by Karl Holton
Dawson didn’t react. “Your role has been discussed at the highest level within the police, NCA and secret service. The final decision is that you are going to be transferred to work covertly for MI5 in your new role with Hanson. But only the Secret Service know about this. Your role in the NCA is formally being terminated.”
“Are they looking for someone to run the Organised Crime Team at the NCA?”
“Yes, Cryer is trying to find someone,” said Dawson, referring to Benedict’s old boss at the NCA. “But going forward we want you to have a dual role; someone is going to speak to Hanson and get his agreement about this.”
Benedict was suspicious of what he was being asked to do. MI5 would never do this without a reason. “About what?”
“There are not enough detectives in the police. They are severely short of resources and they simply cannot get through the workload with what they have,” stated Dawson, making it sound like that explained everything.
“So what are you trying to say, Sean?”
“We would prefer that we don’t tell the police about you working with Hanson, so they believe you are working for MI5. This means they feel they still have some claim on you. This means they want your help, especially given their shortage of murder detectives. Superintendent Watkins wants you to be available for the Homicide Unit.”
Benedict suspected that Watkins, his old boss from the Met, would not make this easy; especially if he knew that MI5 was not telling him the truth about what Benedict was doing. He sat silently shaking his head.
“Look, I’m sure you’re not happy, but the police are insisting that if you are in MI5 you cannot disappear completely. They need your help in the Homicide Unit and Watkins is making a huge amount of noise about it. He’s telling everyone that they don’t have enough people with your … skillset.”
“Are you surprised that I’m not happy? I get kicked out of the Met three years ago into the NCA. I’m now taken out of the NCA and you tell me that I must work covertly for MI5 but at the same time the Met are insisting I still work for them. This is a joke.”
“Yeah well, orders are orders. You need to get on with it.”
Benedict knew better; he wouldn’t react. “Who’s going to be breaking all of this to Hanson?”
Dawson turned up his palms. “I don’t know.”
“You’re such a bad liar … anyway, what do I care whether you do and don’t tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
Benedict grinned as he watched a group of pigeons being fed by tourists. “Well as you say, I’m now working for Hanson. He has offered me a rather nice job with a rather nice package. That makes him my boss as far as I can tell.”
“Now just remember, Benedict.” Dawson took a step forward. “You’re working for MI5. You are reporting back via me.”
“Am I being paid by MI5, Sean?”
“Well …”
“The answer is ‘no’ then.”
Over Dawson’s shoulder, Benedict could see Paddy coming towards him.
“This is national security,” Dawson said. “We need to be kept informed of anything that could have an impact on national security.”
“It looks like my new boss wants to speak to me,” said Benedict, nodding towards Paddy who was now only ten metres away.
“We need to discuss this, Benedict.” Dawson turned to see Paddy’s huge frame walking towards them. “What’s he doing here?”
Benedict laughed lightly. “Do you seriously think Paddy could not find me if he needed to?” He started to walk towards Paddy. “See you later, Sean.”
Dawson felt his face twitch as he watched both men walk away towards the Strand.
The two men did not look at each other.
“So how hard is he trying to recruit you?” Paddy asked.
“Very,” replied Benedict, waiting a few moments. “What happened when MI5 tried to recruit you?”
Paddy turned to him as they walked. “I’d done eighteen years in the army including nearly three years of undercover work in Northern Ireland. I gave them the only answer that I thought was appropriate.”
“Which was?” Benedict asked.
“I told them to stick it up their arse.”
Chapter 4
Day 7
Ingram Avenue, Hampstead, London
11.57 a.m.
Johnnie Garrett slowed his black Maserati GranTurismo to a stop. He was still smiling at the way the engine had roared while on the motorway from his home in Brentwood, Essex. He liked his new car; it made him smile especially when he considered that it had not taken that much drug dealing to afford it.
He looked at his heavily pregnant girlfriend, Sarah-Jane, sitting asleep in the passenger seat. Her skirt had been far too short, but she’d refused to change it. The ensuing argument was why they were late for the barbeque at his rich and successful cousin’s house. “SJ, you need to wake up. We’re here.”
SJ appeared to try and turn over but was restricted by her seat belt and the snugness of the racing seat around her body.
“Get up, SJ,” Johnnie said, as he opened his door and stepped out of the car. “Come on, we’re late.” He stared at the curvy bonnet and once again he thought of an ex-girlfriend. At thirty-seven years old, he wondered if it was right he still had these thoughts.
“Alright, I’m movin’, ya git,” she said, struggling to reach around and undo her belt. Johnnie leaned back into the car and unclipped her seatbelt as he laughed at her attempt to reach the lock.
“Stupid fuckin’ car,” she said, under her breath.
Johnnie walked around the car still laughing at the sight of SJ’s skirt rising up too far. He looked over at the huge entrance to his cousin’s house and stopped. The front was full of cars that were even more expensive than his Maserati. He suddenly stopped laughing, walked up to SJ’s door, grabbed the handle and pulled it open, still staring at the array of cars outside the house.
“Well fuckin’ help,” said SJ, holding out her hand, unable to get herself out of the car.
Johnnie turned back to see SJ’s legs wide apart, unable to turn and pull herself out of the car. “Try and keep ya legs togever, luv,” said Johnnie, as he pulled her up and out of the car.
“Oh fuck off! This car is not made for ladies.” She stood up and pulled down her dress as far as it would go. Johnnie started to walk towards the house, still mildly angry about what was in front of him.
“Johnnie, wait for me.”
Johnnie stopped and SJ caught up and linked his arm.
“This is a bit posh innit!” she said, smiling at the surroundings.
“Just don’t embarrass me,” Johnnie stated, as they arrived at the large front gate which was wide open.
“Shut up, Johnnie. They will love me.” she said. They started to walk down the long driveway. “Oh that is a nice car, Johnnie. Why didn’t you get one of those?” She was pointing at a black Maclaren 570S – probably the cheapest car on the driveway.
“Can’t you walk any faster?” Johnnie snapped.
“Alrigh’! I’m tryin’.”
Johnnie walked off and up to the front door, leaving SJ behind him. He pressed the front doorbell and waited. He saw a young girl coming towards the door through the vertical window beside the modern front door. They were not dressed the way he expected them to be so he stared as she opened the door.
“Hello, are you here for the party?” she asked politely. The neat black skirt and crisp white blouse were not what Johnnie expected.
He looked the girl up and down with a confused face. “Yeah I’m Johnnie. I’m Curt’s cousin.”
The girl blushed. “I am here to assist you. All the guests are in the garden, sir. Let me show you and your wife through.”
“She’s not my wife,” said Johnnie, trying to not let SJ hear what he said, but failing.
SJ giggled as they walked through the house. “Oh wow, they have servants! That’s mad.”
The girl turned around and smiled at SJ. �
��All of us are here to help at the party.”
As they entered the back of the house, Johnnie counted at least ten more girls and boys dressed similarly, all carrying trays of food and drinks from the kitchen. Three chefs, all wearing a white toque, were preparing various types of food into neat small canapes in the kitchen.
They then entered a large area covered in glass with four large bright red sofas, full of people chatting with each other and laughing. Johnnie looked around and could not see anyone he knew.
“We ‘ave gotta get one of these servants, Johnnie; they must be cheap as chips round ‘ere. The place is full of them,” SJ said, too loudly.
Everyone inside the house stopped talking and turned to stare. Johnnie waved awkwardly before everyone turned away, back to their conversations.
The girl, now laughing, led them out into the enormous garden and left them to mingle.
“Johnnie, over here,” someone shouted from the crowd in front of him. He recognised the voice but could not see his cousin. The group parted slightly and he smiled as Curt came into view.
Although this was his cousin’s fortieth birthday party the man hadn’t seemed to age since they were kids playing in the streets of Brentwood. Time had been kind to his hedge fund manager cousin, who was clearly enjoying the fruits of his labour. The same could not be said of Johnnie, who now looked older than his cousin.
“Hello mate,” said Johnnie, as the two men came together in a hug. They laughed as they both grabbed each other’s bottom cheek with their right hands at the same time.
They pulled apart and smiled at each other.
“Where is she then?” asked Curt, before noticing SJ slowly walking towards them. “Look at you, what a beauty,” he said, reaching out to cuddle SJ. The two embraced, Curt only able to reach around her neck given the girth of SJ’s middle.
“Alrigh’, Curt. Nice ‘ouse,” SJ said.
Curt laughed at the accent as he remembered many of his early girlfriends. “Thanks luv; all from hard work.”
SJ caught the eye of one of the young males walking around serving drinks. “Love the servants. I could do with one of them at the moment.”
“I bet you’d want one of the young boys though? Make a change from this old fart,” replied Curt, the two giggling loudly.
Johnnie joined in the laughing, but then he realised what it meant and stopped. Given SJ was twenty-two years old the obvious age difference made everyone in earshot join in laughing at the joke.
“Where’s Elsa?” Curt said. “She’s dying to meet you.” He looked at the people close to them but couldn’t see her. “Elsa, Elsa where are you? Look who’s here.”
The party in front of them split slightly and a group of pristine matching chairs came into view. Johnnie struggled, as he always had, to not look at Elsa’s breasts as she jumped out of the seat and made her way over to them. This had been particularly difficult ever since Curt had told him how much he had spent on them.
The two women laughed in unison as they embraced with difficulty.
Elsa was too polite to point out what she thought of SJ’s skirt length. “You look marvellous, Sarah-Jane; how far along are you?”
“Ta. I’m eight months and I feel great,” she said. “Please call me ‘SJ’. Anybody wants me they just ask for SJ.”
“Just as well your name is not ‘Britney-Jane’ then,” Elsa said, with a smile.
Curt roared with laughter starting a ripple of guffaws from the people in earshot.
SJ looked at Curt straight-faced. “My mum didn’t like the name Britney. She thought Britney-Jane would be a bit too chavvy.”
Everyone’s laughing became wild. Curt turned and noticed the discomfort that Johnnie was in and turned back to SJ.
Curt placed an arm around SJ’s shoulders. “You’re a total riot. Elsa, take her over to your mates and get this girl a drink.”
Elsa was still working to stop her giggling. “Of course.”
Curt turned back to Johnnie with a huge smile. All Johnnie could return was a look of frustration. “Come on, mate, don’t be so serious. Walk with me for a second.”
They walked down some stone steps onto a lower layer in the garden. Johnnie noticed the huge hog roast and outdoor barbeque being cooked by another four chefs. They were cooking burgers, sausages and many other cuts of meat plus corn on the cob, stuffed peppers and other vegetarian choices; the smells were wandering through the air, filling lungs and making the awaiting party in the garden very hungry.
On this same level, the perfectly clear swimming pool was sitting serenely. On the tiled floor of the pool were four symbols shimmering in the water; a pound, dollar, euro and yen.
“Business is good?” Johnnie asked.
“Yes … very. The funds are going to have a record performance this year.”
Curt had done well at school and was the first one in the family to go to University. Curt’s dad had got him a job in the City at a bank in 1998. He spent ten years in the same organisation and worked his way up. Then he and two friends at the same bank had left in 2008 during the global financial crash and set up a small hedge fund. His timing had been good and his share of the company profits was considerable. Eight years later and Curt was still head of sales and responsible for bringing in new investors; his two partners were the portfolio managers.
“The house looks lovely,” Johnnie said.
“Yeah, thanks. Well everything we’ve done is all paid for now. I’ve pulled enough cash out of the business to let me clear all the debt, which gets rid of that headache.”
“Fuckin’ ‘A’, Curt,” Johnnie said, looking around. “This must have cost a fortune.”
“I got it cheap; about £4 million. The owner was a trader I knew who needed to sell, so I got it for a song really. Dad lent me a few quid to buy it … just to help. Then we’ve spent about £3 million getting it to what we wanted. Worked out perfect; Elsa is well happy.”
“Result,” said Johnnie, amazed by the numbers. Curt had never told him these before now. He was also surprised that he’d never heard that Uncle Joe had given Curt some money.
Curt surreptitiously looked around to ensure no one could hear what he was about to say. He grabbed Johnnie’s arm and walked his cousin to within a few metres of the sizzling barbeque, where the chefs were busily getting ready to hand out food.
“Have you brought some?” whispered Curt.
“Some what?”
“Have you brought some coke?” said Curt, trying to keep his voice low.
Johnnie held in his laugh. “Sorry, what did you want me to bring?”
A commotion started above them on the steps down to the level they were standing on. Both men turned to see SJ begin to waddle down the steps.
She saw the two of them and started to shout. “Johnnie, they ‘ave an ‘ot tub down ‘ere beside the pool. I’m goin’ in.” She started to take off her dress as she got close to the bottom step. Elsa and two other guests were running down the stairs behind her, giggling at their outrageous new friend.
Johnnie turned to look at SJ and found his eyes once again focusing on Elsa’s chest as it bounced with each movement she made down the steps. He felt Curt grab his arm and start to twist him around.
“Do you have some coke with you?” he asked.
Johnnie let his face break into a smile, “Of course, you muppet.”
“Come here,” said Curt, starting to pull Johnnie towards him to put his arms around his cousin.
They grinned at each other. Johnnie held himself at a distance as a memory of them playing football in the streets made his smile grow. The thought was interrupted. What’s that red dot on his face?
Curt’s head exploded before his eyes. He immediately shut his eyes as his face was splashed with a thick liquid. Some of the viscous matter that hit him felt much thicker, even hard; it stung his skin making him wince in pain. His right hand moved instantly to his face and cleared his eyes in time to see Curt’s lifeless body fall to the grou
nd.
He looked down at a portion of Curt’s skull lying on the stone paved floor in front of him.
Behind Johnnie the screams started as he howled his cousin’s name.
Chapter 5
Day 7
Narrow Street, Limehouse, London
3.04 p.m.
Benedict stood in the kitchen and waited for the cafetiere behind him to finish brewing the brown liquid within it. The warm peppery aroma filled the space and excited him just as it always did. Everyone told him to buy one of these new machines that made coffee from a pod. He couldn’t get over brewing it the way he had since discovering it at university in Cambridge. Since then he hadn’t been able to change how he made it.
He turned and looked at Hanson and Paddy sitting outside on the wooden decking, overlooking the expanse of the Thames vista.
The front door opened and closed. The rhythmic tapping sound of metallic stiletto heels on the hard marble hallway tiles echoed from the hallway. A few seconds later Pip came into view, her perfect red lips capturing Benedict’s gaze. His eyes quickly moved to the tight-fitting dress, accentuating her curves.
Benedict nodded and made an appreciating sound deep in his throat.
Pip spun around in a circle, placed her hands on her hips and winked. “Hello Benedict. Like the view?”
“Absolutely! The Thames is lovely this time of year.”
She shook her head at him. “I don’t know why I bother.”
He smiled. “But those lips of yours make it really very difficult to take your eyes away.”
She pursed her lips towards him. “You like the colour?”
“I love it. There really is nothing like ‘Chanel Pirate’ when you are at Sunday lunch,” he said, returning a wink.
Pip shook her head and smiled at him. I’m not going to ask.
Benedict picked up the cafetiere and the four cups sitting on the tray. “Shall we join the boys?”
Pip stayed behind him and watched as he walked out of the room and onto the decking. She liked watching the way men moved from one room to another; she always felt it said something about them.
