Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  “That’s been our concern for some time now, yes.”

  “Can’t we arrest them?” Alan said.

  “The Chinese who are leaving, you mean?” Alan nodding his head as the question was asked. “They’ve already gone. These stats are up to yesterday. But even if there is still a spike today, while twelve per cent is noticeable in general, it represents about twelve hundred people out of twelve thousand, give or take. We haven’t got the time or resources to stop every person.”

  “You mean to say one thousand two hundred extra people have been leaving the UK on Chinese passports these last two days?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “That’s two thousand four hundred. China couldn’t possibly have had those many spies here without us having the slightest knowledge?”

  “Of course not. The numbers would be boosted if whole families were here. Maybe the father or mother has a job with an international company. That’s their entry. There could be several family members joining them, mostly unaware of any spying links. Maybe the people themselves don’t know that the information they are passing on is spying. Anyway, someone gets moved or told to leave, and whole families leave. Numbers spike.”

  “Well, can’t we look at cases like that, where it’s families? Even with a list of twelve thousand names, most I guess could be crossed off by those arriving in the last month. They’d just be returning home. Then take the ones leaving as whole families. Surely that would tell us something?”

  “Even if we had the time and resource to do that, all it would do is suggest who might have been giving information to the Chinese. We wouldn’t be able to get our hands on these people; they are back in China now.”

  “So you are not even going to try?” Alan said.

  “No, quite the opposite. If there is a major departure taking place, it’s something we want to continue. We don’t want a foreign government having such a spying network operating in our country, listening in on our meetings, taking information at will. Besides, anyone who has left already is most likely expendable, at most a marginal contact. It’ll be those more securely positioned that would be harder to move without raising suspicion. And we aren’t limiting our search to just Chinese nationals, either.”

  “I don’t understand,” Alan said. It wasn’t the first time the British Security Service had heard that phrase coming from their country’s leader.

  “No, sir. It’s a known fact that China has been able to recruit almost any nationality into its ranks, down the years. Of course, haven’t we all.”

  “Indeed. Still, it bothers me that there could be a living breathing Englishman who’d dare double-cross his country for communist China.” Alan practically spat out the word ‘communist’.

  “We’ll leave no stone unturned. When this is all over, the network will be destroyed, sir. You have my word on that.”

  “Thank you, Adam. I take that as some encouragement then. I’ll leave you to do what you need to do.”

  “Very well, sir. We’ll keep your office informed.”

  Everyone stood up. Farewells were made briefly––they were hardly best of friends yet––and each went their separate way.

  China

  It had been a day since Steve Chambers had gone to ground in Beijing. The city was notorious for its information network, however. Usually, that would have worked for him; now, as a hunted man, he feared the unknown faces around him. Any of them could be Red Army informants. Information could already be making its way up the chain of command. He had no idea how long he had, and Steve knew he needed help. Left alone, outnumbered so massively, he was lost. Now was not the time for a British spy to be detained in China. He needed to get out of the city.

  Steve had spent the night in the loft of a disused factory in the north-west part of the city. Many years ago, he’d met an informant there. It registered at the time as a suitable hideout. He was confident they were following him. He felt watched. As far as he knew he’d given everyone the slip as he made his way to his night-time hideout. With a new day ahead, the thought of breaking cover and attracting others to his pursuit once more didn’t fill him with joy. He was feeling slightly sick. He’d travelled mostly on foot the previous day, running across train lines and open areas when he needed to. His feet felt worse for it today, not to mention the rest of his body. At forty-two, he was not as fit as he once had been. Not that he looked his age.

  The rain seemed imminent, though it was dry for now. A relief, the derelict roof would not have kept much water out if it had rained as Steve had tried to sleep the previous night.

  He needed some wheels, any form of transport. He needed just to drive. He’d made the choice yesterday not to try to fly out, though he had a perfectly good ticket ready to use. He was sure they’d be watching the airports. Instead, he’d head for Mongolia. The closest border was still at least five hundred kilometres north-west from Beijing. Only one major city stood in the way, which he’d avoid by taking a longer route around. Then it was the mainly open terrain for miles and miles. Grassland, sand, rock and of course hills and mountains. It was exposed but vast. And there were fewer people. The power of Beijing had far less influence in the barren regions. Politics and power gave way to giving your family their next meal. Little that happened in the capital had any impact in the flatlands, or that was what he was counting on from what he’d heard about the area.

  It was just before eight in the morning when he descended through the hatch in the loft and dropped onto what would have been the fifth floor of this now empty and long abandoned factory. Broken glass lay on the floor in the darkness, Steve avoiding it as best he could. He’d smashed several bottles as he’d arrived the night before, a final warning should anyone come searching in the night. Now, Steve wondered why he had been so paranoid, but it was the paranoia that was keeping him on track at that moment. He wanted to get away, to be safe once more. He needed to escape China.

  Steve jogged down the road for ten minutes, leading him away from the abandoned industrial estate. Hood up, head down, he was just a jogger. Nothing to see folks, move on. He made it to a residential street without being attacked. Today was starting well. There were twelve cars dotted around, owners nowhere to be seen. Chinese makes mingled with the imports. Just like himself that day. Three of the vehicles were Ford Focuses, China’s most famous vehicle in recent years. At that moment, Steve also trusted the foreign engineering to get him away from Beijing as quickly as possible. Stealing a car that made up a high proportion of the traffic he’d encounter en route was not a bad thing, either. Steve would blend in. He went to work on the first car he got to, had the door open in ten seconds and the engine running in thirty. Steve wasn’t going to wait around and was off at speed in no time, though slowed as he came to the first junction. He’d have to be patient; to drive erratically would only draw attention. The next hour or two, as he worked his way through the miles of suburbs with their endless traffic jams, was going to be trying. Staying alive was his sole focus now.

  By ten that morning, Steve was starting to imagine he was being tailed. Hunger was also getting the better of him, the rain that was now falling didn’t take any pressure off the driving, either. Roads covered in water, spray everywhere, and at every turn, he was being followed by many other cars––all potential, or likely, Secret Service personnel. Steve wasted thirty minutes circling the same small part of town; doing it for no good reason. There had been no one following him at that moment, but his erratic behaviour did draw the attention of a police car, the driver calling in the licence plate, moments later hearing confirmation that the vehicle had been reported stolen. The policeman gave chase, lights blazing, sirens calling. Steve instantly sped away. He pulled onto the main road, three lanes to use on each side of the grassed central verge, and it seemed the locals were making the most of the opportunity. Cars were across the whole road, travelling at different speeds, regardless of lane. Steve weaved in and out, the siren behind him giving no sign of let up. In the dist
ance, another one, or maybe two, could be heard approaching. No doubt they were coming as reinforcements, chasing this foreigner on their turf. Steve was in no doubt he had to end this soon. Give them long enough, and the police would have the backup, cars and men on the ground, leading him into a trap. While it was just the one car, he still fancied his chances. A minute before he’d passed what he’d been hoping for and swung the car around violently, clipping two vehicles coming the other way as he made his erratic U-turn. Angry horns sounded around him, not that he was stopping to listen. He caught sight of the police car trying to follow, weaving its way through the melee of cars that had started to back up after he’d made his move. Steve drove into the multi-story carpark he’d passed and climbed two levels as fast as he could.

  Outside, the police car stopped at the exit, which was next to the entrance. He was blocking anyone from leaving the building. It was what Steve expected. Though there was no doubt hundreds of vehicles in the building, Steve wasn’t there to switch cars, nor would he have been able to leave, with the exit now blocked, another police car loudly approaching. What Steve had spotted was the building’s cramped design, apparently built around other buildings, China’s need to accommodate more cars meant the car park reached over the roof of a smaller three-storey building on one side. Steve was now facing that building, and he climbed over the railing, landing down on its roof before running across to the other side. A line of buildings extended some way down the road and Steve made for the roof of these, ending up climbing down a fire escape some distance from the car park. At street level, the sound of the police cars could not be heard. Maybe they’d switched off, perhaps not. He wasn’t going to wait around. This time he found a long stay car park, the guardroom unoccupied as the man on duty was seeing to another customer. He grabbed the keys he wanted, ones that had a remote locking button, and sneaked away. Ducking down, he pressed the button on the keys occasionally until he heard a car responding. It was a beautiful set of wheels, and he eased into the driver’s seat without being seen, checking once more that there was no one around and just drove the car out. A clean getaway and hopefully not reported until long after he’d ditched it.

  Already on the edges of the city, progress was picking up. He hoped to be nearing the one city that stood between him and the border before lunchtime. He’d need to stop for food at some point soon, plus the car was annoyingly only a quarter of a tank heavy in the fuel department. Still, he’d find an automated petrol station before too long, and there would be plenty of mobile food outlets to satisfy his other need. Come the evening, and he hoped to be crossing into Mongolia. He could almost feel the air of freedom.

  7

  Nigeria

  For over one month, Jianguo had been held hostage by Boko Haram in a northern part of the country. In truth, he had no idea where he was. After the ambush in Lagos which seemed like a lifetime ago, he’d had a sack placed over his head as he was driven across the country. Direction, timing, and spatial awareness were all gone. Pulled from the back of the van two days later, dehydrated and hungry, he was led into a building before the sack was finally removed. What then followed was a severe beating. They were not demanding anything, and it was just for show. They were now in charge. If they wanted to hurt him, they would. If they wanted to kill him, they could. He was now theirs. They’d do to him as they pleased.

  Each day that followed brought similar treatment. It wasn’t until about two weeks in, his body bruised and aching from the punishment it was receiving, that a Chinese speaking interpreter was brought in and communication could start. Still, the pattern of ill-treatment continued. There would be no let-up, but now they were after something. Now they wanted their reward.

  Day after day they demanded the technology. They wanted the blueprints to the power plant that he was apparently in the country to sell. For two weeks he’d held out, but fearing that no help was coming, no relief evident, his will was beginning to falter. He’d never give them access to the new technology. These plans were to be sold for hard currency and not to terrorists. His country had gone through a lot to get them and just to hand them over now was not an option––nor did he have that opportunity anyway. No one person could be trusted with such valuable documents.

  It was as nights started to the grow colder, his body beginning to shut down after the weeks of abuse it had suffered, that Jianguo first dwelt on the other piece of information he had. When the Chinese had stolen back the original blueprints from the British, they’d grabbed Secret Service information, too. A bonus; information that was very valuable to the British and equally dangerous in the hands of their enemies. It gave them everything about the British government, as it had been then anyway. Code names, personal details. Most were no longer in office; therefore the information only offered limited use. Of much more value was the information gathered about personnel in the British Secret Service. Agent’s contact details, locations, funds and the identities of informants and sympathisers. It was all there. Information still authentic, not much had changed within the MI5 and MI6 ranks, especially not with key personnel. The UK had caused havoc in Nigeria with their war, how the terrorists would love the chance to hit back.

  Jianguo had been punched in the face. Blood filled his mouth, and he was quite sure a tooth had gone, and his lips split. His eyes black from weeks of being hit, no time to heal before the next onslaught. His captors were getting angry, frustrated at this man before them who was not giving them anything, not giving them the thing they were demanding of him. Jianguo had had enough. He couldn’t take much more.

  “Stop,” he called out, his voice barely a whisper as it reached the ears of the interpreter. “I’ll talk. I have something to share––my life for the information. It’ll be of great value to you. Much more value than these blueprints, which I’ve told you I could not get. Please, make it stop.”

  The three men who were doing the damage waited while the interpreter finished speaking. One of them grunted a short reply.

  “You tell information, they stop,” came the reply from the interpreter, before the man who’d spoken it swung his right fist once more, landing it on the bruised tissue of Jianguo’s face. His head was pushed back at yet another punch, blood spraying across the wall as his head turned, his mouth and nose leaking the red stuff everywhere. The aggressor spat on the ground by his feet.

  “You tell me now, and I’ll only break your left leg.”

  Jianguo waited for the interpretation, looking up in horror and silence into the face of the man standing in front of him.

  “I said I have some information for you!”

  Pause for interpretation. More angry replies, before the man standing in front of Jianguo then picked up a plank of wood and swung. Tied to a chair and there was nowhere Jianguo could go. The swing connected square onto his shin, the crack of bone sickeningly audible as pain, as yet unknown, raked through his entire body. He let out the most gut-wrenching cry, heard across the whole compound, before passing out. It was only a short respite, just a momentary pause in the hell that had become his existence. The pain on waking would keep him awake for the next three nights.

  London, England

  At Vauxhall Cross, it was just the Security Service meeting together, agents from Five and Six discussing the ongoing issues, without the need for the government this time.

  “Do you have that list we asked you about?” said Adam Bennett, chairing the meeting, this being on home soil.

  “Yes,” said an MI5 senior analyst. “Let me introduce Agents Riley and Booth.” Handshakes were made as the two agents took a seat in the office. “I tasked them with detailing who we are aware of that had, or might have had, access to this Chinese enforcer dating back to the time of the London attacks.” He handed the rest over to the two agents. It was agent Riley who spoke first.

  “We’ll start with the African connection. As we know, eight agents were taken out by this person at the time of the nuclear attacks on London. One man was killed, th
e other seven wounded but not seriously. It was designed that way. As we all know, the surviving seven have recently been taken out while being held at Guantanamo by the Americans. The American's had just started pressing for information regarding this possible Chinese interest when the hit got made. One man is in custody, but he’s not the man we are after.” That was nothing that they didn’t all already know.

  “We’ve looked into the team leader, killed in the hospital in London at the time,” agent Booth said, taking things on as if she was reading the thoughts of the room at that moment. “Why kill him and leave the other seven alive? Clearly, there was the chance he’d seen the attacker. The need for a clean getaway meaning he was killed while the others were left. Possible, but a more likely option is a revenge element, maybe a history between them, and if not personally between him and the enforcer, then almost certainly between him and China at large.” She dropped a few sheets of paper onto the table. “The African team leader was based in China for the first three years of his career. We think it goes back to then.”

  “How long ago?” Adam said.

  “Years. But yes, there was an overlap with the earliest known research for the power plant. As we know, it was fifteen years ago when they landed on British soil, but it goes back another decade, at least, in China. So yes, there was a crossover. It’s highly likely that he had wind of it all from right back then.”

  “You mean, the Africans knew and were against us from the beginning?”

  “It’s hard to know their angle, sir,” agent Riley said, coming back into the conversation. “They knew more than we thought. It appears that right from the outset, and certainly as things became more serious, they were on the scene. That implies advance knowledge of what we were doing.”