The Pulsar Files, page 20
part #1 of Matt Flynn Series
She nodded. ‘He says it would destroy the trust we’ve built with them, and I must say I agree.’
‘Talking of Gill, here he comes. I better look busy.’
‘Fox, Flynn, in my office now,’ the Director boomed as he strode past.
Matt, with some reluctance, got out of his chair and followed Rosie. On entering Gill’s office, he closed the door. The seating in the outer office worked on a hot-desk policy. Matt and other agents who didn’t come into the building often, would take any free desk while someone like Sikander Khosa, their key researcher who came in every day, tended to sit in the same place.
Gill’s office, on the other hand, radiated the confidence and opulence of a company chairman, with a large desk, bookcase, settee and expansive views over central London. However, the boss didn’t mind working beside the troops, something he did during the renovation and redecoration of his office, but in doing so he clearly missed the opportunity to vent some pent-up frustration as he was a dedicated door slammer.
‘I spoke on the phone to the Prime Minister and the little prick he calls a deputy this morning and they are not happy bunnies. The PM is accusing us of being responsible for the death of one of his MPs and said in no uncertain terms, if I can’t control rogue elements in this organisation, he will.’
Matt wanted to say something but knew better to wait until Gill instructed him to speak. Templeton McGill, a decorated, former Major in the Royal Marines and once an agent and later a senior strategist with MI6, didn’t like being interrupted when angry. He knew about world politics and the way governments worked better than anyone else in their organisation and anything Matt or Rosie could say at this moment wouldn’t add to it.
‘I don’t believe there are any rogue elements in this organisation. Do you, Matt?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Can you look at the behaviour of both of you and tell me it is beyond reproach?’
‘First up,’ Matt said, ‘I don’t understand how Dragon knew we were meeting Derek Spencer. I checked to ensure we weren’t followed.’
‘Parliament is like the common room of a private school, everyone latching on to the latest rumour or tittle-tattle and passing it on to anyone who’ll listen to prove that their fingers are on the pulse. Those in the pay of Dragon would be on the phone to them as soon as word got out.’
Matt groaned. ‘I should have seen this coming. Spencer told us he was planning to talk to some MPs, trying to drum up support for his speech.’
‘Poor guy, he was obviously unaware, as we all are, of Dragon’s considerable reach.’
‘The second thing bothering me,’ Matt said, ‘is how did they put together a hit team at such short notice?’
‘What, you’re suggesting we send them a bouquet of flowers for doing such an excellent job?’
In another situation he would have laughed but the Director’s stony face didn’t encourage it.
‘No, but it makes me think the team were already in place. Spencer’s been a thorn in Dragon’s side for months and perhaps a few days back, they decided it was time to silence him. When they found out we’d be there as well, they probably brought their plans forward, as not only would they catch Chris, they could also frame him for Spencer’s murder.’
Rosie glanced over at Matt. She didn’t need to say anything or change the expression on her face, but he knew the question on her lips: Where the hell did this little gem spring from? He might have said it to calm the Director, or simply been voicing disparate thoughts, but whatever the reason, it sounded plausible.
‘Damn, I think you’re right,’ Gill said. ‘I should have said it to the PM and stopped the sneering comments of his deputy dead in their tracks. In my experience, it doesn’t take long to brief an attack team, but finding and bringing together the right men can take days even in a large outfit like a battalion.’
The Director steepled his fingers, his deep thinking pose. ‘Right,’ he said, a few moments later, ‘we can put the blame game out of the way. I’m seeing the Prime Minister after this meeting and instead of going in there with my tail between my legs, I can present him with a valid explanation. Good, it should keep Number 10 quiet for a few days at least. Now, how do we stop Dragon?’
‘If the Met can’t find Spencer’s killers, we’re out of leads.’
‘Rosie?’
‘I agree with Matt. Derek Spencer was in some ways a last resort, although he did say he knew the names of several newspapers that would be happy to publish Chris’s material, but their names died with him.’
‘Maybe his secretary will know,’ Matt said.
‘It’s one approach,’ Gill said, ‘but don’t forget, all along Dragon have been one step ahead of us and if we implicate her, they might kill her too.’
‘What’s on your mind?’ Matt said.
‘Are you sure of your ground? You’re convinced Dragon brought down the Anderson hot-air balloon, killed Latif Artha and now, Derek Spencer?’
‘As sure as I’ll ever be without concrete evidence. It’s the only thing connecting all the victims.’
‘I agree,’ Rosie said. ‘Why else would they remove the documents Spencer was reading when he was killed unless they knew their content? They were printouts of the material Chris downloaded from Dragon’s computers, no use to anyone but them.’
‘As ever, the voice of reason, Rosie,’ Gill said, smiling for the first time. ‘It convinces me.’ He leaned forward and looked at them both intently, a vulture trying to decide whether to eat them or not.
‘We’ve reached this point by reacting to what Dragon and their confederates have done. Am I right?’
They both nodded.
‘It is in no way a criticism of your performance, not only have you prevented any harm coming to Chris and Louise, but you’ve also captured one of their abduction team. Now, I think it’s time to take the fight to them.’
Matt smiled, he’d hoped the Director would say something like this. ‘What do you propose?’
‘At the moment we don’t know much about who in the Dragon business is orchestrating this, and I’m sure you’ll agree with me, we’ll get nowhere by kicking in the door to their offices with all guns blazing.’
‘You’re right,’ Rosie said.
‘This is a deficiency we must now address. The number and extent of their attacks suggests to me whoever is behind this is not in the US, but here in the UK.’
‘We believe the head of International Security was sent here by the US company to recover the stolen documents.’
‘Quite. We now need to become familiar with their organisation in this country, find out who the main players are, who they associate with, how they’re being financed and who’s pulling the strings.’
Through the glass wall panel, Matt saw Sikander talking to someone and laughing. Matt suspected he wouldn’t be so jolly when this lot landed on his desk.
‘Once we’ve done this,’ Gill continued, ‘we’ll make a move on the main players. Given they’ve shown no reservation about using lethal force, I don’t think the Prime Minister can complain if we respond in kind.’
Chapter 37
Rosie left the car park at Harlow Town railway station and drove towards home. The Director had been like a bull in a china shop at the start of their meeting earlier today, and would have continued if he believed they were in any way responsible for Derek Spencer’s death. Initially, she suspected it to be the fault of Matt for not being aware that a Dragon team were tailing him.
The more she thought about what Matt had said to Gill in the meeting, the more she believed him to be right. No way could Dragon rustle up a couple of hitmen in the time between Matt and Chris meeting Spencer at the House of Commons and then again at his apartment in Pimlico the following night.
Chris was staying at a secret location few people in HSA knew anything about. The obvious way for a Dragon team to find out where their target was holed up would be to put a tail on Matt by waiting outside HSA’s offices in London until he emerged. However, Matt didn’t go there often enough to establish a regular pattern, and in this age of openness and freedom of information, the address of HSA didn’t appear in the public domain.
She knew logic like this didn’t hold much water in the hallowed halls of Westminster, a place more interested in apportioning blame and trying to shape how a story would look in subsequent news bulletins and newspapers before moving on to the next big thing. To them it would probably sound like a hollowed-out excuse and Gill would take some flak, further demeaning HSA’s credibility with its paymasters.
It hadn’t been a good couple of months for the organisation. They’d been involved in a public spat with SIS (Secret Intelligence Service) after an HSA team led by Joseph Teller killed a top Syrian terrorist when they raided a house looking for someone else. SIS were trying to groom the terrorist as a potential informer and claimed HSA’s actions set the programme back eight months.
In addition, even if the PM was not in receipt of Dragon’s generosity, a number of his close coterie were. If word got out that HSA were investigating Dragon, Gill was sure those same cabinet ministers would be whispering in the PM’s ear, calling for a review of HSA’s operating mandate and the sacking of its Director. They needed a success story soon, but if the boss was depending on his saviour being the exposure of Dragon, he could have a long time to wait.
She turned into the Tesco superstore, the same place she had driven the day she thought she was being followed, and found a place to park. Before opening the car door, her phone rang.
‘Hi Matt,’ she said after she glanced at the screen.
‘Hi Rosie, it’s just a quick call. Where are you?’
‘I’m at Tesco in Harlow. The cupboard’s bare and I need to stock up.’
‘You said you didn’t like shopping there.’
‘I’ve thought about changing but it’s so convenient, I can nip in on my way home from the station.’
‘Do I hear words like routine and habit?’
‘You’re right, maybe I do need to go somewhere else, even just for operational reasons.’
‘The only reason I mention it is I think Dragon have upped the ante. They didn’t hesitate to shoot Derek Spencer and the other night, someone followed you. They know we’re involved and I think they’re targeting us. If they are, I don’t think they would hesitate to kill us. You, me, everyone connected with this case needs to be on their guard 24/7.’
‘I feel the same. I will Matt, count on it.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow at eight, all right?’
‘Any idea where we’re going?’
‘Yes, but I don’t want say on the phone.’
‘Fair enough. See you tomorrow.’
She pocketed her phone, got out the car and headed towards the supermarket entrance. From the trolley stack, she pulled one out and walked inside. What Rosie put in her trolley varied from week-to-week, depending on her work schedule and Andrew’s flying commitments as he could be away from home for three or four days at a time. Her diary was clear of overnight commitments for much of the following week as they’d exhausted all their options at exposing Dragon and now needed to change tack and take the fight to them.
Andrew was scheduled to be away for most of next week as he was flying to the US on Monday. On long flights like this, the flight crew were allowed a three-day layover to rid themselves of jet lag and to relax, and he wouldn’t be back home until late Friday. He was a slim guy but she didn’t know how he did it as his job involved sitting all day in the cockpit of an airplane, and he liked eating stews, curries and pastries. There wouldn’t be any of that stuff in her trolley tonight and among the salad, hummus and low-fat milk designed to keep the skin on her face from exploding into little red spots, she dropped in a few of her favourites: Chicken Kiev, strawberries and creamed rice.
Her phone rang: Andrew.
‘Hi babe, can’t talk long, only just landed.’ His breathing sounded hard as if walking. Andrew’s employers ran a low-cost business and were cheapskates when it came to landing gates. They would baulk at the charges for a gate close to the terminal building and as a result, passengers and crew often had to walk a fair distance or take a bus. This is what he told her but for all she knew, maybe he wasn’t walking but getting passionate with Cindy, a cabin crew supervisor he seemed to be spending a lot of time with.
‘There’s a meeting scheduled with the Customer Services Director this evening about the way we handled a bunch of drunken girls we’ve just taken over to Alicante for a hen weekend. We could be garlanded with praise and held up as an example to other crews, or get kicked in the balls for dumping a drunken rabble on the Spanish Police. It could go either way but whatever happens, I’ll be late.’
‘A meal for one it is.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Tesco.’
‘Can you get me–’
‘Hold it buster. Remember, you’re not here next week.’
‘Ah, you’re right, as always. What would I do without you, eh?’
‘I wonder.’
‘No need to elaborate. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in the morning. Bye.’
She dropped the phone into her jacket and not for the first time, wondered why she continued with this relationship. She’d always imagined that living together would be a shared experience but she continued to do all the things she did when she was single, with Andrew making only an occasional contribution. Her job could be stressful and some nights all she wanted was to sit down and talk to someone, chat about her day and let the fear, loneliness and the anxieties spill out. Instead, she found solace in a glass of wine, the section of the supermarket that somehow her trolley had brought her to.
No need to buy beer as she didn’t drink the stuff and ditto with spirits, however, she did like wine. In this, she and Andrew were compatible as they both liked red but he favoured the thick and heavy types such as Malbec or Barolo while she preferred lighter wines like Merlot and Beaujolais. A compromise would be reached and something like Shiraz would be selected pleasing neither, but today she could suit herself. Into the trolley she popped two bottles, a bottle of Tempranillo and a bottle of Sangiovese, a taste developed on a trip to Italy during her gap year before university.
With a week on her own, she toyed with the idea of having some friends over to the house for a meal. Despite possessing a confident intercom voice, reassuring nervous passengers about forthcoming turbulence or pointing out scenic sights on their route, at heart Andrew was immature.
In social situations such as a dinner party or office party, he used alcohol to instil confidence but the boorish boarding house bully appeared when he’d imbibed too much. As a consequence, he had fallen out with many of her friends and some, like Matt and Emma, would only accept her invite when Andrew was away. She decided against it, not out of loyalty to her partner, as she would support him in many things but not insulting or arguing with her friends, instead to keep her diary clear in case something concerning Dragon required her immediate attention.
She pushed her trolley out to the car park, feeling pleased with a food bill thirty pounds lighter than normal, not burdened as it was with a twelve-pack of beer and a selection of Melton Mowbray pork pies and Scotch eggs. She’d parked at the back of the car park as she fancied stretching her legs after a day of meetings and sitting on a train, but regretted it now as she weaved past open car doors and untethered children.
She unlocked the car and opened the boot. She lifted each bag and transferred them without trouble, but on coming to the last, the side split as she was about to put it inside, tipping some tubs of yogurt on the boot floor. She reached inside and carefully put the split bag into another bag and picked up all the loose items.
She stood and stretched the tightness in her back when she heard a noise behind her. She turned. A fist came towards her. It was like walking into a brick wall and her knees buckled. She didn’t hit the floor or her head on the sill of the boot as her legs appeared to be floating upwards. It was a strange sensation in her confused state, but made utter sense when the boot lid closed and darkness descended all around her with a thud.
She waited several minutes until her fuzzy head cleared. It did, but the ache from the punch remained and would take longer to fade. She knew all the dodges for escaping from inside the boot of a car as they’d practiced it enough in training. Only then with the lid closed did she discover she suffered from claustrophobia. Their instructor, an ex-army veteran called Dave Bull, showed her that by controlling her breathing and thinking positive thoughts she could control the panic, but if left unchecked it was capable of overwhelming her.
In her mind she started to go over the escape options as no way did she want to offer the kidnapper or kidnappers the initiative. She could pull the boot release lever, standard in the US but not in Europe, although her Seat hatchback was fitted with one; kick out a brake light and stick her hand through the gap, or undo the retaining clips to the rear seats and climb into the passenger cabin, Glock in hand.
Any of those things she would do if she could move, but she couldn’t flex a muscle. The kidnappers had taken her gun and tied her hands and feet in plastic bindings and jammed her between the bags of shopping and the bodywork of the car. They couldn’t have incapacitated her better if they’d tried.
Chapter 38
Matt left the house at seven, leaving Emma in bed dozing and only the Saturday commuters of Ingatestone showing any signs of life. He joined the A12, quiet for a change, and headed towards Harlow on his way to pick up Rosie. With Joseph and Sikandar they were all heading out to a secret hideaway where they would plan the strategy for an attack against Dragon.
They often did this when a dangerous part of a project lay ahead; move out to an offsite location where they could scream, shout and talk over good and bad suggestions without fear of being overheard or segments of the mission being compromised. To some of the more hot-headed in the security services, they believed that planning took the spontaneity out of a situation like this.
