Going Rogue, page 22
part #2 of Tom Novak Series
40
As soon as Tom arrived at HQ, he was glad to see Tiny on his own, already sat at his desk tapping away at a complicated-looking chart.
‘Morning, Tiny,’ Tom said.
‘Morning, mate. Anything new to report?’
‘As it happens, yes. I need you to promise me that you won’t ask too many questions. Can you do that?’
‘Of course. I’m like the three wise monkeys, me.’
‘Cool. I’m going to send you a flowchart of intelligence and open source checks to perform. These will generate some actions requiring some additional checks that Farita will be able to perform with banks and financial institutions. I can confidently say that these will produce some interesting results and conclusions. Can you run the checks as quickly as possible and then once you have the results present them to the boss? Just tell her you had a hunch or something. You’ll get the kudos; I could really do with my name not being mentioned.’
Tiny looked suspicious, but he was wise enough not to ask anything else. He had been in the intelligence and information business a long time and sometimes it paid to keep your mouth closed and not look a gift horse in the mouth.
‘Make us a tea and my lips are sealed, sarge,’ he smiled.
Tom smiled and went over to the kitchen. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he forwarded Pet’s flowchart to Tiny.
Tiny was staring in awe at his screen as Tom placed his tea on his desk. ‘Now, I know that you are a computer duffer, Tom. So how the fuck did you come up with this? This is an incredibly elegant document and whoever put this together is a fucking genius. Any idiot could follow it but what sits behind it is complex in the extreme.’
‘Wise monkeys, Tiny,’ smiled Tom as he went to his own desk. He had a whole raft of unopened emails to crack on with before the rest of the office arrived.
*
The rest of the morning Tom cracked through a whole heap of admin tasks. He greeted each team member as they arrived, all of them showing surprise at his presence.
Meanwhile, Tiny beavered away at his terminals, sighing occasionally and muttering curses as he worked through the flowchart, the occasional ‘Fuckin ‘ell,’ audible as he progressed.
At one point, as Tom was typing up the overtime return, an instant message popped up on the screen from Tiny.
‘How the fuck did you get this? I’m nearly done, Farita has most of the results in as well. It all points to Zelenko. I’m about to present it to he Boss.’
Tom replied, ‘Wise monkeys, Tiny.’
*
Later that afternoon the team all sat in the meeting room, watching Tiny at his laptop with Jane looking over his shoulder, both exchanging animated views. As the last team member entered and sat down, she looked up. ‘Right everyone, we have a development. Tiny has done some amazing work that I am yet to fully comprehend but it amounts to this. The ADF was directly funded and resourced by a Ukrainian called Oleg Zelenko.’
An image of the lean-faced oligarch appeared on the screen at the front of the briefing room, his sharp eyes blazing out from his worn features.
‘Interpol information suggests that he is a former Russian mafia enforcer and boss who profited from the fall of the Soviet Union by obtaining shares in the gas production industry. He is now very, very rich and has properties, private jets, and yachts. Tiny and Farita have somehow discovered that he owned the property Jaco was killed at. Ownership was via a highly complex web of overseas trust funds and shell corporations. It also seems that a jet owned by him left Calais airport a few hours after McEwan was sprung from the prison van. We strongly suspect McEwan was on that plane, as a small Cessna flew into Calais from a small Kentish airfield minutes before it left. We believe that McEwan is currently at a dacha owned by Zelenko a short way outside Lviv in Ukraine. Questions?’
Buster spoke up. ‘How do we know McEwan is there?’
‘Several of McEwan’s contacts from before his arrest have been called from a burner phone that cell-sites have put close to that property. It’s a remote area in a national park and it’s unlikely that the calls came from anywhere else. We also have an email sent from one of his historic web-based email addresses from an IP address in Ukraine. Despite a VPN being used, somehow Tiny managed to work through that and trace it to the dacha. Not sure how you managed that, Tiny.’
‘Lucky guess,’ said the rapidly colouring Tiny, not looking up from his computer.
Jane said nothing, simply staring with suspicion in turn at the big Mancunian and then Tom.
‘So that’s the good news. We know who is responsible and we know where they are.’
‘I take it that there is now some follow-up bad news, boss?’ Buster asked with a sense of inevitability.
‘Yes, there is. We have been ordered to hand all our information over to CTC. Treasury counsel and CPS are exploring extradition possibilities but, as the Ukrainians are not even admitting McEwan is in the country, they rate our chances of getting either man back as slim. The powers that be now want us to develop a new job. I have meetings about it tomorrow. From now on we are no longer working on Operation Kavanagh: it is CTC’s in its entirety.’
There was an immediate groan of frustration from the room.
‘I know, I know. The issue is that this is now a highly charged political and diplomatic problem. We have a mountain of evidence against McEwan and a bench warrant that will land him straight back in prison. His trial will be going ahead soon, with or without him, and he will be found guilty in his absence whatever the case. If he ever shows his face in any EU member state, he will be ours once more. Zelenko is far more complex. He is a powerful man with powerful allies in the Ukrainian government, and much of our evidence is circumstantial. It is most unlikely we would even be granted extradition. We have to move on. We have another job, people, and there are other criminals that our paymasters want us to pursue. Everyone go home, see your families, and we will reconvene in a couple of days fresh and ready for a new tasking. Thank you all for your hard work on this case.’ Jane stood, indicating that the meeting was over.
The team all began to amble out of the room, leaving just Tom and Buster still seated and eyeing their senior officer balefully.
‘Is that really it, boss?’ asked Buster.
‘Seems so. They want us on something else; there’s no use in us chasing shadows if they’re untouchable in Ukraine.’
‘Fuck’s sake. This is bollocks,’ exclaimed Buster. ‘We’ve lost seven of ours, Jane. Seven cops dead and we’re just letting these fuckers walk?’
‘Buster, I don’t like it any more than you do, but my hands are tied. CTC will be looking at all options and the Foreign Office will be pressurising the Ukrainians to release them to us. It’s not our problem anymore. We move on and do as we’re told. That’s it. Right, on your way, Buster. I need to speak to Tom alone.’
‘But boss…’ Buster began, but he was bluntly interrupted by Jane.
‘That’s enough, Buster. Decision made.’
Buster shrugged, defeated, and walked disconsolately out of the room.
Jane turned and angrily fixed Tom with a searching look, her eyes flinty. ‘So when were you going to tell me about you not only knowing one of the victims of the bombing, but the fact that you appeared as a witness at their asylum tribunal?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You heard me! I had to find out from a very angry Commander Wilcox that the intelligence unit at CTC discovered that you were a witness at Fareed Mirza’s asylum appeal.’
‘It was years ago. All I did was confirm that he was an interpreter in Afghanistan. It was no big deal.’ Tom tried to sound blasé, but he knew he was failing to do so.
‘Tom, this is really serious. Commander Wilcox wants you immediately suspended on the basis that you withheld material and, worse than that, you did not disclose a serious conflict of interest. You have been deployed undercover on this job. Jesus, you’ve fucking killed two suspects. If this becomes public then there will be questions asked in the fucking House of Commons! Tom, what were you thinking? Why didn’t you declare it?’ Jane was usually so composed that it was disconcerting seeing her so angry.
‘I didn’t think it was important; it was years ago. I didn’t want to be excluded from this operation, Jane. I owe it to Freddie to see the bastards brought down. Add to that they killed Jaco: you must be able to see why I couldn’t get taken off this job. It’s because of me that Jaco is now dead. Without me he’d never have got involved.’ Tom felt his anger rising, not helped by the fact that, deep down, he knew Jane was right.
Jane sighed and rubbed her face before she spoke again, more softly this time. ‘Look, the fact you were at the tribunal isn’t much of a deal, despite the fact you should have sought permission. But it’s not good, Tom. You failed to declare a major conflict of interest. The fact that you’ve shot two suspects will have lawyers saying that you were trigger-happy because of your involvement. I’m not sure how much I can protect you.’
‘Then don’t. I can handle myself.’
‘That’s the thing, Tom. I’m not sure you can. I have officers far more senior than me wanting you suspended. Commander Wilcox has even suggested you should be charged with misconduct, and he has a lot of clout. As of right now, I need you out of here. And I mean, now, Tom. As of this minute you’re on leave. Get out of the office, go home, and stay away. I will try my best to deflect as much of the crap that I can, but I’m making no promises. You just need to pray that the IPCC investigation or the inquest into the guys you shot doesn’t attach any significance to your conflict of interest or you are finished.’
‘Boss, I can’t just go on leave. And Buster’s right: it’s bullshit about the case being transferred. We have to get McEwan back. We have to keep going after Zelenko.’ Tom’s voice was raised and his face flushed as he felt deep-seated anger rise to the surface. They couldn’t throw in the towel, and he couldn’t just move on: not only for his own sanity, but leaving Zelenko free was basically signing his own death warrant.
‘Enough, sergeant,’ said Jane. ‘As of this moment you are either on leave or you are suspended. You choose.’
The silence in the room was overpowering as Jane and Tom stared at each other, unblinkingly.
Tom broke first, exasperated, as he jumped to his feet. ‘Fine. I’m on leave then. I’ll go fishing in Scotland. But this is bullshit, Jane, and you know it.’
‘Stay away from anything to do with Operation Kavanagh, Tom. If I even smell that you are going rogue, I’ll arrest you myself.’
*
Tom made his way to the locker room to collect his belongings and get the hell out of the office. He felt like someone had removed a cog from his brain as the unexpected anger began to surface.
As he stood in front of the locker stowing his gear away, he became aware that he was not alone. Buster suddenly appeared behind him, his eyes locked on Tom’s.
‘You all right, mate? You and Jane looked like you were having a bit of a ding-dong there.’
Tom shrugged. ‘I’m on leave. Shit’s come up.’
‘Shit? What kind of shit.’
‘Let’s just say I fucked up. I need to make myself scarce for a little while until the shit blows over.’
‘About you executing them two blokes?’
‘Kind of,’ Tom said. ‘Among other stuff. But all related. At least, that’s what some people are trying to make out.’ He bundled a shirt into his bag, swearing under his breath as it refused to go in first time. ‘So I thought I’d go and do a bit of fishing.’
Buster stared at him for a moment. ‘Fishing my arse, Borat.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Are you bollocks going fishing.’ Buster stood in front of him, his muscly arms folded defiantly.
‘Buster, you’ve lost me. I’m going to see Shona and Cameron. You know, my family. Do some fishing.’ Tom shook his head as he closed his locker.
‘Right. ’Course you are. Except you ain’t, are you? I’ve known you for years, mate, and I know you’re talking shite. You’re planning something stupid and I’m not letting you do it. I kept schtum when that Serb mafia crowd went suspiciously “missing” after taking Cam and Shona hostage. I’m not letting you do this shit again. You can’t solve the world’s problems yourself.’
‘Buster, I don’t have the patience for this. I’m on leave. I’m off to Scotland.’ He moved to walk past Buster, who stood in his path like a bouncer at a seedy nightclub refusing a drunk access.
‘You’re going fucking nowhere until you level with me,’ Buster said, stepping into his path.
‘Buster, get out of my way.’
‘Make me, you lying bastard. I’m your best friend. I’ve always had your back and I am not letting you do what you are planning. I know what will happen: you’ll either get killed or you will kill a whole fucking load of people and then end up torturing yourself about how you can’t feel anything. You’ll fuck yourself up even more than normal. No more killing, Tom. You can’t make yourself feel better by killing people.’
Tom didn’t answer but just dipped his head a little, defeated.
‘I have to do right, Buster,’ whispered Tom. ‘I have no choice. They killed Jaco and Freddie, they killed our colleagues, and now I think they want to kill me.’
‘What?’
Tom sighed. ‘I’ve had word that Zelenko’s put a contract on the undercover officer that infiltrated McEwan’s gang. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out it’s me. If Zelenko stays free, I’ll be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life.’
‘How do you…?’ Buster held up a hand. ‘Never mind. But you can’t solve this on your own, mate.’
‘I have to,’ Tom whispered, the passion in his voice almost palpable, his eyes blazing. ‘It’s the only thing that’ll keep me from going mad. It’s not right—it’ll never be right—that those bastards are living the high life with all the bodies they’ve left in their wake. I have to do what is right; it’s what I live by. Cameron taught me that and it’s everything to me.’
Buster paused before saying quietly, ‘I fancy a bit of fishing myself then, mate. But the right type of fishing. The kind that brings the fish back and puts it where it belongs.’
41
Tom and Buster stepped out of the commercial plane as soon as the doors opened at Inverness Airport. Tom loved arriving back at the small airport, relishing the peace and tranquillity of the Highlands after the stress and bedlam of Luton airport. He struggled to think of anywhere as his true home: Bosnia meant nothing to him and neither did London, but his heart was always in the Scottish Highlands.
As they exited the terminal, Tom immediately saw Cameron waving at them from by the doors. He was a splendidly reassuring sight, a lean, tough-looking man with short grey hair and kind, mischievous eyes.
‘Good to see you, son,’ his foster father said as they hugged. ‘Shona is so pleased you are up; she’s a huge load of venison stew on the stove.’ Cameron turned to Buster and extended a calloused hand. ‘Ah Jesus, Tom. If I knew you were bringing this ex-Para, I’d have never come. How ya doin’, man?’
‘I’m good Cameron,’ Buster smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.
Cameron was an innately good man. Tough and honest and full of good-natured humour. Tom would never forget the kindness that Cameron and Shona gave him when he had first arrived in the UK as a sad and scared twelve-year-old Bosnian orphan. They were the best kind of people who gave him just what he needed: a home.
‘Come on boys, let’s get you back. Shona is on tenterhooks to see you both.’
They walked to where Cameron had parked his old and battered Land Rover.
‘Jesus, Cam, you’re not still driving this old pile of crap, are you? You old Marines are all the same: tight as arseholes,’ Buster mocked.
‘You can always walk. Although it would take too long, with your short and stumpy little ex-Para legs and all,’ Cameron retorted. The banter was evidence of the fearsome rivalry between the Royal Marines and Parachute Regiment, but one that masked a deep respect.
The trio climbed on board the rickety old vehicle and set off for Cameron and Shona’s farm cottage, close to Carrbridge in the Cairngorm mountain range.
As they set off Cameron said, ‘So, boys, what prompts this wee trip? Don’t often see you two up here together.’
‘Just here overnight, then we are off on a bit of business in Europe for a couple of days, then back here for some fishing,’ Tom said.
‘Anything you can share?’ Cameron asked, already suspecting the response.
‘Probably not. We will leave our phones at yours as we don’t want to take them where we are going. We have a ferry from Newcastle tomorrow afternoon; I’ll hire a car and drive down tomorrow morning.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, boy. I’ll drive you down and you can hire on the other side. If you are doing quiet and sneaky stuff it’s best you don’t hire from here. Anyways, it would be nice to spend another couple of hours with you.’
Tom nodded; it made sense. The reason for their trip was to put down a trail of breadcrumbs that would support the fishing trip story that Jane had only half-believed. Not having to hire a car, fuel it, and travel on roads with ANPR would keep their destination even more off-grid than he’d hoped. He had a prepaid and therefore non-traceable Visa card that he could use to pay for expenses, and they both possessed driving licences and passports in alternative names. He also had a thousand US dollars and a thousand euros in his pocket ready for any cash transactions.
Staying off-grid and going, and staying, dark was the key to staying out of jail.
‘Okay. Thanks Cameron. That would make things easier.’
They travelled for just under an hour, generally just shooting the breeze and taking the piss as the wobbly old vehicle negotiated the A9 and began ascending to the roof of the UK at the summit of the Slochd mountain pass. A few minutes later and they were pulling up at the small, pretty cottage where Cameron and Shona had lived ever since Cameron left the Marines.
