Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3)
Page 26
“I think we all appreciate how much this is hurting your team. Frankly, I’m impressed that you’ve kept quiet as long as you have. But please calm down and take a breath. I think we all need to. We are one team. One goal and all that. You start falling out with one another and it will soon be a game of Jenga where the only remaining piece is likely to see the whole bloody thing topple. One team. Are we not Donald?”
Donaldson looked around the room. “My apologies for being an arsehole. It’s in our training package – Day One.”
“Apology accepted. Jet lag and I don’t make good bedfellows.” Cade smiled, holding out his right hand.
It raised a smile from Donaldson and a handshake that smacked of surety. “I accept your acceptance. Ring me if you need anything, Jack. That goes for your squad too. Anything.”
The Home Secretary spoke. “Moving swiftly along. We can carry on in this room, Jason?”
“Of course ma’am, mi casa su casa and all that.”
They entered a side room, big enough for who was left from the earlier meeting. “Donald join us, please.” Sassy Lane was in control now, and the PM was happy for her to take the lead. It was her domain.
“Elena, before we continue. What we discuss in here, in the briefings, it goes no further.”
“I understand, I am very familiar with keeping a secret. In my country they are the foundation of everything we do. We have been keeping them for a long time, longer than you.” Her smile was disarming. Lane saw what men saw in her.
“Good. It is good to have you on board. We will not be involving the Bulgarian government, however, the Romanian authorities are already working with us. They want this group off their radar as much as we do. They have been simply outstanding with their help so far. Now Jack, a wee history lesson if you are up for it?”
“My favourite subject at school Home Secretary.”
“Oh wonderful, then you will enjoy this. You are a man of Kent according to our records?”
“I’m impressed. I am indeed – anything you don’t know about me?”
“Not much. You have a penchant for actresses beginning with the letter K, prefer raspberries to strawberries, find redheads attractive and at one time, earlier in your life tried to join the military. Your namesake, Jack Cade was from the same place as you. The government rebel of the fourteen hundreds?”
“So I’m led to believe. It was a story told to me by my old history teacher, Jim Seal. Great man, brought the subject to life, ex-copper, inspired me to join up. But I don’t see the connection?”
“Your teacher would have done. In 1450 Cade led a rebellion against what the people saw as the corrupt government of Henry VI. Cade entered the city and struck his sword against what was known as the London Stone. When he did so he declared himself to be Lord of this city. Shakespeare wrote a few lines about it.”
“And?” He was intrigued.
“And this inconspicuous lump of limestone, which has been semi-concealed behind a cage, open to the elements on Cannon Street, is surrounded by mystery, ley line theories, magic spells and even witchcraft. More than that legend decrees that it can choose the next King and so long as the Stone of Brutus is safe, the city of London will flourish.”
It was interesting, but neither Cade nor his colleagues saw the connection.
She pursued the point. “They say all roads lead from the stone, that it had origins dating back to the Trojan or Roman era. In all that time, the city has never been truly taken by a foreign invader.”
“Forgive me?” It was John Daniel. “I’ve worked this city all my life. Started as a constable. Out on the beat, I covered Cannon Street. I know the history of the stone. However, I don’t see the relevance, interesting though it is. Can you expand at all?” He spoke candidly for everyone.
“And that is a fair request, chief inspector. The point is Alex Stefanescu has set a challenge among his people to steal the stone. It has survived countless invasions, even the Blitz. Not even the Luftwaffe could destroy the bloody thing. If Stefanescu gets hold of it we could argue the stone might be worth fifty quid in scrap value or about twenty trillion if you take the current worth of the City of London.”
“But it’s a stone.” Daniel could feel the ground moving, jet lag was playing havoc with his inner ear, flirting with his balance organs and creating a sense of drunkenness. If only.
“It’s not about the stone, John. It’s about making a point. Donald’s team are listening to this and that, and it was either a this or a that conversation they heard a few days ago that suggested that someone is going to have a go at something iconic in London. try to steal it, or at least have a damned good go. One could go further and say he is looking to strike his own sword on the stone.”
Roberts chipped in. “One of my sources has heard the same – told me that the Tower – or a tower is involved. I took that as the obvious one – and the jewels, but they’ve been safe since before John here was born.”
“Distractions DCI Roberts. All distractions. They are planning something else, I can feel it in my water – as my grandmother used to say.”
“So, what do you suggest we do?” Cade was also in need of a decent night’s sleep. “Put an armed guard on every monument this side of Nelson’s Column?”
“Hardly Jack. No, what I suggest is you ramp up your human source collections out on the streets, link up with our Romanian colleagues. Let’s see what they have on Stefanescu’s team, shall we? Might be a good place to start. If we can come up with at least a theory on what this pain in the arse is planning I would rest easier. Either that or we need someone to put a bullet right through the Jackdaw’s eye. And soon.”
His sigh was audible. “I can offer you a theory.” It was Cade’s turn at conjecture. “He plays us off against the British media – the world media at that. Blackmails the British government for a sum so audacious that it makes him rich and notorious, but a figure that we see as being worth paying – and frankly that could be many millions. You have said yourself this needs to remain close to our chests. I’d suggest it is already out there. These places leak like sieves. And if money is being bandied around, then that is even worse. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Interesting theory. Blackmailed by a blackbird.” Her own smile was used to great effect. “You’ve forgotten the impact on this country, Jack.” Lane looked at the group, once again discreetly checking her watch – places to go, people to see.
“Remember the Poll Tax riots back in the nineties? When cars were set alight, fridges dropped onto police from ten stories above? When Churchill’s statue was desecrated?” All three police staff recalled them with a mixture of dread and financial fondness. Daniel could still hear the fridge hitting their shields as they formed up under a roof made of polycarbonate, ready to storm into the tower block.
Harry Halford had been quiet but cleared his throat a few times, coughing into the back of his hand. “The halcyon days that the Minister refers to will be like a walk in the proverbial park if this hits the streets. It will start with a gentle flow, then become a torrent. The divided will form sides – there will be those that are pro-leaving Europe, the passionate and the misguided and anti. Then, as if we don’t have enough to worry about, there’s the Pro-monarchy and anti-royal protests. Pro this, anti that. If this waits until the summer then we could be in for a long hot campaign of civil disorder. As the Minister responsible for policing, with the reduced police forces that we are now having to work with…” he let the sentence end, deliberately allowing it to hang like a week-old corpse.
“Or if it’s anything like a normal British summer a few weeks of torrential rain Minister.” It was an opportunity to lessen the impact but failed and Mike Collins, who had also been suspiciously quite up until that moment, knew it had backfired.
Cole took over a political tag team if ever one existed. “Thank you, gents. In the midst of it all we may well see a resurgence of political posturing – right-wing movements hell-bent on creating a new
Britain, a Britain without immigrants – fuelled by the media, pounced upon by the opposition who will cite integrity and honesty and core values and anything else they lack and can latch onto for a win here and there. What some of these people wish for is a country not unlike the one that existed around the time that the London Stone appeared.”
“You mean where the locals threw piss out of their windows and cattle strolled around the streets, Prime Minister?” Roberts couldn’t help but smile. “Really?”
“No, Jason, I mean a country that is devoutly British. And for many that means white, working and middle-class people, without, and I quote, a funny accent.”
“Do you think it will come that, sir?” Cade was convinced it could.
“Yes, Jack. Honestly, I do. If it goes wrong, we will lose credibility and confidence. Look at what Black Monday did to our funds. Need I remind you we lost billions? This could trigger a wave of sentiment like we haven’t seen since we buried Diana, Princess of Wales.”
All three police officers remembered that day too with a mixture of emotions.
“Donald. Ramp up everything you have on the current migrant population that could fit into this group. I want Immigration involved, but tell them it is a stats thing. I need numbers, and if we don’t know how many are in country, then a bloody good guess.” Lane was known for not taking prisoners or suffering fools.
“Ma’am, you are casting your net too wide.” Cade was unintentionally rubbing his eyes, trying to wipe away ten thousand miles of air travel.
“Go on.” She liked Cade and was prepared to give him some air time.
“This is a group that has two aspects. The first is that they are almost entirely of Romany descent. That means they come from a long line of people who have been treated badly by the rest of the world.”
Roberts interjected, “You afraid of being cursed, mate?”
“See? However, Jason is right in one respect, he’s battled with the itinerant traveller as much as the next copper, I’m sure. We’ve all locked one up at some stage in our career, one who tells you his surname is Lee and that he is twelve years old and so is his father and that anything that is not bolted down is fair game. But you miss the point.”
James Cole had stopped checking his own watch. They could wait. This stimulated his interest.
“The second is that this group may be able to cast their DNA back a few thousand years to a proud heritage of travellers, but in the case of Alex and his entourage, they are different, a modern version of a proud and stubborn people. They use skill, and cunning, guile and fear to attract their members. And they are very, very good at it. A simple team of women and children working the underground can make thousands. You’ve read the papers? Another hitting ATM, like was seen in the city a few years ago, can make much more. At its heart is a group of managers, the logistics people, organising the worker bees, allowing them to have a sip of the nectar, but always providing the royal jelly to the queen.”
He waited for a sign that he could continue. A simple nod from the Prime Minister was all he needed.
“I once worked with a man called Valentin Iliescu. He came from a background of working for the Romanian Intelligence Service, the SRI. He was once an enemy of mine until I realised that like most of us he had an agenda. He saved one of our staff and I owe him. At the time, he said something most poignant. When we were last looking for the Seventh Wave team, he uttered a sentence that has remained with me. He said, ‘Jack, you are looking for the copper wire when you should be looking for the electricity.’”
Cole and Lane began to nod. Cole spoke initially, “So you are saying we are looking in the wrong place?”
“I am sir, yes. Sorry, but I think you need to look within your own house first. Alex is the ultimate distraction – the conduit if you like. There is mischief afoot, Prime Minister, and it is far from amusing. If you want to see rivers of blood in London, you will decide to do nothing at all. With your blessing I want to round a few people up and prevent that from happening.”
“What do you need?”
“Who, sir. Not what. I need the team that is here now and the rest of the Operation Orion squad. A good crypto-currency specialist, too. None of us have a bloody clue about it – I doubt even your own advisors do. Secondly, I want Valentin on our team. And you may want to track down a certain Johnnie Hewett. The Foreign Office played a part in the last operation, so it’s only right they are involved this time around, sooner rather than later with your concerns about chaos on the streets of Britain.”
“And their role?”
“Find the team before they achieve their goal. Couldn’t be easier.” Roberts answered for Cade, who acknowledged his synopsis. It was his op after all, and Cade became suddenly aware that he was in danger of taking over.
“I agree with DCI Roberts, sir – one hundred percent. We’ll find the copper wire – you find the electricity.”
Harry Halford spoke. “I suspect that the gypsies you refer to have already taken all the copper wire gentlemen.”
Cade shook his head discreetly.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
“Good morning Prime Minister.” He looked quickly around the small room. “Home Secretary. Harry, Mike, DCI Roberts. How are we all?”
The man that entered was upbeat and immediately recognisable to Cade and Petrova. Dark blue pinstriped suit, white shirt, matching handkerchief, a silk tie with a motif and leather-soled brogues.
He walked towards Cade, fixing his gaze onto the eyes that stared back. “Mr Cade, Michael Blake, British Foreign Office – we haven’t met, but it’s fair to say I have heard a lot about you.” He shook his hand firmly. He was doing well. It had only been days.
“And you must be Miss Petrova?” He didn’t kiss her hand, but he exuded a classic sense of Britishness that said he might, almost.
Cade was quick to recognise that he was acting. Petrova, too. Neither challenged him nor looked at one another.
“And you too, sir. I have heard only good things.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr Blake.” She smiled, head tilted to one side.
“Forgive me Prime Minister, Home Secretary, but I was party to what our police minister was saying as I entered the room.”
Halford knew immediately that this meant ‘I was stood at the door listening for a while.’
“And I couldn’t help overhear the statement about gypsies.”
A few people had confused expressions, some a look that said ‘I distance myself from the earlier comment.’
“You see ladies and gents, we are not dealing with gypsies in the sense in which you make the statement. These are people no doubt descended from Roma – but do not fool yourselves. This is not a band of merry men cavorting around our homeland stealing our women, selling clothes pegs and offering to tarmac our driveways.”
Halford had heard enough. “Isn’t it Michael? I think you need to get out more.” He laughed, but it was far from sincere.
“It is you sir who needs to leave his office once in a while. I have studied these people most of my adult life. What we are dealing with here is a well-organised, highly effective and goal-driven group. Well led too – and funded, and they are in town and ready to play. Now you can mock them all your like, but you need to know your enemy. Sun Tzu and all that.” He took a breath.
“This is not a bunch of wandering nomads in a fleet of caravans plugging their cables into street lights and stealing anything that is not nailed down. Get that idea out of your head. They associate strongly with their ancestry, have a resilience borne out of sacrifice and xenophobia, but they are not harmless ‘tinkers’ as I heard them referred to recently.”
“Right, thank you, Mr Blake. Good stuff, I’m sure we all agree about our targets and their capabilities. We all know each other, now let’s get to work, shall we? Or to use a Cade analogy – we find the lock, you find the key.” Lane announced that both and Cole were already late for a meeting.
They were both being individually met by their respective Diplomatic Protection Group staff. Lifts were already being held and cars were waiting. They would travel separately. Different routes. Twice the cost. Half the risk.
Michael Blake pressed the light blue lift button. “Fancy coffee, you lot? My shout.” It was what was best described as a stage whisper. Deliberate.
Cade, Petrova, Roberts and Daniel followed him into the lift, which arrived with a gentle rush of air. Their presence was obviously mandatory. They could tell by the tone.
The door closed. Blake hovered over the ground floor button. He wished they had been on the twentieth floor. More time.
The five people were all in the wood-panelled lift, three on one side, two on the other. It started to drop and Blake began to talk.
“Team, we have as long as it takes for this thing to hit the ground floor. In that time you are going to have to decide whether to trust me or not. I don’t intend to do that sports team thing where we all put our hands in the middle and roar our allegiance. Are you on board with this?”
They all looked at one another. Floor Seven.
Cade spoke first. “Go on, Minister. I am all ears.”
“Firstly, thank you for playing along with me up there. We need to maintain that façade. You said mischief, Jack. It goes way beyond that.”
Floor Five.
“There is a leak, as you suggested. I’d call him a mole. Others might say a treacherous bastard. Either way, I need you to know that you must not trust him. He is in bed with the wrong people. My man has managed to find this out. Best not ask how.” His eyebrows flicked upwards.
Floor Three.
“Hewett sir?” Roberts had already made the decision.
“No. Far from it. I trust that smooth bastard with all of our lives. Harry Halford is our traitor. He is working with Alex Stefanescu. It’s all about money. Isn’t it bloody always?”