Lights flickered on automatically as they entered. The room was small and not quite square. Like a folded ribbon of white-washed brick, insulated and sealed. There was a cheap, circular table at the centre of the room, and a few chairs scattered about. A battered couch, covered in duct tape, sagged against the wall. “This room doesn’t exist on any plans, or schematic. Only three people can get in, and two of them aren’t here.”
“So it’s a secret base in a secret base,” Olly said, looking around. The walls were covered in more cables and machinery, some of which Olly didn’t recognize. All of it looked important. He could practically feel the information flowing through it all.
“Think of it more like a post office,” Liz said. “Upstairs is just the front counter. This is the sorting room.”
“Sorting room. Right.” Screens were mounted at regular intervals, showing feeds from what Olly realized were hijacked drones. He stopped and stared, somewhat taken aback. “You’ve got the whole city under surveillance.”
“Not the city, no.” Liz sat down at the table. “What do you know about us, Olly?”
He felt like a student put on the spot. “Uh – well…”
“I mean, what do you know about DedSec operations?” She studied him. “It’s been three months since you were recruited. What have you learned?”
He stared at her blankly, uncertain as to what she was getting at. “I know enough, I guess. I mean, I know what I’ve been told. Resistance, innit?”
“And what have you been told?” Liz gestured. “Never mind. Here’s a crash course, new boy. DedSec is decentralized. You know what that means?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It means nobody is in charge – or maybe everybody is. There’s no leader. No guidelines. We’re making it up as we go, and hoping we don’t fuck up too badly.”
“Concise and correct. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” Liz turned. “But decentralized doesn’t mean anarchic. Black bloc cells work together, often at a remove. Mostly when it comes to information.”
Olly frowned. “Like whatever it was I picked up for Krish.”
“Exactly.” Liz paused. “Information is power. We collect it. We hoard it. But not everybody we get it from is a DedSec operative. Most of them aren’t, in fact.”
She pulled out her Optik and tapped it. One of the screens glitched and showed an e-fit. Olly recognized the man who’d been shot. Alex, she’d called him.
“Alex Dempsey. He was a… friend. But more than that, he was a set of eyes and ears.”
“But not one of us.”
She frowned. “Neither are you, not yet.”
Olly sat. “Then why’d you bring me down here?”
“Because I wanted to talk in private. About what happened.”
He swallowed. “I didn’t kill him.”
“I know. But someone did. And I need to know why.”
Olly stiffened, as a thought occurred to him. “What if they were trying to kill me, and not him?” He imagined the bullet tearing through him, knocking him down. He shuddered.
Liz nodded. “Another reason to get you down here. This is as close to a safe house as we’ve got at the moment.” She leaned back. “Either way, we need to figure it out soonest. So tell me about your day, Olly. Run me through the whole thing. And for your own sake… leave nothing out.”
5: Scene Of The Crime
Danny Hayes shifted in the weight of his tactical vest, and watched the Old Bill work. Scene-of-Crime officers in blue noddy suits scuttled around a field of little yellow flags – evidence markers, probably. Lights were being set up, as the sun rode low in the sky. Danny suspected he was in for a long night. Not the end of the world, but he’d promised his mum he’d be home for dinner – a promise he’d broken twice last week alone.
Uniformed plods watched the proceedings from the side-lines, thumbs hooked into the straps of their lowest bidder stab-vests. One or two of them met his gaze, and looked away, as if he were invisible. He wasn’t sure whether or not he preferred that to the glares.
Albion wasn’t making any friends in East London, that was for sure. Danny wasn’t sure how he felt about that either. He’d been born and raised in a Tower Hamlets council flat. As a kid, he’d wanted nothing more than to leave. And now here he was, patrolling the streets he’d grown up on. Except they weren’t really patrolling, were they?
More standing around, looking menacing. Easy to do, in his tac gear, with his Vector .45 ACP submachine gun and his helmet. He might as well have been on sentry duty back in Fallujah. His Optik display flickered across the interior of his helmet. Targeting data danced over his eyes, reducing his surroundings to a series of threat assessments and obstacles.
In the sandbox, that had been something of a comfort. Here it was annoying – and a bit disturbing. The program didn’t distinguish between jihadis looking to cut off his balls and the officers who he was theoretically working in support of. For now, at least.
Word was, Albion was positioning itself to replace the Met. Danny didn’t even want to think about how such a thing might work. Tower Hamlets was giving them enough trouble. The thought of trying to do the same with the entire city – hell, the country – was mindboggling. He was just a soldier. He followed orders and kept his head down.
“How long are they just going to let him sit there?” Hattersley said. He stood beside Danny. The two of them were stationed outside the armoured patrol carrier. Faulkner was inside, on the comms, checking in. The rest of the squad had been sent to kick around the nearby streets and make themselves seen.
Danny glanced at the other man. Hattersley was shorter than him, and built like a rugby fullback. He’d rolled up his sleeves, exposing tattooed arms. Some of the ink was downright obscene, and Danny often found himself staring. “Until they finish, I guess.”
“They must’ve taken a hundred pictures. How many pictures do you need?”
“As many as it takes,” Danny said, smiling slightly. Hattersley was a champion grumbler. He complained about everything, from the weather to the consistency of fried egg sandwiches. He could keep it up for hours, even on a yomp.
“I think he’s starting to smell.”
“That’s probably you.”
Hattersley gave himself a discrete sniff. “So it is. Cheers.”
“It’s that shitty oatmeal soap you use. Makes you smell like a bowl of porridge.”
“My bird gave it to me.”
“Which one?”
“Sasha – no, wait, Dionna.” Hattersley hesitated. “I think.”
Danny bit back a laugh. That was the one thing Hattersley didn’t complain about. “You should probably figure it out. Before you send a thank you note to the wrong one.”
“I’ll take it under consideration,” Hattersley said. He was silent for a moment. Then, he said, “This is bone. Waste of our fucking time.”
“Could be worse,” Danny said, not looking at him. He’d caught the eye of one the plods – a woman. Young, his age. Fit, too. She worked out. He could tell from the way she bounced on the balls of her feet. Weightlifter? Maybe. That was interesting. Danny preferred a more all-round work out. Big muscles were fine, but endurance and speed were more important when you were ducking shrapnel.
“How?”
“They could be shooting at us.” His admirer was talking to one of the other officers, but her eyes kept straying back his way. Dark hair. Dyed, he thought. Blonde, probably. Was she interested? Or maybe she was just wondering why they were still standing there. In her place, he would be.
Hattersley snorted. “At least we’d have something to do.”
“We are doing something. We’re showing the flag.”
Hattersley looked at him. “Now you sound like a fucking Rupert.”
“Faulkner said it, not me.”
Hattersley grimaced. Faulkner was a lot of things, but not that. “Of course he bloody did. Got a saying for every occasion, do
es the Sarge.”
“How else is he supposed to motivate us?”
“Money,” Hattersley said. “We’re not soldiers anymore. We’re private contractors. I don’t need speeches. I need paying.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” Danny murmured. He held out his fist, and they bumped knuckles. Money was why he’d stayed in uniform, when his stint was up. Albion was on a hiring spree – anybody with training was getting offered a contract. They needed boots on the ground. That implied something big was in the works.
“Tell you what, though… I wouldn’t mind hearing a speech or three from the tasty honourable member from earlier. There’s something about an older woman who knows what she wants, know what I mean? What’s her name again?”
“Lincoln,” Danny said. “Sarah Lincoln.” He recalled that his mother had voted for her, though she claimed to regret it. “She’s a looker, yeah.” He paused. “Scary, though. There’s a woman who doesn’t take shit.”
Hattersley nodded. “Just my type. What’s the gen on her anyway? Faulkner looked like he’d swallowed a mouthful of glass when she got done with him.”
Danny shrugged. “Just a local MP, innit?”
“So another civvy who knows bugger all, looking to screw us over. Wonderful.”
“Dunno. She had some good points, I thought.” Danny didn’t consider himself political. One politician was much like another, as far as he was concerned. Sometimes he felt like he ought to pay more attention, but who had the time?
“Don’t let Faulkner here you say that. He’ll rip your bollocks off and hang ’em in his office.” Hattersley made a vicious twisting motion. Danny winced.
“Yeah, yeah. She was right though. This shit here? It ain’t working.”
“What would you suggest then, Hayes?” Faulkner’s voice cut in. Danny and Hattersley stiffened as Faulkner stepped down out of the back of the personnel carrier. “Should we put it to a vote maybe? See what the locals have to say?”
Danny turned. “No, Sarge. Sorry, Sarge.”
“Sorry? For what? Sharing an opinion?” Faulkner ambled around them, an easy smile on his craggy face. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, though. “That’s what squaddies do. They gripe and moan, until the orders come down. And then they do their bloody job, like it or not.”
“Yes, Sarge,” Danny and Hattersley said, in unison. Faulkner held them with his gaze for a few moments, then turned towards the crime scene.
“When they’re finished, I want you two to move in. Cordon off the scene so we can bring our own people in.” Faulkner scratched his chin. “Not that it’ll do much good, but orders are orders, and we have ours.” He turned to Danny. “Walk with me, lad.”
Danny glanced at Hattersley, and then followed Faulkner as he prowled closer to the scene. Without looking at him, Faulkner said, “This is your manor, isn’t it?”
“Sarge?”
“You were born in East London, weren’t you?”
“Yes, Sarge.”
“Must be like old times, being back here. See many friends – family?”
“My mum – a few others.”
“Your sister?”
Danny hesitated. “Don’t talk to her much, Sarge.”
Faulkner patted him on the shoulder. “That’s all right lad, I don’t much like my siblings either. Can’t choose your blood. You can choose your loyalties, though.”
“Yes Sarge?” Danny hadn’t meant it to come out as a question, but it had nonetheless.
“You like working in the private sector, Danny?”
“I like it all right.”
“Me too. Money’s good. And it’s bound to get better, once Nigel Cass gets things up and running. Something to keep in mind, perhaps.” Faulkner looked towards the police cordon. “Think she likes you, eh?” he murmured. “Man looks his best in a bit of kit. Stand up straight, Danny my lad. Chin up, dick out.”
Danny blinked. “Sarge?”
“Figure of speech,” Faulkner said, clearly amused. He tapped Danny’s visor. “Squad feed, remember? We see what you see. And you were observing her closely, I noticed.” He turned. “Do me a favour, chat her up for me, would you?”
Danny looked at him. Faulkner’s bonhomie evaporated. “You heard me. Go talk to the bint and be as fucking charming as you can manage.”
Danny hesitated, but only for a moment. Faulkner’s patience wasn’t infinite. When he said jump, you jumped or you spent the day square bashing, at best. Danny nodded and ambled towards the knot of constables. Once, he’d have done anything to avoid getting anywhere near the Filth. He was the wrong colour, wrong class, wrong everything for friendly interactions with the authorities.
Or he had been, at any rate. These days, he had a certain cachet. He was a hard man, a rock solid operator in his black tac gear and urban fatigues, with the weight of Albion backing him up. It was a good feeling, in a way.
Even so, it made him uncomfortable at times. Some of the others, like Hattersley, seemed to regard East London as foreign soil, full of enemies. They picked fights, instigated conflict – and Faulkner egged them on. Sometimes Danny wondered if he were following orders the rest of them weren’t aware of.
He pushed all that aside as he drew close to the police. Heads turned, stares steady. He felt as if he were looking down gunsights. He cleared his throat. “Lovely day for it,” he said, plastering on his best smile. His mother assured him it was his best feature.
The woman laughed. Danny flushed. “Yeah, fine,” he said, making as if to turn away.
She waved a hand. “Wait, wait – steady on, mate. It’s just… did you hear yourself?”
Danny paused. Then chuckled. “Yeah. Sounded like a right tit, didn’t I?”
She nodded and stepped away from the others. “Can I help you with something?”
“Bit of chat,” he said, hopefully. “It’s boring, just standing there, watching you watch me.” He turned. “This place hasn’t changed.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You local?”
“Was. Am again, I suppose.”
“Where from?”
“Locksley Estate.” He shifted the weight of the Vector on its sling. “You?”
“Hackney Road.”
He grinned. “And look at us now. Both coppers.”
She frowned. “I’m a copper. I don’t what you are.”
Danny paused. “A soldier, I suppose.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
He gestured. “Whitechapel is lot of things. Not really a warzone, though.”
“Tell your boss that.”
Danny laughed. “I’m a grunt. Nobody listens to me.” He peered at her. Then, hesitantly, he stuck out his hand. “Danny. Danny Hayes.”
“Hello Danny-Danny Hayes. I’m Moira Jenks.”
“Moira?”
She fixed him with a level look. “You have something against ‘Moira’?”
“No, no. It’s a pretty name…” He hesitated. Faulkner was sidling towards the crime scene techs – no, towards the evidence bags. What was he doing? He hurriedly looked back at Jenks, a sudden uneasy sensation churning in his gut.
“So why are you still here, Danny?”
“Orders, innit?” he said. “They say stand here, I stand here.”
“Sounds dull.”
“Seems to me you were doing much the same.” He glanced back towards Hattersley, and the other operative gave him a thumbs-up. Jenks saw it and snorted.
“This has been interesting, but maybe you ought to – hoi!” Jenks turned, and Danny did as well. Faulkner was going through the evidence. He stepped back quickly, hands raised as Jenks stalked towards him. More plods swarmed in, drawn by her shout. The tension, on a low simmer, suddenly ratcheted up. Hattersley hurried over.
Danny, torn for a moment, hesitated. Then training took over and moved to Faulkner’s side. He kept his weapon aimed at the ground, and signalled Hattersley to do the same. The last thing they needed was for this to become a standoff.
“Ease up,” Faulkner was saying. “Honest mistake, that’s all.”
“There’s such a thing as chain of evidence, mate,” Jenks said. “That means you keep your mitts off it, right?”
“Why not just let me have a look, eh? Bit of professional co-operation?” Faulkner was smiling, but it wasn’t friendly. “We’ll get our hands on it eventually.”
“‘Eventually’ is a problem for someone else,” Jenks said. “Right now, you’re mine. Back up.” Her eyes flicked towards Danny. Hard now, not friendly at all. “You too, Danny-Danny Hayes. Back on your side of the line.”
“This is a mistake, love,” Faulkner said. “You plods are on the way out. Clever girl like you might want to make sure she’s got friends. Albion is always looking for experienced people, and we’re an equal opportunity employer…”
“Shut it,” Jenks said. She had her back up now, and Danny realized that she wasn’t the only one. The other plods were pressing in from all sides, bumping them back from the evidence. Hattersley was looking nervous. They were armed but, that didn’t mean much at the moment. Danny waved Hattersley back.
Faulkner kept smiling, but it was strained now. “Fine. Like I said, misunderstanding. No need to get bent out of shape. We’re going.” He pointed at Jenks. “But I’ll be speaking to your superiors about this.” He turned. “Come on. Nothing more to be gained here.”
Danny and Hattersley followed him. Faulkner glanced back at Danny. “Good job, lad. Though I doubt you’ll get a second look in. Shame too… she seemed to like you.”
Danny glanced back. Jenks was watching them, a hard look on her face. Uncomfortable, he turned away. “What were you looking for, Sarge?”
Faulkner chuckled harshly. “Never you mind, Danny Hayes. Keep your head down and follow orders, and all will be well.” He looked back, and there was a warning in his eyes. “Big things come to those who keep their mouths shut, eh?”
Day Zero Page 5
