Zero One

X made a grimace. He didn’t look convinced. ‘Yeah, possible, but it’s got to look like an accident, and it must work. He’s got to be killed outright. Work out a scheme and come back to me tomorrow with a plan.’

Damian took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. As the government minister responsible for work and pensions, the Health and Safety Executive reported to him. This gave him an insight into the many fatal injuries that happened every day in the workplace. ‘When do you want it done?’

X glanced at Damian with a withering expression. ‘ASP. Fingle’s fucking dangerous.’

‘Okay. I’ll get on with it,’ Damian said, and fiddled with the collar of his shirt.

X turned to Grant Fields. ‘Your plan.’

Grant, who was on his day off, wore jeans and a T-shirt, and coughed to clear his throat. ‘You’ll think I’m mad, but hear me out. There’s a guy in Wakefield prison called Grigoriy Nabutov.’

‘Nabutov!’ X exclaimed. ‘You’re taking the piss. He must have the record for most failed attempts on Fingle’s life. You can’t be serious.’ X shook his head. ‘Besides, he’s inside. No one’s ever broken out of Wakefield.’

‘I said hear me out,’ Grant replied sharply. ‘I could get him out. Take it from me.’

‘What! And then let him go and have another shot at Fingle and screw it up again. You must be joking.’ X shrugged. ‘Look, don’t waste our time. We’re all busy people.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve a meeting in an hour.’

‘Listen to me, X.’ Grant looked irritated. ‘We offer Nabutov a deal.’

‘Like what?’

Grant stared at X for a few seconds. ‘We tell him we’ll get him out on the condition he goes immediately to kill Fingle.’

‘He won’t buy that,’ X said. ‘From what I know about him, he likes to plan his jobs. He won’t do anything on the spur-of-the-moment, particularly with his failure record. And anyway, he’s got no escape route. He’s not going to do something that’ll land him back in jail for the rest of his life.’

‘Exactly,’ Grant replied. ‘We provide an escape route. We get him out, provide the tools, and fly him out of the country to a safe destination.’ He stopped and looked around at the other three. ‘That’s within our powers, isn’t it?’

~~~

Clad in shiny, reflective, one-way glass from top to bottom, Scotland Yard–the high-rise, sixties-style building that houses the HQ of the Metropolitan Police in London, SW1–could not be called pretty. As I pushed open one of the dark-blue, glass doors to enter, I remembered reading that the Met had agreed to move to a new, purpose-built HQ alongside the Thames, designed by the architects who’ve been commissioned to design Google’s new UK head office in London’s King’s Cross. Good move, I thought as I walked up to the reception desk and asked to see John Rogers, head of Special Branch. I’d called John just before 9:00 a.m. and said it was to do with the hit-and-run attempt on my life. He’d agreed to see me at 6:00 p.m. I was five minutes early.

‘Harry,’ I heard as I flipped through a page of a magazine while sitting and waiting outside his office. I looked up and saw him striding towards me. ‘Good to see you.’ I stood up to greet him. He clapped a hand around my shoulder.

‘Sit down. I’ll join you,’ he added, and sat down in one of four squat, leather chairs that sat in a square formation opposite his office door.

I’d first met John about a year previously when a Special Branch team had saved my life and exposed Philip Stacey, my ex-friend and once head of MI6, as having conspired to murder me. For some reason, I’m not sure why, John had stayed in touch with me, and called me from time to time to check I was okay. He knew I was pretty shaken up by Philip’s deceitful behaviour, and he probably knew how the secret services had treated me two years back. I figured he felt those in authority owed me one and took it upon himself to try to rebuild my confidence in their integrity.

‘So what can I do for you?’ he asked me, ‘I hear you had a near escape again.’

‘Exactly that. I’ve just come out of hospital and want to know if the police have found out who it was who tried and failed to top me again.’ I looked across and into his eyes. ‘All the villains who wanted me dead–you know: Nabutov, Goad, Richard Morecombe, Drago the Serbian, and that guy Ed something–are either locked up or dead. I’m intrigued as to who I’ve upset this time.’

‘Who wouldn’t be? But I’m not sure how I can help.’

‘Well,’ I said and narrowed my eyes, ‘I went to Hammersmith police station on Saturday, started to ask about the case, and a dick of an inspector told me to shove off, or he’d arrest me for causing a disturbance, and anyway, he said the case had been handed over to Special Branch.’ I smiled. ‘So, I guessed as you’re the boss of the outfit, you’d be able to give me some info.’

‘Really, well I’ll be damned. That’s news to me.’ He ran a hand through his short-cropped, greying hair and looked at me. ‘Leave it with me, Harry; I’ll find out for you.’

‘Okay, but tell me: why would a simple hit-and-run case that happened in the Hammersmith area be pulled from the local boys and then handled by you guys? Surely you’ve much more important things to do, like catching terrorists, cyber crooks, and the like?’

‘I don’t know, Harry, but I’ll find out,’ John replied, turned away, and looked out of the window.

‘So can I call you tomorrow?’ I asked and noticed a fleeting look of concern on John’s face.

‘Look, John. I know you’re a busy guy, and I’m grateful for you seeing me at such short notice, but I’m kinda getting bored and pissed off. The police at the scene of the accident were given the make and registration number of the car that hit me.’ I looked straight at him. ‘Since then, nobody has told me a thing about it. Wouldn’t you be getting pissed off?

‘This time,’ I said without giving John a chance to answer me, ‘I’m not stopping until I find out what the fuck is going on. Official Secrets Act or no Official Secrets Act, it’s all coming out.’ I shot John a glance. He was staring at me with a frown and screwed-up eyes. ‘You’re goner help me on that, aren’t you?’

‘Of course. I completely understand. Call me tomorrow about this time. I’ll have some answers for you. Now, if you don’t mind. I have to get to another meeting.’

***

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