Deception (Powell Book 3)

by Bill Ward

  “Okay, get me the number and I’ll leave it a couple of days before calling.”

  Powell bid Brian good night and updated Jenkins on the news about Crawford.

  “I have to say, it’s never boring being around you,” Jenkins said.

  “Sorry,” Powell apologised but he was smiling.

  “Hell, I meant it as a compliment.”

  “Has anyone let Afina know what happened tonight?” Powell asked. When he went to call Brian he’d noticed he had five missed calls.

  “I told her you were in hospital and she shouldn’t worry but that was hours ago.”

  “Sorry I didn’t call earlier,” he said, when Afina answered. “Jenkins and I are on a train to Brighton, gets in about ten thirty.”

  “So you are okay?” Afina asked, obviously relieved.

  “I’m fine. I just fell over and banged my head.”

  “It took you long enough to let me know. I’m sure there is something you are not telling me.”

  “Sorry. Listen, you need to be on the lookout for anyone or anything out of the ordinary. We’ve really upset these Americans.” Powell expected them to come after him hard and fast but in what guise he had no idea.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Did you hear there was a bomb in London?”

  “Yes, I heard about the suicide bombing,” Afina confirmed.

  “It didn’t go down how it’s being reported on the news.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Afina, the bomber was Lara,” Powell explained gently. “Only she wasn’t a bomber. They strapped a bomb to her and blew her up.”

  There was a stunned silence at the other end of the phone.

  “I saw it on the news,” Afina said hesitantly. “I had no idea it was Lara they were talking about.” Powell could hear the crying at the end of the phone.

  “I tried to stop them,” Powell said. He was feeling guilty about his inability to save Lara. There was a growing list of women in his life, he’d been unable to save from a violent death. He had to protect Afina at all costs.

  “Powell, who could do such a thing?”

  “We know who is responsible. We don’t know why but I intend to find out.”

  “I was so unfriendly to her,” Afina sobbed.

  “She never noticed,” Powell lied. “Look, we’ll be back at the bar soon. I’ll explain what happened.”

  Powell used the remainder of the train journey to weigh up the options about what to do next. Clearly the sensible thing to do would be to emigrate to the other side of the world. He had no intention of making life so easy for Crawford and Barnes.

  Powell knew he would do everything in his power to clear Lara’s name. She did not deserve to be remembered as a terrorist. Neither should her father have to bear the stigma of his daughter being branded a terrorist. There were people who had been in Leicester Square who owed her their life. They had returned home to their loved ones because of her sacrifice. They needed to know she was not a terrorist.

  He now had concrete information on those responsible for her death. He knew where the man calling himself Barnes lived and Crawford worked for the CIA. They could no longer hide from him but equally he lived his life out in the open. He couldn’t just hide away and he would choose not to do so even if he could. He was easily found and he had no doubt they would come looking for him very soon.

  Powell had suggested to Jenkins, he should head back to Wales and away from the danger. Jenkins agreed it was a sound idea and asked when they were both leaving, which ended the conversation. Powell was also concerned for Afina’s safety. When he reached Brighton he was going to insist she take a holiday and go visit her family in Romania. It was the only way he could guarantee her safety.

  By the time they arrived at the bar, Powell’s head was aching and he was wondering if perhaps he should have stayed longer in hospital. Despite the warnings about alcohol, he went straight behind the bar and poured himself a large whisky.

  Afina had been serving a table but hurried across once finished.

  “I’m so sorry about Lara,” Afina said. “What are you going to do?”

  “The first thing I’m doing is closing the bar. Jenkins and I are going to be busy and I can’t be worrying about the bar.”

  “I will look after the bar for you.”

  “I know you would Afina but I don’t want them targeting the bar and innocent people getting killed. I want you to go stay with your mother and sister for a holiday. You haven’t seen them for ages.”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “Absolutely. I want you safe and a long way from here. And this isn’t up for debate. If you don’t want to go see your family then go somewhere with Mara.” Powell’s tone didn’t invite argument but still Afina looked doubtful. “Please Afina, just this once do as I ask.”

  “I will go see my family,” she said, grudgingly. “My mother will be happy to see me. When are you going to close the restaurant?”

  “After tonight. Please call everyone with a reservation, give them our apologies.”

  “What do I tell them?”

  “Make something up. Then book a flight back home for tomorrow.”

  “I’ll go start calling them,” she said and walked away.

  Jenkins had watched the conversation in silence. “She’s not happy,” he said.

  “No but she will be safer back in Romania. I can’t have her here. I worry too much about her.”

  Powell lifted the whisky bottle as if he was going to pour another drink.

  “Drink anymore and you won’t be fit for anything,” Jenkins warned.

  Powell put the bottle back down. “I guess you’re right. Let’s go to the office and work out our strategy.”

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Powell had shut the bar and he wasn’t certain when, or if, it would ever be open again. Perhaps he was finally shutting the door on an earlier life. He no longer needed somewhere to hide away from life. There was no Bella to protect. He cared deeply for Afina but he had come to the view, she was only in danger as long as she spent time close to him. Afina was largely over her trafficking experience, she needed to be allowed to get on with her life. It was him and the bar which were holding her back.

  Powell had insisted Afina spend the night away from the bar and as Mara would be working, she had agreed to spend the night at her friends, Emma and Becky.

  “Still want to do this?” Jenkins asked, after Afina had left.

  “I don’t want to just sit around waiting for them to come for me.”

  “Okay. Then we should get going.”

  It was midnight and the journey would take about an hour. Jenkins was driving and the roads were empty. They took the A23 from Brighton, joined the M25 going west and turned north towards London on the A3.

  They parked a short way down the road from where Barnes lived. They had no way of knowing if Barnes would be at home after everything that had happened but there was only one way to find out. Powell reasoned Barnes would expect him to still be in hospital or back in Brighton.

  Barnes had no concrete reason to suspect that they knew where he lived. If he had discovered the bug Powell planted under his collar, which was unlikely, he wouldn’t necessarily associate it with also being a GPS tracker.

  There were no lights on in the house so he was either asleep or not at home. They walked purposefully up to the front door and as Powell picked the lock, Jenkins watched the street. Powell smiled as the door opened but then it was stopped from fully opening by a chain. He reached his arm inside the door and was just able to stretch far enough to release the chain. His smile returned as he stepped inside the house, closely followed by Jenkins.

  Powell withdrew his gun from his coat pocket and they both stood still in the hallway, listening for any signs of life within the house. There was nothing to be detected but that wasn’t really surprising if Barnes was asleep upstairs. He would have to be a very heavy snorer for the sound to reach downsta
irs.

  Powell recognised that so far they had been lucky. The front door security was next to useless and there was no clever electronic surveillance in the hallway. Perhaps most importantly, Barnes wasn’t a dog lover and they hadn’t disturbed any family pet.

  Powell signalled for Jenkins to follow and started to slowly climb the stairs. Fortunately, there were carpets on the stairs and no squeaky floorboards to give away their presence. They were soon on the upstairs landing. There were several doors leading off to the side. Powell ignored the first door to the side, which he considered likely to be a bathroom and put his ear to the next door. He could hear nothing and slowly turned the door handle. As he opened the door a few inches he could see a bedroom with a double bed but no sign of Barnes.

  Powell moved to the next door feeling a sense of disappointment. The previous bedroom had looked like a master bedroom where he would have expected to find Barnes, if he was in the house. Powell quietly opened the second door a few inches and peered inside. There was another double bed but this time he could see someone was in the bed. Powell turned back to Jenkins and nodded to share his discovery.

  Powell pushed the door open and moved closer to the bed. He had his gun held out in front, pointing at the person in the bed, who was covered by the duvet and not yet recognisable as Barnes. He moved close to the pillow and despite the darkness he could make out the features of a man with grey hair.

  Powell turned back to Jenkins. “Turn on the light,” he whispered.

  Light flooded the room but Barnes took a moment to react. He gradually opened his eyes and was met with the sight of Powell and his weapon. He slowly sat up in bed without saying anything.

  “Hello Barnes,” Powell said. “Please don’t make any sudden moves. We need to have a chat with you.”

  “You seem to have nine lives,” Barnes replied.

  “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “No.”

  Powell judged he was telling the truth. “Turn on your stomach and put your hands behind your back,” he ordered.

  Barnes did as instructed. Jenkins took the heavy duty duct tape from his pocket and wrapped it several times around Barnes’s wrists, then stepped backwards.

  “Jenkins, help him to sit up again,” Powell suggested.

  Jenkins helped to roughly pull Barnes in to a sitting position with his back resting against the headboard.

  “What do you want?” Barnes asked.

  “What do we want? How about the truth for a start. Why are you and Crawford promoting acts of terrorism?”

  Barnes said nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” Powell apologised sarcastically. “I haven’t introduced my friend. Barnes meet Jenkins. The interesting fact about Jenkins is he had a big time crush on Lara. He’s an ex paratrooper and he came along tonight because I promised him the opportunity to meet the man responsible for Lara’s death.”

  Jenkins withdrew a long knife from his belt and held it menacingly in his hand. Powell saw the first sign of fear in Barnes’s eyes.

  “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “Well you didn’t lift a finger to stop it happening, which to my mind makes you equally as guilty. There’s also the small matter I was supposed to be blown up as well, which frankly means I would enjoy seeing Jenkins go to work on you with his knife.” Powell let his words hang in the air for a minute. “So what I want to know is WHY? Why are you standing by while an American is setting off a bomb in the heart of London?”

  Barnes took a few seconds while he seemed to be considering his options.

  “Jenkins, remove one of his fingers to encourage him to answer quicker.”

  Jenkins forcefully took hold of Barnes’s hand. “Stop moving or I’ll take your whole bloody hand off,” he warned.

  “Wait, I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” Barnes begged, as Jenkins held the knife blade against his skin.

  “I’m listening,” Powell said.

  Jenkins took a step back.

  “The Americans are losing confidence in our commitment to fight terrorism. We are cutting back in every direction and that’s under a Conservative government. If Labour come to power they will leave us defenceless. Something had to be done.”

  “And your answer is additional acts of terrorism? Are you mad?”

  “Madness would be to do nothing.”

  “Well this madness has to stop before any more innocent people are killed… Does Crawford plan further attacks?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Powell said, raising his gun to point at Barnes. “Do you want me to let Jenkins loose on you?”

  Barnes glanced at Jenkins and considered the idea for a second. “Crawford feels one more significant attack is necessary,” he admitted.

  “Which will be where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jenkins took a step nearer and raised his knife.

  “Really I don’t. Crawford doesn’t feel I need to know.” Barnes sounded a little desperate. “He works for the CIA. He thinks he’s above the law.”

  “I just don’t understand why someone who works for our government would allow the Americans to do this.”

  “It’s because I work for our government, you fool.”

  Powell was taken aback by Barnes’s response. “What do you mean exactly?”

  “I work for the government. I do as I am instructed.”

  “Are you telling me that members of the government are aware of your actions?”

  “They are more than just aware. This plan wasn’t dreamed up by me and Crawford. We are simply implementing the plan.”

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  Powell couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Surely Barnes must be lying to try and vindicate his actions. What worried Powell was the thought the plan went so high in government that no one could be trusted. Handing Barnes over to MI5 might achieve nothing and still leave himself exposed to danger.

  “So who do you report to?” Powell asked.

  “I report directly to the Home Secretary.”

  “Are you trying to tell me, the Home Secretary instructed you to carry out terrorist attacks in London?” Powell asked in disbelief.

  “Not exactly. He informed me the Prime Minister had agreed to work with the Americans on a plan to garner support for the war against terror. They were fed up of being defeated in Parliament every time they tried to bring a bill to help combat terrorism.”

  Powell knew there was some truth in what Barnes said. The Prime Minister had introduced a bill to allow bombing of ISIS bases in Syria, which had been defeated. But this sounded too preposterous.

  “I’m not sure I believe a word you’re telling me,” Powell said.

  “Obviously, neither the Home Secretary or Prime Minister could be seen to be involved,” Barnes continued. “I was told to take my orders from Crawford, with the understanding he had the full support of the Prime Minister.”

  “But did you really think the Prime Minister meant for you to bomb Londoners?”

  “I questioned what Crawford was doing the first time I understood his intentions. And not particularly because I disagreed with his ideas but I wanted to make sure it was sanctioned. It was spelled out for me by the Home Secretary, they didn’t want to know the details but I should do exactly as Crawford directed.”

  “Do you think it’s right?”

  “Right?” Barnes laughed. “I gave up many years ago questioning whether what I did was right. The people we elect get to make the decisions about what is right. I just do as I’m told.”

  “That hasn’t worked as a defence since Nuremburg. Conspiring to kill innocent members of the public on British streets is murder. Pure and simple. There is no defence.” Barnes attitude had infuriated Powell.

  “Okay, so what should we do then?” Barnes snapped back. “My job is to protect the public from terrorism. I can’t do that with a half-hearted government that refuses to invest properly in counter terrorism measures.�
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  “Sounds to me like you are in favour of these attacks. You don’t sound like someone just following orders.”

  “Yes, I am in favour. The government is already talking about doubling the investment in tackling ISIS. That would never have happened without these attacks. Whatever price has been paid has been worth it ten times over.”

  “But it hasn’t been you paying the price. It’s been innocent members of the public. If you believe so strongly in your actions, I’d respect you a lot more if I thought there was a chance in a million of you wearing a suicide vest. But there is no chance in hell of that happening. Is there?”

  Barnes silence answered the question.

  “Do you have any of this in writing?” Powell questioned.

  “Of course I don’t. It’s not the sort of thing you’d want to fall into the wrong hands. I went to Eton with the Home Secretary. It is a simple matter of trust.”

  “Trust! The public put their trust in politicians and people like you, to act within the law. Government isn’t meant to work on the foundation of old school networks.”

  “It’s how things get done.”

  Powell still had one overriding concern. If Crawford was planning a further attack on London, he had to be stopped but that was easier said than done.

  “Tell me, where is Al-Hashimi being held?” Powell asked.

  “At my house in the country.”

  “Then I think we should pay a visit to your country house.”

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  Powell reasoned it would look extra suspicious turning up at Barnes’s house in the middle of the night. It would be dangerous enough during the daytime. There were several of Crawford’s men present and they would undoubtedly be on heightened alert after recent events. They may even have been warned about Powell and seen his photo. Powell hoped to avoid a bloodbath if at all possible.

  According to Barnes’s description of the house, it seemed more like a fortress, with impressive grounds surrounded by high fencing and CCTV everywhere. Barnes would be able to provide entry through the outer gate but as they approached the house itself, they could expect a reception committee of one or more armed men. Powell was hoping the presence of Barnes would give them the advantage of surprise and they could disarm Crawford’s men with the minimum fuss. He was always an optimist.