Secret Agent

 

by Rafe McGregor

www.rafemcgregor.co.uk

London, Thursday 7^th July, 1127 hours

 

 

 

“Dave, Jack, get in here!” Johnson shouted across the squadroom.  Moon followed DI Eyles in.  “Close the door and sit.”  Johnson’s landline was ringing and he unplugged the lead from the back. 

            “What the hell’s happening?” asked Eyles.

            “It appears six bombs were detonated on the Underground at ten to nine, all within a minute of one another.  An hour later another bomb blew up a bus.  SO13 are down there now.”

            “Christ.  Where?” asked Eyles.

            “Liverpool Street, Edgware Road, and King’s Cross St Pancras are the only ones confirmed for the Underground.  The bus was in Tavistock Square.”

            “How many –”

            Moon cut Eyles off: “Who?”

            “No one’s claimed responsibility yet, but we think al-Qaeda.  Either al-Qaeda or Hizb uh-Tihrir.  It looks strongly like suicide bombers, but that hasn’t been released to the media.  Unless we’re completely incompetent, we think this lot are home-grown, and cleanskins.  They’d better be cleanskins, or we’re all in for the high jump.  Regardless, C Squad is on it.  All leave cancelled.  Call in everyone at home, even if they’re sick.  No one goes off duty until I get the word from Lynda –”

            “What –”

            “Hold it, Dave!  Jack, get moving.  You’ll be running your team as well as DS Byrne and five of Dave’s DCs.  Dave can keep Mastveer, Breach, Hedges, and Smith.  Get the rest together and I’ll issue actions in a minute.”

            “Yes, sir.”  Eyles left quickly.

            “But –”

            “Save it.”  Johnson put his palm out.  “That’s all you’re getting, Sommer and four DCs.”

            Moon’s pale cheeks coloured.  “What!  I’m supposed to track down one of Ireland’s hardest with five men?”

            “Don’t take that tone with me!  If you hadn’t lost them in the first place, you wouldn’t have to be tracking them down.”  Johnson’s temper rose.  “I gave you the autonomy you wanted, and look what bloody happened!  Have you any idea how costly yesterday was?  And I’m not just talking about the two bloody Eurocopters, either.  When I took Operation Rogue to Lynda she said too expensive and too risky.  But I talked her into it, more fool me.  CO19, Thames Valley, NCIS, the RAF, the Prison Service…need I go on?”

            Moon threw his hands in the air.  “Jesus fucking Christ!  You may as well take me off Rogue as well, cos I can not find Macnamara with what you’ve left me.”

            “No, I’m not taking you off.”  Johnson jabbed a finger at him.  “Rogue is your baby, your cock-up, and you will finish the job to the best of your ability.  Understood?”

            “Yeah,” Moon mumbled.

“What about your agent?”

            “What about him?”

            “What more do you need?  As soon as he gets in touch, use the local force for back-up.  I’ll make sure their Special Branch and firearms teams are on board.”

            “That’s not good –”

            Johnson stood and leant over the desk.  He was a tall, broad man, physically imposing.  “This interview is finished.”  He pointed at his door.  “Get out and get on with your work, or get out and post me your resignation.  Your choice.”

            Moon stood, scowled, and stormed out into the squadroom.  He slammed his office door behind him and threw himself in his chair.  He fished his mobile from his pocket and pushed a speed dial button.

            “Sommer.”

            “John, where are you?”

            “Church.”

“Church!”

“Yeah, St John’s in Cirencester.  I’m with someone.  What’s goin’ on in the Smoke?  The Beeb are making it sound like the Blitz.”

“Not sure yet.  Looks like seven bombs, al-Qaeda.  Never mind that.  Harry’s taken half the fucking team off me.  There’s only you, B and H, Sam, and Jess left.  Tell me you’ve got something,” Moon pleaded.

“Yeah, I might.”

“What?”

“Some geezers calling themselves Cymru Cyntaf.  Means ‘Wales First’, or summing like that.  Sorta like our Brigade boys; operate from Wrexham.”

“Yeah, they were involved with the riots a couple of years back, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, that’s them.”

“Connection?”

“Might be, but nothing concrete so far.”

“Never mind, so long as there’s something – anything – work on.  Ring Sam and B and H.  Get them to meet us at Wrexham nick.  I’ll get hold of the North Wales Special Branch, pick up Jess, and see you there.”  Moon closed the phone and reached for his police directory.