by Avell Kro
He smiled apologetically, just one staffer sharing sympathies with his peers. Archer didn’t buy it, but he was impressed with the man’s political nous.
‘So, you obviously know all his background already; we did manage to share that much.’ Matthew
chuckled at his own joke, and Tracy gave a slight smile. ‘He’s been in New Zealand for the last
couple of months on a Visitor Visa. Interestingly, he was turned away by Australia.’
‘That open borders policy just works a treat for us,’ Archer remarked drily, and Matthew looked at
him for a moment.
Archer got the feeling he’d spoken out of turn and felt his cheeks flush. He glanced at Tracy and
saw her gaze shift as his eyes crossed her face.
Matthew continued.
‘We’ve established links between him and a number of groups of interest to us, including the
Taliban, ETA in Spain, animal activists here in the UK, rebel groups in Africa, anti-abortionists in
the States. .the list goes on. We have confirmed that he has handled money for all these groups,
washing it through various financial institutions, making investments for them, and ultimately
making them more money and giving them a clean product at the end of it all. This appears to
have been on behalf of the family business.’ He turned slightly towards Tracy. ‘Do you want to
cover our Irish friend?’
She nodded and leaned forward in her seat, taking the lead. ‘A person of interest to us is a former
leader in the Provisional Irish Republican Army, Patrick Boyle. Currently living in Galway, in the
Republic. He got his hands dirty growing up in Belfast during the eighties; he was part of a cell that
we know for certain killed four police officers and eleven British soldiers in a series of attacks.’ She
looked at Archer directly to make sure he was listening. ‘The four coppers were each shot dead
inside their homes, in front of family members. Point blank.’
She had his attention. ‘Three of the soldiers were killed in a pub in the city centre. The killer
walked straight up to them and shot them point blank in the head. A fourth soldier in their group
was kidnapped and held for three days. They found him on a patch of wasteland, face down. Dead.
He’d been knee-capped with a drill in both knees. He was covered in burns. He had every single
finger dislocated and four teeth ripped out.’
She paused unnecessarily for affect.
‘It was initially thought that he’d been tortured for information, but this was discounted due to the
fact that he was just a squaddie, and therefore would have very limited knowledge of use to the
Provos.’
‘It was practice.’ Matthew took over again and Tracy hesitated, as if surprised by his interruption.
When he continued, she took the hint and sat back again. ‘I firmly believe that that poor kid-he
was 19-was just a practice doll for a torturer who was learning his trade. He had nothing to give
them but that wasn’t the point. He died in excruciating pain. The post-mortem showed the cause
of death as heart failure. This was a 19-year old soldier, fighting fit, in the prime of his life.’
Matthew shook his head grimly. ‘His heart gave out from fear and the pain inflicted on him. We confirmed Patrick Boyle as the man responsible, and he was eventually imprisoned at the Maze.
After the Good Friday Agreement, he was released.’
His eyes shifted to Archer and he looked at him mirthlessly. ‘And you think your open borders
cause you trouble Down Under.’
Archer held his gaze evenly, deciding he didn’t like this man, not a bit. His instinct was to react, and
he had to remind himself that he was operating in a new environment now. ‘So what’s his link to
Yassar then?’ he asked, breaking the moment.
‘Boyle moved on from being a foot soldier to management,’ replied Matthew. ‘He’s an educated
man and has an obvious knack for financial matters. Once he was released from prison he put
himself out on the market, basically operating as an investment adviser for other terrorists. You
must remember, these guys have not gone away. They just operate a bit differently now, and at
their core, they’re basically just criminals. They make money from the whole spectrum of criminal
offending and they need to launder it. That’s where men like Boyle and Yassar come in.’
Matthew made a steeple of his fingers, elbows on the table. Archer noticed he still hadn’t referred
to whatever was in his folder.
‘They have done business both together and for the same groups. They are intimately connected
in a financial sense, and we know for certain that both have met with senior lieutenants to Bin
Laden in recent years.’
Archer sipped his water and listened intently. He was hoping the history lesson would end soon
and they’d get to the point.
‘We have intelligence that these two have formed a close bond and, if it’s possible for men like this,
become friends. Further to that, we have intelligence that they have recently hijacked a large arms
deal from Yassar’s family. Yassar now has a price on his head, courtesy of his own father. Further
to that, Boyle himself has a substantial amount of money stashed away somewhere. A fall back, if
you like.’ Matthew’s eyes became shrewd now. ‘We’re talking circa thirty two million American.’
Archer’s hand paused with the glass halfway to his lips.
‘Cash,’ Matthew added.
The room was silent as the information sank in.
‘Wow,’ Archer finally said.
‘Wow is right,’ Tracy smiled, and was passed the baton again with a nod from her colleague. ‘It’s
the result of some canny investments and gambles by Boyle and Yassar.’ She smiled again. ‘And Her
Majesty’s Government would like to get their hands on it.’
Matthew smiled conspiratorially across the table. ‘Of course, that is a secondary issue for us. Our
Saudi friend is our main concern. And that’s where you chaps come in. You see, the key is to
getting our hands on either of these two men. I have no doubt that one of them will talk, given the right circumstances.’ He gave a conspiratorial look. ‘If you know what I mean.’
‘Got a rough idea,’ Archer murmured.
‘Obviously British agents can’t just bowl up to Boyle’s little cottage in Galway and knock on the door
and grab him. Those days are long gone. So when we thought our col eagues Down Under had
captured Yassar and had him safely under lock and key, we were very happy campers indeed.’
Archer saw where this was going now. ‘And since he escaped under our jurisdiction,’ he said, ‘it’s
our responsibility to get him back.’
Matthew smiled indulgently. ‘Basically, yes. In the interests of our relationship of mutual trust and
co-operation, this is rather important.’
Archer let that sit silently. The jibe was obvious and he knew the Englishman expected him to
retort, but he refused to give him the satisfaction.
‘I believe that Boyle is the most likely to know where Yassar is. If we get him, we can get Yassar.
Once we get what we want from him, he’ll be straight off to another jurisdiction.’
Archer nodded slowly. ‘So I’m off to Ireland then,’ he said, but Matthew shook his head.
‘No,’ he replied, ‘you’re off to Cornwall.’
21
Moore was waiting in the foyer for him when Tracy escorted Archer down.
They shook hands again and T
racy relieved him of his visitor’s pass before disappearing back into
the bowels of Legoland.
The two men walked back across the bridge while Archer grilled his companion about the two
spooks he’d just met.
‘I’ve met Tracy before,’ Moore told him, ‘she’s a good girl. I’ve had a couple of dealings with her and
she seems sound. I don’t know Matthew, I know Tracy’s boss is a guy called Matthew Livingstone
so I’m guessing that’s him.’
‘What’s his background?’
Archer had his hands tucked into his coat pockets and his breath was clouding in the morning chill.
Jet-lag was starting to pull at him and he could do with a coffee.
‘Don’t know really. I heard he was previously over the river for a long time, before moving to Six.’
He shrugged his big shoulders. ‘Aside from that, they don’t tend to chuck their CVs around, you
know?’
Archer grunted. ‘And the girl?’
‘Tracy Spencer,’ Moore replied readily, and grinned at Archer’s quizzical look. ‘Yeah, she reckons
her Dad had a sense of humour. Ex-Army is all I really know about her, we got talking about that
one day, but she didn’t say too much.’
They walked in silence for a few moments. Archer debated about sharing more information with
his former comrade in arms and decided against it for now. He had a lot to think about but wanted
to keep it to himself. They reached the northern side of the river, and Moore pulled up short,
stepping to the side of the footpath.
‘I’ve got another meeting to go to,’ he explained, casting a wary eye about him, ‘you can make your
own way back from here?’
Archer nodded.
‘Oh, before I forget.’ Moore took a small key from his pocket and passed it over. ‘Your gear arrived.
I’l email you the location. Locker number’s on the key.’
‘Ta.’ Archer pocketed the key.
‘I think I’ll make an enquiry about these Yanks, but if I’m free later I’ll give you a bell and we’ll
meet up for dinner,’ Moore continued, and grinned. ‘Watch your back mate, you’re playing with the
big boys now.’
He headed away down a side street towards Millbank, and Archer glanced around him, feeling
suddenly self-conscious. If he was honest with himself he’d felt out of his comfort zone with the
spooks. He was getting reminded repeatedly that he was in a new world, and he wasn’t sure yet
that he liked it.
Tracy Spencer interested him though, he had to admit, and he looked forward to meeting her later.
He waved down a cab and got dropped near the far end of Oxford Street then walked the famous
shopping street back towards his hotel, taking his time and breathing in the city life around him. It
was a melting pot of cultures and flavours, and in the space of a block he heard three different
European languages being spoken by passing pedestrians.
Archer suddenly realised he was hungry, and checked his watch. 1115am. He found a Pret a
Manger and sat in the window with a long black and a blueberry muffin, warming himself and
feeling re-invigorated as the caffeine hit his bloodstream.
As he sat he began to formulate a plan in his head. Patrick Boyle had been seeing a woman in
Cornwall named Ruth, who he had met when she was a teenage street worker in Belfast. She had
moved to England several years ago and they had reconnected online. The relationship built to the
point that he came over once a month for an overnight stay. His paranoia of the security services
was still high, and he never stayed longer than twenty four hours.
His next visit was due in two days time.
The spooks knew this because prostitutes are creatures of habit. Ruth was still on the game and
with that came the drugs scene. She had managed to beat a crack habit but had also become an
informer for a local copper. Her information had proved credible over the years and she had
eventually dropped her lover in it.
Despite having moved on from his terrorist activities, Boyle had an unhealthy fascination with
guns. The timing of his monthly visits to Cornwall had been linked to the flood of firearms onto the
black market, and it was believed he had access to stores previously held by the Provos. Assault
rifles, sub machine guns and pistols were all readily available from dealers in the south-west.
This information had been elevated to the security services, and due to the international aspect of
it MI6-specifically Tracy-had ended up handling the informer.
The plan was to nab Boyle while he was at his mistress’ house, hopefully still in possession of a
shipment of weapons, giving them leverage to get at Yassar. They had no idea what weapons he
may have but they knew he travelled alone, flying his private plane under the radar to a remote
field. He drove to his dealers to make the transactions before heading to Ruth’s place.
Archer was tasked with intercepting Boyle safely. Matthew had made it clear there would be no
tactical support from either the police or military. This was strictly need-to-know. He would,
however, have the services of Tracy. Once he had a basic plan in his head, Archer left the cafe and
went to a nearby stationer’s, where he bought a map book and pens. Electronic gizmos were all
well and good but Archer had a healthy appreciation for the old school.
22
Striding along the footpath, he turned into the street his hotel was on and immediately sensed
trouble. A silver BMW SUV was at the kerb outside his hotel and he could see a man behind the
wheel and exhaust fumes pumping from the tail pipe.
As he stepped into a doorway to watch, Archer saw two men descend the front steps of the hotel
and head for the BMW. He recognised the first man as the American former sergeant, but the
second man was partially obscured by him and Archer couldn’t see him clearly. The sergeant
moved round to the front passenger’s door, and the second man opened the door behind the
driver. As he did so, he cast a look over his shoulder in Archer’s direction.
A cold fist gripped Archer’s gut. It was the gunner who had killed Bula two years ago. The Dixie
boy he’d laid out cold, and who’d been cleared of any misconduct by an inquiry.
He felt his pulse quicken as he watched the two men get in and the BMW move away from the
kerb. If they were operating as a three-man team that meant the driver would be TJ Wheeler. It
also meant that it had been the Dixie boy who’d Tasered him.
He’d never learned the names of the Black Star contractors involved in the shooting, but hoped
that the lead from the stolen wallet would now lead him somewhere.
As soon as the BMW turned the corner Archer made his way into the hotel, bounding up the steps
into the foyer.
The receptionist behind the desk was the same Eastern European girl who’d been on duty the
previous night. She was bent over something on the desk behind the counter-top, and looked up
with a start when Archer strode in.
‘Aahh..’
‘Morning,’ he said cheerily, plucking a brochure from a display on the counter-top.
It advertised guided bus tours of the city, and he held it up for her to see.
‘Now tell me,’ he said, ‘are these tours any good? I need something to do tomorrow, but I don’t
want anything really touristy. What would you recommend?’
She hesitat
ed, as if unsure whether to answer or not.
‘Aahh, umm. .yes, I would say they are very good, in my opinion.’ She nodded vigorously, her blue
eyes wide under a formidable set of false lashes.
‘Lovely, thanks.’ He gave her a warm smile. ‘Can I order lunch here, or do I have to call room
service? I’ve got an awful lot of work to do and I can’t be bothered going out.’
‘Umm, aahh, yes, if you can order here is okay.’
She produced a pad and Archer ordered a steak sandwich, fruit salad and orange juice. Giving her
another smile he went upstairs to his room.
The piece of tissue had been dislodged and was on the carpet by the door. His suitcase was on the
luggage rack where he’d left it, and he noticed the zip had shifted positions slightly.
The room had clearly been searched, and he was certain that the receptionist would be on the
phone right now to the Americans. While speaking to her he’d seen she had a handbag on the
desk, presumably putting away the money she’d just been paid for allowing access to his room.
It was safe to assume the deal would include making a phone call once he returned.
Archer paused to think for a moment. The Americans clearly didn’t want him to know they’d been
there, which in turn meant they wanted to know something on the quiet. Either they had wired
his room or they had been looking for something particular in his luggage. He knew there was
nothing for them to find, as he had taken the stolen wallet and its contents with him.
That left the first option as the most likely.
He tossed his coat and jacket on the bed, and loosened his tie, trying to figure out what it all
meant. They obviously knew who he was and who he worked for, and therefore presumably the
reason for his presence in London. This made it clear they had a shared interest, but Archer
couldn’t determine how far that went. Were the Americans after Yassar, Boyle or both? Did they
want to kill or capture either of them? Were they working for the Government or a private entity,
and if so, who? Were they simply after the bounty on Yassar’s head?
He decided he had more questions than answers right now, but at least he knew one thing for
certain; there was a leak somewhere.
