The Network (7 page)

‘And they’re going to let you into this Sanctum?’ Sheenan asked.

‘I think so, yes.’

‘You think so?’ Chopra questioned, increasingly keen to find a reason to pull Sean out.

‘It’ll happen,’ Sean insisted.

‘Let’s give it another week,’ Sheenan suggested, looking at Chopra, the man with whom the ultimate decision to carry on or quit rested – his concerns for Sean the deciding factor.

‘Alright,’ Chopra eventually agreed, ‘but I want a daily phone call from you, Sean and your agreement to see the psychiatrist as soon as your deployment is over.’

‘I don’t need to see the Head Doctor,’ he argued, memories of the psychiatrists of his childhood spinning in his mind. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

‘It’s standard procedure after a long and difficult deployment – you know that.’

‘Yeah, but a shrink messing with my head?’

‘Just do what everyone else does, Sean and humour me,’ Chopra told him. ‘Answer their questions and smile politely so I can finish the paperwork and keep you on our register – alright?’

‘Whatever,’ Sean agreed, already thinking of his excuses to miss any appointments with the psychiatrist.

‘Good,’ Chopra told him. ‘Now back to the question – is there anything in his lifestyle we can use?’

Sean sat silently for a while, recalling everything he’d seen and heard about Conway, looking for something they could use he wouldn’t suspect – something Conway would have no reason to be suspicious of. ‘He likes nice cars,’ Sean suddenly told them, causing Chopra to look at Sheenan.

‘He drives a Jaguar,’ Sheenan told him. ‘It’s an old one, but a nice one.’ Sean nodded his agreement.

‘He seems to keep it clean – I mean spotless,’ Sean chipped in.

‘That’s not much to work with,’ Chopra dismissed.

‘Yeah it is,’ Sean disagreed. ‘It’s not just the car itself – it’s the status he believes it gives him, the status he believes he’s owed.’

‘Go on,’ Chopra encouraged.

‘When they eventually take me to a meeting, the arrest team won’t be able to track me – they’ll search me again and if I’m wearing any sort of tracker they’ll find it.’

‘So?’ Chopra asked.

‘So you’ll have to track my car.’

‘But you don’t have a car on this deployment. Justin Cramer doesn’t have a car,’ Chopra reminded him.

‘Then you’ll have to get me one – a nice one. One Conway won’t mind being seen in.’

‘If,’ Chopra continued, ‘and it’s still a big if – if Conway takes you to a meet he’ll use his car, surely?’

‘Not if we disable it,’ Sheenan said. ‘As soon as you suspect you’re going to be taken to a place where serious offences are going to be committed, you call me. If we’ve got enough time I’ll send one of my technical bods to immobilize Conway’s motor.’

‘And I’ll get you something nice that Conway’ll want to be seen in,’ Chopra added. ‘We’ll get the techies to rig the tracker so it’s armed at the same time as the alarm gets switched on. When you get to the venue where the kids are waiting just press the key fob as if you’re arming the alarm. Nobody should suspect anything. Happy?’

‘As happy as I can be,’ Sean answered.

‘Good,’ Sheenan said. ‘Now all we need is for him to contact you.’

‘He will,’ Sean assured them.

‘Really? Sheenan asked. ‘How come you’re so sure?’

‘Because I promised him what I know he really wants.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Runaways,’ he told them. ‘Kids no one cares about.’

‘Jesus,’ Chopra told him. ‘Whatever you do, Sean, make sure that bit’s missing from your evidence when you finally write it up. If the CPS see anything like
agent provocateur
, this case is over before it begins.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he assured them sipping his drink, ‘it never happened.’

Alone in the ever-shrinking flat, Sean felt the walls crushing in on him. It had been four days since the meeting in the pub and still no word from Conway or The Sanctum. He tried to calculate the amount of days he’d been on the deployment for – feeling a little more like Justin Cramer with each passing day. He stared out of the small kitchen window waiting for the September sunset to arrive. After dark he planned to take a long walk to clear his head and remind himself of who he was. He’d phone Kate from a pay-phone if he could find one that was still working.

The mobile phone Conway had given him suddenly started vibrating on the kitchen table, not a call but a text message. He watched the phone suspiciously, unsure now if he’d really seen it jumping around, until it vibrated once more, demanding to be read. He grabbed the phone before it could escape and read the one and only message it had ever received. Meet me tomorrow. 4pm. At the sports ground at the end of Wetheral Drive, Belmont. Come alone. JC. He stared at the message for an age, dozens of scenarios dancing in his mind like some kind of kaleidoscopic nightmare until at last his thoughts cleared. ‘Belmont? Where the fuck is Belmont?’ he asked the empty room.

Within a few seconds he was heading for the bedroom, lying on the floor and sliding under the unmade single bed, searching for the slit in its underside and pushing his hand inside the mattress base, fishing blindly and impatiently until he touched hard, cold plastic. He pulled out the mobile phone that Chopra had concealed inside the flat when the operation first went live – only to be used when Sean absolutely had to check in with SO10 or relay important new information. This was one of those times. Having first checked the phone’s ringer was still on silent mode he punched the number for Chopra’s mobile into the keypad and waited for an answer.

‘Hello,’ Chopra answered cautiously.

‘It’s me.’

‘Contact?’

‘Yeah – just now – a text message with a meeting place and time.’

‘Where and when?’

‘Wetheral Drive in some place called Belmont at 4pm tomorrow.’

‘Belmont – it’s in North London, near Wealdstone.’

‘I’m a South London boy – remember?’

‘Buy an A to Z.’

‘Thanks – I already have one. Listen, I think this could be what we’ve been waiting for.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I need the car with the tracker.’

‘I’ll send it around tonight with a techie to explain the finer points. Meet him at the main gates to Highgate Cemetery in a couple of hours. He’ll be driving a big old Ford Zodiac in pristine condition. Should appeal to Conway.’

‘Christ, where did you get that from?’

‘I have my ways.’

‘I’m sure you do. And don’t forget to make sure Conway’s car’s crippled.’

‘I’ll call Sheenan and get his people to take care of it. By morning Conway’s car won’t be an issue.’

‘Good,’ Sean said. ‘Now all we need is about a hundred other things to fall perfectly into place and we’ll be fine.’

‘Just play it by ear, Sean,’ Chopra advised. ‘Use your instincts and use them well. I’ll keep my phone close. Call if you need to – understand?’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ Sean told him and hung up, hiding the phone back under the bed. It wouldn’t do to have it found by Conway or The Network if they were to spring a surprise visit on him. At last it was happening – coming to a finale. All he had to do was get to the meet and let them lead him by the nose to the location where the children were being held, activate the alarm signal on the tracker, sit back and let the arrest team do the rest. Once Conway and his followers were taken out he’d head straight back to the flat, clean it out of anything belonging to him or the police and head straight back to New Scotland Yard for a de-brief with SO10. After that, Justin Cramer could finally rest in peace and he could be Sean Corrigan again. Go home to his own flat in Crystal Palace and a night with Kate, followed by the slow mental process of trying to return to normal – thinking like an everyday cop and not the half-cop half-criminal thing he’d become. Not that he’d never truly think like an everyday cop. His past had ensured that.

***

Shortly before four p.m. the next day Sean eased the Ford Zodiac along Wetheral Road towards the sports ground. The car park was deserted except for the beaten up old Ford Scorpio he recognized from the meet at the warehouse and another beaten up old machine. There was no sign of Conway’s vintage Jaguar – clearly Sheenan’s boys had been true to their word and disabled it. But apart from the empty cars there was no sign of life. ‘Christ,’ Sean told himself. ‘Now what?’ He pulled the car up close to the others and stopped, but kept the engine running, searching the ground around him for places the men could be hiding.

Suddenly they appeared, from around the corners of the buildings, from behind trees and industrial-sized recycling bins. Six in total, heading towards him, all wearing the same balaclava masks and all carrying some type of weapon – baseball bats and machetes hanging from their hands like the swords of medieval knights just before the battle commences. ‘Fuck,’ he swore as he scrambled to grab the car-key fob that dangled from the ignition – one press and the signal would be sent to the arrest team commanding them to move in as fast as they could.
They know. They know. Save yourself and press the alarm. Do it and do it now
. But he couldn’t do it – couldn’t make his finger and thumb pinch the fob and call for urgent assistance, no matter how close the armed men came, no matter how threatening they looked.
Bluff it out. They don’t know anything. It’s just part of the test
. He turned off the ignition and stepped from the car, holding the fob between his fingers and his hands above his head. ‘There’s no need for this,’ he told the men. ‘You know who I am.’ He watched them as they approached, trying to tell which could be Conway by the way they moved. He was sure he wasn’t amongst them – although he could feel he was close by.

A man holding a baseball-bat spoke first. ‘Get down on your knees – hands behind your head or I’ll cave it in.’

‘Where’s John?’ Sean asked, fearful of the more cautious members of The Sanctum – like the man back at the warehouse who’d wanted to get rid of him. He needed Conway to be here, sure he could still manipulate him. ‘He’s supposed to meet me here.’

‘Get on your knees and shut up,’ the same man told him. Slowly Sean did as he was told, the gut-wrenching possibility that he’d been set up by the other members of The Sanctum who wanted him gone dawning on him. Somehow they’d got hold of Conway’s phone and used it to text him – luring him into their trap.
Press the alarm
he ordered his finger and thumb, but still they wouldn’t. Maybe the other members of The Sanctum had already got rid of Conway. A leadership coup by the men in balaclavas. ‘I know what you are,’ the faceless man continued. ‘You’re a fucking grass. A police informant.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Sean told him sounding as strong as he could. ‘I did time with John – he’ll vouch for me.’

‘Then you’re a plant.’

‘No. I’m part of The Network. I’ve never told anybody anything.’

‘Then you’re a cop,’ he accused him, turning Sean’s blood to frozen crystals, robbing him of the last breath in his lungs. ‘An undercover cop.’

Sean managed to shake his head feigning disbelief. ‘You’re a fool,’ he bluffed. ‘I’ve been in The Network since it began. How could I be a cop?’ The balaclava rested the sole of his shoe on Sean’s chest and kicked him backwards onto the floor.
Press the alarm. They know. Press the alarm
.

‘Because no one’s ever seen you,’ the man shouted. ‘The Unicorn could have been a cop all along – trying to infiltrate us.’

‘No,’ Sean argued. ‘That’s not possible.’

‘Why?’ the balaclava demanded. ‘Why’s that not possible?’

‘Because I’ve been circulating images of children for years. Images those who don’t understand us say are illegal. Cops aren’t allowed to commit crimes – even if they’re trying to infiltrate people – people like us.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ the man accused him, lifting the baseball-bat high above his head in readiness to strike. Sean’s finger and thumb poised to squeeze the fob, until a voice froze him.

‘That’s a very nice car you have there,’ Conway told the gathering, his voice calm amongst the storm. ‘I didn’t know you were a car man?’

‘One of my more conventional interests,’ Sean answered.

Conway made a dismissive gesture to the man standing over Sean with the baseball-bat that prompted him to lower his weapon and back away. ‘This really is a beauty,’ Conway told him, admiring the old Zodiac. ‘Tell me, Justin – do you know what sign of the Zodiac I am?’

‘No,’ Sean admitted, puzzled.

‘Scorpio,’ Conway told him, ‘which is also the astrological symbol for death. Did you know that?’

‘No,’ Sean repeated.

‘Out there in deep space,’ Conway explained, ‘hundreds of light-years away there’s an area known as The Heart of the Scorpion, or The Graveyard of the Stars. You see, Justin, even stars have to die – eventually.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Sean answered, guessing Conway wanted it that way – the king ruling over his ignorant subjects.

‘Of course you don’t,’ Conway told him. ‘Get up.’ Sean did as he was told, brushing the dust and dirt from his clothes as he scrambled to his feet, keeping an eye on the balaclava with the bat in his peripheral vision. ‘I need to show you something,’ Conway continued. ‘I’m going to take you somewhere very … special.’

‘Why?’ Sean asked. ‘Why me?’ At that moment, Sean’s own need to know what Conway saw in him was far stronger than his detective’s instinct to find out the truth about The Network. How could a monster such as Conway seemingly want him as a
friend
? He may have been using the name Justin Cramer, his past and habits, but it was Sean who Conway seemed to empathize with and he needed to know why.

‘Because we’re the same – not like these others,’ Conway gestured to the men in balaclavas. ‘They have no imagination – just needs which they satisfy with the crudeness of a rutting pig. I’m the one who makes it special. Without me there would be no Network – there would be no Sanctum. But you’re different – I can see it in you, smell it on you.’

‘What?’ Sean asked hungrily. ‘What do you see?’

Conway laughed as he answered. ‘I see myself, Justin. I see myself.’ Sean felt the nausea rising in his stomach, the blood rushing from his head leaving him pale and clammy, dizzy, his vision blurred. ‘It’s time to expand The Network. You grow or you die and to grow I need you. That’s why I have to know if I can trust you. Trust you with my life.’