Prologue
655 Words
PROLOGUE
London, just off Pall Mall, one of the classical white stucco, terrace buildings, appearing from the outside as it had done since Georgian times, but inside, stripped out and modern.
Silence, just after midnight. the House rarely sat late these days, so the MP could be there, along with the PM’s Cabinet Secretary, Head of Armed Forces, and a man known only as Pomerol, as in the ruby red wine he brought to these meetings. As tradition dictated, they sipped the robust wine from crystal goblets, sat around the large conference table, a single central, powerful light, punching a glare onto the highly polished surface, distant walls lost in the peripheral darkness.
The light on the table surface flared and reflected to the faces of men, silent, driven politically and idealistically, their course set, wine savoured, waiting. The appearance of severed heads of Olympian Gods, suspended in the heavens. Not Gods, though not far off how they viewed themselves. Faces did not respond to the delicate tapping on the distant door. Opened, the room flooded with light for the briefest of moments, plunged back into halo and gloom, a whirring and gentle snap as the electronic closer did its job.
A harsher tapping of footsteps on the polished hardwood floor, blakeys, metal corners on shoe heels; click, click, eight steps, a chair drawn back, only the hint of a scrape; hallowed halls. Len took his place at the table, part filled his goblet that sparkled refracted light, swirled the ruby liquid, looked at it through the light, sniffed, sipped, and made the obligatory mmmm of approval. He put his glass down, his hands flat on the table in front of him; he was ready.
The dog was dead when they took it from the harbour; a savage beast who had in turn been savaged. They chucked it back, ‘Strewth, what’s that, the seventh this month?’ He was just a crane operator, so why should he care; the Ministry of Defence Police Inspector did.
Colonel Horrocks insisted they accept his resignation, ‘The Chief Constable position is not for me. The job is not what I thought it would be. I suggest we get the previous Chief back,’ he told the committee.
‘Colonel Horrocks, you are our man and I suggest you think long and hard before you say no.’ The ramrod Colonel of the Marines was making himself clear to Horrocks, his body language portraying a pointed aggression.
This was not what retirement was meant to be like Colonel Horrocks, nicknamed the General, thought to himself as he clanked out of the Board Room on his tin legs, out of the Royal Naval Officer's Club, onto the street. The salty mist off the nearby sea did little to settle his stomach; what should he do? His options were clear, the consequences of saying no, certain; this was not a game. He could think of only two people who could help him, but would they?
Jack settled the banker into the palatial safe house, a jewel in this part of leafy and posh Southsea. ‘I’m not sure I can do this Inspector. You have my affidavit, can that not be enough?’
‘Enuff to bang the bastards away, not to save the economy, stupid,’ Jack said, striking a presidential pose, wishing he had a mirror. He did, however, feel a tad guilty, this would be dangerous, took balls, and he thought merchant bankers had none. Just goes to show, he thought, ‘The ‘ouse is nice…’ he said to reassure the uncomfortably plump, clammy banker, ‘bit ‘Ansel and Gretel for me, all that flinty stuff, but nice garden for you to stay out of,’ he chuckled. Aware of the g*n running, Jack Austin didn’t want this banker popping his clogs, just yet.
A message on DCI Jack Austin's phone, which he studiously ignored, read;
Well done BatBat and Dobbin
I’m in Jack
List of those involved on its way
Those bankers need to be on the naughty step.
Shall we go gunning for them?
Mor.
- Writer
