The Mallorcan Bookseller (The 3R International Series Book 1) Page 5

  Fiona suddenly stopped.

  “Greg, I need you to understand that in our world, it’s got to be ‘no strings, no ties, no commitments’. I have booked this room for a week, but after that we go our separate ways. I don’t mind if you want to go earlier if you’d rather, but this is it. Are you okay with that?”

  He stroked her hair. He knew what she was saying and why she was saying it. They couldn’t afford to get involved for both their sakes. So a week it would be.

  “I know. So we need to make the most of this week.”

  “I’m glad you said a week,” she smiled.

  “No more talking,” said Greg.

  *****

  They walked, talked, went for some wonderful drives and later, back in their room they made gentle and then passionate love. He so enjoyed her company and he knew she liked him, really liked him. It was an idyllic time for them. The people in the hotel thought they must be newly-weds, but as the end of the week drew ever closer, they both felt their moods and spirits changing, knowing things were coming to an end, whilst trying to live just for the few last moments together until finally, the last day came.

  “So how do we say the goodbye? I’m not sure I’ll be all that good just giving you a hug and walking away.”

  At that moment his pager buzzed.

  “Timing. How did they know?”

  He looked at Fiona.

  “You called the office didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Yep, time to go to work Greg.”

  They kept the mood as upbeat as they could as she drove him back to Cambridge Station.

  “Do you know where I’m going?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What about you?"

  “I have got some easy job apparently, but that’s as much as I’m going to tell you. No more words Greg, let’s go our different ways, but keep this week as something special. Stay safe for me.”

  He saw tears in her eyes. It had been glorious and in another life, then what might have happened? He could imagine them settling down, two children, mortgage or maybe mortgage and two children. But just as suddenly, his thoughts stopped. That wasn’t his life. She had trained him to go and do a job and to be as safe as he could be.

  “Fiona, this was so special and I promise you……”

  “Shush,” she said. “No promises.”

  She pulled up outside the station and leant across and kissed him for a final time.

  “You take care.”

  “I will and you too,” said Greg.

  He got out as though he was just catching the commuter train to London and would be home later that day, except that he wouldn’t. He closed the door and she drove off without looking back.

  FOUR

  Fifteen years later he left the Service. He knew his time in the field was coming to a close because there weren’t too many places he could now go where someone didn’t know him.

  Not much good if you are supposed to be an undercover officer and he knew he didn’t want a desk job in some back office somewhere in the world.

  When he retired he decided to utilise the skills he had developed throughout his career. He set up 3R (Risk Reduction & Resolution), a private security company and for the past twenty years he had been particularly successful working with insurance and corporate companies on high value projects across the world.

  3R were now considered security industry leaders when operating around sensitive issues where they could provide solutions to negate a threat or to prevent and mitigate loss. Their work often involved recovering high value stolen items without necessarily going through any judicial process. However, they also had expert operatives to gather covert intelligence and deliver identification packages of targeted criminals to law enforcement agencies.

  He smiled at his last thoughts. This was his ‘3R presentation speak’ to clients. He had built a strong reputation around performance and confidentiality and when called upon he also had the option to use what he called ‘Dynamic Intervention Action’. DIA was a way of describing the area of 3R’s work that involved the proactive use of force and whilst not necessarily always entirely lawful, Greg’s direction to all of his team was that any use of force was always necessary and proportionate to the threat.

  As business increased, he had used his contacts with other retired intelligence and Special Forces colleagues to build a significant network across the world. He had never married, but he did have a daughter Terri, from a summer long relationship with Josie, an Aussie girl he had met in London when he had been office based for six months in 1989, as part of an R&R posting, after a bit of trouble in the Ukraine. He had steadfastly held to the mantra of ‘No strings, no ties, no commitments’, until he found out that Josie was pregnant. She had gone back to Sydney before discovering she was pregnant, but thought he should know about the baby. She told him that it was up to him if he wanted to be in his daughter’s life, but with the distances involved she’d understand if he just walked away. Typical Aussie pragmatism.

  He did want to be part of young Theresa’s life, but realised that sending money just wasn’t enough. He found ways of getting to see her in Sydney as she grew up and Josie was great about him being part of Terri’s life, even when Josie married a local guy, ten years later. He had to admit that the guy did a really good job as the live-in step-dad, whilst never treading on Greg’s shoes. But even being a part-time dad meant he now had a weak spot. A commitment which left him and now Josie and Terri potentially vulnerable and that it no doubt meant his days undercover were numbered. He kept going for another five years or so, before he made the decision to step away from a job he loved.

  He smiled as he thought about Terri. She was so like her mum. Outward going, fun to be with and tall and blonde. She was thirty now and had joined the army when she was eighteen as an officer cadet at university. He had hoped she would join the British Army if she joined any army, but she said she was an Aussie and so it had to be the Aussie Army.

  In 2013 she had been one of the first to volunteer when women were eventually allowed to be part of a combat unit. She had seen action in Iraq, first during Operation Slipper, as part of the Australian contribution to the International Security Assistance Force and before all Australian combat forces were withdrawn at the end of 2013. Operation Slipper was superseded by Operation Highroad, by which time Terri had made Captain and was again part of the Australian ‘train, advise and assist’ mission.

  By 2016, she had to decide to either stay and stay for good, or get out and look for another challenge and when he knew what she was thinking of doing, he had had no hesitation in asking her to join him and run the operational teams at 3R. This was no token nepotism either, because Greg knew his daughter would never accept that in any shape or form, but it was because he knew she was damn good at what she could do and he needed that skill set in 3R.

  That had been four years ago and Terri was in Egypt at the moment, working with a major client on reducing high value losses from their depots near the Canal. It would be late there with the time difference, but he needed to brief her on what had happened. She answered almost immediately, her Australian accent coming through loud and clear.

  “What’s up Dad?”

  He quickly filled her in on what had happened to Sheila MacDonald.

  “Jesus Dad! Poor John. What do you need me to do?”

  “How much longer do you need out there?” he said.

  “I can hand this over to Asim, the local guy here, first thing tomorrow. He’s really solid and I trust him,” said Terri.

  “That’s great. Then get yourself to Palma and I’ll see you there.”

  He sat back for the rest of the flight taking some time to rest, knowing he might not get much chance to do the same over the coming few days.

  *****

  Sam walked into Contrabando, a tapas restaurant in Llucmajor. He had come out to see Miquel who he hadn’t seen since he got back from London and he had been regretting not ri
nging his friend earlier.

  “So amigo, why has it taken you so long to come and see me?”

  “I know Miquel. I’m a crap friend, but hey, I’m here now,” said Sam.

  They spoke in Mallorquin. Miquel had been his best friend for as long as he could remember. They had gone to junior and then secondary school together, played sport and started going to bars and meeting girls together. Yes, Sam understood why Miquel would be more than a little annoyed at him not getting in touch.

  Miquel put two glasses of red wine on the bar.

  “No matter. Salud amigo. Now tell me all about London. Has Kirsty finally got fed up with you and thrown you out?”

  Miquel saw the look on Sam’s face.

  “Oh God, what have I said Sam?”

  “Don’t worry amigo. I’m over it. It was a while ago, so Christ, I should be over it by now. It’s a long story and I should have told you before, but anyway I’m back for a few weeks and helping Mum in the shop.”

  “Well it’s good to see you. What do you think of the wine? It is one of my new specials, good eh? And if you are here for a few weeks, I must get you to meet up with my cousin, Carmen. She’s back from the States where she’s been working and doing a Masters or is it her Doctorate? Far too clever for a London cop, but she likes you. You remember her from school don’t you?”

  “Miquel,” groaned Sam. “Please, no blind dates. I remember Carmen, but wasn’t she younger than us? She’s no doubt a lovely girl, but I don’t know if she’s my type.”

  He did remember her. A little girl following them around because Miquel had been told to look after her by his Aunt and make sure she didn’t get into any trouble. She must have been about five years younger and so at that age, she mostly got in their way, but she could be bribed with an ensaïmada pastry to sit still for a least a few minutes whilst they played football.

  “Okay, so tell me about London,” said Miquel.

  Sam went quiet and Miquel looked at him.

  “What is it my friend?” he said quietly.

  “They think I’ve got PTSD, you know, after the shooting I was involved in a couple of years ago, when my partner got shot.”

  Miquel just listened. He knew about the incident from Anna, Sam’s mother, but he’d never heard Sam talk about it and he hadn’t asked him either. He didn’t know a whole lot about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but knew enough to realise how and why this was affecting his friend. Sam had been like a brother to him for thirty years and whilst he found it painful seeing his friend hurting inside, he knew he had needed to wait for Sam to be ready to talk about it.

  People were still coming in and out of the restaurant, but Sam was oblivious to them. He just poured his heart out to his best friend. About the guilt, not being able to sleep, the mood swings, the aggression when he lost control and how he couldn’t open up to Kirsty. He didn’t need his friend to say anything. He didn’t want or need any platitudes and or any kind words to pacify him. Just letting him say the words out aloud, the words that he needed to say to himself, was enough.

  Sam was at last talking about how he felt. He had been close before, when he was talking to the counsellor the force had provided for him, but he’d never been able to fully let go and certainly not to Kirsty who then felt hurt herself that he couldn’t. He didn’t know how or why he had suddenly come out with it to Miquel, but guessed it was what the counsellor had been telling him. He had needed to mend first. To mend mentally before he could let it out. He felt guilty that he had allowed himself to be distracted by the little girl coming into his eye line and for his partner, Jimmy, then being shot.

  The post incident management debrief, had called it an ‘operational incident’ with no blame attached. The only person blaming anyone was Sam, who was blaming himself. Miquel was hearing and seeing his friend opening up before him and he seemed to be starting to acknowledge what had happened and to begin to replace blame with acceptance. The hurt wouldn’t go away, that he hadn’t been able to protect his friend Jimmy, at least not straight away, but maybe the pain of living with it every day would now start to subside. As Sam stopped talking, Miquel just stood up and hugged his best friend. The restaurant went silent. The people at the tables hadn’t known what was going on, but they all realised something had happened and they gave the two men just a moment in silence.

  Sam let go of his friend and mouthed the words 'Gracias amigo' and the diners returned to conversations and their tapas, content that whatever it was, they had just been witness to something good. Miquel smiled back. It might take some more time, but with some more help, he saw his friend was going to get through this.

  *****

  At 11pm the Gulfstream touched down at Palma de Mallorca and coasted to the VIP reception area and as Greg walked through the Arrivals gate, he saw Chris MacDonald waiting for him.

  They sat in the back of a Lexus RX Hybrid and at Greg’s request the driver took them at speed to the MacDonald villa.

  “Greg, I don’t know what the hell has happened, but she was beaten to death. Thank God Dad didn’t see her before they’d had time to at least clean her face. She was an old woman. Why would anyone need to do that?”

  He couldn’t stop talking and Greg just let him get it all out. He could see there were tears in Chris’s eyes. He was having to look after his dad and care for him and he hadn’t had time to take in the immensity of what had happened himself. Twenty minutes later and they were stopped at the main gate to the villa. There was a police car there. Greg didn’t expect to be allowed into the crime scene, but it was more just to get a sense of the place, as well as to get the officer on the gate to make arrangements for him to see the officer in charge in the morning.

  The officer took his details and they then set off for Cap Rocat, the hotel where Chris’s dad was currently staying and Chris had already booked him a room. They got through the hotel security set up, useful having that here thought Greg. He didn’t want John or the family being bothered by the Press at the moment. A few minutes later he saw John waiting for him in the bar, together with his younger son, Jack. Nodding a hello to Jack, Greg walked straight over to John and held him in his arms.

  “John, I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll make sure we find who has done this.”

  “Thank you my friend,” said John, “I’ve lost my beautiful girl and cannot start to begin to imagine the terror she went through Greg. I want you to find the person who did this.”

  “I promise I will.”

  Greg started to say something else, when John stopped him.

  “Greg, I want these people to suffer and pay for this and I don’t care what it takes to do this. Am I clear?”

  “Yes John, I understand.”

  He then spent time with John and his two boys letting them tell him what they had found out so far. It seemed on the face of it a random burglary. Not necessarily unexpected at what was a high value property. John had the villa built some twenty five years ago and Greg felt it must now be worth somewhere in the region of £10 million. The police had identified the places of entry, one front and one back and it looked like there had been four people involved. The CCTV wires had been cut and given that the wall safe had been opened using the keycode, it was reasonable to assume they had forced Sheila to give them the code.

  ‘So why kill her?’ was the question Greg was thinking. Yes, if she saw their faces, that would be a good enough reason, but it was more likely that they wore masks, especially before they could get to disable the CCTV.

  *****

  The following morning, Greg awoke to find a text from Terri saying she would be landing at around midday and she had arranged for one of their local contacts to pick her up and take her to her apartment. When she joined 3R she decided she needed somewhere of her own to crash between jobs. He smiled. There wasn’t enough sun for her in London, so she had found a place in Palma. It was in Portixol, right by the seafront and right now it was a perfect base for them to be able to get to John’s
villa in around ten minutes and close enough to the city to keep checking in with the police.

  His phone rang. It was a message telling him the investigating officer, DI Garcia, could see him in Palma at 10.00.

  *****

  Sam parked up in one of the side streets at the bookshop. He was using his mum’s old Seat, so it wasn’t likely to catch the eye of any local toe-rags looking for an easy hit. The sun was shining and he looked up at the blue, cloudless sky. Yes, there really was something about living here. He knew his mum was worried about what would happen to the bookshop and the business, but he hadn’t made his mind up either way at the moment and he realised it was something that he needed to give some serious thought. Given his policing background, he was usually very spatially aware of his surroundings, but he had been distracted with his thoughts and didn’t see the two young African guys come out from the side alley before he was almost on them.