Marcus woke up. He lay still for a moment enjoying the relaxed comfort of a warm bed and a soft pillow beneath his head, his last dream still lingering in the outer reaches of his consciousness. He opened his eyes and moved his head a little. He could see a saline drip hanging from its steel hook, the clear tube snaking down towards his arm. He lifted his head off the pillow and saw Cavendish sitting in a small armchair a few feet away from him.
‘At last, Blake, you are awake.’
Marcus groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow. ‘Where am I?’ he asked, his voice cracking a little because of the dryness in his throat. ‘And why are you here?’
Cavendish looked a trifle smug. ‘Well, dear boy, first of all you are in a private clinic. But don’t worry, Her Majesty’s Government is picking up the bill. And the reason I’m here is because I saved your life.’
Marcus lifted his head sharply. ‘You? There’s no way you lifted me off the ground, Cavendish.’
‘A mere detail, Blake. But you blundered into something well out of your league and we had to drag you out.’
Marcus regarded him quite severely. ‘What do you mean?’
Cavendish shifted in his chair and leaned forward. ‘We have had Grebo’s house under surveillance for some considerable time. And because we have followed you from the moment you walked out of the safe house, we knew there would be trouble once you showed up.’
Marcus struggled into a sitting position. ‘You weren’t there, were you?’
Cavendish shook his head. ‘No; I’m too old for that kind of thing. I let the younger ones do that. And fortunately the man I had on duty recognised the possibility of a disaster in the making and called up the local police. It was one of the local coppers who saved you.’
Marcus leaned back against his pillow which he had pulled up behind him. ‘So it’s all blown; Grebo knows you’ve been watching him.’
Cavendish allowed himself a little triumphant smile. ‘No, we were able to explain that there had been a report of a suspicious character in the neighbourhood and we were doing close checks on all the houses in the area.’
‘And Grebo fell for that?’
Cavendish shrugged. ‘Who knows? That was the explanation we gave; it was all we could come up with. What it means now, of course, is that we will have to pull our detail back for a while, just in case Mister Grebo has any suspicions.’
The door opened and a nurse came in. She walked over to the bed and removed the drip from Marcus’s arm. Then she hung the tube up over the empty bottle and pushed the stand to the rear of the bed.
‘Can I go home, nurse?’ Marcus asked.
The nurse smiled at Marcus and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
‘What I want to know, Blake is how on earth you learned of Danvor Grebo and the house?’
Marcus looked away from the closed door, giving up all thoughts of the nurse and turned his attention back to Cavendish. ‘First of all, please call me Marcus; I got used to not being called Blake once I left school. And Grebo’s house? I traced it through the number plate of the Mercedes I saw in the City Road: the one used in the attack at my office.’
Cavendish looked mortified. ‘How on earth did you catch on to that?’
So Marcus told him. ‘I saw the whole thing beginning to unfold through my office window. I didn’t realise then what was happening, and by the time it clicked I didn’t have time to say anything to you because I was busy, as I’m sure you will recall.’
‘I’ll give you that,’ Cavendish admitted drily. ‘Who do you know that can trace vehicle plates?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘Can’t tell you that; client confidentiality.’
Cavendish laughed. ‘It isn’t important, but it very nearly got you killed. And I’m sure your father would have had apoplexy if that had happened.’
‘You know my father?’ Marcus asked.
Cavendish nodded. ‘Your name rang a bell. Then I remembered: Sir Henry Blake. He rang my office a few days ago. I didn’t speak to him but later I remembered that he was on my radar for a while some years back during a ‘catch-all’ enquiry we were doing.’
It was Marcus’s turn to laugh. ‘Seems to me it was my mother who was on your radar, Cavendish,’ he told him.
Cavendish frowned. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’
‘Hong Kong; the handover.’
It suddenly dawned on Cavendish. ‘Ah yes; the lovely Emily. Your father is a lucky man, Marcus; your mother is quite a beauty.’
Marcus gave an emphatic nod. ‘Good, now you know where I get my good looks and intelligence from.’
Cavendish held up his hand. ‘You leave the intelligence bit to the professionals. You’ll learn nothing by getting yourself killed.’
‘I did learn something though,’ Marcus told him.
Cavendish immediately adopted a cautionary look. ‘Oh, what was that?’
‘I heard Grebo’s visitor tell him that there’s a shipment due in at Kings Lynn docks in a couple of days and a return load is now in a warehouse at Feltwell. I also heard someone say that the station chief is responsible for organising the shipment going out.’
Cavendish looked as though he had been run through with a sword. His expression turned to stone and he sat in complete silence for a minute.
‘Say that again please.’
Marcus knew he had said something of extreme importance. More so than that, he realised there was now far more to this man Grebo than he had first assumed. So he repeated it again, but slowly this time.
Cavendish muttered something and left the room. Marcus was now beginning to feel as though he had walked into a nest if vipers when he broke into Grebo’s house. He could see how lucky he was to have escaped from the man’s clutches because it wouldn’t have been a quick shot to the head, but more than likely a severe beating before being shot. And he was basing that premise simply on the way Cavendish had reacted to his news.
When Cavendish came back he had Susan Ellis with him. Marcus was stunned at seeing her there with him. She looked quite helpless somehow; as though it wasn’t her fault for being there. She gave Marcus a sorry looked with a weak shrug of her shoulders.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded to know.
Cavendish offered Susan the chair he had been sitting in earlier. Then he spoke to Marcus.
‘Let me explain something,’ Cavendish began. ‘I have been investigating a case that spans many borders and involves citizens of many countries. I have had to be extremely careful and sensitive about whom I approach and on whose toes I tread. Miss Ellis received another letter from her brother two days ago.’ Marcus looked quickly at Susan who nodded. ‘She went to see you, although goodness knows why, and found an empty office.’ At that moment, Marcus did not know his office had been cleaned out by Cavendish’s men. ‘So she contacted me, which of course was the sensible thing to do. I brought Miss Ellis here so she could talk to me on the way. When Miss Ellis mentioned her brother, some pieces of my increasingly complex jigsaw began to fall into place. You, Marcus have just added another piece.
‘Are you going to tell me what piece of the jigsaw I’m supposed to have supplied?’ Marcus asked.
Cavendish shook his head briskly. ‘Not yet Marcus: all in good time.’ He turned to Susan. ‘Now my dear, if you don’t mind, I need to talk with Marcus alone. I’ll see you out.’
Susan stood up and came over to the side of the bed. ‘I hope you’ll soon be up and about, Marcus. And I do hope one day we can both see David.’
‘What are you going to do now?’ he asked her. Susan glanced over at Cavendish before looking back at Marcus. ‘Well, if Mister Cavendish will arrange a taxi for me, I’ll go home and get on with my life. I intend going to the newspapers about David again; they’re the only ones who might be able to help.’
‘I wish you luck.’ It was a poor but well-meant offering from Marcus; he could see no way Susan was going to make progress with her self-imposed task.
‘Thank you, Marcus,’ she said quickly and leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘Goodbye.’
She left the room with Cavendish behind her. Five minutes later the MI6 chief came back. He shut the door and walked over to the bed and sat on the edge.
‘I believe,’ he began without preamble, ‘that Danny Grebo is smuggling drugs into the country and shipping arms out. That is why your information has been so vital.’ Marcus frowned heavily. ‘Where the bloody hell would Grebo get arms from?’ he asked disbelievingly.
‘That’s my problem,’ Cavendish replied. ‘I believe I know, but I cannot prove it. It isn’t actually Grebo who is shipping the arms out: it’s the CIA. Danny Grebo is part of a chain. His cousin, Milan Janov is another link, but he’s based in Turkmenistan. There are a lot of top, top people caught up in this, Marcus. There are billions of dollars involved too. That’s why you nearly got yourself killed; you blundered into something that is way beyond you. But you opened a door for me and it has given us the opportunity to step through.’
‘Us?’ queried Marcus.
Cavendish nodded. ‘Yes, us; from now on Marcus I want you to work with me.’
John Deveraux, the American Military Attache at the American Embassy knew that Randy Hudson, the CIA chief was worried about something by the way in which he had asked for some of Deveraux’s time. They often spoke about common links within their remit in the United Kingdom, but there was one area in which they were both involved that was rarely discussed, and that was the covert organisation within The Chapter. And it was because of the CIA chief’s look of concern that Deveraux knew their meeting would not bring good news.
He waited for Hudson to make himself comfortable before asking him why he wanted a meeting. Randy Hudson was in his fifties and beginning to show the ravages of time versus exercise. With fewer and fewer field operations and more desk work, Hudson looked his age.
‘There was an incident at Grebo’s house the other night,’ he told Deveraux. ‘Grebo was in the middle of discussing the weekend shipment with one of his men. He’d gone into the kitchen to get some drinks; noticed this guy’s reflection in a mirror. He went back to his visitor and kept him talking while he got hold of a shotgun, then went out and faced the guy. Unfortunately the guy got away. Grebo chased him out into the woods at the back of the house, but the local cops were on the scene mighty quick; Grebo had to back off.’
‘Has the operation been compromised?’ Deveraux asked him.
Hudson shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, but I think we should call a halt to the operation for a while.’
‘Why is that?’
‘There was something that didn’t ring quite true with what happened. Grebo couldn’t figure out how the local boys got to the scene so quick. He said there was no phone call made, no alarms ringing off. The house is fairly secluded too. Grebo had chased the guy into the forest. Said he would have despatched him there if he had caught him. But the guy stumbled into the main road and into a policeman’s arms.’
Deveraux considered the implications of what he had been told. It certainly sounded like some kind of connivance with the local force.
‘There’s a shipment due in this weekend, right?’ Hudson nodded. Deveraux went on. ‘And one due out in a couple of days?’
‘We’ll hold that,’ Hudson told him. ‘It’s in a bonded warehouse. It should be ok.’
‘How long do you want to hold off for?’ Deveraux asked him.
‘Couple of weeks. No activity until then.’
‘Will you tell Grebo?’
The CIA chief nodded. ‘I’ll tell him to close everything down.’
Deveraux whistled through his teeth. ‘That’s a long time; our client will think we’re reneging on the deal.’
‘Our client will do as he’s told,’ Hudson remarked angrily. ‘He’s getting a good deal out of us, and we’re an easy market for his goods.’
Deveraux put his hand out. ‘Be that as it may, Randy, it’s always a tricky operation shipping those arms out; we don’t always have a smooth run.’
‘I know, John, but Cavendish is getting too close for comfort, and I can’t afford to throw caution to the wind just because some fucking raghead in Afghanistan is getting impatient.’
‘So why is Cavendish still around to worry the life out of you?’ Deveraux put to him. ‘What happened to the hit?’
Hudson shook his head. ‘They fucked up. I don’t know why. All I know is that Grebo’s man waited for the full two minutes in the road, but the guys didn’t come out. He left.’ Hudson lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘That was the agreed plan. I know Cavendish put a team in and cleaned the building totally. We lost one guy and the other is probably on his way to The Intelligence Bureau in Pakistan.’ It was there that the alleged questioning of MI6 suspects was carried out in order to bypass the interrogation laws in Great Britain. ‘No doubt they’ll get the truth from him.’
‘How will that affect us?’ Deveraux showed a little concern.
Hudson shook his head. ‘It won’t; the guys were hit-men. They only know their own names. The Brits will get nothing out of the one who survived.’
He sounded supremely confident, which made Deveraux feel a little more comfortable.
‘So what are we going to do about Cavendish?’ he asked the CIA man.
‘We’re going to leave it. It might be a good idea to let him have his head for a while. We’ll just have to be extra vigilant and extremely careful.’ He stood up, ready to leave. ‘We’ve got a good operation here, John, and we’ve got to keep the lid screwed down tight. We have to be patient. The Chapter has to keep running for the sake of all those poor kids out there,’ he said cynically.
Deveraux chuckled and stood up. ‘And for the sake of the twenty million bucks you put in you offshore account last year.’ He reached across the desk and shook Hudson’s hand. ‘Keep me informed, Randy.’
Hudson nodded. ‘You bet.’
He walked out of the office and left Deveraux wondering if the operation was becoming too unwieldy, too big and with too many fingers in the pie. But he had also put twenty million dollars into an offshore account and decided you don’t earn that kind of money without taking a few risks.
The M.V. Odessa inched its way towards the quayside as two dockers stood waiting for the heaving lines to be tossed over to them. Once this was done, they pulled out the large ropes that would tether the ship and dropped the loops over their respective bollards. Their job now done they waited while two crewmen on the deck of the ship, one fore and one aft, waited for the captain’s signals from the bridge before taking up the slack on the capstan winches.
The ship stopped and the capstan winches groaned beneath the deck lights as the slack in the hawsers was taken up. When all was secure, the ship’s captain moved the bridge telegraph to ‘stop engines’ and handed over control of the bridge to the duty officer. He then went down to his cabin and waited the arrival of the local Customs Officer who would inspect the ship’s manifest and then do a physical check of the ship’s cargo holds.
Marcus watched the arrival of the M.V. Odessa with a growing feeling of excitement, tinged with anticipation. He was concealed in the dark recesses of some timber stacks that were waiting to be loaded on to lorries during daylight hours. He didn’t know what cargo the Odessa was carrying beneath her decks, but he suspected that she was carrying something else that was worth a great deal more than the cargo that would be declared on her manifest.
Marcus had been sent up to Kings Lynn by Cavendish. He had even been furnished with a British Ports Authority Pass and a reason for visiting the docks. But all Marcus had been asked to do was observe and do nothing else. He had been given the name of three ships; two of which had already docked and unloaded an enormous quantity of timber on to the quayside and departed. The third ship on Marcus’s list, the Odessa was not due to dock until midnight because of the tide. And it was the unearthly hour of its expected arrival that intrigued Marcus.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost midnight. He had no idea how long it would be until the crew bedded down for the night, but he had decided to chance his luck and get on board for a look in the cargo holds.
Marcus had got over his wounds from his previous escapade. His ankle hadn’t given him any trouble and his shoulder had suffered only a minor peppering; nothing much at all. He was quite confident he no longer had to worry about them.
He saw a single gangway hauled up to the ship and a man in uniform immediately hurried up on to the deck. Someone was waiting for him and the two of them disappeared into the accommodation block at the stern end of the Odessa.
Marcus walked out from the timber pile, crossed the quayside and clambered up the gangway on the ship’s deck. Without stopping to think of what he should do next, he opened one of the doors set into the bulkhead and stepped inside.
Marcus had chosen that moment to go on board because it was time least likely that anyone would have any suspicion of strangers going on to the ship, so long as it was done with a sense of purpose. All Marcus had to do now was to learn as much as he could about the cargo and get himself off the ship while most of the crew were sleeping.
He made his way down to the lower decks by following a common sense approach and using stairs, or ladders as they were known on ships, which went down until he came to a long alleyway that ran forward.
Although it was the middle of the night, the bulkhead lights were on and he could see a closed, watertight door at the far end of the alleyway. He made his way to this and swung the handles down, pulled the door open and stepped inside. He swung the handles up to secure the door and took his Maglite torch out of his pocket.
Marcus knew he wouldn’t be able to break open any crates inside the holds without attracting attention and letting the crew know there was someone in the cargo hold causing damage. And Cavendish had been quite specific as to what he expected Marcus to do, and that was to learn as much as possible and then get out.
After about thirty minutes, Marcus had seen as much as he was likely to. All of the crates that he could actually examine closely were identified by labels and serial numbers, which were painted on the sides of the crates. It meant nothing to Marcus but he dutifully made a note of what information there was in a small notebook.
Marcus was getting to the end of the hold when suddenly the door at the far end opened and all the lights came on. He spun round and immediately dropped into a crouch, keeping well behind the stack of crates.
He heard two men talking to each other and risked taking a look, but such was the way that the crates were stacked that he was unable to see who they were. As the two men walked along the stacks, their voices dropped to a murmur, but as they came closer to where Marcus was hiding their voices grew louder.
Marcus inched his way along the crate wall and peered carefully round the edge. He could now see the Customs officer who had gone on deck the moment the gangway had been put in place. He assumed the seaman with him was the ship’s captain, although he had no way of knowing. He was wearing a seaman’s cap with gold braid round the peak, and on his shoulder epaulettes were four gold stripes.
The Customs officer tapped a crate with his knuckle.
‘This one,’ he asked, ‘with the X in the serial number?’
The captain nodded and said something which Marcus presumed meant ‘yes’.
‘How many?’
‘Four.’
The Customs officer seemed satisfied. ‘Tomorrow afternoon, on the quayside, I’ll sign them off.’ He tapped a clipboard he was carrying with the tip of his pen. ‘It all seems in order.’ He then tucked the clipboard under his arm and turned on his heel. It seemed to catch the captain unawares and he was left standing there for a moment. A minute later and the hold was in darkness once again.
Marcus knew he had just seen a crooked Customs officer verify the crates containing the drugs were on board and had identified those he would attend to the following day. He had a vague notion that ships’ cargoes had to be cleared officially by the Customs and Excise people before they were allowed to be offloaded on to the quayside. And he had no doubt that they did a thorough and excellent job in the main. But here was a classic case of smuggling with the collusion of the authorities; in this case the bent officer. All Marcus had to do now was to get off the ship, notify Cavendish and get himself back to the Duke’s Head hotel for a good night’s sleep.
Marcus made his way carefully along the crate wall to the door at the far end. He turned off his Maglite and put it in his pocket, then opened the door handles one by one until the door swung freely on its hinges.
He stepped out into the alleyway and turned to close the door when a crewman came through an open door a few feet away. He saw Marcus and stopped for a moment. Then he called out something in a language Marcus didn’t understand. The crewman had shouted back through the door from which he had appeared, obviously calling for some help.
Marcus didn’t wait to think of any consequences; he simply ran at the man and drove his fist into his face. It sent the crewman crashing to the deck and Marcus leapt over him. There was a shout from behind as two men came through the doorway. They saw their friend lying on the floor and immediately went after Marcus.
Marcus ran as fast as he could until he came to a closed door. In the few seconds he took to open it, one of the two men chasing him threw something at him. It caught Marcus on his injured shoulder. Although Marcus hadn’t suffered any real ill effects from his wounds, when the heavy weight that had been thrown struck him, it seemed like a thousand fragments of steel had cut into him. He gasped out loud and fell up against the edge of the open door.
This gave the two men an advantage and within seconds they were on him. Marcus felt their hands pulling him away from the bulkhead, cursing at him. The look on their faces left him in no doubt what they were about to do.
But as hurt as Marcus was, he felt the anger rising up in his chest and he swung his elbow out, catching one of the men full in the face. The man yelled out and fell away clutching his jaw. Then Marcus lifted the heel of his shoe and dragged it down the shin of the second man. It was enough and Marcus was free for a moment.
He ran as fast as he could until he reached a ladder and sprinted up two steps at a time, pulling himself clear on the upper deck. Another crewman happened to be at the top and wasn’t aware of the fracas going on below. Marcus drove his fist into the man’s face without stopping and kept up his dash for the gangway.
Suddenly a shot rang out and he felt the bullet zip past his head and clang into the bulkhead. He almost stopped him in his tracks, but he turned away from the shooter and ran to the far side of the ship.
Without giving thought to what the consequences might be, Marcus hurled himself over the side and plummeted into the water below.