The Spook who flew over the cuckoos nest. (BOOK 2) Page 13

  "Sorry? Uhm...no, no thanks...that's fine." His distinct variation in his body language caused Joan to query his temperament.

  "Are you feeling okay, Mike? You appear to be somewhat edgy. What's on your mind? Maybe we can talk about it." With a show of reluctance, Eastern concurred with a meaningful nod. Where to start would be the problem, knowing that business and pleasure in his chosen line of work, would normally be classed a 'no brainer'.

  "That noticeable eh, Joan? Tell you what, let's grab a corner table while we can. It's paramount to me that I need to level with you." From the very word go, Eastern was under no illusions as to the fatal consequences arising from an unrehearsed outcome, should his cover come under scrutiny. Any confrontation could well be perceived as being highly volatile and dangerous. Not least at all of Joan herself who's present welfare needed to be considered. As if by clockwork, his brain had now fast- forwarded three hundred and sixty per cent, allowing a fresh set of rules to emerge. And, in the process, leaving his bewildered partner floundering in no-man's-land. "Forget what I said about the talk, Joan, we need to take a rain check on that. Right now I don't have the time to explain, but trust me when I say that right now this 'gaff' isn't a healthy place to be in. The sooner wer'e out of here, the better I like it." Downing his Scotch in one, he gripped her arm tightly and guided her through a side exit out of the bar and into the heat of the night.

  Manfully removed from the scene of inexplicable confusion one minute, then being gently suffocated by the Latin ambience offered up by the Dolce Vita the next, shouldn't, under the circumstances have been such a hard act to follow. Unless of course your name just happens to be Joan Travers. Minutes after making themselves comfortable in a dining booth, she made it quite clear that there was more than a table d'hote menu to consider. "What the hell is going on, Mike? You still owe me an explanation for acting out of character earlier on in the pub. I'm beginning to think the evening isn't working out the way, that I intended it should be."

  Like it or not, Eastern now found himself under orders once again. Only this time he was having to generate a suitable form of explanation. Without elaborating too deeply on the incident, he managed to 'air brush' the Brezznov connection into seclusion, for obvious reasons, and passed of the Tommy Brandon experience off as, "Some nasty people from my past who only get better if viewed from a distance. So you can see why, now, Joan, that I had to make the decision I did, at the time." Fortunately, the menu made better reading than her mind, in allowing her to shrug off further thoughts on the matter. As for Eastern, he should have known better, or maybe he was losing his touch with reality.

  Good food and drink, laced with desirable company, doesn't include a rampant mobile sounding-off at ten o'clock on a Saturday night by playing 'gooseberry'. The look of consternation featured on Eastern's face as the caller's identity became apparent, sent a direct message to Joan. Slowly, and with deliberation, she lowered her glass away from her mouth. Pausing briefly, she momentarily allowed the moment to dictate her thoughts, prior to speaking in a hard-felt manner. "Before you say anything, Mike, you need to know, that I have your full interest at heart, based on how our evening is shaping up, only makes my reasoning that much more plausible....It's Rogon isn't it?" Nodding sheepishly, Eastern confirmed what he already knew to be the case and made a bad job of quelling his anger.

  "I can't believe the arrogance of that guy. His timing is way off base. He seriously needs to get a life....trouble is" he faltered in speech, "the 'nuisance' isn't going to go away that easily, Joan I can only assume he needs to offload some vital information onto me. There's no way this is a social call. I'll give him two minutes of glory and then he can go back to playing ruddy solitaire, or whatever he does for entertainment." Grim faced, Eastern then made the prolonged connection. "This had better be good, Rogon, so don't feed me any of your bureaucratic shit, because right now it doesn't figure on my menu, if you get my point?"

  Intrusion linked with regret took a back seat as an unmoved Rogon proceeded to reply in a hollow manner. "Your choice of words are duly noted, Mike, so I feel I'm beginning to get the point, that is. You're obviously out socializing as we speak?"

  "At least you got that part right!" exacted Eastern. "Just say what's on your mind and then I can get back to enjoying it."

  "The MIU (Murder investigation unit) have been in touch. I thought that you might like to know that the Rotherhithe murder victim has now been formally identified at last." On the one hand, the news was good. On the other, the half-finished steak on his plate seemed to have lost it's appeal as the conversation sucked him in.

  "Yeah, in that case, we know who to look for should he decide to go walkabout." He replied sarcastically, and added, "Talk to me in the morning." He then pocketed his mobile but not before switching it off completely.

  "Was it worth it, the message, I mean?" enquired Joan, loosely. Eastern shrugged his shoulders before responding in a double-edged fashion.

  "It all depends what your take on bullshit is, darling. There's certainly nothing in the content to suggest that I could lose my head over it." Grinning broadly, he signaled a nearby waiter, who was hovering, to fetch another bottle of wine.

  CHAPTER 12...Game on.

  "Christ almighty! This one is better than the last one I had. Frankly, it was bloody awful." Eastern sounded off.

  "I presume you're referring to the coffee, Mike? If so, then you have my full sympathy. I keep meaning to send a memo to the catering department." As yet, Eastern hadn't finished firing and still had an alternative can to empty.

  Yeah? Well while you're at it, you might consider consulting your Whitehall gremlins for a decrease in your working life. I still haven't forgiven you for high jacking me last Saturday night." It was on the Monday morning following his disastrous dinner date. He now found himself seconded into a debrief of his own making, albeit 'circumstances beyond my control'. (The reference being the Tommy Brandon link). Now under scrutiny while seated in Rogon's office at HQ.

  From the outset, the latter could be found to be at the peak of dogmatism in his approach. "I suggest that we deal with your fortuitous or not, situation, surrounding Brandon, first. It's fair to say the emphasis lies with the murder report on the 'stiff', which I find to be most compelling." Forced to bite his tongue, Eastern took solace, or what was left of it. It had been a long and trying weekend and 'brownie points' had long gone out of fashion. In his own time, he went on to explain, in temperate terms, his chance of sighting Brandon conspiring with two other close associates.

  "It became clear, by their body language, that their presence formed an intentional business 'meet'. On assumption, I would have to say that either a deal had been executed recently, or at least that one was being discussed." At this, Rogon's interest instantly flared at the mention of the two accomplices.

  "I find their participation highly interesting, Mike. On his own, Brandon wouldn't rate a second glance as such. He's just a paid gopher, but three 'faces' together could be classed as a conspiracy. So, based on the evidence to hand, I've got a hunch that Brandon and his pals are highly integral to a possible link to our Thames victim. What are your thoughts on that?"

  "Touche Rogon, I couldn't agree more at this stage. And that's without knowing what you intend throwing at me next."

  "For that, I need you to cast your mind back to last Saturday night,and I'll reiterate our brief, but, to my mind, warranted conversation."

  "Huh!" snorted Eastern, "That's your bleedin' opinion, but you've got my attention anyway. Just make sure you make it stick." Rogon blatantly dismissed his final parting shot aimed at a personality war, and opened up, where he had previously left off, by highlighting his account of the facts arising from the ID report, appertaining to the Rotherhithe murder victim.

  "It would seem that the unfortunate victim, whom we know now as being a Polish nationalist, has been officially identified under the name of Ernst Stowlowski. His name was also found to be consistent with the abbreviated ini
tials ES. And contusive with a symbolic tattoo on his left leg."

  "That's interesting. I can recall the initial forensic transcript having listed that observation." Eastern confirmed confidently. "Go on."

  "The actual ID itself," emphasized Rogon, apparently created an impasse from the word go. Missing persons become a non-runner and our own vetting resources come up against a brick wall. The victim, it turns out, had no police record and was deemed to be an honest citizen."

  "Poor bastard, you don't get many like him to the pound...do you?" He continued, "So! At last we have a name. Do we also have an address or, even better, an occupation?" Rogon confirmed his question with a ready-made nod of the head. And continued where he'd left off in a relaxed manner.

  "That's a yes on both counts, Mike. The answers, in fact, emerging from the same source. While acting on your advice, the Met boys managed to track down a local tattooist responsible for Stowlowski's recent acquisition inscribed on his leg." If it was possible, Eastern smirked inwardly at Rogon's revelation as certain past suggestions came home to roost.

  "It's good to know that you take in what I say at times, Rogon," he confided to himself, and strived to keep their conversation on track. "I presume the tattooist kept a register of his punters? Being as it's par for the course if the subject takes two or three sittings to complete. I bet the 'plod' couldn't believe their luck. It proves it can work for you."

  "So it would appear, but to continue. On investigation, the shop-owner himself offered the team a wealth of SP, once the victim's initials were made available. The breakthrough then became a reality. It seems that prior to his murder, he was living in rented accommodation in Bermondsey. This was borne out after further enquiries, which, amongst additional SP that came to light, also included his passport. It soon became clear that he was working as a freelance security guard in the City. Mainly as an operative in overseas banking establishments. That's according to the agency who controlled his schedules."

  Almost immediately, a wry smile enveloped Eastern's face as Stowlowski's working pattern collided with a raw nerve. "Without delving any further, Rogon, you'd have to say that the link inciting Brezznov into play, is staring at you in the face....wouldn't you say?"

  "Exactly! You would have to be very naive to think otherwise, Mike, meaning that there's light at the end of the tunnel after all. Without sounding presumptuous, and knowing how your mind works as I do, I'm sure you could elaborate on that logic." Taking his reference as an olive branch, Eastern pursued his former line of reasoning.

  "I honestly think that Stowlowski's murder is your classic 'nice guy, wrong place wrong time' scenario. I would go as far as to say I wouldn't mind betting that he was working at Brezznov's intended 'hit' at the time of his death. And, through circumstances, caused Brezznov to abort his plans...if you remember?"

  "Yes, unfortunately. So, what to your mind, was his motive for silencing Stowlowski?"

  "That's the easy part. The poor sucker obviously had access to privy SP that could indirectly put Brezznov in the frame by blowing his plans apart. And then he made the fatal mistake of sharing his knowledge with someone. From then on............."

  "....................once Brezznov found out." Rogon interjected. "Stowlowski was a dead man walking. I was also informed that a covert call was made to West End Central, approximately twenty four hours before the murder, stating that an alleged 'heist' was imminent in the City. The origin and timing of the call was never disclosed. And the caller, a male, then hung up without revealing their identity."

  "Huh! No prizes for guessing who that might have been." Eastern exacted with confidence. "Not that it's going to do us any good of course." Looking a trifle confused at his response, Rogon opted to digress.

  "On that basis, where do you suppose Stowlowski obtained his alleged SP from in the first place Mike?"

  "Presumably, a third party connection, without question."

  "Could you be more precise; I feel I'm missing something here." Inhaling deeply, Eastern replied more in frustration than prolonged tedium.

  "That will entail chasing bloody shadows, as I've mentioned before, in this line of enquiry if you recall? I explained some time ago that without the use of person or persons unknown, working on the inside, and familiar with the in-house security system, then you can forget the whole deal. The days of coming through the back door are a thing of the past, Rogon. These days it's all about complexity, plus sophistication and a suitably placed large 'wedge' (wad of money)."

  I see, so in this case, once Stowlowski realized that he had stumbled upon an internal conspiracy, became the time that he decided to take some action."

  "Exactly! hence the phone call to Central. Although, by then, I reckon his card had already been marked, and within hours the rest, as they say, is history. Not much of an epitaph is it; to wind up labeled as just another murder statistic?" Having set the scene, it was now left to Rogon to mop up any outstanding loose ends.

  "Oh, one other thing, Mike. Just bear with me for a second. Working on the assumption that Brezznov is behind the murder, would I be right in thinking that the two 'faces' you witnessed last Saturday, along with Brandon, could well have been the killers and were being paid off?"

  "Yeah, it certainly gives credence to support our overall consensus thus far. Given the circumstances, you're right to consider their role as conspirators. I could kick myself now for not getting a better visual look at them. But that's the high and the lows of the business I'm afraid."

  Before adjourning the debrief, Rogon brought Eastern up-to-date with a day by day account of Brezznov's movements. Which were still under covert scrutiny, ably supported by agent 'B'. As was to be expected, the report gave no indication to suppose that Brezznov's past or present situation could implicate him in any way the Rotherhithe murder, or indeed to whoever was responsible. Meanwhile, at the other end of the spectrum, the MIU based at Rotherhithe, contacted Rogon via a fax outlining an updated document on the murder case thus far. In part, it confirmed that Stowlowski's missing body parts had been discovered. The grizzly remains of the security guard were found by a local 'wino' in a disused lock-up, close to where the victim had previously been living. It further went on to say, that a ballistics report carried out by forensic, had officially confirmed that the cause of death came from a gunshot wound to the head, at close range. Death, it appears, would have been instantaneous, the lab concluded. Further investigation had also revealed that a DNA sample, extracted from the remains, was adjudged as being compatible with the victim's torso. In conclusion, it was stated that the bullet which killed the victim, was fired from a .38 COBRA Colt or 'Snubbie', as it is known in the business. The 'round' in question, itself was located and retrieved, having been found lodged in bone structure behind the right ear. Any ongoing SP pending, would be available as directed....end of Fax.

  For Eastern, the ongoing two weeks would now become a learning curve akin to patience. Not that he required a refresher course as such. He was well aware that when you're dealing with someone of Brezznov's indifference to timing, what could be adjudged as being finalized one minute, could also be rendered totally obsolete the next. As for Joan, she readily confessed to being, 'decidedly positive' when Eastern confirmed to her that Brezznov had finally made contact with him at last. And indeed Rogon himself, who when confronted with the news, actually allowed the beginnings of what Eastern described later as being, 'The premature birth of a token smile emerging from his face.' Business as usual, now took on a whole new meaning from Eastern's perspective, as he wilfully kicked deja vu into touch.

  "This has to be the big one," he informed Rogon, "Brezznov is as hungry for this as I am. He's done his homework. All he has to do now, is to prove himself. And me? I'd willingly settle for a ringside seat and watch the egotistic bastard take a premeditated dive!"

  "Amen to that!" declared Rogon in a defiant manner. "He's been a thorn in our side for far too long now, so I feel sure that favourable consequences will have a
lasting effect with Whitehall in mind, besides creating a coup for the agency. As of yet, although equipped with the knowledge that the proposed 'heist' was indeed a reality, Eastern could still be found languishing in no-man's-land. Meanwhile, as was expected, Brezznov could be found exercising his control-freak syndrome, by withholding critical operation details, namely timing and destination plans. All this, prior to forming the 'firm' for at least a further twenty four hours.

  "Forced into walking on bleedin' broken glass would be less of an ordeal than this enforced waiting game, Joan. I swear to God that the guy is more concerned with his poxy image that carrying out the job."

  "As I recall, Mike, you have always maintained that he 'gets off ', as it were, by employing the little Caesar routine.. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if the creep has it in his mind to contact you tonight." The attributes deriving from ESP (extra sensitive perception), is recognised as containing no guide lines. So, therefore, any likely outcome arising from the adage 'be mindful of what you might wish for, just might come true', appeared to be in the ascendancy that same evening as Eastern endeavoured to relax for a while.

  "Mike! are you going to answer that or not?" an impatient Joan pleaded.

  "Say what?"

  "Your mobile, can't you hear it? or maybe you just don't want to." His initial thoughts were reserved for Rogon, familiar as he was with the latter's habitual bad timing. Stirring himself, he tentatively reached out for the 'nuisance' and eyeballed the screen. Instantly his body jerked upright spasmodically, as the caller's name came home to roost. Instinctively, he averted his gaze toward Joan, who was looking on with terminal interest. "You don't have to explain anything, Mike," she stated calmly, "It's Brezznov....isn't it?" Nodding briskly, Eastern concurred and gave his nemesis a green light with a stage thrown in.

  "Is that you Alex?" Brezznov could be heard to inquire sharply.