Hunter Killer - Alex King Series 12 (2021) by A BATEMAN (mind reading books .txt) 📕

“Sod off, Neil,” she said, standing up carefully. “I’ll pack a bag and you can take me back to London with you.”

“To what end?” he asked, exasperated.

“To answer the request for an assassin,” she said.

“I didn’t think you liked the idea of entrapment?”

“I don’t. Not when it’s the Italian police and their Ministry of Justice, no. But if we can get our hands on what Interpol have on Fortez so far, then we can control the parameters and see that he isn’t handed a token sentence. That is, if any investigation even gets that far. This way, we’re in control.”

“I like the moxy,” said Big Dave. “I’ve got nothing on, and Lake Como is nice this time of year.”

“Technically, it would be a cyber operation. It could be done completely over the internet and the dark web.” Ramsay said pointedly. “We only need an agreement, talk of a payoff and a trail.”

Lomu smiled as he watched Caroline’s face. “But the most thorough investigations with the greatest successes get out into the field,” he interjected, winking at her. “Don’t they, Caroline?”

Caroline smiled at him and said, “You’re damned right they do…”

Chapter Twelve

Thames House

London

“This is Captain Gerrard Durand, formerly of the French counter-intelligence service and Interpol’s senior investigator based here in London,” Ramsay turned to the Frenchman and said, “And this is Caroline Darby, with the Security Service.”

Caroline smiled pleasantly. Nobody was shaking hands these days, let alone cheek-kissing the French. Maybe the West would even start bowing soon like their Far Eastern counterparts. Anything was better than an elbow bump. “Pleased to meet you,” she said.

Durand sat back down at his space at the table. Opposite him a woman in her late thirties with light brown hair and a weary expression sat awkwardly with an open file in front of her. Caroline knew who she was, although they’d never met. Ramsay did not pick up on the fact and sat down at the head of the table, while Dave Lomu poured himself a coffee at the counter. The room was a fifteen by twenty-foot windowless box room with an office conference table and utilitarian chairs. Coffee and hot water had been put out for them in large, pressurised thermos dispensers with a jug of milk and a selection of coffee, tea bags, sugar, and biscuits. Big Dave had loaded up with biscuits and taken the last remaining chair.

The woman realised she wasn’t being introduced any time soon and caught Caroline’s eye. “I’m Sally-Anne Thorpe,” she said. “I came aboard last autumn. No doubt your other half will have told you all about me.” Her tone was challenging and passive aggressive. Thrown out there to make of what she would. “He’s a bit too old school, I fear. A blunt instrument when I see the future requires a little more precision. Especially as solid convictions will be what makes the intelligence services a viable entity in the future.”

Caroline frowned and shook her head. “No, he didn’t mention you,” she lied. King had been adamant that having a former Metropolitan detective inspector in their ranks, tasked with keeping the team on the right side of the law and influence their approach, would in fact weaken their effect on fighting terrorism. She shrugged like it was of no consequence and smiled. “Have you ever operated in the shadows? Been to some of the worst places on earth and gone up against the worst people those places have to offer? It’s not always so black and white. Sometimes people die and many people could be saved if swift action is taken.”

Thorpe paused, regarding her sceptically. “No, I suppose I haven’t. But ignoring the rule of law is the thin end of a moral wedge.”

Caroline smirked. “And what is your particular role in all of this?”

Thorpe stared at her warily. In her mind, having been the brunt of King’s feelings last autumn, she simply could not process the thought that King had not mentioned her or her remit. “I’m a former detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police Service.”

“A thankless task, I should imagine. And hindered, I suspect, by your middling rank,” Caroline interrupted her. “So, you’ve jumped ship while the going was good. What skillset do you bring to the role?”

“I might ask you the same…” Thorpe challenged her.

“I’m an ex-Army officer, formerly with army intelligence fighting the war on terror in Afghanistan and Syria. A few excursions into Iraq as well. So, three warzones… officially, that is. Then I was recruited into the Security Service and have worked in the field ever since. Apart from regular liaisons with Special Branch and two sabbaticals with Interpol.” She paused, feigning a look of bewilderment. “So, I suppose I’ve been fighting terrorism since university. Have you experience with terrorism, or is it just petty crime you were involved in as a policewoman?”

“I was a lead detective with MIT!” Thorpe snapped. “Murder was my speciality…”

“Mine, too. With the right weapon in my hand and a committed terrorist in my sights,” she said, then looked at Big Dave. “Get us a cuppa, would you Dave? I’ve suddenly got a nasty taste in my mouth…”

Big Dave smiled and stood up, his imposing six-foot-four and eighteen stone frame towering over the table. “Anyone else?”

“Do you rank over Mister Lomu?” Thorpe asked. “For him to make you a cup of tea?”

“No, not really. But he is the nearest to the refreshments table, and makes a bloody good cuppa,” she replied. “And we’ve got each other’s back. He knows that and so do I.”

“Le combat de chat,” Durand mused quietly.

Caroline turned and faced him. “À peine un ronronnement,” Caroline replied. “Mes griffes ne sont pas encore sorties…”

Durand laughed and sipped his coffee.

“What did you both say?” Thorpe asked somewhat aggressively.