Urban Assassin (3 page)

‘Here we are,’ said Gerald, pushing open a glass door and ushering them into a room smaller than the ones they’d passed. It looked like a conference room: a long table was set out in the middle, with chairs around it, and a screen on the wall at one end set up for a PowerPoint display. ‘Please, take your seats.’

The six soldiers sat down. Gerald went to the laptop at the far end of the table. His silent companion took his place by the door. Mitch noticed the telltale bulge just by the man’s arm where he kept his gun.

Mitch looked around the room. Cameras were set in the walls and ceiling, trained on them from every angle. There’ll be microphones as well, he thought, and they’ll be picking up every word we say. And quite likely a lip-reader somewhere
outside, watching the screens, to pick up any comments that don’t reach the mikes.

He looked round at the rest of Delta Unit. Like him, they’d settled down on to the chairs and were looking at the screen, taking it all in, not fazed by their surroundings. It was just another mission, but security was tighter than usual. In this world of Secret Intelligence they were outsiders. Suspects to be watched closely.

Gerald pressed a key on the laptop, and a familiar picture appeared on the screen.

‘James Deacon,’ announced Gerald. ‘Your former colleague in Delta Unit, invalided out of the service 18 months ago after suffering severe wounds while on operation with you.’

‘He got blown up working for his country,’ said Two Moons, a note of defensiveness in his voice. ‘He’s on our side.’

Gerald shook his head. ‘He
was
on our side,’ he said smoothly. ‘Since he recovered from his wounds, he’s been acting as an independent operative.’ The
photo of Deacon vanished and was replaced by photos of six men, all middle-aged or elderly. A number was on each picture. ‘These six have been assassinated by Deacon in the last twelve months. Number one was a British industrialist based in the Bahamas. Fingers in many pies, lots of them suspicious. Deacon was hired by a rival gang to take him out.

‘Number two is the former president of a small African state. Officially he died from natural causes. But we have evidence to suggest that Deacon assassinated him using a lethal dose of a narcotic.’

‘How did he get close enough to manage that?’ asked Tug. ‘Most of these politicians are paranoid about letting anyone near them except their very closest cronies.’

‘Exactly,’ said Gerald. ‘That’s why we’re showing you these – so you can see just how good Deacon is.’

The pictures of the six men vanished from the screen.

‘There’s no need for me to go into the rest of the
cases,’ said the spy. ‘It’s enough for you to know that these six men are dead, all at Deacon’s hands, despite having the most incredible protection and security around them.’

‘How is one man able to do all this on his own?’ asked Benny.

‘He doesn’t,’ said Gerald.

Another series of shots appeared on the screen. Even without the uniforms Mitch would have been able to tell what these men did for a living. Special Forces soldiers. There was something in their faces: Hard men, trained to kill. Trained to succeed in any circumstances. From the insignia on the collars of their uniforms it was clear that they came from a variety of nations.

‘Deacon hires other former Special Forces soldiers as mercenaries for his operations,’ said Gerald. ‘It seems he puts together a hand-picked team for every operation he leads.’

‘How many on each team?’ asked Benny.

‘That depends on the target,’ answered Gerald.
‘From what we can gather, sometimes it’s four, sometimes six. If it’s a particularly hard target, he has been known to use up to eight, but never more than that.’

Mitch nodded. The bigger the team, the more difficult it was to keep control.

‘Why haven’t you been able to stop him so far?’ asked Nelson. ‘In cases like this, there has to be a money trail. Follow the money, you find Deacon.’

Again, the Intelligence officer shook his head. ‘He’s too clever for that. All payments are in cash, so there’s no money trail. We usually get a rough idea of where the original payment comes from, but only after the event, when things fall into place.’

‘But not in this case?’ asked Mitch.

‘But not in this case, Mr Mitchell,’ agreed Gerald. ‘For once, we are ahead of the game. We have intelligence that the money for this operation is being paid from South America. That doesn’t necessarily mean the people behind it are South American, of course – it might just be a convenient
place to move money from. But we also received a tip-off on where this money was going.’

‘A tip-off from who?’ asked Mitch. Even as he asked the question, he knew what the answer would be.

‘Need to know, Mitch,’ said Nelson, beating Gerald to it.

‘Yeah, but in this case I think we
do
need to know,’ persisted Mitch. ‘For all we know, this story is a fake and your informant is winding you up in exchange for some ready cash.’

Gerald shook his head. ‘I appreciate your comments, Mr Mitchell, but we are pretty confident about the intelligence we’ve received.’ He hesitated, then said: ‘Without going into details, we have an agent operating
inside
the organisation in South America, whose job has been to keep an eye on money transactions. Believe me, we can trust this information.’

‘So, you’re suggesting Deacon’s assembled a team for this operation?’ asked Benny.

Gerald nodded.

‘Who are they?’ asked Tug.

Gerald gave a sigh. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have that information yet,’ he admitted. ‘But we have promises of information from our counterparts in Europe and elsewhere; particularly France and South Africa. We believe they have some very strong leads and we hope to have information from them shortly. As soon as we do, you’ll know.’

After the session at Spook Central, the men of Delta Unit went their separate ways. Tug had arranged to meet his parents, Lord and Lady Tait, at their town house in Kensington; Nelson and Benny both had private business of their own. Mitch, Two Moons and Gaz watched them as they walked off.

‘I betcha Benny’s private business involves a girlfriend,’ commented Two Moons.

‘A girlfriend?’ echoed Gaz.

‘I happen to know that Benny has a girlfriend called Sally who lives in Battersea, and he goes to see her whenever he’s in London,’ Two Moons said.

‘I thought he had a girlfriend in Texas.’ Mitch frowned.

‘He does!’ confirmed Two Moons. ‘And if they
ever meet up, boy is he gonna be in trouble.’

‘What about the colonel?’ asked Gaz. ‘He got a girlfriend, too?’

‘I never ask questions about his private life,’ said Two Moons.

‘You know about Benny’s though,’ pointed out Gaz.

‘That’s different,’ said Two Moons. ‘Benny himself told me in confidence.’

‘And now you’ve told us,’ said Mitch.

‘Which proves one thing to you two guys,’ said Two Moons solemnly. ‘You should never tell me anything you want to keep a secret.’

Mitch laughed. ‘You’re supposed to be a comrade! Comrades look out for one another, whatever the situation!’

‘Yeah,’ said Two Moons, ‘that’s what comrades do.’ His tone had suddenly altered. The humour was gone and he looked serious.

Mitch looked at Gaz, and saw that he also had a concerned look on his face.

‘What’s the matter?’ Mitch asked.

Two Moons and Gaz both looked like they were about to speak, then they hesitated, as if they weren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. It was Two Moons who finally spoke.

‘You doin’ anything right now, Mitch?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Mitch.

‘Then you fancy having a cup of coffee with me and Gaz?’

‘Sure,’ nodded Mitch. ‘Where?’

‘Somewhere we can talk in private without being overheard,’ said Two Moons. ‘I was thinking of Gaz’s place.’

‘Why mine?’ demanded Gaz.

‘Because I ain’t got me a proper place in this country,’ said Two Moons. ‘Just a poky little bedsit, and my room at the barracks. At your place the three of us could sit and talk without feeling like sardines in a tin.’

Mitch studied his surroundings as the three soldiers sat in Gaz’s living room. No matter how neat
and careful Gaz was about his weapons and his equipment, he was very different when he was at home. Clothes had been abandoned on the backs of chairs. There was an empty pizza box poking out from under the settee. A pile of washing filled the small table. It reminded Mitch of his own bedroom as a teenager.

Two Moons ignored the mess, he was too intent on venting his feelings to Mitch.

‘The truth is, Mitch, me and Gaz don’t feel right about this business with Jimmy Deacon,’ said Two Moons.

‘He was our pal,’ added Gaz. ‘And now we’re being asked to kill him.’

‘That happens in war,’ said Mitch. ‘Friends and family can end up on opposite sides.’

‘This isn’t just a case of being on opposite sides,’ insisted Two Moons. ‘You saw those photos that spook guy, Gerald, showed us of the guys Jimmy hit: A gangster. Some dictator. Hell, those are the guys we take out all the time! That’s
what we’re supposed to do!’

‘But we don’t do it for money,’ pointed out Mitch.

‘We get paid,’ countered Two Moons.

Mitch laughed. ‘There’s a bit of a difference between what we get paid as soldiers, and what Jimmy’s picking up for hits like these,’ he said. ‘And this one’s the British prime minister. You saying he’s a fair target?’

Two Moons shook his head. ‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘I’m just wondering if they got it right. OK, Jimmy hit these other guys, the crooks. But just because he did that it doesn’t mean he’s the one behind this.’

‘You work with a guy for long enough and you get to know him,’ continued Gaz, nodding in agreement. ‘Jimmy wasn’t that kind of bloke. Headstrong, a bit wild, but nothing dangerous. Not to us, anyway.’

‘And he saved our lives,’ said Two Moons. ‘Me and Gaz’s.’

Mitch looked at him, curious.

‘It was in South America,’ said Gaz. ‘We were
on a mission, trying to stop these rebels killing civilians and taking hostages.’ He grimaced at the memory. ‘Me and Two Moons got separated from the rest of the unit, and were caught by about half a dozen of the rebels. They dragged us to this clearing in the jungle and made us kneel down, hands on our heads.’

Two Moons shook his head at the memory. ‘They were all armed to the teeth,’ he said. ‘Two of them had automatic rifles pointed straight at us. One touch on those triggers and we’d have been blown to bits. They were just about to pump us full of bullets when suddenly Jimmy bursts out of the jungle and
Pop! Pop!
takes out the two guys who are about to shoot us and then fires a burst at the others. All six of them dead within seconds.’ Two Moons shook his head. ‘Guy saves your life like that, it makes you look at him in a different way, know what I mean. There’s a bond between you.’

Mitch nodded. He knew what Two Moons meant. But Two Moons wasn’t finished yet.

‘We’re being asked to hunt down a guy who saved our lives and kill him, based on some story they’ve picked up.’

‘The story’s from more than one source,’ said Mitch.

‘That’s what they said about the weapons of mass destruction in Iraq,’ said Two Moons. ‘Turns out all the sources picked it up from the same place.’

Gaz got up. ‘I’m making myself another coffee,’ he said. ‘You guys want some?’

Mitch and Two Moons didn’t have time to answer. There was a sudden explosion, and Gaz’s bedroom door hurtled towards them in a ball of flame.

The three soldiers instinctively dropped to the floor, the flying door missing them by inches before it crashed into the living room window. As shards of glass rained down on them, Gaz acted swiftly. He snatched up a fire extinguisher and sprayed foam on the burning door before the flames could catch hold of the rest of the flat.

Mitch and Two Moons had leapt to their feet and they quickly checked the rest of the apartment for explosives or a sign of an attacker. There were none.

The explosion had caused panic throughout Gaz’s apartment block, and his phone was already ringing. Gaz ignored it while he finished making sure the fire was well and truly out. Then the soldiers heard sirens and saw the blue flashing
lights of fire engines and the police drawing up in the street outside.

‘Someone’s called 999,’ said Mitch.

Two Moons shook his head. ‘That sure is some fast response,’ he said, suspiciously.

‘Exactly,’ agreed Mitch. ‘That call must have been made before the explosion. I think someone is sending us a message.’

It took a while to deal with the firefighters and police. It looked as if there was going to be a whole load of paperwork for Mitch, Gaz and Two Moons to fill out, but then Gerald the Intelligence officer turned up, flashed a card at the Chief Fire Officer and the police officers, and they all left, no questions asked.

Nelson arrived soon after.

The five men stood in Gaz’s flat looking at the smouldering door on the floor.

‘This is a warning from Deacon,’ said Gerald.

‘You don’t know that!’ snapped Two Moons.

‘Who else could it be?’ asked Gerald.

Two Moons looked angry. ‘Could be anybody!’ he said defensively. ‘We’ve upset a lot of people in our time.’

‘I haven’t!’ protested Gaz.

‘Anyway, how come you’re here so quickly?’ asked Two Moons suspiciously. ‘You got someone watching us?’

Gerald shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but we do monitor all emergency calls. When we spotted that one of the calls was about an explosion at one of Delta Unit’s flats, it seemed obvious that it had to be connected.’

‘Jimmy could have killed you, Gaz,’ said Mitch. ‘If you’d been in your room when that bomb went off . . .’

‘If it
was
Jimmy!’ argued Two Moons.

Nelson was kneeling down beside the burnt door, examining it. ‘I don’t think this was meant to kill you,’ he said. He pointed to the residue on the other side of the door. ‘There was just a tiny amount of plastic stuck there, with some paint
thinner sprayed on the door to make the explosion look more spectacular.’ He used a pen to lift up the burnt remains of a small battery fixed to a piece of thin wire. The end of the wire was still stuck to the door.