Don't... 04 Backlash (35 page)

For now,
Elena’s scribbled ramblings were all he had to go by. He’d go back
to basics and check them against previous interrogations and the
coding.

Gray pulled out
Logan’s phone and ran his thumb over the latest picture of Jan, how
the shot framed the feeding tube being forced down his throat as he
lay bound on a single bed.

What the hell
was he missing in all of this? Why did Kes think he had access to
the rest of these codes?

Gray wasn’t
exactly sure what made him pause outside of his Thames House
office, but with the door slightly open, everything had that...
tainted air about it.

The old
Guard to MI5 still never quite let go on trust, and a few tricks
were used in offices to make sure unwelcome guests wouldn’t go
unnoticed. Gray knew most of them, even employed a few, from motion
sensors out of office hours, CCTV, and, in younger, less patient
days, leaving a small explosive that triggered the door on opening,
or inside his safe. An oil painting sat next to it with a sensor
that picked up if the safe door was open wider than an inch. Pass
codes could be gotten around, especially those that detonated
devices inside the safe, and ultimately fucked up all the paperwork
inside, so he came with a zero tolerance on prying eyes, making
sure anyone touching his safe would lose hand and eye if they
inched the door open. Then a secondary device was also installed,
triggered by the first, just in case the perps came in twos and one
was used as a Sapper to detect the explosive. And the Sapper motto
of
Ubique
would certainly be lived up to with body parts being...
everywhere. The second would take out the office, leaving the safe
intact. And by then, MI5 would be on lockdown.

There was
nothing here other than a feeling. MI5 wasn’t on lockdown; a glance
at his safe saw it was still intact, and a check by the door saw
the motion detector hadn’t been disturbed. Rachel hadn’t reported
anyone being in his office this morning, which meant no one had
gotten past her. She didn’t leave her desk until he arrived. He
didn’t need to check in with her to know that.

After he went
over to a wall unit and opened up access to the CCTV equipment, he
set it on rewind, hitting a secondary device that would stop the
CCTV when movement was detected. Nothing came on screen, not even
evidence of any loops to suggest it had been tampered with.

Everything looked as it should. It just didn’t
feel
as it should.

Not satisfied,
he made his way over to his desk, intent on running a quick scan of
the office to check for any foreign devices. If someone wanted to
kill him, they would have done so already. But that didn’t mean
they hadn’t left something behind to keep tabs on him.

The bottom
drawer to his desk was unlocked and open.

That made Gray
pause, because if they were smart-footed enough to get into MI5,
past the motion sensors and the CCTV, then there was a reason that
drawer had been left open.

Gray left it
there and went back through to Rachel in the office, leaning over
her desk and watching as she eased away to let him. From her second
to last drawer, he pulled a small, handheld, CTX device. It came
from a family of devices that automatically checked for small
explosives in baggage. He had a DF-2 adapted to his iPhone, the
latest pocket-sized tech to detect listening devices, plus wireless
video, and he took that out, too, as he straightened.

“Go get a
coffee,” he said to Rachel as she cast a look down at what he
held.

Rachel stayed
quiet for a moment. “Do I need to notify anyone?”

“Just pick me
up one too. It’s precautionary only.”

She gave a very
curt nod. “Ten minutes. Then I’m back regardless.”

Gray offered a
smile, then headed back into his office. He set the CTX to scan
first, but the images that came up showed no trace of an explosive
device in the bottom drawer. Knowing no device could be triggered
by his mobile phone, Gray then set the DF-2 detection on his phone
and let it rest on his desk top. It took only a few seconds, but it
didn’t rest on a particular frequency, showing no hidden monitoring
devices either.

Giving a frown,
he sat down and opened his drawer more fully. One particular file
had been opened and a page left exposed.

After putting
on some gloves from the top drawer and pulling out a clear
protective folder, Gray picked up the file and turned it over. He
doubted prints would have been left. But something had. He let it
rest in the folder on his desk, then sat staring at it.

The notes from
Elena Fortello’s ongoing interrogation had been taken over a
five-month period, with Gray’s last visit only yesterday. He had a
source looking after her, but the location here on English soil
wasn’t marked down. Or it shouldn’t be.

Now the address
sat marked in red at the top.

Like Kes,
whoever had been in here knew he held Elena.

As he scanned
the page, three more items were circled in red. All of them
repeating the same surname that Elena had.

Gray pulled out
the scrambled ramblings from yesterday, and true to form, the name
was mentioned again there too:

Richards
.

Gray frowned.
On the last repeated account, an arrow was given to mark a single
side note of:

Why
not Jack? Why not Greg? Why Richards three-scored
more?

That took
all of his attention for a few minutes. Why
not
Jack. Why
not
Greg?
Why Richards three-scored... more.

Gray sat
back to rub at his lip. He recognised the handwriting on the
interrogation paper now, despite it being followed with the Welsh
word:
nhad
.

In over
seventeen years, he hadn’t spoken to his father.

So why now? Why
over this? Why Jan?

Gray rubbed his
hands over his face, then let his head drop in them for a moment as
he closed his eyes. Why had Elena only mentioned Jan? Why did she
keep mentioning him?

Gray eased back
and brought up Jan’s file from last year’s investigation. He felt
torn looking at the details. There was nothing special:
education... decent, police record... nonexistent... even his bank
details showed nothing but a few direct debits... standing
orders....

Other than
that... nothing out of the ordinary. Normal.

Painstakingly normal.
Jan
normal.

Gray sat
forward slightly, then ran his gaze over Jan’s banking history
again. Modest details, modest young man. So why the fuck did it
feel wrong? What the hell did “modest” have to do with Kes and
those codes?

Gray looked
over Jan’s account. Then he picked up the internal phone.

“Sir,” said
Rachel. He’d called her mobile. “Everything clear?”

“Call A-Branch
for me. I need an expert from financial and computer
forensics.”

“You want a
meeting at your office?”

“No.” His
mobile phone went in his pocket, the file in the drawer. “I’ll head
over to their department.”

He had a bad
feeling, one that tore at his insides and hoped to God he was
wrong. As with Kes and the photos, Jan’s name was being repeated
for a reason.

“It’s Bevan
Funnell bespoke workmanship.”

Gabe smiled
seeing the intensity on Dare’s face. Everyone finally stirred just
after breakfast, and Dare... he’d crouched down next to a study
desk in Gray’s main lounge and was running a hand over the polished
surface. The desk looked fine enough to break if Dare put a
fingertip of his tall muscled form on it, but skilled hands came
into play, showing the gentlest appreciation for the artwork he
scrutinized. Could have been another language he’d mumbled to
himself, but Gabe gathered it was the name of the supplier, Dare’s
own love of carpentry showing through.

“Kind of make’s
the one I made for Jack look like junk yard scrap next to this,”
said Dare. The desk was a mix of deep mahogany with a dark-leather
runner. In each corner of the black leather, an intricate red
dragon breathed deep gusts of fire. Expensive, no doubt designed to
private order, but still didn’t come close to the furniture Dare
made back home. And no amount of expensive finery could buy the way
Dare looked, shirtless, covered in sweat, as hips and strong arm
dictated the hard pace on the wood, and Gabe’s dick in general.
Although with how Dare looked now with such a gentle giant’s touch
as he knelt next to the fine workmanship, Gabe wished he’d had time
to pack his camera, perhaps the wide-angle lens. The light hitting
the table caught Dare’s eyes, giving them extra life, and
lightening his long sandy hair so that the tips were almost
blond.

Gabe took his
drink, a cup of tea that, surprisingly, wasn’t in any fancy
bone-china, but a big mug that cried out the need to relax after a
hard day’s graft, and he padded over to Dare. Dare seemed a little
more relaxed, maybe so because he could find some connection with
the wood, and Gabe rested against the table to enjoy watching his
peace a little more. Dare was happy in the company of tables,
chairs, and the wood needed to shape them. It had taken him longer
to find the same peace with Kyle. But then, growing up in the
backdrop of the bible and being forced by a perverted father to
sleep with his best friend in front of him, all in order to
“Forgive us our Sins” that young boys hadn’t even discovered
then....

Gabe looked
away, over to the mantelpiece and the sculpted candles that sat
like fathers and sons, looking so fucking familiar but a hearth of
fire between them.

He gave a hard
sigh and it earned a glance up off Dare. The trace of his fingers
brushed deliberately against Gabe’s thigh, and the same look of
loving the finer lines in life allowed Gabe to raise a brow.

“Did I give you
permission to touch, slave?”

Dare eased down
to his knees and dipped his head. Kneeling there, he still came
chest high to Gabe as Gabe leaned against the table. “Permission,
please, Sir.”

As Gabe took a
sip of tea, he stroked at Dare’s neck, content to keep him there
and hold that look of peace on his face for a moment longer.

Voices drifted
on through from the reception hall, and Trace came in, closely
followed by Jan.

“No Jack?” said
Gabe, giving Dare a quiet touch that said he could find his feet
now.

Jan gave the
softest smile at Dare as he came over. He didn’t look any better,
but a good proportion of his aggression had lifted off his
shoulders. It was a start to recovery, but it would be a slow
one.

“Jack’s lost
himself to Jan’s Jag for a few hours,” said Trace, taking the mug
of tea off Gabe and downing the last mouthful. “Or, rather, Jan
locked him in there so he could use the bathroom without being
followed.”

Gabe grinned,
then said to Trace. “The kitchen’s that way, if you’ve forgotten.”
Gabe even pointed to give Trace the hint to get his own drink, but
Trace had already handed the mug back.

“Die of thirst
getting there, babydoll,” he said with a pleasant caress along
Gabe’s arm.

“You like it,
Dare??” Jan was tapping on the desk and smiling tiredly at him.
“The dragons, they represent the Red Dragon.”

“From Wales?”
Dare’s fingertips were back to shaping the closest dragon.

“Gray keeps the
design systematic throughout the manor.” Jan pointed to the cornice
corners of the mahogany coving. The same love and attention given
the Welsh Dragon was sculpted into the coving, making very
expensive decorative corner pieces.