Dreams to Die For (6 page)

Alan came to visit Cindy as usual at 7pm and immediately noticed how much brighter and cheerier she was. She told him it was because she was going home the next day, which was adequate explanation for Alan who was just pleased that Cindy had apparently overcome the trauma of the blast in such a short time – as he had been warned by the medical staff that her anxiety and depression might last for several weeks at least.

“I'll get Jack to drive you home. The hospital staff say 10:30am would be fine as the doctor will have finished his round and will have discharged you by then.”

“I'm happy to get a taxi, Alan. Don't bother Jack.” Cindy did not view the prospect of a two and a half hour drive with Jack Donaldson with any sort of pleasure. She loathed the man whom she thought was nothing more than a middle-aged lout.

“You can't get in and out of taxis in your state, and beside which I have nothing for him to do tomorrow. He might as well earn his pay for once.”

Cindy knew she was going to lose this discussion but decided to have one more attempt.

“How much do you really know about Jack, Alan? What is his background and how exactly did you meet up? You have never really told me and I find him quite creepy. He always seems to get just a little too close physically and lingers for just a second too long. In fact I find him almost threatening at times.”

“Nonsense, Cindy, I'm sure I have explained all this to you before. Jack served in the first Gulf War, spent some time abroad in Africa and South America before briefly doing some work for the good guys when we went into Iraq. I'm not quite sure exactly what he did but he knows how to look after himself and he is an excellent driver. I first met him at some banker's do in the city when he was working for an American organisation, but he didn't like the people much so I offered him a job there and then. Anyway, he's married now and settled down. I think you are a bit paranoid about him.”

Had Alan Crossland bothered to investigate his driver's background he probably would have found out very little, but at least he would have tried to verify his suitability for the post. The absence of any adverse information about his driver did not however mean that he was an upstanding citizen. As a child, Jack was neglected by his single parent mother and drifted into petty crime and almost permanent truancy from his inner city comprehensive school which he left at the earliest opportunity to join the army. There he found the male companionship he had lacked as an adolescent but he gained little experience of relationships with women. On the couple of occasions he had dated a girl, his overeager and clumsy advances were quickly rebuffed and he ended up feeling humiliated and ridiculed. His frustration turned to anger and it was not long before he started using his physical superiority to enforce his will on any vulnerable female who would not respond to his overtures.

Sergeant Jack Donaldson had been accused, though it was never proved as there were no living witnesses, of the rape of two Kurdish women whilst he was serving in the Gulf. He finished his time with the British Army and gained an honourable discharge. As a mercenary in Mozambique, he was able to satisfy his predatory sexual needs almost whenever he wished as most tribal villages were devoid of any men to protect them and the remaining women were easy prey. Several women would have testified to Donaldson's brutality if only he had allowed them to live. He returned to Iraq in 2004, having gained a contract to assist in the protection of an oil installation taken over by the Americans, but when that got blown up by insurgents he found himself wandering around the streets of Baghdad. At that time the old city was in chaos and virtually lawless – just the sort of environment Jack Donaldson relished – and within two weeks of arriving he had obtained a military uniform that made him indistinguishable from the various, and numerous, coalition troops. Suitably camouflaged and anonymous, he set out to enjoy the second largest city in Western Asia.

One day he happened to be walking along a side street when he spotted a high school, deserted except for the playground where a group of three teenage girls were playing. As he watched them the thunderous rolling sound of bomb blast filled the air. The few pedestrians in the street ran for cover behind walls or in nearby buildings and the girls fell to the ground, protecting their heads with their bare arms. He seized his moment. The girls were clearly frightened by the proximity and loudness of the blast and when he motioned them with his rifle to go into the building, they thought he was going to shelter them and ran inside. The school had clearly been disused for several months and was filthy. Everything was covered in thick dry dust mixed with coarse sand and the place was littered with debris of every description. There were broken desks and chairs and various papers were strewn everywhere. Some boxes of equipment had been ransacked, the ropes once securing them cut, with anything of value long since gone. All the light bulbs had been taken and radiators had been ripped from the wall, leaving dried and dirty water stains from the broken pipes. Many of the windows had been smashed and glass shards littered the floor.

Once they were out of sight of the road Donaldson shouted at the frightened girls asking if any of them spoke English and one answered that she did. He then pulled his knife from his belt and pointed his rifle at her, ordering to tell the others that they must do exactly as they were told or their throat would be cut. The girl translated and one girl started to scream. Donaldson immediately hit her across the face with the butt of his rifle which sent her crashing into the wall, her mouth crimson with blood. Donaldson picked three chairs that were still intact, arranged them in a row facing him and then ordered the girls to sit facing him. The girls hesitantly did so. Donaldson gathered from his pocket some long heavy-duty nylon cable ties, used by the military as handcuffs, and secured each of the girl's wrists to their chair. Once he was satisfied their arms were pinned he used more ties to secure the chairs to each other and the end chair to an old radiator pipe. He slowly and deliberately waved the knife in front of their eyes, then walked up to each girl in turn and looked them up and down. He started to gently play with the small white buttons on one of the girl's dresses. He became more agitated and excited as he imagined what secrets lay beneath the flimsy fabric within his fingers and he started to tear at the buttons ripping open the dress. The girl sat motionless, tears welling in her eyes but too frightened to cry out. Donaldson slowly removed his belt and dropped his trousers and then his strong arms wrenched her head down towards him.

The girls' ordeal lasted over three hours before his desires and appetite diminished. They had ceased to be of use to him and, battered and bleeding, the three naked bodies lay whimpering and groaning on the concrete floor, each barely conscious and curled up in the foetus position to await their next humiliation. Donaldson, now tired from his exertions and fully spent, stood over them. He raised his rifle and then brought the butt down fiercely on each of their heads before removing his long knife and slitting their throats. As their last moments of life drained away, turning the floor a horrible deep red, Donaldson casually opened the door and strolled out into the sunlight.

A few pedestrians had decided to brave the possibility of another bomb blast and were now scurrying along the street, staying low and cowering as they passed behind the shelter of the low wall that surrounded what a few hours earlier had been a large and impressive block of flats. Smoke was still rising from the damaged buildings and the area was now a mass of wailing and anguished people, clawing desperately at the rubble as they tried to find their loved ones. Very few glanced at Donaldson as he walked away from the school opposite, and those that did see him certainly had little interest in the sight of a soldier checking an empty building after a nearby bomb blast and his exit through the crowds did not arouse suspicion. A week later Donaldson bribed his way onto a flight out of Baghdad on an American cargo plane and eventually made his way back to the UK. At first life was dull for Donaldson who yearned for a meaningful and fulfilling relationship with a female partner, but whenever he thought he was on the point of achieving it he ended up being emotionally hurt. Gradually he drifted to the superficial contentment of surfing the pornographic websites on the internet until he hit on the idea of a Russian bride. He was amazed at just how many seemingly attractive women were willing to trade their body for a modest sum of money and a passport and it was not long before he found what he was looking for. Ludmilla was in her early twenties and obviously desperate to escape her homeland which made her an ideal target for someone like Donaldson. The pretty Muscovite would not let him down and in return the young Ludmilla would eventually get her passport, but at a price that would have little to do with money.

“Ok Alan. I'll be at reception at 10:30.” Cindy was not going to argue any more. Anyway, her mind was once more turning to Gordon Truscott and she was rather hoping Alan would leave soon so that she could devote her thoughts solely to that alluring subject.

The 7
^th
July bombings killed fifty-six people including the four bombers and injured a further 700, with over one hundred requiring overnight hospitalisation. It was the deadliest single act of terrorism in the UK since the blowing up of Pan Am flight 103 over Lockerbie, and more people were killed that July day than in any single bomb attack by the Provisional IRA. It was also the first suicide bombing in Western Europe.

Unsurprisingly, the most intense police investigation ever undertaken in the UK was mounted and over the years a number of persons thought to have helped the bombers in some way would be arrested. The identity of the bombers was quickly established, but it was for the Anti-Terrorist Unit (ATU) and Military Intelligence Section 5 (more commonly known as Britain's internal counter intelligence and security agency MI5) to undertake the laborious process of finding out who assisted the bombers in their deadly mission. The attack came at a time when the Metropolitan Police and the Government were already undertaking an urgent review of the UK's counter terrorism command and control processes, both for the capital city and nationwide. In due course these would result in radical organisational changes and even controversial legislation affecting civil liberties – but when the bombers struck, Assistant Commissioner Phillip Manders of the ATU had amongst his responsibilities that of heading up a small specialist task force dedicated to tracing any funds the terrorist bombers might have received to finance their suicide missions.

Nearing fifty, he regarded the various internal reviews as likely to lead to yet another disruptive reorganisation and, possibly, an even more unwelcome job posting. He had been contemplating early retirement if it was ever to become an option, something he would not have countenanced a few years previously, but the July terrorists had immediately changed his depressed mood. After a career that had been spent largely debating and planning the theoretical, there was now something practical to do. The bombings had given him the opportunity to really get stuck into something big and possibly make a name for himself along the way. This was now a real challenge for him, and he was more than ready to meet it.

“Follow the money, lad. Always follow the money and you'll get your reward.” The words had been spoken to him by his chief when Manders was a young officer in the Metropolitan Police. This usually proved to be a wise and true maxim, but the July bombers were “clean skins” – the name given to criminals not previously known to the police. They lived and worked in Britain, and came from respectable, law abiding families. Once their identities were known, Manders' priority was to get a specialist team up and running which could begin the painstaking task of trying to identify and trace bank accounts and any suspicious financial transactions pertaining to the crime. It was going to take a very long time but his team was briefed and within twenty four hours of the bombs going off they had an enlarged office plus the extra desks and chairs for the additional resources provided to him. Communications equipment followed within hours. The powerful computers necessary for sifting and sorting the huge amounts of data were installed within two days and he was told that his budgetary limits were being increased. Suddenly, life for Manders had got an awful lot better.

* * *

Donaldson parked the sleek black Jaguar on the double yellow lines immediately outside the hospital entrance and walked briskly up the steps to meet Cindy. He wore his peaked cap and smart driver's uniform that added elegance to his military bearing. He saw Cindy, her left leg heavily plastered, standing by a small green suitcase and leaning upon an aluminium crutch under her left shoulder. Donaldson gave her a broad smile, exposing his almost flawless set of white even teeth.

“Good morning, Mrs Crossland. You are looking very well,” he said with only the slightest of emphasis on the word ‘very' as he picked up the case.

“Thank you, Jack. Yes, I'm fine but I'm not sure how I'll manage the steps, so perhaps we can walk down the ramp.” Cindy started to walk towards the slope but it was not as easy as she thought it would be and, fearful of losing her footing, she flung her right arm out and held onto Donaldson's jacket. Donaldson immediately responded, his rapid reflexes borne of years of training sprang into action and, with a speed and agility which surprised Cindy, he dropped the case and thrust his left arm around her to steady her. His grip was firm and certain, but not hard. Still supporting her, he deftly picked up the case in his right hand and started to walk slowly down the ramp.

“I would have got you a wheelchair had you waited. There is no point in risking a fall.”

Cindy knew she had been silly to attempt the walk which to her instant regret had given Donaldson the opportunity to get physically close to her.

“I think I can manage now, Jack, thanks.” Cindy was steady and felt uncomfortable that Donaldson's arm was perhaps just a little too tight around her and that his hand was resting an inch or so higher than it needed to.

“Can't have you slipping. Alan would sack me if I let you go now and you fell”. He was clearly enjoying this moment.

From the very first time that Crossland had introduced his wife to him, Donaldson had been longing to get to know her better and this was too good an opportunity to miss. He regarded Cindy Crossland as not only a very attractive woman but sexy as well, and Donaldson had often fantasised whilst making love to Ludmilla that it was actually Cindy moaning underneath him. How he would love his chimera to become reality! He thought about the sort of life they could have together, how hard he would work for her – the army had taught him how to be self-sufficient and practical – and his hopes were high that on the journey home he could ingratiate himself sufficiently to tempt her towards his deluded ambitions. Things could not have got off to a better start, with Mrs Crossland now physically close and apparently happy at having him hold her firmly.

Reluctantly Cindy allowed him to escort her to the car and he dutifully opened the front passenger door. Donaldson had ensured the front seat was fully set back to permit Cindy sufficient room for her plastered leg to remain straight.

“Can I get in the back?” Cindy asked. Donaldson pointed out to her that he had prepared the front passenger seat to permit her to get in easily and to sit comfortably for the journey. In fact, as Donaldson rightly commented, it was by no means certain that she would have even been able to sit with any degree of comfort in the rear of the saloon.

Cindy had a brief glance through the car window and nodded, but it came as an unpleasant surprise to her when she realised that for the next two or three hours she would be strapped into a seat next to a driver she intensely disliked. She eased herself onto the fine leather cushion, bottom first followed by her right leg, and then cursed when she couldn't manoeuvre her left foot above the door sill and into the foot well. Donaldson removed his cap, leant forward and bent down, his face brushing against the side of her hair. Carefully and very gently, he placed his left hand underneath the calf of her leg easing it upwards and into the car. As Cindy leaned backwards into the deep backrest Donaldson stood upright and took hold of the seat belt pulling it out a little.

“Can I give you a hand with this?” he enquired innocently.

Cindy thought she knew only too well what he was likely to do next if she agreed, and rapidly refused his offer, quickly grabbing hold of the tongue and pushing it firmly into the clasp. Donaldson closed the passenger door and walked briskly around the vehicle to take up his position behind the wheel.

Apart from a couple of occasions – when Cindy wrongly thought Donaldson deliberately put the automatic into ‘PARK' for no other reason than to have an excuse to brush her right thigh with his hand – the journey passed by uneventfully and by one o'clock in the afternoon the fat tyres crunched the gravel drive as the car made its slow journey towards the front entrance of Red Gables. She had to endure his overlong assistance as he helped her from the car, much the same as at the hospital earlier, and despite his protestations that he ought to see her safely inside, curtly dismissed him as soon as she was at the door. The old familiar feelings of rejection welled up inside Donaldson and his face reddened but he controlled his emotions. Cindy Crossland was different. Cindy Crossland was worth waiting for.

“Not even a bloody cup of tea, the bitch,” Donaldson muttered silently to himself as he returned to the car.

The night before Donaldson had lain awake, half dreaming and half imagining helping Cindy indoors and making sure she was perfectly comfortable. He had assumed that she would invite him in and offer him something to drink when they arrived at Red Gables, which would have been the perfect opportunity for the two of them to relax into conversation and get to know each other better. When it was clear that close contact with her was going to have to wait, Donaldson was more than disappointed, he was angered.
But it will happen
, he told himself. He was convinced that Cindy knew how attracted he was to her and misguidedly concluded that the real reason Cindy had been so dismissive at the door was because deep down she really did fancy him and was nervous about taking the plunge. He would be patient, give her more time. He had met a few women like that before and they had all given in eventually.

Although tired, Cindy knew she had to make a phone call to Peter, the ex-cabinet office colleague she had been due to meet on that fateful Thursday. She had been putting it off until now, not wanting a stream of visitors at her bedside, and she knew that whatever Peter wanted to see her about it was unlikely to be a subject suitable for discussion in an open hospital ward.

“Peter, its Cindy. Sorry we missed each other last week but given what happened I guess you may have had a few problems anyway.”

“Lovely to hear from you, Cindy. Hope you or Alan weren't caught up in that shindig?”

“Actually, Peter I was. Got a broken leg and some other minor injuries as I was on one of the trains, the Liverpool Street to Aldgate one. I'm home now though, which is why I'm phoning.”

“My God! How awful for you dear girl. I'm so very sorry. Wished I hadn't dragged you down here now. Anyhow, no need any more for us to meet just yet. I was being a bit mysterious by not telling you why I wanted you to come, bit of subterfuge really to make sure you made the trip. I feel dreadful now I know what's happened. Anyway, the real reason was to have a surprise glass of champagne with you and then off for a bite together to celebrate my promotion. Can't speak over the phone but I'm now at the FO and so we will have our little party another day. Superseded by events shall we say, but we must stay in touch. Let me know if I can ever be of help. You know – anything. Just ask.”

Peter was one of those civil servants who always chose what he said very carefully and yet always managed to make his words sound relaxed and informal. This could be very disarming and many a person had let their guard down and revealed just a little too much when in his company. Cindy therefore knew he meant what he said, and that he would definitely contact her again sometime. She momentarily wondered why – as she had left Peter's world of high politics and its intrigues far behind – but he and his boyfriend Stephen, twenty years his junior, were both great fun to have around and she had really enjoyed the quite outrageous parties she had been to at the house they shared in Chelsea.
The Foreign Office will certainly be livelier with Peter around
, she thought.

It had been over a week since she had spoken to Gordon, and Cindy was finding it hard to concentrate. As the days passed, she had become more and more anxious that perhaps he had changed his mind and would not ring her mobile after all. She then wondered if he had lost the number and whether she should call him again, but decided that as this would be such a transparently false excuse it was likely to be very counter-productive. Either he did want to speak with her again or he didn't, she told herself. If he did he would not have lost the number; if he didn't call, there was little point in her chasing him. Despite her impeccable reasoning, this morning she had twice started dialling his number before aborting the call. Mrs Crookes, the cleaner, who normally came only twice a week, was now doing an extra three hours on Friday afternoons and would be arriving shortly and Cindy did not think it would be sensible to make a call to Gordon once she had arrived.

To take her mind off Gordon, Cindy decided to check her emails and logged on to her computer. Staring blankly at the small blue lights across the centre of the screen, indicating the normal start-up procedure of the operating system, a thought flashed into her brain. Impatiently she drummed her slim fingers on the desk beside her keyboard and wondered why computers were so slow to get going, yet so phenomenally quick at doing the really complex stuff. Her password prompt appeared and a few seconds later she had clicked the internet icon on the desktop screen. Selecting her preferred search engine, she typed in “Gordon Truscott” hoping she had spelled the surname correctly.
It was a chance
, she thought,
just a slim hope, that there might be some information about this man that fate had brought into her life
. As the search results rolled onto the screen, Cindy was amazed. There were at least fifty or more matches. Deeply curious, she rapidly scrolled through the list and read the summary of each until deciding to start with one of the more promising looking items.

Gordon Truscott. Born 16th February 1966. West Wickham, Kent. Attended Collington Road Primary School then Grovewood Comprehensive. Left school at 18, eight GCSE ‘A' grades and 3 ‘Advanced Level' passes, again grade A. No university. At aged 16 started writing games programs for the Sinclair ZX Spectrum and, later, the BBC Acorn computers. Reputed to be one of the most prolific of early games programmers with several well known titles to his credit both under license to software houses and in specialist computer magazines of the day. Started own games software company, ‘TrustSoft', on leaving school and later aged twenty-two founded Truscott Commercial Solutions dedicated to producing software for the emerging business PC market. In 1999 sold Truscott Commercial Solutions for a reputed £300M. Also sole owner of Truscott Enterprise Holdings the full extent of its activities are unclear, but thought to include property development.