~~~
The last thing Mark expected on his arrival was to be chauffeured in a Rolls Royce from the airport to their London hotel. Cerberus, not the Metropolitan Police, had provided two vehicles and a van for their luggage, each with a driver. SO15, Scotland Yard’s Counter Terrorism Command, were providing two officers at sergeant level to assist Mark while he visited the country. He assumed, however, that the escorts were there mainly to provide the DI and Cerberus with details of their daily, if not hourly, activities. The two younger children with their new parents were in the lead vehicle and Mark, Anna, and Reb were in the second. Reb was sitting in the front seat and Mark and Anna were in the back. Anna had gripped Mark’s hand very tightly when the driver headed the vehicle away from Heathrow. The luggage van trailed behind, somewhere, surrounded by a cloud of London’s black taxicabs. Mark hoped the van’s driver could handle both the taxis and the drizzling rain and their luggage would arrive at their hotel.
Reb provided an ongoing travelogue as the car headed along the M4 toward the center of London. The main feature of the highway was the numerous speed cameras, supposedly to ensure a safe driving speed but, according to their driver, were mostly effective in raising revenue for the local council or borough. At Reb’s suggestion, the driver detoured through Hyde Park, past Buckingham Palace, along Birdcage Walk to Westminster, along the Embankment, then finally to the Tower Bridge Hotel with its view of the Thames and Tower Bridge.
Checking into the hotel required not much more than handing over a credit card and providing identification, and with adjoining rooms, everyone would be able to keep in easy contact. The drivers informed Mark they would be available any time, as long as they had at least an hour’s notice. The luggage van arrived, later. After showering and changing into clean clothes, they all headed out, following the concierge’s directions to a restaurant in the St Katherine’s Dock area. Over lunch they agreed that when they finished their meal, Scott and Sera and the two younger children would explore St Katherine’s Dock and the marina. Mark suggested Reb and Anna join them, so he could return to the hotel to do some research.
As a result of their meeting with Detective Inspector Goodwin he had names and contact details of Cerberus senior members. The UK organization had a basic management structure in place, enough to ensure the continued operation of a skeletal European business in the absence of strategic direction from the American management team. Mark intended to research the names supplied by the DI. Mark entered the lobby of the hotel and as he headed toward the elevator bank, one of the SO15 officers intercepted him.
“Sir, may I have a minute?” The man had been introduced as Sergeant Roberts, a Cerberus resource. Mark suspected the majority of the Counter Terrorism Command was Cerberus.
“Yes,” replied Mark. “What can I do for you?”
“Sir, I observed three foreign gentlemen—Americans, I believe—asking for you at the desk. I surmise they paid for information. They headed to your floor a few minutes ago. May I suggest I accompany you?”
Mark considered the officer’s suggestion. “Sergeant, my friends are planning a walk around the area. They’re in the Brasserie. Please ask Sergeant Lowe to let them know we may have visitors, American, presumably not friends?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll let him know. I’ll also inform Lizzie—I mean Detective Inspector Goodwin.”
“After you do so, wait a couple of minutes and then follow me to my room. Knock on the door and announce yourself as hotel security. Here’s a spare key card. When you open the door, stand well back.”
“Yes, sir. I can do that. Good luck, sir.”
Mark waited for a vacant elevator and when it arrived, he entered and pressed the button for his floor. He wondered why an American agency would be interested in him. The visitors’ behavior indicated they were not FBI, who would contact him without subterfuge, he was sure. There were a dozen other possibilities: quasi-law enforcement departments or agencies that shouldn’t be operating in a foreign country. One came to mind. The CIA had a remit, at least in American law, to operate worldwide. He exited the elevator, with no resolution to his deliberations.
He walked along the carpeted corridor to Scott’s room. No one was in sight, so the visitors had either departed unobserved by Sergeant Roberts or they had entered his room. There was a possibility the strangers were not aware they had adjoining rooms. Mark opened the door with his card—the locks were all keyed to the one set of cards—and stepped quietly into Scott’s room. He used the interconnecting door to enter the children’s room, then entered Reb and Anna’s. He listened at the door into his room and heard only a faint conversation. He opened the door, gently.
***
Chapter 11
This was Colonel Alexey Grigoryevich’s second meeting with the so-called senior manager from the Office of Global Criminal Justice. Alexey now wondered if the department even existed, although his research confirmed the State Department did contain such an operation. He suspected if he returned to the location of their first meeting, the office would be vacant, the signs removed, and no one would have any recollection of the tenants. He understood that, at the very least, his career would be ruined if McCarr delivered his comprehensive and accurate information to Alexey’s superiors in Moscow.
He wondered what more McCarr required of him. He understood the American wanted to take action against the Cerberus organization. He, too, and SVR, even FSB’s senior officers—all would be happy to see Cerberus eliminated as a player in this oldest game in the world. Both SVR and FSB had suffered losses as a result of finding themselves in conflict with Cerberus. And the other person—he tried to remember the name—oh, yes, Midway, Mark Midway. While not a member of Cerberus, Midway was of the same ilk. Alexey wondered what McCarr had in mind to counter the threat posed by Midway.
Alexey checked the address. He walked the last half mile and it seemed his journey interested no one. The building was old, built with granite blocks, five stories. It was well-maintained, in an up-market but older part of Washington. He pushed open the heavy glass doors. According to the directory in the foyer, the tenants were dentists and doctors; the distinct odor of disinfectants permeated the entrance and stairway. He walked across the foyer and climbed the stairs. When he reached the third floor he sought the suite number from McCarr’s message. The door to the suite was labeled with a doctor’s name and specialization, and he wondered whether the doctor actually existed. He opened the door and stepped into a small waiting room, carpeted, clean, and with a minimum of furniture. He sat down, momentarily unsure of himself. A Reader’s Digest over ten years old sat on the top of the pile of magazines. The suite contained a receptionist’s area that appeared to be vacant. There were no sounds of occupation within the suite.
The door suddenly opened and McCarr bounded in, buoyant and smiling. He wore a white jacket over his suit, with a stethoscope looped around his neck.
“Ah, Alexey, welcome. I’m so happy you spared the time to visit me, this morning. Come with me. My consulting room is along here.”
The man is mad, Alexey thought, as he followed McCarr deeper into the suite. McCarr opened the door to a typical doctor’s office—medical journals weighing down the desk, even heavier reference tomes were on a small bookshelf, boxes of wipes and rubber gloves on another shelf, and a plastic skeleton stood in the corner. McCarr indicated a chair.
“Please sit. My dear fellow, what appears to be your problem?” McCarr was still smiling. He also sat down, removed the stethoscope and placed it on the desk. He frowned at Alexey. “You’ve told no one of our little discussion?”
Alexey tried to hide his shiver. “No, I have not.”
“Good. Did you contact the people I mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find the material to be helpful?”
The American had given Alexey files detailing substantial criminal activities of four Russian sleepers. Those activities included sex trafficking, extortion, and drug dealing. P
ublic exposure would result in lengthy jail terms as well as causing their illegal status in America to be revealed. If Alexey shared the details with their FSB handlers it would result in their execution, without any trial.
Alexey said, “Yes.”
“And—”
“They’re willing to carry out a task for me—you.” This was McCarr’s operation, not Alexey’s.
“Ah, very good. In that case, we’re ready to go to the next stage.”
Alexey sighed to himself. This hole was getting deeper. “Yes?”
“Our man flies between his base and Fort Myer every Wednesday, to attend a meeting with Army Criminal Investigation Command. He also visits an MP battalion while he’s there, it’s another Cerberus unit.” He handed across a sheet of paper. Alexey was not surprised to see the contents printed in Russian. “This provides details of his normal route, his helicopter, call signs, radio frequencies, his schedule—everything your FSB team will need. I understand he varies his route. However, given two relatively close locations, there are not many variations he can arrange. The green machine is very structured and expects its officers to follow pre-determined schedules. Oh, by the way, the paper was acquired in Russia and we used a Russian printer, in case you’re wondering. You’ll understand why, of course.”
Alexey said, “I do.” If his superiors caught him with this paper in his possession, his career in this country would be terminated, as would be his life, on his return to Russia. He hoped McCarr sought bigger fish.
“I bet you do.” The man’s smile was humorless.
McCarr continued, “Now, the weapon. We’ve obtained, surprise, a Russian-made SAM. It’s a Strela 21, one of the new ones. Very effective, I understand.”
Alexey did not hide his shock. The Strela 21 represented the most recent version of one of Russia’s most efficient surface to air missile systems. It was compact, designed to be fired from a lightweight launch pad, was proof against most jamming techniques, able to discriminate against flares, and contained sensitive tracking technology. Russia had not yet, as far as he knew, released this new missile system to any foreign country. He wondered how McCarr had obtained the weapon.
“I thought you’d be impressed. You can see where this is going, of course. Russia—well, these FSB sleepers—will get the blame. You’ll receive a substantial increment to your Swiss bank account, in addition to the amount I deposited for you yesterday. The sleepers will be gone, one way or another. Our mutual enemy will be eliminated. Win-win, don’t you think?” The cold smile returned.
“How will you get the missile to the sleepers?”
“You’ll provide me with a delivery address here in Washington. A vehicle with a Russian Embassy license plate will deliver the weapon—I’ll arrange the delivery schedule with you, don’t worry. Your FSB people should acquire a courier truck. No one takes any notice of those.”
“Very well.”
“Prepare your people. I want to deliver the Strela within the week. I’ll contact you tomorrow to get the delivery address. I want action, understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good. I think we can conclude our consultation. Just take the tablets three times a day, the pain will soon ease.” McCarr stood, and indicated the office door. “After you, Alexey.”
As he walked ahead of McCarr, Alexey could almost feel the blade in his back.
***
Chapter 12
Mark cracked open the connecting door into his room, but the conversation was still an indistinctive murmur. He pushed the door and it hit the stop with a bang. He stepped into the room. The noise caused the three men to turn in his direction.
“Shit,” said one. The man had moved his hand inside his jacket. Mark suspected he was reaching for a weapon.
“Midway?” questioned another. He was older, perhaps senior to his two companions and had not been alarmed by the door opening. The third man said nothing.
“Yes. I suggest you all leave. Otherwise hotel security will ask you embarrassing questions.”
“It’s not going to be that easy. We want you to come with us.”
“What are you? CIA? If so, you have no authority here.”
“I have .45-caliber authority,” stated the youngest of the three men. His hand was still inside his jacket.
Mark stepped into the room. “Your task here won’t succeed. This country doesn’t like foreign agents who try to shoot people. I suggest you get out while you have the opportunity.”
“I’ve heard about you. Quite the little killer.” The speaker was the previously silent third man. He stood about three inches over six feet. He was heavily built and his face was scared.
“If need be. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here. Bugging the room? Waiting for me? Waiting for a bus?”
There was a knock on the door. “Security!” a voice called. The door swung open and the three men turned.
Mark grabbed and swung an ice bucket at the third man, hitting his right temple. The man dropped, stunned, probably unconscious. Mark then threw the ice bucket at the older man, at the same time grabbing the arm of the young man who was reaching for his weapon. Mark gripped the young man’s elbow and squeezed with all his strength, crushing the joint. His victim screamed and in a reflex action squeezed the trigger of his handgun. The weapon fired and the bullet traveled through the back of his suit coat, narrowly missing the older man, who cursed his companion’s carelessness. Mark pushed the palm of his other hand up into the young man’s jaw. He dropped to the floor. Mark grabbed the young man’s weapon as he fell, and aimed it at the remaining intruder.
Sergeant Roberts was in the room, his weapon drawn. He considered Mark, nodded, and also aimed his weapon at the man still standing.
Scarface moaned, his eyelids fluttering. The young man was silent, unconscious or dead. The older man raised his hands.
“I’m an American,” he stated. “I want to contact the US Embassy.”
“Sorry, old dear,” replied Roberts. “I’m Sergeant Roberts, Counter Terrorism Command, Scotland Yard. You’re nicked, you and your mates. We’ll do the more formal stuff later.” He holstered his handgun and reached for a pair of handcuffs under his jacket. “Turn around, you know the routine.”
“I’m a US citizen. I want to contact the Embassy—”
Mark addressed the sergeant. “Allow me?”
Roberts nodded.
Mark swung an uppercut, connecting with the man’s jaw. He dropped to the floor, unconscious. Mark blew on his knuckles. “Damn. His jaw was bonier than I expected.”
“Thank you, sir,” Roberts said. “Well done.”
Mark checked the three bodies. Two were unconscious. He was still unsure about the state of the young man.
“Sergeant, can I leave the clean up to you? I’m sure there are a number of offenses they can be charged with?”
“Oh, yes.” Roberts sounded eager. “Breaking and entering. Assault, resisting arrest, unlawful use of a firearm. Perhaps illegal possession of firearms. Conspiracy to kidnap or to murder, we’ll have to discover which. Attempted kidnap or murder or both. We might even be able to drag in a touch of terrorism.” His expression became more excited. “If we do that, we can hold them for up to fourteen days without trial, under the Terrorism Act. There may be more we can do, once we get them to the station. We don’t like foreign agencies working here. We’ve got America, Russia, China, Germany, some Middle Eastern countries, even India and Pakistan. It gets tiresome.”
“If I may make a suggestion…” Mark was unsure how much direction he should give the sergeant.
“Please.”
“Don’t take them to a nearby police location. Or hospital. Instead, if you can, take them somewhere far from here. The longer we can keep their bosses guessing about their fate and location, the better. Oh, and you’d better call for an ambulance.”
“I agree, sir. I’d better call Lizzie, too.”
“Can you speak with hotel security? I don�
�t want us to be thrown out of the hotel because of this.”
“Yes sir.” The sergeant reached for his cell phone. “Never you worry.”
Mark half saluted and headed out of his room and down the corridor to the elevators, hoping to meet up with the other sergeant and Anna and everyone else before they reached their rooms. He was relieved they had accommodation at the far end of the building, well away from other guests. Maybe no one would report the noise to management.
He met up with his companions in the lobby, just as they were heading toward the elevator bank. Sergeant Lowe was escorting them. “Sergeant,” Mark said, “I think Roberts needs your assistance up in my room. I’ll take over here.”
“Very good, sir. Thank you.” Lowe headed off to the elevators.
Mark held up his hand to the others. “No questions. We’ll go and have an English treat. Scones with strawberry jam and cream, with tea. It’s the afternoon special in the lounge. I’ve heard it has an excellent view of both the Tower Bridge and the Thames. Well, it should be, if it’s not raining too hard. Come on, follow me.”
Once they settled around a table each with a serving of scones and jam, Mark quickly summarized his encounter with the three men, whom he presumed were CIA agents. “I’m sure that once Roberts gets all the details, he’ll keep us informed. They’ll increase our security, though.”
Anna asked, “Are you okay?” Her face was pale.
Mark resisted reaching out to reassure her. Gabrielle and Niland were open-mouthed in reaction to his adventure.
“Not a scratch. The three intruders are damaged.” Gabrielle and Niland looked relieved.
“Have you any idea why the Agency made this move?” Scott asked.
“No. It’s another question I hope Roberts, or his boss, the DI, will ask these people. How far did you go with your sightseeing?”
“We saw some neat sailboats in the marina. Reb said to call them yachts, not sailboats. She said “sailboat” is American. One yacht was a ketch with two masts. It’s big enough to sail around the world and I think that would be exciting. I’m going to be a Yachtmaster, just like Reb,” Niland said. Everyone laughed.
Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four Page 51
