by Leigh Barker
He watched the images for a moment, saw the moonlight illuminate the compound through the image intensifiers to look as bright as day. The screen on the left panned slowly across the top of the compound wall, but all it reported was chipped brick.
Something was wrong, and Ethan’s heart began to beat a little harder. “Abort the mission, now!” he barked.
The squadron commander turned to him sharply. “Master Sergeant?”
Ethan strode to the front of the room and pointed at the screen. “Can’t you see? These are our boys…” He pointed at the images converging on the compound. “And these are the enemy.” He pointed at the satellite images of the compound showing them lying down.
“What the hell is going on here?” one of the suits barked, showing who was really in charge of this op.
“Shut up!” Ethan said sharply and turned back to the commander. “There are only three men in the compound.”
They all turned back to the screen to look again at what was now obvious.
“So what?” the suit said, clearly angry at having his superiority usurped by this… this… NCO.
Ethan ignored him. “It’s a trap, sir,” he said, stepping closer to the commander. “Abort the mission.”
The squadron commander nodded once at the comms tech and turned back to the screen.
Patton also sensed something was wrong with the setup. They were almost at the compound gates now, and still no alarm, no tracers lighting up the night. They must be clearly visible to the guards now that they were no longer in the shade and standing out in clear moonlight like tourists on a sun-drenched beach. He hesitated for a moment, but his mission was to get in, get the package, and get out, and he would do just that.
Petty Officer Scott Calgrieve stopped at the double wooden gates, glanced back, and received the nod from Patton. The gates creaked eerily in the still night, but there was no shout, no commotion. Nothing.
This stank like a five-day-old fish, and everyone felt the tension ratchet up several notches. Patton moved up past Scott and stepped into the compound as the recall came over his comms link. He stopped and dropped to one knee and waited for the confirmation, and when it came through a moment later, he retreated through the gates and signalled the platoon to wrap up and withdraw. Then he vomited and fell to his hands and knees.
He raised his head against the massive weight pressing down on him and saw three men in dirty grey robes walk out through the gates, and even in his present state of distress, he recognised Lupus as he approached and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Die now, there’s a good fellow,” Lupus said, with a gentle nod of his head. “It’s okay to go now.”
Patton sank to his stomach and closed his eyes. Yes, it was okay to go now.
“Shit!” Ethan hissed as the infrared images showed the Seals’ bodies littering the ground.
“What just happened?” the suit asked, his voice shaking with the shock of the images.
The squadron commander licked his lips and looked at Ethan. “Master Sergeant?” he said quietly.
Ethan tore his eyes off the three images moving through the fading seal infrareds. “Lupus knew we were coming,” he said and clamped his jaw to suppress his rage.
“But they are all down,” the suit said.
“Ya think?” Ethan said angrily.
“Master Sergeant,” the commander said icily.
“Sorry, sir,” Ethan said, not sorry at all. “We went to get Lupus for Uncle Sam and to get you your promotion. Right?”
The suit glared.
“Well, we found him.”
The suit looked back at the screen and shook his head dumbly. “All of them?” he said to himself. “Air strike!” he added excitedly. “If we send in an air strike right now, we’ll get Lupus out in the open, and that’ll be an end to it.”
Ethan fixed him with cold, blue eyes. “What we’ll get… sir… is a whole lot of ordinance dropped on the bodies of our boys, while Lupus sits out in the hills watching the fireworks.”
“Possibly,” the suit said with a hard look at the marine, “but it’s a chance I’m prepared to take.”
The squadron commander shook his head. “I’ll not send those brave boys home in sealed coffins,” he said and left the ops room, his shoulders sagging, suddenly very tired.
“If he hasn’t got the balls,” the suit said angrily, “then I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Ethan said quietly.
The suit looked hopefully at the comms tech, but he just looked back with pity and more than a hint of contempt.
“This cluster-fuck was your doing,” Ethan said and pointed at the still images on the screen. “But you get to fly on home back to Langley in your business-class seat, while the families of those boys bury their dead.” He put his face inches from the CIA agent. “But,” he said slowly, so there was no mistake, “if you are still here in three seconds, your family will be burying you.”
The agent glared at him for two of those seconds and then fled.
Ethan looked back at the screen, watched Lupus walk away from the compound and out of range of the satellite imaging, and made a silent promise to the men lying dead in the desert.
29
Harvey sat at the table and savoured the silence in his apartment, not that it was silent because all his guests had left, that would be just too much to hope for, it was silent because his guests were still in bed. He breathed a satisfied sigh and folded the newspaper so that he could read the editorial describing the wonderful Americans and how the Brits were their favourite third-world country, about to be saved by the life-changing accord. Well, there went the satisfied feeling. He picked up a triangle of toast and moved it towards his mouth in that slow-motion way of a man reading a gripping article that was making his blood boil.
Frank’s bedroom door opened, and he emerged, wearing one of Harvey’s monogrammed bathrobes, which Harvey clocked but decided life was too short.
“Morning,” Frank said, crossing the room and taking Harvey’s last piece of toast. “Got another cup?”
Harvey had an overwhelming feeling of deja vu as he lifted the phone. “Yes, thank you, Serge, and you too.” He looked up to heaven, but God was taking a bath as cleanliness is… “Please bring another—”
Harry emerged into the lounge, wearing blue jeans and a wrinkled marine T-shirt. He looked like crap, but a bottle of recycled house white and a bottle of the good stuff, not to mention all that other stuff he’d drunk last night, is not famous for giving a man a good complexion. “Got any coffee?” he said through thick lips.
“Make that two breakfasts,” Harvey said into the phone. “Oh, sod it, bring the kitchen,” he added as Rocky’s door opened.
“You boys have a good time last night?” Frank said, claiming one of the big chairs. “Heard you come home with the postman.”
“Yeah, ta,” Harry said, easing himself down gingerly into the other chair.
“Mmm,” Frank said with a smile, “I can see that.”
“We saw Mom,” Harry said.
Frank raised his eyebrows and looked at Harvey, who was suddenly engrossed in a sheaf of court papers.
Harry smiled. “Stiffed us for the bill.”
“Yeah, she would,” Frank said and chuckled. “Follows your grandmother on that front.” He pulled a face like he was chewing a wasp. “She say when she’s coming home?” he asked Harvey, but got only a grunt in response, and winked at Harry. “Old place isn’t the same without her. Quiet, you know?”
Harvey knew that.
The doorbell rang, and Frank got up when the other two showed no sign of moving. “It’s okay,” he said with a groan, “the old bloke will get that.”
“Cheers, old bloke,” Harry said.
Frank opened the door, expecting to see breakfast and Serge from Basildon, instead he saw Laura. He smiled and stepped aside to let her enter.
“Morning, Harvey,” she said breezily, saw Harry, and stopped. “You used to be Harry, rig
ht?”
Harry put a hand to his head to confirm it was still there. “Yeah, morning, Laura.”
“You look like shit, you know that?”
And Harry knew that.
“Harvey take you out on the town last night, then?” she asked, though her half-smile said she knew exactly where Harvey had taken him.
Harry followed her side look and sniffed. “That’ll be a first. No, we went on a… recon.”
“Oh yeah?” Laura said, still smiling. “Recon anybody we know?”
“Thank you, Laura,” Harvey said, deciding enough was enough. “Is there something I can do for you?” He put the papers on the table. “Something life-threatening, I expect, to bring you to my apartment at this time in the morning.”
Laura glanced at her watch pointedly. “This time in the morning for most people is coffee break.”
“Quite, but they don’t work into the evening,” Harvey said, inventing a whole new working day.
Laura glanced at Harry, and he winked at her, and hey, she liked it. “Big case, remember Bob the Burglar?” she said quickly, bringing herself back to the business at hand. Still, he did clean up quite nicely.
“Yes,” Harvey said, picking up his court papers again to move on to a technical issue less irritating. “He is to be arraigned tomorrow, I believe.”
“He is.”
“And?” Harvey asked, looking up, ready for the big moment.
Laura looked decidedly uneasy and stared out of the big window at the river, as if that would help.
“And?” Harvey repeated, though he’d been in this business long enough to know exactly what the “and” was. “He’s disappeared, correct?”
“Well,” Laura said, seeing something of vital interest on the river. “Not exactly disappeared.”
“How exactly, then?” Harvey asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I think,” Harry said, wanting to put the poor girl out of her misery, “what Laura means is the he hasn’t disappeared, that would be a magic trick.” He smiled at the girl. “He’s scarpered.” Well, that described it pretty well.
Frank chuckled from behind the sports pages. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”
“You owe me fifty quid, then,” Harvey said, reaching over the table to retrieve his coffee, swiped by Frank.
“What?” Laura turned from the window. “Is that it? Is that all you are going to do about it?”
Harvey looked up from the cold coffee. “I’m open to suggestions. Perhaps you would like us to form a posse.”
Frank chuckled a little louder, and Laura scowled at the sports pages hiding his face.
“No, of course not!” she said, her hands on her hips.
Cute, Harry thought.
“But what if something has happened to him?”
“What?” Harry said, tearing his eyes off her body. “Like his gang have weighted him down and chucked him into the Thames for snitching about the theft of the mutt?”
“You know about Puccini?” she asked, turning and frowning at him.
Harry shrugged. “Yeah, it was a good story. Burglar saves mutt from watery grave.” He framed a picture with his hands. “I can see it now. Hold the front page.”
“This is not a laughing matter!”
Frank laughed, his paper moving up and down in time with his stomach.
“Laura,” Harvey gently said, “the police will find him and bring him back to face the stern hand of justice. It’s what they do.”
She looked from one to the other, glaring a little longer at Harry, which was cool. “So that’s it?” she said, angrier than she should have been. “We do nothing?”
“Precisely,” Harvey said, sipping his cold coffee.
She stamped over to the door, opened it, and turned back to face the room. “My heroes,” she said, strode out, and slammed the door behind her.
“That’ll be you she meant, then,” Frank said, looking at Harry.
Harry gave him a double take.
“Well, you’re the only hero here, right?”
“Matter of opinion,” Harry said, shaking his head and looking back at the closed door. Funny, though, he didn’t remember her being that… well… nicely formed.
“Which reminds me,” Harvey said, looking at the empty toast plate and then at Frank’s newspaper, from behind which came distinct munching noises as his toast was finished off.
“What does?” Harry asked.
“Oh, Sir Richard wants to speak to you.”
“Oh, does he?” Harry said with an edge.
“Mmmm… yes, something about a chap named Lucus, Lupid, or some such.”
That got Harry’s attention. “Lupus. Sir Richard wants to talk about Lupus?” Now that was odd. Nobody had believed his report of the firefight at the mosque, and now? Well, what was it Sherlock Holmes used to say? He couldn’t remember, but it meant that’s a bit of a turn-up.
30
Oscar’s Pussy Club was a dive. Well, no surprise there. Tweetie Pie was seriously nervous and kept trying to hide behind Shaun, which was a bit optimistic, Shaun being only five eight and Tweetie standing six one in his socks. He’d hide — like a giraffe hides behind a barstool — and Shaun would pull him out and shove him ahead, until he tried to hide again. Jesus, what was there to hide from in this pink-painted, sticky-carpeted, gay bar?
Big Betty, that’s what. If he’d wondered, even for a moment, why they called him Big Betty, well, his answer was right there in front of him. Betty was big enough to create his own gravity. Six seven if he was an inch and as wide as a fisherman’s boast.
Shaun took an involuntary step back, but Danny was way ahead of him — going backwards. They mouthed, “Jesus!” at each other. Shaun waved Danny in first, but he shook his head and mouthed, “No way!” So the nation’s finest police officers hid behind Tweetie Pie.
Big Betty took a step forward, and the earth moved. It was bad enough that he was huge, but he was wearing a dress, a flowery sleeveless thing with a narrow white patent leather belt. That outfit would have been expensive — if only for the amount of material.
Shaun closed his eyes. Come on, boy, do police things.
“Are you Big Betty?” Ah, that’s why our policemen are the best in the world.
“Who wants to know?” Betty’s voice sounded like a wrestler with a smoking habit.
Shaun had been a policeman for twenty years, and ten of those had been in the Ulster Constabulary, so it took a hell of a lot to scare him. He pointed at Danny. “He does.”
It was just better if Danny handled it, that way he could observe and see any telltale signs etc. Yeah, etc.
Danny’s mouth was open, and he was staring at Shaun like he’d tossed him an anaconda with toothache.
Oh, bugger it. Shaun stepped forward and looked up at the man-mountain. “Tweetie Pie here is an old friend, and he tells me—”
“You’re cops, I can smell it.”
So much for the sneaky approach.
“Nah, that’s just fear,” Danny said helpfully.
The tasteful bead curtain at the side of the bar rattled its little orange and red beads as Curly Sue swept in dramatically. Making her entrance.
God, what a horror! If she smiles at me, kill me quick, Shaun thought.
Since Curly Sue was dressed like a Parisian hooker, in a tight black skirt with a thigh-length split, striped pullover and high heels, Shaun decided he’d better call him, her, in case Big Betty got offended — and pulled his head off.
Curly Sue swept up to Big Betty and put a hand on his shoulder. She had to reach up to do that, being five seven tops, and as thin as a stick insect on a twenty-day fast. She had a nose like a pocketknife can opener. Was that rude? Well, if that wasn’t, thinking she’d had her head flattened between two reversing vans surely was. Shaun couldn’t take his eyes off her trowel-powdered face and bright red lips. And the reason he couldn’t was that if he did, he might look down at her breasts. Sweet Mary mother of God, they were pointed. He thought
of fries in a cone and instantly regretted it.
Big Betty was glaring at him, either for staring at Curly Sue’s breasts, or because he wasn’t staring enough.
Danny saved them. “Good day, ma’am,” he said.
Shaun could hardly believe he’d said that and stared at him. Danny caught his look and shrugged.
“Yes, okay, we are cops,” Danny said and raised his hands in surrender. “Hold on, we’re not here to do anything stupid. We just need some information, that’s all.”
Big Betty seemed to relax a little and even managed a sort of smile at Curly Sue, who smiled right back. It was a warm and touching moment. Shaun wished he hadn’t had chilli for lunch because it burns like hell on the way back up.
Curly Sue pointed at one of the little round tables with its thin brass lamp and pink flowery shade — it just got more and more tasteful. “Will you take a seat, gentlemen?” She had a voice like fingernails on a blackboard.
They sat at the little table, except Big Betty, who sat at several tables.
Curly Sue smiled a big, sexy smile that revealed the red lipstick lines on her teeth. “Now, gentlemen, what is it we can do to your good selves?”
You can stop smiling for one, Shaun thought. “We understand you were hired for a little job with our good friend Tweetie here.”
They glared at Tweetie Pie, who decided crying was his best survival tactic. Big Betty grunted something that could have been sympathy or a promise of a painful death, while Curly Sue put a thin bony hand on Tweetie’s arm and showed her red teeth. “There, there, Tweetie dear, don’t fret your good self. We’ll take care of you.”
That didn’t sound encouraging, and Tweetie blubbered quietly into a stained handkerchief.
Curly Sue turned back to Shaun. “As you can see, we run a legitimate business here.” He waved nicotine-stained fingers at the brothel posing as a club. “So I’m sure I don’t know what your good self is talking about.”
