The skyscrapers of Canary Wharf rose toward the dull gray sky in the distance. Not far beyond them, further west, sat the heart of the capital, the plethora of tourist traps, many of the most prominent revolving around the country’s royal families – past, present, good, bad, and ugly. Of those tourist spots, one of the most famous remained the Tower of London, a castle originally built by William the Conqueror at the end of his conquests in 1066, although many people knew of the castle mainly for its use as a prison. It had been first used as such in 1100, and all the way through from then to the mid-twentieth century, surviving war after war, sieges, and an ever-changing social and political landscape all around it. Stones and mortar nearly a thousand years old that would tell so many stories – often violent, always morbid – if they could. Yet the Tower of London still retained a renowned public image, seen as a national treasure to many, and a prime destination for visitors from the world over.
So very different to the reputation and image of the building just a few miles down the river, and now across the street from Ryker. An altogether more plain-looking prison, most of it hidden behind a formidable concrete wall. No tourists here, even if some of the most infamous people in the country had lived here. Some still did.
Belmarsh Prison. Once known as Britain’s Guantanamo Bay due to its prominent use in housing suspected terrorists in the early twenty-first century, sometimes for years on end without charge until courts had intervened to rule such treatment as going against human rights and unlawful. On UK soil, at least.
Still, even two decades on, Belmarsh remained notorious, both for its often-cited harsh treatment of inmates, and their high-profile status.
Murderers, rapists, terrorists.
Ismail Karaman.
‘Good morning,’ came a familiar voice.
Ryker looked from where he stood by the side of the road to see Winter approaching, long, thick coat over his nice suit, reusable coffee cup in his hand. As ever Winter looked fresh, clean, well groomed. Ever true to his desk jockey position. Although perhaps desk jockey was by now an unkind way to continue to think of Winter. He’d never been a field operative, but he’d certainly seen his fair share of close shaves with death. Mostly with Ryker not far away.
‘You didn’t get me one?’ Ryker said, nodding to the drink.
‘You normally just get what you want, when you want it,’ Winter said, but he looked a little unsure of his words, as though he’d intended them to be a joke even though the delivery held a bitter edge.
‘You ever been in there before?’ Ryker indicated over the road.
‘I have. It has a deserved reputation, let’s just put it that way. But I’m sure it’s a beach holiday compared to some of the places where you’ve been locked up.’
Ryker huffed. Again, Winter’s joke fell a little flat.
‘I’m surprised not to see a wall of paparazzi here.’
‘For you, you mean?’ Winter said, laughing this time at his own weak joke.
Ryker didn’t follow suit. Strike three. Winter shrank a little, but Ryker wasn’t going to hide the fact that he was still seriously annoyed with Winter for setting him up with Brock Van Der Vehn.
‘There’ll be plenty of reporters when Karaman gets his day in court,’ Winter said. ‘But for now… He’s locked up tight.’
‘He should be locked up tight four thousand miles away.’
‘You think he’s evaded justice by being here? Why, because you didn’t get a chance to torture him?’
‘Because I didn’t get a chance to get the truth from him. And now I’m not sure I ever will.’
Winter held Ryker’s eye but didn’t have any response.
‘You really fucked me over,’ Ryker said.
Winter’s face soured, his eyes pinched. ‘Are you serious? You’re here in London, a free man, because of me and only me. And how many times is that now that I’ve had to bail you out of a mess of your own making?’
‘A mess of my making? You teamed me up with a damn trigger-happy psychotic.’
‘Van Der Vehn?’
‘Yeah, Brock Van Der Bloody Vehn. Seriously, Winter, what the hell were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking I had forty-eight hours to find you a suitable team member for an entirely illegal and off-the-books capture and extraction mission. Who did you expect? James Bond?’
Ryker said nothing.
‘I didn’t know him,’ Winter said before sighing. ‘I got his background, I saw his experience. I felt he was a risk worth taking as I didn’t exactly have many options. I… realize he probably wasn’t ideal.’
‘Not ideal? He killed six people. Six people who didn’t have to die to get our man.’
‘And he lost his life because of it,’ Winter said in an almost accusatory way. As though he believed Ryker had somehow set Brock up. Which he hadn’t, really. He’d just known how Brock would react in that situation and had decided not to go along with it. Ryker certainly didn’t feel bad about the guy’s death.
‘The bigger question is how did Yaman and MI6 know about our plan?’ Ryker said.
‘Our plan? Ryker, this was all your plan. I was just a helping hand.’
‘That’s not how Yaman sees it.’
‘I don’t care how she sees it.’
‘But you should care about the fact that she was there, in Oman, waiting for me. Who else knew about what we were doing?’
‘No one. Me, you, Brock, that was it.’
‘What about the person who recommended Brock?’
‘It wasn’t as simple as a recommendation. No one knew any details, Ryker. Not through me, if that’s what you’re insinuating.’
‘Except she did know. And she played us for fools.’
‘She played you for a fool. The fact is, Ryker, this outcome isn’t as bad as you think it is. Karaman is where he belongs. Behind bars.’
‘If we can even get him to trial before his mega-millions lawyers derail everything. And even then his charges are all based on years-old crimes. None of this will help crack open the Syndicate if he simply keeps his mouth shut.’
‘You don’t know that.’
Ryker shrugged.
‘But you could have made him spill everything he knew?’ Winter said, sounding dubious.
‘Maybe I could have.’
‘And you’ve still got a shot. Just… You need to do it the official way.’
‘With zero leverage.’
‘Not zero leverage. How do you think regular police forces, lawyers, get convictions? The process works.’
‘Not for people like Karaman. Not in my experience.’
Winter sighed and looked at his watch. ‘Come on, it’s time.’
* * *
A windowless room, though quite different to the one back in Oman. This one was brightly lit with off-white painted walls and a linoleum floor. A radiator across one wall spewed out heat, making the room almost stiflingly hot. Not a great way to spend taxpayer money. A Formica-topped table sat in the middle of the room. Ryker occupied one of the two chairs nearest to the locked door. Ismail Karaman sat on the opposite side of the table, his hands cuffed to a metal loop on the tabletop.
No Winter or prison guards or lawyers in here. Just Ryker and Karaman. Still not quite as ‘personal’ as Ryker would have wanted, though. Not here, in the UK, in the official prison system. And not with that little camera up in the corner of the room recording everything. Winter would be watching live, others too.
Ryker and Karaman had already sat through nearly ten minutes of silence. Not because Ryker had nothing to say but because he wanted to see if Karaman’s inquisitiveness would eventually get him to open his mouth first. Ryker had nowhere better to be, so he was more than happy to wait it out.
Back in the Gulf, Ryker hadn’t paid much attention to Karaman’s appearance. But now… Even in his light blue prison garb, he looked confident, self-important. The way all rich businesspeople did. Even those who doubled as terrorists.
‘I do know who you are,’ Karaman said and Ryker showed no reaction at all to the words, even though inside he felt more than a little smug that Karaman had broken first.
So Ryker kept his mouth shut a little longer.
‘It was dark out there on the water, but I’d recognize your ugly face anywhere.’
He was talking about Dubai. The attack on his yacht. He didn’t really know who Ryker was, just that Ryker was the one who’d snatched him.
‘They were good people,’ Karaman said, anger coming through in his voice now. ‘Friends. Men with wives, sons, daughters. All of their lives ruined because of you. Why?’
Ryker still held his tongue.
‘Your friend… I only wish he hadn’t died so quickly. He didn’t deserve the easy way out. As for you…’
Ryker still didn’t respond. At least not straight away. But, truthfully, he was intrigued as to exactly what threat Karaman was about to deliver.
‘As for me, what?’ Ryker asked.
Karaman’s gaze flicked from Ryker to the camera and back again.
‘You know what?’ Ryker said when it was clear Karaman had decided not to follow through. ‘I couldn’t give a crap about your friends. Or their families. Those men were scumbags, just like you. Otherwise, they wouldn’t work with a scumbag like you. And their families? Better off now, believe me. We did them a favor. The whole world, in fact.’
Karaman was trying his hardest to hide his anger. Ryker could tell by his tightly clenched knuckles, his clenched jaw.
‘You want to know why those men are dead?’ Ryker asked.
No answer.
‘Because of you.’
A slight shake of Karaman’s head.
‘Because of the Syndicate,’ Ryker added.
Karaman gave no reaction to that. Not a twitch, flinch, or anything. Not unexpected, really.
‘You know about the Syndicate,’ Ryker said. A statement rather than a question. ‘Tell me about it.’
No answer. He really wanted to grab the guy’s head and smash his face off the table a couple of times to see if that would warm him up.
‘I actually know quite a lot about the Syndicate,’ Ryker continued. ‘A lot more than you probably realize.’
Nothing.
‘Tell me about your relationship with Andrew Lebedev,’ Ryker said.
‘Who?’ Karaman answered, doing his best impression of a dumbass.
‘Lebedev. You know, the mega-rich son of an oligarch. Had each of his dirty fingers in dodgy politics and business deals across Europe, the Middle East. I think you’ve been on his yacht before. Vice versa. Whose is biggest? That’s what counts to people like you, isn’t it?’
Karaman smiled, nodded, as though having a eureka moment.
‘Ah, yes, I remember reading about Lebedev. He got arrested here, didn’t he? But then he ended up in Russia. I read something about a car accident in Moscow?’
‘Oh, yeah. Very accidental, I’m sure. Lebedev was a rich guy. Horribly wealthy, really. But to the Syndicate? Probably just one of many. Someone useful in brokering business deals, in getting easy-to-reach politicians on side. But look what happened to him when he came unstuck. The Syndicate didn’t think twice about killing him. His family? Collateral damage. They meant even less than he did to those in power.’
Karaman said nothing.
‘Tell me how you first met Lebedev.’
‘I never did.’
‘Liar. I’ve seen the paper trails. Offshore entities, money laundering on a scale most people wouldn’t believe was possible without someone raising a red flag, without some sort of investigation. But when everyone with any sway is part of the process… I’m talking about billions swirling in a merry-go-round, financing political campaigns, terrorists, rebel groups. Lebedev benefitted personally from these schemes. I’ve seen money going to you from those same entities too.’
Ryker spotted a chink in Karaman’s steely facade, but it had gone again in a flash.
‘And just look at what happened to Lebedev when someone – me, mainly – came too close to the truth and tried to expose him. The same people who had him killed would sacrifice you the first chance they get too.’
‘If that were true, then there really wouldn’t be any point in me talking to you anyway, would there? You, nor anyone else, would be able to protect me.’
This time it was Ryker’s turn to stay silent and Karaman seemed to grow in confidence as a result.
‘Do you know who betrayed you?’ he asked.
Ryker wouldn’t have answered even if he knew the answer.
Karaman smiled. ‘Because it’s very obvious to me that you were betrayed. I don’t know much about you, but I already know, I see the type of man you are.’
‘I really doubt that.’
‘Oh, believe me, I do. And I think I can guess what you had planned for me. It certainly wasn’t a nice cushy cell in England and an interview room like this, was it?’
Karaman’s smile grew further.
‘The situation tells me two things.’
He paused, as though hoping Ryker would ask what he meant by that.
‘Firstly, it tells me that you have some friends in what you believe are high places. Otherwise, you’d be in a cell too for what you pulled in Dubai. But secondly, it tells me you and your friends have enemies much closer to home than me.’
Ryker tried his hardest to hide his increasing agitation. Karaman was right. He had been betrayed, to Yaman. He still couldn’t figure out her role in the bigger scheme, whether she was corrupt or not. If Karaman was her ally, why had she brought him to England as a prisoner rather than just setting him free?
‘Perhaps it’s you who needs to watch your back,’ Karaman said, before sitting back in his chair – as much as he could with his wrists cuffed to the table. A signal that he thought he’d delivered a knockout blow. But it wasn’t really.
One name continued to swirl in Ryker’s mind as he toyed with where to take the conversation next. Fatma Yaman. For all Karaman’s worth in uncovering truths about the Syndicate, Ryker couldn’t stray from the fact that Yaman had played him. And he hated that, and he especially hated that he didn’t yet know who she answered to.
He was about to pursue that with Karaman when a knock at the door halted his intended question. Karaman looked even more amused now by the interruption.
Ryker hesitated a moment before he got up from his chair.
‘I asked not to be disturbed,’ Ryker said to the closed door.
‘Yeah, well, things change.’ Winter.
‘Open up,’ Ryker said and the next moment the locks released and the door inched open. A prison guard stepped out of the way as Winter came forward. Ryker glanced over his shoulder, double-checking Karaman remained seated and cuffed and that this wasn’t some sort of unlikely escape plan.
Not this time. He moved closer to Winter, so the conversation they were about to have wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Please don’t tell me you think I’ve crossed a line already, because you’ve no idea how hard it is to just sit there and talk—’
Winter held a hand up to stop Ryker. ‘I just had a call from… a colleague.’
‘And?’
‘And Fatma Yaman was killed this morning. In her apartment.’
‘Yaman’s dead?’
‘She’s dead.’
Ryker turned his head to Karaman who stared over, a knowing look on his face. But how could he possibly know?
‘How?’ Ryker asked Winter.
‘The facts are still coming out, but… Coincidence isn’t the word I’m thinking right now.’
‘Me neither.’
‘We can go over there.’
‘OK.’
He didn’t bother to say anything more to Karaman as he pulled open the door fully to step out, but the prisoner’s parting words caused Ryker to stop momentarily.
‘See you soon, James Ryker.’
Ryker winced at the unexpected use of his name and only heard the start of the hearty laugh that followed before he grabbed the door handle and yanked the door shut.
‘I’m not finished with him,’ Ryker said to Winter. ‘In fact, I’m not even started yet.’
He stormed off down the corridor, trying his best to erase Karaman’s taunting words from his mind.