Nick Oldham - The Last Big Job

It was important to keep Lee believing that Frank Jagger was totally and utterly reliable. So when the next undercover cop came on the scene, expertly and sneakily introduced by Henry, Lee’ had fallen into the beginning of a complex and brilliantly executed trap.

Nine months later when he was arrested on a multitude of conspiracy charges, he did not have a clue that the person to blame for it all — other than the original informant who had been well protected by the police operation — was none other than Frank Jagger. Four years in the slammer, brooding about which bastard had set him up, led him down a complete blind alley with the tragic result that he wiped out an innocent guy.

But no one stays an undercover cop if they don’t like it.

Not liking it makes them a liability to themselves and others.

Henry was not enamoured of the role.

Long spells away made his home life very difficult. His wife, Kate, having to manage two young daughters on her own, was struggling and becoming depressed. She was brave about it, denying there was a problem. Yet Henry could sense it, almost touch it, and when he was away he desperately missed them all.

Having had a very successful run at U/C work, he pulled out without loss of face.

Through his legends, though, he continued to exist as other people.

‘ You want me to go back undercover?’ Henry croaked dryly.

The two higher-ranking officers nodded in unison.

‘ Exactly,’ said Davison. ‘I know from my enquiries that you did a superb job last time, had Lee eating out of your hand. I’d like you to get back into his confidence, get him to admit the murder to you — and this time, you nail him.’

‘ You’re the only one for the job,’ FB supported Davison. ‘The only one capable of pulling this off. Lee trusts you.’

Henry’s lips pouted sardonically. ‘You realise it’s very dangerous going back in, don’t you? It would have to be handled very carefully. I couldn’t just turn up on his doorstep and say, “Hiya Jacky, I’m back.” He’d be so suspicious. And the other thing is that working in Manchester could be really iffy for me. I’ve done a lot of straight-up detective work there when I was on the squad and the Manchester crims know me well. I could easily be compromised.’

‘ I understand that,’ Davison said. ‘If you ever felt you were in danger, you could just pull out. Wouldn’t be a problem. I want a quick result anyway. Here, I’ve prepared these.’ He reached across to FB’s desk and slid a sheet of paper over to Henry.

Henry made no move to take the paper. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘ A list of questions I’d like you to ask Lee.’

Aghast, Henry held up both hands and said, ‘No!’ sharply. ‘I don’t want to see them.’ He wasn’t all that surprised that the higher-ranking officer had suggested such a stupid thing; most had limited dealings with undercover cops and had unreasonable expectations of them and knew little about how they actually operated.

‘ I don’t want to see them,’ he reiterated, ‘nor do I want to hear anything further about the police operation against Lee. You must understand that if I say I’ll go back in, you’ll have to leave everything to me. There cannot be a timescale and there can’t be any set questions and I can’t know anything about the investigation.’

‘ Why not?’ Davison asked crossly.

‘ Because there has to be a natural course of events. Just supposing I let slip something that can only have come from a police source. Jacky Lee’d have me strung up before I finished talking. Undercover work is an art, a craft, and it can’t be rushed. If you want to push things along, then I can’t do it for you.’

‘ So you will do it?’ Davison now became eager.

‘ I don’t know yet… let me have a think.’ Henry excused himself and drifted down to the Headquarters canteen for a lone cup of tea.

There was no doubt about it — he didn’t really want to go back undercover. Yet the thought of it excited him. It was a challenge, a dangerous one. And there was something else playing in the background which actually made the offer irresistible: it would give him an excuse to get away from home, give him time to think, mull over things that were happening to him and get his head together one way or the other. See if what he thought he was feeling was really true, or was it just a passing fad which would go away. Distance from the problem would enable him, he hoped, to put things into perspective.

Wrongly — and Henry knew it was outrageously wrong — it was his personal circumstances which swung it for him.

He went back to FB’s office and announced, ‘I’ll do it.’

Both officers looked relieved.

‘ Have you got a pocket book for me?’ Henry asked Davison, who looked blankly at him.

‘ Why? Won’t your normal one do?’

‘ Undercover officers have a unique one, issued at the beginning of any operation,’ Henry said slowly, trying not to show his impatience. ‘The first page of it has some instructions which you need to read aloud to me, make sure I understand them and sign them as Frank Jagger.’

‘ Oh,’ said Davison, stumped, betraying a further lack of knowledge of undercover policing which Henry found slightly disconcerting. He was not terribly impressed with Davison who, it seemed, had risen through the ranks very quickly indeed. ‘I’ll get you one,’ he said hurriedly.

Later, when Henry told Kate that he had taken on this new U/C job, there was a storming row between them. She did not want him to go back to such work, did not trust him being away from home for such lengthy periods. Their marriage, she pointed out, had enough sticking plasters over the cracks and was ready to bleed again.

But Henry went anyway because he knew that in so doing he would either repair the marriage or break it for good. He needed to know in his own mind which way to go.

Now, ten weeks later, sitting at the breakfast table with Jacky Lee, Henry realised that he hadn’t phoned home for three days, not even when he’d had the opportunity. It was getting harder and harder to talk to Kate… Shit, he cursed, shaking domestic thoughts from his mind, and placed his coffee cup down.

‘ What can I do for you, Jacky?’

‘ I want to know what you can offer me, Frank.’

Henry made a show of rolling his neck as if it was aching, letting his gaze drift slyly towards Natasha. She was looking away from him. ‘What do you want?’

Frank Jagger was a person who could get most things, but he specialised in booze.

‘ Cheap spirits for a start.’ Jacky Lee stood up. ‘Come and have a look at this view,’ he said, taking a mug of coffee across to the picture window. Henry watched him. He was a squat, powerfully-built individual who moved with the confidence that comes from toughness. Henry joined him, admiring the development around the canal basin. The penthouse was in a very desirable position.

‘ Nice,’ Henry murmured.

‘ People seem to float to the surface in it,’ Lee ruminated. His face was contorted in frustration. ‘Pity, that.’

‘ What do you mean?’ Henry probed, thinking: Come on, you bastard, admit what you’ve done.

‘ Nah, nothing.’ Lee shook his head. Henry hid his disappointment and did not push the matter. ‘Cheap booze is what I want and fags, maybe.’

‘ I can do both,’ Henry said. It was no boast.

‘ OK then, let’s chat.’

Despite the sunshine, a cold wind was cutting in from the Irish Sea like razor blades. The Russian shivered and wrapped his winter coat tightly around himself. The chill reminded him of the old days, being frozen to the bone in the severe Russian climate. Not pleasant.

Nowadays he spent much of his spare time mooching around the Mediterranean, only returning to Russia when his masters demanded it.