Brock Steele Sphere Read online

  “Sighrus has been following everyone you know since you came out of your coma. That’s how he found out Lacy was involved with drugs stuff—nothing too heavy, a consumer rather than a dealer, purely recreational I guess. But he has a finger in every pie . . . He got one of his pet dealers to put an idea into Lacy’s head about pranking someone, how easy it would be to knock them for six. It didn’t take much work to make her think she’d come up with it all by herself.

  “He arranged for a concoction from a lab to be brought to him, and one of the dealers handed it over to her. She probably unwittingly put it in your drink. A cocktail deliberately made to knock you right over the edge so you would talk. That’s right, those listening devices in your apartment were already in place, a planned mission. But it failed. You outright refused to give him what he wanted.” said Dalton.

  Brock tried to gather his thoughts.

  “Drugs? Labs? Bugs? It all seems a bit far-fetched,” said Ty.

  “Where do I come into all this?” Brock asked. “I remember nothing. Surely if what you are saying is true, some government department would have the resources to find him out. Surely they will be onto him. Who is he anyway? And if he’s so senior, why does he do all the chasing?” said Brock.

  “Work it out … our operatives would call him out. He uses his trainees—their understanding of what’s going on is limited. We’re slowly getting the resources we need, to bring him out. There are many complexities, and he works too fast. And he’s too well connected and respected. Take Lacy—she cottoned onto something and he shot her. Does it look like he was arrested?” said Dalton.

  “Lacy jumped in front of me. It was an accident,” said Brock.

  Ty pushed the pistol back against Dalton’s temple again.

  “Ty, pull back, let his head go. That night she was uncomfortable about something. As though she wanted to tell me something. But he shot her because she jumped in front, I’m sure of that.”

  “She became a nuisance to him. He was worried she’d turn him in, bang, dead. That’s his style—pop them off and the deaths join the unexplained people list, or frame someone. There’s plenty, trust me. Reality is, he’s panicking. It’s why he killed your mate, Preston,” said Dalton.

  Brock rubbed his hands across his face.

  “Oh really?” Ty smashed the gun across Dalton’s head.

  “Back off, Ty! Let him speak.”

  “Rawlins too. He killed him because the old fool knew too much, refused to budge for him.”

  “How come I spoke to Preston last night?” asked Ty.

  Dalton ignored him and carried on.

  “You were fast becoming a person of interest with just about every government agency. Even the CIA popped you on their radar. He planned to make you redundant, but killing you would make too much mess for him. Your protection in the hospital, though I doubt you realised, likely worried him a lot. His wife had already made plans to leave the country. According to intelligence, a family holiday in the Eastern Bloc, one-way ticket. Ironically, he was born there. Intelligence reckoned he would meet up with them later, after…”

  “Nice one, great. A foreigner working for a British spy agency on British soil and hand-picked, no doubt. You couldn’t make it up,” said Brock.

  “He was handpicked alright—by your father,” said Dalton.

  Brock let out a sudden puff of air.

  “He’s lying, Brock,” Ty said. “Don’t listen. He’s diverting from the subject. All this is too far-fetched. Tell us the real reason you’re following my mate. I’ve met people like you before, you’re setting an innocent person up, I just know it!”

  “Listen to me,” Dalton said in a rush. “Some years ago, intelligence got word that some Russian operatives had breached a nuclear plant south of here. We were desperate to get someone on the inside to monitor and report activity and not arouse suspicion. He was a nuclear scientist in there. We checked him out, monitored him, and tapped his house. He was the best and, sadly, the only option. After a short sting operation, we found there was indeed a guy attempting to pass over crucial information to the Russians and compromise our national security.

  “We intercepted his attempt to hand over special documents and photographs of the plant in a sting operation in some London park. Eventually, he was deported out of the country. If he’d succeeded, it could have resulted in serious consequences for us. Sighrus monitored him for weeks.”

  “Excuse me,” Sarah said timidly, “but why would Russia require plans of a simple nuclear power plant? It only generates electric.”

  “They were developing nuclear weapons in there, why else? Sighrus came out smelling of roses and eventually came on board with MI5 as a—”

  “Where’s my father now?”

  “Remember the morning Sighrus chased you across the heath? You got away, but did you question the lack of helicopters and back-up? Did they materialise? No. It would be standard procedure in a case of firearms and someone on the run. I diverted them south. He went crazy over the radio, I listened to him. If I authorised them your way, he’d have snatched you for sure. Probably would have held you somewhere and tortured the hell out of you to acquire the USB, then killed you off. He’s desperate now. You do still have the USB? Do you?”

  Brock rubbed his eyes.

  “Brock, you disappoint me,” snarled Dalton. “Listen to me, I copied the information from his office computer when he left it unlocked one day. A rare mistake. I handed it over to you because you had the balls to do something with it.”

  “Sighrus is planning some kind of attack on British soil. If the cell in intelligence is correct, it’s pretty big. He’s a bitter man who likes his revenge. His wife and kids should be leaving the country shortly on a one-way ticket, unwittingly disguised as a holiday. His attempt to leave the country is some sort of distraction, if you like. The reality is, he wants revenge.”

  “Revenge for what?” asked Sarah.

  “It’s crucial we act fast. If he gets his way, it could spell disaster. The powers-that-be support him, but they’ve little idea what he’s capable of,. He’s too well connected. He has them around his little finger, so to speak.”

  “A nuke attack? Are you sure?” said Brock.

  “He can get access to such things. Whatever he’s planning, it’s coming. We know he’s capable of killing and maiming people. Question is, how much?”

  “There’s something else, something you’re holding back.”

  Dalton glanced away.

  “What’s on the USB?” Brock asked.

  “Some agents are meeting up tonight in a secret club around the corner. Let us handle things, you need to make yourself scarce for now. I’m—”

  “Tell me what’s on the USB, I need to know. Is it anything to do with Sphere? Some kind of operation perhaps?”

  Dalton stared right at him opening, his mouth. Ty moved the gun in closer. A bang pierced the air, throwing Brock against the wall, Sarah screamed. Dalton was sprawled across the floor, wriggling in agony, blood pouring everywhere.

  “It was an accident, the gun fired on its own!” screamed Ty, throwing the pistol on the bed.

  “Oh God, what have you done?” hissed Brock.

  Blood gushed from Dalton’s neck, and he gasped for breath. Brock knelt beside him and Dalton croaked at him, “I’m sorry I’ve let you down. I knew your father well. He’s buried in St Pancras Churchyard in an unmarked hero’s grave. A true hero.”

  Pausing, he coughed, spitting out blood. His breathing became harder.

  “He killed them …”

  Blood oozed from his mouth and his head fell to the side. Sarah grabbed his wrist and checked his pulse.

  “He’s dead,” she cried.

  “That shot would have been heard throughout the hotel, probably outside too. We should leave quickly,” said Brock. ‘Likely he was the mole so
meone once talked about in my basement.’

  Brock squeezed Dalton’s hand and then moved swiftly through the door and into the hallway to a stairwell. Reaching the bottom, a big set of metal fire doors stood in front of them. But they were chained up.

  Chapter 26

  Hotel guests screamed, scattering through carpeted corridors into their rooms. Chaos enveloped the building. Brock picked up a metal chair in the corridor and threw it against the window. It shattered and they clambered out, making their way through the gate to the Mini. When they approached the road, there was no vehicle: a council towing vehicle sped down the distant road, their sleek black Mini neatly attached and trailing behind. Sirens pierced the street, followed by flashing blue lights bouncing between the tall buildings, disturbing the natural flow of people.

  “Shit! This is all we need. Keep moving forward, lower your heads,” said Brock. Sarah wiped her nose, sniffling.

  Fighting their way through onlookers, more flashing blue lights lightened up the street like something out of a movie. Units appeared out of thin air and all directions. People stopped in their tracks, glancing at the commotion.

  “We should head for the park across the way. Let’s disappear in it,” Sarah cried.

  Ty followed, falling behind until he came to a sudden halt. Brock swung around, pulling him along. “Come on, we’ve got to move.”

  Sarah was leading, glancing across the road on the left.

  “If my memory is correct, the park’s down there. It’s a big tourist attraction, bound to be busy at this time.”

  “You sure?” said Brock

  “Course I am, we can lose ourselves between the people, walk through the other side, buy us some time.”

  “It’s our only option. Keep walking,” said Brock.

  They stepped into the grassy park. Ty’s face was pale as though his life was somehow draining out. It was extremely busy, bustling with people moving around, sunbathers soaking up the afternoon sun sprawled on the cut grass.

  Ty collapsed, taking refuge amongst some hardwood oak trees, the thick bark shielding him from the sun. His head was neatly tucked into his shaking hands. After a moment, he slid both hands from his face, settling his breath. “It was an accident. the gun went off by itself.”

  The wind howled through the trees, throwing leaves into the air and into the landscape. Sarah and Brock remained silent, taking in what had happened. Sarah ran her trembling hand through her hair. “I need some coffee, urgently I guess,” she said.

  “We should move, the park will be crawling with police in a minute. Ty, are you up for it?” asked Brock.

  He remained silent.

  “My whole body is packing up,” Sarah said. “I’m desperate for a caffeine rush. Lacy brought me to this park a couple of months ago—we ate in a cafe in that direction. It’s expensive and usually quiet. If we have some cash, we could hold out there a while till it calms down. It’s well away.”

  “I’d struggle to walk. You go. Leave me here,” said Ty.

  Brock ignored him. “OK,’ he said to Sarah. “Help me pull Ty up.”

  When they entered the quiet café, Brock slipped Sarah some notes and she strolled over to the counter. He pulled Ty along, eventually stepping out into a garden area flourishing with exotic plants, where he pushed him into a chair.

  “That wasn’t clever,” Brock said. “Why did you grab my gun?”

  Ty forced his gaze to the floor.

  “Did something happen last night?”

  Ty pulled up a tissue from the table, wiping his nose, sniffling. “She asked me to leave last night. I was devastated. I jumped into the Mini and drove off. But someone was following me.”

  “Who?” said Brock

  “I was heading down the main road when a car overtook, swerving into me. He got out of the car and I went for him, mainly because of what happened at the house. And it was one hell of a bust-up. He thumped me in the stomach, practically rupturing my spleen. It was Preston.”

  “Preston? I thought you were joking back there! So he survived Edinburgh?”

  “After that and the argument with my girl and then that Dalton guy saying all that crap, somehow anger got into my head. I couldn’t speak, he made me angry, I held the pistol too tight until I heard a bang. When I looked …”

  “Shush, someone might hear us. It’s over now. Tell me more about Preston. I could have sworn Sighrus shot him in Edinburgh. And how did you come by his credit card?” said Brock.

  “The bullet missed, according to Preston. He scarpered through an alleyway and managed to lose ’em. Made his way to the station sometime afterwards, bought a ticket to St Pancras and made his way to his squat. He asked where you were hiding out, but I stayed silent. Asked some unusual questions. Truth is, I reckon he’s an impostor,” said Ty.

  Brock rested his back on chair. “Something’s wrong. I was so sure Sighrus shot him.”

  “Preston was practically an alcoholic at the hellhole, always in it for himself. But he had dark brown hair, I remember it vividly now. Ginger, we’d have taken the mickey.”

  Sarah appeared in the garden doorway. “What were you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” Brock pondered, racking through his brains over Ty’s conversation. Could it have been another alleyway? It all happened so quick, but how could he have got it so wrong? Sarah slammed into a seat, throwing some loose change onto the table.

  “I’ve ordered us all specials, thought it would be easier. That catty little madam is bringing it over.”

  “Catty little madam?” Ty enquired.

  “The waitress,” said Brock.

  They all sat in silence until she appeared with a big tray, placing three shepherds’ pies in front of them along with three carefully crafted lattes. Sarah gulped at the latte, and they all tucked in.

  “It’s a tight portion,” said Ty.

  “It’s a posh place. Stuff will be quality,” said Brock.

  Sarah rolled her eyes. Ty poked his fork into the potato, loading it up and shoving it into his mouth.

  “Dalton mentioned a club,” Sarah said. “I have a gut feeling it’s the one Lacy pointed out a few months ago. It’s very close, around the corner in fact: the 401 Club. This place will be crawling with agents soon. We should eat this and make a move.”

  “That rings a bell for some reason, the 401 club. Where do I know it from?” Brock mused. “I regret leaving Preston by himself now, we should have gone back.”

  “Who?” asked Sarah.

  “Forget it, Brock. I’m convinced he’s an impostor, probably working for Sighrus.”

  “I vaguely remember someone talking about that club as though it was some political haunt,” said Brock.

  “You’d be right, caters for the very elite, government clientele, Lacy was sure about that. It could only be this club. Police will be crawling around it like ants, especially because of the shooting nearby. We should move on, go to the hotel in the heath. You do think we’ll be safe there?”

  Ty glanced away and Brock swished the last of his latte down his throat, slamming the mug on the table.

  “I say we hang around and watch it,” said Brock.

  “We’ll be arrested for sure. You take too many risks,” said Sarah.

  “Dalton said people were looking for me. If I can get myself inside somehow, I can speak to them.”

  “He said no such thing. He was pleading for his life, he would have told you anything. Why did I mention that stupid club? You’re crazy, they’ll catch you for sure,” snapped Sarah.

  They moved on to another bar, near the 401 club, and Brock devised a plan of action. Ty and Sarah both sat tight, remaining in the bar, and he walked outside onto the road.

  A discreet black door to the 401 club was all that shielded the club from the quiet Mayfair street. Several cars were parked along the road
with random well-dressed gentlemen at the wheel. Brock considered them undercover agents, edging around the backwards some fire doors. He yanked at them; they were solid. A girl was puffing on a cigarette nearby and she sneaked over to him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh hello, I’m security, just testing the door. Have I met you before?”

  She shook her head, throwing the cigarette on the floor and stamping on it.

  “I’d better get back to work,” she said.

  She opened the staff door and he waited to make his move. The door slowly closed behind her, and at the last minute he dashed over, sticking his fingers between it, keeping it ajar. He waited for a few moments until he was sure she was gone, then pulled it open and stepped into a narrow corridor, which led into a colourful ballroom. Tables were scattered across the floor surrounded by guys in tuxedos and woman in fancy ballgowns. Someone in the distance was speaking in a loud American accent and light classical music played in the background.

  His immediate glance picked out a woman in a bright red dress bearing a striking resemblance to Lady Ranskill. She gawped at him and immediately sashayed towards him. Pulling him into a corner behind a massive black curtain, out of the prying eyes of the crowd, she whispered in his ear, “Are you crazy? How the hell did you get in? If you know what’s good for you, you should go right to where you came in and do one. This place is full to the brim of undercover police and agents. If they spot you, they’ll shoot you dead. A poor friend of mine has been murdered near here today, and they’re running very nervous.”

  “But people here are with me, we’re all in this together, I thought. You need my help,” said Brock.

  “Are you deluded? You’re a damn fool and risking everything. Do yourself a favour and leave while you still have a chance,” said Lady Ranskill.

  “Tell me what’s going on. I know it’s some sort of intelligence gathering. You should watch yourself—security here is shoddy.”