Luke Delaney - The Network

‘Then why don’t you like it?’

‘I do,’ Sean lied, an idea firing in his mind, the only thing he could think of that had any chance of explaining away his impotence, ‘but it’s not enough for me — just watching’s not enough anymore — not after…’

‘Not after what?’ Conway pushed.

‘After the real thing.’

‘You’ve never had the real thing.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Sean lied, ‘I’ve had the ultimate.’

‘This is bollocks,’ the man whose arm was around his neck said. ‘We need to get rid of him — he knows too much and that makes him dangerous.’

‘Shut up,’ Conway slapped him down.

‘But what if he’s an informant?’ the man argued.

‘He’s no informant,’ Conway told him. ‘I can smell an informant from miles away.’

‘What if he’s a cop?’ the other minder asked, silencing the room, the three men looking from one to another. Conway moved closer to Sean and pulled the man off his chest, letting him breathe a little easier. He placed each of his thumbs over Sean’s eyes and gently pressed in, the two minders holding his arms down as the increasing pressure made him feel as is if his eyeballs would implode.

‘What do you mean you’ve had the ultimate?’ Conway asked.

‘Runaways,’ Sean almost pleaded. ‘I know where to get runaways.’

‘How do you know we don’t use runaways?’

‘Because you don’t hurt them, which means you’re sending them home after, telling them not to tell anyone — to keep it secret and keep their rewards coming.’

‘Go on,’ Conway encouraged.

‘I know where you can get runaways — not first timers, but repeat runaways that have been in care. When they go missing and can’t be found, after a while people stop looking. I can get them for you, but only one at a time.’

‘How?’

‘I have a friend,’ Sean continued to lie, making up the layers of his impromptu story as quickly as he could. ‘He works with children in care. Every now and then he gets the chance to take one away. Everyone just assumes they’ve run off and are living on the streets somewhere. No one really cares.’

‘But what if they turn up somewhere telling tales?’ Conway asked.

‘They can’t,’ Sean told him. ‘They can’t turn up anywhere.’

‘Why?’ Conway demanded, wanting to hear the words from Sean’s own lips.

‘Like I said — I’ve had the ultimate.’

Conway took his thumbs from his eyes. ‘When can you get one for us?’

‘I need to talk to my friend,’ Sean answered, ‘but soon.’

‘This is bollocks,’ one of the balaclavas said. ‘We can’t trust him.’ Conway ignored him.

‘I know it’s what you want,’ Sean reeled him in. ‘To be able to do whatever you want to them, without fear of being caught. All your wildest fantasies coming true without the need to placate them and nurture them. To break them and twist them as you want and then when you’re finished to dispose of them any way you like. Imagine the power, John. Imagine what it feels like.’

‘Fuck this,’ the balaclava insisted. ‘He’s playing you.’

‘Shut up,’ Conway told him, licking his lips, eyes wide with excitement and temptation. The men stood in silence as Conway considered his next move — Sean’s life possibly hanging on his decision. After an age Conway slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and produced a back mobile phone. ‘Let him go,’ Conway ordered.

‘He knows too much,’ the same man argued. ‘We don’t need him. He’s seen too much.’

‘Pack up all the equipment,’ Conway told them, ‘we’ll take it with us and set up somewhere else. Don’t leave any evidence we were ever here. Clean up these tissues and wipe any surface where a print could be.’ The men reluctantly released Sean. Conway tossed the phone into his chest, making Sean fumble for it. ‘This is for you,’ he told him. ‘It’s totally clean and untraceable — never been used. Keep it with you always and wait for me to call. Only I have the number for it and only I will ever call. Understand?’ Sean nodded. ‘Now wait here until we leave, then wait another ten minutes before you leave.’ He turned to the men in balaclavas who had quickly unplugged the equipment and stood awaiting his instructions. ‘Done?’ he asked — a series of nods telling him they were. ‘Let’s go,’ he told them, their cue to start filing out of the room. Conway rested his hand on Sean’s shoulder before leaving. ‘I like you, Justin. Be very glad I do.’

Sean listened to the footsteps heading away along the corridors, splashing in the puddles as they grew fainter and fainter, his own breathing relaxing gradually until he could hear the steps no more — just the distant sound of cars being started and driven away. He exhaled through pursed lips and began to examine the phone. The battery was fully charged, but the memory was completely virgin — no listed contacts, history of numbers called or calls received — nothing. ‘Careful bastard,’ Sean told the empty room. He glanced around, looking for anything that could amount to evidence, but decided there was nothing worthwhile left so stuffed the phone in his pocket and headed for the exit and his car. More days of boredom and solitude beckoned. Days of waiting in his dingy little flat for the phone to ring with no chance of sneaking out to meet Kate. Not until it was over — not until Conway and his fellow animals were back behind bars where they belonged.

Three days later and Sean still hadn’t received any calls or texts from Conway or The Network, and both SO10 and the Serious and Organized Crime Unit were getting anxious. He’d been summoned to a meeting in the Angel Pub in Highgate — a bus ride away from his temporary home. It had taken him over two hours to travel to the meet, criss-crossing North London by Tube, bus and foot as he made absolutely sure he wasn’t being followed. No one knew anti-surveillance like a cop.

He entered the pub shortly after 8pm and immediately clocked DS Chopra sitting in the far corner with DI Mike Sheenan from the Serious and Organized Crime Unit. He ordered a pint at the bar and sipped the beer as he took his time scanning the room just in case he recognized any of the customers — crook or cop. If he saw either he’d abandon both his drink and the meeting, head out the door and be away on the first bus or cab he could get. He didn’t identify anyone and made his way over to Chopra and Sheenan, both of who blended in with the other customers perfectly — smart-casual professionals on their way home after working late in some West End Office. He sat at the small table without any pleasantries.

‘How’s it going, Sean?’ Sheenan asked. ‘Long time no see.’

‘Fucking wonderful.’

‘You holding up alright?’ Chopra asked, his black sunken eyes emotionless.

‘I’m fine,’ Sean told him. ‘Is that why you dragged me here — to have a look at me? Make sure I wasn’t losing it and going over to the dark-side?’

‘No,’ Chopra lied. ‘We’re here to see how we can move things on. You’ve had no contact for three days, and with no way of contacting Conway, people are getting nervous about just leaving you hanging out there — including me if I’m being honest.’

‘You can’t pull the plug,’ Sean insisted, ‘not yet. He’ll call, I know he will, but we have to stay patient.’

‘Then give us something we can use,’ Sheenan said. ‘Something that will give us an advantage when they do contact you. Something in his lifestyle maybe?’

‘His lifestyle — Christ. He likes having sex with young children — does that help?’ Sean asked sarcastically, the cracks in his armour immediately picked up on by Chopra. Years of seeing undercover officers struggling under the strain of being away from friends and family, sometimes for months at a time, surrounded by and befriending people they will ultimately betray told him when the officer deployed had reached their limit — even if they didn’t know it themselves. He could ill afford another high-profile case of an undercover officer going rouge and switching to the other side.