Three Faces of West (2013) (28 page)

“I’ve been such an idiot. Jack was playing everyone all along, me, the security services, everyone. And now he had killed a serving police officer, deliberately, without authorisation or a kill order. He foiled everyone, for whatever ends only he knows. Now he has dragged me into this mess, destroyed his own career and possibly ruined mine. He will be seen as a traitor…and so may I.”

He began walking along the river bank, the long grass brushing past his trousers as he shuffled past deep in philosophical thought. Such was the profoundness of his thinking that he failed to notice just how far he had walked. Only once he raised his head did he notice the surroundings he found himself in. Making his way to a more rural part south of the docks he was in pretty unfamiliar territory but it didn’t matter,

“I’m trying the think what could have gone wrong. Where and when the hell did West turn? What could have persuaded him to betray the very thing he swore to protect?”

Determined to find out, locating Jack would be a good start, but where? The rustling noise of the long grass in the breeze continued as he walked, but the noise of the shoots wafting in the wind were only now beginning to irritate him, it was as if something other than nature were disturbing them. Pausing, John turned toward the field to his right. His back to the river, the grass expanse before him showed no visible signs of life, yet he suddenly had the feeling that there was something there. Coming off the track he ventures into the field; the grass now taller bent and crushed as he made his way across the land in near knee high foliage,

“Jack?” He shouts while pausing. It was an extreme long shot, and it would most likely be met with complete silence,

“John. I’m here.” A voice responded; John just stood there in silence, stunned. It was indeed West’s voice. Frantically John looked around to try and find the source of the sound, but all he could see was a grassy field, apart from that nothing. Although it was clear that the sound was coming from approximately ahead,

“Come closer.” Jack continued teasingly,

“Where the hell are you?!! What the hell happened yesterday? You’re a killer; you murdered Waterson and set fire to the warehouse to destroy the evidence!!”

“No you are wrong….”

“Wrong?!! I’m not wrong, you’re the traitor!! You played me, the security services…the only reason why you wanted me along here was to cover your back with those Russians!!”

“I’m sorry John.” Said Jack apologetically,

Overwhelmed by anger, John marched further into the field with more vigour than before,

“I’ll find you, even if it’s the last thing I’ll do I’ll find you Jack West. You want to throw your career away than that’s fine!! But don’t drag me down with you!!!!”

Jack responded in a tone completely opposite to John’s, almost as if he was controlling the situation,

“You can do whatever you like.”

Pulling out his Walther, he made his way toward the point where his best guess said was the source of West’s voice, but in an open field, where was he? He only got around two hundred yards before he got his wish as the breeze which was whipping up swayed the grass, around his legs seemed more disturbed ahead of him. In what seemed like a slow motion action, Jack rose out of the grass to face his accuser. John raised his pistol at the almost instantaneously same moment as Jack, who has raised his Walther in response; clearly the two former partners had lost all trust for one another. With the barrels of each pistol side by side and almost touching, like crossed swords John and Jack stared each other out across a distance apart of only a few feet. John’s more intense, fuelled by the anger and resentment for the mug and fool Jack had taken him for, Jack’s more distant, as if he had lost all hope and did not care anymore,

“You have to fire.” He said to John,

“Believe me-‘

“You know what you have to do. You must fire.”

John was at near breaking point by now, but his head was still in control, but only just,

“I want answers.” He demanded,

“You will get your answers in time. Now if you do not shoot me, I will fire back. You must fire.”

“No, only you can explain answers!!!” Shouted John,

“You are weak and pathetic John. I always knew you were not cut out for anything.” Said Jack in a cool manner. He really did not care anymore,

“You are weak John…weak…weak”

“SHUT UP!!!” Snapped John,

“Weak….”

In a fit of red mist John squeezed the trigger. Blinking and snapping out of his rage as he did so, he was surprised to find West still standing there. He started to feel slightly ashamed, ashamed that he let his emotions cloud his judgement, was West right, was he weak? There was no time for that, almost instantly he was just as surprised to find the gun light,

“This gun, it’s empty! You took the ammunition out of the clip!! It’s useless!!”

“Yes, I removed the bullets before I gave it to you. In knew it was empty all along.” Revealed West,

“And you put me in that position with those Russians…You bastard.”

Choosing not to respond, Jack slowly and deliberately pulled back the weapon, diffusing the standoff somewhat. In the background he could see other figures entering the field some two hundred yards away and closing fast. With each step they were becoming ever clearer, Harvey, the investigating officer and three other officials from MI5 were approaching the scene. Clearly MI5 had caught up with them,

“Game’s over Jack.” Said John as the officials were getting ever closer,

“The game has only just begun.” Was the response as he suddenly pointed the firearm directly into his chest; alarmingly John tried to save his former friend,

“JACK NO!!!”

He fired the Walther, jerking back as the full force of the bullet smashed through his chest, causing an explosion of blood to stain John’s face in a deadly shower. He fell back, body soaked in a red stain emanating from a coin sized hole in the chest that was rapidly haemorrhaging. The three MI5 officers reactively pulled out their weapons while Harvey and the investigating officer approached. Bending down, he could see that Jack West, in a pool of blood was dead, killed by his own hand and by the tormenting demons of conscience inside his mind. Falling back in shock, no emotions showed as the event has yet to hit him,

“John.” Said Harvey as they approached, the investigating officer checked over the corpse before indicating to Harvey that Jack was indeed dead by a simple look and shake of the head,

“John listen to me,” He reassured, carefully removing the Walther from John’s shocked hand, “Come on, let’s go.”

Carefully standing up, John could not keep his eyes off his former partner, the shock overtaking the grief for the moment, as he was led carefully and tentatively away from the scene.

One week later, a quiet graveyard in a small London suburb church. A small gathering of people, dressed in respectful black surrounded a hole in the ground. Inside a dark brown wooden coffin rested in the dug-out clay bottom. Fresh, it bore silver plaque with the name JACK WEST. The morning mist shrouded the gravestones perfectly in an eerie atmosphere, the hazy morning sunshine coupled with a shrieking of crows, the only things to shatter the peacefulness of this resting place. Beside the open grave stood Hudson, staring into the hole at where his friend lay, thought running through his mind, so many questions, so much unanswered. Being the end of the funeral service, the congregation could not stand there forever, although they were given as much time as they needed, slowly dispersing one by one. John was the last one to leave, perhaps fittingly, not moving, just staring, until Harvey came up to him, both dressed identically in their black suits, white shirts and black ties,

“John, the investigation into West’s activities is now complete. I thought you should know.”

John responded vaguely, “What?”

“It means you are now in the clear. I’ve reinstated your clearance in the department; you can come back to work. It’s what Jack would have wanted you know, for you to come back in from the cold.”

John understood what his boss was telling him, yet there seemed almost no point,

“It’s difficult…I will, thanks.” He said quietly. Harvey retreated to join the rest of the group who were by now making their way from the grave to the cars parked at the top of hill at the graveyard entrance. John was left on his own, wondering if it was all still worth it.

Chapter 19:

It had been two days since Jack West’s funeral. John, sat in the office opposite the now cleared out desk formally occupied by his deceased partner, stared out over to the empty space that was still so raw. Everything seemed so still, so calm now that Jack wasn’t here. It certainly a large void, one that John never appreciated, when West was alive. The silence and reflection was only shattered by the ringing of the phone, almost jumping out of his frame of mind he quickly picked up the receiver to answer,

“Hello?” A familiar voice came over from the other side,

“John, its Harvey. Have you got five minutes?”

“Sure.” He said, wondering what it could be.

“Come and see me in my office.”

“On my way.” He said putting the receiver down. Could it be something linked to the case they were dealing with? Or was John to get a new partner? Leaving the office he made his way to find out.

Knocking on the pine wooden door to Harvey’s office he waited for the permission to enter,

“Come in.” Said the Section chief as John popped his head round the door,

“Close the door will you, take a seat.” He said gesturing to one of the charcoal leather seats in from of Harvey’s oversized modern glass desk. Doing so he took his place without saying a word, but Harvey had some news of interest,

“We’ve received more intelligence on Victor Bruenstein, specifically his whereabouts. I want you to lead on it.”

“OK,” Said John in a rather unsure tone, “Will I be acting alone?”

“Yes, since you know most about this, I want you to follow up any leads.” Harvey’s tone softened slightly. He knew the death of Jack West still run raw with the whole section,

“Look I know it’s only been 10 days since Jack’s death, it still touches us all. He was a very great asset to the team and a good friend, to you more than anyone. But your feelings cannot cloud your professional judgement, I’m asking you to pick up where Jack left off, can you do that?”

John didn’t need to hesitate in answering, “Yes, I can.”

Pleased at the answer, Harvey continued with his brief, “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Follow me; let’s go to the briefing room.”

Getting up, John followed his superior into the large conference room just down the hall. Once there, and with the doors firmly shut, Harvey activated the large plasma screen at the leading end. Both men occupied either side of the table, both standing as the screen lit up with a map of a village,

“Now we’ve had reliable sources tracing Bruenstein’s last known location to this area, North Weald in Essex.”

John interrupted, “Any CCTV confirmation?”

“No point John,” Replied Harvey, “We’ve picked up mobile phone traces and radio chatter amongst other…undisclosed sources shall we say.”

“Yes but surely-‘

“The sources come from underground.”

“Underground!?” Asked John perplexed. Why would signals come from there? Harvey knew and decided to put him in the picture,

“North Weald is a now disused underground rail station, an old part of the Central Line. The signals come from the tube station below.”

“So that is why there is no CCTV trace.” Replied John,

“Yes. So I want you to go to the site of this station it’s close to Epping Forest. Infiltrate the underground line and follow up on any leads.”

“Fine.”

North Weald station, an hour later, and the silver Lexus pulled up in the car park of a red bricked railway. Not getting out immediately, he could see the whole station complex was quite busy in the sunshine,

“Harvey said this would be a heritage railway.” He commented to himself. The nice weather had brought the crowds out to enjoy the old steam locomotives that were running this day, but John didn’t intend to join them. Getting out and locking the car, he made his way off round the back and through a small gate marked private, away from the crowds. Making his way down the short but leafy track he was presented with an old Victorian style red bricked building, dirty and shabby it was an old pumping station now abandoned. Reaching the door and making sure nobody had seen him, he pulled out an old iron key from his jacket pocket, one that Harvey had given him to gain access. Opening the door to the dark and neglected interior, John proceeded to switch on a small packet torch; the white light brightened the room better than any amount of natural light.

“There we are.” He said as he spotted what he was looking for, a small ladder leading straight down. Climbing down the dark ladder with the torch attached to his jacket, the light completely blocked from his path, and with each step downwards on the ladder rungs he almost expected to land in water or mud. He didn’t, reaching the bottom, he found himself in some kind of maintenance room. Various air conditioning pumps, rusted from under-use and now seized, but the metal door seemed OK. Pushing, it was obviously also a bit rusty around the frame which required a bit of effort to open, but at least it wasn’t locked.

Creaking in a tortured metallic style as it opened, John found himself in a darkened underground station. From underneath his jacket he pulled out a Walther P99 he had been issued for this, making doubly sure it was loaded and capable of firing. The coldness of the tomb-like atmosphere permeated through the skin as he made his way past the old ticket counters and waiting rooms. Old style tiled bricks lined the walls and ceiling, typical of a 1940’s style as he made his way down the stairs toward the trains tracks. Old advertising posters lining the walls which served as a testament to a forgotten age as he entered the platform. The tubular style of the underground acted like a wind tunnel as the breeze whistled through with profound ferocity. Lonely on the platforms, John shined his torch to his right down into the blackness of the old rail tunnel expecting not to see anything. He was correct, nothing could be found, but the other way to his left didn’t seem to offer much in that way either. Deciding to take to the right, he made his way to the edge of the platform and eased himself down onto the old railway. Gingerly he forged ahead into the old rail tunnel.