by Karl Holton
Benedict noticed a tear glisten in Tommy’s eye. “You lived with revenge hammering your head for a long time … eventually you had blood.”
Tommy wiped his eye.
Benedict licked his lips. “Tell us who the sniper was working for?”
Wallace moved closer to Tommy. “These guys turned on you, stole the drugs, killed your men and tried to kill you at the pub. Tell us … who do they work for?”
Tommy laughed as he understood how much they knew. “So you don’t know who Lomax works for?”
Benedict glanced at Wallace. “We need you to tell us.”
Wallace stretched out a hand. “Come on … let’s go inside.”
Tommy looked into her eyes and nodded just before the first bullet from Raske’s rifle hit him in the back, exploding out of his chest.
Oxley spotted the trace of the bullet. He was right. “I can see him,” he screamed, pulling the trigger on his rifle.
Paddy jumped off the balcony landing in front of Hanson, facing him. The second bullet from Raske’s rifle hit Paddy in the back throwing him into Hanson, the two men collapsing to the ground.
Oxley fired the second round just after Raske fired a third bullet at the merged luminous shapes he could make out in the darkness.
Chapter 70
Day 13
Narrow Street, Limehouse, London
6.38 a.m.
Dawson did not really know what to expect as he walked past the forensic van where the team was packing away their kit. He saw the person who looked like a police inspector and showed him his ID.
“Nasty business in there,” said the inspector, pointing inside. “They’re lucky given it was fifty calibre bullets flying around.”
“Forensics all finished?” Dawson asked.
The inspector nodded as his eye caught a man with a camera and journalist trying to pass the police cordon. He left, swearing loudly at them to move back.
Dawson approached the guards on the front door and flashed his ID. He walked onwards to the back of the house stopping as he arrived beside the kitchen, looking into the room.
“Hoorah, we’re alright now ladies … the cavalry has arrived,” Paddy said. He was lying on the sofa face down undressed from the waist up; a large bandage was bound around his back and chest.
Dawson shook his head. “They told me you were shot … I thought there was a chance you might be dead.”
Paddy wasn’t going to tell Dawson about the lightweight body armour that he’d worked with the military to develop. Hanson had given him the resources and they’d worked on it for over ten years. Today, it all paid off. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Wallace was seated beside Paddy on the sofa wearing one of his shirts. Her hair was still wet from the shower she’d had to clean the blood off her. “Tommy Gibbs was killed here last night; tell us you caught the sniper.”
Dawson sighed as his eyes moved to the decking area outside. The forensics team had left a large white cloth on the ground. “He got away.”
“You really are a sack of shit, Dawson,” Pip said, standing to his right in the kitchen. “How difficult can it be? You had his location and men everywhere.”
“We’ll catch him. It’s only been a few hours.”
Paddy laughed at the notion then grimaced in pain. He coughed sensing the immense bruising the bullet impact had caused. Wallace laid a hand on his bare shoulder and then removed it when he looked at her.
Dawson heard footsteps behind him and turned.
“I thought you might turn up,” Hanson said, walking past him and into the kitchen beside Pip.
“So what did Gibbs say? We let him come here so you could get him to talk. How difficult can it be?” he said, mimicking her tone like a six-year-old arguing with his sister. “He was here in this house.”
Pip imagined the joy of kicking Dawson in the testicles.
Dawson took a step towards Hanson. “What about the money at these hedge funds? Have you found it yet? I hear the treasury are very keen to hear from you.”
Pip noticed Hanson holding his back, unable to talk. “We’re working on it. This isn’t simple and as soon as we have useful information … we’ll give it to the treasury.”
He could tell she was lying and helping Hanson. No one at Interpol or MI5 was happy about how rapidly Pip had allied with Hanson. “There’s no time for tears; you better make this happen quickly.”
Pip glanced at the knife block sitting beside her and imagined using this on the remainder of his genitals.
Hanson managed to gather himself, pouring coffee into three small cups. “Gibbs mentioned a name before he was shot; ‘Lomax’.”
Dawson shifted his stance and pursed his lips. “Who’s he?” He hadn’t seen or heard the figure now standing in the shade behind him.
Pip sipped her coffee. “You’ve never heard that name attached to anyone?”
Dawson's nostrils flared. “What did I just say?”
Benedict moved so that he was heard.
Dawson turned, alerted to his presence. “Where did you come from?” He looked at Benedict’s clothes, still covered in flecks of dried blood spatter. “You look awful. Shouldn’t you go and get cleaned up?” He looked around the room. “Maybe you and Wallace could come and help us find Raske.”
Benedict nodded. “We’ve been working through the night … going through some files. You know it’s amazing what you discover if you get a snip of information and know what to look for.” He walked over to the coffee and drunk a cup in one go. “There’s an ex-MI5 and subsequently ex-MI6 agent whose file caught our eye.” He looked at Pip and they tipped heads towards each other acknowledging the find they’d made. Some of these files belonged to Hanson and were not sitting in any agency.
Dawson held up a hand. “So who’s this ex-MI5 guy and what’s he got to do with this ‘Lomax’?”
Pip glared at him. “It seems that given his Spanish background and linguistic talents it was decided he could best be used in drug enforcement. Once at MI6, he ended up working alongside the CIA and NSA. It seems he disappeared in Columbia. Is he starting to ring any bells?”
Dawson shrugged. “It’s sounding like you think I should know every ‘nom de guerre’ of each agent that’s existed.”
Benedict’s hand touched his chest. “We never mentioned anything about this name being an alias.”
“Does this conversation have a point?” Dawson asked.
Benedict stepped towards him. “You do know this guy … he was given the secret name ‘Lomax’ by the NSA. The two of you joined MI5 and were trained together, Sean.”
Chapter 71
Day 13
The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Geneva, Switzerland
2.26 p.m. GMT (3.26 p.m. Local)
Moraru filled his lungs with the lake and mountain air from the balcony of the Mont-Blanc suite. Beyond the Jet d'Eau fountain he could see white bulbous clouds building on the high ranges in the distance. He moved to sit down, when he heard the phone ring. His guard answered it.
He listened to a brief conversation and then the guard came to the balcony door. “You have a delivery, sir.”
“Go downstairs and make sure it gets up here immediately,” Moraru said.
The guard left in silence.
Moraru poured from the cafetiere that room service had recently delivered. He sipped the strong aromatic coffee as he looked down on the lake, watching the normal life of central Geneva passing by.
Inside the room he heard the guard coming back in and then the noise of a table being scraped on the floor.
Moraru stood up and on entering he saw the guard placing a large painting shaped package on the table he’d just moved against the wall. He ushered the guard away and started undoing the package. A few minutes later he was staring at what appeared to be the same painting that he’d been looking at in Paris.
His mobile phone rang. There was no caller ID. “Hello?” Moraru said.
Hanson’s systems were masking his identity perfectly as Gideon L
awrence, an international money launderer. “Mr Moraru. It’s Lawrence; I hope the room at the hotel is satisfactory. Please ask the hotel manager for anything … I’m sure he’ll oblige.”
“Thank you. The room is very comfortable,” Moraru said.
“Good, now has the package I discussed with you arrived?”
Moraru looked at the painting. “Yes … it’s here. I told you what happened to your competitor … how can I be sure this is genuine?”
“Well I did advise you to have these verified so I’ve arranged for both Parisian Art Institute experts to meet you in the hotel. Just call them when you’re ready; I’ve just sent you their mobile numbers.”
Moraru took a step closer to the window, taking in the view. “What about the meetings you promised me?”
“I’d assumed as you just arrived at the hotel a few hours ago that you would want to relax this evening. The manager will come to your room when you request him to discuss dinner with you. Tomorrow, I’ve booked two meetings for you. 10.30 a.m. with two gentlemen, who will assist you with corporate structures utilising Switzerland. Then 2.00 p.m. with a local banker who has some very interesting trust structures for you to consider.”
Moraru nodded; his smile broadened as he looked back and the sun caught a moment in the painting. “This all sounds very good, Mr Lawrence. I hope we can enjoy doing business together.”
“So do I,” Hanson said.
Chapter 72
Day 13
The Reform Club, Pall Mall, London
7.26 p.m.
“Hello John,” said the Home Secretary, to the investment banker who passed him. He’d left the dinner at the club as he knew he needed to make a telephone call at an agreed time.
He walked along the famous balcony and sat in one of the large red leather tub chairs. The orange glow of the small lamp on the table beside him somehow warmed the space.
He checked no one was too close, took out his mobile and found his coded caller ID. The call was answered quickly.
“Ray, it’s Toby Armitage … can we talk now?” the Home Secretary asked.
The pain from Hanson’s cancer was extreme today. The painkillers did not seem to be effective. “Of course, Toby.” He didn’t believe in the social etiquette of calling Members of Parliament by their titles.
Armitage had been Home Secretary for the last two years and had known about Hanson since he had taken the job. Hanson had secured the services of Benedict a few days ago with his assistance; for a price. The price in that case being information which Armitage wanted about his key political opponent.
A member of the bar staff from the club had walked up to Armitage and put his glass of wine from dinner on the table beside him.
“The information you gave me was extremely interesting, Ray,” Armitage said. “But I’m not sure how you managed to get this when no one else could obtain it.”
“By ‘no one’ I take it you mean the police or MI5, Toby?”
“Yes,” Armitage said. “I mean, I don’t see why they were not able to source this information.”
“That’s quite simple really.”
“What’s that?” Armitage asked.
“For information like this it helps if you’re prepared to do something illegal to get it.”
Armitage’s laugh went from loud to uncomfortable within seconds, then onward to silence. He knew he couldn’t ask Hanson what he did to get the information. Now he didn’t want to know. He picked up his glass and drank a mouthful of wine. “Right … maybe we should talk about the other thing; the package I received today at home. It’s a beautiful painting. It looks like a —”
Hanson had sent this to him. “It’s a Renoir; I thought you might like something that you can keep … personally.”
The two men knew what that meant.
Armitage licked his lips. “Your note said you needed my help and could I accept the painting in lieu of my assistance. Obviously, I need to know what it is to agree.”
Hanson would have laughed but he was in too much pain. “It’s very similar to my last request regarding Benedict. There’s a police officer that I want to work with the team; I’m happy to have a similar agreement between us.”
Armitage wondered if this was too good to be true. A Renoir for this. “What’s his name?”
“Her name is Wallace,” Hanson said.
