by AFN CLARKE
She was wrong it wasn't over, but I needed Radley to think that for me it was over. Danny confirmed in his dying breath what I already knew. Radley could not be trusted. The Team we had put together for this last mission were expendable to Radley. But I did have one piece of information I had been keeping to myself. The dinner invitation I found in Lambert's pocket, to which was attached was a list of eleven other dinner guests. And the reason I hadn't told Radley about it was that his name was on that list.
“You need a rest Thomas. We all do. We've done our job, now it's time to bury our dead. Listen to the man,” Paul said quietly and held my eyes a moment longer than usual, then his eyes flickered sideways toward Radley.
I dropped my shoulders and heaved a sigh, hoping that my acting was good enough, and nodded. “Okay. You're both right. It's not my fight anymore.” From the corner of my eye I saw Radley visibly relax and a slight smile twitch his thin lips.
“Take a holiday. Go back to Gozo for a few weeks, get well and soak up the sun, you deserve it.” Radley crossed the kitchen and held out his hand. “Thank you for everything you've done.” There was no warmth in his voice, and after a brief nod to Julie and me, he left.
Paul and the other four finished their meal and sat back.
“Best thing mate,” Paul said loudly, standing, crossing to the window and watching as Radley's entourage climbed aboard his helicopter. “Wouldn't mind joining you in Gozo. Could do with a spot of sailing.” He looked back as the helicopter took off and put a finger to his lips. “But I guess I'll just settle for the farm in Wales.”
The others fanned out through the house and I knew they were looking for bugs. Radley wanted to keep tabs on us. To him we were all mercenaries, former soldiers who had been let go, until the next time. We had lost two friends and to Radley that was acceptable. Not to us.
It took thirty minutes to clear the house of the bugs, but we still had to be careful and Paul turned on the TV, choosing an action adventure film and turning up the volume.
“Danny was right. We can't trust Radley, we suspected all along he was the man behind the Increment.”
I looked at each man. Gerry, Bob, Paul, Bill and Pete. Good men, every one, and every one a friend. Sometimes that made things difficult. To be perfectly callous, you can get over acquaintances being killed, but with friends it was different. It was personal. It scored deep into your psyche.
“What now?” Julie looked at us and I could see the fear in her eyes. Now she knew this wasn't over.
“We'll have to convince Radley we're going our separate ways.”
“How?”
For an answer I picked up the house phone and called the Gunn Group Industries maintenance crew at Norwich airport, asked them to prepare the Mustang for a flight to Malta. Radley's men would intercept the call and relay the information to him.
“There was something I didn't tell Radley that you should all know.” They stared at me. “While I was in Perth at the ISEC seminar, I found an invitation to a very select dinner party at the Tower of London tomorrow night. Radley and Hamish McDougall are both on the guest list.”
“I knew the bastard was fucking us over,” Gerry exploded. “Excuse me Miss, but he's a fucking bastard.”
I pulled the still damp invitation from my pocket and spread it and the guest list on the table for them all to see.
“What Radley didn't tell us was that General the Lord Dalton-Percy is the Constable of the Tower of London and he's running this little dinner shindig. Along with ISEC's own man, Sir Jason Lancaster, formerly Director General, Humanitarian, Security, Conflict and International Finance at the Department of International Development. Sir Jason's last big job before he 'retired', was providing British Government funding for infrastructure development in the Dominion of Pakhia. He'll not be too pleased that the coup has been averted.”
Also on the list was Nicholas Hansard of the British National Independent Party; Ted Lieberman of the Griffin Trust and now a Board member of the US Federal Reserve Bank; Karl Von Schoenberg of the Von Kurt Foundation; Lauren Tanner, formerly a Director of Gunn Group Industries and newly appointed CEO; Carly Swann, CEO of Caymans Venture Capital Investment Group; Andries Artman, Chairman of Artman Banking Group and Sir John Manx, recently retired British Ambassador to South Africa.
“What about Marika Keskküla?”
“Assuming she's still alive and even if we could find her we couldn't touch her. Diplomatic immunity.”
“Looks like a who's-who of global fascist extremists,” Paul echoing what everyone was thinking.
“And just what is the plan?” Julie the voice of reason wanting details we didn't have.
“We stop them.”
“Great plan.” She turned away in disgust and busied herself clearing the table. “When you cowboys get your heads together, then maybe you can think this through.”
Paul looked at me sharply and I knew what he was thinking. She was the weak link in the chain. He walked over to Julie and turned her to face him so she could read his lips. “I have a friend at the Tower. He'll get us inside. We can set up a listening device and find out what they are up to.”
“And what do you do with the information then? Go to someone like Radley with it?”
“Actually I was thinking more along the lines of publishing it on YouTube.” He meant it as a joke, but to the rest of us it suddenly became a real option. Even the threat would be enough to change the dynamic.
Julie dropped her head. “I apologise. It's just....”
Paul wrapped his arms around and held her close for a moment. She rested her head on his chest. “We'll take care of Thomas and bring him back to you. I promise.”
She looked up at him angrily brushing tears away. “I'll make sure you do. I know how to use a gun. Ask Thomas.”
Paul smiled as the others gathered their gear together. “I’ll remember that. Tomorrow morning 0500 hrs, Danny's house, Muswell Hill.”
“Hold on just a minute.” I left the kitchen ran upstairs to the bedroom and retrieved the last spare burn phone and took it down to Paul.
“Burn phone. I have one as well, this is the number. Just in case.” I handed him the phone and a card with my number.
Paul nodded and then they left through the front door. No doubt Radley would have some of his men, probably Increment, watching the Hall to make sure they were on their way. They climbed into a white Range Rover and drove away down the drive, the taillights disappearing behind the trees.
“I'm coming with you.” Julie facing me, face set and determined. The tears were gone and there was a resolve in her expression. “Your family is my family. What happens to you happens to me.”
“The Professor may not see it that way.”
“My father has no say in my decisions.” She was obviously not to be dissuaded. “These people nearly killed me as well and I may never hear properly again. Because of that I have learned to pay attention to everything around me and read lips. I'm an asset not a liability.” She stepped toward me her eyes softening, and her coldness of the last week evaporating in the warm kitchen. “My life is with you, wherever that may be.”
We made love slowly, as if for the first time. Enjoying each other as we had in Gozo, in a time that seemed so long ago now. The difference was that we now understood each other more deeply. Knew we could not demand more than there was to give, and realised the fragility of our lives, determining to enjoy whatever time we had together.
“We need to get moving.” I was already dressed and repacking the bergen Paul had left with extra ammunition for my Glock and the night vision binoculars.
Julie stretched catlike across the bed. “How do we get past Radley's men? They are sure to be out there.”
“A little deception they know nothing about.”
She dressed quickly in a black exercise outfit, black sneakers and black sheepskin jacket, topped with a black ski hat that hid her blond hair.
“Just an outfit I picked up online while you
were away playing soldiers in Estonia.” Answering my surprised expression. “I knew you wouldn't let this go. Not now.” She grinned. “And I'm a better actor than you. Radley needed convincing.”
“Predictable, eh?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did Danny tell you about Radley?”
“No. My instincts. Radley's a sociopath. No emotion. He'll use anyone to get what he wants.”
She followed me downstairs, through the kitchen and into the wine cellar, shaking her head in disbelief at the hidden tunnel that led to the Folly. Earlier in the evening I had a short whispered conversation with Ron and George, who would keep up the pretence that Julie and I were still at the Hall, and told them to keep the outside floodlights on throughout the night. Then I called Vincenzo in Gozo and arranged for him to organise a private jet to fly to Blackbushe airport to pick us up in two days. Ron told me the Mini-Cooper was in the barn, fuelled and ready.
I was gambling that the Increment unit Radley had left behind would be small and concentrating their focus on the normal exits from the Hall. Any night vision binoculars would be useless to them in the glare of the floodlights, but I would be able to use mine to pick out their positions because I would be focused away from the Hall.
Silently opening the door into the Folly, I checked that no one was using it as an observation platform before taking up position on the landing at the top of the stairs where I could view the immediate area.
Within moments I had picked two of them out. No doubt two more would be staked out at the back of the Hall. And as I thought they were watching the Hall, unable to use their night vision binoculars because of the floodlights.
It took and hour to reach the barn, taking a circuitous route. Stopping every few minutes to make sure we were not followed and upon reaching the barn, ten minutes to check the immediate area. Radley's men had not found the Mini-Cooper.
Julie climbed into the passenger seat grinning from ear-to-ear. “It's like being in a time-warp. Inside an old newsreel film from the sixties.”
“These are expensive cars now. Collector's pieces.”
“Well let's go.”
Just being in the little car was an escape from reality. There was something about it that wiped away the horrors we had been through and for two hours we chatted and laughed behaving like a young couple on honeymoon. But this was no honeymoon and ahead of us the dark cloud of reality awaited.
Danny's house was a dark, lonely brooding monolith, as if it felt the loss of its owner more than we did. At this time in the morning before dawn, most of the residents of Muswell Hill were fast asleep. Julie and I slipped silently through the back garden and into the kitchen where Paul and the others were gathered. Gerry pulled heavy drapes across the windows and switched on the table lamp in the small sitting room off the kitchen where Danny and I had spent nights listening to Caruso and Gigli and drinking Jameson. But now was not the time for reminiscing.
Paul rolled out a plan of the Tower of London on the large coffee table. “The dinner is held in the Martin Tower over on the north east corner, here.” He pointed to the tower that was previously known as the Jewel House. “Access is not too much of a problem as the Government in its infinite wisdom have decided to employ an outside security firm to patrol the outer walls. The Yeoman Warders are responsible only for the inner walls and the main White Tower complex, barracks and administration buildings.”
“Surely Radley will have infiltrated the contractors and have a few of his own men stationed at the Martin Tower.” Bill interrupted. “I would if I was him.”
“Two to be precise.”
“How do you know?” Gerry asked.
“My contact, one of the Yeoman Warders.”
“Figuring that's what you'll do when you retire Paul?” Gerry laughed.
“We're muckers from way back, he was my first CSM and really put me through it.” He smiled and then turned to me. “Thomas is going in through the front door, with the lovely Julie. That'll be a surprise for them and get their attention while the rest us take out the contractors on the outer perimeter and the two at the Martin Tower.” He paused looking at me carefully. “We can't help you once you're inside. Not until we've secured the area, so you two are on your own.”
“Not ideal, but we do have the advantage of surprise. Presumably you can get a bug into the dining room?”
“My man has it in place and will activate it once Radley's men have swept the room. We'll record everything.”
“Straight to YouTube, right,” Julie said dryly. “If only we had a camera.”
Gerry grinned and reaching down to his bergen produced a small box containing a beautiful opal ring and handed it to her. “Milady. There's a micro camera lens in the centre of the leopard opal and a nano transmitter similar to the one Thomas had inserted into his hand, hidden in the setting.”
“Never thought I'd be an American spying on the British.”
“Never thought I'd be British spying on the British.” Gerry echoed her sentiment. “Life gets weird sometimes.”
We spent the rest of the day planning our evening's work. Julie and I changed into our evening clothes. Me into a dinner jacket and black tie, Julie in stunning black evening gown that covered her black cat suit and we were set. I just had two phone calls to make. One to Edwards to meet us in the Golden Lion at ten o'clock tomorrow night, and the other to Professor Oldfield to also meet us there. If we didn't make it then Edwards was to give the letter to Professor Oldfield.
The Tower of London is one of Britain's oldest surviving Royal Palaces; home to the Yeoman Warders who guard the Tower complex, the Crown Jewels and give tours and lectures to milling tourists, wearing their traditional dress. All are retired Warrant Officers.
The chauffeur dropped us off near Saint Katherine's dock and we walked to the entrance by the Cradle Tower as instructed, where a Yeoman Warder in full uniform waited patiently with two of the security contractors. I hadn't worn a dinner jacket and black tie for a while and felt somewhat overdressed, but felt the thrill of apprehension that always comes with a mission.
“Good evening sir, this way please.” He didn't use my name and the contractors looked a little unsure, but stood aside, appreciating Julie's beauty and not investigating me much at all. As Julie said, she was an asset and surprise was on our side.
I smiled courteously to the stocky bearded Yeoman Warder who stood before us, his eyes direct. He gave me a slight nod, turned and led the way into the Tower complex. The last time I visited the Tower of London had been as a ten year old on a prep school outing. All we wanted to see was the Bloody Tower, Traitors Gate and the site of the executions. At night the Tower exuded more menace than during the day when tourists milled around its walls and towers. But perhaps that was because I knew the true nature of that lay which lay within the small Martin Tower, where a game of wealth and death would be played out.
“Robert Wrightwood,” the Yeoman Warder said quietly, barely moving his lips. “Paul's friend. There are two contractors at the entrance to the Martin Tower, which Paul assures me he will take care of, then you're on your own. All the guests have arrived and the listening device activated.”
“Thank you Robert.”
“Any friend of Paul's...” he let the sentence hang as he led us up the stone stairs to the battlements that led to the entrance of the Martin Tower. Robert stopped in the shadows and pointed along the battlements to the Martin Tower, where two men blended as well as they could into darkness lit only by a small light. We waited for a moment and I hoped Paul's timing was right, and then heard a soft 'plopping' sound from silenced handguns and the two men slumped to the stone battlement.
Julie and I slipped off our evening wear and I noticed she had a thigh holster.
“That come with the outfit?”
She grinned, and while Robert returned to his other duties, we ran quickly along the battlement and slipped inside the Martin Tower. Immediately we could hear voices and the clink of glasses f
rom the small dining room as the ISEC group tucked into their gastronomic feast.
I looked at Julie, gauging whether she was up to this. She stared back at me coolly. Detached. I looked past her and saw a sign pointing to the dining room with the graphic of an Orange Moon over a darkened landscape and beneath the letters I.S.E.C.
Radley stared at us in shock as we entered the small dining room, guns drawn. His expression turned to one of intense anger. Of all of all those gathered for dinner, Hamish McDougall seemed the least surprised. The General the Lord Dalton-Percy turned a deathly pale, and I wondered how he had been awarded a Military Cross if the sight of a gun in my hand made him pee himself with fright. I wasn't feeling very charitable.
"Well, Thomas, you seem to have stumbled upon our little organisation. That's a pity, a great pity. You've caused us a great deal of grief over the last few months, but I must admit I thought you were dead for sure when they reported that you had gone over the waterfall." He stood up smiling. “As you can see there is not enough room for you to join us for dinner.”
“Dinner is the last thing on our minds, Hamish.”
“What do you think you are doing, Gunn,” Radley shouted, attempting to stand, sinking back into his seat as Julie pointed her gun in his direction. He was sensible enough to realise the weapon was cocked and her grip steady, aim unerring. “None of this is your concern.” He added much like a petulant child.
“All of it is my concern, and the concern of this country which you seem to think is up for sale to the highest bidder.”
“Not exactly true, Thomas.” Hamish stood back a step, appraising us and wondering where his security team were. “We are in fact the saviours of this country. Of Europe and the Western hemisphere. We are all represented here, as you must now understand.”
“Rather delusional of you, don't you think Hamish?” He smiled even more, an almost maniacal glint in his eye. I looked down the table to a thirty-five year brunette, all uplift bra and carefully applied executive style make-up. “And Miss Tanner, you're fired from the Gunn Group.” She looked down at the tablecloth, her hands shaking in her lap.
