Scion

by Murray Mcdonald

  Thankfully for the students, the police responded quickly to the call and arrived within five minutes. They were pleasantly surprised when the Oxford supporters accepted blame without protest and climbed peacefully into the police vans to be taken to the station and booked.

  The Colonel watched from the shadows of a nearby doorway as his men were marched out of the pub and driven away by the police. The plan was working perfectly.

  Chapter 7

  Ashley knew they would go straight to the apartment she had rented under Rosie’s name. She just prayed they wouldn’t find the loose floorboard behind the toilet. When she first ran out of The Palace, her intention was to go directly to the apartment but on the way, she realised that that was the first place Darius and his guys would check. There was a chance she could beat them to it but she knew enough about Darius to know he had people everywhere. There was every chance one of his men was already there ransacking the place and waiting for her to show up.

  She knew she should call in and get back-up but after seeing the news report in Darius’ office there was only one thing on her mind. Getting to England. Calling in would mean spending the next week writing up reports and that could wait. She had a promise to keep, one that had been made when she was a little girl. But one that she always knew she would keep. However to do that she needed her passport.

  The first thing she needed to do was change her clothes. Rosie the prostitute stood out in a crowd for all the wrong reasons. Ashley Jones, however, stood out in a crowd for all the right reasons. Spotting a Banana Republic store on M Street, she asked the cabbie to pull over and wait. Her ten minute stop was reminiscent of the Pretty Woman shopping scene, a sleazy prostitute transformed into an unrecognisable, elegantly beautiful woman. The cabbie had initially refused to allow Ashley back in the cab such was the transformation. Her long brown hair, previously flowing freely had been pulled tightly back in a ponytail, emphasising her striking bone structure. The mini skirt previously barely covering her underwear and leaving nothing to the imagination of her perfectly toned and sculptured legs was replaced by long elegant trousers. Her low cut cropped top that had broadcast to the world the tautness of her stomach and the lushness of her perfectly firm breasts was replaced by a simple but classic fitted black cashmere sweater.

  Ashley knew there was nothing for it but to head over to the apartment. She needed her passport, it was the only way she would be able to fulfil her childhood promise. The cab turned left onto the Francis Scott Key Bridge and using the Jefferson Highway and Columbia Pike, covered the six miles into the heart of Arlington Virginia in a little over twenty minutes thanks to the relatively light Sunday morning traffic. Ashley asked the cab driver to pull up just around the corner from her apartment block. As she leaned over to pay the driver she took her time extracting the money and waited for the driver to scramble around for change, something she knew he’d take his time over, hoping she’d become impatient and insist he kept the change afterall. He did exactly as predicted and as she had hoped gave her plenty of time to carefully check that nobody was watching. The driver huffed and puffed as he checked pockets, ashtrays and finally his wallet for the $4.25 change. Realising the woman was adamant she wanted her change, he finally relented and handed it over offering as many quarters and dimes as he felt he could get away with. Looking at the handful of change Ashley smiled.

  “Just keep it, thanks,” she said as she opened the door and walked quickly into the coffee shop that overlooked her apartment block.

  Taking a seat next to the window at the rear of the store, she had a perfect view of not only her apartment block but also everybody who came into the coffee shop. The apartment was located on the fifth floor and although she could see the window, she had no idea whether Darius’ men were already in there. She didn’t have to wonder for very long. Five minutes after taking her seat, a Black Chrysler 300M with its tell tale chrome wheels and blacked-out windows came screeching around the corner. Darius’ men had arrived. Ashley watched as the three passengers rushed out of the car and ran into the building. She flicked open her mobile phone and dialled 911.

  “Police!” she answered desperately in response to the operator’s question.

  Sunday morning was definitely working in her favour, the police operator was transferred instantly.

  “Somebody’s breaking my door down!” spurted Ashley through deep breaths of panic. Another customer looked across at her quizzically. She smiled and shook her head as if including him in the joke.

  With the operator trying to calm her down Ashley managed to give her address before ending the call mid sentence. The tactic obviously worked and within two minutes Ashley heard the first Siren and within 30 seconds three police cruisers were screeching to a halt outside of the apartment block. Four officers in total ran into the building with their pistols drawn. Ashley watched as the Black Chrysler’s driver slowly edge the car further down the street in an attempt to distance himself from the location but remain available to his colleagues should they manage to escape. None did. The police emerged a few minutes later with the three men in custody and loaded them into the back of the cruisers. They would be in for a very interesting afternoon trying to explain what they had done to the young woman who had made the call.

  As events unfolded before her it became apparent that the police were taking Ashley’s call very seriously. The next to arrive were two plain clothed detectives quickly followed by a Crime Scene Unit. The hunt for evidence as to her whereabouts was underway. However, the arrival of the detectives and Crime Scene Unit were too much for the Chrysler, which casually pulled away, no doubt alerting Darius to events. Ashley knew she didn’t have long. Darius would arrange for another watcher, particularly as she had now cost him three men and a significant legal bill to ensure their release.

  Recognising the opportunity, Ashley repeated her call to 911 and explained that she had called earlier and had managed to escape the burglars and fled to her mother’s house. She gave an address in Chevy Chase on the other side of Washington. Ashley was using the state boundaries that existed around Washington to her advantage. The original operator was tracked down and after confirming Ashley was the same woman who had made the original call, the hunt for the missing woman was called off.

  Ashley waited as one by one the police and crime scene investigators left the building and finally after twenty minutes the coast was clear. She winked across to her co-conspirator as she left a $5 tip and quickly made her way across the street to the apartment block. The elevator as ever was out of order and Ashley climbed the darkened staircase cautiously. There was always the chance that one of Darius’ men had sneaked in and was waiting in the shadows for Rosie. Fortunately, the staircase was clear and Ashley exited on the fifth floor to the devastation that was the aftermath of her calls to the police. Yellow ‘Police line do not cross’ tape covered the doorway to her apartment while a hasp and padlock, replacing the wrecked door lock offered some security. Fortunately, the hasp offered as little resistance as her lock had to Darius’ men. One well placed kick splintered the rotten wood and the door sprung open.

  Ashley panicked as the door swung free. The mess in the apartment was testament to the thoroughness of Darius’ men. In a few minutes they had turned her living area upside down, carpets pulled back and floorboards ripped up. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. Her only hope was that the men had taken it one room at a time and not split their efforts. Three men, three rooms, living area with kitchenette, bedroom and bathroom. She walked towards the door that separated the living area and bedroom. She felt her heart pound in her chest as she pushed the door open. Her heart almost stopped, the bedroom was ransacked exactly like the living area. No wonder the men had been caught in the act, they probably hadn’t even heard the police sirens over the noise of their destruction.

  Ashley rushed through the bedroom and burst into the bathroom. It seemed the three had taken a room each, the bathroom was in as much disarray as the rest o
f the apartment. She made directly for the floorboard behind the toilet unit and stopped as she saw the hole where the floorboard had been. She stood motionless. Darius not only knew her real identity and who she worked for but more importantly, her chance to fulfil her childhood promise had just disappeared.

  She sat on the side of the bath and contemplated what to do next. Everything pointed to calling in. Her supervisor would find out soon enough that her cover was blown. Procedure also dictated that she should alert the department immediately the moment her real identity were uncovered. But she had to get to England.

  In desperation, she bent down to the hole in the floor and stuck her hand in. Her face lit up as her hand hit the small plastic pouch, perhaps Darius’ man had been caught as he found it and left it in place for later. She pulled the pouch free and was relieved to see everything in place. Her passports, cash, i.d. and credit cards. Putting them aside, she placed her hand deeper into the hole and fumbling around, found the second pouch, heavier than the first. She pulled it out, opened the plastic and removed the carefully wrapped item. Unravelling the cloth, she revealed her Heckler & Koch MK23 pistol, the same pistol used by the US Special Forces.

  Once the gun was loaded and the safety off, she relaxed. If anybody tried to come for her now, they were going to have a seriously bad day. She walked back into the living area and righting the chair by the phone she sat down. She had two calls to make and dialled the first number having memorised it from her earlier call.

  “Good evening Parkside Police station, how can I help?”

  “Can I speak to the detective in charge of the case regarding the man who was on TV?” asked Ashley.

  “Can you hold the line please?” the operator fought to contain his excitement, it was the American woman again, he waved his hands in the air frantically.

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  The operator muted the call and for good measure put his hand over the mouthpiece, “What shall I do? She wants to speak to Harris,” he asked his supervisor.

  “Put her through,” he suggested shrugging his shoulders, they could still trace and record it from there, so he didn’t see any harm.

  Demuting the call the operator came back to Ashley.

  “I’ll just put you through,” he said much to Ashley’s amazement. He hadn’t even asked her name nor why she wanted to talk to him.

  After a strange buzzing tone in Ashley’s ear, Harris answered his phone. “DCI Harris here.”

  “Good evening Detective Harris, I’m calling with regard to the man you arrested this morning.”

  Ever the professional, Harris wasted no time in showing his detective skills.

  “Ah, you must be Rosie.”

  Everyone listening in the operation room’s were aghast and could have strangled Harris with their bare hands.

  Ashley nearly dropped the phone. She knew exactly what she had said earlier and she certainly hadn’t given her name.

  “Hello?” said Harris.

  Ashley ignored him, trying to understand how they knew that name.

  “Hello?” prompted Harris again.

  “Yes, hmm, you surprised me mentioning that name. Would you mind explaining that please before we go any further?”

  Harris was the one caught speechless. She was the only lead as to who the man was and he’d just put her on edge. Kelly appeared back from the loo and mouthed. “Who’s that?”

  He mouthed back “Rosie” instantly catching her full attention.

  Harris putting his hand over the mouthpiece quickly explained what had happened. Kelly sighed deeply and took the phone from him, despite his protestations.

  “Rosie, hi, I’m Detective Sergeant Kelly. Apologies for my colleague. When you dropped the phone earlier it remained off the hook and we heard the man shouting after you. Are you OK? Can we get the police to assist you?”

  Ashley had listened quietly as Kelly explained what had happened. She also felt re-assured that Kelly seemed in control and quite frankly couldn’t care less that they knew the name Rosie. If they were looking for Rosie they weren’t looking for Ashley Jones.

  “OK, I’ll accept that. Now, the man you arrested, is he OK?”

  “The man you’re referring to, can you give me his name please?”

  “I’m sorry I can’t do that.”

  “Well I’m sorry but I can’t discuss the case unless you can give me something to prove you know him.”

  “But I don’t know his name.”

  Kelly was instantly deflated. It seemed Rosie was a dead lead, some nutter who liked the look of the suspect and had become infatuated.

  “I don’t understand, you said you knew who he was?” she said angrily.

  “I do, I do, look it’s complicated. I’m catching a flight as soon as I can get one. I should be there tomorrow morning. Will he still be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “If by any chance you do let him go, please let him know I’m coming from America and it’s imperative I speak to him.”

  “I really don’t think there’s any chance he won’t be here,” emphasised Kelly.

  “OK, then I’ll hopefully see you tomorrow.”

  “See you then,” replied Kelly, surprised by how the call had gone.

  Ashley hung up and dialled the next number.

  “Thank you for calling British Airways…” Ashley listened to the recorded message and selected Option Two, Sales.

  Chapter 8

  After making his way back to the car, Clark called Walker.

  “It’s me. Issue resolved.”

  “Good, get back here, another issue has arisen,” advised Walker matter of factly.

  “Where are you, here or Southampton?”

  “Here.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “And pack a bag, you’re going on a trip.”

  Clark didn’t need to go home for a bag, he always had a travel bag packed and ready in the car. His training wouldn’t allow for anything less.

  Ten minutes later, he pulled into the garage area of one of New York’s finest apartment blocks. He parked in one of the spaces reserved for guests and made his way to the elevator. As he stepped in, the concierge’s voice resonated from the speakers.

  “Good afternoon, can I help you?”

  “Yes I’m here for Mr William Walker III, can you send me up please?”

  “Your name?”

  “Joseph Clark.”

  The concierge called Mr Walker and confirmed Mr Clark was in fact expected. Receiving confirmation, the elevator started moving and covered the distance to the penthouse apartment, 77 stories in less than 60 seconds. As he exited the elevator, he never failed to be amazed by the view. The apartment had no solid walls, just floor-to-ceiling glass offering a 360 degree bird’s eye view of New York on the edge of Central Park. However, for the best part of $40 million it was to be expected even if it was only Walker’s pied-a-terre. His real home was out in the Hamptons, all 18 bedrooms and 20 acres.

  Walker poured Clark a drink.

  “I’m over here in the den,” he shouted.

  Clark nodded and tearing himself away from the view, he joined Walker, taking the seat opposite.

  “I’ve been on the phone to one of my contacts in England. It seems we have a problem.”

  Walker paused to take a drink and Clark waited anxiously, desperate to know what the problem was. On the mention of England, he worried. He hated that fucking country, cameras everywhere you looked. If there was one country in the world not to whack someone, it was the U.K.

  Walker continued.

  “Somebody’s recognised our boy.”

  “Fuck, who and where?”

  “Well, they recognised him but don’t know who he is.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “No idea but basically a woman has called them twice now saying she knows exactly who he is but it seems doesn’t know his name.”

  “Shit!” the p
rospect of doing the one thing he didn’t want to do seemed more likely.

  “Yep, you need to go and take care of her straight away. My helicopter’s on the roof, you should just make it if you leave now.”

  “What flight am I on?” Clark checked his watch.

  “Sorry?” Walker looked at him confused. He had just explained that the helicopter was waiting for him. The quizzical look made him realise the confusion.

  “No, no she’s here, well not here, exactly, she’s in Washington.”

  “Ah, OK.” Clark breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  “It seems she’s a prostitute, her name’s Rosie, here’s her address but she’s booked on the 21.55 BA flight to Heathrow so you need to get going.”

  With no intention of letting her catch the flight, Clark drained his glass, bid his goodbyes and climbed the stairs to the helipad just one floor above. The Sikorsky S-76D’s rotors turned lazily. As Clark climbed in and settled into the large leather seat, the rotors picked up speed and by the time his seat belt was fastened, the wheels were lifting off the pad below. The helicopter turned as it rose to face South West, its nose dipping as the pilot increased the power and the race to Washington began. The two hundred mile trip would take just over an hour. Clark poured himself a drink and relaxed. Rosie’s flight wasn’t for another five hours. Plenty of time. He smiled.

  Chapter 9

  It took less than five minutes to transport the rugby thugs to Parkside Police Station. The desk sergeant took one look at them and sent them down to the holding area to be booked and processed. They already seemed to be sobering up and he called out to one of the young constables.

  “Smith, come here a sec.”

  “Yes Sarge,” he replied, checking over his shoulder that the group were behaving themselves.