Luke Delaney - The Network

‘They sound very secretive,’ Conway grinned.

‘I suppose they would have to be.’

‘Indeed,’ Conway agreed. ‘But why circulate the material to others on the internet? Why not just keep it to themselves and minimize their exposure?’

Sean hadn’t expected the question, but somehow he knew the answer. ‘Because it makes them feel special,’ he answered. ‘It makes them feel powerful, especially amongst their own kind. That’s important to them.’

‘Yes,’ Conway beamed, ‘I suppose it would be — wouldn’t it?’

‘And besides,’ Sean continued, ‘not many people are using the internet yet. I doubt the police are even looking at it.’

‘Maybe they’re not keeping an eye on it yet, but they will — in time.’

‘Then The Network will have to find another way of existing — stay one step ahead — and so will The Sanctum.’

‘The Sanctum has nothing to fear from the internet. It exists in the real world, not the electronic. It’s three dimensional. It appeals to all the senses, not just the eyes.’

‘Then you know about it?’

‘As you said — rumours,’ Conway said with his customary grin. ‘I get out of here in a few days’ time — back to the world and the life I had before being unjustly locked in this toilet of humanity. If you avoid conviction and escape this dungeon then you should look me up. I could use a man like you.’

‘I’ll do that. Give me your number and address and I’ll call on you.’

‘No. It wouldn’t be shrewd for you to either visit or call me — you never know who’s listening or watching.’

‘Then how do I contact you?’

Conway took the newspaper Sean had been reading and opened it at random, pulling a felt-tipped pen from his shirt pocket and scribbling something quickly inside before closing it and handing it back to Sean. ‘There’s a very interesting article at the top of page twenty-four. You should read it, memorize it and then destroy it. If you get out you should check the same newspaper daily. When and if it provides you with any instructions you should follow them exactly. Any questions?’

‘Yeah,’ Sean told him. ‘What if I don’t get out any time soon? What if I get convicted?’

‘Then we never met,’ Conway told him, the grin gone from his face, ‘and you must never mention my name again or try to find me. If I need to I’ll find you. Understand?’

‘I understand,’ Sean assured him.

‘Good,’ Conway answered, the grin returning. ‘Then I’ll see you on the other side, where life can begin again.’

‘To the other side,’ Sean joined in, raising a cold mug of tea.

‘Just be ready,’ Conway told him. ‘Be ready for anything.’

Three Weeks Later

He’d been checking the email address Conway had scribbled in the newspaper every day since he’d got out of Wandsworth — the case against him apparently dropped, or at least that’s what the court’s paperwork had said. SO10 and the CPS had worked together to make the whole charade look convincing, just in case Conway or The Network had someone watching the court. Ever since then he’d been sitting in Cramer’s flea-pit of a flat bored out of his brains, waiting for contact from Conway, but everyday there was nothing — until last night, the inbox blinking that it had received mail. With genuine fear he’d opened and read it — clear instruction of where to be and what time to be there.

Now Sean was driving closer and closer to the address detailed in the email he’d received the previous night — an abandoned and derelict warehouse on the outskirts of North London — the sort of building people only ever saw as they flashed along the motorway fly-over that passed above. The nearer he got the more he wanted to turn the car around and head for home — tell SO10 he had good reason to suspect he’d been compromised and abandon the operation — but as much as his gut told him to cut-and-run, his heart and head told him to keep driving towards the vipers’ pit. SO10 and The Serious and Organized Crime Group knew this would be nothing more than an initial meeting — a chance for Conway and The Network to have a look at Sean on the outside, see if he still looked the part and maybe give him a little test. Hence he would have no back-up or covering surveillance. Using undercover officers and informants was relatively cheap compared to surveillance and the use of technology — both of which were in short supply. Those playing the game accepted they were a commodity that would be used to short-cut a potentially money-draining operation.

Sean gripped the wheel tightly and ploughed forward, shaking his head at his situation and reminding himself to mentally record everything he heard and saw. He was sure Conway would have him searched thoroughly so he hadn’t worn a recording device — they were bulky and difficult to conceal at the best of times. He’d have to do it the old fashioned way, writing a synopsis of events as soon as he could get away and find somewhere safe to record the meeting. The old warehouse loomed ahead of him, black and grey, corrugated iron and breeze-blocks — threatening and foreboding, no doubt just as Conway had planned it. What did he know? What did he know?

Suddenly Sean could think of nothing other than an ambush — he’d been lured here with promises of being given another glimpse of The Sanctum, but in reality the only thing that awaited him was a severe beating and a warning not to pry into their business, or worse. He felt his fear rise to almost panic levels before he managed to calm himself down, assuring himself he was ahead of the game — that Conway knew nothing other than that he was there to recruit another member to The Sanctum, one who had saved his life while they were in prison together. He slowed the car and let it almost roll along the old road leading to the warehouse.

As the car park came into view he could see two cars out front — a battered old Ford Scorpio and a pristine, if somewhat old, Jaguar that someone clearly loved — and he was pretty sure who. A good car to lure young boys into. So Conway liked nice cars — somewhere down the line SO10 and the Crime Unit may be able to use that tidbit. As he got closer he recognized the man standing in the middle of the group of five — Conway, serious-faced and business-like. Even if he knew the other men he wouldn’t be able to recognize them as they all wore balaclavas and even gloves. They stood to attention as Sean approached and pulled his car across the front of them, instinctively blocking their escape even though if anyone needed to escape it would be him. He put on a false smile despite his twisting stomach and nerves that threatened to shake his voice and betray him. They’ll expect you to be nervous , he told himself, don’t worry about it . He stepped from the car and headed towards Conway, his hand outstretched as his eyes moved from Conway to the men in balaclavas. ‘John,’ he said, his voice detectably shaky. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

Conway fired up a hand. ‘Stop right there,’ he demanded. ‘Don’t do anything, don’t say anything.’ Sean froze on the spot, reassuring himself it was all just standard procedure — they’d search him, be happy and move on. ‘Search him,’ Conway told two of his goons who stepped forward and began to run their hands all over his body — not just a TV pat-down, but a proper body search, digging their fingers into the crevices under his arms and between his legs and buttocks, untucking his shirt and belt, checking his waistband and the lining of his clothes while Conway looked on, drawing deeply on a cigarette, his eyes never leaving Sean’s body.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ Sean told him.