Chapter Three

 

 

MI6 Headquarters, Vauxhall Cross

London, England

 

The video was dark, blurry, and grainy. Still, it showed two men talking in an amicable way. Then one of the men bolted across the street, and a moment later, he collapsed onto the sidewalk, regardless of the second man’s trying to help him. “The shooter’s off to the side and out of the frame,” Coole said, her eyes glued to Justin’s face. “That’s Dunbar, the man on the ground.”

He felt Elliott’s burning gaze upon him as well. Justin was used to being in the hot seat. He kept his attention focused on the screen.

The man helping Dunbar began to return fire. Then he slid away and out of the scene.

Coole clicked the mouse and closed the video file. “That’s all that one had. This other one is from another angle.” She tapped a few keys and played another video.

This one was clearer and closer to ground level. However, and thankfully, Justin thought, the camera angle was behind him. It showed Justin firing at both attackers, but it never showed his face. He peered at the screen and wondered how he had left his right flank undefended. I’m either getting old or rusty. Maybe both. He brushed his hands over his short-cropped hair more subconsciously than of necessity.

The video continued for a few more seconds, until the man stepped out of the frame. The edge of a white sedan came into view, but it was not clear if the man climbed into the car or not.

Coole stopped the video.

Justin shrugged. He knew they had no concrete evidence; otherwise they would have presented it. Elliott was known not to beat around the bush. “So, what do you make of this?”

Coole swiveled her chair toward Justin. “The man in the video, the shooter who tried to help Dunbar, we suspect he’s the foreign operative who had convinced Dunbar to betray his country.”

“How can you be certain?” Carrie asked. “The video is so grainy you can’t identify the man.”

Elliott said, “The police is still checking, and they should have something soon.”

“Perhaps this is related to the clashes between the Kinahan and Hutch families,” Justin said, referring to one of the bloodiest feuds between the two powerful criminal gangs.

Coole shook her head. “No, there’s no connection to the gangs. The other two men killed in the shooting are close friends of Dunbar. They had no reason to attack him.”

Justin shook his head. “You’re very lucky,” he said to Coole.

“Why’s that?”

“You’ve never had friends betray you.”

Coole frowned. “Explain yourself.”

“These ‘friends’ of Dunbar ... what if they learned he was a Five snitch? Or maybe they had disagreements about the IRA’s new direction: collaborate with occupiers or fight. What makes you think this man was a foreign operative?”

Coole did not respond right away. She glanced at Elliott and tipped her head toward him.

Elliott said, “Mr. Hall, you and Ms. O’Connor were in Dublin last night.”

“Yes, and so were close to a million and a half people.” Justin kept his voice calm. He had long anticipated this line of questioning and was prepared for it.

“Correct, but they didn’t drive a white sedan, Vauxhall, like you did. That car was seen driving around the area. And both of you carried pistols while in Ireland, didn’t you?”

“I’m lost,” Carrie said and gave Elliott a puzzled look.

“What are you trying to say?” Justin asked.

Elliott shrugged. “I thought it was clear, but I’ll come out and ask you directly: Did you shoot and kill these two men last night in Dublin, Mr. Hall?”

“No.”

“You didn’t draw or fire your weapon?”

“No.”

“You’re certain about that?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely certain.”

“Of course, Mr. Elliott.”

Justin kept his voice calm, and his face betrayed none of the emotions sizzling in the pit of his stomach. Emotional intelligence was drilled into his psyche during the time at The Plant—the training facility for CIS recruits. Justin had been trained to be aware of, identify, and manage his emotions. Anticipate how they can spin out of control, one of the mentors used to say. Justin had been in many situations that had been extremely hostile. He was a long, long way from his breaking point.

Elliott heaved a deep sigh. “What if new evidence proves you were involved in this shooting?”

Justin offered a shrug. “Then we’ll have another conversation. Now, how about we go back to the matters at hand: the disappearance of the SAS operative and this plot against the foreign guest?”

Elliott glanced at a couple of manila folders next to the laptop in front of him. “We have no new update on the SAS front. As I’ve already told you, I can’t do much about the supposed ‘plot’ and the mysterious ‘Chinaman.’” His voice rang with a mixture of sarcasm and condescension.

Justin nodded. “I understand. We’ll find more details and then you can—”

Elliott shook his head. “Mr. Hall, remember that your assignment in my country is intel exchange, not intel-gathering. This is London, not Dublin. You must not, under any circumstances, engage in running assets during your stay in London.”

“Or anywhere else in the UK,” Coole added.

Justin cocked his head to the right, toward Carrie. “How is this getting us closer to thwarting this plot?” He gestured toward the manila folders.

“It doesn’t,” Elliott said, “but it will make sure we don’t have a situation in London similar to the Dublin shooting. You may have escaped Ireland without a scratch, Mr. Hall, but it won’t happen if you try something like that in my city. You understand?”

Justin thought about restating how he and Carrie were not involved in Dunbar’s affair, but it would be a waste of time. “I understand,” he said in a cold voice, although he had no intention of complying with Elliott’s order.

“And you won’t try anything of the kind, Mr. Hall, now would you?”

“No.” Justin shook his head.

Elliott locked eyes with Justin and peered intently at him. A moment later, Elliott broke the gaze and gestured with his head toward the door. “In that case, our meeting is over. Enjoy your stay in London, and may it be peaceful.”

“I hope so,” Justin said.

“And what are your departure plans?” Coole asked, but her tone indicated it was more than a simple question.

“Tomorrow morning. Would you like my flight number?”

Coole shrugged. “That won’t be necessary. We trust you’ll leave at that time.”

“I’ll miss your great hospitality.”

“Next time I’ll take you to dinner,” Coole said with the same amount of sarcasm.

Elliott stood up and offered Justin his hand. Justin gave it a firm handshake, then turned to Coole. As Elliott had turned his back and was saying his goodbyes to Carrie, Coole gave Justin a small, almost unnoticeable nod followed by a quick wink. “Have a safe trip, Mr. Hall. Ms. O’Connor,” Coole said and gestured at the door.

“We can find our way out,” Carrie said and tapped the visitor badge hanging at the lapel of her gray pinstriped suit.

Justin followed Carrie, who was already at the door. He thought about Coole’s wink. Does it have any meaning?