Michael Parker - A Covert War

This link brought them to the United States Air Force base at Lakenheath and it was there they found the dental records they were looking for and subsequently identified one Danvor Grebo, Chief Master Sergeant in the USAF as the dead man.

It was fairly obvious to the investigating officer that Grebo’s murder had the hallmarks of a gang style killing, and there were only two possibilities that rang alarm bells: one was drugs, the other was terrorism; the possible slaying of a member of the American Forces as a terrorist style revenge attack.

The connections were then being made and passed to various departments within the Metropolitan Police divisions which included the narcotics and terrorist departments of SOCA, Special Branch and eventually the desk of James Faulkner.

It also crossed the desk of Andrew Butler, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner who phoned Sir Giles Cavendish as a courtesy. And so the loop was completed, and all the interested parties made their own choices on how they were going to deal with this particular crime.

James Faulkner made his choice; he phoned Randy Hudson, the CIA Station chief and asked for an urgent meeting. The meeting took place at the same riverside pub as before, but this time they were being observed and filmed by a member of Sir Giles Cavendish’s department. Cavendish was taking no chances with Faulkner since their meeting with the Prime Minister. It was because of something the SOCA chief had said after Cavendish had told them about the drug smugglers, bringing in drugs and young girls, then smuggling arms out. Faulkner had declared that he believed all the poppy fields in Afghanistan had been destroyed.

It was a simple enough assumption to make, that the drugs were coming in from Afghanistan, but Cavendish hadn’t mentioned that country; the drugs could have been coming in from the Far East. It was a small error, but one that immediately raised the bar, and Cavendish decided to keep a discreet surveillance on the SOCA chief; hence the camera filming his meeting with Hudson from across the river.

‘I’ve got very little time,’ Hudson warned Faulkner. He looked at his watch and sat down opposite the SOCA chief. ‘I don’t know if I can give you anything new; the boys at Lakenheath are in a flat spin over this. Your English newspaper guys are already calling it ‘gunfight at the OK corral.’

Faulkner raised his eyebrows a notch. ‘Our headline writers have vivid imaginations.’

‘But they do at least stir things up and get the public interested. This has taken them away from their soap operas.’

‘Well hopefully, your country folk will give our Press something to feed on. But I want to know if you have any contingency plan?’

‘Milan Janov is flying in tomorrow,’ Hudson told Faulkner. ‘I contacted him through the usual channels to tell him of his cousin’s disappearance. He doesn’t know yet what’s happened.’

‘I’m more concerned about how we are going to replace Grebo,’ Faulkner said levelly. ‘At the moment we don’t have anybody in place.’

Hudson shook his head. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll fill that gap. And I’ll talk to Janov.’

‘What can he do?’

Hudson shrugged. ‘Nothing really, but I think he wants to ride in and flex his muscles.’

‘I won’t be able to do anything if Immigration stops him at Heathrow,’ Faulkner told him. ‘Probably better if they do stop him and send him home.’

Hudson laughed lightly. ‘Well, we’ll let him have his moment if he does get in. But I suspect there’s another reason for his visit.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, James, I really have to go. I’ll catch up with you later.’

Faulkner drained his glass and stood up. ‘OK Randy let me know if anything develops.’

Hudson stood up and shook Faulkner’s hand. ‘Deveraux has already had to close the operation down,’ he said, ‘For now anyway. It might mean I’ll have to make a trip back to the States for a while, but I’ll let you know.’

‘Thanks Randy, keep in touch.’

And with that the two men went their separate ways.

Cavendish had kept Marcus under virtual house arrest for a couple of days. He had taken him from Susan’s house and made sure there was no way he could disappear again. During that time he did his best to debrief Marcus and find out as much as he could about the events that had happened while Marcus had been operating unofficially.

Marcus had told Cavendish as much as he could, even to the extent that he believed the police would find the gun that killed Covington in the Mercedes he had dumped at the truck stop.

He also told Cavendish about the killer’s house and, most painfully of all, the fact that he now believed Maggot was a hit man for the organisation that were smuggling drugs into Britain.

What Cavendish told Marcus was that there was a growing conviction that the CIA were running the organisation and smuggling arms out to Afghanistan to keep the insurgent war lords happy and to maintain a constant supply of heroin into the West. He told Marcus that the heroin trade world-wide was worth in the region of 120 billion dollars a year, and that a great deal of money was going into the pockets of people in very senior positions of authority.

‘And remember this, Marcus,’ Cavendish added at the end of one of his short lectures. ‘They have killed a Cabinet minister, a high flying lawyer and one of their own, key men in order to maintain a very lucrative business. And they would have killed me if you hadn’t intervened.’

‘And they have tried to kill me,’ Marcus mentioned.

Covington almost smiled. ‘Yes, you annoy them, and they spoil your day anyway, so both of you had better watch out.’

For the moment, Marcus failed to see the rejoinder. He was thinking instead of why he was this far in.

‘Is there going to be any end to this, Sir Giles?’ he asked.

Cavendish nodded firmly. ‘Mark my words, Marcus; it will end. One way or the other,’ he added ominously.

Milan Janov flew into London and waltzed through Immigration at Heathrow with his false passport. He was met by an inconsequential looking youth and immediately taken by car to an address in north London. He was dropped off at the house with his overnight bag and left standing at the front door of the house as the car disappeared into the late evening.

Janov waited no more than a few moments before the door was opened and he was taken into a room at the rear of the house. Waiting there for him was Randy Hudson, CIA Station Chief in Britain.

Janov was not used to travelling without minders but his instructions had been explicit, and only by travelling under an assumed name and with a false passport could he be sure of getting into Britain without the security people showing an interest in him and sending him packing.

A meal had been prepared for him, which he ate while discussing events with Hudson.

‘Have you found the people who murdered my cousin?’ Janov asked through a mouthful of food.

‘We’ve no idea who killed your cousin,’ Hudson lied, shaking his head. ‘But we will eventually, I’m sure.’

‘What happened to the arms shipment?’ Janov asked, shovelling another mouthful in. ‘My man has told me that it did not arrive at Felixstowe docks as expected. If I do not get the goods, I cannot do business.’

Hudson explained the predicament that faced the organisation. ‘It was not of our choosing. And I have to say that your cousin acted like a damn fool.’

Janov stopped eating immediately and looked across the table with venom in his eyes. Then he shrugged and carried on eating.

‘He was a damn fool to get himself killed,’ he spluttered through a mouthful of food. ‘But it could happen to any one of us; it is a dangerous business. Now, what about the arms shipment?’