by Martin Cox
‘Stay where you are, keep your hands where we can see them,’ commanded a voice from the patrol boat. The men, who had facial damage, were hidden below, squashed together in a storage compartment. Sperafico held up his hands, his used firearm still hidden in his coat. The other tug sat silently. The police patrol came to a stop alongside the tug. The men below sat silent, armed and ready if the police attempted anything with their boss. One of the crew stepped off the boat and stood face to face with Sperafico.
‘Can I see some identification please, Sir and any documentation to show me that this is your vessel?’ Grimlock asked, keeping a professional tone. Sperafico handed Grimlock his wallet and a random piece of paper from his coat. He glanced at the paper before handing it back.
‘Sorry to trouble you,’ Grimlock said. He jumped back on board, ordering the police patrol to continue their search. As soon as the patrol boat was out of sight, the two tugs made their way out of the docks and up river, away from the scene of the crime.
‘I hate London,’ Sperafico said, looking up river at the grey sky as the first few drops of rain fell on his tired face.
CHAPTER 4
The last week had been an emotional roller coaster for Jack. He had been given a book on dealing with the loss of a loved one, by one of the secretaries at work; she had lost her husband a few years earlier. The back cover discussed the five stages, or rather emotions, of losing a loved one. They were denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Jack wasn’t the kind of person to pay any attention to this type of literature, but it was a kind gesture. For Jack, there were no distinctive stages. The emotions had seemed to have just bonded together. Depression though, was not included in the concoction; his enigmatic past was responsible for that. After a week, the fifth stage of grief stood alone. Acceptance had always been easy for Jack, Alex believing he’d get there sooner but for others, it was a little too soon. Jack sat at the breakfast table in his kitchen. A cup of black coffee in his hands, cold, not a sip taken from it. The house was once again quiet, as it was before he had met Sarah. Alex stood in the kitchen entrance, leaning on the thick wooden frame, watching Jack for a moment, before interrupting the silence.
‘It’s time to go, are you ready?’ he asked. Jack looked up at his friend, releasing his grip from the cup. He got up from his seat, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and left the kitchen, patting his friend on the shoulder as he passed.
The funeral had been well organised and Sarah’s mother hadn’t been afraid to share her grief. Jack was sitting in the only pub in the village of Emery Down, where Sarah had grown up and was now laid to rest. A Quiet village in winter but summer time brought numerous visitors into the surrounding New Forest. It was fortunate that the landlord of the Red Stag, Malcolm White, a very close friend of the family, had obliged to shut for the afternoon to host Sarah’s wake. The open plan bar was filled with old wooden tables and chairs, the walls and bar surround was littered with hunting and equestrian relics. There were various silver trays of sandwiches and mini quiches scattered around the room, still full, no-one really showing an appetite. Jack sat opposite Sarah’s great Aunt Jessica, listening intensely as she reminisced about Sarah’s youth. Jessica sat tall, grey haired, wearing a light blue summer dress, a thin strip of white lace around her neckline. She was a born storyteller and many people had gathered around her.
‘She would come to visit us with a little yellow suitcase, in it a pencil and sharpener and a little notebook,’ Jessica said, her next tale of Sarah beginning. ‘She would write everything that she saw, in her little book, butterflies on flowers, birds feeding their young, every little detail.’ The tales from Great Aunt Jessica had livened up the atmosphere and eased many a solemn spirit. Malcolm White had recruited Sarah’s young nephews to pass around the sandwiches, in an attempt to get people eating. Jack sat sipping on his house red, a simple Cote du Rhone, but Jack found it quite palatable.
‘Would you like a sandwich, Uncle Jack?’ a young boy’s voice asked. Jack turned his head and was faced with a silver tray of sandwiches and was about to decline, when Great Aunt Jessica beckoned the boy over and grabbed one, thanking the young lad. Jack called him back over and took a brown ham and mustard sandwich from the tray.
‘Thank you, Ben,’ he said, ruffling the young lad’s brown, curly hair. He bit into the sandwich, noticing Alex standing at the bar, knocking back a cold pint of lager and chatting up one of Sarah’s female relations. Alex, pulling his phone out from his black, suit jacket pocket interrupted the conversation. He apologised to the petite, blonde-haired girl and answered it, nodded to Jack and made his way into the beer garden. The sun was hot, but regularly disappeared behind the sky obscuring clouds. The garden was littered with picnic benches, bright green grass beneath them. Alex sat down at the nearest bench and hung up his phone, as Jack joined him.
‘Well, what do we know?’ asked Jack, swinging his leg over the bench’s aging frame.
‘Well, Sperafico has gone back to Florence but his operations have gone quiet. Operatives are trying to track him but you know how it is, not as many eyes on the ground nowadays.’
‘Bring back the good old days, plenty of personnel watching everyone’s movements. Now it’s satellites, though can’t see through walls yet unfortunately.’
‘When every public place gets CCTV, we won’t need the eyes on the ground, one quick hack and it’s all there to see,’ Alex said.
‘Well, at least we know Sperafico’s location,’ replied Jack.
‘I hope your not just going to pack up your things this evening and rush out there. I need a little time to organise a few more things, like where we’re staying and transport.’
‘You’re not coming with me,’ Jack said. That, he was determined about, ‘I’m not risking your life as well as mine.’
‘This isn’t just a simple hit and run, you’ve no idea what’s waiting for you, this time they know your coming.’ Alex said, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Jack’s face.
‘I know, and that’s why I need you to stay here and feed me as much information as you can get your hands on, who else can I trust?’
‘What do you intend for us to do next?’ Alex asked.
‘Well, for now, I think we should get back inside before we’re missed, I’m sure you’ll be wanting to continue your conversation with whoever that was at the bar.’
‘I won’t say no to that,’ Alex said, smiling and giving Jack one of his legendary right-eye winks. They both rose from the bench and made their way back inside.
That evening Jack sat in his home gym, sweating profusely, after a two hour CV and weights session. Alex had convinced Jack to settle his head and prepare himself for his trip. He had said that revenge was a dish best served cold, but Sperafico had crossed the line in what he did and Jack was eager to take action. Jack sat on his green exercise mat on the floor, his breaths becoming deeper as he regulated his breathing again. He closed his eyes, his heart rate slowing, visions of Sarah spilled into his head. Unfortunately they were visions of the last minutes of her life. Jack opened his eyes. Alex was right, he needed to do this right and for that, he needed help.
Jack parked his Range Rover in a south bank car park on Belvedere Road, London traffic slowing him down, making him late for his meeting. He hurried through Jubilee Gardens and along Queens Walk, dodging the mid-morning crowds that had gathered around the London Eye. Ahead, he saw the person he was looking for. He was staring up at the pods, the immense structure rotating almost unnoticeably.
‘Thank you for meeting me, sir,’ Jack said, no apology for his lateness.
‘Shall we get on?’ replied Donald Shelton, giving little attention or contact. They walked into the pod amongst a dozen enthusiastic tourists and stood at the window. Jack looked around the pod, no one seemed suspicious, everyone part of a group, all socialising with one another. For the next thirty minutes, Jack was able to talk privately.
‘What can I do for you then Ja
ck?’ Shelton asked, his hands gripping the silver rail.
‘You know I have to do what ever it takes to get Sperafico. I was hoping to do it with the help of the division.’
‘I believe you have Alex working with you, already arranging flights and transport, is he not going with you?’ Shelton asked, his stare fixed forwards.
‘Alex is all I have left. I’ve persuaded him to stay here. I just need this to be like any other assignment, have use of the intelligence that’s usually available to me, but through Alex. I need you to trust me when I say that Sperafico will no longer be a problem.’
‘Do you think I would have let Alex have access to what he’s needed over the last seven days if I didn’t think it was for a good cause,’ Shelton turned his head, his shorter stature causing his balding head to tilt backwards as he looked Jack in the eyes. ‘If you say there’s a leak, I trust your experience and as for your persistence with Sperafico, it will hopefully coax him out of the woodwork,’ Shelton turned, staring back out of the glass at the Thames and its landmark-lined banks. ‘But as for a normal assignment, it can’t be done without involving others. If you want total secrecy, you’re on your own. Operatives in Florence will need confirmation of orders and I can’t give that if there’s no actual assignment.’
‘I understand,’ Jack replied.
‘You’re a professional, don’t forget that, you need to do this cleanly and privately,’ Shelton said, looking Jack in the eyes again.
‘Sperafico may have crossed that fine line of revenge when he killed Sarah, but now you know what he’s capable of.’
‘I appreciate your understanding, Sir,’ Jack replied calmly, knowing that he wouldn’t be totally alone in his vengeance.
‘If the leak emerges, we will deal with that ourselves and involve you when you get back.’
‘If I get back,’ he replied, staring out through the glass, not really taking anything in of the view.
‘That’s the spirit,’ Shelton said, reaching into his coat pocket retrieving a small, silver digital camera.
‘I think it may be a bit late to try and blend in, Sir,’ Jack said, a lucid smile appearing on his face.
‘This is the first and probably the last time I’ll get on this monstrosity, so I may as well take a few souvenir snaps,’ he paused for a moment, taking a picture of the Houses of Parliament, ‘enjoy the view Jack, there’s another twenty five minutes of this.’
As the pod completed its full rotation, Shelton and Jack disembarked and went their separate ways, being watched in the distance by Douglas Grimlock, dragging heavily on a cigarette. He stood on the corner of Chicheley Street, watching intently as they walked off. Flicking his smouldering cigarette into the busy traffic, he turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 5
As the sun started to rise, the scattered, white clouds soaked up the orange colours of the morning. Jack had spent the flight in silence, running through different scenarios of how to get even with Sperafico, not really settling on any fixed plan. As the plane made its descent, Jack fastened his seat belt and waited to land. The familiar airport was a lot quieter and this time there were no signs of pick pockets. His tolerance levels had lowered and any attempt to steal his wallet again would certainly only result in a quick death. He was very wary about his surroundings and noticed one man in the far corner of the arrivals area reading La Gazetta dello Sporto, constantly looking over its pink pages. Jack continued across the arrivals terminal to collect his bags. The man behind the counter was English, now living in Italy and working for the British government. As the man passed the black bags across the counter, he raised his eyebrows in the direction of the man with the sports paper. Jack nodded ever so slightly acknowledging he knew. He slung the long, black strap of his larger bag over his shoulder, grabbed the heavier, small one and slid it off the counter. Heading into the fresh morning air of Firenze, his widened peripheral vision observed the pink-paper man following him. Jack’s phone vibrated in his pocket, reporting an incoming text. It was from Alex. He had sorted out a car for Jack, the message giving him its location. After a while he had found it. It was a brand new Audi R8. Alex thought its great handling would come in handy. Jack found the keys in the side pocket of his bag and opened the door. He placed his two black bags behind the seats. Unzipping the smaller of the two bags, he took out his two Walthers, placing them in the concealed holsters under his jacket. Jack saw no initial sign of the man who had followed him, so he slid into the car and headed for Florence.
The roads were quiet, not a vehicle in sight. Turning off the music in order to concentrate better, Jack slouched in his seat. From his trouser pocket, he pulled out a stick of chewing gum. He unwrapped it, placed it in his mouth and began to chew. After about a mile, the road revealed extra traffic as two black 4x4 vehicles closed in behind him. Jack straightened himself from his slumped position and floored the accelerator, its aggressiveness taking a second to spring into life. Both Discoverys responded to his acceleration and were surprisingly able to keep up, although unable to close in, which they didn’t seem too worried about. Concentrating on his rear view mirror, Jack’s all round perception noticed a truck’s blue trailer backing into the road ahead. Jack kept his nerve and his increasing speed, as the truck was almost fully in the road. As he approached the gap between the back of the trailer and the tree lined road side, it was small, but he took his chance. He swerved the car around the trailer’s huge structure. The Audi barely made it. The rear wheels churned up the grass siding, the wing mirror thankfully too low to hit the truck’s metal frame. The truck driver braked hard. Slamming the truck into second gear he pulled forward, allowing the slowing Land Rovers to cruise by. Gunshots filled the air. As Jack approached a hairpin bend, one bullet smashed the glass of the Audi’s left wing mirror. The corner approached rapidly. The car and Jack held it well, the rear end sliding out slightly, the wide tyres screeching, as they held on tight to the tarmac. Jack eased off the gas, before flooring it again, conquering the tight left hand bend, the back end drifting on the dry road. In his rear-view mirror, he saw that one of the 4x4s was also holding well. Its rear offside tyre separated from the road beneath. The other vehicle wasn’t quite as successful. It hit the grass embankment, causing it to roll twice, eventually landing on its roof, skidding behind the other as they continued the chase. Jack maintained his fast pace, annoyed with his inadequate knowledge of the area. He was unable to successfully lose them. He pulled a Walther from inside his jacket and opened the driver’s window. When the time was right, Jack hit the brakes hard and pulled up the handbrake. He turned the steering wheel, stopping the car ninety degrees in the road. He raised his gun at arms length, cradling it in both hands out of the open window, his finger poised on the trigger. He shot at the front tyres of the approaching vehicle. Three bullets hit the nearside tyre, causing the driver to brake hard, which was a fatal mistake. The front wheels of the Discovery turned and the vehicle fell on its side, skidding towards Jack, orange sparks spraying from the now dented roof. Jack held his position, the 4x4 stopping only a few metres from him. Jack casually got out his car, watching the passenger of the Land Rover scrabbling around in search of the gun that he had dropped. It was too late. Jack put a bullet through his left eye. The driver seemed to be unconscious, his hair dark, sodden with his blood from a large, open head wound. Jack’s thoughts returned to Sarah and why he was there. His Walther was then unnecessarily alleviated of yet another bullet.
As he headed into the city centre, Jack took the decision to book himself into a hotel that he hadn’t been associated with in the past. He secured the car in his usual storage unit; he felt it was safe there, as he was the only one who knew about it. With his bags draped over his shoulder and now blonde haired with matching moustache, Jack secured the metal door with a padlock and continued on foot. After about thirty minutes he had found a hotel with acceptable back exits and security. He paid upfront for his room, using the excuse of having his wallet stolen in order not to h
and over his cards. Jack made his way up the small staircase and to the first floor, room twelve. Jack unlocked the door and walked in. He took the ‘do not disturb’ sign from the inside handle and hung it on the outside of the door and closed it securely. The room was small but cosy, a double bed, desk with wooden chair and a single armchair in the corner. He dropped his bags on the floor at the end of the bed and slid them out of sight with his foot. He placed one of his Walthers under the cushion of the armchair and took the other with him into the bathroom.
After a long, hot shower, Jack sat in front of his tablet, using his experienced knowledge to penetrate the Savoy’s computer system, extracting Sperafico’s room information. It took over two hours to set up what he needed, glitches on the security cameras, exit plans and a full layout of the hotel and surrounding buildings. He switched off his tablet, unplugged it from the wall and put it back in its black case.
Once again Jack set upon the streets of Florence. His long, brown trench coat concealed his two Walther SP22’s and a Glock 27, harnessed securely at the base of his spine. It was a short five-minute walk to the Savoy. The Piazza Della Repubblica was busy. Six people riding Segways cruised by, stopping in the centre of the square, admiring the views of the surrounding historic buildings. Jack aimlessly walked past the Savoy and entered an adjacent café; managing to find a table outside with a good enough view of the hotel’s entrance. He ordered a black coffee in his fluent Italian and even though it was crowded with late lunchtime trade, his request arrived almost instantaneously. Watching the entrance for any sign of Sperafico, he sipped on his coffee, his new moustache moist with its steam. Numerous groups of American students littered the café tables, laughing loudly and swigging on bottles of Peroni lager. His pocket began to vibrate gently. Jack inconspicuously pulled out his earpiece and answered it.
