Feet crowded around him. He struggled to keep his head up, his eyes open now. He grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of blood. The smell caught in his smashed nose, which whistled as he tried to breathe.
The men wrestled him from the chair and to the ground. It didn’t take much effort, he had so little strength left. His face smacked against the cold concrete with a thud.
He couldn’t move, not just because of the torture he’d suffered, but because each of his limbs was pinned down, a knee in his back too. He noticed the glint of metal above him, tried not to look at the face of the man holding the sword.
‘This is it for you, my friend.’
Cold steel against his neck.
The next moment he felt warmth as blood flowed free and over his skin.
Then came the pain. And the sound. The sound of flesh tearing.
His flesh, as the sword was pulled back and forth, the blade sinking deeper, deeper…
* * *
Ryker pulled his fingers from the lumpy scar on his neck and tried his best to shake the images, the memory away. A memory he’d long ago thought buried. He never imagined it’d be dredged up now, after all this time, after everything that had come since.
Yet it had been. Because of a single name given to him in a man’s moment of weakness and desperation.
He took a left turn as he walked. Thick gray clouds sat above him and the biting wind made the barely above freezing temperature feel even worse, but he didn’t mind the weather. He didn’t dislike the cold. He disliked London. He’d never liked it. Too much traffic, too much concrete. Smoggy air. Too many people. He tried to stay here as little as possible but the city drew him back in so often, in the same way that his old life did.
Old life. Except he was still living it now, wasn’t he? Yet he liked to think that he was a different person from when he’d first started out working in the intelligence services more than two decades ago, but the fact he was still in this city, still doing this, perhaps told a different story.
Especially with those old memories resurfacing now too.
He had time to spare so he headed to a café and sat in the corner, checking his phone again and again as he ate his sandwich and drank his coffee. Still no response. He turned the phone over and watched the others in the café for a few minutes. Tried to think about their stories. He saw couples in casual clothes, perhaps tourists, enjoying an early morning treat. More smartly dressed men and women grabbing something on the go on the way to the office. Friends, a couple of larger groups, a few people on their own, just like Ryker. Except most likely not like Ryker at all.
He’d tried it once. Normality. He’d really tried to make it work. House, partner, normal things like paying bills and shopping and… He could have made it work. He’d wanted it to work, so, so badly. For her, as much as for him. Except it – she – had been ripped away from him so painfully. So finally.
The hurt he still felt would never leave him. It was why he’d never tried to find that normality again. Since that time, a few years ago now, he’d tried different tactics. Roaming around, country to country, city to city, exploring. It’d been fine but he still had a habit of coming across trouble. Or of trouble finding him. So he’d stayed put a while, a few different places. Trouble. Usually from his past, but not always.
So over more recent times, he’d decided just to admit who he really was, who he would always be, rather than try to fight it or run from it. Because he had something to offer to the world still, and it wasn’t a warm, loving environment for a wife, it wasn’t as a father to children, it wasn’t as an educator or anything like that. He was the guy willing to work in the darkness, beyond what most people saw in their everyday, safe lives. The guy who not only knew of the terrible people who existed in the world, but who was prepared to put himself on the line to bring them down, whatever it took.
Twenty years ago he’d started out doing that because it was his job, because he was given orders to do so, because he got paid. For survival.
Now he did it because it had come to the point in his life where he really didn’t know what else he could or should be doing because he hated the idea that those monsters existed out there and would get away with their deeds if he didn’t stop them.
Honestly, he thought he was pretty damn good at it too.
Although this time… This time it’d become personal too.
He felt his neck twinge but didn’t let the memory take hold.
He finished his food and drink and stood up from his chair, and noted the flirtatious smile from the server behind the counter. He’d been here a few times over the last couple of months and she was always there. Always gave him – and not the other guys – the same look. He’d never said more than the obligatory pleases and thank yous to her, but maybe next time he’d speak to her a little.
He would never settle down again now, never again try for that life he’d once had within his grasp for such a short time.
But that also didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the company of others.
He smiled back and waved a goodbye, and she blushed and went back to making the coffee as he headed on out.
He checked his phone a few more times as he walked a couple of streets, stopping by a railing overlooking the choppy, murky waters of the Thames. He waited there. Waited. Still no response. He looked up at the dull-looking building across the street. Ten stories of nothing much. He checked his watch. Already twenty minutes late.
He put the phone to his ear as he headed for the traffic lights. The call rang out, went to voicemail, just like it had the other times.
‘Winter, what the hell? You’d better be upside down in your car somewhere, because if you’re ignoring me…’
He ended the call. OK, so perhaps that was a bit harsh. He wasn’t actually wishing harm on the guy, although with his bad mood rising…
The green walk signal flashed on and Ryker began to stride across the four lanes of traffic, along with the several other people who’d waited at the lights. A man in a suit, no coat, old-school leather briefcase in one hand marched ahead. Too focused on where he was going rather than the world around him, he didn’t see the cyclist on the far side blast through the red light at fifteen, twenty miles an hour. The cyclist shouted out at the man as though it was his fault. The pedestrian dodged but the cyclist still had to swerve hard to avoid a collision and after a half second trying to keep control the bike flipped and he went flying through the air right past Ryker. The cyclist rolled to a stop and a couple of helpful bystanders rushed to his aid. The suited man brushed himself down, looking shocked.
‘Lucky you,’ Ryker said to him with a wink as he strode on past. ‘Same old London,’ he said more quietly to himself.
He reached the building. No signage, no big open entrance or revolving doors. Just a single, security-locked glass-paneled entrance. He pressed the intercom and looked around. Back by the roadside, an argument had started between the cyclist – blood oozing from a graze to his cheek – and a taxi driver. Ryker had no idea how that’d come about. No sign now of the man who’d nearly been smashed.
‘Can I help you?’ came a tinny voice from the intercom.
‘It’s James Ryker.’
‘You’re late.’
‘Traffic was bad.’
A kind of humph in acknowledgment. At least, that’s how Ryker interpreted the noise before the door clicked open.
Ryker moved inside. The small atrium was as bland as the outside of the building, the gray space containing a staircase, a door to a stairwell, no people, and still no indication of who occupied the building. Which was kind of the point, but it also felt so downtrodden and depressing. Nothing like the big, glitzy SIS building at Vauxhall Cross that everyone knew as the home of MI6.
Ryker stepped into the elevator and pressed for the eighth floor. A suited man stood on the outside when he arrived there. Late forties, early fifties, he had thinning gray hair and a lightness to his face, in his eyes, that suggested he had a pretty cushy life.
‘James Ryker, I’m Kevin Goldman. Pleasure to meet you.’
Ryker shook his hand. Goldman. Winter had warned Ryker about him. A go-between who bridged the divide between the government and SIS. Not a politician as such but someone whose job it was to make sure the Secret Intelligence Service remained politicized and dancing to the tune of the government. Which, as Ryker knew, didn’t always happen.
‘Please, follow me. The others are waiting for you.’
Goldman took Ryker through to a meeting room that sat at the front of the building overlooking the Thames. Two other people were already in there. A woman, in her thirties, who wore a headscarf and another suited man, older and plumper than Goldman. A little harder in his demeanor too, although with the same stuffy suit.
‘James Ryker, I’d like you to meet Fatma Yaman and Frank Podence.’
More handshakes.
‘Fatma is one of our political experts. Frank oversees a number of field operations.’
These were descriptions rather than any kind of job title. Even though no one had confirmed it, Ryker knew both Yaman and Podence were MI6 desk pushers, and actually, he knew a lot more about each of them than they realized.
‘Nice to meet you all,’ Ryker said with a forced but genuine enough smile. ‘And sorry I’m late.’
‘You were enjoying the view,’ Podence said, nodding to the window with a chuckle. So they’d spotted him standing outside? Didn’t bother him.
‘I was… Yeah, something like that. Shall we get started?’
Whoever had set the room up – there was no sign of a receptionist or anything like that – had put out coffee and tea and water and Ryker helped himself to a black coffee and quickly checked his phone one last time as he settled into his seat. Still nothing from Winter. Not that he’d been officially invited to this meeting, but he’d brokered it and Ryker had insisted to his long-time ally that he be involved. Mainly because this sort of thing wasn’t and never had been Ryker’s bag. He hated offices. He hated bureaucracy and office politics. And in an office like this, politics were often the be-all and end-all.
‘Why don’t we get things moving,’ Goldman said. ‘None of us has met you before, but we’ve each been privy to your background. At least the elements of your background which are openly available to us. Which isn’t much for someone with such a long-standing career.’
He laughed at that. The other two smiled a little insincerely. Ryker said nothing, though it was interesting that Goldman hadn’t been provided with – perhaps wasn’t senior enough to have been provided with – full access to details of Ryker’s past operations.
‘As we understand it, your previous role was as an operative in the Joint Intelligence Agency, the JIA?’
‘For many years.’
‘A field agent?’
‘Is that an official title? I don’t know. I never had a business card to hand out to people, or even a contract of employment. The JIA was several further steps removed from a normal employer than SIS even. I did what I was told and I got paid. Basically.’
‘Your commander was originally Charles McCabe.’
‘Until he got a bullet in the head in Russia.’ Ryker said that with little feeling, which betrayed the fact that the memory of that moment still hugely stung.
‘And subsequent to that, Peter Winter?’
‘Winter took over from Mackie. He never officially took over as my commander. I’d left the JIA by that point.’
In something of a shitstorm, which had hung around him ever since, one way or another.
‘But you’ve maintained a close working relationship with Peter Winter since your departure from the JIA.’
‘Working relationship? It’s not as formal as that. Our paths have crossed numerous times over recent years.’
He could tell they didn’t believe it was as coincidental as that at all.
‘Even though you long ago left the JIA. Officially.’
‘Yeah. If anything could be said to be official about the JIA.’
He got a series of chuckles and nods for that apparent quip.
‘What I’m saying is, it’s been years since I worked for the JIA.’ Which didn’t even exist anymore. ‘And I’ve not had any formal employment from SIS or any other similar organization since then.’
‘It’s OK,’ Goldman said. ‘You can be candid with us if you like. We know far more than most people about how shadow organizations like the JIA operate, and we’re not here to put pressure on you to reveal what you’ve had to do in the past.’
‘Except for your most recent past, that is,’ Podence added, glaring at Ryker for a few seconds afterward as though he disapproved of something.
‘So let’s move on to that,’ Goldman said. ‘You’re here because you’ve been privy, one way or another, to very sensitive information. And I mean, incredibly sensitive information. And we need to know exactly what you know, and how you came across it.’
‘Sounds a bit like I’m on trial here.’
‘This isn’t a court. Perhaps you can start by telling us about Davis Bracey.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Pretend we’re ignorant. Tell us what you know about him. How you met him. What he told you that’s led to… Well, that’s led to you being here with us today.’
Ryker kept his mouth shut as he looked over the three people on the other side of the table. Of course, they knew the answer to what they were asking. They wouldn’t be in this room otherwise. So what game were they playing here, asking for him to regurgitate like this?
Damn, he really wished Winter was here. This bureaucratic crap was the exact reason Ryker had wanted the guy by his side. When he caught up with him…
‘Davis Bracey, I believed, was under the control of a group of people acting with nefarious purposes. Rich, powerful people with a lot of influence, financial and political. Bracey was a lifelong civil servant known as the Kingmaker in the UK press because he’d had a big hand in promoting the winning candidate in three successive general elections.’
‘Democratic elections that were run fairly and lawfully, unless you’re suggesting otherwise?’ Podence said.
‘I’m not. And I didn’t give him the moniker Kingmaker. The UK press did, as they had already concluded Bracey was a puppet for those behind the scenes wielding power long before I came along.’
‘And why did you come along? To… this?’ Goldman asked.
‘Not of my own free will, but I don’t think we need to get into that. The fact is, Bracey was someone who I believed knew about this group of people. I’ve heard it being referred to as the Syndicate.’ He studied their reactions to that for a couple of seconds but none of them gave away a thing. ‘Bracey worked for the Syndicate, and was playing to their tune, doing whatever they told him for years, just one of many ways they’ve been able to control UK politics.’
‘And you know this how?’ Podence said.
‘Because I asked Bracey about it. And he told me.’
‘You tortured him.’
Was that a statement or a question?
‘I asked him quite persuasively.’
‘You broke several of his bones.’
‘Did I?’
‘Did you kill him too?’ Goldman asked.
‘No, I didn’t. The papers said he died of a heart attack.’
‘They did. A heart attack. Although this was several days after he’d been released from hospital with six broken fingers and five broken ribs, among other injuries.’
‘From a fall down the stairs, I read online.’
‘He didn’t fall,’ Podence said, shaking his head, looking disgruntled with Ryker’s casualness.
Ryker shrugged as nonchalantly as he could.
‘And you didn’t kill him?’ Podence asked.
‘No, I didn’t. But I don’t think he had a heart attack either, do you? Not one brought about by natural causes, anyway.’
‘Then who are you suggesting did kill him?’ Podence asked.
‘You, perhaps.’
Podence scoffed and shuffled nervously in his seat.
‘But most likely the people paying him to pull political strings in the UK,’ Ryker added. ‘My guess as to how he really died? Nerve agent, or something like that. The death was recorded as a heart attack and signed off by a pathologist as natural causes, but the body was cremated without an autopsy. So I guess now we’ll never know.’
Silence as the three stared at Ryker. Had he told them anything they didn’t already know? He didn’t think so, yet the mood in the room had definitely shifted since he’d first arrived.
‘Let’s move on,’ Goldman said. ‘Andrew Lebedev.’
Obviously, they’d bring him up next.
‘What about him?’ Ryker asked.
‘Did you know him?’
‘I never met him.’
‘You knew of him?’
‘You know I did.’
‘Then tell me what you knew. Do you believe he belonged to this mysterious Syndicate?’
Goldman twirled his hand around as he asked that, as though indicating the whole thing was some hocus-pocus fairy tale.
‘You know what?’ Ryker said. ‘I think he probably did.’
‘Because Davis Bracey told you so when you were torturing him?’
‘Yes.’
They all looked a little taken aback by that, as though they hadn’t expected such a direct response.
‘Lebedev was the anglicized son of an oligarch,’ Ryker continued. ‘That itself, to me, tells a story about cross-border billionaire corruption. Using his family’s wealth and political clout Lebedev junior had his dirty fingers in business dealings across Europe, the Middle East, Asia, not to mention he was in cahoots with Bracey as a gateway into the British government. If you’ve read anything at all about what’s been uncovered about Lebedev you’ll know there’s enough evidence of his misdeeds that should have seen him imprisoned for the rest of his life. Instead, the UK government decided to keep relations with Russia on an even keel and sent him packing to Moscow in exchange for four of our alleged spies who’d been languishing in a Siberian gulag for several years. By the way, do you know any of them?’
No answer to that. Podence looked annoyed now. Ryker had hit on a nerve. But his focus rested on Yaman. She hadn’t said a word throughout the meeting.
‘For years Lebedev got away with living above the law, all because he’s dirty stinking rich, and because his family has connections all over the place.’
‘Connections to your so-called Syndicate, you mean?’ Goldman asked.
‘I believe so, yes. Lebedev would have spent the rest of his life in prison in England if it wasn’t for his powerful friends.’
‘Actually,’ Podence said, ‘I think the main reason Lebedev got away with it was because a lot of the evidence so far uncovered was based on information leaked to the press. Information that came from you, I believe.’
Ryker shrugged once more.
‘And I’m sensing you have no particular regard for the laws of this country—’
‘I’m offended you think so.’
‘I think you’re not at all. But the point is, any evidence uncovered on Lebedev was tainted by your actions.’
‘Maybe. But not the vast reams of additional evidence that could have been uncovered if anyone actually cared to carry out a real investigation. I only scratched the surface.’
‘The prisoner swap was a better deal, politically speaking,’ Goldman said. Of course. Politics above morality, always.
‘Maybe it was a better deal for you guys,’ Ryker said. ‘Probably not for Lebedev after that nasty car accident he had in Moscow though.’
‘And do you know anything about that?’ Goldman asked.
‘I know it killed him and his wife and his two children. Three unnecessary deaths. I don’t mind a bit of fatal karma, but they were three innocents. Definitely not my style. How about you three?’
‘I can assure you we had nothing to do with his death,’ Goldman said, a little too defensively. ‘The most obvious culprits are the Russian government themselves. Lebedev was a danger to those—’
‘Why don’t we get to the point,’ Ryker said. ‘We’re talking about events from months ago now. Why am I here?’
‘Isn’t it clear from our discussion so far?’ Goldman said. ‘We want to—’
‘Actually, it’s not clear to me at all. Everything we’ve talked about so far is information you already had from me through Peter Winter. So what’s the point of any of this? Are you asking for my help here to take what I found further forward? If you’re putting together a team to investigate—’
Podence held up a hand to halt Ryker. He stopped talking and balled his fist under the table.
‘We do not want you to perform any further investigation of any kind into these matters. The damage you have done is already greater than you can imagine.’
Ryker sighed even though this turn wasn’t really a surprise. ‘So you’re burying it. Everything I’ve found.’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘But your point is that no one is going to be investigating these people any further.’
‘My point is that you’re not, and you don’t need to know anything more than that. And, quite frankly, rather than sitting there and talking to me like a spoiled schoolboy you should be thanking me, all of us, for allowing this conversation to take place like this at all. Were it not for your track record at the JIA, and the good word of Peter Winter, my preferred response would have been to see you behind bars. Have you any idea the number of crimes you’ve actually committed in obtaining the information you have?’
Ryker decided not to answer that. He didn’t know the number, but he knew it wasn’t small.
‘We’re done here, then,’ Ryker said, pushing back on his chair.
‘Actually, we’re not,’ Goldman said. ‘One last question for you. And, Ryker, please do yourself the favor of answering honestly, because if you don’t it will only come back to bite you. And trust me, none of us will be so accommodating to you in the future if that is the case.’
‘And the question is?’
‘Is there anything else at all that you’ve uncovered about Davis Bracey, Andrew Lebedev, their associates, this so-called Syndicate? Its operations, its members? Any evidence of links to our government, to SIS? Anything that you haven’t already disclosed to us in the information we were provided from Peter Winter?’
Goldman waved the manila folder in front of him at Ryker as though all of the evidence of the misdeeds of the people he’d just mentioned could possibly be contained in the few sheets of paper in between.
‘No.’
‘Just take a moment,’ Podence said. ‘Think very carefully because after you leave this room, you don’t get a second chance to come back with sorry, sir, I forgot. You’ll be put on trial for your crimes, treason the biggest of them, and you’ll spend the rest of your days behind bars. So is there anything else we need to know?’
‘Punish the whistleblower. Classy.’
‘Ryker, answer the damn question,’ Goldman said.
‘I’ve told you everything you need to know.’
Podence sighed. Goldman looked disappointed. Yaman looked… devoid of any emotion. Like she had the entire time Ryker had been there.
‘Then I think we’re done here,’ Goldman said.
‘I think you’re right,’ Ryker concluded, getting to his feet.