Helix Nexus by Chris Lofts (read e books online free .TXT) 📕

‘You can’t. Yawlander’s death doesn’t change anything. Like it or not you’re Government property for the next six years, unless you’re released by either the Home Secretary, the Secretary of State for Defence or the Prime Minister. And the person occupying the first two positions in that holy trinity would be me.’

‘I have two months of accrued leave. I’d like to take it immediately.’

‘I can do better than that, Major. You are suspended with immediate effect.’

‘Same thing.’

‘Not exactly, Helix. Access to all MoHD and Home Office premises, systems and resources will be revoked. The same applies to your brother Ethan.’

Helix stifled a snigger. Locking him out would be a minor inconvenience. Ethan wrote the manual when it came to cyber surveillance and security. Good luck with that.

‘And one other thing,’ Ormandy said, leaning back in her chair, her legs crossed. ‘You are not to leave the city.’

4

Built beneath the arches of what used to carry one of the old suburban railway lines into London Bridge, The Royal Oak bar pretended to be what it was when packed commuter trains used to rattle overhead. It was one of the few stretches of old brick-built railway arches that had survived the ravages of time and relentless march of technology. The arched bare-brick theme was carried inside in the shape of vaulted drinking spaces where patrons could lose themselves in the shadows. The more gregarious congregated around the almost-black wooden bar with its pendulous downlighters, above which lurked the coils of the industrial air conditioning system, cable trays and plumbing.

Helix ducked through the doorway and into the burbling crowd. He apologised his way through the crowd to the bar, one of a few that still had a real person serving real ale in real pint glasses. He liked this place. You didn’t have to shout over music or sport being shown on the large screens that floated over the heads of the drinkers in other bars. It was a place where people came to drink, where people were interested in what you had to say, not what you were wearing. It was a favourite amongst the security services, which on that evening made up the majority of the punters, who fell silent as Helix loomed over the bar. Averting his eyes from his own reflection in the mirrors behind the spirit bottles and glasses, he wrung his gloved hands while he waited his turn. An eruption of laughter carried from beyond an arch, puncturing the hushed void. It acted as a cue to the others to pick up their drinks and conversations from where they’d left them. He leaned on his elbows, trying not to stand out any more than he did. The barman approached.

‘Pint of Spitfire, please,’ he said. ‘Actually, make it two.’

Waiting for the first glass to fill, the barman tapped the order into the payment terminal and nodded at Helix who pressed his thumb on the small screen set into the bar. Peeling his forearms from the sticky surface, Helix took the first drink and downed it without pause. He exchanged the empty glass for the full one and turned away from the bar.

Side-stepping through the knots of drinkers, he made his way to what he hoped would be a quiet corner. ‘Excuse me,’ he said finding his way blocked.

The black-haired woman turned around. ‘Hello, Helix,’ she said. ‘It’s been a while.’

It was his turn to look surprised. ‘Hello, Tanya,’ he said, recognising the gentle face, dark eyebrows and olive skin. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine.’ She touched his arm. ‘Shit news about Yawlander, eh?’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded. That was one way of putting it. ‘Look, I’m sorry I never got—’

‘It’s OK.’ She smiled. ‘Like you always said, it comes with the turf.’

‘Yeah, but I could have called once it was all over.’ He sipped his beer. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why don’t you join us?’ she said, flicking her long hair over her shoulder.

‘Perhaps another time. Not really in the mood for small talk.’

‘I understand. Why not give me a call sometime? It’ll be good to catch up.’ She squeezed his elbow. ‘Look after yourself.’

‘Sure. OK.’ He nodded. ‘Thanks.’

Guilt twisted a knot in his stomach as he excused himself and shuffled around Tanya and her friends. He acknowledged a couple that they’d been out with on a double date. That had been a rare occasion. He and Tanya had often bumped into each other in the Oak, usually ending up ensconced in a quiet corner over their beers. The date had been her idea. He’d almost blown her out; it was easy to come up with an excuse in their line of work. But with Ethan’s goading, he’d gone along and had enjoyed himself. The follow-up date, with just the two of them, had been a genuine victim of circumstance. The particular circumstances were his arrest of Gabrielle Stepper on suspicion of murder and everything that followed.

He slipped off his jacket, tossed it on the bench and squeezed in next to it.

‘Was that the lovely Tanya I saw you talking to?’ Ethan said into his ear.

He switched to TC. ‘Ethan, I’m going offline for a bit. I just want to have a couple of pints and a bit of time to myself. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.’ He ended the call abruptly, immediately regretting it. His shit day wasn’t Ethan’s fault. He buried his face in his hands shutting out the world. Being tossed on the scrap heap and suspended would have been enough for one day. Seeing what happened to Yawlander was up there with the day that his older brother Jon had died. He wasn’t one for wallowing in self-pity but he felt like he’d been run over by a maintenance troll. He took a deep swig of beer. How had Yawlander put it? ‘Special forces ops isn’t everything, you’ve still got plenty in the tank. There’ll always