Underground Murmurs (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 2)

by Tim Jopling

  UNDERGROUND

  MURMURS

  (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 2)

  Tim Jopling

  Copyright 2015 Tim Jopling

  Author Note

  ‘Underground Murmurs’ is book one in a series of novels and tells the tragic story of Akira and his quest to make his vision become a reality.

  Acknowledgements

  A special mention to my Mum and brother for all their support over the years. For Mum in particular, she really was a super-mum when we were growing up and did so much for us it gave us the start in life we needed.

  Thanks again to all the test readers out there who have always been on hand to read the book and give me their valuable feedback!

  Licence Notes

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, events, places, characters, incidents and businesses are either products of the Author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner with kind permission from their owners. As such, all characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Double Cross (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 3)

  About the author

  Connect with the author

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday, July 24th 11:30,

  Westminster, Central London.

  Summers in London have that muggy feel to them. Days start with blazing sunshine or even heavy cloud but the humidity never really goes away. Some hate the close weather and long for the dark nights and frosty mornings of winter. Others can’t wait for the heat and long to be out of the office and amongst the sunshine.

  Ferec didn’t care about either. Only the completion of his latest assignment, his most daring to date, would make him happy. The weather was just another thing that other people worried about. His only concern was helping Jozef avenge his brother’s death.

  Ferec sat alone in a black BMW and waited patiently. Since arriving in the UK three months before, every day had been spent with Jozef and his team planning their revenge attacks. Preparation, tracking everything and everyone down to the slightest detail, would prove to be the key to success. Today was the start.

  Ferec was just a few minutes away from Downing Street, in Westminster, the heart of London, the capital city.

  The streets were awash with cars and civil servants, some heading back to Downing Street, named after the great Sir George Downing, and others most probably on their way to several other Government buildings in the area.

  Westminster was not only the home of Downing Street, which in turn was where the Prime Minister lived, but it was also rich in history and other tourist attractions. Going down Parliament Street and then onto Bridge Street would take a passerby to the famous Big Ben, which stood tall amongst all the cars and red London buses. The Houses of Parliament were next to it and just across the way was Westminster Abbey, London’s oldest and most important church, which since 1066 had been the setting for all Royal Coronations.

  Ferec adjusted his black gloves and pulled down the nearby window some more. As he looked out, office workers, tourists and everyday people passed him by, with red buses and black taxicabs congesting the roads. Jutting out in the distance, he saw Big Ben, the famous four-faced clock and wished he had the power to topple all the monuments and symbols in the area, just for the sake of it.

  The stunning gold structure sparkled in the sunlight and towered over all other buildings in the area. Standing at 320 feet tall and seemingly rising out of The Houses of Parliament, it continued to tick away and keep the exact time, as it had done since it was first set in motion back in May 1859.

  To Ferec, it certainly looked like another day in London but he knew that in the space of half an hour, it would become a catastrophic morning with tragic consequences. Excitement bubbled away inside him as he checked the clock on the dashboard once more. In a few seconds, his target would pass him by and for Ferec those seconds couldn’t pass quick enough, knowing his next kill would soon come. He got his mobile phone from the glove compartment and sent a text message to an ally of Jozef’s who would play a vital role in what was to come. His eyes locked onto the convoy of cars that came out of Downing Street and joined the flow of traffic.

  Ferec was all a tingle and watched like a hawk as the silver coloured cars passed him by. Just as he had repeatedly observed over the past six months, the Chief of MI6 Peter Drake always had two cars and one Police car in attendance whenever he had his meetings with the Prime Minister. A deadly smile filled his features, knowing that his planning had paid off and he was now in complete control. Quickly, he started the powerful engine of the BMW and set off in pursuit.

  Drake sat back in his silver Mercedes and continued to fan himself with some papers as he felt the sweat run down his beige checked shirt and similar patterned tie. Hot muggy days didn’t agree with him but despite the humidity, he felt totally relaxed and happy with how things were progressing. In the past six months, he had continued with his mandate to reduce the profile of MI6 and carry out Prime Minister Jacobs’s orders. There was now nobody to oppose him and his changes would be implicated quicker than expected. Ramsey had long been suspended and was out of the picture. As long as Drake was in charge, he would never return.

  The meeting with the Prime Minister had been a formality, and Drake was now free to return to MI6 headquarters in the Vauxhall area and continue with his sweeping changes. Ahead of him he noted his head of security, the experienced Agent Wheeler, checking the windows and the view from behind for the umpteenth time whilst he continued to fan himself. Despite Wheeler’s annoying tendencies for being overly cautious, Drake trusted and respected him. So much so he was the only former S.U.C.O. agent still active in the service, purely as a personal favour.

  Agent Paul Wheeler, a 51-year-old MI6 veteran never took anything for granted and even though he could feel his superior’s annoyance at his constant checks, he was determined to carry them out no matter what. He scanned the Police car behind them and saw ahead the first Government vehicle that carried three more of his agents and several aides.

  The main car turned off and entered Belgrave Road, which led back to Victoria Street and eventually MI6 headquarters.

  Wheeler noted the turnoff and carried on observing everything. The journey back to MI6 would take a good twenty to thirty minutes, depending on the traffic. He communicated with his deputy in the second car and heard the all clear.

  Drake stopped fanning himself for a second and leaned forward. ‘I think it’s fair to say we’re safe, Wheeler.’

  Sunlight streamed in from the windows, the golden rays lighting up the office of Hal Burton at MI6. The beautiful scene was wasted on him as he threw his briefcase onto the desk and slumped in his chair. He looked out of his office window at the Thames and wondered what stress was coming his way that day. Months before, his 50th birthday had come and gone. Burton had been in no mood for celebrating. There was nothing to celebrate, in his mind. Just a couple of years earlier, he had been the pride of the service, with good prospects and a habit of doing everything right. The events of the last few months had left him on the MI6 Security Council
. After S.U.C.O.’s fall from grace, he had been lucky to still have a job with the service. Drake had been true to his word and made sure of his new job. Burton had found he preferred the new position, finding that he could sit on the council, say nothing if needs be and keep a low profile. He had found his interest and devotion to his work slip away as each week passed, so obsessed was he with finding his family. Nothing else mattered.

  Away from MI6, things did not look so straightforward. Losing his home and being forced to rent a hole of a flat in the Elephant and Castle area had done nothing to help the situation. His gambling and drinking had spiralled out of control. He now faced debts of around £300,000 and he’d still had not found his family. Every spare moment of the day was spent tracking them but the weary Burton had at times been forced to be careful of how he used his connections. There was no doubt in his mind that they were not in the UK anymore. Burton had focused the last two months on several European countries but still felt a long way from finding them. Last week, his brother had told him to confront the drink problem together with his gambling addiction and he would help him. My own brother thinks I’m an alchie! Even now, he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Drinking was his favourite past time but Burton was convinced he could stop whenever it suited him.

  Burton came to his senses as the mobile phone on the desk suddenly came to life, causing him to sit up and look at the display. A frown spread over his unshaven features, as he didn’t recognise the number. ‘Burton. Who’s this?’

  ‘Where’s my money, Hal? You owe me a hundred grand! I’m not putting up with this any more, you hear me?’

  Burton recognised the voice straight away. It was his ‘friend’ at the dog track. ‘That you, John? What’s with all the aggro? I’ve still got weeks to pay off my debt. Quit bugging me, you’ll get your cash on time, ok?’

  The tone at the other end of the line was one of disgust. ‘You’re a loser Burton, always have been. The money was due last Monday, every penny of it. I want it by the end of the day or I’ll be round your place to get it some other way, you hear me?’

  Burton could tell his friend was serious. He tried to remember whether the money had indeed been due the Monday gone, or whether John was trying it on. Whatever the agreement was, it was going to have to wait. ‘Don’t threaten me John, I work for the Government remember, you can’t just-’

  ‘I don’t care who you work for Hal, you owe me a hundred grand and you’re out of time, you hear? End of the day. You’ll get no longer than that. Just get the money to me.’

  Burton terminated the call and threw the phone onto his desk. ‘I’ll give him loser…he can sing for his money.’ The mobile rang again. He took a deep breath and grabbed the phone. ‘John, if you don’t get off my back I’ll send a squad of agents round to your dump and make you think again!’ Burton waited for a response but none came. A voice began talking, one he did not recognise. It was male and had an accent.

  The voice continued. ‘Hal Burton. You will meet me outside the Moon and Shine public house in 15 minutes.’

  ‘Wha… Who the hell is this? How’d you get this number?’ Burton was in no mood for pranksters.

  The voice remained unchanged. ‘If you fail to meet me, information regarding Operation Night Star will be leaked to your superiors at MI6.’

  Burton went hot, his face turned a burning red. The very mention of the operation codename told him several things. Whoever the caller was knew about his past, had a source inside the service and was going to use it. Burton’s mind recalled Operation Night Star, a low-key MI6 operation that had taken place 2 months ago. The details flashed by in his mind. The Operation was to dissolve a Columbian drug lord. It had been successful except for the fact that $75,000 went straight to Burton once it had been completed. At the mention of the operation codename, all the hard work came to mind as records had been forged to make sure there would be no comebacks after the money had disappeared from the drug baron’s accounts.

  For an instant, Burton lost track and began to think of the money he once had and how badly it was needed now. He recovered his composure and addressed the voice on the other end of the line. ‘Ok, ok, let’s not do that. I’ll be along, ok?’ Burton said anxiously.

  ‘Make sure you bring with you all information regarding S.U.C.O. In particular, Samuel Olsen. Do not attempt to deceive me, you will live to regret-’

  Burton interrupted ‘But that’s classified information, I’ll need to-’ the line went dead. Burton dropped the phone in shock and his body went cold at the realisation of what he had done and the potential consequences. ‘Oh god, get a grip Hal, he’s got your number.’ He picked the phone up and put it back on the desk, as he studied the display. ‘C’mon ring back, dammit!’ Several seconds passed, until finally the phone rang once more. Burton released a heavy sigh. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Disagree with me again and you will not live to see the afternoon. Be there in 15 minutes.’

  Burton put the phone down and placed his head in his hands, wondering whom the caller was. He wiped the sweat from his brow and reached for his private safe, pulling out all his files on S.U.C.O; Olsen’s profile would be among them. He laid the paperwork on the table and turned around to reveal another safe. This time, he removed a Browning 9 mm pistol and placed it on the table. Burton felt the need to go prepared, to not take any chances. He sat in his chair for a moment in an attempt to clear his head, telling himself repeatedly to relax. Despite his positive thoughts, he knew he couldn’t do it all by himself. A bottle of whiskey called to him from the cabinet on the other side of the office. Within a moment, a double was being poured. As Burton downed the drink and wiped his face with his sleeve, the clock above the door caught his attention. He grabbed his coat off the stand together with the files in one motion, knowing it would take at least two or three minutes to leave the building.

  Jozef read the text message from Ferec and tried to contain himself. Within the next half hour, two things would happen; a large-scale attack at the core of MI6 and UK security and Jozef himself would take possession of vital data that would wipe out the best agents the country had to offer and turn the tide even more in his favour.

  Putting the phone back in his pocket, he glanced at his watch as he sat at the bar of the Moon and Shine pub. He watched every movement through his dark green eyes, including the sinister glare from the landlord, who stood several feet away. Wearing black trousers and a dark grey jacket, he took another sip of his scotch. With his hair cut short and his clean-shaven appearance, Jozef looked quite the respectable citizen. He studied his surroundings. The place had no qualities to think of and was in desperate need of a refurbishment but would serve its purpose for the meeting.

  Jozef looked up from his drink and saw Burton crossing one half of the busy street. From what he could see, Burton was under 6ft tall, wore a faded trench coat and was clutching several folders of supposedly classified information to his chest. Jozef smiled to himself, not something he had done for a long time. The man is a joke! This will be so easy… Jozef kept watch and moved outside as he found his mobile phone in his pocket. In the distance, a dark cream and sea green building caught his attention. He refused to look away and a transfixed expression appeared on his face.

  The MI6 headquarters building sat along the banks of the Thames, opposite the Tate art gallery. The service had moved from their old base, Century House near the Houses of Parliament, in 1996. The new building cost £237million and has five floors that are positioned Underground. Despite not being designed specifically for MI6, the security service later adapted the building for its own requirements.

  Jozef took a step closer and wondered why the supposedly secret security service had moved into such a high profile building. Words of advice from Akira repeated themselves in his mind, words of caution mainly, delivered through encrypted email messages. Even they managed to portray his usual patronising tone. Jozef dismissed them from his thoughts and looked away. The very sight of the en
emy’s headquarters ignited the rage that had flowed inside him since the loss of his only family, his brother, Gyorgy.

  Drake closed his eyes and continued to fan himself, not wanting to look at his restless head of security a moment longer. Lying back in the comfortable seat, he made a mental effort to relax and make the most of his time away from the office. Maybe I should leave early and use this quiet day so that I can look at those – WHAT?

  BOOM!

  Drake sat up in a flash and looked around, fear etched all over his face. What’s going on? Are we under attack? How will I escape? His voice broke as he screamed out. ‘Do something, Wheeler!’

  The deafening noise of the explosion had taken everyone by surprise and although Agent Wheeler had been in dire situations before and cheated death in the past, he looked scared. Pulling out his phone from his jacket, the scene ahead looked like something from a war zone.

  A huge white transit van had smashed into the second Mercedes ahead, which in turn had careered into a nearby shop. Fire was billowing from the engine of the Government car and panic could be heard over the phone and from his colleagues beside him. He heard Drake scream out in terror and did his best to control the situation. ‘Hold on, just hold on!’

  Gunfire made him spin around to see they were penned in as the Police escort came under heavy fire from a black BMW that had obviously been following them.

  Drake followed Wheeler’s line of sight and snapped his head back to see more horror unfolding. His vision caught the scene just in time as one Policeman fell and the second came under the attack of a masked man who leaped from a black BMW with staggering agility. ‘Oh my god, what are we going to do? What?’ He looked back at Wheeler, who was loading his pistol with a fresh magazine. ‘DO SOMETHING!’