Limit of Exploitation (17 page)

As his visitor turns to speak to roid rash John could see lumpy pink burn scars on the left side of his head, scaring his ear and neck. This was no shrink or lawyer; this guy had been around the block. His accent was clipped and very English.

“Thank you”

It was an order not a real thank you, and it meant piss off. Without saying a word roid rash nods and leaves the room, eyeballing John on the way out. John's new mate addressed him with a beaming smile.

“Good morning Sergeant Logan.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Sergeant? I haven't been called that in a while. I didn't know I still was a sergeant.”

“Oh yes, yes you are.”

“Well I suppose you can't court martial a civilian eh? I've been getting interviewed for months now, Special Branch, Police, shrinks, but I've never been interviewed in here. Never had a visitor without an escort, what makes you so special?”

“My name is Ross. The department I work for needs to tie off some loose ends and given the nature of this particular set of circumstances, it's better done quietly and in private.”

John half smiles and nods to himself. “I wondered how long it would be. Which is it? Box? SIS? You saunter in here with your Guards tie and spy master pitch? Jesus, you couldn't make this shit up.”

Ross places his hands in his pockets and regards John with serious eyes.

“Sergeant, at the moment I'm the only thing standing between you and about three hundred years in prison.” He pauses for effect. “There are those that wish to hang you out to dry, so if I were you I'd knock off the attitude”

John stares hard at the table before looking up. “So, what do you want?” “Captain Mayfield, how did she die?”

“I've been through this a dozen a times”

“Not with me you haven't”

John shrugs. “Phil Bridge shot her when she drew down on me. She shoved a gun in my face and Phil reacted”

“She wanted Miroslav, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, did she fuck, and it wasn't the time for chit-chats.”

Ross takes a seat opposite John. “Have you ever heard of an Operation called Bluejay?”

“No, should I have?”

“Actually no. Bluejay was a covert surveillance project we ran in Serbia some years ago. Its purpose was to gather information and intelligence on Serbian war criminals that operated in the former Yugoslavia. Captain Mayfield was intimately involved in the Operation, but was withdrawn after it was feared she'd been compromised.”

This was breaking news to John. “Go on.”

“One of our local assets reported that a British agent working on Bluejay had indeed been passing information regarding the operation to the Serbs.”

“Your saying this was Sam?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so. We pulled Captain Mayfield from Serbia and sent her to Belfast for a while, we had to assess the damage she may have caused and see what had been leaked out”

Ross was back on his feet, pacing the room. “We were monitoring her communications when she received your email asking for her help. Ordinarily we don't think she would have become involved with you, but when she learned that the root of your problems lay with one Miroslav Nikolic she couldn't help herself. This was her contact she was sending our dirty little secrets to about Bluejay.”

John sat shaking his head, what else could he do. “But Why? Why would she do it?”

“Russian and Eastern European Mafia's who smuggle drugs into Britain buy cheap heroin from Afghanistan and pay for it with guns. Zemun Clan arms dealers were meeting Taliban drug lords near the old Afghan-Soviet border, deep in the Tajikistan desert. The meetings were solely to trade Afghan drugs for Russian guns.”

“And Sam was involved in this?”

“Up to her pretty little neck old son, we obviously know now that she was recruited by the Zemun Clan while working in Serbia The Heroin was destined for Britain's streets, with the guns going straight to the Taliban front line. As you know Opium and Heroin, comes mostly from Helmand Province where the bulk of the UK's military effort is based. The opium grown there is turned into heroin at factories inside Afghanistan, sold into Tajikistan and then smuggled to London. The guns are broken down into parts, smuggled back into Afghanistan and delivered to the Taliban.”

John always had his doubts about Sam, but this was something else. “But she was with us from the start, she helped us.”

Ross gave him a wry smile. “No Sergeant, she helped herself and was helping her boss stay one step ahead of the game”

“How? By shooting his blokes? What about the hoodie in Deptford?”

“The drugs you destroyed in Deptford were simple talcum powder and the shooter with the grey hoodie? Well he was supposed to be there to make sure you bypassed the security system and actually got into the Lab, that's why Sam never alerted you to his presence when he was hiding in one of the small offices. Unfortunately for him though he made the mistake of being seen by your team, and its not like Sam Mayfield to leave loose ends.”

John's eyes flash as the realisation sinks in. “You must have known this all along? You must have had your suspicions about Sam and yet you let it happen?

“Yes we did. We had a heads up right from the start actually, right after we tracked her journey from Belfast”.

“Fuck me, you used us? Used us all along?”

Ross shrugged, “We had to expose Sam Mayfield and learn the full extent of the Zemun's operation here. The kidnapping of your niece by Miroslav was totally unexpected and proved very fortuitous for us as it turned out”

“You fucking arseholes.”

Ross leans in, his grey eyes hard and narrow. “Wake up Sergeant. This is the real world. You got what you wanted and so did we. In fact if it wasn't for our help in terms of keeping the Police off your back and making sure you had access to weapons and surveillance supplies, your task would have been so much the harder. What? You think I didn't know about your little transit hide down in Hampshire? Who do think I am Sergeant, the bloody night watchman?”

John's face was welling red and he clenched his fists into balls on the table. He wondered what kind of punishment there would be for kicking the shit out of an MI6 officer. Fuck it, it couldn't get any worse. He simmered down; he needed to keep a clear head.

“So what now?”

Ross lent back and relaxed, he had John by the bollocks and they both knew it. “So what now indeed. You have the mother of all charges levelled against you at the moment.” He paused for effect. He was good at that. “However, your lack of family, your lack of personal involvement makes you very -” He searched for the word. “ - Useful”

“Useful?”

“Yes Sergeant, useful to us, and you owe us, big time.”

John pondered that one. “What about the others?”

“They know nothing of any of this, nor will they. Let us worry about their futures.” Ross checks his watch.

“Right well, I'm late for a lunch engagement so I have to shoot off” He spoke casually, as if they had been just been discussing the weather. He knocked at the door to be let out.

John looked at his Case Officer. “And me? What now?”

Ross brought back his career smile “Spot of leave I think, don't you?” He paused at the door. “Don't worry, we'll be in touch”

The evening rush hour traffic pours over Vauxhall Bridge in the fading light. Cars flick on their headlights and illuminate the masses as they scurry off home to a microwave dinner and
Eastenders
. It’s a cold night in London.

John Logan turns up his coat collar against the biting wind and adjusts the daysack slung over his shoulder. As he takes a mouthful of his Starbucks he stares across a choppy black river Thames to the gleaming SIS building lit up on the opposite bank. Ross referred to the place as Legoland, John didn’t know what to call it, they hadn’t invited him over yet.

He turns his back on the building, and with his hands dug deep in his coat pockets, he disappears into the masses.

All rights reserved

Copyright © Rod Bowden, 2012

Rod Bowden is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

The book cover picture is copyright to Rod Bowden

ISBN: 978-1-78148-132-5 in epub format

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Grosvenor House Publishing Ltd

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