Disorder (Sam Keddie thriller series Book 1) (24 page)

Chapter 72

Downing Street 

The police unit at Downing Street, part of the Met’s Diplomatic Protection Group, is based in a small building at the western end of the street. Here, in addition to providing a 24-hour operations base for the officers protecting the PM, a small cache of arms is kept and there are briefing rooms and two seldom-used cells. While there are plenty of incidents outside the sealed-off zone of Downing Street which are dealt with by the Met, it’s extremely rare that anything occurs within.

   Frears stared at the blank walls of his cell, trying to form an action plan in his head. His brain longed for the comparative simplicity of a combat situation. Manpower and weaponry available, terrain, conditions, enemy position, objective. Sure, the situation could change rapidly, but at least you were trained for that. For this, he had no training.

   He heard the door being unlocked and a man in a grey suit walked in.

   ‘Major Frears, I’m Commander Lynch. This won’t take long. Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?’

   Frears shook his head.

   ‘Fine,’ said Lynch. ‘Then let’s get started. Can you tell me why you were in the Prime Minister’s private apartment?’

   Frears looked up. It was then he realised what the best approach was.

   ‘Major Frears?’

   Lynch sighed. ‘How about why you were found restraining the Prime Minister’s son with extreme force?’

   Silence again.

   ‘Of course it’s your prerogative to remain silent, but in time you will have to explain your actions. And in the meantime we will be listening to whatever Eleanor Scott says with even greater interest.’

   The door shut behind Lynch. Frears clenched and then unclenched his fists. This was Stirling’s mess and his alone to resolve. But did the PM really have the ingenuity – or the balls – to do that, wondered Frears? Or would other measures be necessary?

*

Two doors further down, Eleanor sat in more comfortable surroundings, in a small lounge where members of the DPG took their breaks. She was trying to slow her heartbeat as she struggled to convince herself that those who’d drawn her out of the crowd and gently led her to this room did not mean her harm. It was all too official somehow, wholly lacking the dark threats of the man from the pub or the violence of the tall figure who’d attacked Aidan. And of course there were now dozens of witnesses who could attest to her presence in Downing Street. They couldn’t just make her disappear, surely? She thought of her mother, and her heart began to race again. She had to call her.

   There was a brief murmur of conversation outside and then a man stepped into the room.

   ‘Hello Miss Scott,’ he said, with a stern expression, ‘my name’s Lynch. You realise you single-handedly triggered the largest security alert in Downing Street’s history since the IRA fired a mortar into the garden in 1991.’ 

   Eleanor smiled weakly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was terrified.’

   She felt her eyes welling with tears, though for reasons Lynch could not know.

   ‘You scared the hell out of a lot of people today, Miss Scott,’ said Lynch. He appeared to soften. ‘But I dare say they’ll recover. And practising the evacuation procedure never hurts.’

   He smiled, suggesting that this issue was resolved. ‘Can I ask about the other man now?’

   Eleanor nodded, a brief shudder running through her as she remembered how close she’d come to the man who, she now knew, had been hounding them so relentlessly.

   ‘You say you were having a drink with Aidan, chatting about your late father.’

   Eleanor focused her dark eyes, now rimmed with tears, on Lynch.

   ‘And the other man arrived, unannounced, and attacked Aidan.’

   ‘That’s right.’

   ‘This attack,’ said Lynch. ‘Can you tell me what might have prompted it?’

   Eleanor closed her eyes, replaying the horror, while mulling over an adequate response. She now realised that, in all likelihood, the tall man was restraining a killer. But as an answer, that would not do right now. She settled, in the end, for a partial truth.

   ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘It all happened so fast.’

   ‘Take your time, Miss Scott.’

   ‘All I know is that he came in and Aidan seemed really angry about him being there, saying something like “why can’t you leave me alone?” Then the other man said that it wasn’t safe to do that. He moved us both into the kitchen and that’s when it happened. I’m not sure if Aidan attacked him or whether the other man just lost his temper, but within seconds the two of them were on the floor.’

   Lynch nodded. ‘And then you got scared, and pressed the alarm.’

   Eleanor nodded.

   ‘OK,’ said Lynch. His eyes remained locked on Eleanor’s. She kept the contact.

   Finally Lynch broke it, smiling again. ‘I don’t think there’s any reason to keep you any longer.’

   Eleanor felt a rush of such huge relief, she began to cry.

   ‘Traumatic experience, I’m sure,’ said Lynch. ‘Would you like me to arrange for someone to accompany you home?’

   Eleanor shook her head.

   ‘I’ll call a cab then. If we need to ask you anything else, we’ll be in touch.’

   As soon as she was outside the west gate, Eleanor dialled her home number. It began to ring. And ring. Eleanor wanted to scream.

   ‘Hello?’

   It was Jill’s voice. Cheery, optimistic, and most definitely alive. Eleanor collapsed to the ground.

Chapter 73

Downing Street 

The sitting room in the apartment had finally calmed. Aidan sat on the sofa, heavily tranquilised, while Charlotte, in the floor-length gown she’d worn to the state dinner for the French President – ears and neck dripping in Bowlby family jewellery – signed a series of forms at the table. Seated next to her, a softly spoken psychiatrist was explaining where they were taking Aidan now. Hopefully to a bloody big hole, thought Stirling.

   It had taken that man and two other burly male nurses half-an-hour before Aidan could be restrained and finally, a tranquiliser could be administered. Aidan had been railing about Frears when they’d finally reached the apartment, shouting about him being ‘a bloody psychopath’ and ‘a violent cunt’. By all accounts, that was all he’d been saying, thank God, as members of the DPG had been waiting with him when Stirling and Charlotte had arrived.

   Aidan now sat, slack-jawed, like some stunned animal. It was clear, immediately, that he hadn’t been taking his medication. But for how long? Stirling, himself still dressed in white tie and tails, glared at his wife. He wanted to murder her right now. She was fucking hopeless.

   Finally, the forms signed, the psychiatrist stood and nodded to the two nurses. Aidan was pulled up from the sofa, all floppy and compliant. He was gently led to the lift. They were to take him down to the service exit at the rear of the building, to a small minibus and, thankfully, not a big white ambulance with the words ‘Nut House Transport’ on the side.

   At the door of the lift, Charlotte kissed her son on the cheek, hugging him briefly. Stirling wanted to vomit. The doors then closed and Aidan was gone.

   ‘I’m finished,’ Stirling muttered, closing the door of the sitting room behind them.

   Charlotte collapsed on the sofa. It was clear she wasn’t prepared to take her share of the blame just yet. She was rooting frantically around in the cushions. ‘What the hell has Aidan done with the remote? We must find out what the media has made of this.’

   She froze momentarily, shooting Philip an alarmed look.

   ‘What is it?’

   ‘Look at these,’ she said. Her hand had emerged from beneath the cushion and was now held, palm out, in his direction.

   Stirling moved closer and leaned down to get a better look. ‘Fucking hell, Charlotte,’ he hissed.

   The palm of Charlotte’s hand contained dozens of little white pills.

   ‘The little bastard hasn’t been taking his medication at all,’ said Stirling. ‘For Christ’s sake, Charlotte, that was meant to be your department. After everything that has happened, how could you have been so stupid?’

   For once, Charlotte was too stunned to come back at him.

   Stirling’s BlackBerry rang. ‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘OK,’ he then said more calmly. There was a pause as he listened to the voice at the other end. Then Stirling spoke: ‘I’ll be down right away.’

   He turned to Charlotte. ‘The police want to talk to me. “A chat”, they called it.’

   ‘What are you going to say to them?’

   ‘I don’t know right now. Apparently Eleanor Scott has told the police that Frears attacked Aidan,’ said Stirling. ‘But who knows what else she saw and heard?’

   He ran a hand through the dense thicket of his hair. Eleanor Scott alive and talking to Aidan. He wanted to crawl into a dark hole and disappear forever.

   As Stirling left the front door of 10 Downing Street, receiving a nod from the officer on duty –
how long will that deference last, he wondered?
– he began mulling over his options. Apparently Frears had chosen to remain silent. Was that a sign of loyalty to the operation? Or was he simply weighing up his options?

   There was a chill in the air as he moved down the deserted street. There were still plenty of cars parked outside the terrace. Vehicles left overnight by staff who’d fled the building and weren’t allowed to return. The heels of his shoes clicked against the tarmac, the noise echoing around the surrounding buildings, their tall, grand frontages seeming to mock him.
What’s a Northern lad like you doing in a place like this?

   Think, Stirling said to himself. Think. First and foremost, he needed to handle the soldier carefully. He couldn’t afford to piss him off, let alone bollock him for allowing this to happen. Yes, Aidan had slipped out yet again. But the person really at fault here was Charlotte, who’d neglected the little bastard’s medication regime. Frears needed to know that he wasn’t going to get in shit. Right now, in custody, the Guardsman was probably feeling cornered.

  
Stirling, thanks to recent pay rises he’d driven through for the police, had a good relationship with them, certainly when compared to some of his predecessors. He hoped this might go some way to containing the fall-out from this event. Perhaps a leak could be avoided, at least until he’d had a chance to think through his options.

   He was greeted by a man called Lynch, and led into a small kitchen and sitting area.

   ‘Have you any idea why Frears was in the apartment, Prime Minister?’ asked Lynch. ‘Or why he might have attacked your son – and tried to restrain him?’

   ‘None whatsoever.’

   ‘Did Major Frears and your son have any kind of relationship?’

  The inference lingered in the air. ‘Not that I know of,’ said Stirling. ‘I mean, they’d met each other. I had meetings with Major Frears in the apartment, and they’d certainly been introduced, but beyond that, no.’

   Lynch nodded. His forehead creased.

   ‘Eleanor Scott said that your son was really angry about him being there, and he’d said something along the lines of “why can’t you leave me alone?”. Major Frears had apparently said that it wasn’t safe to do that.’

  Stirling felt his heart leap in his chest. ‘Well, I’ve no idea what that means.’

   Lynch paused, pursing his lips. ‘And how is your son?

   ‘Pretty shaken up,’ said Stirling. ‘He’s not well, to be honest. Sedated.’

   ‘We’d like to talk to him when he’s better.’

   ‘I’ll be in touch when that happens,’ said Stirling, who wanted Aidan tranquilised for eternity. ‘Now, I wonder if I could have a word with Frears?’

   Lynch raised an eyebrow.

   ‘See if I can get some sense out of him,’ continued Stirling, unfazed. ‘Obviously he’s not top of my Christmas card list right now, but we were friends, close colleagues. That might mean something. He might talk to me.’

   ‘I appreciate the offer of help, but –’

   ‘Please, Commander Lynch.’

   Stirling watched as the policeman struggled with balancing a request from the Prime Minister and the constraints of procedure.

   ‘Perhaps a couple of minutes,’ said Lynch. ‘But I should probably accompany you. And you’ll need additional protection too.’

   Stirling smiled. ‘Commander Lynch, Major Frears has been a loyal adviser to me – and to Her Majesty’s Government. He’s also served in the armed forces, with distinction. Whatever he’s done today should not wholly define him.’

   ‘You’re a forgiving man, Prime Minister,’ said Lynch. ‘If someone had attacked my son, I’m not sure I’d feel the same way.’

   ‘I’m not forgiving him. I’m just saying that if I treat him with a little respect, he might cough up the information he’s so far chosen to withhold from you.’

   Lynch continued to squirm.

   ‘You know what a fan I am of the police,’ said the PM. ‘All I’m asking is a moment with a friend. It may well provide the break you need. If he attacks me, I’ll scream and you can be in the room in seconds.’

  ‘Two minutes,’ said Lynch.

   Frears’ cell contained a narrow bed attached to the wall and a small toilet in one corner. The room was harshly lit from high above. The soldier sat on the bed, his back to the wall.

   Stirling perched on the end of the bed. ‘You’re in a hole here, Frears. And I want to help you out.’

   Frears looked up at the PM, a deadened expression on his face.

   ‘Look,’ said Stirling. ‘We’re both fucked if this isn’t resolved.’  

   There was no response. Stirling racked his brains for a solution.

   ‘I’ll make sure Aidan doesn’t press charges. And of course we won’t either.’ He was on a roll now, winging his way forward. ‘Perhaps your presence can be explained as a misunderstanding, that you were up there to see me – crossed wires or something – and that Aidan got shirty because he was trying to get Eleanor into bed. And that you’d had a long week and an argument turned into –’

   ‘That won’t wash,’ said Frears bluntly.

   ‘How so?’

   ‘It won’t tally with what Eleanor Scott has said.’

   ‘We don’t know what Eleanor Scott has said,’ lied Stirling.

   Frears’ eyes narrowed. ‘Just ensure Aidan doesn’t press charges. I’ll take care of everything else. And get me out of here.’

   As he walked back down the street to Number 10, Stirling knew that Frears had seen right through him when he lied. And of course he was right: Eleanor Scott’s evidence would contradict any story they concocted. So what could he do? Getting the charges dropped would be easy enough, but that line about it not being safe to leave Aidan alone would be the sticker. They had to find a way to explain it.

   To add to his problems, it was clear Frears no longer trusted him. Stirling shuddered. He thought of the Guardsman’s favourite word, ‘containment’. Now it was Frears himself – keeper of his darkest secrets – who needed containing.