ThornScope_Federation of Europe

by KC McLaren

  As they approached, the area where they were looking to park, Brad’s mobile rang. He took it out of his pocket, “Yes,” he said. There was a long pause before Brad replied, “Roger that.” He glanced over to Brendon.

  Brendon pulled the Range Rover into its parking spot and waited for Brad to finish his call.

  “Anything I should know about?” Egil asked.

  Brad turned around slow and pulled something out of his inside coat. “Oh yes, lots of things you should not know about.”

  Egil looked down at the gun Brad now had trained on him with a silencer attached. Where the hell did he get that?

  “It seems you’ve been digging into things above your pay grade, Mr Finstad,” Brad said.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Egil replied as he reached for the handle of the car door.

  “Please don’t move. It could be detrimental to your health, old boy.” Brad said, mocking the cockney accent.

  Jason was right, they should have patted the two B’s down when they had their chance, but why the hell pull a gun on him now. It’s not like Jason had found out anything in particular about them.

  “Are you insane? Pulling a gun on a British Intelligence Officer!” Egil said.

  “Now, now Egil. Let’s not all get into a bother. I didn’t think you would look into things so soon. Either way though, it was bound to happen. I’m not just here for Jonathan Beckett,” Brad replied

  Egil gave him a look of confusion realising he was getting information from somewhere. He must have known what he and Jason had been discussing.

  “Oh yes,” Brad continued, “we’re aware that you know who the real target is.” Brad used his right hand to get the other gun out of his pocket. The one Egil had taken the recoil spring out of earlier in the day. He handed it over to him, “Now, be a good little Englishman and replace the spring back into the gun. But first, hand over the clip to Brendon. Cock the gun so I can hear the firing pin click, then put the safety on.”

  Egil did as requested and handed the gun to Brendon who put the clip into the empty gun.

  Brendon said, “Nothing is supposed to happen here Brad, it’s too much in the open.”

  “I believe Egil already knows who we are,” Brad replied, “took him less time to figure it out than I thought. He knows what happened at the tube station and he knows Beckett’s cyber espionage is made up. And Brendon, there is one other thing you should know…”

  “What’s that?” he replied.

  “We know who you are too.”

  Brad brought up his gun and aimed at Brendon’s chest and fired twice in quick succession.

  Egil’s instincts kicked, he grabbed and wrestled with Brad’s arm. Brad brought the gun back around and pistol whipped him across the side of the head. It knocked him back into his seat.

  “You’re getting soft in your old age, Egil. Soft sitting at a desk all day. You need more field work me old chum,” Brad said as he aimed the gun at Egil’s head.

  Egil felt his head, blood trickled down his face. “You’re not CIA are you?”

  “Oh, Egil. Still fishing for clues even though you’re out smarted. Got to admire it.”

  “Fuck you and fuck Jacobs, get it over and done with,” Egil replied.

  “Jacobs? I don’t take my orders from MI5. And don’t be silly. Unless you try to pull another stunt, I don’t wish to kill you. We know about Brendon being an undercover agent. You guys do not understand how far deep the organisation goes. Brendon was working for your lot. How ironic, an actual CIA agent working undercover as a CIA agent. Real sad too, I was getting to like him.”

  Egil, dazed, wiped the trickle of blood running down the side of his head, “Our lot? I’ve never met the guy in my life. You will never get out of this alive. I’ll make sure of that.” Egil wanted to go at him again, but knew it would be pointless.

  “I’m sure you believe that. I won’t be taking that pint today. You’ve been kind enough to get the information I need, not that you’ll see it. Those cameras on top of the tall building? One Canada or whatever you call it, rather nice.”

  “What’s the real reasons behind all this charade?” Egil demanded.

  “I don’t have time to shoot the breeze. I’m already behind schedule because of that little incident with the pepper girl. Suffice to say it should have been easier. All nicely planned out with you taking the fall for shooting your partner and poor Brendon. It’ll still work though. That’s what I do.”

  “You’re insane. You would never have got away with it.”

  “But dear boy, already have. I don’t exist. For your information I know this area well, know London rather well too. Do you think I didn’t know what you were up to with your little questions?” Brad reached into his pocket pulled out a small canister, leaned over and sprayed Egil into the face. Egil tried to jump up, but within a few seconds he was on conscious.

  Chapter 23 | Brad the Assassin

  BRAD TOOK THE GUN FROM the dead body of Brendon, unfastened his seat belt, and pushed him up against the driver’s window. He took a quick look around outside his window. If it were up to him, he would have put a bullet into Egil Finstad too. He got out of the Range Rover and walked around to the right side of the car and got in. He then placed the gun into Finstad’s hand held him up and fired another shot into Brendon’s chest. It wasn’t perfect but the only finger prints on the gun would be Finstad’s, along with the gun residue. It would be enough to keep them guessing and keep Finstad out of the picture for a long while.

  The privacy glass in the back of the Range Rover was the perfect cover for his next task. He took off the false wig, removed his tie then peeled off the latex from his nose and around his eyes. Next, he took off the black rain coat revealing underneath a black leather jacket. From the back of his trousers he took out a baseball cap and put it on, then got out of the Range Rover and keeping his head down to avoid the CCTV cameras.

  As he walked to the exit, he did what he always did. Replayed the act of death through his head. He enjoyed his work. Excelled at it and learnt his trade at an early age. He had developed many skills over the years and found there were people out there willing to pay high money for his services. Whether it be tracking sensitive government undesirables to removing the competition in drug feuds. He had done it all. And he had done in a way that created multi-personalities, back grounds to different characters making sure no-one ever got near to his true identity.

  Some would call him an assassin, others a kidnapper or an extortionist. Portraits of assassins are fixed in the human mind: the deranged madman, the lonely loser obsessed with his target, the political killer following threats with violence. The killing or harming of others did not give him any pleasure or enjoyment, if required so be it, part of the mission. Yes, he was a killer, but a psychological one? Not at all. Those types had one thing in common they were vicious malicious animals. Soulless evil people devoid of all emotion who killed innocent people for their own thrill, pleasures and gratification. They always ended getting caught or dead. Nor was he a sociopath, but he used all traits of each in helping him achieve his mission. The physiological high that came with it was more than worth it.

  He bore no malice or personal ill will to his last killing. Brendon, who he had got to know and like well, was someone that no longer served any purpose to his client’s plans any longer. Plans he himself knew little about, nor did he want or need to know. They had known Brendon was a CIA agent for some time. And to him that knowing was part of the game. Misdirecting, leading the adversary into a false sense of security. It was great fun with the biggest high coming from pointing the gun at the target and in a split second seeing the total comprehension in his eyes. The game was up and their life was just about to be over. Even in a split second he could see his adversary’s mind trying to work out in overdrive every possible outcome. It amazed and delighted him, the brain’s billions of neurons firing at an uncomprehensive rate, all to no end. Then the bullet hits the heart and those n
eurons go further into overdrive, the devastation and total realisation knowing only one outcome. Death. It was without doubt elegant in its execution.

  Jonathan Beckett however was not on the death list but posed new challenges for him. Ones he had whole heartily enjoyed. There had been many other targets in the past hard to track down but never like this. It wasn’t just about getting to Jonathan Beckett either. In trying to get to him there had been others that needed to be tracked and frequently removed. And unlike other missions he had to pursue different course of actions and infiltrate organisations to get information. A lot of which ended up being a total waste of time. Even the death of a few innocents were a waste but necessary so to leave no tracks behind. This had been his biggest project in his life, one which paid more than he had earned combined in the last ten years. And now he was close, so close he could smell the success in his nostrils. This one last job, then he would retire a rich man.

  As he walked out of the car park he pulled out his mobile and dialled 999. In a pronounced London accent he explained to the emergency operator he had heard gun shots and told them where he was, but one floor up. That would take them a little more time to get on scene by which time he would be long gone and on the way to view a penthouse. Shame he would not hear Mr Finstad trying to explain away a gun in his hand with a CIA agent dead next to him.

  Chapter 24 | The Penthouse

  THE LIFT SLOWED TO A STOP beeping to confirm its arrival to the thirty-ninth floor of 1 Millharbour Place. The doors slid opened onto a good sized foyer and Jonathan waited for Sara to step out first then followed with Simon behind him.

  Four tall imposing men in dark suits and ties greeted them. Jonathan’s heart raced, oh no here we go. He shut his eyes briefly waiting for the commotion to start but nothing happened. Instead he saw one of one of them lift his arm to his mouth and spoked into what Jonathan presumed was a microphone on his wrist. “Thorn has arrived safe” he said.

  Jonathan, confused, saw Sara smiling at him, “Don’t worry big boy they are safe. Thorn is your code name. As thorn-in-the-butt,” she joked, “you won’t be needing to do your boxing routine.”

  Jonathan let out an audible sigh of relief.

  Although Jonathan himself was a strapping six-foot well-built fit man, he never considered himself a fighter and not in a violent let’s beat someone up way. No-one ever thought of him as a coding-nerd either, too much charm and handsome to boot. Yes, my charm, look where it’s gotten me today. Five years of hiding, keeping out of the public eye, in the shadows to keep ThornScope on the right track. Not as good as he thought.

  He watched as Sara took off her backpack and laid it on the floor then kneeled to open it up. She removed an assortment of items laying them out on the floor, knives, the guns and silencer they had taken of their friends at the tube station. Next came the canisters, oh yes the nice pepper spray. He rubbed his eyes still suffering from the after effects and the itchiness convinced a missile launcher would pop out too.

  One of the guards, as Jonathan named them, stepped forward to Sara and said pointing to the guns, “I’ll take those, thank you.” She stood up with one gun in each hand. Even standing Jonathan noticed Sara did not come up to guard’s chest in height. She looked up at the guard as if inviting him to take them, and smirking to himself thought, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The guard who had spoken first stepped forward laughing, “There’ll be no need for that, Joe,” Joe guard stepped backwards, “and Sara, please I need my men healthy and in one piece if you don’t mind.” By the look on his face Jonathan gathered that Joe guard didn’t seem all too pleased with the comment.

  “Oh Pete,” she replied innocently, “you never let a girl have their little fun.” She turned to Simon giving him the two guns and silencer and on a more serious note said, “You know what to do with these. I doubt we will get any prints, but I want to know who or what organisation they belong too. Get Jonathan’s information first please.” She added turning to look at Jonathan. Simon did his yes ma’am picked up the pack back and gear and walked off to his left opening and stepping inside one of the several doors around the foyer.

  With the exchanges made Jonathan soon understood that these men were not under instruction of Sara, but knew them.

  Pete guard injected. “Sara, Mr Beckett’s guests are waiting but you know the protocol. We need to pat him down first,” and added, “If you don’t mind.”

  If you don’t mind? What if I mind? Jonathan mumbled under his breathe folding his arms in a show of defiance.

  “I think you will have to ask Mr Beckett not me, Pete. And if he says no, then it’s a no.” Sara said giving a shrug of her shoulders.

  Pete walked over to Jonathan, “My sincere apologies Mr Beckett. I do not mean to offend.” Jonathan relaxed his stance and Pete asked, “Would you mind if I pat you down? It’s only protocol and as I say, I mean no offence.”

  Jonathan looked at Pete gauging the man. They stood at the same height as each other. He didn’t have the slightest concern about getting patted down. “Not at all, Pete. And please, call me Jonathan,” he replied smiling.

  Pete did a quick pat down and checked Jonathan’s pockets and found the two USB sticks and mobile but ignored them.

  He said, “Thank you Mr Beckett. Your guests are waiting in the main reception room. Sara will no doubt show you the way.”

  Jonathan looked back at Pete and liked the guy already but thought Mr Pete guard would never call him Jonathan any time soon.

  By now his curiosity was well and truly into the red zone but felt comfortable. With no alarm bells going off in his head he followed Sara. She walked over to a double-fronted door. Next to it another guard stood close and opened it up. Jonathan followed her in and onto a stairway that lead down to a large open plan floor.

  Occupying the top two floors of Pan Peninsula West Tower the stunning apartment was the essence of penthouse living. Jonathan looked out of the windows. Full glass from floor to high ceiling with views taking in a 180° of Canary Wharf and London’s stunning sky line and the River Thames. He had to admit it was impressive and felt rather envious of Sara. She had the pleasure to live in such spectacular surroundings and he was paying for it. He laughed out loud at the thought.

  Sara turned to him, “What are you laughing at now? Can’t you take things seriously?” she said smirking.

  “To be honest Sara,” he replied, “I don’t know if I want to cry, laugh or run a marathon. Maybe I’m on an overdose of adrenaline high.”

  As they got to the bottom of the staircase, he noticed two men in the middle of the room. They sat on large black leather sofas facing each other, a low standing coffee table in between.

  “Your guests are waiting for you Jonathan. Just take what you see and hear in your stride,” she said in a whisper like tone and added, “Don’t be surprised at what you’re feeling. With what you’ve gone through today you don’t know how close you’re from the truth. It’s normal, so don’t worry. You should have that whiskey you wanted at the bar, it will help.”

  How the hell did she know he wanted a whiskey, is she a mind reader now? Shit, he hoped not, not when his jaw was on the floor looking at her.

  As they walked over he tried to get a glimpse of the men. The light in the room was not that bright and his sight was still having problems from the after effects of the pepper spray. The two men rose from their seats. He squinted trying to get a better focus.

  The man that had his back to Jonathan turned around and placed his hand of the back of sofa. There was something familiar about his outline, an older man, a little overweight, white flimsy untidy hair, bushy eyebrows. Oh my goodness. Jonathan stopped dead in his tracks, his complete focus becoming bright and clear. It can’t be, no way, how the hell did the old man get involved in this? He rushed over past Sara and nearly pushed her off balance. The old man tried hard to move out of the way of the sofa, trying to get clear of it to meet Jonathan.

  Jonathan got their first a
nd helped the old man to balance himself up from his grip on the sofa then flung his arms around him.

  “Jonathan,” he said warmly, “I can’t breathe. Relax the bear hug a little, this old arthritis and my back has got so much worse over the last five years.” As Jonathan did the old man wrapped his own arms around him and tried with all he could muster to give him a similar hug.

  At one time in his life the old man could have picked him up in one arm and swing him around like a rag doll. And that was when Jonathan was in his early twenties.

  They relaxed their grip on each other, oblivious of anyone else in the room and stared at each other. As a father and son would after not seeing each other for so long. Indeed, the old man was the closest thing Jonathan ever had to a father.

  Jonathan was the first to speak, “You never stopped keeping your promise Alan, and you never once stopped believing in me and what I had to do.”

  The old man, as he always called him looked back up at Jonathan, “Always my friend, always. But it’s time to come home Jonathan, these good people need you. And I am getting a little too old to keep on being your CEO and running the company, even with your shell companies and ThornScope helping.” He pulled gently away from Jonathan, “We’re ignoring our guest of honour Jonathan, who I may add is taking the biggest risk of his career to be here. Let alone a grave risk to the country, let me introduce you to him.”

  Jonathan turned to the man standing on his right, waiting patiently astute, beaming confidence but with a stance that protracted a look of empathy for both he and Alan. He looked at him, surprised and suspicious. The man needed no introduction.

  “Prime Minister, Sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Jonathan with a slight edge to his voice.

  “No, Mr Beckett, the pleasure and honour is all mine,” he replied.

  Alan sensing Jonathan’s hostility injected, “Well gentlemen, I don’t know about you two young chaps. But I need to sit and have that drink I’ve been waiting for.”