Going Rogue, page 14
part #2 of Tom Novak Series
Tom smiled. ‘As much as it’s lovely sitting here accepting your compliments, Major, what do you actually want from me?’
‘You are a ruthless man, David, and you have the skills that we need to complete our objectives. We need warriors to take the fight right into the heart of Muslim communities across the UK. Only by doing this can we turn the creeping menace of Islam that is destroying the values of Great Britain and wider Europe. What I need to know is how committed you are to our cause. How far will you go, and what is your motivation?’ He spoke in low tones that were polite and were delivered with respect but Tom could sense that this was an interrogation, no matter how charmingly delivered.
‘Major, I don’t like Muslims and I'm not fond of Jews either. But I need to eat; I cannot work in the UK easily and I cannot go back to my country. I am a mercenary; I will fight for your cause, but I need to be paid. If I am earning, I’d be more than happy to do it by hurting Muslims.’
The Major let out a low chuckle. ‘I like using professionals; I trust them because they act like proper soldiers. I do not want people who maniacally and rabidly fight for the cause, as that makes us unreliable and no better than suicide bombers. I want professional soldiers who will carry out orders. Can you do this?’
‘I am happy to fight Muslims in the UK just as I was happy to fight them in Afghanistan with the Slovenian Army. I don’t like Muslims and I am happy to kill as many as required. As long as I’m paid appropriately.’ Tom felt that his best chance of being brought into the organisation was to present as a professional soldier rather than a rabid racist.
‘Excellent. That is an attitude I admire. Chas and Rocky are both brave, sound men and good soldiers, but their blind hatred of Muslims can be distracting and could lead to mistakes. This is why I have Danny as my second-in-command; he is like you, a professional. I can assure you that you will be well remunerated for your time and efforts, but we can deal with the nasty matter of finance later. Firstly, tell me about yourself. I need to learn more about you and your skills so I know the best way to deploy you.’ His manner had taken on a business-like tone, as if he were conducting an HR meeting in an office.
‘I’m sure you know much of it. I’m from Slovenia, born in Ljubljana. My parents died when I was fifteen and I was brought up in a children’s home. I joined the Army and served in the Special Operations Unit, serving in Afghanistan. I left a few years ago, undertook some tasks with a Private Military Contractor in Iraq for a few months and then landed in London. I’ve been waiting for another PMC job for a while, but they have been growing harder to get.’
‘What was your area of expertise in the SOU?’ the Major asked, scrawling notes in a small book with a silver pen.
‘Deep reconnaissance with a speciality in close combat and surveillance,’ Tom replied quickly.
‘Who was your last commanding officer?’
‘Podpolkovnik Horvat was in charge when I left,’ Tom said.
‘Sorry, what?’ the Major looked over his glasses, slightly confused.
‘Podpolkovnik, it’s a Balkan rank, probably similar to lieutenant-colonel in the West,’ Tom replied, glad of his research. It was clear that the Major was asking questions that he didn’t know the answer to; always a mistake in any interview situation.
‘Where did you serve in Afghanistan?’
‘Sangin and Kandahar on an advice and training mission. Look, what’s this about? Am I still being tested? I am getting a little pissed off at this. If you don’t trust me, I can fuck off back to London.’ Tom decided that a little hubris was required.
‘Just trying to assess where we can best deploy you, David. No need to get defensive. If it helps, your actions in Hackney and Belmarsh give me confidence that you are trustworthy. Do you have sniper experience?’ At this, the Major put his pen on the table and fixed Tom with his frosty eyes.
Tom detected in his tone that this was important and, thinking on his feet, sensed an opportunity.
‘Unfortunately, not, I was rated as exceptional at close-quarter battle and hand-to-hand combat but unfortunately my long-distance shooting was, at best, average.’ Tom put a hint of shame into his voice. The reality was that he was a first-class sniper who had served in Afghanistan with the Royal Marines, where he had a large number of confirmed kills. He had a feeling that this may be most usefully kept to himself at this point.
‘That is a shame. We need a sharpshooter for an urgent task.’
‘What distance?’
‘At least four hundred metres with a difficult angle.’ The Major looked at Tom questioningly.
‘I wouldn’t fancy that shot, but I may have some contacts who would be able to make that distance easily, depending on the angles and terrain. If you could show me on a map what you are looking for, maybe I could come up with a contractor for you. I used to do reconnaissance for sniper teams.’
The Major looked at Danny, who shrugged.
‘Show him, Danny.’
Danny reached to the dresser and produced an iPad, tapping and swiping at the screen before standing and moving alongside Tom to show him the display.
‘This premises here is where the target will exit.’ Danny zoomed the map in tight to a street in East London and pointed to a section of the road on a Google Maps section.
‘May I?’ asked Tom.
‘Be my guest,’ said Danny.
Tom switched the imagery over to the aerial photography and zoomed closer. ‘Which premises, exactly?’
Danny pointed to the footway outside a terrace of houses.
Tom took the iPad and zoomed out and surveyed the aerial footage. He pointed at the roof of a large grey concrete building. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a residential tower block. About four hundred metres away or so,’ Danny said.
‘How quickly does this need doing, and can you supply a suitable rifle?’ Tom asked.
‘As soon as possible and, yes, we can lay our hands on whatever is needed,’ The Major replied.
‘Then I may know someone who could do this. As long as you have the funds to pay for him. He is an expert sniper and, if he’s available, will easily be able to do this. But he will need you to supply a weapon.’
‘Does he share our ideology?’ Danny asked.
‘I doubt he gives a fuck. He only has one objective: money. He is a professional; he won’t even want to know why. All he’ll want to know is who and where and how you’ll pay him.’
‘Who is he?’ the Major asked.
‘He’s ex-South African army sniper. He’s one of the best, but he will be expensive.’
‘How do you know him? Danny asked.
‘We were in Iraq together with a PMC team protecting oil executives, but he will do contracts if the price is right.’
The Major nodded to Danny. ‘Give us a minute, David. Help yourself to a coffee.’ He indicated a drip machine that was bubbling on the work surface as both men left the room.
As soon as they had left the room Tom once again picked up the iPad and quickly assessed the map of the London street on the display, committing the details to memory. He then tapped an icon on the screen and watched as the map shifted and zoomed in, a blue dot pulsing in the middle of a green area which denoted the iPad’s location, its internal GPS pinging to a satellite above. He dropped another pin close to where the blue dot pulsed and then stared intently at the collection of figures at the top of the screen.
Hearing footsteps approaching, he typed in the previous street name and hit “Enter” to send the screen back to the East London map view, then he turned the screen blank by pressing the home button. Setting the iPad back on the table, he stood and went to the coffee machine where he poured coffee into a mug and leaned against the worktop. He took a sip of the coffee, which was strong and stewed.
The Major and Danny entered the room and sat at the table, looking at Tom as he took his seat once more, his eyes not straying to the iPad.
‘It is vital that the target is eliminated before we move to Phase Three of our objective,’ said the Major. ‘But no information should be given to the contractor yet. I need to seek authority from our sponsor.’
‘I will make the call then,’ said Tom. ‘He normally takes a day or two to return messages, and he may need a little time to get to the UK if he is not here already: he’s very international. He’s also very careful and won’t want to meet an unknown unless I have vouched for them.’ Tom stared from one man to the other before continuing. ‘What sniper rifle can you lay your hands on? He’s a professional and will want to zero it before deploying operationally.’ All weapons, particularly long-range ones, needed to be adjusted to an individual user if they were to be properly accurate. On a sniper rifle the tiniest of adjustments could mean the difference between success and failure. Forcing them to use a location large enough to test-fire a Dragunov would certainly lead them to further properties used by the ADF.
‘That can be arranged. I think we have a rifle available; yes, Danny?’
‘We have a Dragunov at the armoury and we can arrange a suitable place to zero it,’ Danny spoke, a little reticence in his voice.
Tom smiled to himself; the infiltration was going better than he had hoped. The opportunity to introduce another undercover operative was perfect; the new UC would be good for muddying the waters later on down the line, which was always welcome. It also sounded like they would be able to get closer to the ADF’s weapons cache.
‘I need to get back to London to make contact with my man,’ said Tom, deciding that the time was right to wrest a little control back from the terrorists by dictating the timeline. ‘As I said, it may take a couple of days. He will tell you his fee and will probably want half up front before he takes the job on. We can then arrange a zeroing shoot and could be ready to engage the target as soon as within the next week. Once I have made contact I will notify you via the Gmail draft folder.’
The Major paused for a moment. ‘Make it happen, David. Our sponsor wants it done as soon as possible but we cannot afford for this to fail. This target must fall before we move on.’
‘Can I ask who the target is?’
‘Why do you need to know that?’
‘Because my contact will certainly want to know at what level he should pitch his fee.’
‘The target is the Right Honourable Member of Parliament for Tower Hamlets, Nasir Akhtar. He needs to die, and soon.’
27
The return journey to London was tiresome in the extreme. Tom had objected to being hooded again, but Danny had patiently explained that he would need another mission under his belt before he was trusted with the location.
‘Need-to-know principle, mate. You understand that, surely.’
He hadn’t complained too hard, especially as the hood was removed when they entered the outskirts of London about twenty minutes later.
Chas remained his normal brooding self, bristling with suffused hostility towards Tom, occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Tom decided that he would have to remain vigilant in the big man’s company, as he was sure that the Welshman would take any opportunity try to exercise some dominance. Rather than feeling threatened by the big man’s attitude, though, Tom found it hard not to smile at the ridiculousness of it.
Although he projected calmness, Tom was fully aware that the organisation he was infiltrating was responsible for the cold-blooded murders of dozens of innocents. No one who had shown themselves willing to murder innocents in that way would think twice about putting a bullet in his head.
He was dropped out of the car in Sidcup at his request. As he alighted from the rear of the car, Danny removed his phone from the Faraday pouch and handed it back to him. ‘Stay in touch, Dave. Usual method. And Dave?’
Tom looked at the man through the open front window. ‘Yeah?’
‘Don’t forget who you are dealing with.’ Danny spoke quietly and evenly but there was no mistaking the edge in his voice.
Tom was unable to hide a smile. ‘I wouldn’t advise underestimating me, either, Danny.’
Danny returned his smile coldly as the Discovery pulled away.
Tom hailed a passing cab and asked it to take him back to the Lewisham flat; given how deep into the assignment he was, he couldn’t take the risk of returning to his Kentish Town home. He needed to speak to Milligan as soon as possible, but he also felt a slight relief in that, by taking some level of control of the timeline, he had created a little breathing space for them. He also had the perfect officer in mind to play the part of the sniper; he just hoped he was available. He had to be available, no one else could play this part. Tom checked his watch: just after 11pm.
He paid the cab driver, jumped out by Lewisham station, and walked into the ticket hall. He used his Oyster card to access the platforms and descended into the subway linking the platforms. Rather than hurrying along with all the post-work drinks crowd to the southbound platforms he simply stopped and waited, his back to the wall, apparently busying himself with his Samsung whilst peripherally observing the passing commuters. No one took any notice of him and no one seemed to be following him. Retracing his steps, he returned to the ticket hall and walked to one of the payphones. Picking up the receiver he dialled a number from memory, which was answered immediately with a ‘Yes?’
‘It’s me. We need to meet early tomorrow, and I need you to move heaven and earth to get hold of Jaco Venter. We need him now.’
‘Can I ask why?’ Jane sounded sleepy but he knew she would be fully alert despite the gummy note in her voice.
‘Not on this line. Meet where we met on the last job with the counterfeit money. 8am tomorrow.’
‘Understood.’
He hung up and made his way out of the station. That was why he loved working for Jane Milligan; she trusted her staff implicitly and would support their decisions immediately until she had any reason to do otherwise. Tom had proved himself and his decision-making abilities on many occasions, therefore he got her full trust.
He was suddenly gripped by a feeling of deep, enveloping fatigue. He needed sleep; the last few days had been taxing in the extreme. It seemed that he had been accepted by the ADF, even if that acceptance was tainted with suspicion and littered with risks and caveats.
He couldn’t afford to fail.
28
Major McEwan sat in the sitting room at his small London mews house and opened the laptop computer. He opened Skype and called the pre-arranged account, clearing his throat as the call tone echoed around him.
The call had been arranged earlier via McEwan’s usual intermediary. McEwan had installed a virtual private network on his home broadband system and that, coupled with Skype’s own 256-bit encryption software, meant he was confident they could not be listened in to.
After a few moments the screen cleared to reveal the face of Oleg Zelenko staring back at him. The man’s cold blue eyes shone in the harsh overhead lights.
‘Major. How good to see you,’ Zelenko said without charm or warmth.
‘Mr Zelenko, likewise.’ McEwan hoped that his nervousness was not showing on his face.
‘I thought it appropriate that we speak so I can be appraised of your progress. I am slightly disappointed that our problem still seems to be espousing peace and harmony with great gusto.’
‘Yes, Mr Zelenko. That is unfortunate, but progress has been made. Our investigations have demonstrated that his protection has been strengthened and our assessment is that a close-up attack will most likely not be successful. We have, however, just recruited a new member of our organisation who is proving to be something of an asset.’ McEwan paused.
‘Yes,’ said Zelenko. ‘I had been informed about Mr Vidmar. I understand that he demonstrated his commitment to the cause very recently.’ The oligarch chuckled, but his eyes did not reflect any mirth.
‘It served its purpose, sir. Vidmar appears to be a formidable recruit and he has suggested that we use a contractor to carry out the action against Akhtar, rather than recruit a further member. With your desire for this matter to be handled speedily, this may be the most appropriate solution. The contractor will only know who the target is; he will not be made aware of our organisation. He will require a significant fee: most likely half paid up front before he takes the contract on and then the remainder after successful completion. Am I clear to proceed with this?’
‘Yes, Major. The Akhtar situation must be dealt with as soon as possible in order that we can move to Phase Three. I have investors who have significant strategic investments in certain funds; the chaos your actions will cause will allow them to profit appropriately. In order to pursue our worldview, Major, we will need the backing and support of these allies.’
‘Very well. I will ensure that the necessary arrangements are made.’
‘Excellent. Now I must go, my flight leaves very soon. I am heading for Monaco, but I will be in the UK next week. Keep me appraised of any developments.’
Zelenko’s image disappeared and McEwan closed the laptop, sitting back in his leather recliner and sighing deeply. He thought of the money that would come his way once the chaos really took hold in the country. He was no financier, but he had been promised rich rewards by the wealthy investors who were all intent on exploiting the chaos in the currency markets. The pound would plummet, property prices would fall dramatically, and a number of already obscenely rich international businessmen would get even richer. There was profit in chaos, or “disaster capitalism” as some referred to it; you just needed to know when and how it would arrive.
McEwan was a true believer; he wanted the Muslim invaders to leave and the Jews to lose control of the media and the banks. However, he hoped that he would not be around to see the end game but would instead be sat on a tropical island somewhere, far, far away from the filth and chaos. The UK held no appeal for him anymore.
But he really did want to change the world, genuinely he did. He just wanted to make a fat pile of cash while it was happening.
