“Karl,” he hissed.
Karl stopped in his tracks.
Thomas pointed to the fourth door with his gun hand. “Barbara, we need to make sure the baby is safe. We don’t want to scare it, do we?”
“Ivana’s sleeping.” Barbara’s voice wavered.
Thomas turned the handle gradually, until it clicked. “In that case I’ll just . . .” He pushed the door at arm’s length and it arced in a couple of feet.
A gun fired and Thomas instinctively dropped to a squat. Glass fell to the floor somewhere in the room. The baby started bawling its head off. Shit or bust. He sprang up and rushed the gap, flinging the door back.
Barbara Leibowicz huddled in a corner with the baby, on the far side of the bed, with a duvet and pillows around them. The pistol wavered in her hand.
“Don’t.” Thomas aimed the Makarov at her head. He didn’t stop to ask himself if he’d pull the trigger, he’d walked that road a long time ago. He edged along the wall, weapon still trained on her, aware that Karl had entered his peripheral vision.
“Come on, Barbara, be sensible — look at what you’re doing to . . . Ivana.”
“You can’t take her,” Barbara wailed, briefly drowning out the baby’s caterwauling. “She’s mine now — she needs me.”
Buoyed up by Karl’s marksmanship, Thomas gradually crept round beside Barbara and prised the gun from her hand. On the far wall, close to the door, an antique sampler, proclaiming ‘There’s no place like home’ sported a bullet hole in the embroidery.
It took a moment for Thomas to register, and then the sickening realisation hit home. Barbara’s words — mine now — could only mean one thing. After all, hadn’t Karl always insisted that the Shadow State traded in any commodity that was profitable? From that grim conclusion other pieces fell into place. The driver and Theo Pritchard had both seen the baby, and paid a heavy price. Thomas turned to Karl. “What do we do?”
Karl flicked his head back. “Not our problem — the cavalry is here.” Karl swiftly holstered the Browning as DS Edwards puffed her way up the stairs.
“Alright, lads? Everything under control?” Thomas pocketed the Makarov and put Barbara Leibowicz’s handgun on a shelf, as far away from her as possible.
Edwards surveyed the scene. “Barbara Leibowicz, I am arresting you on suspicion of kidnapping, contrary to the Child Abduction Act 1984. You do not have to say anything . . .”
Karl shook his head. “Slovakia.” He grabbed the weapon off the shelf. “Come on, Tommo, we’re out of here.”
“Wait!” Barbara’s face lit up like a tallow candle and she pointed a damning finger at Karl. “I paid him by cheque. He’s part of it.”
“What, this?” Karl pulled a near pristine cheque from his jacket and passed it over to Edwards. “I needed her trust to get her mobile number.”
“No!” Barbara screamed, clinging to the child.
DC Jun Wen entered the room and it took a further officer up there before Edwards came down again with the baby in a blanket. DI Ferguson met them at the bottom of the stairs.
“We found two of them outside — an ambulance is on its way for the male and we’ve got the female in handcuffs.”
Thomas cringed. “Blonde hair, fitted dress and a pissed-off expression? She’s with us. You’d better come back and de-arrest her.”
Chapter 42
Thomas drove the three of them back to London. He didn’t say much — no one did. Miranda seemed to have got over her brush with the law and Karl assured her that he would make good on the car damage. But all Thomas could think about was the harrowing look on Barbara Leibowicz’s face when she knew there was no way out. A prison sentence would be the least of it.
“When did you know about the baby, Karl?”
“I didn’t — not until you made the connection at the front door.”
Thomas fessed up. “A shot in the dark, playing for time.”
“Well, your powers of deduction must be improving. Anyway, when we left Sir Peter’s club I phoned Teresa and asked her to liaise with Edwards. That way we could be traced by my phone.”
“Or mine?”
Karl just smiled.
* * *
Thomas didn’t hear from Heick for three days. Southampton was high on the list of all the places he never wanted to see again. Even so, this invitation was worth the risk of accidentally running into his boss’s boyfriend — the still married Bob Peterson.
Miranda drove her newly refurbished Mini. It seemed only fair to bring her along for closure — as Sheryl had put it. Plus, Bob Peterson didn’t have a marker on her car’s number plate if seen in the Southampton area.
Karl occupied the back seat and the middle ground. In the three days since the Leibowiczs had been neutralised he hadn’t spoken against Heick or Voclain. He was quieter, more self-contained. Miranda put on his Creedence Clearwater CD in the car, but even Cosmo’s Factory failed to bring him out of himself.
Heick and Henriette met them at the port. The evening light lent the ferries a romance they didn’t deserve. They moved like dinosaurs, edging around one another, or else they sat off shore, waiting.
Thomas had saved the details for Miranda. He thought it’d be better hearing it from Heick, who passed her the night vision goggles and directed her attention to a floating behemoth.
“Moretti is on there. It’s how the stolen cars are shipped. The ones the police didn’t get to.”
Miranda’s gaze turned fiery. “Sorry, how is that a punishment?”
Heick stared silent questions at Thomas, who calmly stood and waited. Waiting could still solve most of his problems.
“He’s been drugged and hidden in the back of one of his own vehicles. Kinda poetic justice?”
“Kind of sod-all justice.”
“No.” Heick held up both his index fingers. “You don’t understand. The trip takes weeks and he’ll arrive in the Middle East with a fake Italian passport, a little money — not enough to travel on — and a mobile phone. He’ll have to work his way back through the traffickers — it will inconvenience him greatly.”
Thomas thought about the footage he’d sliced and diced in the office a few days before.
“Unless he knows some of your international contacts, Henriette?”
“Ce n’est pas possible.” She spoke in French to Heick, flushed with indignation.
They parted company for what Thomas hoped would be the final time. As Henriette extended her Belgian civility to Karl, Thomas wondered whether Heick had revealed the family connection. Miranda withstood her bonhomie with all the grace of an angry cat. Finally, Henriette crossed the tarmac to Thomas, who still had an eye on the ferry out in the growing darkness.
She gripped him by the shoulders and as she kissed his cheek she whispered, “I’ve kept my word — keep yours,” adding, “L’honneur est mieux que les honneurs.”
He repeated the phrase in his head, so that Miranda could explain it later. Heick seemed short on goodbyes. There was a moment where it looked like he might try and connect with Karl, until Karl turned away to chaperone Miranda to her car.
“Don’t change your number, Thomas. I may need to call you some time.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
* * *
Miranda dropped Karl off before they headed on to Thomas’s flat in Walthamstow. She translated Henriette’s fortune cookie wisdom — honour is better than honours — and he resolved to keep it in his wallet.
The following day he received a text and went back to the Asterion Hotel to collect an envelope. He passed the additional evidence on to DS Edwards. Bye bye, Barbara Leibowicz. Not in the same league as seeing Moretti’s head on a pike but still a victory.
Thomas decided he wouldn’t ask Karl, Ann or Christine how they planned to use the footage from the hotel. Some mysteries were best left unsolved. Besides, he’d cut the image sequences so many different ways it needed a spreadsheet to keep track of them. He imagined every identified person on the list
receiving material that suggested they or others had held secret talks with Heick, or Henriette or any other delegate.
It was enough to imagine the shit-storm it would cause and the damage it might do within the Shadow State. There was some justice in that. Heick had used Miranda and Sheryl to covertly film the attendees downstairs as an insurance policy, in case Henriette tried to back out of joining the Shadow State’s inner circle. In the end, she’d been another of Heick’s investments. Meanwhile she, in turn, had sanctioned the release of that information to undermine them both. Frankly, they deserved each other.
Miranda stayed for three days and life regained some sort of equilibrium. But there was one thing left for Thomas to do: the right thing. He'd always understood the value of information, although not necessarily its power. The discussion with Karl at the hotel about things being hidden in plain sight had set him thinking. What else was staring him in the face? A web search on Asterion identified him as the consort of Europa. Thomas figured Heick and his European cronies still got a kick out of that. As for Charlemagne himself, one unusual fact leapt from the screen. No one knew for certain where he'd been born — Aachen or Liege. So, what if the agent Charlemagne also had two origins - Henriette Voclain and Stephen Heick?
Thomas waited until Miranda went out and used his old SIM card one last time. He kept it brief, made his pitch and killed the call. Heick had no time to deny it and anyway this wasn't about the truth. It was about information and leverage.
Its final mission completed, Thomas removed the SIM and despatched it with a hammer. “Let’s see you track that,” he sneered, sprinkling the pieces into a metal wastepaper bin. Heick’s intelligence file on him and a generous helping of lighter fuel completed the recipe. He set the bin at the top of his backdoor steps, propped his kitchen door wide open and fetched out some safety matches.
The fading sky above Walthamstow bled into evening. He lit the beacon and watched it erupt into flame, releasing a column of black smoke into the neighbourhood. Theo Pritchard dominated his thoughts and he stayed there until Miranda arrived home with a takeaway.
Chapter 43
It was late but Heick took the call.
“Arlo, stay calm. You crossed the line with the Brits. I warned you. I’ll take care of it — I’ll send a helicopter for you. Call me when you have the information and then wait for my instructions. Keep the passport close.”
* * *
Heick had prepared for all eventualities. He flew down to US Naval Station Rota, in the Cadiz Province of Spain, courtesy of Sir Peter Carroll. Sir Peter called it a ‘farewell gift.’
On arrival, two strangers in combat fatigues met him on the tarmac. They saluted and awaited instructions. They didn’t ask questions. He told them he’d brief them in the air and had one of them take his case.
Moretti telephoned again and gave Heick the name of the vessel, something he already knew. Heick assured him a helicopter was on its way with the money.
The two strangers, whose names Heick never asked, came to collect him when everything was ready. They offered him the case but he didn’t want to touch it again until he had his gloves back on.
“And what about . . ?”
“It’s on board, sir.”
He began to relax once they were airborne. His companion didn’t speak and merely pointed downward as the information came through his headphones. Heick nodded and braced himself as the side door opened, even though he was tethered to the inside of the helicopter. The roar of the rotor blades and the rush of salty air sharpened his senses.
Below, a small figure had climbed out to the rear of the vessel, behind a swathe of vehicles and containers. Heick drew a circle in the air with his gloved finger and the helicopter banked to arc around.
“I’ll do it myself.” Heick picked up the rifle and held it snug against his shoulder. It had been a long time. He breathed in aviation fuel and saline as the vessel beneath them powered through the sea, unable to escape.
He didn’t hesitate when Moretti entered his line of sight. One clear shot to the head and the job was done — a clean kill, into the water. He motioned to the case and then pointed down. There were two people out now, cowering in the gap between containers.
The Samsonite case bounced a couple of times without rupturing. Heick didn’t wait around to see if they’d take the money — that was a given. He signalled to leave and then turned his back on his companion momentarily to whisper to himself, as if in prayer.
“I kept our boy safe, Kathleen, like I promised.”
* * *
For once the poker table was adorned with cash. Karl had brought along a grand and divided it up at the start, just for the hell of it. Eight people crammed around the table, watching the game. Miranda coughed a little and leant back to try and see what Thomas was holding.
“Hey!” John insisted. “We brought you up better than that.”
She blushed and hung her head. Thomas let it pass. He had other things to think about, especially when his mobile went off. A chorus of abuse circled the table like a Mexican wave.
“Fuck’s sake, Thomas. Can’t you leave your work alone for five minutes?” John grinned to soften the blow.
“Sorry. Cards down, everyone. I have to take this.” Thomas tilted his head to Miranda. This was the call he’d been expecting. He retreated to a far corner of the room and hit the button, listening hard to make sure he heard it right above the noise of the engines.
“It’s Heick. It’s done. Goodbye, Thomas.”
The call cut before he could offer his thanks, which was just as well. He held his phone up high so they could see him switching it off and made his way back to the table. “Now, where were we?”
“We were waiting for you, Tommy Boy.”
“In that case, I’m in.”
Karl shook his head gently. “Nah, you’re bluffing. I can smell it.”
Miranda touched Thomas’s hand and smiled, looking over to Karl. “You should know by now — he never bluffs.”
THE END
THE THOMAS BLADEN SERIES
BOOK 1
STANDPOINT
Thomas Bladen works in surveillance for a shadowy unit of the British government. During a routine operation, he sees a shooting which exposes a world of corruption and danger. When his on-again, off-again girlfriend Miranda is drawn into the conspiracy, Thomas must decide who he can trust to help him save her life
http://www.amazon.co.uk/STANDPOINT-gripping-thriller-full-suspense-ebook/dp/B00UVQBVVU/
http://www.amazon.com/STANDPOINT-gripping-thriller-full-suspense-ebook/dp/B00UVQBVVU/
BOOK 2: LINE OF SIGHT
http://www.amazon.co.uk/LINE-SIGHT-gripping-thriller-suspense-ebook/dp/B00XIOAOBK/
http://www.amazon.com/LINE-SIGHT-gripping-thriller-suspense-ebook/dp/B00XIOAOBK/
A young woman lies dead at an army base. Was it really an accident?
When Amy Johanson is killed during a weapons test, Thomas and his partner Karl are determined to get to the bottom of it. They must protect Amy's friend Jess, the only witness they have, who plays a dangerous game of seduction and lies. Meanwhile, Thomas’s girlfriend Miranda and her family are once again put in the firing line.
Can Thomas get justice for Amy, solve the mystery of Karl’s past, and decide who he can really trust?
BOOK 3: CAUSE & EFFECT
http://www.amazon.co.uk/CAUSE-EFFECT-thriller-wont-want-ebook/dp/B016J62PYM/
http://www.amazon.com/CAUSE-EFFECT-thriller-wont-want-ebook/dp/B016J62PYM/
A random attack on a child and a clinical assassination thrust Thomas Bladen into a dark conspiracy
Glossary of British Slang Terms
British slang: US equivalent
British slang and French: US equivalent
'ave: have
’em: them
Amelie: a great French movie starring Audrey Tautou
ASAP: as soon as possible
bairn: small child (Scottish / Irish)
ba
lti: spicy Asian dish
bollocks: nonsense
bonafide: genuine
bonhomie: cheerfulness or warmth
Brummie: someone from Birmingham, UK
Buenos días: good day (Spanish greeting)
Ce n'est pas possible: It's not possible (French)
Caliban's: name of Miranda's bar
Civvy Street: civilian / everyday life
Charlemagne: a historical European ruler
cheque: a bank check
chocs: chocolates
comms: communications
cuppa: cup of tea
dunno: don't know (shortened version)
dunno: don't know
fella: guy (from fellow)
fook: Brummie pronounciation of fuck
gonna: going to
guvnor: boss
hoiked: thrown
kinda: kind of
L'honneur est mieux que les honneurs: honour is better than honours (French)
lairy: excitable or boisterous
lemme: let me
Ma: mom
Merc: Mercedes
mobile / mobile phone: cell phone
moebius strip:
multitasker: someone who can perform several tasks at once
oppo: work buddy
oui, c'est ça: yes, that's it (French)
Palladin: historical knight who served Charlemagne
pervy: deviant (from perverted)
plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose: the more things change the more they stay the same (French)
prat: jerk (derogatory)
pulled a sickie: telephone your boss to report you're unwell
punt: a gamble / a risk
recce: reconnaisance
remasculate: to make masculine again (opposite of emasculate)
s’pose: suppose
sarge: shortened version of sergeant
Shadow State Page 19
