Levels of Power

by Mike Gilmore

  The phone ended with a loud click in Randy’s ear.

  Randy was about to explain to Commander Corley who the caller was when he saw the elevator door in the hallway open. Annie Fisher walked off the lift next to the medical officer who had treated his wounds. Annie carried a small suitcase in her hand, a very determined look on her face.

  She saw Randy through the glass doors of the commander’s office and made a beeline toward him. The sight of his bandages quickly changed the hard look on her face into concern, and she simply asked a short question. “Oh, Randy. What have you gotten into now?”

  Chapter 15

  London

  Sunday, November 29, 2015

  9:45 a.m.

  The location for the next meeting moved from the Agar Metropolitan Police station to the main headquarters building for New Scotland Yard. Many people thought the police department was a separate entity from the famous Scotland Yard, but in fact, they were the same organization. New Scotland Yard was simply the name of the building for the senior-level officers of the Met, as the locals called it. More than 49,000 full-time employees made up the department; nearly 38,000 were uniformed police officers under the direction of Commissioner Sir Alistair Stanley-Moore.

  Stanley-Moore had held his current position for almost three years after approval by a committee comprised of the home secretary, the mayor of London, and the chairperson of the London Police Authority. Once past the committee, he received a formal appointment by the queen. He was one of the leading experts in criminology in the British Isles.

  Randy Fisher stood next to Marion Bellwood, recently arrived from the States. They shared a small space at the window on the top floor of the large steel-and-glass-façade building. Randy looked down at the top of the famous revolving triangular New Scotland Yard sign, recognized around the world.

  He had arrived back at his hotel with Annie yesterday afternoon to face the concerns of his aunt and in-laws. They had nearly as many questions as Annie. After promising to answer every question to the best of his ability, he put them off until he took a shower and changed into the same clothes Annie had brought with her. Commander Corley had taken the information from Randy’s smart phone and contacted his superiors for further instructions and consultation. He promised to contact Randy later with any new developments and bring him back to the station the next day for a meeting to update the senator. He offered to have Officer Anne Davis take a department car and transport Randy and Annie back to their hotel.

  Once out of the warm shower and back into dry clothing, Randy gratefully accepted a thick ham and Swiss cheese sandwich and another cup of coffee ordered from room service and settled down in their hotel room. Surrounded by his loved ones, he told them the entire story of his adventure since he had left them with their mouths open at the Texas Embassy Cantina earlier in the day.

  Millie asked the questions on everyone’s mind. “You think there will be some sort of terrorist attack here in London by this man and his associates?”

  Randy tossed the cloth napkin that came with his lunch back on the serving plate. “There’s no telling for certain just yet, but it is a possibility. Now that the man has been seen, the group might call off their plans or at least delay them.”

  Frances spoke next. “You said group, but you only know about two men, the one you were chasing, and the other one who hit you from behind.”

  Randy set his empty coffee cup back on the tray. “Yes. I only know of the two, but these terrorists usually work in a group of four or more, depending on the size of their operation.”

  Millie laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “Well, I’m glad we will be leaving for home early tomorrow morning. I want to be out of London in case there is a problem. I hope the authorities can catch these men. I am very glad you were not seriously hurt, Randy. You need to stop taking these risks.”

  Annie looked at her husband’s face as she spoke to the group. “I hate to break your bubble about this, Mother, but I’m willing to bet a very large amount that my dear husband will not be on the plane tomorrow. Not unless the police can perform a small miracle today and capture these men quickly.”

  All the adults looked at Randy and waited for his comment. His face took on a determined expression. “I can’t leave until this had been resolved. The man’s brother shot me twice and killed David Bechtol at the fairgrounds in Columbia. It is almost a forgone conclusion he knows who was behind the attempt to place a nuclear device within our country. This is the first solid lead we’ve had in three years, and I’m not about to give up the chase.”

  He stopped to allow them to understand the reasoning for his decision and then continued. “That being said, I want all of you on the flight out of here tomorrow. I will not be able to focus on my work here knowing that you might be in danger.”

  Annie moved to sit on the edge of the sofa she was sharing with Randy. “Now wait just a moment, buster. I am not leaving you here by yourself to deal with these damned terrorists. If you stay, I’m staying right here with you.”

  Randy turned toward his wife. He kept his tone calm, but there was firmness in his words. “Yes, you are going. Your parents and my aunt have had enough vacation excitement to last them for a while. I want them on their way home, and you’re the only one who can get them safely home and keep me from worrying about them.”

  Annie had seen the look of determination on Randy’s face several times in the past. She knew it was no use to argue further. She decided to change the subject and maybe get him on the plane with the rest of the group. “What about your work in the Senate? The Fair Share Bill is to be taken up on Monday when the Senate goes back into session.”

  Randy rose from the sofa and walked past his aunt on one of the straight upholstered chairs in the large sitting room. He walked to the window of their sixth-floor room to look out at the traffic below. After a moment he turned back to face the others. “The bill will be introduced into the Senate on Monday and then assigned to the finance committee. I’m not on the committee. This mess in London should all be over with before the bill comes back to the full Senate.”

  Annie was not quite ready to give up. “And if this thing over here is still unresolved after a week or two? How long will you stay?”

  Randy remained quiet for almost half a minute before he answered Annie’s question. “Whatever these people are planning could be a dress rehearsal for another attack in the States. I will stay here until they are captured or killed.”

  Randy looked away from the view through the Scotland Yard window toward Marion Bellwood. His friend had arranged a Metro Police escort to the airport that morning. Randy rode with his family to Heathrow. At the curbside for US Airway’s overseas check-in, he had helped his in-laws and Aunt Frances with their luggage and then spent several minutes giving hugs and kisses. Aunt France placed both hands on the sides of his face and pulled his head down to whisper her final words into his ear. “You get these bastards and come home safely.”

  Annie had tried to show a brave face, but a few tears escaped and ran down her cheeks. She gave him a firm kiss on his lips. “You and I are still planning on a family together, and I need you to keep up your side of the deal. You clear on that, mister?”

  Randy kissed his wife again and looked down into her eyes. “Never out of my mind.”

  He now looked at his wristwatch and back at Marion Bellwood. “They should be in the air by now.”

  Marion reached out and gave Randy a light slap on the shoulder with his right hand. “Don’t worry. They are in the air, and Marci will meet them when they arrive at Reagan National. In addition, I have arranged for a couple of my people from the Protective Division to be at the airport with Marci. Frances will love the special treatment.”

  Randy gave his friend a grateful smile and turned to look at the group of high-ranking London law enforcement people and several representatives from Her Majesty’s gove
rnment. They were waiting for the representative from 10 Downing Street, the prime minister’s office.

  The room was large and rectangular. The heavy wood conference table could hold at least sixteen people. Tubular steel chairs with cloth-padded seats waited along the outer wall of the room for fifteen or more attendees. The number of people talking quietly in the room would fill most of the chairs.

  Marion Bellwood looked over toward a new person who had entered the room. He gave Randy a little head nod toward the new arrival. The man was in his middle sixties and tall, well over six foot two. Marion noted that his once-slender body had grown heavier, but his movements were smooth and fluid. He caught sight of Marion and changed direction to come over to them by the window. As he drew near, Randy could see the small broken capillaries in his large Roman nose. His eyes were bright and crinkled at the edges as he offered a smile and his hand to Marion.

  “Ah, Marion, you old rascal. How nice to see you again.”

  Marion took the offered hand and affectionately patted the shoulder of the older man with his left hand. “I’ll answer to ‘rascal,’ but I think you’ve got at least ten years on me. If anybody in this room is an old rascal, your name would be the first on the list.”

  He made a slight head movement to indicate Randy. “Sir Huddleston, let me introduce to you United States Senator Randy Fisher; the reason we are all together today. Randy, this is Sir Lawrence Huddleston of MI6. Behind his back, they call him ‘the Chief’.”

  It was Randy’s turn to offer his hand to England’s top spymaster. Many Americans failed to understand the difference between Britain’s MI5 and MI6. The American Federal Bureau of Investigation was the equivalent of MI5. They were responsible for protecting the UK at home and overseas against threats to national security. The more secret MI6 was the equivalent of the Central Intelligence Agency. Its mission was to gather intelligence outside the UK in support of the government’s security, defense, and foreign and economic policies.

  The two men shook hands as they sized each other up. Marion decided to make sure his English cousin was aware of Randy’s background. “Sir Lawrence, I’m sure you are aware of Randy’s efforts to capture the two North Koreans in California several months ago.”

  Huddleston was still holding onto Randy’s hand. “I’m quite aware of this man’s record. Well done, Senator. We had been searching for those two gentlemen for some time. They were two very dangerous men who needed removed from circulation. When your government is finished with them, we have a court of law that will add to their prison sentence. Yes, well done indeed.”

  He looked Randy directly in the eyes. His demeanor no longer showed any humor. “Now it appears your own history had decided to pay you a visit. Of course, I read the reports of your activities yesterday. For a politician, you handled yourself very well when you went up against a trained terrorist with a knife.” A small smile broke out on his face. “Of course, you’ve had some experience with that sort of thing before, if I remember my reading from several years ago.”

  Randy was about to answer when someone rapped their knuckles on the tabletop. The three men quickly turned to the front of the room. Sir Alistair Stanley-Moore cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s all take our seats so we can begin.”

  Randy and Marion moved to take the two chairs assigned to them according to the double-sided place cards with their names. Randy could identify others in the room from their nameplates but not their positions or responsibilities. He moved the nameplate farther back from the table’s edge to make room for the booklet waiting at his place. He was a little surprised at how quickly such placeholders could magically appear on short notice before such meetings.

  In front of each person at the table was a folder with the Scotland Yard emblem embossed on the cover. Randy opened the folder and examined the information inside. Some of it he quickly recognized as information he had provided to Commander Corley from his smart phone.

  Marion leaned toward Randy and whispered close to his ear. Randy could hear a touch of whimsy in his tone. “Some people might think you’re a bit of a ghoul carrying photographs of a dead man in your smart phone. Most of us have family photos.”

  Randy leaned toward Marion as the CIA operative pulled away. “It’s not something I want the voters of South Carolina to know about, though hopefully they would understand.”

  Sir Lawrence Huddleston walked past Randy and Marion, giving them both a light squeeze on their shoulders, and moved to his place at the table. He was on the other side from the Americans and closer to the front of the room. He stopped several times to shake the hands of other people in the room and offered a quick smile and a few words.

  There were about thirty people at the table or in the chairs against the outer walls, a four-to-one ratio of men to women; the number of those dressed in civilian clothes versus either military or police uniforms was about equal. Randy was not very familiar with the various uniforms, but he guessed there were only one or two from the military.

  He recognized Commander Corley from yesterday, seated to Randy’s right on the other side of Marion. They had already spoken briefly when Randy arrived earlier.

  Commissioner Stanley-Moore was in his midfifties with graying hair, wearing a long-sleeve white shirt with shoulder epaulettes and a black tie. He stood at the head of the table after the others had taken their seats. His epaulettes were about the same size as those worn by Commander Corley. One of the insignias was similar—the circle with the two burning cigarettes. An additional diamond and crown made his uniform appear a little more elegant. He looked up from papers on the table in front of him. “Good morning. I know that most of you are acquainted, but we have several guests here today. I will begin with their introductions and move around the table and then the room for their benefit.”

  He held a pen in his left hand and used it as a pointer. “At the end of the table are our two American friends. The man farthest away is United State Senator Randy Fisher, responsible for our gathering here today. It appears he has stumbled onto a possible terrorist plot. Next to him is the deputy director of operations for the Central Intelligence Agency, Marion Bellwood. I’m sure all of you will want to meet these men before you leave here today, but please wait until after the meeting.”

  He turned to the man sitting to his left. “This is Deputy Commissioner Jonathon Shepard, who will be in direct charge of this investigation until it is brought to a successful conclusion. He will be taking over this meeting as soon as all the introductions are completed.”

  Stanley-Moore then quickly went about the table. To his right was the minister of defense, Gordon Naismith. Gloria Merd was a cabinet minister without portfolio assigned by the British prime minister to any special but limited engagements. She sat next to Minister Naismith. Next to her was Paul Andres, the director general of the security service who headed MI5.

  Stanley-Moore continued around the room, introducing additional members of his staff. Some would be in charge of the physical search for the men wanted for questioning; others were part of the Met’s Intelligence Division. When he finished with the introductions, he turned to his deputy. “All yours, DC.”

  Randy had paid close attention during the introductions. Certainly, the British authorities were taking this possible terrorist attack very seriously. Representatives from the highest levels of the British government and law enforcement agencies occupied chairs in the room. He would compare this to a meeting of the president’s National Security Council back in the States.

  Deputy Commissioner Jonathon Shepard was a few years older than Stanley-Moore. A daily regimen of exercises and jogging coupled with a rigid diet kept his body lean and in great shape. His haircut was longer than younger officers, who favored the more modern buzz cut worn by Inspector Watkins. A wavy curl gave Shepard’s hair body. He rose from his chair to make his presentation. He pointed to a young female officer sitting at a
desk in the back corner, away from the room’s entrance. Most people in the room had not noticed her.

  She activated some switches, and a screen slowly unrolled from the ceiling in the front of the room, behind where Stanley-Moore had stood. The room’s interior lights darkened, and a projector mounted to the ceiling flashed a faint picture against the screen. The projector’s bulb took a full minute to reach maximum brilliance, and Stanley-Moore used the time to move out of the blinding light shining slightly over his head.

  Shepard moved from the side of the table to stand in an angled position so he could see the screen and easily swivel to look back at the assembled group of people. He was holding a sheaf of papers as he addressed the group for the first time.

  “Well, now. I am going to take you through the events of yesterday with Senator Fisher. If you have any questions, speak up.”

  The presentation started with the photographs and video clips taken by the CCTV cameras located in Trafalgar Square, Charing Cross Station, and from the south end of the train station down the length of the Jubilee Bridges. Between the pictures, a rudimentary map of the square and surrounding areas showed Randy’s locations during his chase. In the bottom, right-hand corner of each picture and duplicated on the map was a time stamp.

  There were sixteen or eighteen slides in the first part of the presentation. Randy was as interested as everyone else in the room. He was hoping to see someone who might be the second suspect. Finally, the part came when the camera caught the fight near the end of the bridge. There were several murmurs or gasps as Randy dodged the knife thrust and then delivered the blow to the terrorist. Someone in the back of the room muttered, “Good show there.”

  Finally, the camera captured the second man hitting Randy from behind. During the few seconds the new arrival was within the field of view of the camera, his hat blocked any view of his face. The group watched the silent digital replay as Randy wiped away the blood flowing from the wound to his eyebrow. The look of dejection on Randy’s face was the last picture captured by the camera.