‘And Bush?’ He asked.
‘Oh yes, the ever so stealthy Mr Bush.’
He paused briefly, as if a hundred fond memories of days gone by had flooded his brain.
‘Well, this Five agent friend of yours, Edwards. He started joining the dots, didn’t he? Started getting clever. Bill thought it prudent to get rid of him. I called in Bush. Gave him a copy of a photo from Edwards MI5 records and sent him on his way. It seems that I severely underestimated Edwards though. I didn’t see that coming, I can tell you.’ He stood once more.
‘Now Raynor’s out of control and Bush is dead. So, you’d better take me in Jenkins. But please, don’t make me wear handcuffs, at least let me have some dignity as I leave. We’re on a bloody military base, it’s not as if I can go anywhere, is it?’
Jenkins nodded his agreement, saddened by the man in front of him, and gestured for the brigadier to leave the room. The two MP’s, witnessing the gesture, stood in unison. Markwick left the office, Saltmarsh waited for the brigadier and Jenkins to leave the spacious workspace and start making their way down the corridor to the barrack’s holding cells. He then fell in behind them.
They walked in silence for a few steps, and then the brigadier stopped.
‘I wonder if I can ask you for a favour, Jenkins?’ He said.
‘Of course sir, what would you like me to do?’ Replied Jenkins.
Markwick, the lead MP, stopped, turned and re-joined the group, positioning himself to the left of the brigadier.
‘Be a good chap, Jenkins, and make sure somebody looks after my plants.’
As Jenkins smiled and nodded his agreement, Saunders reached with his left arm and grabbed the grip of Markwick’s sidearm, a SIG Sauer P229, in its holster on the MP’s right leg. Before Markwick knew what was happening, Saunders had the weapon unsheathed and the safety off. He pulled the trigger, sending a 9mm Parabellum through the kidney of the officer, to embed in his spine. Markwick fell. Blood streaming from his side. His body starting to spasm due to shock and the damage the bullet had inflicted on his spinal cord. Saunders took aim and pulled the trigger again, this time the bullet entered Markwick’s brain via his right ear.
Jenkins dived toward Saunders, but was too slow. The brigadier managed to avoid the attempted tackle, resulting in Jenkins diving into a wall and ending up a sprawled heap on the floor.
Saltmarsh was quick to react. ‘Live ammo discharge.’ He shouted, warning any personnel within earshot, as he raised his assault rifle and aimed at Saunders. The brigadier was quicker than the MP had expected and swung the gun around, searching for his quarry, a maniacal smile on his face. He lined up his sights on Saltmarsh. Saunders was about to pull the trigger when Saltmarsh released a three round burst. Each round found its target. The brigadier’s chest. Saunders stopped in his tracks and fell to the floor.
Jenkins got back on his feet as the stomp of a hundred combat boots could be heard approaching from all directions. Saunders was still alive, just.
‘You’ll never get Raynor.’ he said, bloody spittle spraying from his lips, a trickle of blood left his mouth and ran down the side of his face to the floor.
‘He’s just too good. I know. I trained him.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Shit. Why did I agree to this?
Dave parked the van next to a communications junction box on Speen Lane. He got out and approached it, searching for the key that would open the front panel. He dropped his clipboard and swore as it clattered on the road. Leaving it there he fumbled through the keys on his key ring until he found the one he needed. He unlocked the front panel, removed it, and then picked up his clipboard.
He pretended to move some cables around and made some random scribbles on his clipboard, spending ten to fifteen minutes pretending to be an engineer.
An old lady walking a tiny, short haired rodent of a dog approached him. The dog’s ears appeared far too big for its head. Dave wondered what people saw in these pathetic animals and how anybody could be affectionate towards such an ugly, pointless creature. Dave was a lover of larger dogs. German Shepherds, Bulldogs, Labradors and Retrievers. Dogs with character.
The old lady was wearing a coat and hat in the middle of summer, the mid-afternoon temperature reaching the low twenties Celsius. She held one end of the dog lead almost at shoulder height, the leash taut, almost lifting the front paws of the rat-dog from the pavement.
‘Young man?’ She asked, heading in Dave’s direction. Dave tried to ignore her.
‘I say, young man?’ she persisted.
Dave raised his head to meet her gaze, a fake smile on his face.
‘Yes madam? How can I help?’
‘Your van, it’s an awful eyesore, is it going to be there long?’
Dave thought hard about his answer. Diplomacy was key to not upsetting the locals, especially in a community where house prices could reach a million pounds.
‘Sorry madam, I’m not sure how long I’ll be. I’m just ensuring all the phone lines are working correctly, and that the internet is available at full capacity.’
The lady let out a derisive huff.
‘Internet? I’ve no time for such things. Just smut and con-artists, that’s all the internet’s good for.’
‘That maybe so madam, but a lot of people use it.’
‘I’d be surprised if anybody in our small community stooped to such deprivation.’
‘Oh I’m sure you’re right, but we provide a service and it’s my job to ensure we deliver it as promised to our paying customers.’
Dave gave the woman his best fake smile.
She huffed again.
‘Well, just be quick about it, I’m sure the general won’t be best pleased to see a tatty old van parked across his drive.’
The van in question was a brand new Mercedes Sprinter. Top of the line specification. A smart company livery adorned its panels. Far from scruffy, to anybody else.
‘I won’t be too long.’ Replied Dave. ‘Twenty minutes tops.’
‘Good, well make sure you’re not a second longer. Come along Oscar.’
And with that she wandered off dragging the poor mutt faster than its legs could cope.
Dave shook his head in disbelief as he watched the old battle-axe walk away. He turned back to the patch-panel and removed a cable from the circuit. He replaced the front panel and locked it, then stood and clapped his palms together in an up-and-down action, removing imaginary dust from his hands.
Right, let’s get this over with.
Dave started to stroll down the lane. The sounds of the countryside were all around him. He narrowly avoided treading in horse dung and swore again.
Don’t go on the moors. He thought, and chuckled.
The entrance to the grand house was looming up ahead of him. He checked the address on his clipboard, stopping in front of the huge iron gates that blocked the way to a very large, modern building.
Dave was quite shocked by the modernity of the property, expecting the general to have slightly more traditional tastes. A large porch jutted from the centre of the main building, made from brick and glass with a slate roof. It was probably the size of most people’s living room. The double front doors were surrounded by glass panels that stretched to the pitch of the roof in the centre. The main building was five times the width of the porch, and at least twice the depth. Dave counted four sets of double windows, two each side of the main entrance, along the front of the building.
The top half of the building was clad in red tiles, the pitch of the roof overhanging the top third. Gable windows set nicely into the structure, directly above the large ground floor apertures.