A Covert War Read online

  Maggot arched his eyebrows. ‘Hardly a reason for trusting someone,’ he remarked. ‘All Marcus was doing was running a glorified escort agency. He had no- one on his books; did most of the escorting himself.’

  Susan’s mouth fell open. ‘He wasn’t a gigolo, was he?’

  Maggot laughed out loud. ‘No way; Marcus just needed something to do to relieve his boredom. He’s financially independent, you know.’

  ‘It’s just a hobby for him then?’ she asked.

  He watched her as she stirred the coffee and lifted the cup to her lips. ‘You could say that. He kept threatening to find something ‘in the city’ as he would say, but Marcus is a very impromptu man; very instinctive. He’s had his so called security firm for about a year. Chances are he will give it up before another twelve months has passed. It doesn’t make him any money; just gives him a tag he can hang on himself.’

  ‘You sound disparaging.’

  Maggot shook his head. ‘No, I love the guy. He’s good company and good to have around when there’s an argument going on.’

  Susan made a dismissive noise. ‘I can vouch for that,’ she told him.

  ‘Why, what happened?’

  So Susan told him about the muggers and how Marcus changed from a calm, likeable sort of guy into a person she didn’t recognise. ‘He said you would be proud of him.’

  Maggot laughed. ‘He said that? Good old Marcus.’ He stopped laughing and became quite solemn. ‘But I wonder where he is now? He’s not answering his mobile, and that’s worrying.’

  ‘Why would his office have been stripped bare?’ Susan asked him.

  Maggot shook his head. He picked up his drink and sat there for a while just looking at the glass.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘But Marcus would not have done that without letting me know.’

  Susan frowned. ‘Why should he let you know?’

  Maggot shrugged. ‘I’m his mate; probably his only mate.’

  ‘So somebody else did it for him?’ she suggested.

  Maggot became very serious. ‘Something has happened to Marcus, and I don’t like what I’m thinking.’

  Nor did Susan; as much as she had liked Marcus, she had promised herself that she would not become involved with him. And now she found herself worrying with a complete stranger over Marcus’s fate.

  ‘Do you think it’s connected with my brother, David?’ she put to him. Susan hadn’t told Maggot about the letter she had just received, thinking it might be wise to err on the side of caution.

  Maggot considered the suggestion carefully. ‘If your brother is still alive,’ he said eventually, ‘it’s entirely possible that Marcus has become involved in something that’s way over his head. And if he’s involved in big boys’ games, he’s in serious trouble.’

  ***

  Marcus knew a lot about shotguns. He had often used them on his father’s estate. He had used them during pheasant shoots while following the beaters, and had proved himself to be a remarkably good shot. He knew what choke size was best for whichever bird or clay you were shooting, and the range and spread of the buckshot when it came rocketing out of the end of the barrel. A full choke would give a ten inch spread over ten yards. Ten inches was about big enough to cover most of his stomach. And if Grebo pulled the trigger now, he wouldn’t have to worry about peppering the doorframe because all of the buckshot would go straight through Marcus and probably through the glass door pane in front of which Marcus was standing.

  Grebo stood in the passageway pointing the gun at Marcus. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt regaling the Dallas Cowboys. His hair was cut very close to his head and he stood about the same height as Marcus. He was overweight but probably carried a lot of power in his frame. Not that it mattered because he carried the ultimate power in his hands.

  Marcus didn’t move, but looked steadily at Grebo. He knew he would not survive if he allowed the American to take him prisoner. There were deep woods behind the house and plenty of places to hide a body.

  Marcus was thinking furiously. He knew he was in desperate trouble and couldn’t see a way out of his dilemma. Grebo wasn’t going to shoot him there, but with another man in the house, it wouldn’t take long to gag him and tie him up. The gun would be sufficient to keep Marcus compliant while they tied him.

  Grebo’s visitor suddenly appeared in the passageway. ‘What’s up, Danny?’ He stopped when he saw Grebo and Marcus.

  At that moment, Grebo turned his head a little to say something over his shoulder. Marcus knew that there would not be another chance. Grebo was standing too far away from him to be brought down with a high kick, but Marcus still had his hand on the door handle of the front door, and in that fraction of a second he knew it was time to either die or fly.

  As Grebo turned his head a little, so the twin barrels of the shotgun wavered and pointed away from Marcus. It was only by a small margin but it was all Marcus needed. He whipped the door open, pulling it wide, dived forward and down and rolled to his right as a blast of buckshot roared out of the open door and flew over his tumbling body.

  Marcus leapt to his feet and sprinted away towards the forest behind the house, zigzagging as he ran. Another roar of buckshot followed him and he felt some of the small pellets peppering his shoulder. He veered away, hearing Grebo in pursuit.

  When Marcus got to the wall he didn’t bother to consider how badly damaged his shoulder was, but took the leap without thinking. He grabbed the top of the wall and hauled himself over. A second gun opened fire and thudded into the wall as Marcus dropped to the other side.

  Because it was pitch black behind the wall, Marcus fell awkwardly and turned his ankle. He straightened up and limped away from the wall into the bracken and ferns that edged the dark forest.

  A few minutes after limping into the woods he saw a torch beam flicker, its light catching the foliage of the trees. He heard Grebo call out to his visitor, telling him to head the ‘bastard’ off. Another shot echoed into the night air and Marcus guessed Grebo had fired a chance shot, hoping to bring him down.

  He could now feel the pain in his ankle worsening and also his left shoulder was beginning to throb and feel sticky. But worse still was the fact that he could feel himself getting a little weaker and nauseous.

  He crashed through the undergrowth, not knowing which way to run, and knowing that as he blundered through the forest he was sending out loud signals to Grebo and his visitor.

  He heard a voice shout out; ‘He’s over there!’ A torch beam flickered across the trees about six feet above Marcus’s head.

  He dropped lower and turned right, crashing into tree trunks and falling over logs that had been cut and were laying there ready for shifting by the Forestry Commission during the working day. Eventually Marcus came out on to a forest track. It was wide enough for articulated lorries to drive along, and it gave Marcus a chance to move further away from his pursuers. But it also gave the two men a chance to get a shot off without the trees getting in the way.

  Marcus could feel his strength draining away and he was beginning to stumble now. Each time he fell he knew this gave Grebo an edge. He also knew it wouldn’t be too long before Grebo caught up with him, and it would be there that the American would shoot him.

  And as he fell again for probably the tenth time, he almost blacked out. He waited until he could think clearly, but now he could hear footsteps. He scrambled to his feet and collapsed again. This was it, he thought; the end.

  He heard the footsteps again. They were hurried and came thudding up beside him. He felt an arm go round his waist and a voice say.

  ‘Come on son; get your arse in ‘ere.’

  He felt the softness of a car seat and heard the door closing behind him. Then the surge of acceleration as the car picked up speed and motored away from the forest.

  TEN

  Marcus woke up. He lay still for a moment enjoying the relaxed comfort of a warm bed and a soft pillow beneath his head, his last dream still lingeri
ng in the outer reaches of his consciousness. He opened his eyes and moved his head a little. He could see a saline drip hanging from its steel hook, the clear tube snaking down towards his arm. He lifted his head off the pillow and saw Cavendish sitting in a small armchair a few feet away from him.

  ‘At last, Blake, you are awake.’

  Marcus groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow. ‘Where am I?’ he asked, his voice cracking a little because of the dryness in his throat. ‘And why are you here?’

  Cavendish looked a trifle smug. ‘Well, dear boy, first of all you are in a private clinic. But don’t worry, Her Majesty’s Government is picking up the bill. And the reason I’m here is because I saved your life.’

  Marcus lifted his head sharply. ‘You? There’s no way you lifted me off the ground, Cavendish.’

  ‘A mere detail, Blake. But you blundered into something well out of your league and we had to drag you out.’

  Marcus regarded him quite severely. ‘What do you mean?’

  Cavendish shifted in his chair and leaned forward. ‘We have had Grebo’s house under surveillance for some considerable time. And because we have followed you from the moment you walked out of the safe house, we knew there would be trouble once you showed up.’

  Marcus struggled into a sitting position. ‘You weren’t there, were you?’

  Cavendish shook his head. ‘No; I’m too old for that kind of thing. I let the younger ones do that. And fortunately the man I had on duty recognised the possibility of a disaster in the making and called up the local police. It was one of the local coppers who saved you.’

  Marcus leaned back against his pillow which he had pulled up behind him. ‘So it’s all blown; Grebo knows you’ve been watching him.’

  Cavendish allowed himself a little triumphant smile. ‘No, we were able to explain that there had been a report of a suspicious character in the neighbourhood and we were doing close checks on all the houses in the area.’

  ‘And Grebo fell for that?’

  Cavendish shrugged. ‘Who knows? That was the explanation we gave; it was all we could come up with. What it means now, of course, is that we will have to pull our detail back for a while, just in case Mister Grebo has any suspicions.’

  The door opened and a nurse came in. She walked over to the bed and removed the drip from Marcus’s arm. Then she hung the tube up over the empty bottle and pushed the stand to the rear of the bed.

  ‘Can I go home, nurse?’ Marcus asked.

  The nurse smiled at Marcus and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  ‘What I want to know, Blake is how on earth you learned of Danvor Grebo and the house?’

  Marcus looked away from the closed door, giving up all thoughts of the nurse and turned his attention back to Cavendish. ‘First of all, please call me Marcus; I got used to not being called Blake once I left school. And Grebo’s house? I traced it through the number plate of the Mercedes I saw in the City Road: the one used in the attack at my office.’

  Cavendish looked mortified. ‘How on earth did you catch on to that?’

  So Marcus told him. ‘I saw the whole thing beginning to unfold through my office window. I didn’t realise then what was happening, and by the time it clicked I didn’t have time to say anything to you because I was busy, as I’m sure you will recall.’

  ‘I’ll give you that,’ Cavendish admitted drily. ‘Who do you know that can trace vehicle plates?’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘Can’t tell you that; client confidentiality.’

  Cavendish laughed. ‘It isn’t important, but it very nearly got you killed. And I’m sure your father would have had apoplexy if that had happened.’

  ‘You know my father?’ Marcus asked.

  Cavendish nodded. ‘Your name rang a bell. Then I remembered: Sir Henry Blake. He rang my office a few days ago. I didn’t speak to him but later I remembered that he was on my radar for a while some years back during a ‘catch-all’ enquiry we were doing.’

  It was Marcus’s turn to laugh. ‘Seems to me it was my mother who was on your radar, Cavendish,’ he told him.

  Cavendish frowned. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

  ‘Hong Kong; the handover.’

  It suddenly dawned on Cavendish. ‘Ah yes; the lovely Emily. Your father is a lucky man, Marcus; your mother is quite a beauty.’

  Marcus gave an emphatic nod. ‘Good, now you know where I get my good looks and intelligence from.’

  Cavendish held up his hand. ‘You leave the intelligence bit to the professionals. You’ll learn nothing by getting yourself killed.’

  ‘I did learn something though,’ Marcus told him.

  Cavendish immediately adopted a cautionary look. ‘Oh, what was that?’

  ‘I heard Grebo’s visitor tell him that there’s a shipment due in at Kings Lynn docks in a couple of days and a return load is now in a warehouse at Feltwell. I also heard someone say that the station chief is responsible for organising the shipment going out.’

  Cavendish looked as though he had been run through with a sword. His expression turned to stone and he sat in complete silence for a minute.

  ‘Say that again please.’

  Marcus knew he had said something of extreme importance. More so than that, he realised there was now far more to this man Grebo than he had first assumed. So he repeated it again, but slowly this time.

  Cavendish muttered something and left the room. Marcus was now beginning to feel as though he had walked into a nest if vipers when he broke into Grebo’s house. He could see how lucky he was to have escaped from the man’s clutches because it wouldn’t have been a quick shot to the head, but more than likely a severe beating before being shot. And he was basing that premise simply on the way Cavendish had reacted to his news.

  When Cavendish came back he had Susan Ellis with him. Marcus was stunned at seeing her there with him. She looked quite helpless somehow; as though it wasn’t her fault for being there. She gave Marcus a sorry looked with a weak shrug of her shoulders.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded to know.

  Cavendish offered Susan the chair he had been sitting in earlier. Then he spoke to Marcus.

  ‘Let me explain something,’ Cavendish began. ‘I have been investigating a case that spans many borders and involves citizens of many countries. I have had to be extremely careful and sensitive about whom I approach and on whose toes I tread. Miss Ellis received another letter from her brother two days ago.’ Marcus looked quickly at Susan who nodded. ‘She went to see you, although goodness knows why, and found an empty office.’ At that moment, Marcus did not know his office had been cleaned out by Cavendish’s men. ‘So she contacted me, which of course was the sensible thing to do. I brought Miss Ellis here so she could talk to me on the way. When Miss Ellis mentioned her brother, some pieces of my increasingly complex jigsaw began to fall into place. You, Marcus have just added another piece.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what piece of the jigsaw I’m supposed to have supplied?’ Marcus asked.

  Cavendish shook his head briskly. ‘Not yet Marcus: all in good time.’ He turned to Susan. ‘Now my dear, if you don’t mind, I need to talk with Marcus alone. I’ll see you out.’

  Susan stood up and came over to the side of the bed. ‘I hope you’ll soon be up and about, Marcus. And I do hope one day we can both see David.’

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ he asked her. Susan glanced over at Cavendish before looking back at Marcus. ‘Well, if Mister Cavendish will arrange a taxi for me, I’ll go home and get on with my life. I intend going to the newspapers about David again; they’re the only ones who might be able to help.’

  ‘I wish you luck.’ It was a poor but well-meant offering from Marcus; he could see no way Susan was going to make progress with her self-imposed task.

  ‘Thank you, Marcus,’ she said quickly and leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘Goodbye.’

  She left the room with Caven
dish behind her. Five minutes later the MI6 chief came back. He shut the door and walked over to the bed and sat on the edge.

  ‘I believe,’ he began without preamble, ‘that Danny Grebo is smuggling drugs into the country and shipping arms out. That is why your information has been so vital.’ Marcus frowned heavily. ‘Where the bloody hell would Grebo get arms from?’ he asked disbelievingly.

  ‘That’s my problem,’ Cavendish replied. ‘I believe I know, but I cannot prove it. It isn’t actually Grebo who is shipping the arms out: it’s the CIA. Danny Grebo is part of a chain. His cousin, Milan Janov is another link, but he’s based in Turkmenistan. There are a lot of top, top people caught up in this, Marcus. There are billions of dollars involved too. That’s why you nearly got yourself killed; you blundered into something that is way beyond you. But you opened a door for me and it has given us the opportunity to step through.’

  ‘Us?’ queried Marcus.

  Cavendish nodded. ‘Yes, us; from now on Marcus I want you to work with me.’

  ***

  John Deveraux, the American Military Attaché at the American Embassy knew that Randy Hudson, the CIA chief was worried about something by the way in which he had asked for some of Deveraux’s time. They often spoke about common links within their remit in the United Kingdom, but there was one area in which they were both involved that was rarely discussed, and that was the covert organisation within The Chapter. And it was because of the CIA chief’s look of concern that Deveraux knew their meeting would not bring good news.

  He waited for Hudson to make himself comfortable before asking him why he wanted a meeting. Randy Hudson was in his fifties and beginning to show the ravages of time versus exercise. With fewer and fewer field operations and more desk work, Hudson looked his age.

  ‘There was an incident at Grebo’s house the other night,’ he told Deveraux. ‘Grebo was in the middle of discussing the weekend shipment with one of his men. He’d gone into the kitchen to get some drinks; noticed this guy’s reflection in a mirror. He went back to his visitor and kept him talking while he got hold of a shotgun, then went out and faced the guy. Unfortunately the guy got away. Grebo chased him out into the woods at the back of the house, but the local cops were on the scene mighty quick; Grebo had to back off.’