Assassin 3 - The Wrong Man (Assassin Series) Page 8

  “So, what now?” Sarah asked,

  “We lay up out of sight until I can call Gramps.” he replied.

  CHAPTER 14

  The lunch hour trade was quite brisk in the Golden Pheasant Pub, just down the road from the church where Edith was murdered in the churchyard. After a fruitless morning in the local stores, asking around to see if there had been any strangers in the village, Jake Sr. was tired. Before heading for the pub, Jake Sr. had managed to give the slip to the man who had been tailing him at the supermarket.

  He walked in and headed over to the bar to mingle with the locals. He was not a regular at the pub, in view of the fact that the creamy Guinness they served at the Cherry Tree Pub was perfection in his opinion and in England, a man will walk a mile past five pubs until he gets to the one that serves his favourite beer! However, there were a couple of men at the bar who knew him including the bartender Tom.

  Jake Sr. ordered a drink and Tom was most sympathetic in view of Jake Senior’s recent bereavement. “I was sorry to hear about the missus, Jake,” he began. “How’re you gettin’ on, mate?”

  Jake Sr. used the question to open the conversation he was looking for. “Okay, I guess. What concerns me, fellas, is that there could have been some foul play surrounding my wife’s death!”

  Suddenly, all the patrons of the bar were listening to him as he continued, “I mean Edith was the sweetest lady who wouldn’t hurt a fly,” they all nodded as he continued. “But it looks like somebody may have forcibly given her an overdose of cocaine!”

  There were gasps from the locals. “No way! My God!” Jake Sr. continued. “So, I was wondering if you chaps noticed anything strange going on in the village, the last week or so?”

  “Like what?” Tom asked.

  “You know, strangers in town, asking questions, that kind of thing?”

  Billy, one of the men at the bar was thinking. “There was one chap who looked a bit odd.” he replied.

  Jake Sr. was immediately interested. “Odd in what way?”

  “Well, he was asking questions about St. Martins, you know, the church up the road.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  Billy was thinking back. “Said he was into church music, asked if they had a choir and when one of the ladies, who was in the pub that night, told him they did, he was asking when they practiced.”

  Tom, the bartender was listening intently. “What did this guy look like, Billy?” he asked

  “Kinda strange looking, long, white hair, weird eyes, could have been an organist, I s’pose.”

  Tom remembered immediately who he was talking about. “I remember him, tried to screw me down on the room rate, nasty piece of work!”

  Jake Sr. was instantly switched on. “You mean he actually stayed here, Tom?”

  Tom nodded. “Yes, couple of nights!”

  “Did he sign the bill?”

  Tom smiled knowingly, reading Jake Senior’s mind. “He did better than that. He ran out of cash and had to pay with his credit card!”

  Jake Sr. was beside himself in anticipation. “You didn’t actually....?”

  Tom smiled and finished the sentence for him. “Keep a copy? Lemme check.” He went behind the bar and brought in an envelope full of receipts that he emptied on the bar top. He sifted through them. “Lemme see, what the heck was that bastard’s name, Flannery, no, here we are!” he picked up a receipt and read it. “Flanagan!” he passed the receipt to Jake Sr. “This any help, mate?”

  Jake Sr. looked quickly at the receipt, it was a clear copy of a major credit card imprint with a number and the name of the guy - Damien Flanagan! There were almost tears of gratitude in the old man’s eyes as he shook hands with Tom. “That’s truly amazing, Tom, how can I ever thank you. Now, if I could only get an address for that name, I’d have it made.”

  A man Dennis, sitting in the corner enjoying his drink interrupted. “It can be done, fellas!” They all turned and looked at him.

  “It can?” Jake Sr. asked.

  Dennis smiled. “Cost you, though!”

  “How much?” Jake Sr. was prepared to pay almost anything.

  Dennis looked round furtively. “Fifty quid!”

  “How do you know?” Jake Sr. asked

  “Don’t quote me, but my nephew, he’s a whiz kid, always tryin’ to hack into other people’s stuff. He could do it, no trouble.”

  Jake Sr. was very interested. “Is there any way you can get him down here. I’ll pay him on the spot?”

  Dennis looked around nervously. “Not here in the pub and he likes to stay low key, but I reckon I can get him down to the churchyard with his gear after school, say four-thirty.”

  Jake Sr. looked incredulous. “After school? How old is he for heaven’s sakes?”

  Dennis smiled. “Fifteen!”

  Jake Sr. shook his hand. “I’ll be there,” he looked at Tom. “Can I borrow this receipt, Tom?”

  Tom smiled. “Be my guest.”

  Jake Sr. shook his hand again. “In that case, a round of drinks on me!”

  They all laughed after an interesting session of playing detective.

  CHAPTER 15

  In the MI5 offices, it was another day of frustration for John Hargreaves. He was confronting his team angrily.

  “I’ve just had the DDG on the phone and the PM is not happy with progress. Neither apparently is Her Majesty. So, get out there, let’s get creative!” he screamed.

  Strickland arrived with a paper in his hand. Hargreaves looked at him inquisitively. “Any news?”

  Strickland answered. “We just got word, the Vauxhall was spotted by one of our choppers.”

  “Where?” Hargreaves asked.

  “In a clearing just down the road from where the Ford Mondeo was stolen!”

  Hargreaves nodded. “Interesting, any news on the Ford?”

  Strickland nodded negatively. “Not much, sir, except we now know the license number and the owner said it only had a quarter of a tank of petrol!”

  Hargreaves turned on his team. “But that’s all academic now, Hugh. This chap’s already abandoned the Ford, hitched a train and stolen a beige beamer! My God, we’re getting further and further behind in this damned investigation. Go, on, get out! All of you!” they all quickly dispersed as Hargreaves looked out of the window in frustration. His own personal position had now come under much closer scrutiny than he would have liked.

  * * *

  In sharp contrast, it was a much more relaxed meeting taking place in the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Director David Rathbone, his deputy Jim Handforth and their Senior Agent Bill Decker in charge of clandestine operations, were also discussing the situation in the UK and in particular, former CIA operative Jake Harrigan!

  Rathbone already hated Jake, he blamed him for all the grief he was still mired in following the rogue arms deal debacle in Baltimore and also, even worse, for the ongoing problems in the aftermath of the murder of one of his ‘black-ops’ assassins, Zoltan ‘Mad Dog’ Koslov, apparently by persons unknown.

  The Director, Deputy Director and Senior Agent Decker all suspected, and in truth suspected correctly, that ‘Mad Dog’ had been terminated by Jake for killing three innocent people. Like all the ‘black-ops’ assassins in Decker’s camp, they were assigned targets and coldly and clinically terminated such targets as if they were simply eating a donut!

  However, ‘Mad Dog’ had made the mistake of being seen by one of his intended victims who had got the message to Jake, before ‘Mad Dog’ terminated the three innocent people. People who had merely been innocent bystanders earlier when the CIA had also terminated Jake’s wife and her friend, simply because Jake’s wife happened to overhear a rogue agent and a crooked defense contractor discussing illegal arms shipments.

  The people who had set up the illegal arms deal and killed his wife and her friend were eventually tracked down and killed by Jake, as was Mad Dog, so the hatred of Jake by the CIA was clearly apparent, so much so, that before
he and Sarah left their respective agencies, Jake had taken precautions to protect the two of them from future retaliation by the CIA. The agency now knew that in the event that anything should happen to either of them that was out of the ordinary, the whole story of the agency’s illegal dealings would automatically be made available to the media.

  This had meant that up to this point, the CIA had been powerless to even think about retaliatory revenge on Jake, that is until the current situation in the UK had arisen that was now playing right into their hands.

  Rathbone turned to Decker. “So, assuming it was Harrigan who took out Agent Koslov, what are our options for undetected reprisal?”

  Decker, a cruel-faced man with a crew cut, in his forties, replied. “I don’t think there’s the slightest doubt that Harrigan terminated ‘Mad Dog’, sir,” he began. “His targets were people that Harrigan had spoken with recently and before he made the hit, Mad Dog stated that there was a possibility he could have been spotted by the cop husband, one of his three targets.”

  Handforth interjected. “So, what you’re saying Agent Decker, is that perhaps the husband, the cop, who we monitored visiting Harrigan, may have got the message to Harrigan that Mad Dog was on his tail, while Harrigan was still in Israel?”

  “Exactly, sir,” Decker replied. “In which case, after the hits were made and Harrigan returned back to the US, he decided to implement his own brand of vigilante justice!”

  Rathbone was venomous. “And that’s when the bastard implicated us and all hell broke loose after the note he left on Mad Dog’s body!”

  “Yes, sir.” Decker replied.

  Rathbone thought for a moment. “So, what opportunities does this current situation in the UK afford us?” he asked.

  Decker had it all figured out. “Well, sir, according to the latest press from the UK, every man and his dog would relish putting a bullet in the two of them, so, why don’t we give them a little help?”

  Rathbone was intrigued. “Continue?”

  Decker continued to explain his plan. “It would be relatively easy to insert a couple of ‘black-ops’ personnel over there, perhaps a man and a woman to diffuse attention. Let them track Harrigan and the woman down and make it look like a local vigilante killing, because we can’t risk the Brits getting their hands on him and interrogating him!”

  Handforth was thinking it through. “And what makes you think our people can even find him when the whole of the UK law enforcement is still chasing their tails?”

  Decker smiled. “Because our people do it differently, sir. Even the Brit’s special forces could learn a few things from us!”

  Rathbone was weighing up the options. “Well, it would rid us of a vigilante thorn in our side, and you think you could keep a low enough profile?”

  Decker smiled malevolently. “Who would give a second glance at a young US couple enjoying their vacation, sir?”

  Rathbone’s mind was made up. “Very well. This conversation never took place. I don’t want to know the details. Just get it done, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.” Decker stood and left.

  Rathbone looked at his deputy. “Let’s hope this is the end of this Harrigan fellow!” Handforth nodded in agreement, such was the treachery of senior government officials when self- preservation became a priority.

  CHAPTER 16

  Inside Quinn’s safe house, Mickey had just returned from the bank, a concerned look on his face. Quinn looked at him inquisitively. “D’you get de money to pay dis whiny assassin?”

  Mickey looked confused. “No, Sean, day told me de damned account’s been frozen!”

  Quinn was livid. “What! Dem bastards in Belfast!”

  They were interrupted by the TV Newscaster who mentioned that earlier in the day the US President had sent his personal concerns to the Queen for the attack on her life, promising the full help of the US counter-terrorism forces to try and bring the would-be assassins to justice.

  Quinn smiled cruelly. “Isn’t dat sweet? Now de murdering bastard even has his own people out for his blood!”

  Colleen looked concerned. “So, what do we do now to replace de money we spent, Sean?”

  Quinn had a demented look in his eye. “Looks like it’s time for a little creative fundraisin’, me darlin’!”

  * * *

  Out on a quiet country road, the parking lot of the small bank was deserted when a car pulled in and stopped. The door opened and Quinn and Mickey got out leaving Colleen at the wheel, the engine still running. They had been watching the quiet bank for a while and when the manager and his assistant left to go for lunch, they had decided to move in.

  Quinn was once again wearing the hoodie and the mask to look like Jake. He turned to Colleen. “Keep de motor running and be ready to move out fast,” He turned to Mickey. “An’ you keep out of sight, only be ready if we meet resistance, okay?” Mickey nodded.

  Quinn and Mickey walked into the bank casually as Colleen watched them, an apprehensive look on her face.

  Inside the bank, there was a young, female Clerk at the counter, tidying up papers from an earlier customer. There was also a woman Officer sitting in a glass-fronted office to one side, with the door closed, talking on the phone, her back to the counters. Quinn walked casually up to the counter and Mickey busied himself, way at the back, near the door, as if he was filling in a deposit form.

  Jenny, the young clerk smiled as Quinn approached. “Good afternoon, sir,” she began. “Can I help you?”

  Quinn passed her a piece of paper to read, a gun suddenly appearing in his hand. “Read the note!” he hissed. To one side, the other woman was still on the phone in her office with the door closed, totally unaware of what was going on.

  Jenny read the note nervously. It said “Fill a bag with cash, try to raise the alarm or scream and you die!” she looked up in tears as Quinn waved the gun menacingly. Jenny glanced quickly at her colleague in the office, but she was still sitting there on the phone with her back to them.

  Tears now flowing, Jenny nervously opened the cash drawer and started to fill a cash bag with notes as Quinn looked on. She passed him the bag of cash and he looked at her, putting his finger to his lips to indicate that she had to remain silent as both he and Mickey dashed out of the door.

  It had all taken about two minutes. Outside the bank, they both rushed out and jumped into the car. Colleen then drove quickly away down the still deserted country road. Once they were moving swiftly through the countryside, Quinn pulled off his mask, a huge grin on his face.

  “Well, wasn’t dat a piece of cake, me darlin’s? An’ I gave my best smile for de surveillance camera over de counter. So, now we can replace de funds from de kitty an’ keep dose assholes in Belfast happy!” he looked over his shoulder at Mickey who was busy counting the money. “How much d’you reckon, Mickey, me boy?”

  Mickey finished a quick count. “I reckons about sixty five tousand, Sean!”

  Quinn was ecstatic. “Der we go, tops up de kitty, pays off de hit man an’ we still got fifteen grand or so profit. Not a bad day, me darlin’s!”

  Mickey nodded. “Right you are, Sean and now dey’ll be chasing de Yankee an’ his bitch fer de robbery!”

  Quinn smiled. “Dat day will!”

  * * *

  In the country pub down the road, the Bank Manager and his Assistant were having a quick sandwich and a coffee when his cell phone rang. It was Jenny on the line and he listened a second, his eyes going wider.

  “Say that again?” he gasped

  Back inside the bank, Jenny was still in tears on the phone to her boss. “Yes, sir, we were robbed, over sixty five thousand pounds!”

  Her boss on the other end was in shock. “My God, are you and Betty all right, Jenny?”

  “Yes, sir, we’re both fine.” she answered.

  He came back on the line. “Did you get a good look at any of them?”

  Jenny was thinking hard. “I know I’ve seen the man before, but where?” Sudden recognition kic
ked in. “Oh, my God!” she almost screamed.

  “What is it?” her boss asked.

  “Now I remember him,” she replied. “It was the same man on TV who tried to kill the Queen!”

  Her boss was in shock. “We’ll be right over! Get the CCTV tapes ready to look at!” he put the phone down and he and his assistant rushed out to the car.

  * * *

  In his MI5 office, Hargreaves was looking at a large TV screen showing the map of all the blockades of ports and airports when his phone rang and he answered it.

  “Hargreaves?”

  He listened to Strickland on the line for a few seconds.

  “What? Say that again? You’ve got to be joking?”

  Strickland continued on the line. “That’s right, sir. He went and robbed a damned bank, would you believe, Took over sixty grand!”

  Hargreaves was thinking out loud. “And we have positive ID?”

  “Yes, sir,” Strickland replied. “The bank clerk saw him and he’s also on the CCTV, we’re analysing the tapes as we speak.”

  Hargreaves was pleased. “Good job. Set up a meeting as soon as we have the tape details?” he put the phone down and stared out of the window. “Robbing a bank, he must be out of his mind!”

  CHAPTER 17

  It was peaceful and quiet in the churchyard later that afternoon as Jake Sr. waited patiently for the man Dennis from the pub and his nephew to arrive. He had taken good care to lose the MI5 tail that was following him before he headed anywhere near the church.

  He looked across the cemetery towards the new grave of Edith, a sad look in his eyes. “Who knows, my love, maybe this chap and his nephew will lead us to the bastard who did this. And if they do, Jake will take care of them if it’s the last thing he does, believe me!”

  Sure enough, as he looked at his watch, an old Ford pick-up pulled into the parking area and two people got out. Dennis introduced his nephew to Jake Sr. He was a skinny teenager with acne and stringy, wavy hair, pale skin and Harry Potter style glasses.