“I hope so.”
“Good.” Winston smiled again. “By the way, I invited Nigel Cass. To join us today.”
Sarah didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. “How lovely, I wanted to speak to him as well. Thank you, Winston. You’ve saved me a trip.”
“Not even a twitch,” Winston said, with some disappointment. “Am I that predictable, Sarah? Or are you merely that devious?”
“A little of both, I think.” Sarah folded her menu and set it aside. The waitress was closing in, an anxious look on her face. “Have you eaten here before?”
“Once or twice.”
“Order for me.”
Winston smirked, but did as she asked. She turned her attentions to the rest of the clientele. They were all of a type: young, professional, well-off… the exact sort of people one wanted in one’s borough.
“They all look a bit like shop dummies, don’t they?” Winston murmured.
Sarah looked at him. “I wouldn’t say that. Not in public, at any rate. When is Cass supposed to be here?”
“Any minute now. I– ah, speak of the devil.” Winston stood, and Sarah followed his example. Nigel Cass prowled through the tables, moving like a man awaiting enemy fire. He was accompanied by four other men – hard-faced, well-dressed, but uncomfortable in their suits, obviously bodyguards – and a young woman. The woman was pretty, in a cool sort of way. Another Oxbridge clone, Sarah thought, somewhat uncharitably. She had her Optik in hand, and was talking softly to someone. A PA, then.
The bodyguards peeled off, taking up unobtrusive positions across the room, where they could watch Cass without being obvious about it. The PA stayed glued to his side, still talking. Cass didn’t so much as look at her.
“Ah, Nigel,” Winston said, arms spread in welcome. “We’re pleased you could make it. I trust we’re not taking you away from anything important?”
“Nothing that can’t rescheduled,” Cass said. He nodded to Winston, and looked at Sarah. “Ms Lincoln. A pleasure to see you again.” He looked at his PA. “Go get a drink. Leave us to it.”
The woman hesitated. Cass made a sharp gesture. “I said go.” She went, visibly reluctant. He smiled apologetically as they sat. “Danielle is in public relations. She’s working to… rehabilitate my image for the public.”
“And does it need rehabilitation?” Sarah asked, innocently.
Cass grinned mirthlessly. “I wouldn’t know. Not my area. But it is yours, isn’t it? I saw you on the news, standing firm against my man, Faulkner. He had quite a bit to say about it, in this morning’s briefing.”
Sarah allowed herself a smile. “I’m sure he did. And how is Mr Faulkner?”
“Sergeant,” Cass corrected.
“Hmm?”
“It’s Sergeant Faulkner.”
Sarah gestured aimlessly. “I trust he wasn’t too put out by that bit of theatre?”
Cass frowned. “Saying he’s put out is putting it mildly. You dressed him down in front of the lower ranks and the locals.”
“Winston and I are locals as well,” she said.
Winston nodded and joined in. “The fact is, your man has been throwing his weight around a bit. He was due a bollocking, and Sarah gave him one. Trifle more public than I myself might have done in her place, but it was overdue.” He shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry, but there it is.”
Cass stared at them for a moment. Then he nodded and looked at his menu. “Is that why you invited me to lunch in the mess? To complain about the conduct of my men?”
“Not at all. We merely wished to get better acquainted.”
“And to pump me for information.” Cass smiled. “Fine. I’m always open to answering questions. I have a – well – what you might call a reductionist view of the world. Good versus evil, that sort of thing. As politicians, you don’t have the luxury of that sort of view, I know, but I’m not a politician.”
“Oh, except you are, now,” Sarah said. “Of sorts, at least.”
Cass grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”
Sarah and Winston laughed politely.
“But you are,” she pressed. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have come for lunch.”
“I was taught to seize opportunities when they present themselves,” he said, studying her. She could read the interest in his eyes. “You’re a perceptive woman. You two are my biggest opponents at the moment. If I can flip you, it solves most of my immediate problems.”
Sarah had a sudden thought: Cass was only pretending to be uncomfortable, the old soldier struggling to know how to fit back in polite society. She wondered how many times this act had got him exactly what he wanted.
“A trifle blunt,” Winston murmured.
“Accurate, though,” Cass said, not looking at him. “And you invited me – why? To feel me out. See what I have planned?”
“Call it… reconnaissance,” Sarah said. Cass was smart, but she’d known that already.
“And that’s exactly why I wanted to start with East London,” Cass said. “The natives are getting restless. And a good deal of that restlessness is concentrated here.”
“Yes, because unemployment is spiking. We’re at a hundred-year high. The modern British workplace is almost wholly automated, and human workers are made redundant at a ridiculous rate. Anti-tech protests are becoming common.” Sarah watched his eyes as she spoke. Cass was… bored. “Is it any wonder there’s unrest?”
“I’m not here to debate the causes,” Cass said. “Regardless of the reasons, the populace is restive – aggressively so. And my intelligence tells me that there are those looking to exploit that unrest. DedSec, for instance.”
“DedSec?” Winston said.
Sarah sat back. “Intelligence? Spies, you mean.”
Cass looked at her. “Yes,” he said, bluntly. “Eyes on the ground are integral part of any operation. Both to watch the enemy – and your allies.” He paused, still looking at Sarah. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“Well I bloody am,” Winston said. “I thought DedSec was an American problem.”
“Terrorism has a habit of spilling across national borders.”
Sarah cleared her throat. “Strong word. They were just ‘hacktivists’, last I heard.” Not that she’d heard much. DedSec wasn’t something on her radar, though it was impossible to avoid hearing about them, these days.
“A pretty word hiding an ugly reality. Like ‘freedom fighter’. They’re terrorists, plain and simple.” He sat back. “Like most insurgent organizations, they’re broken into cells. And those cells are broken down into smaller cells, and so on and so forth. I have it on good authority that the London cell is bigger than anyone realizes. They’re as dangerous as any other insurgent element. Maybe more so, given their method of operation.”
“Computers, you mean.” Winston glanced at Sarah, and she knew he was playing the fool. The out-of-touch politico was a mask they’d all donned once or twice in their careers. Cass’s eyes narrowed. Sarah wasn’t sure he’d bought it, but he seemed willing to elaborate.
“Among other things. Instead of bombs, they plant malware.” He paused. “If anything, it’s more dangerous. Bombs kill people. Malware kills systems. And they’re not the only ones using such methods. London is rife with factionalism. Maybe you don’t see it – maybe you’re trying not to see it – but it’s evident to me.”
“And you think Albion has the resources to combat this… problem?”
“Boots on the ground, drones in the air. Give me three months, and I can knock East London into shape. With six, I could bring the whole city to heel.” He spread his hands. “Force is the great leveller. Enough force and even the strongest rock breaks.”
“We’re not talking about rocks, though.”
“No, but the principle is the same. A decade or more of budget cuts have rendered the Metropolitan Police Service toothless. They cannot effectively maintain law and order on a city-wide scale. Albion can, for a fraction of the cost.” Cass gestured. “To
wer Hamlets is the first step. With your support, we can get permission to step up patrols and take on investigative duties, thus freeing up the Met to get on with their paperwork.”
“Is that why Faulkner was out at Lister House yesterday?” Sarah asked.
Cass scratched his chin. “He just wanted to lend a hand.”
“He wanted to take over the scene. I was curious as to why.” Sarah tilted her head. “As you said, Albion’s remit does not extend to investigative work.” She paused. “Curious as well that he got there so quickly.”
“We have access to the police frequencies.”
“And drones in the air,” Winston said, drily.
Cass glanced at him. “That is part of Albion standard operational procedure, yes.” He took a sip of coffee, watching them.
“Operational procedure for enemy territory, I believe,” Sarah said, seizing on the opening. “Is Tower Hamlets ‘enemy territory’?”
Cass studied her over the rim of his cup. “You don’t agree?”
“I grew up in Tower Hamlets, Mr Cass.”
He put down his cup and favoured her with a warmer smile. “Nigel, please.”
“Nigel, then. This is my home. I still reside here.”
“I imagine in a nicer house.”
Sarah bared her teeth in a smile of her own. “Oh definitely. Indoor WCs and track lighting. Very posh. The borough has its issues – it always has – but the answer to those problems is not armed patrols. It is money. More money for schools, more money for council housing, a universal basic income…”
Cass chuckled. “That’s your answer for everything isn’t it? You people–”
Sarah fixed him with a look. Cass paused, aware of what he’d just said. He frowned. “I meant politicians,” he explained.
“Of course you did,” Winston said, smoothly. “Though possibly we can be forgiven for thinking otherwise, given your men’s propensity for – ehm – a certain inequality of applied force, shall we say?”
“Say what you want to say,” Cass said, flatly. “Don’t shilly-shally.”
Sarah leaned forward. “I don’t think you’re a bigot, Mr Cass. But it’s not what I think that matters. You haven’t thought things through. You see the borough as foreign territory, to be subdued. I see it as my constituency. The people who elected me to represent them. I’m sure Winston feels the same.”
Winston looked uncomfortable, but nodded.
Sarah tapped the table with an expertly manicured nail. “I speak with their voice, even if you’d rather not hear what they have to say. And what they want me to say is that Albion – in its current form – is unwelcome.”
Cass was silent for long moments. Then he gave a grunt and made as if to rise. “Thank you for lunch. It was… an edifying experience.”
“For us too. Farewell then,” Sarah said. She sat back and watched him go. He hadn’t shaken hands.
Winston gave her a slow clap. “Oh, well done. You do have a talent for pissing off all the right people.” He dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “I thought it was going so well, too.”
“Oh, climb down off the cross, Winston.” Sarah fixed him with a basilisk stare. “You set us both up. Wanted to see us go at it, did you?”
“A bit. Mostly I wanted to see what you thought about Albion.”
“And here I thought that’s why I invited you.” Sarah gnawed her lower lip. “He’s a smarmy creep and having his jumped-up stormtroopers in my territory irks my sensibilities.”
“Mine as well. But that’s the way the wind is blowing, dear heart. It’s a new world, with a new way of doing things. Including policing, it seems.”
Sarah sighed. “You sound as if you’re leaning towards the Prime Minister’s view on the matter. I expected better of you, Winston.”
“No you didn’t.” Winston smiled. “And I haven’t decided anything yet. Neither have you, unless I miss my guess.”
“I’m still pondering the variables.”
Winston laughed. “Polite way of saying you’re trying to grab what you can.” He waved her protestations aside. “And what was that little speech about growing up here? Trying out some new material?”
She didn’t reply. They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, and then Sarah said, “I want to view that facility. I want to know what they’re getting up to in Limehouse.” Her eyes flicked towards her fellow MP. “And I want you with me.”
“Limehouse is your problem, not mine.”
“Limehouse is in Tower Hamlets. It’s our problem. Besides, I can tell you’re dying to know what Cass is hiding.”
Winston shrugged. “You have me there. Fine. We’ll issue a joint request, put some pressure on him. I doubt we’ll get the full tour, but… we’ll see something at least.” He paused. “What was that about Faulkner and the shooting?”
“As I said, I was curious. Still am, in fact. Faulkner showed up far too quickly for my liking, police wavebands or no.”
“You think they were – what? – expecting it?”
Sarah frowned. “I don’t know. And what’s more, I don’t like not knowing.”
8: Investigations
The locker room was crowded when Danny arrived at headquarters for his shift. Leave had been cancelled, and everyone was gearing up. Word had come down that a show of force was scheduled today, boots on the streets and Albion operatives on every corner.
Danny knew why. They all did. Faulkner was planning to make a scene at Bethnal Green police station during the handover of the evidence from the shooting. The Sarge was going to show up in full tac-kit to make a statement, and that statement was “do not fuck with us sunshine, we are not in the mood.”
Danny wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but no one had asked his opinion. Such decisions were far above his pay grade. He was just glad that the handover was now happening in the afternoon, rather than the morning. The change had come down from on high, for reasons that weren’t especially clear. Danny figured it had to do with the press. Faulkner wanted a strong showing to make up for the clusterfuck the previous day.
He looked around. The room was really just a stretch of lockers isolated by particle board walls from the rest of the facility. The building had been a warehouse at one time. Now it was centre of operations for Albion efforts in Tower Hamlets.
Albion had three such facilities in Tower Hamlets – or at least three that were common knowledge. One was the drone facility on Limehouse Basin. The other two, of which this building was one, were temporary deployment sites – one in Tower Hamlets North, and this one, in Tower Hamlets South.
Danny got his gear down and pulled on his kit without thinking about it. His mind was still on the night before. On Ro and his mother. Worry simmered at the back of his head. If Ro wasn’t in trouble now, she soon would be. She couldn’t help it – it was just her nature.
She’d always been that way. Even as a kid. He’d broken up so many fights and listened to so many excuses over the years. The worry he felt wasn’t so much about her as what she might bring to their mother’s doorstep. Ro could take care of herself.
Even so, he wondered whether he should push a bit – maybe see what the files had on the Kelleys. There was bound to be something of use, even if it wasn’t immediately apparent. He was still thinking about it when someone slammed the locker beside his, startling him.
“She called you yet?” Hattersley asked, grinning.
Danny looked up. “Who?”
“The plod. Jenks – that was her name, right?” Hattersley sat down on the bench beside him. “She called you?”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Fair enough. Ready for today?” Hattersley asked.
“Ready enough. You?”
“Easy, innit?” Hattersley grinned. “We show up, give the plods a bit of a tweak, and roll out, reputation restored. Textbook.”
“That’d make for a nice change.”
“Danny boy, oh Danny boy – come to me, my blue-eyed Danny boy,” Faulkner mock-sang
from the doorway of the locker room, interrupting Hattersley’s reply. Danny reluctantly looked up.
“Got brown eyes, Sarge,” he said, as he stood. Hattersley turned back to his locker, trying to look busy. Danny wondered what Faulkner wanted. Nothing good, most likely. He was set to be a part of the handover squad, though he wasn’t especially looking forward to it.
“Have you, lad? To tell the truth, I never noticed. Come here.” Faulkner gestured. Danny moved briskly. Something in Faulkner’s voice told him hesitation wouldn’t be looked on fondly. Faulkner was already in full kit, his helmet dangling from one hand.
“Sarge?”
Faulkner grinned in a friendly fashion and clapped him on the shoulder. “Smile lad, it’s good news – you’ve been volunteered.”
Danny frowned. “For what, Sarge?”
“Special assignment. You and your mate, Hattersley. You’re off handover. I’ve got something else for you.” Faulkner leaned close. “No need to worry about any awkwardness with PC Jenks this way. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks, Sarge,” Danny said, without enthusiasm.
Faulkner chuckled. “That’s my keen lad.” His good humour faded. “Walk with me.” Danny dutifully fell into step with Faulkner. “I like you lad,” Faulkner continued. “You know how to follow orders – that’s a rare thing, these days. Most of the operators we employ these days are good at interpreting orders, but piss-poor at actually following them. When I tell a man to do something, I want him to bloody well do it, no questions asked.”
“Yes, Sarge.”
Faulkner looked at him. “But you’re not an idiot, either. You’ve got a brain in that head. Another rarity. That’s why you volunteered.”
“Yes, Sarge.”
“There’s a great future ahead of us, Danny. So long as we walk the path of the righteous, as laid out by our lord and master, Mr Nigel Cass.” Faulkner smiled as he said it. “Albion is the pre-eminent private military contractor in the western hemisphere. We took what others did, and did it better.” He paused. “A bit like curry, innit?”
“Sarge?”
“Never mind. There was a shooting last night.”
“Another one?” Danny said. “Where?”
Day Zero Page 9
