Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3)

by Lewis Hastings

  His time in Spain was not wasted. He missed it, especially the Sierra Nevadas. As he stared at the young waiter he vowed to return there one day soon, then found himself thinking about the last time he was there, bound, hand and foot and dragged away from his exquisite mountain home by the elite armed police unit.

  Some good they were. Once again, he had walked away from incarceration. They couldn’t hold him for long, anywhere.

  The waiter stood up, carrying the empty dishes and spoke, “I will look after you personally from now on, gentlemen. And where are you from, sir?”

  Alex took a split second. Decided to answer truthfully, in a cosmopolitan city such as London he could have been dealing with his own people – he chose to remain slightly vague.

  “Eastern Europe.”

  “Beautiful. Thank you for choosing to dine with us this evening. You are lucky to get a table. We are the busiest restaurant in the area. If you come again, ask for me.” He handed a light grey card across the table, noting Alex’s wrist as he accepted it – a black tattoo. A wave.

  Best say nothing. He didn’t recognise it. Chose not to search for it on the internet. Perhaps he should have done? Perhaps.

  Instead he nodded, smiled and walked back to the bar – back to business.

  Seconds later their tequila was on their table. Handmade, from the best blue agave.

  “Noroc!” Cheers.

  The glasses were emptied as a waiter arrived with their meals.

  “Ah yes, this looks good. Mucho gracias.”

  “Filete de res con Chimichurri de Cilantro for your sir. And Rib Eye con Mantequilla de Habanero for you, sir. Enjoy. Can I get you some more drinks?”

  “Yes Ambar – two, in fact no, leave the bottle.”

  “Excellent choice, sir.” He needed to be pleasant and professional, not fawning. These men would tip him well.

  Alex knew his wines, and he loved his spirits. He had chosen the extra-aged Tequila. He had some in his abandoned Spanish home, left on the kitchen island, the half empty bottle reflecting in the black granite surface. An empty home that he would never return to.

  The highland red clay soils and a higher altitude, therefore more rain, and cooler nights meant the Tequila suited his palate. Under those conditions he knew the blue agaves grew larger, sweeter, and fruitier in flavour. He knew Constantin would enjoy it too. He needed to focus his mind on the finer things – lure him slowly away from his mistress, heroin.

  And he knew the waiter would expect a significant tip from a man who had just spent three hundred and eighty pounds on a bottle.

  Why not? He could choose whatever he wanted from behind the bar – when the British people were paying it would be positively rude not to treat yourself?

  Alex waited until they were alone. The booth at the rear of the restaurant was exactly what he had hoped for. He looked into the main dining area; it was packed, buzzing with an atmosphere that was alive with the spirit of a very modern city. He raised a glass to the manager, found himself, for a moment, wishing he could eat and relax at any of the thousands of cafes and restaurants that joined the dots in a place that he was hellbent on causing misery to.

  “So, we are here. Under their upturned noses. The next phase. The final one. You deal with the teams, get them to cause chaos, Gheorghiu is on his way, he can support the other team, if they are as good as you say they will cause their own havoc. Then I can sit back and plan what to do with Cade and his band of brothers, and talking brothers, if I can find him, I will feed him to the pigs and whoever his friend was that turned up to ruin my last party in Craiova. They messed up a perfectly good party Constantin.” He examined the empty glass.

  “Can a man not celebrate freedom without the damned police crashing through the door?” He shook his head, picked up the bottle and studied the label.

  “In a few weeks’ time we will be able to bathe in this stuff. Noroc Constantin. Let us toast the night that the foxes were finally allowed to enter the chicken coup.”

  They finished their meal, left cash and a tip, and walked back towards the blue Jaguar that purred outside. As Alex walked past a table of four, three attractive women and a hopeful-looking businessman, he placed the bottle, three quarters full on the place mat, next to the prettiest girl – the one he decided he would have. Could have. He could have anything he wanted – soon. In just a matter of weeks. That’s all it would be. Just a few weeks.

  “Noroc. This is going to be so much fun.” He didn’t look back.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Cade pulled into the small parking area on Great Peter Street and walked in. He was speaking on the phone as he walked.

  “Five minutes JD. Better be good.”

  They met in the shadows of Westminster Abbey. The security officer Liam Evans saw Daniel first, smiled, opened a side gate and ushered the two men through. Discreet. It was dark, but the area was well lit. It needed to be. As one of the city’s most iconic buildings it looked good day or night.

  “Strange choice? Was there nowhere more discreet?”

  “You’ll see. Thanks, Liam. I owe you. Been a long time. Down here?”

  They walked into the eastern end of the building, then allowed Evans to press a button, taking them up to the new feature of the Abbey – the Triforium.

  “Over to you, John. Ring me when you are ready to come back down.”

  Daniel and Cade walked into the void that had sat in the roof space of the Abbey for over seven hundred years – used as a storage area and unseen by the public. The views across to the Houses of Parliament, the Thames and through a stone arch, down into the nave were truly breath-taking. But both men knew they were there for a meeting. And the two men that stood, waiting, next to an ancient painting – the Westminster Retable – were probably having the same thoughts, in that they would rather have an access all areas tour in an empty abbey where one literally stepped onto kings and queens and became wrapped in British history than be here, at night trying to justify their existence.

  Cade smiled an ironic smile. “Well, Stefan, we meet again. I guess John’s choice of a place of worship was two-fold.”

  Stefan Stefanescu held out his hand. “Allies?”

  “I guess so.”

  Daniel shook his hand too. He knew he had taken a risk in coming, a greater one of supporting the Griffin team.

  “And you, sir? Who are you?” Daniel was leading the conversation, allowing Cade to observe. Once a chief inspector, always.

  “Scott McCall. And before you ask I am not entirely sure why I am here either sir.”

  The New Zealander shook Daniel’s hand, turned slightly, and held his hand out to Cade.

  “Kiwi?”

  “Yes, sir. Nice not to be called an Aussie.”

  “I have a business interest over there. Huge difference to my ear.”

  Cade looked around him, effigies of kings and queens and dukes and paintings waiting to be presented in a better light and that view, the one that the people saw when the royals exchanged vows.

  He was running his hand across the stone arch, not really looking at McCall.

  “Long way from home?” He was looking at him now, studying him. Long hair, tanned beard, stocky, confident in a non-arrogant way.

  “It is sir, yes.”

  Daniel walked and talked. “The items you see form just a part of the history of this building. Look at the walls, that’s graffiti, but hundreds of years old, stonemasons leaving their mark, chipping out their initials. Not some hooded shit with a spray can. The place is alive with history. Down there, knights, over there bishops, everywhere, you are breathing in history. That is why I chose this place. It sums up what we are going to start fighting for.”

  As they walked, the long-haired man stayed quiet, was aware of the burning questions, but waited, disciplined as ever. And then Daniel moved onto the million dollar question.

  “You asked why Scott was here Jack. It turns out you have something, or someone in common.”

&n
bsp; He took five minutes to outline the links and how Stefan had ended up escaping from Romania, running from his brother but chasing him at the same time.

  Stefan spoke.

  “This man saved my life. He was coming to do business with my brother – but I knew he was coming to be killed. But Alex failed to take into account Scott’s training and he left without what he had bartered for. More importantly, Mr McCall now has something of his. And knowing my brother, he will not stop until he gets the final document – the final card in the suit. Scott can keep the rest. However, this man also chose to betray everything he stood for, and has since that day lived in regret. I know how this feels. That is why I have brought him to you. He is seeking redemption, Jack. Listen to his story, then understand why he is the ace in our pack.”

  “More like the King of Hearts – the Suicide King.” Cade wanted to push McCall a little, there was something he was holding back.

  McCall answered, measured, assured. “It’s actually the result of poor copying over the years, Mr Cade. The King of Hearts once carried an axe. Now, a trick of dimensions shows the sword apparently going into his head. Two dimensions. Nothing more.”

  “Do you believe in tarot Scott?”

  “No sir, I don’t. One God and all that and to be fair to the fella upstairs it’s been a long time. There was a time in Afghanistan but as they say that’s in the past.”

  “Me neither. But the last card that was turned for me was the Seven of Swords. Any idea what that signifies?” Both Daniel and Stefanescu were tuned in now too.

  “Probably that someone is about to stab you in the back?”

  “Not far off. Betrayal Scott. It signifies betrayal.”

  “Then I had better watch my back.”

  “We all had. So Scott, what is your second dimension?”

  “I broke the law. My own. I betrayed my family, my parents, my siblings, but above all the unit I work for.”

  “Special Air Service?” Cade almost whispered the words that drifted among the stonework, their masons hiding behind pillars, listening, gasping at such revelations, and then vapourising back into the seventeenth century.

  “That obvious?”

  “No, an educated guess. But the other dimension, what is that?”

  “Elena.” It was Daniel who beat Stefan to it. It caused Cade to turn and face McCall.

  “He arrived shortly after you left. A military unit. Call it luck. Long story, but he saved her life, Jack. Then, just as his white knight persona was guaranteed to go down in New Zealand folklore, like some of the people buried here, he was betrayed.”

  “By?”

  “Greed.” McCall was looking down the nave, running his thumbnail in the initials of a craftsman. “And I’m sorry. But I am here to make amends.”

  Stefan outlined the moment McCall had crashed into his brother’s apartment. “He was a very smart operator. But my brother left during the gunfight, call it luck. It was chaos downstairs, police here, our people there, and in the middle, this man. Alex left in a hurry and didn’t get the document he craved. He knows Scott still has it – or had it. It’s safe now.”

  “So you know how to handle yourself?” Cade knew the answer.

  “Yes, sir. Prefer to be with my team if I’m honest, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “We need to speak to your boss. I’m guessing you are AWOL?”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Then I have just the job for you.” He began to outline the proposal as long-dead monarchs held their hand to their ears, listening in the hushed tones of the cold stone building – some said the abbey was alive at night, they said it was alive with the souls of the dead and the chronicles of the courts of kings and queens. This place defined history.

  “One other thing.”

  “Sir?”

  “Stop calling me sir and thank you for saving Elena’s life. She’s a great girl, just misunderstood. But trying to kill her for the sins of her father was taking it too far.” He looked at Stefan and winked.

  “It was my pleasure boss, it’s kind of what we do, when we are not killing people. She was a lovely girl, eh?” McCall was as humble as ever.

  “Is a lovely girl, Scott. And tomorrow you can get to say hello in person.”

  “I would like that very much. Is she single?”

  “Sort of Scott. Time will tell.” For the first time since he had met her, Cade felt a tang of jealousy.

  The handshake was as firm as he had ever experienced. He liked Scott McCall, expensive boots and all.

  Daniel began to walk back to the lift. “Gents, I chose this place for two reasons, one it was discreet, no microphones in here, centuries of secrets have remained here never to be told – and what we are dealing with will easily match the greatest of those.”

  Stefan was nodding, encouragingly. “And the other?”

  “This new extension opens to the public in a few years. It’s a wonderful example of what we have and what we should protect. Plus, it will cost five pounds to enter and will be busy, and I’m as tight as a duck’s arse and hate queueing.”

  It broke the ice. They walked back out towards The Sanctuary, an aptly named road, and were about to go their separate ways when Stefan turned to face Daniel.

  “But what if this fails?”

  Daniel drew the cold evening air into his lungs, coughed a little, cleared his throat and spoke.

  “See that building over there?” He pointed to the Houses of Parliament. Stefanescu nodded. “Of course.”

  “On June 4th 1940 Winston Churchill made a speech that is feted for turning the British politicians and people around, giving them strength and unity at a time of great suffering and worry. He made many speeches but my favourite quote is this, ‘Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.’”

  “And what does that mean seventy-five years later, Mr Daniel?” McCall was looking at him – expecting an answer.

  “It means my friend that we have nothing to lose by bloody well trying. If we all give into a modern form of tyranny, then my ancestors – and yours…” He pointed his index finger firmly in McCall’s direction, paused, then said, “Will have given their lives in vain.”

  The four split up, Stefan and McCall heading south, Cade to the west, leaving Daniel to look around the hallowed streets and buildings that helped to define his city.

  Daniel rang Cade moments later. “So?”

  “So I think it will work. He seems like a good man.”

  “The Home Secretary has already put things in place to erase any evidence of McCall’s wrong doing. He’s a definite asset. I just need to get his leave extended. I’m going to be late in tomorrow. I suggest you take Elena for coffee and break the news.”

  “I’ll sort that out. It’s not a priority. You know we’ve probably only got one chance at this, don’t you?”

  “I do, Jack, but she is also one of our pack of cards. She can make or break this. We play the daddy-daughter card when we have to and not before.”

  “Seems to be a card-filled night.”

  “It does. Anyway, since when did you believe in tarot cards?”

  “I don’t. Read it in a book somewhere. Some thriller about a group of people fighting an evil henchman.”

  “Shouts like a load of crap. See you tomorrow.” Daniel cleared the line.

  As Cade walked back to his car, he couldn’t help finding himself back at the roadside, the deserted country road, the upturned Porsche, watching the life drain from her bright red blood fusing with the dust and debris of the lonely highway.

  He did everything he could, but he left her to die.

  He was as guilty as Stefan and as naïve as McCall.

  He peeled the parking ticket off of his windscreen, got in, dropped it into the centre console with three others, started the car and drove towards what he called his very temporary home.

  Daniel dialled the overseas number provided by McCall. It rang for a while. He expected
it to go to answerphone, but then it was snapped up and a smiling voice answered.

  “Good morning, Mike Steel.”

  “Sir.” Daniel introduced himself. “We need to chat about one of your team.”

  “So the nomad has surfaced.” Steel was relieved, like a father who had been frantically searching for a missing son, not sure whether to slap him or hug him.

  “He has. Look Mike, it’s late here, and it’s a long story that Scott is best to outline with you over a beer in the officers’ mess when he gets back. Needless to say, he’s now considered a great asset by the British government – as he’s the only independent person to have looked Alex Stefanescu in the eye.”

  “And what do you plan to do with Sergeant McCall?”

  “He’s the fresh cheese on the trap.”

  “Great. Do him some good to get his neck stretched a little – bastard has caused me no end of paperwork that I’ll now have to shred. Send my best and tell him it’ll be more than a beer he owes me. I’ll go and see his family, tell them he’s overseas, they’ll believe me. It happens all the time. Anything else you need? I’ve got a particularly troublesome corporal in need of a boot up the backside?”

  “Send him over, Mike. Good to talk. I won’t follow this up with an email. It’s very much need to know.”

  “Pleasure. We’ve never had this chat. Regards to London, I was there a few years ago. Lost an umbrella on the tube. Do you know if they ever found it?”

  Daniel decided he and Steel would get along famously.

  “They did, it’s here waiting for when you next come.”

  Daniel opened the car door and was about to get in when he heard a voice. His muscles locked and his fists balled. It sounded threatening, at best it had a menacing undertone.

  “Chief Inspector Daniel. Late for a stroll isn’t it? Anything could happen out here, cold night, deep, dark river. So easy to fall. Dangerous place, London. All those years as a police officer, that reputation as a thief catcher extraordinaire. Would be so easy to erase that memory…” He clicked his thumb and second finger, the echo resounded off the nearby walls. “Like that!”