Scion (36 page)

The President immediately took note at the name Henry Freeman. He had been one of the party’s largest contributors over his time in office and someone he regarded as a friend.

“What did Henry say?” he asked guardedly.

“Nothing. He didn’t take the call either and made it quite clear through his secretary that he wouldn’t accept any calls from Hughes.”

“So what exactly do we know from this?” asked the President irritated.

“There’s more,” offered Jennings.

“Hughes got a call from a notorious bookie based here in Washington, big hitter. A man you don’t mess around with. It seems our Mr Hughes is into him for a couple of hundred thousand. As soon as the call was over, Hughes phoned a bank in Panama to check on an account we knew nothing about. Seems it was emptied last night by some anonymous company based in Luxembourg.”

“So we may be able to get him to talk?” interrupted the President.

“Sorry Sir, there’s more.” Jennings broke back in. “Hughes made a call just a short while ago, desperate, cut off and fearing for his life. He called…” Jennings paused for effect but succeeded only in irritating the President, “…Dan Baker!”

“Holy shit! You’re saying Baker, Transcon and Hughes are all linked into this?” The President took a few seconds “Are you telling me the conspiracy is about to place a man in the most powerful job in the world?”

Jennings nodded enthusiastically, delighted the President had come to the same conclusion so quickly.

“So why the hell are we standing on a tarmac next to a fucking plane engine, instead of issuing arrest warrants?” demanded the President.

Walters took over. “Because we believe we are being bugged, we don’t know who we can trust and we have absolutely fuck all proof.”

“Hughes!” suggested the President.

“Just issue the order and we’ll take him into custody, Mr President,” smiled Jennings.

“Do it!”

Chapter 64

It had taken over an hour for Butler-Jones to detail his findings for Scott. The file he pulled from his bottom drawer was almost a foot thick and dated back almost 24 years. Butler-Jones it appeared was the diametric opposite of what Scott had initially believed him to be. It was clear from the detail and effort he had gone to, Butler-Jones was an exceptionally loyal, just and fair man. A man he felt sure would have been very similar to his own father.

“As you can see, Transcon has three CEO’s and one CFO. They have been there from Day One and from the records I’ve tracked, they were the four who took charge following the death of your father.”

Scott looked down at the four names, four men who thought they were on top of the world, untouchable, gods, deciding who should live or die. And four men who were about to die themselves.

“Charles Russell, Peter Astor, Andrew DuPont and Henry Freeman are going to be very dead men.”

“But what about the company? I can go into court tomorrow morning and claim ownership, in accordance with the clause. It’s airtight, you are the legal and rightful owner of Transcon. It’s yours for the taking.” Butler-Jones waved the contract in front of Scott.

“I don’t care about the company, an eye for an eye is all I want right now. If I go to court, I can’t then go and kill them. I’d be the number one suspect. No, I’m sorry, first things first. They die and then if we have time, we’ll worry about anything else.”

“Scott, I understand you want revenge but murder is a very serious path to take and knowing what these men have done, an extremely treacherous one at that!”

Scott had told Butler-Jones most of what had happened over the last few days but had not told him of his rather unique career.

“Don’t worry, I know how to look after myself and anyway I’ve got some help meeting me later.”

Butler-Jones gave up. It was obvious that emotions were running too high to waste time arguing. He’d try again once Scott had calmed down.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” asked Butler-Jones, hoping he could tackle the subject later.

“No, I’m sorry I’ve got another meeting which I’ll miss if I don’t leave soon. But I’d love to come back and meet the family,” said Scott pointing to the photos.

“Niece and nephew, I’m afraid,” replied Butler-Jones sadly. “My wife and I tried but it wasn’t to be.”

“I’m sorry but I’d still love to come back and meet your wife and perhaps hear more about my father. And again, I’m so sorry about the rib.”

“Not at all and I’d love for you to come back and please think about Transcon. Removing these men from the power they have would be as good as killing them. Trust me, powerful men fear failure more than death.”

“I will but please don’t mention this to anybody, not even your wife. I haven’t been here, my very existence puts your life in danger. In fact,” Scott took a thousand dollars from his back pocket and the papers and bank account details for the bank in Geneva and handed them all to Butler-Jones. “Consider this a retainer. You are now officially my lawyer and covered by lawyer-client privilege.”

Butler-Jones smiled, the quick thinking and pragmatic approach to the situation reminded him of one man. “You are your father’s son, Scott Kennedy.” Butler-Jones patted him on the back as they walked to the study door.

Twenty minutes later and with the enemy names, he was on the train back to London and speaking to Ashley who, having just arrived back in Geneva, was searching for everything she could find on Eduardo Ramirez.

“Holy shit, Transcon? They’re massive! Fucking hell!” she exclaimed as the information sank in.

“So don’t worry too much about tracking Ramirez, we’ve got our bad guys,” suggested Scott as a final thought.

“OK but it would be nice to find a link and just tie everything up neatly.”

Scott couldn’t disagree and tried to relax. He was not looking forward to the next hour. Somebody had sold him out and he just prayed it wasn’t the Prime Minister.

At 22.13 the train drew to a stop in Marylebone and thanks to the underground, Scott was walking across Parliament Square in the heart of central London by 22.45., under the watchful gaze of two of the world’s most proficient assassins.

Chapter 65

At precisely 22.40, the two cars pulled out from the underground garage of the Pimlico safe house. The cars were exact copies of two DPG, Diplomatic Protection Group, police cars that worked for the Royal and Diplomatic Protection Division of the Metropolitan Police Force and were responsible for the protection of the UK Prime Minister amongst other VIP members of the UK government and foreign embassies.

The two Metropolitan Police emblazoned red BMW’s roared down the street and within two minutes were stationed just moments away from Downing Street. Should anyone take any interest in the two cars, however unlikely that may have been, the cars matched their real counterparts exactly, right down to registration plates and vehicle identity codes.

Ideally, they would have waited until almost 23.00 before arriving on site. However, a diversion had been arranged that was, unfortunately, out of their control and could mean up to a ten minute deviation in their plan. Although not perfect, the diversion was going to give them exactly the edge they needed.

***

With the time nearing 23.00, she checked her blackberry device. She had expected an update before then but nothing further had come through. The instruction remained the same, 23.00, London. She raised the magnifying scope and took another look through the top floor window, the lounge of Prime Minister Adam Smith came clearly into view, she scanned across the building and focused in on the bedroom. A large four poster dominated the room. However, both rooms were empty, with only two minutes to go, she was beginning to wonder whether something had gone wrong.

Chapter 66

“GO, GO, GO” shouted Jennings into his phone.

Ten miles South East, six members of the anti conspiracy team moved in on Stephen Hughes’ Washington Apartment. Jennings had been confident the president would order his detention and had set up his men accordingly.

The portable battering rams made short shrift of the main door and the six flooded into the hallway and raced up the staircase towards his apartment door on the first floor. Again, the battering ram annihilated the door and within a minute of breaking through the first door, Stephen Hughes was being restrained and handcuffed.

The lead agent called Jennings.

“Got him and he’s thanking us! He’s acting like we’ve just saved his life.”

“Excellent, take him back to the safe house and remember don’t let anybody outside of our unit know we’ve got him. We’re acting on behalf of the President himself. Even the Attorney General cannot know.” 

The instruction to his agent was irregular to the point of being illegal. The FBI reported to the US Attorney General, the highest ranking law enforcement officer in the government. However, if the conspiracy were centred around Transcon, the Attorney General was just as likely to be as dirty as Hughes was.

“Got you, we’re on our way.”

***

Ernst had just finished ripping the Metropolitan Police Chief a new anus when his phone rang. He excused himself from the office, comfortable in the knowledge that his priority was to assist in the capture of Eduardo Ramirez. As he walked into the corridor, he pressed the answer button.

“Ernst,” he answered.

“Mr Ernst, hi. My supervisor suggested I call you direct. As per your instructions, we’ve been keeping an eye on Stephen Hughes.”

“Yes,” confirmed Ernst apprehensively.

“About two minutes ago, a bunch of guys, who I can only assume are Bureau, busted into his house.”

“Fuck! Where are they now?”

“Still inside, no hold on…they’re just coming out. He’s cuffed and being pushed into one of their cars.”

Ernst considered the risk. He knew Baker had thought it minimal but he couldn’t agree. He made a decision. “Make sure he doesn’t get where he’s going alive!”

“What about the bureau guys?”

“Whatever, just don’t get caught!”

***

The FBI guys didn’t stand a chance. As they were making their way into their vehicles, the blue van that had been parked on the other side of the road, came careering towards them. The side door flew open and a wall of bullets crashed into them.

The two shooters had XM8 assault rifles, the newest rifles under development by Heckler & Koch, with a fire rate of over 750 rounds per minute. It did not take long to run through the 200-round drums on each rifle and for all movement to stop in the two cars. With a positive id on the body of Stephen Hughes, the side door of the van was closed and the wrecks of the two FBI cruisers left smouldering in the street. Job done.

***

The moment the phone rang, Ernst hit the answer button.

“Well?” he asked gruffly.

“Well what?” demanded
Dan Baker.

“Oh sorry, I thought you were someone else. How can I help?”

“I should have mentioned before but didn’t think it was important. However it probably is. Stephen Hughes called me earlier this afternoon.”

Ernst felt as though he’d just been punched in the stomach.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing, he got my secretary but he may have left a trail.”

If he had, it was a fluke. Hughes had no idea about Baker’s connection to Transcon but with his demise, he wasn’t going to be around to clear up any confusion. If he were being used as they suspected, his death would implicate an otherwise squeaky clean Baker.

“I’ll call you straight back!” rushed Ernst, hanging up on his boss without so much as a goodbye.

Ernst redialled the previous caller and was hopeful when it was answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Ernst, don’t…”

“Job done Sir!” he interrupted.

“Shit!” Ernst hung up and called a very fucked off Dan Baker who was about to get even more fucked off.

Chapter 67

As Scott walked across the square, he began to sense that somebody was watching. He couldn’t see anybody but knew someone was there. Leaving the relatively well lit square behind him, he continued onto Whitehall, darker and quieter. If anyone was going to try anything, they’d do it there. He scanned ahead and caught sight of one drunk leaning awkwardly against a wall, urinating and another slumped in the doorway obviously waiting for his friend.

Something didn’t seem right, he knew nobody was expecting him but there was something about the drunks that just didn’t ring true. For a start, there were very few bars in the area and certainly none that would allow patrons to become quite as inebriated as these two. Scott prepared himself as he drew closer, both appeared to be unaware of his presence but that could have been to draw him in.

With less then two meters between him and the closest drunk, both spun and jumped towards him. Scott was ready and jumped back, just keeping out of their reach, his fists up and ready to repel any attack.