Wicked Game

by Matt Johnson

  The medics had diagnosed it as combat stress. Kevin was prescribed anti-depressants and rest. After a few weeks, the dreams passed and he had been able to sleep undisturbed.

  In the years that followed, Kevin and I became good mates. It wasn’t often that NCOs and officers became friends, but we spent so much time together on deployments that it was odds on we would grow either to love or to loathe each other.

  When it came to leaving the army, Kevin was first to make the move. Within three months of applying, he had handed in one uniform and collected another. After sixteen weeks recruit training at Hendon he was posted to Hornchurch. Ann and he had bought their first house, a semi in Barkingside.

  Kevin had settled in well to his new life. He had trained as a driver and then taken on a community beat. He liked looking after kids and took the lead in forming two youth clubs to keep them off the streets.

  So it was all looking good for Kevin. He had a weakness, though, and it cost him his marriage.

  One day, a neighbour asked him over to help mend her leaky washing machine. Temptation got the better of Kevin. The neighbour was attractive and he couldn’t resist chatting her up. When she dropped little hints about her husband being a long-distance lorry driver and her ‘not being likely to get pregnant as he was always too tired’ he had guessed what was on offer. He guessed right. What he hadn’t bargained on was that his wife would wonder why he was taking so long and would come over to see if he was going to be much longer.

  Ann Jones had walked through the back door and heard the noises from the bedroom. She hadn’t come in, but when Kevin had gone home and found her packing, he knew he’d been caught. His protests and pleas fell on deaf ears and within a fortnight he had been served with divorce papers. Ann had gone back to Leicester to live with her mother and had taken their son with her. Kevin had kept the house.

  The relationship with the neighbour never got going and six months later she moved away as well.

  Kevin had remained single, a situation that I now envied to some extent. With no family to look after, he could devote all his energies to the fight we were now facing.

  Chapter 58

  Where have you been, boss?’

  The sudden interruption to my thoughts caught me by surprise. I stood up slowly and brushed dirt from my trousers.

  Kevin looked like he had come straight from work. He still had his white shirt and black trousers on. I turned and started to walk slowly across the common. ‘Walk with me, Kev,’ I said.

  We sauntered, without speaking, across the grass and away from the public car park.

  Kevin broke the silence. ‘You ok, boss?’

  ‘Not really. They nearly got me Kev – blew up my little 2CV, right outside the cottage.’

  ‘Fuck a duck, why didn’t you call me? They kept that out of the news. How the hell did they find out where you live?’

  ‘I don’t know, but just like Skinner, they found me.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to ring you all week. When I tried work, they said you’d gone sick.’

  ‘The new boss put me on compassionate leave.’

  ‘How’d Jenny take it?’

  ‘Pretty well. I had to tell her everything.’

  Kevin scowled. ‘Everything? Including what we were planning to do with McGlinty?’

  ‘Not that, no.’

  ‘OK, but it might have been better to hold back on the details of what we’re doing. The fewer people who know, the better.’

  ‘Yeah, I know Kev and I’m sorry, but she needed to be told the truth. I couldn’t go on lying to her.’

  I could see by the look on Kevin’s face that he understood even if he didn’t agree. I could also see his viewpoint, but it was easy for him, he only had himself to worry about. I didn’t want Jenny finding out the truth from some anonymous uniform calling at her front door with news of my death.

  ‘OK, so what now?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘Get back to Monaghan I suppose, see what he wants us to do.’

  ‘You can get back to him, I’m finished, I’m not doing any more dirty work for him.’

  Kevin’s response surprised me. ‘He won’t like that. He wants to find out where the files are.’

  ‘Look, boss. What happened on that landing ... we were set up. There’s no other way of looking at it.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But remember Rupert Reid?’

  ‘What’s he got to do with this?’

  I explained what Rupert had told me. The warning, about the young PC being OK and the part about the police helicopter disturbing our ride as it hovered above the flats. I also related my chat with Grahamslaw – his suspicions and ideas. I told Kevin about how the car bomb had gone off just as Rupert was about to try and make it safe and how he ended up in hospital. I didn’t mention the way Grahamslaw had tricked me and that he was now getting close.

  Kevin stopped and touched my arm. ‘It was me.’ He looked suddenly pale.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I called your mobile. Must have been about the time Rupert was going over your car. The signal must have set the damn thing off.’

  I chuckled. ‘Christ, we’re making a right mess of this.’

  ‘What do you expect from a couple of old men?’ Kevin joined in my laughter, looking happier, now relieved to learn that the helicopter had been forced to abandon us at Alma House rather than deliberately setting us up to be captured.

  As for me, I was just glad to have someone I could talk to. Someone I didn’t feel responsible for and who was in this to help.

  However, we were still no closer to finding out who was behind the attacks. I decided to run things through with Kevin again.

  We went over it all, the Castlederg break-in, how our files could have left Hereford, Alma house, everything. We even discussed my theory about the Iranian Embassy connection, but that took us nowhere.

  ‘The only possibility of it being linked to the embassy is if the Arab terrorists we took out had mates that have now found us,’ said Kevin.

  ‘After all these years? And anyway, Grahamslaw told me the people looking for us are Irish.’

  ‘I thought he’d said it went deeper than that? What did that mean?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘He didn’t elaborate. I can only guess he’s suspicious about how our files fell into their hands.’

  ‘So, we’ve a good idea who it is – the IRA.’

  ‘But it still doesn’t really answer “why” though, does it, Kev? And it doesn’t answer what Rupert Reid said about them being mercenaries.’

  ‘Revenge, simple enough. Oldest motive in the world. The IRA have long memories and maybe these mercs just do some of their dirty work for them. And there’s another thing that strikes me as well.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, let’s imagine the embassy is the connection for a minute and that it’s not the IRA. There must have been thirty guys on the embassy, at least. They’re all over the world now. Apart from Mac Blackwood, every attack has been on a Met Police officer. They’ve even come back for another go at you. Why all this activity in London? I mean, we’ve got to be the hardest targets. Some of the other guys are doing protection work, running bars and pubs. They’d be easy to find and easy to kill off. Surely whoever it is would go for the easy targets first?’

  ‘So maybe the “why” is nothing to do with the fact that we were all at the embassy,’ I said.

  ‘That’s what I reckoned.’

  ‘And why two attacks on me? Why try so hard to get me? You’re right Kev. Is there a connection between Bridges, Skinner, you and me, apart from the obvious?’

  ‘Not that springs to mind and, so far, nothing has happened to make me think that I’m a target.’

  ‘Apart from what Monaghan said – that we’re all at risk.’

  ‘OK, OK. Point taken. But, at least no one has tried to kill me.’

  ‘Yet…’

  Kevin was right. There had been no attempt on him. Monaghan had onl
y brought him in to persuade me to get involved. Finding out if there was another link was now a priority. There was only one place to find out. The Regiment Headquarters at Hereford.

  As we walked back to our cars, we agreed that I would contact Monaghan. Kevin would go to Hereford, check through our files and talk to some of the boys. It would be a great chance to have a look at the new camp in Credenhill, where the regiment had moved.

  In the meantime, Monaghan should have found out whether the Arab boy was on the loose. If he was, it might be that my theory would need another look.

  Chapter 59

  I arrived outside Monaghan’s club at six.

  The door was opened by the same man I had seen on my previous visit. This time he showed me straight in. We walked along the dimly lit corridors to the lounge. As I settled into a leather armchair, he asked me if I wanted a drink. I made it a large gin and tonic, plenty of ice. I was thirsty as hell.

  I didn’t have to wait long. With my drink resting on a silver tray, the doorman reappeared and gestured for me to follow him. We stepped back into the corridor where one of the large side-doors now stood open. I took my drink and walked through. The door closed gently behind me.

  I was standing in an office about fifteen feet square with another oak door facing me on the far left wall. Underfoot, the thick, green carpet felt soft and expensive. A large walnut desk against the opposite wall looked similarly exquisite. The room reeked of extreme wealth and appeared almost unused.

  Monaghan emerged from the door in the left wall. He was surprisingly warm, his handshake strong. The friendly reception threw me slightly.

  ‘Good to see you, Finlay, I was worried when I heard about the device under your car.’

  ‘You were always threatening to put a bomb under me,’ I quipped.

  ‘Indeed I was. Most of my troop commanders had to be chased occasionally.’

  Monaghan grinned and then appeared to become hesitant. It was as if he didn’t quite know how to continue the conversation.

  ‘If it was me, I think I would be very worried,’ he continued at last. ‘I presume you asked for this meeting to see about a new identity, a new start.’

  Now I understood the uncertainty. He thought I wanted out. In his place I might have expected a similar reaction. In some ways, he was right. Half of me did want out, to hide away and make a new start. The other half wanted to fight. Jenny’s words flashed into my mind. ‘Nowhere to hide, Bob. Nowhere to run’. And I’d promised Kevin.

  ‘Not just yet,’ I said. ‘Have you found out whether the Iranian kid from the embassy has been freed?’

  Monaghan sat at the desk and opened the briefcase he had with him. He pulled out a large brown envelope.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘A piece of the puzzle.’ Monaghan opened the envelope and placed four large colour-prints on the desk.

  I looked them over. The first two were of an Arab man; they were close-ups, taken with what was probably a long-lens camera. I guessed it was the kid from the embassy. This was the answer to my question. I was right. He was behind this. As my focus shifted to the second pair I drew a sharp breath.

  ‘Costello,’ I gasped. ‘So, there’s no mistake then?’

  ‘None; it’s as I said. The one you had trussed up in the tower block was Dominic McGlinty, a hired gun that Costello uses from time to time.’

  ‘We guessed as much. Costello would have put up a better fight.’

  ‘Indeed. And whilst there is no picture of them together, you will note from the time and date on the prints that they were taken only yesterday.’

  ‘The Arab is the kid from the embassy then?’

  ‘I believe so. The Security Service code-name for him is “White Dove”.’

  ‘Cute. An angel of death, disguised as the bringer of life.’

  ‘He is believed to be Iranian.’

  ‘That fits. You think he is the brains behind the bombers?’

  ‘I’m certain of it.’

  ‘He’s got the ROSE files?’

  ‘It seems likely. We must find him and eliminate him.’

  ‘Easy as pie,’ I scoffed. ‘Number one, I don’t have any contacts that might help me find him. Secondly, I’m now on compassionate leave so I can’t even use the police computer to help.’

  ‘I could help you there.’

  ‘And how might you do that?’ I asked.

  ‘Special Branch have had him under observation since he landed at Heathrow some time ago. They were tailing him to see what he was up to. Nobody expected it to lead them to Costello. An arrest team was called in when they observed the meeting taking place but before they could summon help, both Costello and the Iranian had fled the scene.’

  ‘Do Special Branch have a name for him?’

  ‘Selahattin Yildrim.’

  ‘Will they be able to locate him again?’

  ‘I expect so. They are familiar with the places he frequents and they are monitoring hotels and guest houses. It shouldn’t take too long before he is back on their radar. My contact in the Branch will provide the information we need.’

  It looked like I had been right about the embassy connection. And Monaghan had clearly been hard at work; he certainly had some good friends.

  ‘Perhaps our luck is changing,’ I said. ‘If we’d managed to grab McGlinty, I doubt if he would have led us to this Yildrim character. Costello’s too clever to have let McGlinty in on that information. This way, we’re another step closer to finding those files.’

  ‘We are, yes.’

  I changed tack. ‘OK, given that we’ve now established a connection between the people trying to kill us and the Iranian Embassy, why is it just me, Skinner and Bridges that they’ve come after?’

  Monaghan appeared slightly taken aback by the question. ‘You’ve given that some thought too?’ he said.

  ‘Two attempts on me suggests they have a very short list. There are a lot of other ex-special forces people, so why focus on me?’

  ‘I don’t know … apart from the embassy, there doesn’t seem to be any obvious link.’

  I probed further. ‘Could it be that just our three files were stolen?’

  ‘No, there were others.’

  ‘Mac Blackwood?’ I asked, watching Monaghan’s face closely for a reaction. There was none.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said coolly. ‘I should have told you. I didn’t realise you knew Mac.’

  ‘In case you forgot, Mac did all the window research for the embassy. It’s starting to come together, isn’t it?’

  I couldn’t help but allow a tone of accusation to enter my voice. Monaghan’s failure to spot the link was annoying. Everything was starting to point back towards the embassy. I just didn’t know how the Iranian had managed to get our files.

  Monaghan started to gather up the photographs.

  ‘Give me the one of the Iranian,’ I held out my hand to take it. ‘I’d like Kev Jones to take a look at it.’

  Monaghan seemed reluctant to give me the photo. In the event I picked it up myself and tucked it into my inside pocket before finishing off my drink and heading for the street.

  With the cause of our trouble now identified, it looked like I was in this until the bloody end. And bloody it might just be.

  Chapter 60

  Grahamslaw’s morning wasn’t going well. A lengthy debrief with the two interrogation teams had produced little in the way of new ideas on how to get the two suspects to talk. He had just suggested a new interview plan for McGlinty when the office telephone began to ring. He picked up the receiver, hoping that it would be Mick Parratt calling in with his report from Northern Ireland. It wasn’t. It was MI5. They were ready to try and put some pressure on Hewitson, the second prisoner.

  At Paddington Green Police Station, Grahamslaw waited patiently as the Sergeant Custody Officer scribbled away on the custody record. The poor man was sweating profusely, his left hand rubbing the back of his neck as he attempted to ease the tension of run
ning a busy custody suite. He seemed to be working as fast as he could. Grahamslaw didn’t try to rush him; he was all too aware of the time it now took to look after ordinary prisoners, let alone terrorism detainees. The Police and Criminal Evidence Act requirement to write everything down made it even worse.

  Spending your working day looking after prisoners wasn’t something Grahamslaw envied. Inside the sealed suite of cells and interview rooms, the atmosphere was stale and the shortage of windows meant that you wouldn’t see daylight for hours.

  He was grateful that things had been a lot easier in his day. Although he had enjoyed his time as a uniformed Sergeant, he often found himself questioning the sanity of anyone wishing to do the same these days.

  His thoughts were disturbed as three of his own anti-terrorist detectives appeared across the desk in front of the distracted Custody Sergeant. They were from the interview team to whom he had just been speaking.

  The Sergeant raised his gaze from the paperwork laid out before him. ‘Come to have another word with one of your two?’ he asked.

  ‘Hewitson,’ said the DI. ‘We need him for questioning. We’ll have him out to our own interview rooms downstairs. No solicitors still.’

  The Sergeant pulled a prepared ink stamp out of the drawer to his left.

  The DI raised his hand to stop him. ‘Nothing on the custody record this time, Sarge.’

  The Sergeant scowled. Grahamslaw could see from his reaction that he wasn’t impressed. He had been through this kind of dispute before. As custody officer, he was required to book a prisoner out properly and yet here was someone telling him to flout the law.

  ‘Why?’ the Sergeant asked, as he stared at the DI.

  ‘We’ve interviewed him on tape many times, Sarge, and like all good terrorists he says absolutely nothing. There’s nothing to be gained by another formal interview. This time we just want to talk to him. I promise you, there’ll be no rough stuff. We won’t be long. Just show a cell visit down to me and pretend he’s still in the cell.’