They emerged back onto the main road. Rush hour had passed and the crowds had diminished. “And everything is sorted in Poland I presume?” said Alpha.
“We won’t be hearing from Harper again.”
“What about the other three?”
“They’ve been put out to pasture by the Met.”
“Are they going quietly?”
“It looks like it. They’ve got a lot to lose financially if they don’t. I’ve got people on them just in case. We don’t want to take any chances.”
“Good work.”
Alpha’s phone rang and he reached into his pocket. “Yes.” As he listened to the voice on the other end, the satisfaction faded from his face. “When?” His eyes flicked up towards Varndon and the corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily. “Meet me back in the office in 30 minutes. And I mean 30 minutes.”
“Problem?”
“It’s Poland.”
“But he’s secure. I made sure of it.”
“There was a raid. The personnel were wiped out.”
“What about the detainees? John?”
“All accounted for, except one.”
“Harper?”
“Yes.
“What the hell is going on?” said Varndon, raising his voice. “Who the hell could get into our black site?”
“Whoever it was, after tomorrow, they’ll soon understand they’ve picked a fight with the wrong man. I promise you that.”
- Chapter 46 -
The Return
Cohen and Russell stepped off the train at St Albans and made their way outside to the taxi rank. A few schoolchildren in smart uniforms were smoking on the pavement, keeping an eye out for teachers and parents.
“Wilbur Rise, next to the pub,” said Cohen.
The cab pulled out of the car park and up the road. They passed a few shops, wove their way through the pedestrians and out onto a country road.
“This one here?” shouted the driver.
“Looks like it.”
They paid him and the cab disappeared back off into the town.
“Not a bad place he’s got here,” said Russell. The gated cottage had a thatched roof and gravel drive. Morton walked out the front door to meet them and shook both their hands.
“It’s my brother’s place and he’s out of the country,” said Morton. “He’s a bit of a security buff, so it’s tough to get in or out unnoticed. Thought it would suit our needs.”
They all walked into the house and sat down at the solid oak kitchen table. Morton chucked a newspaper down in front of them. Alpha’s face stared out. He was posing by the Thames in an open-necked shirt. His smile accentuated the lines on his forehead.
“I know you said he was on his way to the top, but I didn’t expect it to be this week,” said Cohen.
“He delivered on Vitsin,” said Morton. “He’s written his own ticket. They’re parading him to the press tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Down on the Strand.”
“We got nowhere with our contacts,” said Russell. “Couldn’t find anyone that had an inside line on the guy.”
“I spoke to my people too,” said Morton. “They’re either bullshitting me or they’re shit scared. Special Branch and MI5. No one wants to say anything about this guy now he’s going to be heading up both services. He seems untouchable.”
Morton picked a slim electronic panel out of his pocket. A red light was flashing and it vibrated in his palm. “Someone’s set off the perimeter alarm at the back of the house.”
They rushed through the kitchen door and up the stairs to a back bedroom. Morton flicked on a computer screen and clicked a couple of icons, bringing up a delayed recording from the camera on the back gate. They watched as a dark-haired figure vaulted the wall and landed in the garden before sloping off towards the house.
“How long is that delay?” said Cohen.
“Wait…”
Cohen looked out the window and down the garden. A few blackbirds flew around the bird bath in the middle of the lawn, fighting over some seeds, but nothing moved.
“It was at least three minutes ago,” said Morton.
“What was that?”
“What?”
Cohen gestured towards the hallway. The door had closed while they had been looking at the computer screen. Russell looked at Morton and shaped his hand into a gun, but Morton shrugged and pointed downstairs. There was another creak outside in the hall and this time they all heard it. Russell pushed himself up against the wall next to the door and picked up a metal wall bracket laying on the carpet. Cohen walked up to the door with Morton close. He signaled down from five to one with his fingers and pulled the door swiftly towards him. They both charged forward and stopped abruptly, face-to-face with the man from the security tape, standing at the top of the stairs.
“You need better security gents.”
“Jesus God,” said Morton. “Harper.”
Harper picked up his cup and gulped a mouthful down. “That’s the first proper cup of tea of I’ve had in weeks.”
“Get it down ya,” said Morton.
The cup rattled on the table as Harper’s shaking hands placed it down on the wood. He struggled to ignore the falling sensation that had plagued him since he left the facility. He concentrated on the wall and fended off the worst of it.
“Was there a need for all the theatrics?” said Morton. “You could’ve knocked on the door you know.”
“You had some unwanted guests hanging around at the back.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry. They’re tied together just off the path. They’re not snooping on anyone for the time being.”
Cohen looked out of the window towards the path. “Where the hell did they take you after Heathrow?”
“Some off-the-map shithole prison where people disappear. I’ll save you the details.”
“How did you escape?” said Russell.
“I had a guardian angel. Looks like they stepped on the wrong toes somewhere along the line.”
“Whose?”
“I’ll explain everything.” Harper picked up the newspaper and put his finger on Alpha’s face. “But first things first. We have to take this guy down before he gets the crown on his head. Or we’re finished.”
“What do you suggest?”
“There’s a way. But we need to move fast.”
- Chapter 47 -
For England
The noise of the crowd bounced off the high buildings on either side of the Strand and washed over Alpha as he stood and waited by side of the stage. The sea of people stretched back to Trafalgar Square. They were his people now. All of them. He turned to see Worthing’s ministerial car sweep round the corner and park up next to a metal barrier. The Foreign Secretary exited the vehicle and walked towards him with a cabal of aides following behind.
“Foreign Secretary.”
Worthing broke off from his entourage and lowered his voice as he shook Alpha’s hand. “This is a big day for the country John. There have been too many setbacks under your predecessors. Too much complacency. I want today to signal a new dawn for everyone. Let’s make sure we get some good headlines out of this. Show the public we mean business.”
“Foreign Secretary, we are in complete agreement.”
“Excellent.”
They walked up the steps to the back of the stage. Television cameras pointed towards them and around 30 journalists lined the rows at the front. Alpha spotted Varndon nearby, watching over the melee. Giant widescreens to the side of the stage introduced Worthing to the crowd.
The Right Honourable Francis Worthing, Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs.
He waved as he walked towards the microphone. An enthusiastic roar came from the party faithful that made up the front half of the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, apologies if we kept you waiting. We are here today to introduce you to the first head of a newly created domestic and foreign security service.”