Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2)

by syron-jones, p s

  The other file concerned John Barr; he had been a crane operator for the docks until he took the quick way down via the steps from his cab, which was thirty feet up in the sky.

  “Here you go.” McCall passed the files to Tooms. “We have two cases each, divide and conquer.”

  Tooms looked at the files briefly.

  “And, what about Jane Doe?” Tony asked, leaning over to take the files from Tooms.

  “We wait for Tina to get something we can work on, but for now we have these.” Sam looked at the files in Tony’s hand. “These people need closure too.”

  Tooms smiled in agreement. “Okay, what’s the plan?” he asked as McCall headed for her desk.

  “Plan?” She stopped and turned. “The plan is do it quick and do it right so we can get on and solve Jane’s case.”

  Jenny Thompson came out of the coffee room, blowing on the hot tea she had just made.

  “Hey, Jenny, you’re with me,” Sam McCall called across.

  Thompson turned round to look at her boss in surprise “What? Oh, cool.” Thompson oozed with enthusiasm. Even though she had only been a detective for less than a month she was learning the ropes but not fast enough for McCall’s liking. The senior officer could understand the transition between uniform and detective was certainly a big step, and she understood that some were quicker to adapt to the changes than others. She looked at Thompson as she got herself ready and felt reassured somehow. She will be okay, she thought to herself.

  “What’s the case?” Jenny Thompson asked. McCall passed her the file so she could get the ins and outs for herself. Sam would be assessing her, at the moment she was under the watchful eye of people on the other side of the badge, people who for one reason or another had their eye on Thompson.

  McCall waited until Jenny had finished reading. “Well, Detective, what’s our first move?” she asked.

  Jenny thought for a moment. “We go see his wife. Get to know the victim and his lifestyle, see if anything pings.” Thompson saw the side of McCall’s mouth raise in response to her assessment of the situation.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Sam got out of her chair and they both headed for the elevator. “See you later, guys,” she called across to Tooms and Tony, who looked up at the women just before the elevator steel doors slid shut.

  Steel walked into the Irish Bar and found a booth that presented a nice view of the door and of the bar area. As he slid himself over the leather-effect cushioning of the seat, he took out a brochure from his pocket, cursing himself for forgetting to get a tablet or other internet access device. As he studied the plan of the cruise and of the decks he looked up to see a waitress approach, and it happened to be the same girl from the dining hall.

  “Can I get you anything cold,” she asked. “Or maybe I could get you something HOT?” Her eyes almost growled at him with passion.

  “I’ll have single malt and a mineral water, thanks,” he replied, and she took down the order and left. Steel laughed to himself then sneaked another look at her as she made for the bar. She was attractive, sure, but maybe too attractive for a cruise ship. He had to admit he had never seen an ugly waitress or salesperson on any of the ferries or cruises he had been on but she screamed supermodel looks, and somehow that did not fit with his taste.

  The cruise would be a simple two days at sea before reaching the first port in Spain. After which there would be a further eight days of ocean travel before arriving in New York. He figured he had time to search the ship and get to know as many passengers as he could, especially the ones he’d met at dinner the other night. Whatever the reason was that the ship had been referred to on Teresa Benning’s computer, Steel knew that it could not be good, not if THEY were involved.

  His drink arrived but Steel noticed that another girl had brought it; she was much shorter than the waitress who’d caught his eye, with a round, smiling face. Her short hair was a deep red, almost maroon colour. Steel noticed with pleasure that her uniform clung tightly to her buxom figure in all the interesting places. “Will that be all or can I get you something else?” she asked.

  He smiled at her and told her he was fine for the moment. As she moved, back to the bar he wondered what had happened to the previous waitress.

  As he sat and enjoyed the malt, he heard two familiar voices coming from a booth on the other side. Steel cursed himself, realising that he had been distracted by the waitress and had failed to see them come in. He knew the voices but couldn’t match them to faces. John Steel got up and moved carefully, trying not to attract the attention of the people in the next stall.

  The Englishman slipped across to the opposite booth so as to hear the conversation between the newcomers more easily. Taking out a small recorder device, he placed it on the top of the dividing panel between the booths. Even though the man’s words came in a whisper, his voice still retained depth and authority.

  “Look, it’s all arranged so there is no going back,” the man said.

  The second voice was weaker and had a note of panic. “But it’s too dangerous! What if?”

  “What if what? It looks like the plan’s in motion, the end. Listen, you have been well paid so shut up and stop your whining.” There was a creak of movement, as if from the friction of leather clothing’s movement. Steel realised that whoever they were, it sounded like they had moved away into the crowds. However his interest was piqued, and his only regret was that McCall was not here to share in this great mystery.

  Steel needed more information on his quarry. He knew that the ship had an internet lounge and that had been his proposed destination since this morning. He planned to go online and try to get as much information on the other dinner guests as he could. These were all prominent people so the World Wide Web was likely to hold plenty of information on them, or so Steel hoped. Finishing his drink, he headed out of the bar, and, passing the bartender, he placed a ten-pound note onto the counter without losing a stride. He told him, “Keep the change,” and then he disappeared into the mass of people.

  As he made his way through the crowds he could not help feeling that he was being shadowed. In front of him there was a large window to a restaurant, and its reflection was as good as a mirror. There in the crowd he could see Jonathan Grant trying to blend in with the others; John Steel was amused at the thought that someone was following him, whereas normally it was him who was doing the following.

  The detective was aware that he could just slip into the crowd and disappear, no problem at all. But as he looked back to see the determination on Grant’s face, he thought that keeping him on a long piece of string was going to be much more fun. Steel let the other man follow him for a while until he saw that the internet lounge was near. Looking back at Grant, who hurriedly pretended to be looking at a pair of sunglasses, Steel knew that he could not let Grant know what he was doing. A group of scantily clad women rushed past Grant and his eyes followed for a second. Realising that the moment’s inattention was a mistake, his eyes shot back to where Steel had been. From inside of the internet lounge, Steel gleefully watched the angry Grant rushing all over the place in an effort to pick up Steel’s trail.

  The room was large with sofas and small booths for the computers, and the lighting was a strange orangey-yellow that was soothing on the eyes. John found a computer station that afforded a clear view of the doorway and sat down. When he pressed the ‘enter’ key the screen flickered to life and a search engine query screen appeared. Looking up from the monitor he saw his pursuer again. This time he was looking through the window to try and see what Steel was doing. Having had enough of Grant, Steel decided that it was time to sort him out.

  Jonathan Grant stood at the window wondering what his next move should be. A few feet away a mass of screaming excited children ran across the deck with their faces painted in a variety of colours.

  As Steel’s adversary watched though the glass, a wave of kids almost knocked him off his feet, and he couldn’t help laughing as he watched them disappear. H
e had only been distracted for a second but as he turned back to the window Steel’s chair was empty. Losing his quarry terrified him.

  Who the hell was this guy, anyway? His thoughts were clouded with frustration. He badly needed alcohol.

  Thoroughly shaken and scared at the thought of losing the mysterious Mr Black, the near panicking man made his way to the nearest bar, looking over his shoulder all the while for his elusive quarry. Grant knocked into people as he hurriedly made his way to the bar. When he got there, the room was almost empty, with only a few seated people. The bar was dimly lit apart from some blue-and-red neon lights above the bar and on the support pillars around the floor space. The floor had dark wood tiles that reflected the brightly coloured lighting. The bar stretched against the back wall with a mirror backdrop hidden behind glass shelving, the shelves displaying a good selection of bottled hard liquor. Finding a spot at the bar, Grant crashed himself onto one of the wooden bar stools.

  “Give me a double whisky,” he said to the barman. Although it wasn’t Grant’s usual tipple, it was booze, and he needed it.

  “Any particular brand or year, sir?” asked the Italian-looking barman as he polished a large beer glass.

  “Does it look like I care?” Grant was not in the mood for chatter, all he wanted to do was to get drunk.

  The barman filled a shot glass with the amber fluid and Grant grabbed it, and, with half-closed eyes, he downed it in one. For the next fifteen minutes, the barman kept pouring shot after shot, and Grant kept drinking. Suddenly distracted by another more sober customer, the dark-skinned man left Grant to his mumblings.

  “Yes, sir, what can I get you?” He smiled at his new customer, hoping that Grant would forget he was there.

  “Two coffees, one black, the other with milk and sugar. Thanks,” answered none other than Steel.

  Grant turned to see who had taken the barman’s attention. On seeing Steel sitting next to him he fell off his stool, causing the guy behind the bar to smile in the mirror. Steel saw the bartender’s smile and tried to keep a lid on his own amusement. From the floor, Grant looked up in fear and pointed at him.

  “You!” Grant waved his finger about as if searching for the real person amongst the three figures that, in his inebriated state, he thought he saw.

  Bending down, Steel hoisted the other man to his feet and carried him to a booth and the barman followed with the coffees.

  “Just keep them coming will you?” Steel asked him. “Oh and bring a large bottle of still water if you wouldn’t mind, thanks.” The bartender nodded and smiled. Falling on to the long comfortably upholstered seat of the booth, Grant collapsed onto his side.

  His companion immediately sat him upright. Steel needed answers and he hoped Grant could supply some.

  It was blindingly obvious that Grant was tailing Steel because he thought that he was somebody else. After the third coffee and the fifth glass of water Grant was sober enough to talk but fortunately was still drunk enough to spill his guts.

  “So, Mr. Grant, why are you following me?”

  The drunken man looked disappointed at the question, wondering why he was playing this game.

  “I know who you are, Mr. Black.” Jonathan Grant waved an index finger at Steel accusingly.

  Steel felt bemused by his words. How the hell had Grant found out who he was and, more importantly, who was he working for?

  Since he did not want to give away too much, on the off chance that Grant was either bluffing or had got the wrong person, Steel decided to play dumb.

  “So who do you think I am, Mr. Grant?”

  Again Grant waved his finger and all Steel could think of doing was ripping the damn thing off his hand.

  Grant beckoned him closer so he could whisper: “You’re with THEM, aren’t you?”

  John Steel recoiled from the stink of alcohol, reckoning that the man was so boozed up it was coming out of his bones. “Sorry, Mr. Grant, but you have lost me. Who exactly is THEM?”

  Grant’s face soured. “You know, THEM! The organization, I’ve forgotten what they call themselves, it’s a strange name.”

  The Englishman could see Grant’s mind losing its grip, heading off in another direction. “Sorry, but I am just here on a cruise. I am not with anybody apart from American Express.”

  The pursuer’s jaw dropped, as did his hopes. Steel could see the desperation in his eyes. He was aware that this man knew something, and the only way to get it out of him was by getting him on his side.

  “Oh God, looks like I’ve got wrong person.” Grant drank another mouthful of coffee and shook his head gloomily.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Grant shot him a suspicious look. “About what?”

  Steel could see he was deflecting his questions. This was a bad omen, indicating that his window of opportunity was diminishing, as sobriety returned, and with it Grant’s willingness to talk.

  “Hey, my friend,” Steel coaxed. “You started this, after all. Maybe I can help or something?”

  He could see Grant’s hesitation versus the temptation to share his problem, his eyes almost fully closed as he squinted to try and make out whether his acquaintance was trustworthy or not. Even though those damned sunglasses hid his eyes, Grant had the instinctive feeling that he was no enemy, and that maybe he could be trusted.

  Ever since he had seen Steel in the lounge, he’d had the feeling that this man was trouble. But maybe he was wrong. Besides, nothing could change the fact that this mess he was in meant he was totally isolated.

  “Thanks for the offer, Mr. Black,” he said regretfully. “But I am afraid this is my problem and mine alone.” He tried to stand but sank down again, too drunk to carry through his exit.

  The other man was amused by his bold attempt to leave. “Look, Jonathan—”

  Grant looked up at the sudden use of his first name.

  “I know people. I’ve worked with the NYPD for a while, helping them with cases. So if professional detectives can trust me, why can’t you? You see, I understand that you are obviously onto something big. So why not let me help?”

  The inebriated man could see Steel’s point, and he had had enough of being so alone for so long. Would it be such a massive mistake to trust him? he wondered.

  “Okay, Antony.” Grant smiled as he joined in their new ‘first name terms’ relationship. “What you have to understand is what I have is merely circumstantial.”

  Steel nodded that he understood, not saying a word.

  “Well about three or four weeks ago a cargo ship in New York was sunk after there was a fire on board, it had just left the harbour.” Grant leaned forward as he told the tale.

  “The Eisenwolff?”

  Grant’s eyes lit up as Steel mentioned the ship’s name. “Yes.”

  “I read about it in the papers. So what about it?”

  Grant’s face was a picture of delight as he embarked on the tale. “Well, apparently the NYPD SWAT team stormed the ship and stopped a major arms smuggling operation that was headed for the Middle East.”

  Steel wanted to put him straight about the matter he’d misunderstood but thought it was unwise to interrupt his flow.

  “Please continue,” Steel asked him, trying to sound impressed.

  “Now this smuggling operation didn’t spark my interest until I remembered that a friend of mine had an accident one night.” Grant then used his fingers held up either side of his head to signify quotation marks: “After he was investigating a slaughter at an English manor house around ten years ago. Some lord, his family and friends were killed when they had some kind of homecoming celebration for his son who, by the way, went missing.” He gave Steel a drunken wink, which didn’t quite come off.

  “So they suspected the son did the killings?” Steel was curious to know this man’s opinion.

  “Nah. Apparently they found a load of dead guys in tactical gear. The son was some kind of maverick, for your information I heard he was a top army guy train
ed by Special Forces or some elite unit like that. Anyway the police reckoned this son of the family returned home, discovered what was happening and took most of the assassins out.”

  Behind his sunglasses Steel’s eyes burned but he could not cry at hearing this description of the murder of most of his close family members. For some reason he had never cried; most people thought him heartless, but the reason was more that he had found other ways to vent his emotion.

  Grant took another gulp of coffee, his excitement mounting as his eyes shifted from side to side. Steel would normally have put it down to ‘coffee rush’ but it was more likely that he was on a high from recounting this tale.

  “And then?” Steel enquired as he could sense that Grant’s mind was wandering in another direction.

  “What? Oh yeah!”

  Steel smiled as the man twitched and looked around as if he had just left his own body and come back again. “Oh yeah, right, so after my buddy’s ACCIDENT,” Grant made the inverted comma speech finger actions again, “I decided to find out what was going on.”

  John Steel leaned forwards, his chin resting on his hands, his fingers interlinked.

  “You see, there is a group, they are not terrorists, well not as we know terrorists. No, these are organized, and I really mean organized, almost what you might call an organization,” Jonathan Grant continued. “To them terror and stuff like that is more of a business than a way of life.”

  Now Steel was extremely interested.

  Grant banged a clenched fist against his own forehead. “For the life of me I can’t remember the name Brand told me.”

  Steel looked puzzled. “Was Brand the name of your friend who died?”

  Grant looked up at him, lost in his own confusion. “What? Yeah, Brand Hemming, that was his name.” Grant’s eyes began to wander again, and Steel had the suspicion that this Brand Hemming was more than just a friend to this man.

  “Well, I found a trail that started at the English estate where the killing happened, and traversed round the world to New York. A source of mine told me about someone in London, and from the information I got from them, I made it here.” He raised his palms and beamed a fatuous grin, evidently proud of his achievement. However Steel could see he was keeping a lot of information to himself, unwilling to trust his new friend too much.