Scion

by Murray Mcdonald

  “Parkside Police station.”

  “Hi, it’s DS Kelly. I need to speak to the Chief Constable please?”

  The line went quiet for a second. The officer who had answered the call was obviously considering the request.

  “Are you sure, I mean is it really urgent DS Kelly?”

  “Yes, it’s very urgent,” she winked at Scott.

  After what seemed an eternity, the officer came back on the line.

  “I’m just going to put you through, please hold.”

  “Kelly, this had better be fucking good,” exclaimed a weary sounding Chief.

  Hearing the sleepy voice of the Chief suddenly reminded Kelly about the time difference. She held the phone away from her face and mouthed ‘oh fuck’ before answering.

  “Of course Sir,” she sounded as confident as she could as she quickly worked out it was only 3.30 a.m. in England.

  “Rosie’s been delayed and I don’t believe I should leave before I check out who she is.”

  “That’s it? That’s the reason you called me at this godforsaken hour? Kelly do whatever the fuck you think is best. Just let me sleep.” The Chief hung up.

  Kelly cursed herself for being so stupid. She was sure the Chief had been impressed with her and all that had just been blown in one stupid call. If only she had waited until later.

  Scott was looking at her questioningly wondering what had happened. She looked so glum.

  “I can stay.”

  “What, is my company that bad?” Scott looked at her, wounded.

  “No, God not at all, it’s just I forgot about the time difference.”

  “Oh shit, sorry, I should have realised. I’m so sorry,” said Scott.

  “That’s OK, he’ll get over it,” she hoped. “But at least I get to meet the mysterious Rosie!”

  “True, now what to do for 4 hours?” beamed Scott.

  Kelly could think of lots of things she would like to do with Scott, none of them however would have been in the least bit professional. She had also come to the stark realisation that Scott did not see her in remotely the same way.

  “Coffee?” she suggested, hoping he’d surprise her and say ‘no, let’s get a room and get naked.’

  “As long as it’s decaf,” he replied. Scott’s thoughts were firmly fixed on the meeting he was going to have in four hours.

  “Which way?” asked Kelly, hiding her disappointment.

  Before Scott could respond, a tannoy announcement caught their attention.

  “Could any visitors waiting on a Miss Rosie Diaz due to arrive at 11 a.m., please come to the airport manager’s office please.”

  Scott didn’t hesitate and grabbed the nearest airport employee demanding the directions to the office. After sprinting through the terminal, Scott crashed through the manager’s door.

  “I’m waiting for Rosie,” explained Scott to the terrified manager whose door had almost come off its hinges.

  The manager just thrust a phone towards Scott.

  “Hello?”

  “Rosie’s dead!” said Walker by way of introduction.

  Chapter 32

  Walker tried the number again.

  “I’m sorry, but the number you are calling is unavailable.”

  He had been trying to get hold of Clark for more than 30 minutes and just kept getting the same annoying woman with her posh English accent. He tried again.

  “I’m sorry…” he hung up, something was wrong. He could sense it. Just like he had that morning when he left the house in time to avoid the assassin sent to kill him. Clark was gone and if Clark was gone, the deal was off and he was a dead man.

  He nervously looked around the bar he had taken refuge in. Monday night was football night and large groups had gathered around each of the three screens. Walker didn’t know much about football but had lived in New York long enough to realise that the “Go Giants” chant meant the New York Giants were playing. The payphone was located next to the toilets through a door at the end of the bar. A glass panel in the door meant that Walker could see right through the bar and back to the entrance. Unfortunately, when the door opened, the noise was deafening but the game was too close to allow for toilet breaks and he’d only been disturbed once since he’d arrived.

  With no sign of any tails, he dialled international directory enquiries and got the number he needed. He paused before dialling to consider what to say. He knew his life was on the line and this was his last chance to save it.

  “Do you speak English?” asked Walker as the phone was answered.

  “Yes of course, how can I help you?”

  “I need to speak to the airport manager urgently.”

  Walker had used his most commanding authoritative tone in the hope of cutting through any of the usual ‘can I help, I’m sorry he’s not available’ bullshit. It worked.

  “I’ll just put you straight through.”

  Twenty seconds later, the manager came on the line. Walker kept his eye firmly on the bar’s entrance, nobody had entered.

  “This is the manager, how can I help?”

  “I believe there’s been a terrible accident and I need to speak to visitors waiting for a plane to arrive,” said Walker who had changed his tone to one of despair.

  The manager instantly knew what he was referring to. He had just had a call from his air traffic controllers about the Gulfstream jet that had failed to arrive and was not responding to any call signs.

  “Of course Sir, what are their names?”

  Walker explained he didn’t know and waited impatiently as the tannoy message was delivered. His eyes were firmly fixed on the front door of the bar as he waited. Nobody entered.

  ***

  “I’ve got a hit,” shouted one of the operators.

  “Where?”

  “New York, Upper West side, 108th and Amsterdam.”

  Mike Hunter, the head of The Unit had taken over control of the operation personally. Ernst’s threat to redeem himself within 24 hours still rang in his ears. He had taken a risk by narrowing the parameters that the NSA systems would use to alert them. Previously, thousands of calls had been pouring into them and by the time they got a hit, Walker had already gone. He had guessed that Walker would try to call Clark again on the plane. Fortunately, that had paid off. Walker had been careless and obviously didn’t realise that just dialling the number alerted them. He had been there for twenty minutes when the systems hit the jackpot and found a phone dialling the watery wreck ten thousand miles away, less than three miles from where Hunter was standing. With two teams standing by, Hunter took no risks and sent both teams to the bar.

  Ten minutes later, the first team pulled up outside the bar and radioed back to Hunter.

  ***

  “Rosie’s dead!” repeated Walker.

  “I thought she was just delayed until four?” replied a disbelieving and very upset Scott.

  Walker was taken aback by Scott’s response. They had managed to contact him and changed the time. They must have got hold of the real Rosie; that would explain the change in plan.

  “No, she’s dead. I’m very sorry to break the news but her plane crashed.” Walker kept a close eye on the front door as he quickly worked out what to do.

  “But she was going…”

  “To tell you who your father was,” interrupted Walker. He knew he had been on the phone too long but he needed to get Scott away from The Unit’s trap and under his control. He realised there was no going back. Baker wanted him dead, no matter what happened. Baker obviously blamed Walker for fucking up and not making sure she and her baby died all those years ago. Walker realised his only hope was to help Scott. Only Scott could stop Transcon, he just didn’t know it.

  “Yes,” replied Scott wistfully.

  Walker heard a door opening and quickly looked towards the entrance. It was shut. He then remembered the doors to the toilet were behind him. It must have been somebody coming out of there. Had his mind not been trying to work out where to tr
y and meet Scott, he may have wondered why somebody came out of a toilet that nobody had gone into.

  “I know who your father was also,” offered Walker.

  “Who?” asked Scott eagerly.

  Walker felt the cold steel press against the back of his head, just before he felt nothing.

  The man with the silenced pistol replaced the receiver and calmly left the way he had come in, through the ladies’ toilets. He closed the window quietly behind him and was miles away before the body of William Walker III was discovered. His faceless head causing more than a few beers to be expelled violently by the unsuspecting football supporters.

  ***

  Scott stood in the manager’s office holding the dead phone. He had heard the spit of the pistol and the subsequent wet splat and realised that another lead to his father was gone. Whatever was going on had nothing to do with Scott’s work and everything to do with his past. A past that he had no knowledge of, nor links to.

  “So what are we going to do?” asked Kelly breaking the silence.

  “We’re going to start taking control,” replied Scott firmly. Without asking the manager, he placed a call. He needed to get hold of a few things.

  Chapter 33

  Kelly had protested from the moment Scott had told her she was leaving. She had to stay. If, as he believed, there were two Rosies, she should be there. After all, Rosie had spoken to her. She also was not entirely convinced of Scott’s conclusion that the strange message telling her that Rosie was still on the way meant there were two Rosies. She wanted to wait around until four to find out. Scott, however, was having none of it. Enough innocent people had died. Kelly was leaving on the 3.45 p.m. flight as originally planned. His previous friendly and affable persona had been replaced by a serious don’t mess with me approach.

  Scott waited until Kelly’s flight’s door had shut and pulled away from the gate before quickly making his way to the VIP area of the airport. The only flight due to land at 4.00 p.m. was a small private jet, origin unknown.

  ***

  Ten hours and two inflight fuellings later, the specially converted Cessna Citation X touched down at Kota Kinabalu. Following instructions from the control tower, it moved towards the VIP area and was instructed to wait for immigration officials who would clear them for entry as soon as possible, obviating the need to enter the terminal.

  Within seconds of coming to a stop and powering down their engines, a small white minibus approached the jet, stopping near the steps that were in the process of being lowered. Two customs officials dressed immaculately in pristine white uniforms exited the van and boarded the plane.

  ***

  Ashley watched as the two young men approached the aircraft. They looked almost identical in their white uniforms. In fact, Ashley realised they were identical. Completely identical. How sweet she thought, twins taking the same job and working together. The sight of them put a smile on her face for the first time in hours. The journey had been tortuous. None of the men had spoken, no food or drink had been offered. All had sat in almost complete silence. Ashley had tried to make conversation to try and work out who they were but it seemed none wanted to give anything away as her attempts were met by simple grunts or shakes of the head.

  The two young officials boarded and Ashley was surprised at how thoroughly their eyes scanned the plane, darting from one occupant to the next with remarkable speed. Ashley was in no doubt that these guys were extremely capable immigration officials and only wished the same vigilance were practised in American ports of entry.

  “Four male passengers, one female and two aircrew?” checked the first immigration officer with the captain. His English was perfect, another surprise for Ashley.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” replied the captain taking a form from one of the officials.

  “Passports?”

  As she heard the request for passports, Ashley saw her chance. She also noticed the other immigration official seemed to be taking a great interest in her, his eyes constantly swinging back to her. She was used to being looked at, it was something she had grown used to. But for some reason she did not get the feeling he wanted her in that way.

  “Ahem, I’ve got a problem.”

  All eyes spun towards Ashley as she spoke. The spitter looked at her as if he’d quite happily slit her throat if she didn’t stop talking.

  “I’ve not got my passport,” she continued.

  “I think I’ve got it here,” said spitter as he looked at a pile of papers in front of him.

  As he did so, the man sitting next to Ashley placed his arm behind her and grabbed her shoulder and, out of sight of the officials, began to squeeze tightly. The message was clear, shut up or else.

  The immigration officer immediately noticed the look of pain on the young woman and made an instant decision.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me Madam,” he instructed.

  “She’s not going anywhere,” instructed the spitter menacingly, pulling a gun from under his paperwork and aiming it at the twins.

  His men instantly followed and before the two officials could move, they were staring down the barrels of four guns.

  The twins, much to Ashley’s surprise, seemed unfazed by what had happened and was stunned to hear the first’s reaction.

  “Well, I’m sorry gentlemen but I’m going to have to refuse your entry on this occasion,” he said before turning towards the door.

  The distraction was all his twin required. Four spits emitted from the pistol that had appeared in his hand as his brother turned away. Each spit from the silenced FN 5.7 resulted in a red mist from each of the four men’s heads. The speed with which it had happened was beyond comprehension as was the accuracy of the four shots. All having hit perfectly between the men’s eyes. Ashley had seen some impressive shooting in her time but that was in a different league.

  The captain had thrown his arms in the air, the second he realised what was happening and just in time to stop a bullet being fired into his skull.

  “Rosie?” asked the first twin, who had somehow fired the fourth shot straight through her captor’s eyebrow from his hip. Unbelievable.

  “Umm…yes,” replied Ashley not thinking it was the time to enter into name semantics.

  “Would you like to come with us, please. Scott is waiting for you.”

  Both had replaced their pistols and one was offering his hand towards her.

  “But that was incredible,” she said taking the hand offered to her.

  “Bit sloppy actually I’m better with a rifle, Kirk’s the pistol man,” explained the twin who had taken out three men with perfect head shots before they had even reacted.

  Ashley could only shake her head in disbelief as they led her from the plane and down into the waiting minibus. Before she had a chance to ask where they were going, the minibus slowed down and the man she didn’t think she’d ever meet, jumped in the open side door of the minibus.

  Chapter 34

  Todd Nielsen stepped out of his front door as the Lincoln Town Car came to a halt at the bottom of the grand staircase that swept up towards him. He quickly climbed into the back of the car and relaxed as they wound their way down the long gravel driveway. Todd could never stop himself looking back at the sprawling estate, set in the heart of the Bradley Farms district, the address of Washington’s rich and famous. He knew that buying the estate had raised more than a few eyebrows and questions as to how he could afford the $14 million price tag.

  Todd Nielsen had not led the privileged life of his neighbours. In fact, his life had been far from privileged; a childhood in the slums of Detroit, a slut of a mother and drunk of a father. His role models were few and far between. However, all that had changed on his seventeenth birthday. Todd, despite his teachers’ protestations and numerous offers of scholarships, had joined the army. His intellect allowed him to rise through the ranks quickly and before long, a posting to the Pentagon found him working for the Defense Appropriations Committee as an
adviser to its members. It was there that Todd had met the man who would transform his life. Sam Baker, the young ultra rich senator from Florida had somehow managed to gain a spot on the most powerful of all appropriations committees, defense. Being of a similar age, the two quickly became friends and Todd Nielsen discovered a new world. The world of the rich. Travel was by private jet, helicopter or limousine. Food at the most exclusive restaurants. Drinks in the most exclusive clubs. Women, the most beautiful and refined who literally threw themselves at the wealth. Todd had found his true calling, money.

  Sam took Todd under his wing and in return for swaying more than a few votes towards Transcon Corporation companies, Todd’s career took off. Promotions came thick and fast, offers from private sector organisations arrived almost daily but behind the scenes, Sam was always directing and two years earlier had secured Todd the ultimate role, the US Secretary of Defense. Transcon in the meantime had become the single largest supplier to the US armed services. Todd didn’t for a minute doubt to whom his ultimate loyalty lay, he just looked forward to the day when that man was in the Whitehouse. His dilemma would then be resolved.

  No sooner had they sped through the automatic cast iron gates than his phone had rung. The screen said ‘Private Caller’.

  “Hello?” he answered, checking his watch. It was only 6.45 a.m.

  “It’s Ernst, we have a problem.”

  Before saying another word, Todd pressed the button to raise the screen between himself and the driver.

  “What now?”