“No Comrade Premier Chiu, this plan is the brainchild of one single man, our current Premier”.
CHAPTER 2
Constantine had arrived for work an hour previously and immediately checked his email for secure messages; he had spent the next hour speaking to Moscow Centre.
The suitcase, he was informed, contained a sophisticated timing device and a new explosive superior to Semtex H. The case it was carried in was also of a special material, apparently once detonated there would be no forensics’ left for even the most modern laboratories to gain any clues, let alone evidence.
The bomb had been for delivery to an Irish terror group. The Irish were planning a ‘spectacular’, which Constantine had already worked out for himself, but beyond that he had no ‘need to know’.
Constantine was irritated, the time of sponsoring these animals was supposed to have passed.
The good news was that the missing cars anti-theft device’s transmitter signal could be isolated. It would be possible to locate the car without the Police being alerted. Looking at his watch he estimated at least an hour at the earliest, before his NCIS contact would have anything for him.
Constantine was ill at ease with the previous evenings meeting with Peridenko’s pair. Both had behaved as though nothing untoward had occurred previously. The woman, the tall attractive blue eyed and blonde Alexandra Berria and been almost flirtatious, however refreshments were declined by Constantine and Svetlana. The cultured public schoolboy tones of the man, Anthony Carmichael, were no product of any language school. He was the real article. Harrow and Eton educated, wealthy old family. Carmichael had entered Sandhurst, as had his father and his father before him, etc., and joined the old county regiment the Carmichael's had served with since Napoleon had been public enemy number one. Unfortunately for the infantrymen of his first, and fortunately his last, platoon, 2nd Lt Anthony Carmichael was a bully and a sadist. A happy unit is a good unit and 12 Platoon of one particular battalion went from good to bad in short order. The Army caught on to the antics of Lt Carmichael and there soon came a parting of the ways with Carmichael being required to resign his commission. Carmichael had further embarrassed his family when a few years later he had been arrested and jailed for beating and raping a prostitute.
Whilst in custody the police had also questioned him about the earlier disappearances of two other known prostitutes and a rent boy, but there had been insufficient evidence to indicate foul play in their vanishing.
Carmichael had been recruited by the KGB as a ‘stringer’ in the late 80’s and had been noticed by Peridenko who paired him up with Berria; the two kindred spirits had stayed together after the KGB downsizing dispensed with their services.
The Russian Mafia kept them in suitable employment controlling and acquiring prostitutes. Every so often an abducted young woman of particular striking beauty would be delivered to Peridenko’s dacha instead of the Mafia’s brothels and porn movie studios. It was their way of staying in his good books, their version of Christmas and birthday cards.
The previous night Carmichael had been all business, there was a single scratch on his throat from Svetlana’s nail but nothing else to indicate an altercation had occurred. Constantine had not mentioned the earlier events either, but he was worried. These two would seek revenge on both of them at some point; it was in their nature.
Svetlana had not touched a firearm since her training, a fact known to Carmichael and Berria. At Constantine’s instruction she had worn clothing too tight to conceal a handgun. Denim effect leggings without panties left both little to the imagination and no hiding place for a weapon. The tight sweater however had long sleeves that extended to the base of her thumbs; a slim, tube-like single shot .22 ‘zip gun’ was secured to her wrist, held in place by her watchstrap. He had calculated that the leggings, bare midriff and obviously braless Svetlana would allay any suspicions as to concealed weapons. After her earlier masterful demonstration he had doubted they would completely rule her out as a potential threat though. In contrast, Major Bedonavich had been ostentatiously armed and ready for trouble. He had ordered them to stand ready with the Irish in vehicles from 0800 the next day when the car, thief or both were located, they were then to secure them with as little violence as necessary and call him.
A ‘street duties’ course is for the benefit of newly arrived probationary Constables to take their initial tottering steps in police work after leaving Hendon Training School. It is also a chance for their future teams to correct any illusions they may have about what ‘The Job’ entails. As such a few experienced officers from those very teams closely supervise them. Parading them today Police Sergeant Alan Harrison had a bundle of ‘warrant dockets’ under his arm. Those people who had been identified yet not arrested for offences or had failed to answer bail were contained in the dockets. PCs Sarah Hughes, John Wainwright, Colin Mackey and Phil McEllroy would do the rounds with the ‘skipper’, PS Harrison and a twenty year veteran PC Dave Carter. Amongst the bundle was a warrant for Jubi Asejoke. A pencilled notation above his registered address gave an alternative location where he may be found. After a cup of coffee in the canteen, they climbed aboard a twelve seat Mercedes Sprinter minibus, known as a carrier, and left the station.
Ducking below an office divider and very aware he was late, Scott Tafler started the new week by avoiding his boss. Like a man looking for something small he’d misplaced, he had almost, almost, made it to his workstation by utilising the dead ground provided by varied office furniture.
Peering over the top of a pair of spectacles directly at him was the aforementioned boss, Max Reynolds, sat at Scott’s position. “Morning Scott, that jack-knifed water buffalo at the end of your road really held things up, huh?”
Straightening up Scott greeted him with a
“Yep, it got you too, huh?”
Max had been perusing Scott’s ‘In’, ‘Out’ and ‘Pending / Too difficult right now’ trays.
“Anything new… and if you make that crack about microchip technology, you is buying lunch fella!” Scott grinned, after a moment he said
“Maybe something, maybe nothing” Max sat tapping his teeth thoughtfully with an earpiece of his glasses as Scott explained the O’Connor report and his brother-in-laws remarks.
The boss gave Scott back his seat.
“Give Armondson a call at Commerce, he’s a deep thinker and knows the China and Russia markets” and departed.
Scott caught Armondson on the second ring.
“Swede, Scott, how are you?”
Eric Armondson confirmed what Scott already knew, that there was no way China would sponsor a competitor, despite the relatively recent kiss and make up of the two countries as seen in the mutual trade and military assistance treaties of 1998. So either O’Connor had been fed misinformation or something hooky was going down.
Right on cue a light flashed on his display, it was Ms O’Connor returning his call.
After updating the boss, a request was passed to the FBI office in San Diego to debrief her thoroughly on her Russian contract.
The sun was shining intermittently through broken cloud upon the joggers in St James Park, the tourists who had begun to gather at the western end. Passers-by and other tourists had paused to watch the goings on the other side of some railings running along Birdcage Walk.