ThornScope_Federation of Europe

by KC McLaren

  “Sorry Alan, let me help you” Jonathan said holding his arm and helping him back onto the sofa.

  “Thank you Jonathan, even under the circumstances, this is the best Christmas present an old man could ever have wished for. I’ve missed you my son.”

  The PM waited till both of them sat down, then sat back down himself.

  Alan called Sara over, “May I be so awfully rude and ask you to get drinks for us. I don’t think my old bones could take too much more of this coffee.” He looked at the PM, “You will join us in a little celebration drink, Thomas, won’t you?”

  “Of course Alan, my pleasure. And forgive me, I have little time and I've got a lot of explaining to do for Jonathan.”

  Sara brought over three malt whiskeys and gave each one to her guests. They thanked her and the PM asked, “Would you mind leaving us now, Sara, we have much to discuss.”

  After taking a small sip from his whiskey glass then putting it down on the table, Jonathan looked up at the PM. “No, she stays. She stays with me, Mr Prime Minister. It’s her home and we are the guests.”

  Sara tried to interject, “Jonathan, please it’s ok, I understand. There are important things to be….”

  Jonathan was having nothing of it. “You will sit down please Sara, you have looked after me, and I suspect Alan in my absence for a long time now. And I need you here, please sit down.”

  Sara looked at the PM who nodded his agreement and she sat on a chair facing the sofas. Jonathan took out his mobile, typed numbers on the keyboard, and pressed send.

  The PM asked, “I have a few questions to start with first, if you please Jonathan.”

  Jonathan held up his hand palm outwards, not looking at him, placed his mobile on the table, “Please wait for a few seconds, Sir,” he replied.

  They waited in silence until the mobile vibrated and Jonathan picked it up, looked at the displayed message and smiled. He put it back down on the table.

  “That’s a neat piece of technology, Jonathan," said the PM.

  “Yes, so I’ve been told,” he replied.

  “Jonathan, I have no bugs or listening devices on me. My men, with Sara’s permission, combed the whole apartment earlier today. They have done every time in the last six months when we thought you may,” he paused, “turn up.”

  Jonathan looked up, smiled and said, “Your questions Mr Prime Minister, please ask. As I am sure you know, I have a few myself.”

  “I can sense your hostility and understand the reasons Jonathan. But I need not point out when in Opposition my party and I backed your stance on ThornScope and what implications…”

  Jonathan interrupted, anger on his face, “Opposition? Bullshit Mr Prime Minister. For decades the opposition in waiting have always been against whatever the party of the day offered. Good are bad. Then once in power forget what it what was they were opposing. It’s all just a game to you lot, not giving a damn to the consequence to the public you serve.”

  “Jonathan! Please, have respect,” Alan said.

  “It’s ok Alan, to a large extent he is right,” the PM replied, “My questions can wait, please carry on Jonathan.”

  Jonathan sighed, “I don’t mean to sound so rude Mr Prime Minister. But you were not the one that had to go into hiding, escape from the likes of David Strickland and his bully mob of MI5. All those undertones of threats to my company and employees. They even went after my charity organisations. And above everything else? Three of my staff, professional in their field, with family and children, murdered! Yes, murdered, because no one will convince me otherwise. Accidental deaths, a suicide? Not a chance. Murdered by Strickland.” Did he just accuse a past British Prime Minister of murder? Jonathan no longer cared.

  Chapter 25 | Framed

  EGIL COULD HEAR SOMETHING far off in the distance. Was he dreaming? It felt like a dream but no doubt the morning alarm clock would go off just when he wanted to turn over. Typical he thought. The noise in the distance became louder dragging him out of his comfort. Damn it, just another ten minutes of precious sleep, is that too much to ask? He felt a vibration of sorts on the front left side of his chest, something in his coat pocket. Why was he wearing a coat in bed? He moved his arm and tried to make it reach the source of the annoyance, but no go. The noise, a ringing sound, penetrated his dream forcing him to open his eyes. Big mistake! A dizziness hit him and he felt nausea crawl up into his throat. As his upper body lay slumped across the back seat of the Range Rover everything was a blur, his mind overcrowded with cloudy images and bright lights passing by.

  He tried to swallow the nausea back down, but it was too strong making him sit up in a reflexive movement. The thought of throwing up was overwhelming, he opened his mouth choking back the vomit and coughed hard. As he tried to get his breathing under control, his eyes streamed with tears. He leaned his head forward, body bent over, against the front passenger seat coughing and choking waiting for the vomiting to take over.

  There was no comfort of a bed, no dreaming and as his sensors kicked back in, the reality of the day came flooding back. He was still in the Range Rover. The vomit refused to materialise. Although the coughing subsided, he felt like shit. Had they been in a collision? Had he been driving? No, he thought to himself, a passenger. He tried to raise his head of the head rest, but it felt too heavy as if something was pressing down on it. What was that noise?

  He raised his hands up to his face and as he did so felt something heavy. Looking down at the floor of the car he tried best as he could to co-ordinate his right hand bringing it closer to his chest. The image came into view and he realised he was holding something metallic and black. What the hell? A gun? The shock of seeing it gave him an adrenaline rush making him alert bringing him out of the daze and confusion. He sat up and leaned against the back seat still holding the gun looking at it. The vision of Brendon being shot replayed over and over again. He put the gun onto the seat to the right of him unsure why he had it.

  The constant noise and vibration on his chest brought him further back to present events. He reached into his inside coat taking out the personal mobile and held it with both hands looking at it. Still a little dazed he pressed the answer button. “Jason, is that you?” He said croaking and struggling to get his words out.

  “Yes. Man, you sound like a frog in a hot tin box, you ok Egil?” Jason replied.

  “I… I don’t know. Something has happened. Brendon. I think he’s dead.”

  “Brendon, who is Brendon? You are not making any sense, Egil. Listen, just tell me where you are.” Jason said, the concern in his voice apparent.

  Egil's mind was still foggy giving him a hard time to understand. “I’m not sure where I am. Wait a minute.” He shook his head a little trying to force his mind to clear further. “We came through the Limehouse Link Tunnel. I’m in the multi-story car park next to West India Drive, level 3.”

  “OK, I will be with you soon, it shouldn’t take too long I was walking up towards The Parlour Bar. Where’s the other guy, Egil?”

  The other guy? Egil thought. Yes, the other guy Brad. He shot Brendon. It came back to him now and realised that the gun beside him, the one he was holding when he came to, was the same one that killed Brendon. Egil let out an exhaustive sigh and looked up to the roof of the car in despair. “Fucking shit…”

  “What was that, Egil, what?” Jason asked growing more concerned.

  “Forget it. Just get your backside here ASAP. I think I’ve just been setup to look like I’ve killed an undercover CIA agent.”

  “Jesus H. Christ, Egil. What did you do? I’m hanging up. I need to get my arse into gear, be with you in a minute.” Jason replied cutting the call.

  Egil sat there, still staring up at the car roof. Whatever Brad had sprayed in his face was subsiding now. The dizziness and confusion was no longer coming from the drug. It was his mind racing through what had happened. He knew he had to do something, he had to look at Brendon, check him out. He was dead for sure, but was not of his i
mmediate concern. Egil forced himself forward, mindful of the gun next to him. He reached over to Brendon and checked for a pulse. Nothing. The two bullet holes, both centre mass stared back at him. That’s why he had the gun in my hand, he shot him too.

  He contemplated removing his finger prints from the gun but knew it was a useless gesture. One thing he couldn’t do was to remove the gun powder residue on his hand. He was up shit creek without a paddle. If his boss Jacobs had a hand in this, the best he could hope for was a life shut away in a dark and nasty hole. Jacobs wanted him out, but doing it this way just didn’t seem to make much sense. There would be no trial, oh no, Egil thought to himself. One could not bring the box into disrepute. The American’s would be well and truly pissed, not drunk as the English would use the expression, but pissed off. They would play along though, sweeping the incident under the carpet for getting more access to the secrets of ThornScope. Fat chance, he hoped.

  Sitting in the back of the Range Rover he felt sorry for himself, even depressed, very unusual emotions. Maybe it was the side effects of the drug making him see all the negatives. They had used similar drugs in the past to disorientate targets, on targets where they didn’t want police presence or an arrest warrant. Well, he mused to himself, there were no bloody positives in this play he could see. As he sat pondering, the car door opened, it was Jason.

  He turned his head towards him and watched as Jason surveyed the scene. Egil was having a hard time to understand. But with the dead CIA agent, Egil sitting there like a wet potato staring into space and the gun sat next to him. It wouldn’t take a genius to come to a quick conclusion.

  “Oi, Mr Viking,” Jason said looking around the inside of the car. “Pal, you don’t look too good. Mind you, have to say, this does not look good anyway way up.”

  Egil did not reply instead he gazed back up at the ceiling. A gormless expression on his face.

  Jason grabbed hold of his shoulder, shaking him, “Come on, Egil. Get it together.”

  Egil felt he could no longer be bothered and the next thing he knew was the shock of a lightening slap hard across his face.

  “What the fuck did you do that for?” Egil shouted sitting back up.

  “Oh my, the language coming out of your mouth today, Egil. Your mum would be so proud.”

  Jason leaned further into the car gently taking hold of Egil’s hands and pushing them down onto his lap. He looked at him, “Listen mate. By the looks of your dilated eyes, and unless you tell me you’ve suddenly got the urge to take speed, you’ve been drugged.”

  “I’ll be fine. Just let’s call this in and have it over and done with it,” Egil replied.

  “Oh, I see you’ll be fine will you? Not every day one finds one of MI5s finest sitting in a government car, looking smashed out of his skull like a junkie. A gun next to him with a CIA agent dead in the front seat. Just to make your day more joyful, you’ve bigger problems coming your way. I’ll give you thirty seconds to convince me not to call this in. Tell me what happened.”

  “Just call it in!” Egil replied.

  “Egil, someone has drugged you. You’re not making sense, man!” Jason raised his hand as if to slap Egil again.

  “OK, OK,” Egil replied. “But if you hit me again, I will ram this gun up somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  “That’s better. But you don’t know what the hell is going on. Go back to your basic training and act like the MI5 Officer you are, not the sissy-bed-wetting-puss-in-boots-boy you are playing now. It’s not even pantomime season yet. Concentrate! The clock is ticking.”

  Egil sat up and shook his head. Jason was right, it was only the effects of the drugs, and that would pass soon. He had been in worse situations before, but at the present minute he couldn’t think of any. That was no excuse for giving up. He explained and described the events leading up to the death of the agent. How he found, when he woke up, the gun in his hand and the three shots in the agent’s body.

  “I shot him, but it wasn’t me,” he said looking at Jason expecting some witty come back or worse.

  Without hesitation Jason replied, “Don’t look so bloody worried, Egil. I believe everything you’ve said and more. But we have another problem. I need to get you out of here.”

  “Out of here? I can’t just walk away. I’ll be implicated in the murder of a CIA agent.”

  “But if you stay here, even if you tell your version of events and believe Jacobs has played a hand in this, you’re finished. And both you and I know we’re not talking about spending the rest of your days playing video games at HM Ford Open Prison. There is only one way out of this. You need to clear your name. And I doubt you have much time to decide, either way I will support you.”

  “OK, give me a minute…” Egil said hesitating.

  “You don’t have a minute, Egil. The area is cordoned off. There’s police here and your friends from SCO-19 armed response have joined in your Christmas party.” Jason cut in.

  “How the hell did they get here so quick?”

  “I don’t know, Egil. But they are on the level above us. And if I were to take an educated guess your buddy bud Brad on leaving the party called them in. I had to use my MI5 ID to get in here. I also got the CCTV switched off on this floor, it will only be for another ten minutes. We can leave easy enough and use our British Transport Police ID to leave, but you need to decide now.”

  Egil took a few moments to think but Jason was right. The only way he would have any chance of recovering from this, was to clear his name. And it looked like it would get a far lot worse before it would come anywhere close to getting any better. Even if they got rid of the gun, he would be subjected to a gun residue test. He looked at Jason.

  “OK, get me out of here. We’ll take the gun with us. You must find a safe place to store it. No guns here, no proof of me shooting anything. It’s better to be a person of interest than a person locked up under Thames House being able to do bugger all. You know this will get you into trouble too, Jason. And what do we do once we get out of here?”

  Jason helped Finstad out of the car. He was unsteady on his feet, but every minute that passed he felt the effects of the drug wear off.

  “Trouble? I’ve been in trouble ever since I met you, Egil. Don’t worry about me. I am not here.” He said with mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I am sitting in the bar waiting for you. And as for what we will do next? Well me old mucker, I am just your side-kick, your lackey. You’re the one with the brains, you’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeh right, both you and I know I never underestimate your talents, Jason. However, it’s becoming clearer where Jonathan Beckett may be and therefore where Brad is heading. Did you get that list of properties Beckett owns around London, the Docklands?” Egil replied.

  “Yes,” Jason replied, “see, Mr Viking dry fish eating man wakes up.”

  “Jason.” Egil replied shaking his head. “I’ve never in my life ate dried fish. I think you’re racist you know. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait,” Jason said stopping in his tracks, “there’s something I want to check out in the car. I noticed something on the floor, thought it was rubbish, but I know what you are like, OCD clean man. We still have time.”

  Jason returned less than a minute later holding up an evidence bag. They continued walking to the exit avoiding the lifts. Egil took the bag from Jason and held it up studying its contents.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Egil asked Jason.

  “Yep, I believe it is. It’s not too late to change your mind Egil. That bit of evidence would shed doubt on you shooting anyone.”

  “Yes it would, but I would be sat on my arse in a room with no windows waiting on Jacobs to decide what hole to put me in. Nope, we can use this to our advantage. How long before you can get DNA off that little goodie we have?”

  Jason took the evidence bag back off Egil and put it into the back pack his was carrying. “Damn, that could be several days going through proper channels. But you don’
t want to hear that. I could get it maybe within about three hours, but running it through our databases that will take longer. We are presuming the guy will be in any database. If he’s gone to this length to disguise who he is, we don’t have a chance.”

  “I agree,” Egil replied, “but I've got a feeling I’ll make new friends by the time this evening has finished. And you are right, we can’t use official channels. Buddy boy Brad has contacts, which means he has contacts in MI5. He knows about our conversations, or at least he knew we were looking into both him and Brendon.”

  “Yep, copy that.” Jason replied. “At least now we also know why we couldn’t get any facial recognition from the systems. He was using a latex disguise, and I have to say, a brilliant one. This thing in here looks like real skin, part of a nose. Few people in the world could carry that masquerade off, especially when coming into contact with pepper spray. Advanced stuff Egil, and this guy is good, real good.”

  “Yep, he played a merry dance with me in the car. I don’t even think he is an American.”

  They reached the bottom of the car park on the ground floor. As they exited two tactical police officers carrying Heckler & Koch MP5 Semi-Automatic Carbine weapons challenged them. They were expecting police presence, but not these guys. It would be a challenge to get past these them, even with MI5 clearance. As one of them stepped forward asking for ID’s the other stepped back and to the left into a defensive position covering both Egil and Jason. Egil noticed whilst the officer’s MP5 pointed downwards, his finger was resting at the ready and across the trigger.

  Chapter 26 | Conspiracy Theories

  “YES, JONATHAN,” the PM replied in a blunt tone, “good old fashion conspiracy theories. I’ve heard them all and admit have made a few up myself.”

  Jonathan wanted to get up and punch the man in the face, PM or no PM. Alan placed a firm hand on Jonathan’s leg sensing his anger.

  “And the most damning and frightening parts of all?” the PM continued, ignoring the obvious hatred in Jonathan’s face. “One, I believe you. And more importantly, two. There is a conspiracy going on that threatens our very core, our history. It involves people at all levels of government colluding with other opposition members and outside influences. I can’t even trust my cabinet,” he paused, leaning forward to emphasise his point. “Now ask yourself Mr Beckett, who should run for the hills and hide? You or me?”