by Martin Cox
Jack’s kitchen was nothing special. Modern equipment, oak cupboards, but the flooring was stone, taken from a middle-age Swedish monastery, acquired many years previous while on assignment. History was one of Jack’s passions. It was history that had brought the recently married couple together, Sarah, as a freelance photographer for various travel guides and Jack, as an ardent visitor to the Mayan ruins of Mexico. They met on the cool steps of the Kukulcan temple, as the bright, red sun disappeared into the surrounding forest. They both knew that they had found something that neither had expected to find on their visit. He had introduced himself as Jack Harvey, foreign affairs consultant for the British Government, which is who Sarah still knew him to be. Sitting at the small oak table at one end of the sizeable kitchen, Jack sunk his teeth into an over toasted slice of wholegrain bread, as Sarah entered the kitchen. She was dressed in a figure hugging, light blue dress, looking as elegant as ever, her shoulder length hair tied in a short ponytail at the back of her head, with a thick, black hair band. Sarah poured herself a coffee, clutching at the black mug, thawing her cold hands with its warmth. She sat opposite Jack as he swallowed the last piece of his toast.
‘How long will you be gone?’ Sarah asked, staring into her steaming, black coffee, hands spinning the cup slowly through her fingers as she spoke.
‘You know how these meetings go on, but I should be home by Saturday, in time for our theatre date. Looking forward to it.’ Jack had become a regular at the theatre since meeting Sarah. Although engaged for only six months, they had enjoyed numerous shows around the west end, surprising almost all of his close friends and colleagues. Jack straightened his navy blue tie and brushed toast crumbs from his white shirt as he rose out of his seat. He swung on his jacket, adjusting it, before kissing Sarah goodbye, fully on the lips.
‘Don’t be sad, my sweet,’ Jack said, pulling Sarah to her feet, embracing her. ‘I’ve been away on business before, and so have you.’
‘But it feels different now,’ Sarah replied, resting her chin on Jack’s left shoulder as she was squeezed tighter. Placing his hands on her shoulders he slowly pushed her away so that they were face to face and he kissed her devotedly, receiving the same passion in return.
‘It’s Wednesday today. Saturday will come around soon enough,’ Jack said. Sarah replied with an attempted smile.
‘I’ll try and phone. I’ll see you soon.’ And with that Jack left, allowing Sarah to regain her seat at the breakfast table and the warmth of her mug of coffee.
The London office of The Secret Intelligence Division, or SID, was separate from the rest of MI6 and regularly changed its location. Jack drew up to the yellow security gate. Looking in his rear-view mirror he could clearly see the London Eye through the buildings behind him, although motionless at this early hour. The guard was dressed in a navy blue jumper, hiding a white shirt and blue tie and almost certainly a bulletproof vest. As he approached, the guard recognised Jack and bid him a professional, yet friendly ‘Good morning, Sir,’ as Jack opened his window. Almost immediately another guard appeared, equipped with a long, black inspection mirror, a robust, black torch attached to the top end. The guard checked the Range Rover methodically and, upon finishing, nodded his head to his colleague.
‘Have a good day, Sir,’ the first guard commented, as he raised the light, yet secure, barrier.
‘And you,’ Jack replied, as he drove forward, turning on his lights, entering a dark and fairly damp, underground car park.
After numerous security checks, Jack entered the main floor and headed for the last office on the right, the floor-length, vertical blinds impeding the view inside. Jack knocked and entered immediately, closing the door behind him. In front of him, on the other side of a large, oval glass table, were two of his superiors. On his left was a short, balding man of fifty-five, director of operations, Donald Shelton. On his left was a taller, slimmer, grey haired woman and ex-field operative, Sophie Morgan. Jack sat opposite them, his black, leather, swivel chair reclining slightly.
‘Shall we begin, Jack?’ Morgan said, raising herself slightly to reach a small button on the table in front of her. Directly in front of Jack, the centre of the glass table began to move, angling itself towards Jack, a screen flickering into life.
‘This is Alexander Sperafico,’ Morgan began. ‘He’s been smuggling for the last ten years, low key, tobacco, diamonds, gold. Not the quantities that interest us. He works out of South America, Brazil mainly, smuggling to most of Europe.’ Jack sat silent as he watched image after image of Sperafico appear on the screen in front of him. ‘He has suddenly, almost overnight, extended his organisation, buying properties in Italy, London and the Ukraine.’
‘His numerous contacts now allow him to smuggle anything, anywhere,’ added Shelton, his hands clasped together, resting under his dimpled chin. Morgan continued.
‘He used to deal with each transaction personally, but now it seems there are multiple deals going down simultaneously, for quantities far larger than we care to let through. Our sources tell us that the information for contacts are kept in his head, he doesn’t write anything down.’
‘So it looks as if his contact information is spreading throughout his organisation,’ Jack intervened, looking up from his screen.
‘That’s right,’ Shelton said. ‘But it’s not just that, he’s causing havoc within the markets. So we need you to eliminate him, there will always be backhanders Jack, but this has blown all out of proportion.’ Morgan shuffled in her chair.
‘All the information you need will be downloaded to your system, the event will take place in Italy, Florence to be precise. He’s staying at the Savoy, while he has his recently acquired house redecorated. We have set you up in a nearby hotel, your flight to Firenze leaves this afternoon. Jo, at the front desk, has your tickets. Any questions?’
‘No,’ Jack replied, rising from his chair. ‘You’ll hear from me soon.’
‘Take care, Jack,’ replied Morgan, old age sentiment replacing her once intimidating exterior. Jack smiled and left the office. Just about to enter was Douglas Grimlock, a short, dark haired man with a thin moustache to match.
‘Jack, good to see you.’
‘Good morning, Sir,’ Jack replied courteously, to yet another superior. Grimlock was in fact, to replace Sophie Morgan on her retirement, which Grimlock felt was long overdue. Grimlock entered the office and Jack continued along the office corridor. Jack approached the reception area and headed towards the front desk. Jo was a young, brunette woman of twenty-eight and was busy typing, her fingers moving at an incomprehensible speed. She looked up as Jack arrived at her desk. Saying nothing, she gave him an envelope. He took it from her.
'Thanks, have I been checked in?’ he asked.
'Yes and you are your favourite alter ego,' Jo replied.
'Well, I’ll see you soon then,' Jack said, as he started to walk away.
'Have you not forgotten something?' Jo asked, taking a small black box from her top draw and plugging it into her computer screen.
'Is that really necessary?’ Jack replied.
'Company policy,' she said, placing on a pair of white surgical gloves. Jack approached the desk and held out his hand and faced it upwards. Jo placed a small plastic tube on the end of his fourth finger. The device clicked. Squeezing his finger, a droplet of blood appeared. Jo placed Jack’s finger inside the box and clicked a box on the computer screen. After a few seconds the screen was full of data.
'You seem to be fine, although your alcohol levels could be lower,' Jo said, giving Jack a plaster.
'Nobody’s perfect,’ Jack replied. 'See you soon.’ And with that he left the building.
The flight from Heathrow had been a quick two hours and fifteen minutes but it was enough time for Jack to take in all the information. Brazilian born, Alexander Sperafico had followed in his father’s footsteps and embarked on a life of crime. It had been established that he had killed his father in order to take over his business empire
at the young age of twenty-three. Now at the age of thirty-two he had never been married and fathered no children, probably because he wouldn’t be able to trust them in the light of what he did to his own father. The facts were weak on Sperafico, as he was never perceived as a threat by the division and was never really monitored until recently. As the flight landed, he turned off his specially adapted i-phone and slid it into his inside pocket.
The terminal was particularly busy, becoming too small for the influx of travellers. Jack made his way to retrieve his bags, a separate part of the building than the rest of the passengers on his aircraft. On his approach to the desk a young boy, about fourteen or fifteen, dressed in blue jeans and plain purple t-shirt, bumped into him. Jack instantly noticed the boy’s attempt to take his wallet from inside his jacket. With lightning reflexes, Jack took the fingers of the youngster’s right hand. Visually scanning the area for authority figures, he stared him in the face and to teach him a lesson, snapped three of them. The sound thankfully muffled by the numerous conversations going on around them. After a brief moment he let go of the wide-eyed thief, who ran off silently, into the crowd. Jack collected his two black bags and made his way out of the bustling airport and got into the nearest taxicab.
After checking in at his hotel, Jack spent the next few hours scouting the area, imagining every possible scenario and preparing the hit as meticulously as each time before. After a good night’s sleep, the next day was spent following Sperafico, recording his every move. He had many bodyguards and swapped cars regularly. He ate at the most expensive restaurants, eating alone on occasions, but still with his burly staff very close by. Jack, now dressed in a very expensive suit, dark black hair and thick moustache to match, wandered into the restaurant. He sat down at the bar and ordered a Castello. He sipped on the cold lager, staring ahead, admiring the elegant bar. Sperafico was sitting in a booth at the top end of the restaurant, getting the very best attention and service from the hard-working staff. Jack listened in on a digital, directional microphone. At the end of his meal, Sperafico summoned the concierge, making dinner arrangements for Friday at nine o’clock, discreetly slipping some money into his hand. This would be the opportunity. Sperafico was using the back entrance to his hotel and the buildings opposite made for the perfect location to execute the hit. Jack left the restaurant and contacted his superiors, arranging the use of the building. After watching Sperafico return to the hotel for the last time that night, Jack returned to his own hotel, to finalise his detailed strategy.
The night was fresh and the crescent moon gave little light. The orange streetlights however, gave ample lighting and illuminated the double doored, back entrance to the Savoy more than adequately. It was eight o’clock and Jack sat waiting patiently as he had done many times in the past. He wore his black combat trousers and a tight black jumper that hugged his neck comfortably. He rocked his head side to side as he loosened his neck muscles, a cracking noise ending the motions. The barrel of his rifle rested in a purposely-made hole in the glass. He knew that open windows were easy to spot. Jack was now crouched, poised with his rifle, comfortably holding all six and a half kilograms of it. It was eight thirty on his Rolex Explorer ii watch, as he noticed a car moving along the street below. He recognised the silver Mercedes as one of Sperafico’s, but it didn’t stop at the entrance Jack was hoping for. Instead, it stopped at an entrance, fifty metres further on. The extra range was no problem for his weapon but the difficult angle would impede lining up the night vision sight. The door flung open and three men, one of them Sperafico, exited into the street. To his better judgement, Jack unwisely took the shot. He missed. The bullet only brushed the left shoulder of his intended target. There was no time for another attempt. Jack packed his equipment, threw the bags strap over his shoulder, tightened it and hastily made for his exit, while Sperafico and his entourage clumsily bundled into the Mercedes. It immediately sped off down the street, the back door of the car swinging wildly, one of the bodyguards grabbing the handle attempting to close it. The car turned a corner and vanished. Jack descended the concrete staircase with speed, his shoulders scuffing the walls, his feet two steps ahead of his body. The exit door was pushed open with both hands as he vacated the building into the dark street beyond. As Jack headed for his get away vehicle, two men could be seen unholstering their Berettas, quickening their pace in Jack’s direction. Jack turned and ran as fast as his legs would take him. He flew through the streets as if he had grown up in this part of the city. But the men continued to follow. He gained pace through a small alley and into the street beyond. He stopped and crouched for a second, behind a low brick wall. The top of the wall was full of small, dense shrubs. This gave perfect cover. Panting heavily, he peered between the leaves and saw the two men exit from the alley, looking up and down the street. Jack pulled out his Walther SP22, tipped with silencer. The two men separated and he knew that this was his chance. He rose from his crouched position, stood tall and firm and shot the man on his left in the forehead. He swung swiftly to his right and shot the second man through his right temple, before the first man had even slumped to the ground. Jack immediately turned and proceeded onward. In a matter of minutes he had reached a quiet street where an old, red Lancia Delta HF was parked. Jack grabbed the key from the front wheel arch and opened the car. He got in and started the engine. Positive that he hadn’t been followed, he drove off into the night, unsure at what had just happened.
After ten minutes, he pulled up to a small storage unit. He got out, leaving the engine running. He slid open the metal door, got back into the car and drove in. He jumped out, sliding the door shut behind him and bolted it locked. Opening his gun case, Jack retrieved an earpiece and connected it to his phone and made the call. This time it was in a totally different manner than usual. He spoke to Shelton, becoming a little agitated, as he explained what had happened.
‘Come on home, Jack, we’ll book you on the next flight out of the country.’ There was a moment’s silence before Shelton spoke again. ‘Drive to Pisa airport, there’s a flight leaving in two hours, use your usual name.’ With that Jack hung up, took off the earpiece and without hesitation changed out of his clothes. He hid them under a specially adapted compartment under the back seat. He unbolted the unit door, reversed the Lancia, secured the door and headed for Pisa.
It was just over an hours drive to Pisa. Jack drove into the terminal car park. He parked the Lancia leaving the keys in the ignition ready for his contact to collect it and headed inside the terminal building. Jack furtively looked around for anything that may concern him. There was nothing.
As Jack walked through the empty silence of his offices, the minute hand on the wall clock struck half past, making it two thirty. At the end of the wide corridor, light from Shelton’s office illuminated the floor and walls opposite, as it leaked through the half opened blinds. Shelton saw Jack walk past the window, unable to hear his footsteps, not even in the silence. As Jack entered the room, Shelton rose from his chair to greet him.
‘Someone knew I would be there, that’s the only explanation to why they used that exit. It’s not even directly linked to the hotel. I checked the plans myself.’
‘Sit down, Jack,’ Shelton said, waiting for his employee to sit before sitting back down himself. ‘Do you not think that Sperafico was just being careful?’ Jack didn’t answer. ‘You’re not our only operative Jack; there are others, past, present and definitely future. You’re not the first to miss a target and you certainly won’t be the last.’ ‘Now, I need a report from you as soon as possible. Is that a problem?’
‘No problem, sir.’
‘You’ll be getting another chance at this Jack, as long as you don’t make it personal.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Jack replied. He rose from his chair and headed off into the offices. He sat down at his empty desk, turned on his computer and proceeded to write his report.
Jack spent the remaining hours of the morning asleep on a small, white, leather s
ofa in the waiting area of the offices. He woke to the sound of the lift opening and the rattling of cleaning equipment from the trolleys of the four cleaners, as they exited. They proceeded in the opposite direction to where he lay, still and silent. He spun himself to his feet and managed to catch the lift doors as they started to close. He glanced at his Rolex as the lift descended. It was six thirty. Catching his reflection in the lift mirrors, he straightened his tie, adjusted his hair between his fingers with both hands, faced the stainless steel, double doors and waited for them to open.
CHAPTER 3
After sitting in his Range Rover for what seemed like hours, Jack had left the offices and was now pulling into the drive of his Epsom home, parking behind Sarah’s silver Mercedes SLK. He walked across their red, brick drive, his bronze, front door key primed in his right hand. From the kitchen, Sarah heard the front door close and ran to meet her husband, greeting him with a smile and continuing with a crushing embrace. Sarah pulled away and looked into Jack’s pale, blue eyes. They were red and tired but miraculously, there was no sign of the events from the previous evening, and that’s the way it would stay.
‘I’ll run you a bath,’ Sarah said, making her way up the sweeping beech staircase. Jack took off his navy blue jacket and placed it on a hook behind the door of the under stairs cupboard. He took off his black, leather shoes and slid them in with his left foot. The door shut with a click and he made his way slowly upstairs, loosening his tie as he went. As he entered the bathroom, the rapidly filling bath produced a small amount of steam, enough to begin the misting of the large mirror that was over the sink. Sarah walked in with a large, blue, cotton towel and draped it over the chrome, heated towel rail and straightened it as if it were for royalty. Jack placed his left hand on Sarah’s shoulder, slowly turning her to face him and started to undo the buttons of her thin, white blouse. Sarah dropped back her arms to allow the blouse to slide over her soft, pink shoulders and it fell to the stone tiles below. Jack tenderly kissed Sarah’s neck, causing her to close her eyes and raise her head towards the bright spotlights embedded in the ceiling above her. They both removed each other’s clothes, the vigorous running water shutting itself off as the level reached the small, black sensor on the edge of the large, corner bath. They both lay naked on the soft, blue rug in the middle of the bathroom and made love.
