Michael Parker - A Covert War

Marcus began to realise it was a reflection of the man’s professionalism that he would leave nothing incriminating that could link him to any organisation involved in anything illegal. It was disappointing to say the least that he could find nothing that he could take to Cavendish.

He closed the drawers and cast around once more before trying the kitchen and the bedrooms. But his search was fruitless there too; nothing. He came down the stairs and went back into the front room for one more look in the bureau. And that was when he came across something he least expected to; something that shook Marcus to the core.

It was a photograph jumbled up with a few others that Marcus had ignored. It was of two men. They were standing in front of what looked like an Indian temple or something of that nature; Marcus couldn’t be sure. But what he could be sure of was that one of the men in the photograph was the bogus Covington who had planned to kill him. The second man in the picture was a Pakistani; of that Marcus had no doubt.

It was Maggot.

Susan had settled herself down in front of the television to watch her favourite soap when the doorbell rang. She moaned to herself and went to the front door. When she opened it she saw Marcus standing there.

‘Marcus! What on earth are you doing here?’

Marcus didn’t wait for an invitation but brushed past her and waited for her to close the door, which she did.

‘I’m sorry about this Susan,’ he told her. ‘Are you alone?’

‘And what if I’m not?’ she snapped at him. ‘Haven’t you heard of the telephone?’

He thought about the phone tap on his father’s line but said nothing about that. He thought that might scare her more than she could bear.

‘Please forgive me, Susan, but I have to talk to you.’

Susan pushed past him and went through to her part of the house that she rented as a flat. She stood by the door.

‘Well, are you coming or not?’

Marcus went inside and sat down on one of her armchairs. Susan came in, set the DVD to record and switched the television off.

‘I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something,’ he said.

Susan shrugged and tossed the remote control on to the sofa. ‘It’s nothing,’ she told him. ‘Now, what is it you want?’

‘Why are you angry with me, Susan?’

The question was unexpected. Susan didn’t know what to say for a moment so she settled herself down in an armchair facing Marcus and composed herself.

‘I’m not angry with you Marcus,’ she began, ‘but things happen when you turn up. My life hasn’t been the same since we met. Just when I think I might make some sense out of everything, you somehow manage to, oh I don’t know, break the moment.’

He agreed and was sure Cavendish would agree as well. ‘Fair enough Susan, but hear me out this time and I’ll walk out of your life altogether. Promise.’

She sighed. ‘What do you want, Marcus?’

‘Do you remember the first letter, or writing you received from your brother?’ he asked her.

‘The one that Cavendish brought to me?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Do you have it?’ When she said she did, Marcus asked her if she would fetch it so he could read it.

She brought the pages to him and he read through them. When he had finished he lowered them on to his lap and closed his eyes.

‘Maggot,’ he whispered softly. ‘I can’t believe it.’

Susan peered at him. ‘What’s the matter?’

He looked over at her and passed the pages back.

‘Maggot would go back to Pakistan from time to time,’ he said softly. ‘Always on family business, so he said. He would never explain; just say, ‘something like that’.

‘Marcus, what are you saying?’ she pressed.

He had been looking at Susan but not seeing her. It was as though he was staring straight through her. He shook his head and drew himself back to the present moment.

‘A man tried to kill me yesterday; a professional.’ Marcus was talking in a matter of fact way, as though it was an everyday occurrence. ‘He didn’t though, obviously. I found out where he lived and went to his house.’ He saw Susan’s mouth open as she began to say something. He put his hand up. ‘There was no-one there. I looked around, found nothing incriminating. Then I came across a photograph. It was the hit man, the guy who tried to kill me, and a Pakistani guy. The picture was taken somewhere in India or Pakistan. They were standing together, smiling. Lovely picture really. Maggot would have been proud of it.’

‘Maggot?’

Marcus nodded. ‘Yes, he was the other man in the photograph. Did you know, Susan, that Maggot has the little finger of his left hand missing?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, looking surprised. ‘I noticed it the other day.’

‘I can remember reading that your brother was shot by a man with his little finger missing. It’s not conclusive, Susan, but when you see a photograph of him with a man who has just tried to kill you, and when you read what happened to your brother, and when you think of how often Maggot goes away.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘Maggot’s a hit-man; that’s what he does.’

‘He’s also a terrorist,’ Susan said, her voice cracking a little.

Marcus’s eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘He’s a terrorist, Marcus; and the police know.’

She then told him about her trip to the local police station and what Detective Chief Inspector Rendell had told her.

‘It was Maggot who delivered my brother’s second letter. The police took pictures of him doing it.’

Marcus sagged visibly in the chair. His deductions about Maggot had saddened him immensely, and now he wasn’t sure what he could do about it.

Susan could see that the news of Maggot had affected Marcus. She knew they were both very good friends. Maggot had spoken very warmly of Marcus too.

‘Would you like a drink, Marcus?’ she asked suddenly.

Marcus smiled weakly. ‘I don’t fancy a drink Susan but I will have a coffee, thank you.’

Susan spent ten minutes making coffee and putting some quick snacks on a plate. She brought them through to him and watched as he worked his way through the lot. When he had finished, Susan took his plate from him and set it down on the coffee table beside her.

‘What are you going to do, Marcus?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘To be honest Susan, I’m out of my depth. This is a job for the professionals. I was better off where I was before; running my own agency in the way I know best.’

‘Marcus, your agency doesn’t exist anymore.’

‘What do you mean?’

She told him how she had turned up at his office and found it empty.

Marcus was stunned. Then he realised why Cavendish had to have the place cleaned out. He told Susan what had happened.

A look of concern clouded Susan face.

‘You really ought to get out of the country for a while, Marcus. Lie low, as they say.’

He laughed. ‘They’ll have my picture at every departure point in Britain. I wouldn’t even get a foot on a boat or an aeroplane.’ He stood up. ‘But I can do as I promised and get out of your life, Susan.’ He put his empty cup down.

Susan stood up and put her hand on his arm. ‘I don’t want you to get out of my life. Even if it’s only as a friend, I want you in it.’ She reached up and kissed him on the forehead. ‘But I want you in it in one piece. So please try and sort things out. If you stay in this, you never know, we may learn the truth about David.’

‘Did you go to the Press about David?’

She nodded. ‘They’re not interested; hostages aren’t newsworthy anymore: too many of them.’

Marcus was about to say something when the doorbell rang. He looked round and Susan told him to wait there. She went through to her front door and opened it. Marcus heard her greet someone disconsolately and then he heard footsteps. The door opened and Cavendish walked in.