The Black Rose Conspiracy

by James McKenna

  She returned all to the document case, except for the brooch. This she turned over and over in her fingers. The back appeared solid. So what secrets lay within? Something in the photo? She examined it closely but saw only the beauty of a loving couple.

  CHAPTER 4

  Detective Chief Inspector Sean Fagan edged his second-hand Ford car through London's rain and traffic as he headed for the offices of the Organised Crime Agency in Pimlico. Cobbart had given the meeting Priority One, that gave Sean hope of finally getting a job. Six months of writing reports on national crime statistics was not his idea of active policing. The statistics had shown a huge surge in criminal activity and a spiralling drop in criminal prosecution. It coincided with an early release policy to ease overcrowding in prisons. The public were losing patience. So was Sean.

  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel while listening to the second movement of Beethoven's Fifth Piano Concerto on the car radio. Outside, gusts of wind shaped clothes around the bodies of people, creating a vision of figures hewn from rock while blusters of shrapnel rain blistered the windscreen between the monotonous thump of the wipers. Winter had passed, so had spring and unseasonal storms at the start of summer reflected his mood. At forty years of age he knew his disenchantment with professional life had arrived too early. He had left the police to join CAT, the Combined Agency Task Force so he might fight crime without the rule books. So far that fight had not materialised. Classical music, good wine and good food gave support to the solitary existence of his private life. He knew a good woman would help but since his split with Victoria, no other had chanced his way and his wife Camilla seemed long ago. He did not consider himself a handsome man. Tall and solidly built with a nose large enough to give character, he channelled his intellect into understanding his job and environment. In this way he saw women as pleasing entities who passed him by. Yet he knew a chance for him remained because he also watched their eyes and caught their smiles.

  Beethoven faded into annoying adverts then a reader came on with a news summary. A child molester had been released from prison due to a technical fault at his trial. Two young girls had been raped in Epping Forest. A pensioner had been jailed for attacking a burglar who stole his military medals. Judith Holmes, window of John Holmes the MP who had been brutally murdered by an intruder at their home six months previously, had won the by-election for her husband's vacant seat. On a pledge for law, order and female equality, she had increased the number of seats held by the Democratic Justice Party to six. The fastest growing political party in England, the next election would see the DJP outpace the Liberals, their demands for radical reform of the justice system, police and female rights, gave them popular support and tabloid backing.

  "Just get rid of the wankers and the paperwork," Sean said to no one. "Get rid of the politically correct who bog the system with administration. Let the police go to work."

  Twenty minutes later Sean entered the office of Chief Superintendent John Cobbart and greeted him with a wave, surprised to see his own boss, Colonel Fox of the Combined Agency Taskforce also sitting at the table. Fox nodded in greeting.

  Cobbart sat amidst his usual pile of chaos. Every chair, every working surface covered with files, papers and books. A greeting came with the devious troll-like smile, after which he was nicknamed. He waved Sean to a chair.

  Sean moved two sets of box files to create room before sitting. His summons to HQ had come out of the blue. With these two present it had to be a decent job. Six months after being seconded to the Combined Agency Taskforce, he had no assignment or team. Time was hanging and filled with frustration.

  The troll sat in his familiar pinstriped suit, dandruff on his collar, grey hair in need of a cut, half-rimmed glasses on the end of his nose. His appeared more academic than a serious policeman but Sean knew him as a hard-edged taskmaster; someone with little time for the new breed of political administrators. One of the old boys, Cobbart backed his men and stood his ground. He moved papers on his desk, tapping a finger. Not a good sign.

  "Colonel Fox is here by my invitation," Cobbart said. "Because he knows more about what we will discuss than I wish to know. The police do not want to become involved in any part of CAT activities. You will also be pleased to know you've finally been allocated an assignment."

  Sean sighed relief. "About time. I've been hanging out for six months."

  The troll shifted more papers. "Well this might not be quite the job you had expected but I assure you it is vital to future national security."

  "John, please, no more nondescript admin. I went from detective inspector to chief inspector. I volunteered for the Combined Agency Taskforce to combat terrorism and global crime. All unofficial and off record, so off record, that CAT does not officially exist."

  "That's because the rules we work by are totally unorthodox," Fox said. "But we still need the right operative for the right job. What I will offer you is an assignment needing, skill, diplomacy and most of all, secrecy."

  Sean gave them his nice guy smile. It was wasted. "So, what is this assignment?"

  "Operation Black Rose. Murder, corruption, sex and politics. An everyday story of parliamentary folk." Cobbart pushed a folder across the desk. "The Democratic Justice Party now have six members. Analysts predict at the next election the House will be hung and because of poplar support the DJP will increase their seats to possibly one hundred plus. In other words, they will have access to serious power."

  "That's democracy."

  "But is it?" Cobbart sat back and laced fingers. "In the last two years the DJP has become the peoples' answer to widespread disenchantment with Government failures. It promises popular solutions. Rigorous control of crime, rigorous control of discrimination against women, the return of education to the teachers, the return of medical health to our doctors, civilised behaviour on our streets and removal from administrations of a politically correct bureaucracy that places criminal rights above the peoples' rights. All funded by serious money."

  "Peoples' power and peoples' bullshit. Anyone serious knows they won't deliver."

  "There lies one of the dangers. In a democracy a lot of non-serious people have the vote. They do not vote as a consequence of weighty, intellectual judgement; they vote for whomever the tabloids dictate. They vote through emotion or anger. So, they nearly always vote for the wrong people."

  Sean raised his hands and spread them in question. "That's democracy. Voting is a precarious gamble."

  "Granted, but you will agree, most votes are cast on emotional assumptions."

  "That's people power."

  "Like the communist revolution?" Cobbart parted his hands and raised one finger. "All the DJP members of parliament are women. It is basically an all-female party and consequently draws support from female voters across a wide political spectrum, including, I might add, my own wife." Cobbart sat back and shook his head. "She used to be a diehard Conservative."

  Sean grinned. "Women can be fickle. But it's their prerogative. That's not a crime, John. What the hell is this to do with CAT?"

  "Everything," Fox said. "Elected members of DJP have called for the electronic implanting of tags into all criminals for five years after serving their sentences."

  "That would make our job easier," Sean said.

  "Other leading voices in the party have called for the surgical removal of hands from habitual burglars, the castration of repeat rapists, forced re-education of problem families, life sentences for drug dealers and many other crimes."

  "That's to catch the vote. It will never happen."

  "It already has. At 2am this morning a burglar on early release who had forty previous convictions was dumped outside Nottingham City Hospital with both his hands hacked off. Nottingham is where Judith Holmes, DJP won her parliamentary seat. In Leeds a mother and two daughters have been arrested for cutting off the genitalia of a freed rapist. He had sexually assaulted the youngest girl. Leeds is where Margo Portland, DJP won her seat."

&nbs
p; Sean shrugged. "Peoples' justice. It had to come but who really cares other than the politically correct, and only then if the victims are of ethnic race? In reality, gentlemen, most of the country will be cheering. But one thing's for sure, those bastards won't steal or rape again. Likewise, a bullet in the brain or bollocks solves a lot of problems."

  Cobbart's troll smile appeared. "Off the record, my sentiments exactly and that's one of the worries over DJP. The more popular they become, the more atrocities will occur. The grannies of this country, the mothers and the women who are constrained by real fear, are giving vent to their anger. They see justice and safety forsaken for the benefit of criminal welfare. That anger is boiling and, I fear, it will throw a lot of mutilated criminals to the surface."

  Sean shrugged again. "So call out the granny police. It's social unrest, not organised crime."

  Cobbart shook his head. During the following silence the muted noise of London's traffic became audible. He rasped a hand over the stubble on his chin.

  "Fear can make people irrational and there is nothing the tabloids like more than using irrational fear to create mass hysteria to gain public support. Our problem is, that covertly riding on the tail of this hysteria is a coalition of ultra-right-wing politics and organised crime. What on the surface may appear to be a group of grannies rallying their sisters in support of law and order, is in fact a possible incursion by criminal and alien political forces into British politics. Think of how Hitler and the Nazis came to power. "

  "Do you have proof of this?"

  "Enough suspicions that I want you and CAT to look into it more deeply."

  Sean nodded and thought, anything political would attract the Spooks. That meant MI5, the Box, known jointly with MI6 as the Darkside. Sean shifted in his seat and asked casually. "How much of this is classified?"

  "All of it." Cobbart raised his head. "And yes, the Spooks are involved. We do the criminal, they do the political and where they intermingle it will be a joint venture. Also, due to the DJP's popularity, we must assume membership has spread to our own services. Therefore, to avoid compromise, initial investigations will be off record. Funding will come from MI5."

  Sean knew they had deliberately told him enough to make refusal impossible. Having volunteered for CAT he was now part of the security service whose procedures were more open and flexible. But being off record was still a dangerous area in any force. On the other side, anything was better than pen pushing in no man's land.

  By way of answer he said, "There must be some proof to back suspicions."

  "The DJP have four principal leaders. Judith Holmes, widow of the murdered MP and one of the unofficial suspects for the crime; Margo Portland, widow of a High Court judge who was killed by a hit and run driver, not caught; Lisa Norton, wife of a wealthy businessman who committed suicide in suspicious circumstances." Cobbart raised a finger. And Laura Manning, one-time wife of Silviano Silverstroni, leading Mafia boss in London, recently drowned whilst on holiday in France." He paused. "At the funerals of each man it is reported the DJP, sent a bunch of silk, black roses, hence, Operation Black Rose."

  Sean raised his eyebrows at reference to Silverstroni. Cobbart's concerns over the DJP finally made sense. Silviano Silverstroni commonly referred to as Silverman, had been the untouchable banker, always suspected but never convicted. A man many believed had defrauded twenty billion pounds from his own banks.

  "Equally interesting, current funding for the DJP comes from Eleanor Baxter. She is an American, who, we are informed by our colleagues across the pond, has serious Mafia and right-wing connections."

  "So why are the DJP getting involved with the Mafia?

  "That's just one of the things we need to find out," Fox said. "Including the information currently available on the demise of all four husbands. Not just what's on record, but what the coppers involved didn't put on record. When we've accumulated enough intelligence then I'll give you an inner briefing on the full situation." He pushed a file across the desk. "That's our current information. Expand on it and meet me within four days." Fox leaned back in the chair and laced his fingers. "And everything is off record."

  "If it's off record, Colonel, whose toes are we treading on?" Sean asked, knowing off record meant more than keeping the operation secret, it meant keeping out the whole Whitehall bureaucracy.

  Cobbart shrugged. "That's one of the problems. While the enemy has no face, we don't know."

  Sean shifted in his chair and watched the troll unclasp his hand, edging papers to square with the desk.

  "You're leaving me in a void, gentlemen. Are we talking of corruption in high places?"

  "Possibly. Political ambition can blind the righteous. MI5 insists we keep everything on a need to know basis. I'm afraid I can't tell you more. Just remember, the Darkside will always be there, hiding in the shadows. So, are you definitely in?" Cobbart raised an eyebrow.

  "Who'll be in control?" Sean stroked his chin.

  "MI5 is funding, so it's Alice Sibree," Fox answered.

  "The Wicked Witch. She's a dangerous person to trust."

  "Her loyalty to the service is unquestionable. Also, it was she who approached asking help from the Combined Agency Taskforce. Even MI5 cannot operate like CAT. She needs us. Her principal operative will be Victoria Lawless, so do we count you in?" Cobbart raised one eyebrow and pushed the operation file closer.

  CHAPTER 5

  “How does it feel to be dead?” Jerak asked and tapped fingers on the arm of his chair. Beyond the plate glass windows sunlight glistened over the towers of London city, the hub of power and wealth, soon to be his.

  “Boring,” his father Silviano said. “Like a lost soul with nowhere to go. You have no voice, but at the same time a dead man can't be killed again. However, a dead soul can still influence and scheme.”

  His father grimaced and Jerak inwardly smiled at the other’s contempt of humanity. “Your voice is now through me, Father. And people are listening to me. When you have money, people always listen. I continue with your plans. The Democratic Justice Party have established offices in most major cities and recruitment is continuous. We already have six MPs and by popular propaganda plus a heavy recruitment of many women, we will soon have 50% of the vote, plus.”

  “But you also waste money.” Silviano lifted his hands, gesturing to the apartment. “What did this place cost? Ten million? That money should have gone on bringing in the disenchanted, the women angry at their treatment and abuse, women who want to change the world.”

  “Father, this place is both a hideaway for you and an investment. As for recruitment, all that is in full flow, but it takes careful organisation and absolute secrecy. To maintain that secrecy costs money, I need more money. Where is the twenty billion pounds you promised?” Jerak felt the penetration of his father’s eyes and read the mistrust. Reciprocal he knew. The bond between them was a sham, kept in place only by the need one had for the other’s participation.

  His father’s smile came slow and sly, notching up Jerak’s hatred of him.

  “The location is kept here,” Silviano tapped his forehead. “Secrecy ensures my physical safety from any who might discover I am still alive. However, the location is also recorded in one other place, a place only the trusted or the lucky would ever find.”

  “Then you must give me that trust, Father. Without it our plans will not work. You say I waste money, not so. Take this place,” he indicated the apartment. “I bought it as a temporary headquarters and residence for you. When not in use it is rented as a holiday apartment so generating an income which aids your plans and gives cover for your own comings and goings. Did I not find your brother and have him thrown off your yacht into the sea? They matched his DNA and so assumed the corpse was yours.”

  “You are a true son with the right heart, Jerak. When I re-emerge as my brother, the money will buy the DJP, then you and I will rule England and the world. Let me tell you some history. I was forced to marry when young purely to gain a
ccess to the wealth of my future wife’s family. I had hoped for sons but all she produced were daughters who in turn married greedy crooks wanting my own wealth. Those useless fools only produced grand-daughters. All of them now searching for my money, but they won’t find it.” Again he tapped his forehead. “I have many enemies, including them. What they didn’t realise until recently, is that I also had two families outside marriage. Your mother, with whom I placed a degree of trust, but unfortunately her death in an unexplained accident left me suspicious of my legal wife. Then there was Ruth Harrington, now that woman I truly loved. She asked for nothing yet gave me everything. I trusted her completely. When our daughter Sarah arrived, I bought her a house. I paid maintenance till Sarah herself married. Now Ruth has also been killed in an accident. One accident I can accept but two is suspicious. Someone killed them. I believe it was my daughters and their crooked husbands, which is one reason I keep the twenty billion secret, for both our sakes. Yet have no fear, I know where to direct you when needed,” Silviano said and smiled with the withering grimace of a snake.

  Jerak nodded gratified that his own actions and surveillance over the last six months had not been in vain.

  “Father, I appreciate your concern but listen to your son. Now they have the decomposing body of your brother from the sea and made a reasonable match with your DNA, you're officially dead. The British and other nations, plus the banks you defrauded, all are seriously searching for the missing billions. If they find it, our plans are finished.”

  His father waved a finger as if to lecture. “Hence the need for secrecy. My own father taught me that.”

  “But why exclude me from your trust?

  “I don’t, I safeguard you. If any believe you have knowledge they would kidnap you, torture you, kill you. Especially my old partner Krata.”