He heard the low base sound of an engine and saw a black Audi A6 high performance car waiting next to the kerb. The coat man stood at the passenger door and opened it, Jonathan got in and made himself comfortable on the black leather seat. Sara had already gone around the other side of the car, getting in next to him. The driver was also in and buckled up. Sara turned to Jonathan and explained it would only be a short trip. Not meaning to be rude he ignored her and spoke to the driver, “Turn off your sound system and satnav and give me the car registration.” The driver complied. Jonathan leaned over and took his mobile out then tapped a few keys in and pressed send. “Here”, handing his mobile to the driver, “put it into the USB connection.”

  Trying to lighten mood Sara said, “You want to play some iTunes Jonathan?”

  He sat back in his seat and smiled, “Nope, just making sure no-one can track us.”

  She returned the smile, “Jonathan, we are not stupid, this car is modified with counter measures and intelligence software...”

  He interrupted, “I’m sure it is, Sara. But I wrote the counter, counter intelligence software to bypass your intelligence. How do you think I kept myself hidden and off the grid for so long?” he laughed. “Well not your intelligence but you know what I mean.”

  She laughed back, “That’s a lot of intelligence, Mr Genius.” They both burst into fits of giggles enough to break the dark mood. “It’s time to go.”

  The driver replied, “Yes ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” Jonathan repeated raising his eyebrows at Sara.

  “Oh Jonathan my dear friend, don’t ask.” Which brought on another fit of giggles with the driver joining in for good measure.

  The car exited the lane and came out onto a road that lead up to one of the main roundabouts not too far from the River Thames. The driver took the exit south onto Westferry Road heading parallel with the skyscrapers reaching high into the dark sky, on Jonathan�
�s left, brightly lit. His mind was still analysing everything, it was wrong to think a man could not multi-task, well, not least Jonathan Beckett he thought to himself. He came to two conclusions. One, Sara had not been responsible for the ‘Greece Euro’ USB stick. Two, the group he had helped get leaked documents onto the net had not only been infiltrated by Sara, but also an unknown entity.

  “Sara,” he whispered reaching over and laying a hand on hers, “I trust you. You were right, but not altogether. There is so much more to this than anyone really knows. But yes, I ducked out. I…” he paused and looked down finding it hard to admit to his failing, “I ran away. And I’m sorry for that. We’re in this together. At least from now on we are.”

  She beamed back at him unable to hide her pleasure. “I won’t let you down, Jonathan. I’ve never let you down. We won’t let you down.”

  “I believe you, Sara.” He replied, studying her face for any signs of deceit. He wanted to trust her, and he would, but there were questions that needed answering, all in good time he thought. Jonathan looked out of his window up at the skyscrapers passing by, thinking, well this is certainly not boring. But maybe he should have just stuck with developing software games.

  Silent and graceful, the car moved down the road and onto Marshall Way into one of the high-rise residential developments areas. He knew the area well and bought property and land in the late ‘80’s when his company made money. A young man not yet in his early twenties, he speculated against advice. Many thought Canary Wharf and the surrounding areas of the Dockland’s were a White Elephant. The first buildings completed in 1991 which included One Canada Square that became the UK's tallest building and a symbol of the regeneration of Docklands. Upon opening, the London commercial property market collapsed and the owning company filed for bankruptcy in May 1992. Jonathan remembered with boyish glee the arguments he had with his financial advisors. They told him to pull out and cut his losses. Who said that youth was wasted on the young? He refused, at present prices penthouses sold for over ten million pounds. One of his property investment companies owned twenty of them.

  He turned his attention back to Sara. “Where are we going, Sara?”

  Sara looked out of her window pointing to one of the tallest tower blocks. “There, 1 Millharbour, better known as Pan Peninsula.”

  Jonathan looked over recognising the building. “Very nice, Sara. One of the most exclusive places in the district,” he knew what was coming next.

  “It should be, two of the penthouses belong to you,” she smirked like a little girl, “and thank you for letting me use one of them. You know when I said I worked for you? I run one of your investment property portfolios.” She winked at him.

  He could only laugh as the driver navigated the one-way system first turning right onto Mastmaker Road, then forking left and across to turn right onto Millharbour Road. The car pulled into the reception area of the complex driving around a central large fountain and headed for the basement car park. The automatic barrier lifted and Simon drove down the ramp to the reserved car parking space.

  For the first time today, Jonathan felt he was enjoying himself. Simon turned around and asked if it was ok to remove the mobile now. After Jonathan nodded, he handed it back. “That’s a neat bit of technology, Mr Beckett.” Simon said.

  “Yes, it is, Simon.” Jonathan paused, “Are you x-special forces?”

  Simon considered his response for a few seconds looking over to Sara for permission to continue. She nodded. “I’m not x-special anything, Sir. I’m on special attachment from 22 Regiment. That’s all I can tell you, it’s in your best interest’s Sir. Any official source would tell you though I resigned my commission twelve months ago.”

  22 Regiment, Special Air Services, Jonathan noted raising an eyebrow. He looked at Simon and waited for him to say more, again gauging, analysing. With nothing forthcoming he decided it was best to let this one drop, for now at least, and got out of the car.

  1 Millharbour comprised two towers with the taller of the two being forty-eight storeys high, and the other thirty-eight. The two buildings were connected by a reception area containing a concierge foyer, multi-floor gym, private cinema and terraced restaurant. Jonathan had bought the land many years ago, wasteland as his advisors put it. Nice wasteland he thought. He looked up at the buildings and admired the tops of the towers. They had been designed to resemble lanterns and provided strong LED lighting features visible on the skyline that changed colour.

  After making millions selling the land to an Irish property developer he used the money to buy two of the main penthouses at a considerable discount, one in each tower. A smart investment as the property value now far exceeded what he had sold the land for. It was the first time he had been back to the towers since the topping out ceremony in 2009.

  They walked to the lift for the East Tower. He turned to Simon and asked. “Simon, are you able to do something for me?”

  “Yes, Sir, what do you need?” he replied.

  “Well, first you can drop the Sir, it’s Jonathan.” He smiled at him. Simon looked at Sara as if seeking for advice. “Hey Simon.” Jonathan continued getting his attention back. “If you wish to continue to address Sara as ma’am, nothing to do with me,” he mocked. “Thank you for helping me out. You know where I’ve been today I gather, the internet café and the fire incident?”

  “Yes Sir,” he looked at Sara again, she nodded, “Sorry, yes Jonathan, but I don’t know about the fire.”

  “No problems. I want you to find out as much as you can about the fire. See if there are any reports yet on what caused it. There was a man in there, Barry. I don’t think he survived. In fact, I’m sure he did not. Find out all you can about him, a wife, children he may have left behind? I need to know please. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes I can, Jonathan.”

  Jonathan turned to Sara but before he could say anything she said, “I understand, Jonathan. If he had a wife, children or any immediate dependants, I will make sure everything is taken care of as best as we can, and it will be anonymous.”

  “Thank you, Sara, I will give you access to an account that is untraceable.”

  “Yes, Sir! What about the two men in the tube station, Sir?” She asked mischievously, almost giving a pseudo salute.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes tilting his head up in mock surrender then turned to her. “I think both of your friends received all the compensation they deserved,” he said winking back at her.

  Jonathan liked this girl. It had been a long time since he had felt comfortable around a woman. Even with his best endeavours to be cynical, she made it easy to like her.

  As they approached the lift Jonathan noticed a small booth with two concierge waiting in attendance. “Good evening, Miss Jones. I trust you have had a good day.” One asked.

  Jonathan tried hard not to burst into a mock coughing fit. Yeh sure, we’ve had a great day thanks, he thought to himself.

  Sara acknowledged their welcome and replied, “I take it our guests have arrived?”

  “Yes, ma’am, they are waiting in the penthouse for you and Mr Beckett,” he replied

  This was no coincidence or a spur of a moment meet up, Jonathan thought. He watched the concierge as he talked into a walkie-talkie but couldn’t hear what he was saying, he looked at Sara about to ask the obvious question. She turned to him, shook her head, and they all headed over to the lift. They stepped inside as the automatic doors opened. Sara tapped her key code into the panel then hit the floor number which would take them up to the private and exclusive thirty-ninth floor. The only place where the elevator would stop with the key code.

  Jonathan waited for the lift doors to close and turned to Sara, “They are not real concierge are they?”

  “No, Jonathan, they are not," she replied.

  Jonathan continued to look at her, a beautiful and self-assured woman now, confident and above all else a woman on a mission. But there was something she was not telling him. OK, well there
was the ‘ninja-turtle-pepper-spraying-kick-ass-no-taking-shit’ questions, but there was something else he sensed more important.

  “What’s your real name, Sara?” he asked her.

  The surprise on her face told Jonathan she wasn’t expecting the question. She signed, “My true name is Sara. Although as you can gather, I have other names I use. Listen as you’ve said, there’s a lot more to this and not everyone understands. Heck, my involvement spans over two years and I still don’t understand most of it. But I promise what I know, and what others know will become more apparent very soon.” She looked down at the floor unsure what to say next.

  Simon spoke, “Ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying. I trust you with my life as I would protect yours with mine,” he paused and looked at Jonathan, “Mr Beckett needs to know.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” replied Sara looking back at Jonathan. “My name, and Jonathan only a handful of people know this, is Sara Jacobs.”

  Jonathan felt uneasy. Why all the drama about the name? “I don’t understand, Sara. Why the hesitation? I’m confused.”

  A worried look appeared, she replied, “Jacobs? Believe me, you know the name, Jonathan.”

  “No, I don’t think…” The light bulb went off in his head. Reginald D. Jacobs, head of MI5. One of two men that forced Jonathan into deciding about going off the grid and into hiding. No not hiding, escaping.

  He thought for a few moments, looking straight ahead calculating and said. “Jacobs, as in MI5?” She nodded. He turned to her, “This changes nothing. I said I would trust you, and I do.”

  Chapter 22 | The Undercover

  THEY ARRIVED AT CANARY WHARF and turned into West India Drive where Egil showed his credentials to get past the police check point. They would have to go to one of the multi-story car parks and then walk from there to the bar.