A Covert War (6 page)

‘Nothing a good nurse can’t handle.’

Cavendish mumbled something and then spotted the waitress walking towards him with his tea. He waited until it was served and the waitress had left before opening up his conversation with the Minister.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me here, Minister. I find it useful to have the public around with all the noise and what have you. And I’m sure we can keep this in house as it were.’

The Minister smiled. ‘So long as what you wish to talk about does not fall within the parameters of my role with the Cabinet,’ he replied.

Cavendish shifted slightly, moving his body in such a way that it opened up into a friendly gesture. ‘It has nothing to do with your job, Minister, more to do with you.’

The Minister’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, in what way?’

Cavendish looked across at the minder and held his hands open above the table for a brief moment. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small envelope.

‘I would like you to look at these photographs, Minister and say nothing nor do anything.’

He slid the envelope across the table. The minister reached forward, a curious expression beginning to scramble his features. He opened the envelope and pulled out the photographs. Immediately the colour drained from his face and he looked across at Cavendish.

‘What the blazes?’

Cavendish held up his hand. ‘I know how you got the bruises and the scratches on your face, Minister. Now, would you like to arrange to speak to me privately, with or without your lawyer?’

Cavendish’s expression was as hard and cold as iron. It also looked regal; rather like an eagle on its eyrie, its prey struggling beneath the vicious talons that were sunk deep into its victim’s flesh.

And standing above them, leaning against the railings, Marcus was busy photographing the whole thing.

***

David Ellis heard the sound of a vehicle grinding its way across the rocky ground towards the compound. He sat up and struggled to his feet, then edged his way carefully to the cave opening.

David had hobbled out of the cave once the attack was over and struggled down to the compound. In all he counted about twenty bodies as he searched among the ruins and the devastation. There was nobody left alive.

He made it into what was left of the house and began searching around for something to help him get his gag off. He came across an old, wooden coat hook and managed to remove his gag by slipping the edge of the hook between his cheek and the gag and pulling down sharply.

Once the gag was off, David was able to find a container of water. Although it was lying flat on its side and most of the water had dribbled out, he was at least able to get down to it like a dog and fidget with it until he had drank enough to quench his thirst.

He knew he would find some food because the men would have been preparing supper when the attack came. He came across a cupboard, its door shattered and hanging from its hinges. He found fruit, bread and some meat. But before he attempted to eat anything, he went in search of the man who had been his jailer. If he could find that man’s body, he was sure he would find the keys to his handcuffs.

It took David about twenty minutes to find the body and another twenty minutes of sheer frustration before he could bring his hands round to the front of his body and get the key to his handcuffs. Once he had removed them he had to rub his wrists gently to restore some life into them. He picked up the dead man’s Kalashnikov machine gun, took a bandolier from the man’s shoulders and went back into the house to eat.

David woke suddenly as the noise of a diesel engine invaded his sleep. He realised that he must have slept through the night because there was daylight penetrating the cave. He had chosen to stay in the cave because he was afraid of being alone in the shattered house.

He looked down towards the compound as a Toyota pick-up truck bumped its way across the terrain. He tightened his grip on the Kalashnikov and waited, not really knowing what he would do. He wasn’t sure if the men in the pick-up were hostile or not. It was an irony that didn’t escape him because his kidnappers were hostile by definition, and the previous night’s attackers were not concerned about searching for him, so they obviously had no interest in his predicament. That’s if they even knew he existed.

So he watched and waited, and what he saw began to convince him that the men who had turned up were friends of those who had died fighting. He could see by their body language the despair that would have been seen on their faces. And that put him on the horns of a dilemma; should he go out to them or remain hidden in the cave?

Suddenly one of the men barked out some instructions and began sweeping his arm round in a gesture that looked like he was urging them to search for something, or somebody; survivors perhaps?

It took no more than five minutes before they were back together in a small group. There was a huddled conversation and the one who appeared to be the leader began looking around again. Then he suddenly pointed towards the cave where David was watching, and David realised then that it was over; there was no way he could offer up any resistance to these men because he was outnumbered and, in a sense, defenceless. So he dropped the Kalashnikov to the ground and the bandolier and walked out of the cave with his hands in the air.

There were five men in the group, and as soon as they spotted David they broke into a run and came rushing across the rocks towards him. David stopped and let them come to him.

They were all wearing caftans, a traditional, hooded garment but no headgear. Each one had a large leather belt around his waist with a fearsome looking knife and sheath hanging from it. One of them spoke to David in English.

‘Ellis. What happened here?’

David remembered him although he had only seen once since he was taken from the hospital.

It was Abdul Khaliq.

David simply gestured towards the compound and the house and explained what happened. His explanation was succinct and left Abdul in no doubt that the attackers were intent on one thing: murder.

‘They didn’t find you?’

David shook his head. ‘They didn’t look. Unfortunately it wasn’t a rescue mission.’

Abdul considered this for a moment, not taking his eyes off David. Then he said, ‘You will help my men bury these people. We must cover them so the wolves and jackals cannot finish what they started during the night.’ He turned away and began walking off towards the grim scene that lay before him. Then he stopped and turned towards David.

‘They may not have come for you, my friend, but this may be the beginning of your freedom.’

And with that curious statement, he wheeled away and hurried towards the morbid task that awaited them.

***

Susan Ellis had been home from work little more than an hour when the phone rang. She lived on the ground floor of a Victorian house that had been converted into flats, and was in the kitchen at the rear of the house preparing her evening meal. She had no idea who could be calling her. She put the knife down that she had been using and wiped her hands on a paper kitchen towel, pulled off her apron and went through to her front room to answer the phone.

‘Susan Ellis.’

‘Good evening Susan, this is Marcus Blake.’

She frowned and did not recognise the name for a moment. Then she realised who it was. ‘Marcus Blake? How did you get my number?’

‘With high skill, extreme perseverance and a modicum of luck. Can we talk?’

‘What about?’

‘Well, I would prefer to speak to you face to face.’

Susan wasn’t keen on inviting a comparative stranger round to her home. ‘Can’t you tell me what it is you want to say over the phone?’

‘I could,’ he replied honestly, ‘but I have something I want you to see and I can’t exactly show you that over the phone.’

‘Oh, well why not try to explain what it is that you want to show me?’

Marcus sensed her extreme reluctance, but he was determined to push her until she relented.

‘I cannot do that, but what I can do is invite you out to dinner and we can talk. It will be in public and you can leave whenever you wish. How does that suit you?’

She found herself nodding. ‘Well, that is reasonable, but I was already preparing a meal for myself.’

‘It’s no fun dining alone, Susan. I know because I do it so often.’

‘Is this about my brother?’ she asked him. Susan felt a little lift in her spirit and her skin tingled in anticipation. It was a momentary thing and passed quite quickly.

‘Have dinner with me Susan; there’s something you need to know.’

‘Bad news?’

‘No, no,’ he said quickly. ‘Sorry, Susan, I didn’t mean that kind of news. Look,’ he urged her, ‘meet me at the Regent Restaurant. It’s at the bottom of your road. Eight o’clock. I’ll see you there.’

Marcus put the phone down and looked at his watch. One hour; plenty of time to get across to Clapham Common and wait for Susan to turn up, as he was sure she would.

***

James Purdy sat opposite Cavendish in an office in the House of Commons. He looked mortified as the security man spelled out the consequences of his predilection for young girls, particularly those who were brought into the country illegally.

‘You want me to resign, is that it?’ Purdy asked.

Cavendish shook his head. ‘That isn’t for me to say, Minister. But I’m sure you can see the problem; we have here a Minister of State knowingly consorting with illegal immigrants for reasons of sexual perversion. It’s clear that you are laying yourself open to blackmail, and that would, or could jeopardise the security of our nation.’

‘How did you get the bloody photographs?’ the minister demanded to know.

Cavendish shrugged. ‘Well, unless you want a detailed account of how we have been suspicious of you and what you’ve been up to for ages, I’m sure it doesn’t take brains to realise that we do have our ways and means. We usually succeed in the end.’

Purdy stood up, quite angry and obviously worried. ‘I could deny it all,’ he ranted. ‘Say I’ve been set up, the photos have been doctored. I’m a minister of the crown for God’s sake. And why on earth are MI6 involved in this? Aren’t you supposed to be looking after our overseas interests?’

‘Charity isn’t the only thing that begins at home, Minister,’ Cavendish reminded him. ‘Our overseas responsibilities begin here as well. Something as Secretary of State for International Development you seem to take very lightly.’

‘Damn it Cavendish,’ he shouted, slamming his hand down on the desk top. ‘What are you trying to do? A little harmless, private fun and you poke your bloody noses in.’ He stopped. Cavendish was holding up his hand.

‘Your harmless, private fun resulted in the death of one of those girls. She was found in a rubbish skip not fifty yards away from where you sodomised and raped her; you and your companions. So don’t talk to me about private, harmless fun, Minister. You are in deep, deep trouble and will go to prison for a very long time.’

Cavendish was getting angry and it was the last thing he wanted to do. He also wanted the minister to have a clear head and be given an opportunity to redeem himself by cooperating and agreeing to what it was Cavendish had in mind. He wished he’d been lying about the girl being found dead in a rubbish skip; for all the good that men like the Cabinet Minister do for those poor girls, and the life they put them into, they might just as well be dead before they were used and abused.

‘But there is a way out for you,’ he told him, ‘for your own peace of mind and for the security of our country.’

The Minister looked up expectantly, his brow furrowing into deep creases. ‘What are you talking about?’ He snapped the question out, his demeanour now very much like the cornered animal that he was, and no longer the urbane, cabinet minister that was seen so often in the debating chamber of the House.

Cavendish had no pity for him or his ilk. All he wished to do was get the truth out of the man and then rid the country of the vermin that he was. It galled him to offer the minister a way out.

‘First of all Minister, I want the names of the two men who were with you during your little bit of fun, as you so describe it.’

The minister shook his head vigorously. ‘Out of the question; I don’t even know them.’

Cavendish looked at his watch. ‘You can begin by telling lies if you wish,’ he said, looking up, ‘but eventually you will tell me what it is I want to know.’

The minister stretched his hands out across the table; his manner more compliant. ‘Look, it’s the truth; I do not know those men. We have to arrive incognito and remain so, for obvious reasons.’ He dropped his voice a little. ‘But I can get their names for you. Would that be enough?’

‘That would depend how long it would take you.’

The minister drew his hands back and relaxed a little. He thought he recognised the beginning of the bargaining; the dealing that would be done in order to minimise the risk of exposure and subsequent scandal, to say nothing of a stretch in prison. He also thought he could see a way out of the danger he would undoubtedly face once others higher up the chain learned of his own misjudgement.

‘I could have the names by midnight,’ he told Cavendish.

The security man didn’t trust him, but ironically the cards were in the minister’s hands. If Cavendish had him arrested by Special Branch, the news would break immediately and be splashed all over the front pages. The Prime Minister would have no need to sack his Cabinet colleague because the minister would have resigned immediately, and the faceless ones, those who Cavendish was really after, would fade away into the background and put their operation on hold. No, arresting the minister would serve no useful purpose at the moment.

He looked at his watch again. ‘I will give you until this time tomorrow,’ he told the minister. ‘If you come up with those names and anything else you can tell me about them, I will withhold any action against you.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll be here tomorrow. Oh, and please understand that you will now be under surveillance until then ? just in case you decide to skip the country.’