The Spook who flew over the cuckoos nest. (BOOK 2) Read online

  THE SPOOK

  WHO FLEW OVER

  THE CUCKOOS NEST

  BY GARY TULLEY

  Copyright

  Published by Gary Tulley 2015

  Kindle version

  (paperback version available 2013 )

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Acknowledgements.

  CHAPTER 1...Brighton revisited.

  CHAPTER 2...Induction by proxy.

  CHAPTER 3...A change of scenery.

  CHAPTER 4...A breakthrough of sorts

  CHAPTER 5...An 'out' & out result.

  CHAPTER 6...A call from the wilderness.

  CHAPTER 7...The wilderness syndrome.

  CHAPTER 8...Horses for courses.

  CHAPTER 9...Mission Impossible.

  CHAPTER 10...The flip side of sanity.

  CHAPTER 11...A successful night out.

  CHAPTER 12...Game on.

  CHAPTER 13...Win some, lose some.

  CHAPTER 14. Your Nicked!

  CHAPTER 15...An open 'Canvas'.

  CHAPTER 16...Supposition & Poetic justice.

  CHAPTER 17...A providence call.

  CHAPTER 18...A Lifeline.

  CHAPTER 19...Day of reckoning Part 1.

  CHAPTER 20...Day of reckoning.. Part 2.

  CHAPTER 21...Day of reckoning. Part 3.

  CHAPTER 22...Day of reckoning...Part 4.

  EPILOGUE...The funeral.

  Synopsis

  In hind-sight the precarious circumstances that, Mike Eastern, found himself in, would have come as no surprise had he stopped to consider the knock-on-effect clause, hidden in the small print arising from a non-negotiable contract.

  Instead, once again, Eastern finds himself drawn into an exclusive Government Law and Order Security Agency, called ‘Spooks’. Headed by a secretive operative, known only to him as, ‘Rogon’.

  As a prominent ‘P.I.’ in his own right, Eastern’s ‘brief’ involves working undercover on a highly unpredictable covert mission that sees him associating with the dangerous and volatile, as he attempts to create a relationship of convenience with a career criminal. Namely, the one and only ‘Victor Brezznov’ the self-styled ‘International Diamond Merchant’

  Dedication

  I would like to dedicate this book to my brother Brian

  Acknowledgements.

  I would like to thank my wife Sheila for her tolerance and support throughout. I would also like to than Susan Hill for her editing and proofing services. Not forgetting Julie Shillingham for her in depth appraisal of the book.

  I also would like to thank James Watson for his knowledgeable back-up assistance.

  CHAPTER 1...Brighton revisited.

  "Mike! Can you get that please darling? I'm in the kitchen it could be important, my hands are tied at the moment." Either he was out of earshot, or maybe Mike Eastern, wasn't in the room at all. Whichever way, it didn't stop the phone from continuously bleating away. Patience on tap can be a virtue providing of course, that the circumstances aren't debatable. In this case, leaving his malcontent partner, Joan Travers, into playing the Devil's advocate, as she appeared in the doorway leading to the apartment lounge. "I hope, for your sake, that damned newspaper that your head is buried in is of more interest than......." She stopped short of castigating as the phone decided to cease ringing, probably in sympathy to her cause. Slowly and trance like, Eastern, lowered the paper and glanced intently towards her.

  "Oh....sorry, Joan, you were saying?" Then without more ado he returned to the paper and duly lost himself again.

  "It really doesn't matter much now, does it!? She replied brusquely. "It's fairly obvious to me that the sports page is in control....right?" Having ventured this far, her kitchen task had somehow lost its appeal, leaving her to edge toward him. In the past, Joan had never been one for verbal dress rehearsals, rather she had written the script. "On the other hand, Mike, if the content is that captivating then maybe we need to share it." It wasn't so much what she had implied in her approach, but moreover in the way that she had said it, that finally persuaded Eastern, to engage her line of thought.

  "I suggest, that if you get round to reading this particular article here on page two, then you'll appreciate why I appear to be somewhat distant. To be honest, the bureaucratic bullshit it contains, makes me feel like I want to throw up!"

  His apparent terminal view on the subject, totally transformed her delicate attitude. Without further prompting, she became instantly aware that possible grief written or otherwise seemed to lodge an infinity with him. And that he also thrived on it. But then he was a specialist 24/7 PI, and what was food and drink to him inadvertently became another man's poison. "In that case, I'll take your word for it, Mike." She responded. "And allow you to explain the lurid details. It all sounds very intriguing to me I have to say."

  "I certainly wouldn't argue the point with you on that one, Joan. Unfortunately your'e going to have to wait awhile for an answer, I suggest that we discuss the matter fully over dinner later. In the meantime, I intend going missing for a short while....grab some fresh air, and reflect on a spot of business at the same time." A perfectly engineered smile then washed over Joan's face as she replied in a knowing manner.

  "As I recall, Mike, the last time I heard you say that, you decided to go missing for twenty four hours."

  "Did I?" he questioned loosely. "Well, if I did, it figures that Rogon, had a say in it." The reference to the latter, came by way of a former undercover Government security agent affiliated to Spooks, whom Eastern, by indelible circumstances had found himself embroiled with. In a political and torrid association when cracking a Police conspiracy case, some 6 months previous.

  "Strange, when I think back." she mused. "especially the love hate relationship that you both shared."

  "Meaning?"

  "The way you harp on about him at times, it's almost as if the man never really went away."

  ""Uhm, I hadn't really noticed, Joan, although familiarity can become a two way thing if you let it. Having said that, I don't suppose for a minute the guy has ever reflected on my input in that particular case." Determined to get the last word in, Joan astutely concluded.

  "I'm bound to say that you got that part right, Mike. You've always maintained that a log has got more feeling than a spook!"

  Minutes after exiting their apartment, Eastern succumbed to an involuntary shiver, as the chill wind bit through to his body. Just to add to his plight, he cursed the fact that his car was parked at the seaward end of Brunswick square in Hove, where he resided. Burying his chin deep into the lapels of his overcoat, he strode away briskly, head down into the night. Engrossed as he was in a satellite of his own making, the outside world quickly became a vision of the past.

  Meanwhile, and close to where his car could be found parked, a short heavily built figure emerged from behind the shadow of a large blackened out limousine.

  The exclusive cut and colour of the garb, including the trilby that he was wearing, seemed to compliment the vehicle by generating a sinister air to their joint existence. Shrouded by the darkness, the figure chose to remain lurking in a position consistent with an element of surprise if called upon. Completely oblivious at that point, to his presence, Eastern literally walked directly into an unavoidable confrontation, as the alien figure stepped out from beyond the shadows intent on waylaying him. Totally unaware as he was, Eastern found himself hard pressed not to retaliate. And in the process, humbled into becoming a highly disgruntled spectator. From the offset, it quickly became aware that the aggressor had pre- knowledge of his existence. "Mr Eastern I
believe? I apologise for invading your space and my selfish timing. The situation arising." he strongly emphasized, "is one of necessity aligned with state security"

  At this point, Eastern's intuition had now revolved 360% by unlocking the key to what was rapidly becoming an altercation too far. Cutting his inquisitor short, he readily referred him to the only language he knew that they both shared. "Hold it right there! I'm not interested in your bureaucratic crap, so get to the fucking point. On second thoughts I'll say it for you, Rogon sent you didn't he? Why the hell couldn't he have phoned, and, more to the point you moron, how the hell did you know I was going to be here anyway!?"

  Almost immediately, realization gripped him as his senses returned full circle. "I should have known better." he rebuked himself. The motionless mask on the agent's face, indicated to Eastern that he was wasting his breath, should he decide to pursue that specific line of enquiry. "You fucking sad brainwashed idiot." ran through his mind, "You should have read the small print in the advert and stopped when you arrived at Spooks!"

  A further, and what would have been a feeble attempt to appease the agent , came to an abrupt ending. Leaving the latter deciding to vent his own stamp on their addled conversation. "I need to make you aware Mr Eastern, that I carry no official jurisdiction in forcing you to"

  "Yeah...yeah, I get the picture, just spare me the bollocks that goes with it. I can only surmise that if Rogon wants a 'meet', then this situation has to be a priority."

  Damned if I do and damned if I don't, a cajoled decision that Eastern could well have done without. And with as less time to debate the consequences. As a result, a whirlpool of mixed emotion, mingled with contrived scenarios, swirled around in his head, in opposition to his reluctance to say no. Fumbling around in his coat pocket, he produced his mobile and proceeded to make an enforced call. "Give me a couple of minutes", he proffered, "this happens to be a private call". Some 5 minutes later, the obtrusive limousine exited Brunswick square and headed along Western road. It's destination privy to only the driver. Sitting in the back while completely blindfolded, a disorientated Eastern sat wedged between two further agency personal. The ludicrous experience in itself was nothing new to him. In the not too past he'd succumbed to the 'calling' a dozen times or more. Although Eastern could well attune himself to the necessity for overall security, he did have this problem when coming to terms with Spooks translation of protocol. In his tried and tested experience, it paid to sit back and relax whilst reflecting on the thought that Rogon was about to infiltrate his private life once again.

  Deep down, having monopolised the role of a free spirit while acting as a PI. Eastern, nevertheless, had this love hate relationship that had developed over the past between himself and Rogon, had now moved on to establish a successful combination based on mutual respect. As was the norm, the journey, he reminded himself, seemed to take for ever. Finally the limousine ground to a permanent halt, and Eastern was unceremoniously bundled out.

  Still blindfolded while remaining in a state of complete secrecy, he completed the last steps of his ordeal on foot, some minutes later. His blindfold was then removed thus allowing his vision to adjust to the alien light. And also to familiarise himself with his immediate surroundings. "Welcome to the world of 'plastic' beings" became his initial thoughts. "Where night and day have no meaning" swiftly followed. The inevitable third option soon transpired into one of stark reality, brought about by the unmistakable and enigmatic tones conspicuous only to Rogon. Cutting through a blanket of silence from behind him, his opening gambit was brief and to the point.

  "Mike! it's so good to see you again. I trust that you are keeping well?"

  Full of expectancy, Eastern swung round hesitantly to acknowledge his presence. "Under the circumstances I wish I could I say it was a pleasure too,' Rogon!" He fired back with inbuilt attitude. And continued his verbal assault in the same vein. "The next time that you decide to come calling when it suits you, then give me the benefit of 24 hour's notice. Or had you conveniently forgotten that I happen to live in the real world?" Briefly, the merest hint of a smile struggled to live with itself, on Rogon's face, as he proffered an outstretched hand for Eastern to shake. Inwardly, the glimpse of a disc slotting into 'play' engaged Eastern's sub-conscious prior to Rogon replying.

  "You should be well aware by now, considering our past history, Mike, that your request is virtually meaningless. Unless of course there comes a time and a reason to justify it."

  "That's total bollocks!" retorted Eastern, "You know damn well where to find me when it suits you."

  "Same old, Mike, nothing really changes does it? Except to say of course that I've always been a staunch admirer of your maverick genre. And not forgetting your acute independence of course."

  "Don't patronise me Rogon, I don't do reunions full stop! Just cut the crap and make your point." Momentarily he broke off, before pursuing another line of thought. "By the way, you never said. What is it this time, a 'bent' MP maybe? or better still, how about a political defection? Now there's a good enough reason to fuck with wouldn't you say?" As was to be expected, Eastern's choice of sarcasm fell way short.

  Leaving Rogon to make it clear that he was eager to progress.

  "Your wit as usual becomes you, Mike. Needless to say I'll come straight to the point. The fact that I've sent for you anyway must tell you that your presence here at HQ. Is not I stress a social call of convenience. On the contrary, your business here is confined to a State-related 'brief', which entails an undercover third party arrangement. Additional to a vested interest into organized crime."

  "Oh, I get it, so straightaway you thought", I know, let's get good old Mike Eastern involved. He likes a bit of excitement! Yeah, well fuck you, Rogon. If I happen to have a problem then I deal with it...end of story. So you and your Spooks can do likewise. You seem to forget that I have got a life to."

  "This is the second time I've laid my life on the line before in the name of the State. And for what? Besides, my pension is looking good from where I'm sitting, and I mean to keep it that way." Now reclining in his favourite chair while looking completely relaxed, Rogon appeared to be oblivious to Eastern's accustomed rant aimed at the Establishment. Not once did he allow a flicker of emotion to jeopardise his frame. A following pregnant pause seemingly allowed response to sail over his head, and then to disintegrate out of mind. Finally, he replied in a robotic manner.

  "I take it, that means that you could be possibly interested in the 'brief' on offer then, Mike?" In response, Eastern reluctantly held his arms aloft akin to a token of submissiveness.

  "Why the bleedin hell do I get the feeling that I've been suckered again? Okay Rogon, I'm in, so what's the SP (information) behind the story?" Shaking hands on their enforced deal, Rogon spilled the contents of a large file onto his desk before continuing.

  "Tell me, Mike, what does the name Victor Brezznov mean to you?" Without any prompting, Eastern raised his eyebrows in instant recognition as to his enquiry. And not before delivering his own personal assassination attached to the name in question.

  "Fucking bad news comes to mind, Rogon. As far as I know, he's been enjoying a 12 stretch (years) in Bellmarsh Prison as we speak. Although according to a Press report that I read earlier on this evening, that might not be the case. So, why do you ask?" Rogon hesitated before replying.

  "I'll come to that later. Is there anything else that you'd care to add?" In a moment of madness, Eastern couldn't resist a sudden urge to wind Rogon up, by quipping.

  "I'm seriously considering leaving him off my Xmas list this year." As was to be expected the craic (joke) fell way short on delivery, leaving an unimpressed Rogon to carry on where he had left off.

  "For your information, including the rest of the world apart, Brezznov has spent the last 18 months of his sentence languishing in Foredown open prison in Sussex, while awaiting a release date. Which I hasten to add, could be possible at any time this coming month. Apparently, the power's to be are say
ing he's eligible to return to society." Stopping short, he sat bolt upright before continuing

  in a meaningful manner. "And therein, Mike", he emphasised, 'Lies the crux of the matter!" Eastern's immediate response to Rogon's explicit dilemma, came by way of burying his head in his hands in a show of defeatism.

  "I can't believe that your telling me this crap. In my book the guy is a professional career criminal, who in the past has literally got away with bloody murder. And now your telling me that he's going to walk at any moment. On that basis, I would suggest to you that somebody has got a paid-up holiday with money over, for making a decision that's beyond crucial. I'm sorry, I just don't buy it, he asserted, and continued, "From where I'm sitting, the very idea that Brezznov, could shortly become a free man...stinks! From beginning to end."

  Without any formal doubt, Rogon had anticipated Eastern's summing up, and concurred in his own assessment. "In the end Mike, it all comes down to money, meaning that everybody has got a price. The higher that you are up the ladder the easier it becomes to name it." Nodding aggressively, Eastern was forced to confirm that at worst, they were both in the same ballpark. And allowed his further interest to grow.

  "I have a mental picture of where all this is leading up to now. So, please continue." Glancing up from the file, Rogon commenced by easing him into a factual insight relevant to his own covert abduction. He then continued their in-depth prognosis concerning Spooks latest 'brief'.

  "This could take some time, Mike, because I need to dwell on the past so that you can see where I'm coming from. Brezznov". he indicated, 'is the only son of a post war mixed marriage, between a white Russian and an English girl. Both of whom were heavily involved in running a small corporation, linked to wheeling and dealing in mainstream finance circles."

  "Uhm, sounds familiar."

  "Under normal circumstances I would be forced to agree with you." Rogon exclaimed. And then proceeded to ambush any misgivings on the subject, by verifying certain facts. "Any dealings that the company were party to, I hasten to add, were legitimate in every respect. Unlike Brezznov himself, who decided at an early age that money and the power that it could yield would, in later years, become a symbol to crown his egotistic desire to succeed.