The Wait for Shadows

by Karl Holton

  Raske’s eyes appeared to sharpen their focus. He revealed the gun in his right hand and placed it on the bed beside him. “Why don’t I just strangle you in this hotel room until you tell me what I want to know?”

  Lomax didn’t move a muscle. “Of course, you could do this. But you have worked with us before. You know we always ensure we have leverage when we sense someone might threaten us. In this case, it’s your six-year-old nephew, Ben, who lives in Groeningen with your sister, Ella. He will become the victim of an outrageous act of sexual violence prior to his death if I do not report your agreement within the next …” he looked at his large Breitling watch. “Twenty-eight minutes.”

  Raske had no idea who Lomax represented. He knew they had killed three people for Lomax and there was no connection between them. He picked up the gun and pointed it between Lomax’s eyes.

  Lomax smiled into Raske’s eyes glinting in the dark. “If we had agreed our business without threats then you would never have heard those words. Ben would grow up to become a doctor like his uncle, which is what he tells his mother he wants to become. I’m just reminding you because if the two men outside this room hear anything untoward they and their automatic rifles will ensure you never get to help dear Ben.”

  “I suppose you’ve had me followed from the airport?”

  “Of course; standard procedures would mean you’ve had a single small weapon deposited here by Richter on a previous stay. If your partner was anything he was predictable. This is why you asked to meet here. We know that you have not yet visited your main base; the flat in Erasmus Street.” Lomax watched Raske blink a few times in rapid succession. “If you’re weighing up the odds, please believe me, that small pistol will not help you against the fire-power outside this room.”

  Raske felt himself bite his lip at the accuracy of what Lomax had said. He placed the gun back down on the bed.

  Lomax raised a hand and rubbed his earlobe. “Now let’s put that behind us. We are not unreasonable, Mr Raske. You will be paid as normal for the work we need to be done plus I will give you information to assist your … revenge project.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “The first really does suit your skill set,” said Lomax, referring to the fact that Raske was a highly proficient sniper. “The police do not know about your flat in Erasmus Street, so you can go there if you prefer. Did Richter have a sniper weapon in the flat?”

  “Yes.”

  Lomax reached into his jacket pocket and took out a set of keys. He reached over and dropped them into Raske’s left hand. “Well just in case it is missing, here are the keys to a black Mercedes, parked in Warwick Row, around the corner. It has something for you in the back.”

  Raske stared at the keys for a moment and then back at Lomax. “So, who do you want me to kill today?”

  Chapter 2

  Day 7

  Wellington Arch, Hyde Park Corner, London

  8.47 a.m.

  The traffic rumbled and beeped around them, battling through the huge intersection. The pure morning air became infected by the concentrated blend of engine fumes.

  Standing inside Hyde Park Corner, Hanson and Paddy had their backs to the hotel they’d just left. The Lanesborough loomed proudly over the western side of the junction. One of Paddy’s men, Oxley, was still in the hotel room, looking through the telescopic sight attached to the sniper rifle he had brought into the room earlier.

  Hanson squinted in the sunshine. “Stay here, Paddy.” He started walking towards the arch where he could see his contact.

  He let his eyes move upwards and take in the chariot statue sat atop the monument. The obvious similarity of his predicament with Nike’s struggle with the four wild horses came to mind. But as Hanson knew all too well, the beasts in his situation were much more threatening than the bronze stallions above him.

  Paddy took a few steps forward to improve his view; his eyes darting around the scene, making a visual assessment of everyone within five metres of Hanson. In his ear he could hear Oxley talking to the other men in the covert team.

  Hanson stopped under the arch beside Charles Sheppard. Sheppard, now the Head of the CIA in the UK. He’d called him late last night and said they needed to meet.

  Hanson had now worked for the CIA and NSA for twenty years, creating a secret financial structure to secure and manage funds. He’d named the structure ‘Wellington’. Only a handful of the most senior people at the CIA and NSA knew of Hanson’s existence and what he did for them.

  “Morning, Chuck,” said Hanson.

  Chuck nodded his head. “Ray.”

  Hanson sensed the man’s agitation. He leaned against the arch wall, not looking at him. “Come on spit it out. I know you have something you want to say.”

  Chuck shook his head. “We’re all very pleased that Alice is back safely but some newspaper editor is asking questions. It’s a fucking shit-show to use the words the guys at Langley have been shouting at me.” He was referring to Hanson’s daughter and the wife of the Deputy Ambassador at the US Embassy in London. Alice had been saved from a Ukrainian Bratva gang a few days earlier by a team put together by Hanson.

  Hanson knew that some of Chuck’s irritation was because he hated the man he had been talking to at the NSA, Peter Borland.

  Chuck sighed. “We wanted this situation controlled and MI5 have not ensured this happened.”

  “Look, Alice left the scene with Paddy and ended up in hospital. MI5 took Benedict away to my house. The Police had to deal with what was left. You know how the press works; if they smell something they find out things by whatever means and it would not take a genius to connect Alice with what happened in Fulham. There are things I can try and control, Chuck, but people gossiping is not one of them.”

  “Dawson should have ensured the scene was managed much better than he did,” snapped Sheppard, referring to Sean Dawson from MI5.

  “Well, maybe you’re right but once Alice was ok his priority was to get Benedict away from the scene. The police would have recognised him and then his involvement would never have stayed secret,” Hanson explained. “As it stands, the police are simply dealing with what they’ve been told by the Security Services … terrorist plot prevented by MI5.”

  Danny Benedict, an ex-DCI and Metropolitan Police murder investigator was the newest member of Hanson’s team. He was also the person that killed the kidnapper, Richter, and saved Alice. Benedict had been kicked out of the Met three years ago and placed in the National Crime Agency (NCA). The Security Services had insisted that the police and NCA let Benedict go. MI5 have not told them that Benedict is working for Hanson.

  Hanson was sensing that Sheppard had something else to say.

  “It’s not only that; the guys at the NSA have picked up some ‘chatter’. This London editor has been speaking to an editor at the Washington newspaper in the same newspaper group. Your name was mentioned … quite a bit.”

  “Well I am her father. It is public record,” said Hanson, trying to make light of what Sheppard was saying, but feeling there was more to it.

  “The editor in Washington only wanted to know about you. He was asking the London guy more about you than Alice. Imagine that. He was much more interested in you than the wife of our DCM being involved in a potential terrorist incident in London,” said Sheppard. “The NSA believes it sounded like there was someone who wanted to know where you are.”

  Hanson shrugged. “There’s plenty of people like that. Anyway, how come the NSA was listening to him?”

  Sheppard gave Hanson a look, which told him he would be better not to ask. Then Hanson saw something else in Chuck’s face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “They think this is connected to Jasper,” said Sheppard.

  The colour in Hanson’s face reduced. He recalled the feeling of Anderson’s dead body lying on him, the blood pouring over him before he slipped off onto the floor. The memory of the pungent scent from the viscera as it filled the ro
om.

  Sheppard stood up straight, watching Hanson’s anguish.

  “Why do they think that?” Hanson shrugged. “Anyway, he’s dead. You seem to forget we arranged his assassination.”

  “The NSA believes we might have made a mistake.”

  Hanson stood away from the wall and turned to stare at Chuck. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “They’re not sure he’s dead,” said Sheppard, who paused, his cheeks reddening. “We all thought he was dead, but now there is —”

  Hanson's cheeks twitched as his stare appeared to express the importance of the end of this sentence.

  Sheppard bit his top lip. “Some doubt.”

  Hanson turned away, clenching his fists. Bollocks.

  “The NSA has been working on this for a few years and they think there might have been a cover-up of his death,” said Sheppard. “The CIA is not happy about this either, Ray, but we are now convinced about it. We think Jasper is alive.”

  Hanson paced four steps away, turned and came back. “You think.” He felt a twinge of pain from his cancer rise up his back. No one in the team was aware of his cancer and he only had a short time to arrange everything with them. “Are you telling me that the body was not his?”

  Sheppard touched his eyebrows. “OK, I’ll tell you. They now think the South Africans might have been bribed to confirm the DNA test. The NSA took them at their word that they’d confirmed the DNA. We thought the NSA had confirmed the DNA because they’d been sent the comparison DNA to test. But it seems the South Africans wanted a ridiculous amount of money for the DNA. So, the NSA refused and accepted what they’d been told. They now think Jasper had already planned for this and had paid the South Africans to confirm it if they were ever asked.”

  “So, the person they assassinated was a decoy arranged by Jasper in advance?”

  “Exactly; or just some schmuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Hanson paused as he pondered the facts and what they must mean. “Hold on, something must have happened to make the NSA start to suspect this?”

  Hanson always knew the right questions to ask and in matters like this he knew how the system worked better than anyone.

  Sheppard looked at Hanson and smiled. “Yes, there were a few things. The member of the Forensic Services in South Africa who confirmed the DNA test died in suspicious circumstances a few months later. The NSA became concerned and tried to get someone in to find the DNA record and they went missing in action. Then the NSA asked again for the DNA; they were told that the record had been deleted accidentally. All of this happened over four years.”

  Hanson looked at the sky. “You mean that they have known this since 2013?”

  “Yes, I know. You would have expected to be told,” replied Chuck.

  Hanson laughed through his nose at the understatement. “Don’t tell me … how did this work? They thought that even if Jasper was alive he must be weakened by what we did. Therefore as he must be unable to function ‘why tell me’.”

  Chuck stayed quiet.

  “All they cared about in 2009 was getting the one billion dollars I secured from Jasper’s organisation and getting this inside ‘Wellington’?”

  Hanson was referring to the assets he’d secured from Jasper’s organisation after his death.

  Sheppard looked at the ground. “What do you want me to say?”

  Hanson held out a hand. “Do you have any idea where he is?”

  “None.”

  “Do you have any evidence that he’s still active?”

  Sheppard moved out of Hanson’s burning gaze. “I think they thought that if he was active you would probably find out.”

  Hanson looked at Sheppard, finding the reply a weird mixture of rude and comical. “Chuck, is Borland taking the piss? This guy was considered so dangerous he never made it onto your ‘most wanted lists’ because he was considered too much for the public to know. We all thought he’d been caught and killed. Then when they discover ‘some doubt’ three years ago they don’t tell me, but expect me to know what I might be looking for when I see it. Do you think I’m bloody psychic?”

  “No, we think you’re bloody good.”

  Hanson didn’t smile. “If Jasper is alive, this is a disaster.”

  “I know ... but maybe he’s not active.”

  “Part of the reason that I have brought the team together is to get rid of some of the old remaining parts of Jasper’s organisation. If the reason these are still going is that he’s still orchestrating what’s happening, then this is a whole different story. If I’d been told then …” Hanson paused and placed a hand on his chest, his face wincing. He coughed loudly, as if in pain.

  “You ok?” Chuck asked.

  Hanson nodded. “I’ll need to get Benedict looking at all of this and I expect them to help and give us full access. We already had too much to do with Jasper dead. If he’s alive this is going to be tough to finish.”

  Chuck sensed finality in Hanson’s words, like there was a time limit. “I understand. I’ll speak to Borland”

  “Don’t speak to him. Tell him I’m not giving him a choice. It’s full assistance or I get the team working on other priorities.”

  Sheppard was staring at the ground, knowing that both the CIA and NSA wanted his team focused on Jasper. “Sure.”

  Hanson was considering walking away before he got any worse news, but he knew they’d not finished. They had to discuss the CIA and NSA’s favourite subject. “I suppose you want to talk about money?”

  “I thought it would be good to meet close to ‘Wellington’ when we talk money,” said Chuck.

  “What are we doing about the money that the Moldovan bank robbers are trying to launder?” asked Chuck directly, referring to the nine hundred million that was still in the hands of a group of Moldovan banks robbers, led by a man known as Vadim Moraru. The American agencies were pressing Hanson to get these funds into ‘Wellington’.

  Hanson shook his head. “You’ll need to leave this with me. Moraru wants to use us but he is taking his time to make the decision.”

  “Well keep us informed about any updates. The CIA and NSA are very keen to secure this money before we work out how we’re going to catch him.”

  “Yes, I get the picture,” said Hanson, knowing the pressure was being applied politely at the moment, but they would not be shy about increasing this later.

  Chuck watched a man walk past them. He thought he noticed a red laser spot on him that disappeared quickly. He turned to face Hanson directly. “I know I don’t have to tell you this but it is much harder for us to look after you here in London.”

  Hanson pinched his nose. “I’m staying here. I want to be close to Alice.”

  Chuck smiled and nodded. “Speak soon, Ray.” He turned and started walking north towards Park Lane.

  Hanson looked at the light blue sky that was cloud free on the clear London morning. He knew he would not be seeing many more of these. Hanson’s doctors had told him that it was only a matter of weeks, not months, before his pancreatic cancer would start impacting his ability to function properly before it killed him.

  Chapter 3

  Day 7

  Trafalgar Square, London

  10.36 a.m.

  Danny Benedict was standing on the northern side of Nelson’s Column looking towards the National Gallery, the whole building spanning the square, dominating the view. He felt the pangs of hunger in his stomach. Once again, it had been a coffee only breakfast for him.

  He focused on the golden rectangle of the frontage; the geometry of the building reminded him of the Parthenon, common amongst many great buildings in London.

  He tipped his head to the left and closed his eyes. Benedict used what he referred to as his ‘mind gallery’ to clean his thoughts in a form of catharsis. He’d hold emotive images here and create new moments, painting them. An image swept forward; Caravaggio’s gruesome depiction of David butchering Goliath flashed into his thoughts.


  He quickly opened his eyes. In the last week he had investigated a double murder with dismembered torsos, the image of which he was trying to expunge from his thoughts. He knew this was going to take some time, especially as one of them had worked in his team at the NCA.

  A single pigeon flew down and landed close to his right-hand side and started to make a soft cooing sound as if begging for food. Benedict looked around to see if anyone was watching. He considered the comparison of their plight. “I know we’re both hungry but I would shut up if I were you. The hawks will get you.”

  In the distance he spotted Sean Dawson walking down the steps towards him. Dawson was from MI5 and the two men had been at university together many years ago. They had a mutual contempt for each other that ran deep. Benedict looked at the bird. “The hawks have come for me first.”

  Dawson was smiling as he arrived in front of Benedict, holding the remnants of a croissant; then he noticed the pigeons. “I hate these flying rats, they’re everywhere.” He popped the croissant into his mouth and stamped his foot on the ground. The birds fluttered off. “Morning Benedict,” he said, looking around to make sure that nobody was too close. “What a lovely day.”

  “Good breakfast was it?”

  “Sorry?”

  Benedict sucked in a deep breath. “What would you like to discuss?”

  “Are we avoiding the small talk completely this morning?”

  “Yes. I’m busy and you have a nation to look after,” Benedict said.

  “On the subject of you being busy, a slight amendment has been made to the formal decision about you working solely with Hanson.” Dawson’s tone clearly hinted that this was not a subject in which Benedict had a choice. Dawson had told Benedict a few days ago that MI5 wanted him to accept the job offer to work with Hanson, but to report to MI5 on Hanson’s activities. Dawson had explained that given their previous relationship, he would be his handler.

  Benedict shrugged. “As I have said before, Sean, it is pleasing to see that I get a say in this.”