Gray Redemption (Tom Gray #3) (27 page)

Harvey poured himself a
coffee.  Impasse was an understatement, he thought.  The CIA had
decided it might be prudent to know what information MI5 had received and had
suddenly been keen to share all they had on Mansour.

Their discussions had led to the
drone being recalled while they figured out what was happening within
Al-Qaeda.  Until they could get a handle on what was causing the
in-fighting, they thought it best to maintain the status quo. 

“Any thoughts as to what you’ll
do once this is over?”  Harvey asked Gray.

“First thing is to get my money
back,” Gray told him.  “I checked the balance of my PNB account this
morning, and it was cleaned out a couple of weeks ago.  There was over
half a million dollars in there, and Farrar is the only other person with
access to it.”

“I’m sure that once the
government’s involvement in this is established, a suitable compensation
package will be arranged.”

Gray shook his head.  “I’m
not going to take millions in taxpayer’s money.  All I want is
what’s
mine, and Farrar to get what’s coming to him.”

“I think that last one’s a
given.”  Harvey said, finishing off his drink.  “I’ll give you half
an hour to get in position.  Call me when you’re set to go and I’ll give Veronica
the nod.”

Gray shook his hand. 
“Thanks, Andrew, for everything.  I know you didn’t agree with what we did
last year, but...”

“Yeah, I know,” Harvey
said.  “Look, I gotta go.  Call me when you’re set.”

*
* *

Farrar was just about to tuck into a chicken Caesar sandwich when his
mobile chirped, and he wiped his fingers on a handkerchief before answering it.

“Farrar.”

“Hi, James.”

Farrar immediately lost his appetite, though he tried his best to be
pleasant.

“What can I do for you, Veronica?”

“I know the operation is over, James, but we’ve come across some
information that suggests there may have been more to the Levine and Campbell
case than first meets the eye.”

“Really?”
  he asked, trying to remain calm despite the
feeling of dread that accompanied every conversation with Ellis.  “What
would that be?”

“Something about an agreement they made with the government,” Ellis said,
and Farrar almost dropped the phone. 

How could she possibly have known about that?  Had one of Gray’s
cronies left instructions with a solicitor to leak the details if they died, or
had one or more of them shared their little secret with a  third party?

Whatever it was, he would have to nip it in the bud.

“Sounds interesting,” he said.  “What kind of agreement?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone,” Ellis replied. 
“How
about we meet up.
  Are you free in thirty minutes?”

For this, he would miss his own funeral.  “Sure.  We can take a
walk along the embankment, just like the old days.”

Ellis agreed and hung up, and Farrar’s mind began racing as he considered
his next move.  Denying any knowledge was a starting point, but Ellis was
tenacious, like a terrier with a tennis ball.  The first thing he needed
to do was find out how much she really knew and how much was speculation. 
Whatever she brought to the table, he would dismiss it as conspiracy theorists
seeking their fifteen minutes of fame and get her to drop it.  With Gray
and his buddies gone there would be no-one to corroborate any stories, and the
DA notices he’d sent to the media would ensure the public never got to hear
about it.

Coming up with an explanation for the notice was easy:  they had
intelligence that a group was planning to claim Tom Gray was still alive in the
hope of reigniting the debate on judicial process.  This group had been
threatening vigilante activity and the government felt it wasn’t in the
country’s best interest to give them the publicity they craved.  

He left his office feeling a little apprehensive, but with the
i’s
dotted,
he just had to cross this
final t to put the matter to rest.  When he reached the street he opened
his umbrella and sidestepped a few of the deeper puddles, then made his way to
the Albert Embankment. Footfall was sparse, save for the few joggers who braved
the elements day in, day out.  That suited Farrar perfectly. 
The fewer people around to eavesdrop on their conversation, the
better.

His watch told him he was seven minutes early, and he hoped Ellis would be
punctual so that he could get out of the rain and back to his meager
lunch.  He walked slowly towards
Lambeth
Bridge,
the murky, grey waters of the Thames on his left, the snarling traffic crawling
past on his right. Coupled with the awful weather, he found the entire scene
depressing and promised to treat himself later in the evening.  Perhaps an
evening in with a bottle of wine and the intern he’d been seeing on and off for
the last two years.

Yes, an evening with Michael would cheer him up.

“Hello, James.”

Farrar spun but a hand gripped his elbow and urged him onwards.

“Keep walking,” Tom Gray said.  “There’s a van ten yards ahead. 
I want you to get in.”

Farrar planted his feet, his jaw hanging open as he struggled to understand
how a dead man could be standing next to him.  Palmer had confirmed the
kill himself, which meant the
assassin
had either been
compromised, or he’d chosen to switch sides.  Had Gray offered him more
money not to complete the job?

“How…?”

 Gray turned to face him.  “Come with me and I’ll explain
everything.”

Farrar tried to pull away but couldn’t escape Gray’s grip.  “Don’t be
stupid, James.  You’ve read our files, so you know what Jeff Campbell can
do with a sniper rifle at a thousand yards.  Do as you’re told, or he’ll
put a round through the base of your spine, and as you lie screaming on the floor,
he’ll take out each kneecap and elbow.  If you survive, you’ll be paying
someone to wipe your arse for the rest of your life.”

Campbell was alive, too?  The news just got worse and worse, and
Farrar was overwhelmed by so many revelations in such a short time.  One
minute he thought the operation had been wrapped up, and now he discovered that
his targets were alive and well, not to mention armed.

Gray could see Farrar was finding it difficult to make a decision, so he
pushed him up against the embankment wall and pulled his collar mic up to his
mouth.  “Warning shot, please.”

A second later he heard the
thwang
as the
7.62mm round hit the top of the wall an inch away from Farrar’s back before
ricocheting off into the river.

Farrar got the message and began walking, his mind still straining to come
to terms with the situation. 

In the car the surprises kept coming.  Carl Levine twisted in the
driver’s seat and smiled with a distinct lack of benevolence.

“Hi, Jimmy.  Bet you didn’t expect to see me again.”

Farrar ignored him and turned to Gray.  “So what happens now,
Tom?”  He tried to sound confident, defiant, but his voice dripped fear as
the car set off.

“You’re going to record your confession and admit everything you’ve done
over the last thirteen months.”

After a moment’s thought, Farrar began to relax.  With the initial
prospect of pain and death banished, his mind began to focus once more. 
He looked out of the window as the city flashed past, and a smile appeared on
his face when he
realised
that once again he had the upper hand.  He would play Gray’s game and walk
away, if not totally unscathed, then at least with his life intact.  It
would require some clean-up work and a lot of political spin, but those
mechanisms were already available and he would make best use of them.

“What’s so funny?”  Gray asked.

Farrar looked him in the eye.  “The irony,” he said.  “Here we
are, a year on, and you’re about to parade yet another hostage in front of the
cameras.  Not a tactic that’s worked well for you in the past.”

Gray ignored him and gave him a quick frisk search, being none too gentle
in his approach.  Farrar was unarmed, but Gray took his phone, cranked
open the window and dropped it into the street.

They drove for another twenty minutes in silence, both men deep in thought.

Levine eventually pulled up at an old industrial estate in the east end,
the businesses long since gone,
each
falling victim to
the global recession.  They pulled up next to the door of the last unit
and Gray urged Farrar out of the car.  He unlocked the chain securing the
entrance and pushed Farrar forward, along a corridor and into what had once
been the warehouse of a greetings card manufacturer.  The fixtures and
fittings had gone, but boxes and rubbish littered the floor.

Levine followed them in, but Gray stopped him near the door.  “I’ve
got this, Carl.”

“Tom, the guy’s a snake.  I don’t trust him.”

“Nor do I,” Gray agreed, “but I can handle him on my own.”

Levine looked disconsolate.  “I’ll be waiting outside,” he said. 

“No need, Carl,” Gray said, pulling the Browning from his jacket. 
“I’m armed, he’s not.  Take the car back to the hotel and I’ll join you
when I’m done.”  Levine was about to protest again but Gray put a hand on
his shoulder.  “Go.  I’ll walk back.”  As an afterthought, he
called Carl back.  “If I’m not there by two, you know what to do.”

Levine threw one last, malevolent look at Farrar and left.

Gray waited until he heard the car start and pull away before waving to a
chair, which was facing a video camera mounted on a tripod. 

“Sit.”

Farrar obligingly took a seat, unbuttoning his coat and making
himself
comfortable.

“You know, there’s really not a lot of point in going through with this
charade, Tom.  No-one’s going to let this air to the public, and I mean
no-one.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” Gray said as he stood behind the
camera, working on the focus.  “What if I told you I had a British news
channel ready and waiting for me to deliver this recording, eh?”

Farrar seemed less cocksure.  “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?
  Because of the DA notice you slapped on
them?”

Gray watched his expression and smiled.  “They were more than happy to
help once they found out that the person who’d issued the notice would be the
one confessing.”

Farrar went from uncomfortable to angry in an instant.  “You’re
wasting your time,” he snarled, getting to his feet.  “You really think
anyone will take notice of a confession extracted under duress?”

“They’ll listen,” Gray said.  “They have to listen.”

Farrar took a couple of steps towards him.  “You really are as stupid
as you look, aren’t you?  You’re a little kid playing a big boys’ game,
and you don’t even
realise
how —”

Gray fired at the floor a few inches from Farrar’s feet, the sound of the
shot echoing around the room.

“That was your last chance.”  Gray pointed the gun at Farrar’s face
and his demeanor turned sour.   “You
either sit
down and
answer my questions, or I find another way.”

Farrar was about to suggest he do just that when Gray forced him into the
chair with the barrel of the pistol.

 “And if I have to find another way, there’ll be no need to keep you
alive.”

Farrar held his tongue.  The last thing he wanted to do was push Gray
too far and overplay his hand.

“Get on with it,” he said, straightening his already immaculate tie.

Gray went to the camera and hit the record button and then moved next to
Farrar, careful to keep the gun out of view.

“My name is Tom Gray.”  He paused, more to compose himself than for
dramatic effect.  “Some of you may not believe me, but I’m sure subsequent
audio comparisons with my recordings last year will convince you.”

Farrar winced.  He hadn’t considered forensic confirmation, so any
attempt to dismiss Gray as a delusional imposter was not going to fly.

“I have a remarkable tale to tell,” Gray continued, “and this man, James
Farrar from Her Majesty’s government, is going to confirm everything I say.”

Gray moved back behind the camera and zoomed in on his subject.  Once
he was happy with the way Farrar was framed, he placed the pistol on the camera
case and pulled a set of prompt cards from his inside pocket.

“On the thirtieth of April last year, it was announced to the world that I
had died from the injuries I’d suffered ten days earlier.  In actual fact,
I was secreted out of Britain on a military transport plane and taken to Subic
Bay in the Philippines.  The order to do this came from the Home
Secretary.”

Gray looked at Farrar.  “Is that what happened?”

“That is correct.”

Gray moved on to the next card, but before he could read it, Farrar jumped
in.  “I also want to say that I am agreeing to everything because this man
is armed and I fear for my life.”