Stray Bullet (14 page)

Greg Bickley and Harvey Walters were busy packing their belongings
as their assignment in the US was almost complete. Though their tour hadn’t directly led to any major arrests, it had been seen as a great intelligence success which had
continued to demonstrate the value of international cooperation on such investigations,
according to the post operation report.

It was largely Harvey’s naivety and curiosity that led him to volunteer for the tour on Special Ops. Such assignments were few and far between, and he felt it would open doors for career moves later on in life.

It was not long after his arrival in the US that he had concluded such assignments were better left to younger individuals who had no emotional ties. He would be relieved to return to the UK, deciding that assignments which led to family separation, albeit for their own safety, were not for him.

The months had passed slowly and, though he had hardly been able to communicate with the outside world, he had always kept a picture of his wife and children concealed upon his person.

He had been fortunate that this valuable reminder of home had remained secret from the individuals he had reluctantly spent the last six months with. They were anything but trusting. Had the small passport sized photo of Jenny and the kids been discovered, the suspicious minds of his newfound counterparts would have left Harvey Walters, aka
Bill Moore,
to have been brutally removed from their inner circle like others who had preceded him with less fortunate endings.

Harvey had no intention of joining those others, most of who were believed to be incarcerated forever within the foundations of Chicago’s sky scrapers, and other such buildings built with mob money.

He
had
been cautious. Aware of the possibility of discovery, he had dreamt up a fictitious account of who the individuals in the picture were and what they meant to him. Thankfully, he never had the need to spell out his story and now, on leaving the country, felt relieved that his rather shaky piece of fiction had never been tested.

Greg and Harvey would leave the country in the same manner by which they arrived; collected quietly but routinely by US agents and delivered back to Area 51, where they would join the crew of another RAF transport plane which would, in turn, deliver them home to the UK.

Once in the UK, both Harvey and Greg should ordinarily have been allowed one month’s special leave, time given to repatriate and spend with their families. However, as was so often the case, in a cruel twist of fate, this leave would come with catches for at least one of them.

The ComCen Officer at Area 51, had received the Notam signal from the UK the same morning they were due to fly out, and duly notified aircrew officers meeting Harvey and Greg to collect it on behalf of their non-ranking passengers.

APPROVED
was the most important word read from the scanned signal. However, further within the message, there was information regarding an unspecified corporate protection role for which one of them, would be required to remain on standby.

It would be a huge kick in the balls considering all that they had done. 

“Told you we should have arrested someone,”
Greg stated glumly, in a bad attempt to make light of the news before sauntering off to find a telephone to call home.

Before boarding the VC10, he called the UK to question the message. He was put through to a member of the HR department who was quick to compliment them on their work, comments that given the rest of the signal, Greg simply took as lip service. The anonymous HR voice went on to outline the possible requirement for one of them to lead a team protecting an Italian dignitary currently touring cities in the UK. Greg was in no mood to haggle. He was tired after the long trip back to Area 51, and simply absorbed as much of the information as possible before hanging up the phone.

He met back up with Harvey in a small military cafeteria where they both drank a sub-standard cup of coffee before departure. They would not be required to attend the pre-flight brief on this occasion and would meet up with the aircrew who were, by this time, already briefed and out on the tarmac busy conducting pre-flight checks. Being second timers and having been given the VIP treatment and tour of a similar aircraft on their way out to the US, their trip home in the old tanker would seem significantly less interesting.

During their coffee, Greg relayed his conversation with the HR department. He emphasized that the additional job was not actually definite and, if required, would only take a couple of days, after which they would be able to return to their much anticipated leave with an extension for time lost.

However, neither was naïve to the reality of a ‘non definite job’ actually being anything other than a sure thing. Neither man relished the prospect of losing valuable time off once they returned, so they finally agreed to choose their fate with a toss of a coin for the guarantee of an uninterrupted period of freedom.

“Harv, I
’m sorry.  If I hadn’t made plans to be away for my leave I would step in… Sorry,” Greg sighed.  Looking down at his wrist and the obverse of the coin bearing the shiny head of Queen Elizabeth the second.

Harvey looked deflated. He had been harbouring hopes that even a loss on the flip of the coin might still have left a chance that Greg would indeed have done just that. Greg was an independent man with no one waiting back to greet him in the UK but, he had wasted no time in booking himself a holiday in Europe upon hearing the news of their impending return home. He had been on many detachments and was more aware of what could, and quite often did, go wrong for those returning home. 

He had taken the gamble of making himself unavailable expecting any such eventuality not to
crop up
until they were at least back home and within contact of the office. On this occasion the advance signal had produced a less than comfortable near miss. Albeit, if he had lost this gamble, his insurance should have covered his costs, he was nonetheless a great believer in the phrase,
To the victor go the spoils
and would not give an inch to his friend on the subject.

On seeing the obverse face upon his wrist,
his
mood had immediately improved. In his mind’s eye he could already see the golden beaches and looked forward to drinking piña coladas during long sunny days while chatting to ladies wearing bikinis laying by a warm swimming pool. These thoughts were comforting to him and while they stood before each other, the coin still resting on the back of Greg’s wrist, neither would have any idea that his vacation would be cut short so dramatically in a couple of weeks.

Harvey and Greg stood in silence, each contemplating their own result when their thoughts were interrupted by one of the crew members. With the pre-flight brief completed sometime earlier, the crew member was horrified to see the two of them still in civilian clothes. He ushered them away quickly to find suitable flying clothes before joining the flight engineer and air loadmaster already aboard the plane.

The pilot and his navigator were walking around the exterior of the plane. The next time they would enjoy the clean air, would be on the tarmac back in a damp and rainy Blighty. The pilot impatiently tapped on his watch as Harvey and Greg arrived. They boarded the plane and found their seats being closely followed by the pilot and navigator who headed straight for the flight deck. Already delayed, it would only be a few minutes before the engines would roar and the plane would head at full speed for the blue skies of Nevada. Greg Bickley and Harvey Walters were finally leaving the US in the same discreet manner by which they had arrived.

Conversation on the trip across the Atlantic was fairly minimal as both Greg and Harvey were thinking of the separate paths they would take in the upcoming weeks. The crew were preoccupied in the cockpit and the load master, with the exception of giving out food during the flight, would take time to sleep off a hangover gained from his final night out on the town; an expensive night playing black jack and roulette in the casinos of Las Vegas that had cost him a month’s pay.

After several hours, the plane rattled and bumped violently and they had eventually felt the earth under their feet. Harvey Walters opened his eyes.  Looking out through one of the windows, he was comforted to see what he hoped were the Home Counties and that they were in their final descent.

He had managed to go to sleep for the majority of the flight soon after the refreshed load master had brought them some food, oblivious to the noise and distinctive smell of the non-commercial flight. Greg was also now rousing.  He too had slept through a large portion of the flight. Having taken a row of four seats soon after Harvey had passed out, Greg had made a makeshift bed for himself.

Compliantly sitting in the upright position of his uncomfortable seat, Harvey’s fatigue had forced him into a deep state of unconsciousness, yet his compliance would only serve to reward him with a stiff neck for his trouble. Greg, however, had enjoyed a refreshing respite but sitting up appeared unnerved with the rattling of the airplane. He prematurely buckled himself back into a single seat.

Crew members frantically moved around the plane conducting final checks in preparation for landing and the pilot, who had spent the previous five minutes in contact with the air traffic controller in the tower at Brize Norton, turned on the cabin intercom. As with their previous flight, Greg and Harvey were the only passengers and the remote crackly voice asked them informally to buckle up.

It was a bumpy final approach as the large plane was manoeuvred manually through the rain clouds and turbulent weather of Oxfordshire.  The landing gear of the plane was finally lowered with the airfield in sight and the familiar loud clunk gave its two civilian passengers a jolt as the wheels fixed into position.

With the airflow under the plane now interrupted by the huge hanging wheels, the noise in the cabin grew louder and the plane rumbled violently as the pilot routinely wrestled the controls and guided his plane through the last remaining mist and down further until the familiar sound of rubber making contact with the wet and weatherworn English runway could be heard.

It was almost midday in the UK and on their arrival in the terminal, Harvey would waste no time in finding a telephone and calling home to speak with Jenny.

Jenny had answered the phone almost immediately, and upon hearing Harvey’s voice, she became hysterical with tears of joy.  She had not been informed of the exact details of Harvey’s arrival, but she had been impatiently marking time in anticipation of this long awaited call. She would drop everything and bundle the children into the car, immediately embarking upon her own journey to collect her husband from the RAF base.

She had still not told the children of their father’s return and would leave this to the very last moment, fending off the young children’s naïve questioning of the paradox they were faced with in their mother’s peculiar mood. 

“Why are you crying and smiling at the same time, Mummy?”

Her journey would take more than an hour, but there would be no stops and she would find it difficult to stick to the speed limits during this brief yet agonizing trip towards the long anticipated reunion.

Greg had waited for Harvey while he was using the telephone and they would now both go and spend their last remaining hour together, changing back into civilian clothes before heading off for a brief drink while they waited for Jenny to arrive. Greg would eventually make his own way from the base but felt he would sooner see Harvey safely back into the arms of his family before organizing himself. He hoped being present at their reunion might remove some of the stigma he felt having arrived to take Harvey away from his wife on the day they departed to the US.

His hopes paid off. Indeed, once Jenny had finally let go of Harvey in order that the children could share the hugs with their father, she wrapped her arms around Greg and thanked him for bringing Harvey home safely.

Greg would soon see Jenny again, but the mood of that meeting would reveal tears of anxiety rather than joy.

Jack hadn’t used the penthouse with as much frequency since marrying Natasha. Yet he had just spent several days in succession discreetly coming and going through the private entrance, choosing to avoid the casino floor. His mind was on a new job ordered by the Don and he did not wish to be distracted.

That week his only contact with the staff had been when he  telephone
d briefly to order drinks and food, which they would be required to take up to him. They rarely saw him other than that. The reception staff would catch a glimpse of him on his arrival early in the mornings and occasionally on his departure in the evenings. But despite his discretion, the news that he was in temporary residence would circulate amongst the staff like fire spreading through dry woodland. They would all
feel
his presence.

On taking over the lavish apartment, Jack had carried out a number of modernisations including the installation of a slave system to the casino CCTV. He was able to watch
all
the comings and goings of gamblers and staff on the casino floor, from the individual tables to the slots, and the external perimeter of the entire premises. On occasion, he would call down to ask the duty manager to find out who individuals were at certain tables.

The punters fascinated Jack and over the years he had spent a lot of time analysing the mannerisms and body language of the gamblers, from euphoria to desperation. Jack had learned to see through the poker faces that frequented the floor. He knew exactly how most were faring without the need to examine their cards or the colourful gaming chips that sat in front of them like status symbols.

As a known additional
eye in the sky
staff were apprehensive when it was rumoured he was on the premises, harbouring suspicions that each time they passed a camera, their boss might be watching their every move. Their anxiety would often lead to errors of judgment if these periods of anxiety were extended beyond a few days in succession.

The security team was especially nervous of his presence and, while they had a much higher level of rapport with Jack than most other staff, they still viewed his scrutiny as micro management. On occasion, they would deliberately manhandle an innocent bystander out of the casino rather than give Jack the impression they were sitting on their hands. Jack enjoyed their proactive, albeit overzealous, approach to security and, though many an innocent holiday maker had been dealt with roughly in this way; the throughput of punters was robust enough for these indiscretions not to impact on business.  Jack saw no harm in this, feeling that it would also serve as a warning to those who might wish to attempt to cheat the Giordanos out of their
hard earned
booty to stay away.

Jack was not interested in the casino comings and goings of that week. He had more important things on his mind and would soon depart to Europe on
other
business. It would be the first time he had returned to his homeland in a decade and he had spent the recent evenings making small talk with Natasha over how he would like her to go with him to the UK in the future.

His better judgment of course stopped him short of extending her an invitation to go with him on this occasion. She had been quietly disappointed not to at least receive an invitation from her husband, but she understood that for him, to mix business and pleasure, would have been quite unacceptable.

Over the years, Jack had shared with Natasha a copious number of stories about the city of London, his family and of course his country home; a home which had remained unoccupied, but maintained to the highest standard for many years pending his inevitable return.  News of Jack’s upcoming trip would fuel Natasha’s enthusiasm to visit his homeland and at her leisure, she began researching what the family might do given the opportunity to take a holiday in the country of her husband’s birth.

Jack was pacing up and down in the penthouse. It was almost time for him to begin his journey. He had said his goodbyes to Natasha earlier in the day and had chosen to spend the last few hours of his time in the US revising routes for his impending trip and finalising his plans. He would not write any information down.  All the information he required would be stored in his mind’s eye.

With all preparation complete, Jack sat staring at his suitcases. He sighed as his mind wandered back to the life he once had in the UK and how, following his stretch in prison, he had been drawn down this fateful path to where he was on that day. He had no regrets about his life. He had achieved what, even then, most of the Giordano family had thought to be not only unachievable, but unimaginable. Jack was almost certain that the path fate had led him down, had prevented him from self-destructing, though as a family man himself now, he was growing weary of the killing.

Now in his mid-thirties, Jack had already tallied up a headcount of over thirty professional hits, including that fateful first hit in Bournemouth. These had all been attributed to The Phoenix, by worldwide law enforcement agencies, the hit man who had become something of a legend within the underworld. Given the overall amount of names and dates contained within the list of believed victims, it was not difficult to understand how he had gained a legendary status. By anybody’s reckoning, the list extended beyond the years of any regular mortal.

Jack sat pondering caressing the hardened exterior of the case containing the tools of his trade. Inside was a unique and untraceable weapon created with a single purpose in mind; to be used to extinguish one life, the life of an honest and dignified ambassador, an ambassador of the Roman Catholic Church… A man of the cloth.

Jack was not a particularly religious man though the Giordano family were regular attendees at mass and key donators to church funds. How they could match their morals to ordinary church going folk would remain a mystery to him. The congregations, on the other hand, were great admirers of the Giordano family and grateful for all that their charity had brought to those less fortunate within their communities. The Giordano’s had managed to harness a ‘Robin Hood’ style reputation, largely in recent years due to Natasha; whose genuine, empathetic ‘Maid Marion’ approach to the community had boosted reverence of the family name.

There would be no name plaque awaiting Jack in heaven, if indeed such a place existed, and he took little comfort in that thought. This most recent job rattled his conscience more so than any other. To seal the fate of a Bishop would surely be a direct attack on any God, an act from which there would be no coming back. It would appear that the crimes on which the Bishop’s fate had been decided, were nothing more than to make threats, to tell publicly what he knew about financial dealings within the Vatican bank; a bank in which the mafia had been rumoured to hold a considerable vested interest. He had done no harm to mankind and simply despised the fact the church was being corrupted.

That was all Jack had been told and it was more than he needed to know, more than he
wanted
to know. Yet in knowing, he couldn’t help but wonder how these individuals of such high public morals could actually stoop so low as to have this softly spoken and honest man’s life snuffed out like that of a common criminal. The order to send the bishop prematurely to meet his maker had come directly from Don Giordano himself, though it was unlikely to be a decision he would have made in isolation. It bore a veiled message that considerable concern was being felt from the top down within the organization and spanning several oceans, concern that somebody believed only The Phoenix could be trusted to eradicate.

Sitting, staring and wondering… time was drawing on. Jack opened the case one last time before leaving for the airport. He meticulously checked each individual piece of the weapon, like a sculptor admiring his work of art, before replacing each into its carved protective resting place and securing the lid.

There would be no Vinny to collect him that day. Only the powerful heads of families were informed of this latest job. Jack would make his way anonymously to an airfield where he would be met by a jet that would in turn, ferry him across the pond to a quiet private airfield in the Home Counties of the UK.

Everything had been arranged. He would reappear in the UK quietly, as though he had never left, not passing through customs, the contents of his cases would remain unhampered. Lucio, whom he had not seen for some considerable time, had arranged everything to perfection and would be waiting to take him to his home.

“Welcome home Jack!” shouted Lucio, attempting to be heard over the roar of the jet engines. Jack had seen the Bentley as they came in to land and had guessed it would be Lucio’s. He was unable to hear Lucio’s welcome but saw him as he climbed down the few short steps.  He had mustered a wave while desperately attempting to avoid the path of the quickly departing plane.

The disembarkation had been very brief. Before the aircraft had even reached to a standstill, the side door had been opened, on board steps were hastily lowered into position and Jack was waved to the door by the navigator who followed behind him solely to expedite his departure. He passed Jack’s baggage to him before immediately climbing back aboard. There was a justified sense of urgency on the part of pilot and navigator. On board, the pilot looked back through the curtain that separated the cabin from the flight deck, anxiously searching for his colleague and clearly eager to be on the move again before anybody realised they were off their registered flight path. Jack hardly had time to thank the navigator before the door closed and the plane was heading back down the runway of the deserted airfield, gathering speed for take-off.

Jack turned and approached Lucio with his arms wide open. As the roar of the departing plane faded, the two old friends shared a warm embrace. 

“Hello, my friend,” Lucio said finally.

Having exchanged greetings the two retreated to the warmth of Lucio’s car which was parked on the edge of the runway with its engine already purring. Jack glanced around for Lucio’s entourage but there was no one in sight and as he stowed his bags in the boot, Jack was surprised to see Lucio entering the large car via the driver’s door. Slamming the heavy boot door closed, he joined Lucio in the front of his Bentley. Lucio stared across at Jack.

“What, you think I can’t drive?” he cackled before putting the Bentley into drive and heading towards the exit of the airfield. Jack laughed loudly, apologised and settled himself into the passenger seat of the luxurious vehicle.

They headed out and through the small country lanes of Southern England and Lucio and Jack shared stories of those whom they both knew but neither had seen for many years on either side of the pond.  They did not and would not talk of Jack’s business on this occasion, almost as though in respect for the latest victim and what needed to be done. The job had been as delicately handled on this side of the Atlantic as it had within the US.

Lucio would take Jack to the house and, though he had not seen it for many years, would find it exactly as the day he had left it. Lucio had indeed done everything he promised to keep the place as it was, knowing that one day his friend would return.

Approximately an hour after they had set off, Lucio reached the driveway of Jack’s family’s residence. He drove the imposing vehicle onto the drive and the familiar crackle and crunch of tyres grinding gravel could be heard. For Jack the memories began flooding back, the good, the bad and the unthinkable… the times of Jack’s youth, an untamed youth that following the death of his parents, went undirected and wasted upon drugs and women.

“Lucio. Do you remember that girl, I think she was called Lee?” Jack asked through morbid curiosity yet knowing exactly what her name was.

Lucio chose to ignore the question and instead, as the tyres continued grinding their way down the length of the drive, he replied,

“Here we are. I hope you will find it just as you left it, my friend.”

Jack felt a sense of nostalgia and ignored the lack of response to his question. He peered up at the building that held so many memories.  The last time Jack had been in residence, he had been an angry and unfocussed young man and, though more than a decade had passed, he struggled to hide the deep feelings welling up inside him.

Lucio looked across at his friend. They had both visibly aged since their last meeting. 

“Jack, here are the keys. We have made sure you have everything you will need.” He sensed his friend’s unease. “Welcome home, Jack,” he concluded softly and pressed the boot release button signifying the end of the journey and the time for them to go their separate ways once again.