Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2)

by Lewis Hastings

  “Funny.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got thrown off the train for not having a ticket.”

  He laughed, it was one of those too tired not to laughs.

  Twenty minutes later a car pulled up at the rear of the convoy, its driver offering the two Metropolitan Police staff a free ride back to England.

  “Just before you go boss, you might want to join an elite club.”

  He handed Cade a black permanent marker and pointed to the wall. It was covered in modern graffiti. Celebrity names, heads of state, they had all left their mark.

  “Thanks, nice gesture. I feel privileged.”

  He thought for a moment, then wrote a few lines from a poem.

  ‘I know I don’t deserve a place among the people here, they never wanted me around, except to calm their fear. Anon.’

  “Very poignant boss, there’s always a place for humour too, you know.”

  “True. We often forget that. Can I have that pen again?”

  He found a place on the honour’s wall and wrote, “Detective Sergeant Jason Roberts Met Pol wasn’t here. 2004.”

  “There you go, I doubt he’ll ever get down here to read it, but thanks mate.”

  Turning to John Daniel he said, “Come on, let’s go home, or at least find a bed somewhere, it’s been a long…day.”

  Daniel walked with him, back along the tunnel and towards the White Cliffs of Dover.

  “Are there seventy-two hours in a day, Jack?”

  Valentin and Stefanescu were as tired as Hewett, but knew that one of them needed to maintain a watchful eye on their captive.

  Hewett didn’t utter a word over the next four hours, but maintained eye contact with Valentin throughout, hoping, waiting for him to drop off to sleep. When he eventually did, he moved carefully across the lounge area, almost without exhaling, picked up the car key and made his way to the driveway, eased the door open and sat in the worn driver’s seat.

  Willing the handcuff key to still be in situ, he opened the glove box and there it was. It was an amateur mistake, Hewett had spotted its long black handle the day before and had seen Valentin putting it there among some old bits of paper.

  Perhaps his luck was about to change?

  He struggled for a while, but using one hand and his mouth he was able to insert the key. Pausing, he turned his hand back towards the cuffs and twisted. Thank God they were placed onto him the way they were. If they had been applied correctly, he would never have been able to remove them.

  He put them into the glove box, not knowing if he might need them in the future, and slid the worn car key into the ignition and waited for the diesel glow plug to extinguish. A full tank greeted him. Any second now and he could leave. Once the engine was running, he knew he had to drive as fast and as far as he could, towards the Spanish border and the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It was over a thousand kilometres and an eleven hour drive lay ahead of him, avoiding toll roads and Madrid where there would be cameras. He also knew he would have to steal fuel from somewhere, ideally a remote station with little chance of being caught. Another bridge he’d cross when the time came.

  The engine fired into gear and away. Hewett turned left and hoped for the best. It would be hours before he could even begin to relax, watching the fuel, praying the Citroen would get him there, travelling at a speed that covered the miles but didn’t attract too much attention in a region where cash might be needed to pay for a ticket or pay off a gendarme.

  Back near the French village of St Helene, Valentin walked into a small bedroom and handed Stefanescu a cup of strong coffee and a fresh piece of bread.

  “He’s gone.” It was matter of fact and without a trace of drama.

  “Good. I couldn’t stand another few hours watching him.” They clashed their coffee cups together and smiled.

  Valentin went to shower, leaving his associate to get out of his makeshift bed and clear his head of dreams, stretch his battered body as best he could and prepare for the day ahead. Within thirty minutes, both men were sitting at the breakfast bar in the restored gîte and watching the blue dot head south. Using a bastardised pre-launch version of Google Maps, Valentin was able to track the car almost anywhere.

  Up, inside the same glove box, Valentin knew that a small device was sending a signal back to the unlikely allies in the British Foreign Office who were now talking to the men on a cell phone.

  “He should be south of the Pyrenees by now. If your theory is correct, then he is heading all the way to the coast and hopefully our primary target.”

  “Indeed. Gentlemen, thank you. We owe you a great deal.”

  It was Stefanescu who spoke first, hands free.

  “Yes, Mr Blake, you do. But my rewards are enough. I have given you my word that I will continue to work with you until you recover what it is you seek. Just make sure you keep your part of the bargain and remove my troublesome brother from society’s grasp.”

  “You have my word. It may take some time, possibly years, but we will resolve this situation – ideally within the bounds of the law. Consider your contracts to be long and prosperous. You will need, at times, to do things that may not be comfortable for you, but that is the drawback of working for two organisations at once. Above all, you need good memories.”

  “Just pay us what you promised and I will continue to support you. I believe I speak for Mr Valentin too.”

  “Ah yes, before we finish. Valentin, I can never repay you for your services. Allowing you access to our systems, our cameras, it was a risk you know…but a justifiable one. I trust you. You may have saved a life or two, Mr Cade certainly appreciates what you have done. At least if he had half a clue about your role he would.” He laughed down the phone, it was the first humorous moment in a dark couple of weeks.

  “Be careful with Mr Cade, sir. He is far brighter than you understand. Cornered animals often are.”

  “Of course.” He discounted Cade immediately. He was a small fish in a much larger body of water. “Our goal, our absolute need, is to ensure those bloody documents stay away from the House, from cabinet and critically, the British press. If they get out, we are all done for. Let’s keep the degrees of separation to a minimum, shall we, gentlemen? And when Hewett’s back in our custody, I’ll go to great lengths to discuss the value of loyalty. Good morning to both of you. I trust the sun is shining wherever you are.”

  It was rhetorical. He knew exactly where they were. In a game of cat and mouse, he considered himself the feline. Typical of intelligence officers the world over, they both did.

  Blake picked up the second phone in his office. An older, simpler affair, but actually far more secure.

  “Yes. All is going to plan. Cade and his team have managed to run riot throughout London and the south east and were last seen heading west through the tunnel pursuing a bunch on inbred thieves. It was altogether a wonderful diversion. Keep the media happy at any cost. He’ll be feeling quite pleased with himself, no doubt. I have made a request that he receives a commendation and that the operation is terminated forthwith. We have no need for them now.”

  “Thank you, Michael. Job well done, at least it will be if the last phase goes ahead without a hitch. I have your word?”

  “You do minister, yes. Have a good day.”

  Wheels within wheels – in a concrete shelter, protected from any possible intrusion. Hallowed conversations, deep inside the locked and sterile rooms of the Foreign Office. Where trust was the only thing on the agenda, and ironically not one person likely to be present trusted the other as far as they could kick them.

  That is how Blake saw the operation now. ‘No more bloody cock ups! Not a single bloody one.’

  In Kent, Daniel and Cade arrived back at the Frontier Operations station after a night in a local Travellodge. Hands were shaken and backs patted as breakfast was devoured. At some point in the future, wooden plaques would be exchanged, inscribed, and hung on walls to commemorate the event.

  Polic
e custody staff had accepted the offenders and ensured they were processed and delivered to separate Category A prisons; safe, secure and accessible for future questioning.

  Cade and Daniel made countless calls, filled out endless paperwork and provided robust statements, at the very least covering off the incidents and offending in the Channel Tunnel. There would be enquiries, and investigations, and a lot of questions. But for now they were done.

  “Let’s go home. Right now.”

  Chapter 33

  Late that afternoon, the plain car turned into the car park of New Scotland Yard. Two men stepped out, shivered in the cold and straightened their suits, which looked like they had spent the night wrapped around their owners. It was an entirely accurate observation.

  “Afternoon John. You look like shit.” It was an altogether sharper Malcolm Johnson, assistant commissioner and long-time friend of Daniel’s.

  “It’s been a fairly busy few weeks, sir. We are both in need of some R&R. Go easy, please.”

  “Rest and relaxation J.D. You get that when you retire! Talking of which you must go soon?”

  “A while yet Malcolm, working with Jack has made me realise just how much I enjoy the noble art of policing.”

  “Noble art, my arse! I’ve got a stack of complaints, invoices and God only knows what else to clear thanks to you and the Operation Breaker team.”

  “Anything in particular?” asked Daniel more out of curiosity.

  “Oh, let me see…I’ve got a new windscreen for a Hyundai hatchback. That bill came from Kent Police. A forensic bill for at least one police shooting – Kent again. A claim for a new Aqua Scutum suit, three meal claims for fish and chips, four million pound’s worth of diamonds and a new set of underpants for a channel tunnel bus driver!”

  He stepped in closer, a flicker in his blue-grey eyes.

  “Keep it within these four walls. We got most of the diamonds back gents. I got a deal on a new windscreen and if the DCI thinks he’s getting a new suit out of me, he can bloody well think again. I’ll have it repaired. Now go on, piss off and try to make it to your office without causing any more bloody mayhem. I’ve got a date with a certain Foreign Office colleague. He sounded bloody furious. Fortunately, it would appear that we are not to blame for that state of affairs. Gentlemen, good day to you.”

  Johnson walked to an awaiting BMW, got in and got straight onto his phone. He stopped the driver before they left the car park. Lowering the window, he shouted.

  “Jack. I forgot to mention. The job of Interpol Liaison Officer is yours – or rather if you were to apply there would be no resistance, if you understand my meaning. Your knowledge levels are spot on and we feel that now might be a good time to get out of London, if only for a few years. You know, let the dust settle a little, let us get back to policing how we used to do it before your circus arrived in town. No arguments. OK?” He winked and put the window up before resuming his phone conversation.

  Cade looked at Daniel and said, “That’s not how I work, John. Not at all.”

  Daniel exhaled. “No, I understand that, but it’s how he does. Best you take the chance while you can. Now, whilst we take the lift to the office, remind me why I agreed to run this team, Jack?”

  “As you said to the assistant commissioner, you have found your niche, your reason for enjoying policing again. Shall we take the stairs, better for us? We can chat en route.”

  By the time they had got to the fifth floor they were both shattered, having tried to continue their discussion about Cade and his apparently seamless transition into Europe.

  “I feel that I have no choice, John. But what about the team? And Carrie?” There was that name again.

  “You heard the doctor Jack, Carrie may never recover. And, even if she does, what’s to say the relationship will still work. It’s early days, you are both young, she’ll understand. And it’s only an hour on a plane.”

  “OK. But if anyone asks I had no choice, I was pretty much ordered to go. I need you to lie for me if it comes to it.” As the words were leaving his mouth, both men knew that it was not what he meant. He was once told he couldn’t lie if his life depended upon it. Most men and women who dedicate their lives to unearthing deceit cannot fabricate the truth – integrity and reputation are the bedrock, the mortar that binds together a team and dishonesty the cancerous mechanism that destroys it.

  For Cade, his reputation was sacrosanct and Daniel both knew it and respected it hugely.

  “You’ll be the death of me, Jack, but yes, I will always have your back. Now, are you ready for the debrief session of a lifetime?”

  They walked into the office to find that Roberts had arrived back at work – contrary to medical and marital advice. He had even made sure his tie matched his plaster cast.

  “Team, look who is here!” A ripple of applause greeted the senior men who walked into handshakes and offers of tea and biscuits – custard creams, not ginger nuts. Someone had been given strict instructions.

  Roberts nodded subtly to one of his team who left the office with a set of car keys.

  Ten minutes later, the team were all gathered in the Briefing Room. Many were standing. It was a full house.

  “After you, Jack.”

  Cade spoke uninterrupted for fifteen minutes. Having outlined the start of Operation Breaker, the highs and the lows, the gains and losses, he drilled down on the latter part of the operation.

  “What we saw was a highly organised team. Controlled out of Europe, with some significant backing too. We also know that Hatton Garden was a smokescreen, quite literally according to witnesses – and all skilfully done on Guy Fawkes Night. As yet, we don’t know what this aspect of the operation was about. We may never find out, as this has gone upstairs…possibly even higher. We’ve heard talk of Foreign Office involvement so it’s probably way above our pay grade, need to know, and all that.”

  He swallowed some tea and finished.

  “I said at the start of this that we were dealing with some serious street craft, and balls bigger than space hoppers. I stand by that. The team that latterly call themselves the Seventh Wave certainly announced themselves on our patch. I don’t like them but you have to respect these people, they’ve stolen hundreds of thousands of pounds from the main banks using a relatively simple system that they can replicate anywhere on the globe. But, as I mentioned, the boss and I are convinced there is something we are missing, and it may not be cash or jewels.” He let the sentence hang, hoping for a moment of inspiration.

  “The good news is we have people in custody and eventually one or two might talk. Anyway, if there are no questions?” He looked around, hoping he’d covered every angle.

  “Good. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a drink. I’ve got some news to discuss with you and we can do that at The Sanctuary. The first round is on DS Roberts, who’s already half plastered.”

  There was a cheer and someone clashed a pen against a cup. It was a cheap alternative to a cymbal but had the desired effect.

  Roberts, Daniel and Cade made their way to the favoured drinking hole, its nicotine-stained walls and ceiling a strangely welcoming site.

  “What’s it to be gents? Your drinks are on me. It’s almost Christmas after all.” Roger Walsh greeted them with a rare smile, an open wallet and a reminder that the silly season was only five weeks away.

  Was it really that time of year again? With its associated financial pandemonium, Cade couldn’t help feeling that the members of the crime syndicate with a simple blue tattoo had missed a golden opportunity in Christmas and the financially exploitable chances it could bring – mass crowds, swift hands and a holiday period to conceal the realities of the offending, It was an ideal hunting ground.

  The three found a table, sat down and waited for the team to arrive. They did, in twos and threes until all but two were present.

  Daniel stood and cleared his throat whilst tapping a silver pen on a small ice-filled glass.

  “Team, I�
�ve only been with you for …” He looked at his watch, “…what seems like days. In that time, I’ve learned a lot about you. We’ve had some outstanding successes and, it needs to be said, we’ve lost some good people. We’ll discuss those further tomorrow, but we need to raise a glass to our absent friends.”

  They all followed the time-honoured toast and thought of their colleague Clive Wood, the brief relationship they had with the spirited Nikolina Petrov and an intensely brave air force officer who was lying in a hospital bed with nothing but her spirit.

  Finally, they took a moment to think about their own colleague, Carrie O’Shea – the often deep-thinking, occasional spitfire that had earned her place in the team long ago.

  “Absent friends.” They all took a sip of their favoured drink.

  Daniel continued. “Talking of which…”

  He looked at Cade, almost seeking his permission. Cade nodded, unsure whether to advertise the fact that despite everything he had said and done with his new team it was all about to unravel in what some might see as a selfish act. But ‘the job’ was like that, people came, they either destroyed the equilibrium or got promoted up and out, or, in the rarer cases, they made a real difference and left a legacy. Either way, many managers didn’t last long in one post in the modern police force – a square peg in a matching hole was frowned upon.

  As Daniel continued to speak, the side door to the pub opened, allowing a breath of cooler air to enter; winter was well on its way. Two people had arrived, coming in off the cold street. One was pushing a wheelchair. It was Dave Williams, Roberts’ favourite detective and tonight acting as a hospital porter.

  Daniel was in full flow now. “So whilst we are discussing absentees. I have some good news, for once. Flight Lieutenant Mary-Jane Shipley, who you may have heard about – she was either a foolhardy or brave young lady who chased a few of our targets into the underground system of this fine city and tried to kick merry shit out of them? Well, I’m delighted to say she is alive. She’ll take a while to heal and her life is owed very much to this man stood next to me.” He shook Cade’s hand. It was genuine – there was a real sense that this would be a lifelong friendship and despite where they both may end up Cade knew he could always turn to Daniel as a mentor and professional guide.