Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3)

by Lewis Hastings

  “It’s Mr Daniel. And one could say the same about you minister. You have a lot more to lose.” He was looking at Harry Halford, stood in the shadows, collar up to prevent the cold air penetrating.

  “Somehow I think we both know that is not the case, John. As besides once a copper always a copper. Look, I’ve read your file. Remarkable copper you were too. Plenty of good inside that manila folder. But it’s the bits that exist in another vault. He stepped slightly into the light, steam emitting from his mouth as he slipped the brown leather gloves back onto his hands.

  “Cold, isn’t it? Shall we walk, here amongst the history of our beloved country?” It wasn’t a suggestion.

  Daniel knew how to play the game. “As you wish.” The term beloved stood out, the way he said it.

  “How’s Lynne?” It was laced with toxin.

  “I have no idea. I’ll ask when I next speak to her. We hardly talk these days since the separation.”

  Halford stopped. Clapped his hands together quietly. As he had done at the briefing, it was his signature. “John. Come on. You need to do better than that. I could tell you what’s on the menu at your delightful little café down under. Or we could piss about out here in the cold until you get the hint that I’m not here for the good of my health.”

  “Threatening me and my family? I could take you right here and now, Halford – and you know it. Let’s step back into the shadows where you came from.”

  “Possibly. I wrestled for Durham Uni. If we end up on the floor, down in the gutter, you are mine. No holds barred and all that bullshit. And besides, it’s hardly even.” He gestured to his right. Halford’s Protection Officer was shadowing them. As far as he was concerned it was a late night favour to the boss. Best not to ask why.

  “OK. Another time. What do you want that can’t wait until the morning?”

  “I want to know who you were speaking to a moment ago. I want to know who you met. And, I want to know now.” He smiled his assassin’s smile. This was really enjoyable. Chess, but with only one winner.

  Daniel felt in his pocket for a while until his fingertips touched on the Queen.

  “I asked you a question, John. Do not make an enemy of me.”

  “I’m not. I do question why the Minister of Police is out and about at this time, loitering never used to be part of the job.”

  “Very good. Once a cop…Look John, pack up, go home, whilst you still can, make the most of your pension, whilst you can.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like a threat to me Minister.”

  “As we both know John, any criminal offence reported in this beautiful country will be investigated to the nth degree. From my humble law training may I suggest Section Five of the Public Order Act. I suggest you report it in the morning.”

  “Harassment? I’d say it was more a case of Section Four, the fear or provocation of violence.” He said it loudly enough for the Protection Officer to hear.

  “You are wasting your time, John. He hears what I want him to hear. Will go far that boy, promotion is in the offing.”

  He stared at Daniel, allowing a few late night revellers to cross over and away from them.

  “I’ll ask you again.”

  “That’s very much a need to know Minister. Now, if you will, I have an early start tomorrow.”

  Part Five

  Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.

  Winston Churchill

  Prime Minister

  London 1940

  Chapter 48

  London Embankment, 06:20 hrs

  Daniel was a creature of habit. Years of working shifts meant that he rarely slept beyond five. He had been online with his wife Lynne for ten minutes, assured her all was well, shaved, with a blade, ensuring every errant hair was removed. A generous dousing of Burberry Brit, a crisply laundered white shirt, red and blue tie, navy pinstriped suit. Aquascutum overcoat. Shoes, shined.

  He caught a cab that weaved through almost stagnant traffic.

  “Foggy this morning chief. Off somewhere nice?” London cab drivers were the best. Full stop. You wanted to get somewhere in a hurry, they knew the shortcuts. Wanted to know a secret about London, they were the people. Daniel spoke through the Perspex safety screen.

  “Just my morning stroll along the river.”

  “Call it a fiver chief and have a nice one. Stay safe yeah, looks like it’s in for the day.”

  The London black cab, the epitome of a taxi, slipped off into the cloak and was gone.

  Daniel walked a few paces, tried to look out across the river and realised he was fighting a losing battle. He had chosen to meet Roberts and not Cade for a reason. It was nothing personal. He just knew that one day soon Cade would be gone, moving on, back to his new home in New Zealand – or anywhere he could find peace.

  Equally, he knew Roberts had up to ten more years at the coalface. If he knew the inner workings of Griffin so much the better. Better still, if he understood what held London together – mythically or otherwise that might help as well. There was an assumption that Londoners knew London, every inch of it. But it was often far from the truth.

  His phone chirped. “Hello, good morning. Smashing isn’t it?”

  “It would be if I could see beyond the end of my fucking nose JD. Jesus you pick your days for a fact-finding mission.”

  “I’m probably a hundred feet away. Keep heading towards Cleopatra’s Needle. I’ll meet you there.” He peered back across the road towards the Shell Mex building, which housed the largest clock in London. Five minutes to go. He adored promptness.

  Roberts emerged from the fog, walking as quickly as he could. They shook hands. Roberts checked his black-faced Police wristwatch. Bang on time JD.” He smiled. He knew.

  “Come on, down here.” They walked down into the recessed area that looked out across the Thames and back, towards the familiar needle-shaped landmark, a gift from the Egyptians.

  “So what’s this all about then John? You drag me out of bed at oh my God o’clock for what? A walk along the bloody Embankment. In freezing bloody fog.” He shivered, pulled the black Berghaus coat up to meet the tartan scarf. “Well? I’ve had to travel a lot further than you. There had better be coffee at the end of this. A nice long black, with an extra pot of hot water and one of those gluten-free lemon cake fancies?”

  “Yes. If you are a good boy. Come on, I’ve got something to show you down here in the mist.”

  “Sounds dodgy.”

  Not surprisingly, apart from a few cars, buses and cabs there was little else moving. A boat, or two, chugged along on the river, commercial stuff, with skippers that literally knew their way in the dark.

  A jogger eased her way along the Embankment praying she wouldn’t get run over by a bike.

  “I love this time of the year. This time of the day. Look, just there.” Daniel leaned over the wall slightly and pointed to a row of bronze lion heads. The familiar patina sat across the heads making them green, a chemical reaction between the atmosphere and the oxidation of the copper.

  “Yep. I see them. Great, now we’ve minced around beneath the hieroglyphics of Cleopatra’s Needle and a few lion heads, can we have that coffee?”

  “Look again. See the rings in their mouths? They are there for boats to tie up to. The locals have a saying Jason. ‘When the lions drink, London will sink. When it’s up to their manes, we’ll go down the drains.’”

  “Marvellous. Enlightened of London. I feel I couldn’t go on another day without knowing this.”

  “Jason.” He spoke like Roberts’ old history teach Mr Seal. Authoritative but passionate. “We are surrounded by history. Listen to the words. They are saying that the heads are linked to river levels. I think I know what he is going to do.”

  Roberts looked down the row of heads. They slowly cleared, revealed by the drifting river mist, one after the other until he could count six. The water was well down, even though the tide was high. He wasn’t cold
anymore. He understood.

  “Me too.”

  “Good, then this was worth it. I need to meet someone. I’ll see you in the office, coffee on me. May even throw in a pain au chocolat. Seven thirty at the latest.”

  They parted, one heading north east the other south west. The fog soon wrapped its arms around them and in seconds they were subsumed, walking with others on a cold and damp winter’s morning.

  Cade was in the office. Checking his phone, checking his emails. Asking for an update, a briefing, a sit rep, a sign that they knew what they were doing, who their targets were and importantly the sheer scale of the operation.

  They had formed a sub-room, locked to the outside world. A strict need to know, even within the team. Maps, photos, operational orders, i2 charts, all took their place. Op Griffin subtly sat within Op Orion. As far as ninety percent of the team were concerned there was only one operation.

  Cade walked from the kitchen to the main office and lowered a cup of green tea onto Elena’s desk.

  “Penny for them?”

  “What? I do not understand.”

  “It means tell me your thoughts and I’ll pay you.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I have no thoughts. I feel I am wasting my time here. David and I spent hours yesterday trying to plot what they were going to do next.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. I’m bored Jack. Not even you interest me anymore.” Francis cringed, pretended not to have heard.

  It was blunt. Cade had thick skin, but that one hurt a little.

  “Thanks.” He feigned a wounded face.

  “No, I mean the work. You always make me feel OK. We are just…drifting a little.” She pulled a sad face too.

  Cade walked away. She stopped him, pulling his arm back slightly. He turned and looked at her. She was looked good enough to pour maple syrup onto and lick it off. Sticky, sweet and hedonistic.

  “Can we go out tonight? Please? It’s been so long. This thing is eating us up. I never have time with you anymore. You are worried about Carrie I know, but, we have something that is worth fighting for. Don’t we?”

  “We do. Let’s just accept that we need to get the next month out of the way. Hope that your man does something stupid to give his location away, then we can swoop and lock him up.”

  “He’s not my man Jack. Do not say that again. You are…my man.”

  The understated, minute pause was enough for Cade. It had changed. The sight of her perfectly moulded arse in that navy shift dress was worth fighting for, if only the girl at its heart was the same one he had fallen for in New Zealand. He was confused, that was one thing he did know.

  “So what are you plans today?” He was her boss, at least for a while.

  “David talked about us heading out somewhere.”

  “Random isn’t it? Do you have a plan?”

  “No, we thought we would go and have a look at all the locations where banks have reported attacks. He thinks it would be good to physically see them.”

  “Fine. Just keep him away from bars.”

  Fisher and McGee were in early too. It seemed that no one could sleep these days.

  “Piss the bed again boss?” Fisher was at his merciless best in the mornings and wished McGee was too. He had figured she was a night-time girl, away from work, away from the carapace that being a detective created, a few drinks, relax, slip off the blouse, kick off that grey pencil skirt, find it the next morning; smile.

  He wanted her so much. Would have been happy to just lay and look at her for hours. He couldn’t resist a sideways glance here, an innuendo there. She smiled her way through them, quietly asking herself if he would ever be enough. She had a few specks of grey forming in her short hair but her blue eyes sparkled just as they did the first time he ever saw her. She was enough.

  One day.

  Cade retorted. “No, Nicholas I did not. But nice to see you too. Any chance of an update? Any closer to figuring out what we are chasing, rather than who?”

  “Fair point, guv. As you say we are certain we know at least three of the players. Alex Stefanescu, Constantin Nicolescu and a third party called Gheorghiu.”

  Cade was quick to butt in. “I know Gheorghiu. Nearly shot him once. A boat on the Thames, they were escaping from me having just put the boot in to your DCI.”

  Fisher continued. “They all feature in the sporadic chatter we have heard from among the traveling community. Bridie has cultivated a close source too. I think he fancies her, but despite her name she’s not into Irishmen.”

  “I’m sure he will be gutted. What did he say?”

  “Same as normal, guv.” Fisher was right, her eyes did sparkle, tired though she was. “But the link we are picking up over and over again is that they have an inside man.”

  “Inside of what and what for?”

  “The British Government – but what for we have limited knowledge.”

  “Money?”

  “Fame more like. The Kardashians were unheard of, now, they are famous for being famous. They want notoriety. At least that’s what my source says.”

  “Then keep going but stay safe. Throw some money at it if you need to. Put me down as the authorising officer, forge my signature if you have to. I have to head out. I’ll be about an hour, more if this fog doesn’t park up somewhere else.”

  Elena ran her eyes over the screen in front of her. Dave Francis has created a map of the offending – links to possible associated crime and a timeline. The recent surge had been seen over months, but there were years between when it started and now, but things were increasing at a rate that concerned everyone involved. ATM attacks were on the rise, fifty a week now. Crimestoppers information talked of jewellery raids, bank raids and kidnapping. This was a case of ignore the crying wolf at your peril.

  “Looks pretty. All those stars.” She gave him a great smile. She smelt nice too. He had no idea what it was. Didn’t care. Nicest thing he had smelled in years.

  “I think you know a bit more about the science of crime than most people in here Elena. Come on, with your knowledge, where is he going to hit next?”

  She looked, stood, hands on slender hips. Then flipped things on their heads. “OK, where would you hit?”

  “Me? Bank of England. Run away with all that cash.”

  “I was being serious.”

  “So was I!”

  “No come on. Think.”

  Francis scanned the screens. She was right. The Poacher needed to turn Gamekeeper and all that.

  “OK. I’d hit the communications. No, the power. I’d find a way of knocking out the power.”

  She turned to one of the squad. “Charlie. Can you get onto the power companies? Ask them what it would take to knock out their networks. Ask them to be honest. No lies. Tell them it is of national importance, because it is. And Charlie.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t see her as a boss, but knew she came with some real credibility and rumour had it she was capable of flooring most men. “What else do you need?”

  “Can we have it in an hour?”

  “You can but Jack asked me to go and fetch Carrie from the hospital.”

  “OK. Where is Jack?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Does he know she needs collecting?”

  “No, I took the message from her.”

  Petrova was engaged with the operation. Her skills lay in a mix of analysis and field work and first-hand knowledge of the target. She was enjoying work again, getting well paid too.

  She put her hand on Francis’ shoulder. “I know you have a reason to be here. I want to help you. Jack told me your story. Sounds like you are good friends. He was a good man back then no?”

  “He still is, miss. Always will be. Cade is a good police officer, but a better man, he’s not perfect and sometimes lets the job interfere with everything else. But he always puts David above Goliath. And he saved me.”

  “What from?”

  “Myself.”

  “That’
s good to hear. Right, I need to go and get Carrie.” She walked across the office and out into the corridor to find Roberts. He was in the office, pacing, trying to clear something from his mind.

  “Penny for them?” she asked in her broad Bulgarian accent.

  He turned and smiled, took the pen from his mouth and said, “Well hello. And how are things going? Anything exciting to tell me? I need something to inspire me Elena. Or sooner or later we are all going to be out of work.”

  “I have run a few ideas around out there. The team are trying but they are too busy looking at bank machines and money. This is about Alex. How many times do I have to say?”

  He scratched his head with the tip of the pen. “I get that. So what?”

  “So what?”

  “Yes, so what, it’s the classic question. Keep asking it and you get the answer, unless it’s about women of course, they remain a mystery. The so what here is if it’s not money then what is it and why?”

  “He is determined to make the news. He steals the stone you all care about but he throws it in the river. He kills people you care about. He takes money – the money is to help them live whilst they are here. I think I know what his plan is.”

  “Would you like to enlighten me Miss Petrova because in a few weeks I’m going to have the Commissioner breathing down my neck?”

  “That will be nice.”

  “No, it won’t, trust me.”

  “I need a day to think this through Jason. Is anyone going to collect Carrie?”

  “Oh God, is that today? I thought she was staying in. Isn’t Jack collecting her?”

  “He could be. I’ll go. I would like to drive. Will be good to spend some time with her. I’ll get her to Jack’s apartment. I’ll ring you when we are leaving the hospital.”

  “Sounds good. Do you want to take someone with you? Or one of our radios?” He was pushing the organisational security boundaries, but if she was good enough for the Home Secretary then frankly, she was good enough for him.