City Under Siege Read online

  “Here you are, Sarah,” Mr Masterson said, placing a cup of tea down in front of me and interrupting my ruminations.

  “Thank you.” I looked down to wrap my hands around the delicate bone china. To my absolute mortification, I could feel colour flood my cheeks as I blushed with embarrassment. Keeping it together in front of my liaison had been challenging enough so far, but this guy was in a different league. The vain, shallow part of me wanted to impress him, not air my family’s dirty laundry in his presence.

  “Sarah, I’d like to introduce you to Lieutenant Tom Harper. Lieutenant Harper leads a Special Projects team in our military counterterrorism unit,” Mr Masterson said, indicating towards the soldier.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. Pushing off the ledge, he made short work of the distance between us and held out his hand. At around six foot four, I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze as I placed my small, pale palm into his. Heat shot through me at the contact, and the slight narrowing of his eyes told me that I wasn’t the only one to feel it.

  “You too,” I replied nervously, knowing that was the understatement of the century.

  The introduction over, he pulled out the chair next to mine and sat down. It all happened rather fast, but before he released me, I could have sworn the he rubbed his thumb gently across mine. Perhaps it was simply wishful thinking. While I wanted to seem calm and professional, I was flustered. I’d never met a man so unapologetically male before. There was no softness to his edges, no social proprietary in the intense way he inhabited my space. Although his looks added to the package, it was the penetrating look in those big eyes, I could see now were brown, that had me captivated. Being this close to him was both terrifying and exhilarating.

  “Firstly, I’d like to thank you for coming forward. For someone in your position, it would have been very tempting to think first of your company’s interests and to hide your family’s involvement in this matter. To speak up and risk your own personal safety and the reputation of your business takes a great deal of courage,” Mr Masterson said, his hands clasped in front of him on the table.

  “What happened to your neck?” Lieutenant Harper asked randomly. His voice was deep and clipped, as though he was straining to conceal his anger. Subconsciously, I reached up to rub it and realised my scarf had slipped, exposing the ugly purple bruising that had been a gift from Vasili.

  “The Russian who came to my office choked me and threw me against the wall when he warned me not to do what I’m doing.”

  His jaw clenched even tighter as he stared intently at the damage. A few tense seconds passed before Mr Masterson coughed uncomfortably before continuing with his sales pitch. I could tell that’s what it was. With his slicked-back hair and sharp suit, he looked more like a politician than the security specialist I knew him to be. Still, he’d taken me seriously so far. I could only hope that he could protect me from the fallout if the fact of our meeting ever came to light.

  “I understand that what happened to you must have been deeply upsetting and traumatic,” he said sympathetically.

  “You’re beginning to scare me. You told me there was more I could do to help, then you invite me to meet in an empty building with an antiterrorism specialist. I’ve had about as much trauma as I can handle for one week. So, with the greatest respect, Mr Masterson, what the fuck is going on?” I asked, not pulling any punches. Lieutenant Harper smiled at my frankness, though his associate looked awkward at being called out.

  “If I may?” Lieutenant Harper said, looking towards Mr Masterson, who nodded his permission.

  “At any one time, we monitor a high number of suspected terrorists within the UK. We could deport them of course, but that doesn’t remove the threat. It just relocates it to a place that’s more difficult for us to scrutinise. We watch these people with as many resources as we can for as long as we can, in the hope that we can gather enough intel to stop terrorist attacks, both here and in allied countries, before they can happen,” Lieutenant Harper explained.

  “What does that have to do with me?” I questioned nervously. “I’ve already told you everything I know. What more can I do?”

  “You can honour the deal between Agheenco and your father,” he replied.

  “Excuse me? I can’t have any part in knowingly transporting weapons or drugs, or worse still, human beings. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.” My reply was emphatic. A testament to how strongly I abhorred his suggestion

  In response, Lieutenant Harper leaned forward in his seat and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I get it. I do.” His voice was gentle. “But if Tatem Shipping closes tomorrow, they’ll just use another firm to do the same thing, and we’ll have lost our window for tracking the source of these weapons. More importantly, we lose the only chance we have of tracing the clients that want the weapons in the first place.”

  I wanted to throw up all over again. Even if the thought of being a part of so many heinous crimes didn’t trigger my upchuck reflex, the idea of knowingly putting myself in Vasili’s presence again terrified me.

  “He’ll kill me,” I whispered. It was to myself, but they both heard it.

  “I can assure you that won’t happen, Sarah. We’ll be monitoring your every move and theirs. Lieutenant Harper here will be your liaison, and his team will always be close by. From what I understand, your board are keen to push you as the next generation figurehead of your company, spearing them into the future of international shipping. Pretty soon, you’ll be a high-profile public person. Believe me, you’re of more use to them alive than you are dead,” Mr Masterson said.

  “That’s very reassuring. Thank you. Please remind me of that when I’m wearing concrete shoes at the bottom of the Thames,” I replied.

  “That’s the mafia you’re thinking of. Russians are more likely to go with a double tap to the head,” Lieutenant Harper chipped in.

  “Ah, well, there’s that at least. I never did like the water,” I replied, strangely appreciating his black humour.

  “Ironic, considering you own a shipping firm,” Lieutenant Harper observed.

  “It is, isn’t it?” I said, with a small grin.

  Mr Masterson looked back and forth at us as though we were both a little unbalanced. Unexpectedly though, it helped me calm down and focus instead of freaking out.

  “So, will you do it?” Mr Masterson asked me.

  “In the last four weeks, I’ve lost my father and my brother, not in a terrible accident, but by the hand of a Russian gang. I’ve left a flat I love to live in a cold, soulless monstrosity and a job I adored to work for a business I hate in order to save the jobs of people, most of whom I will probably never meet. I’ve learned that my family’s legacy is a lie based on the pain and suffering of others, and I’ve been threatened and abused by a terrifying criminal that you want me to invite permanently into my life. Don’t you think I’ve had about as much as I can take?”

  “No,” Lieutenant Harper replied.

  “Pardon me?” I asked, sure I’d misheard.

  “No. I don’t think you’ve had as much as you can take. Yes, you’ve lost people. Yes, you’ve had a tough time, and yes, we’re asking you to put yourself in danger. But it’s not forever. It will take us two months at most to get what we need. That’s eight weeks where you’ll probably have very little to do with Vasili Agheenco. Eight weeks to act like a society princess and live in the lap of luxury. When we’re done, your job and your flat will still be there and you can go back to normality, able to sleep at night because what you did saved lives. And that’s exactly what you’ll be doing. Saving lives.” He must have seen something in my face that made him realise he’d gone too far, and softened his tone.

  “Look, we wouldn’t be asking if we had any other choice. But we believe the clients buying the Russian arms are terrorists operating out of the UK. If you don’t help, you’re telling me you can watch the television the next time another suicide bomb goes off killing innocent people and not feel anything.�
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  “You can’t put that on me,” I answered, tears filling my eyes because I knew he was right.

  “We can, Sarah, because we have to,” Mr Masterson responded. “We no longer live in a world that can afford to turn its back and hope for the best.”

  I wiped away the self-pitying tear from the corner of my eye and swallowed as I nodded in reply. They were right. There was no other choice.

  “Thank you, Sarah,” Mr Masterson said, seeming pleased that I had come to a decision. Despite his persuasion, Lieutenant Harper looked anything but happy. I could only hope he really was joking about the double tap to the head.

  Tom

  “Why here?” Eli asked me.

  “It’s upscale, newly refurbished, and in central London. If she’s being watched, it’s a perfect cover story to claim that she’s scouting for new office space. The current headquarters are located in an older building, so it’s believable that she’d want a new start as head of the company. We gave her the number to set up a meeting with a bogus letting agent. If her phones are tapped, they’ll think it’s legit,” I explained.

  “Shit. Can you imagine waking up to find you’re a millionaire or some shit?” Crash chipped in. “I wonder how much she’s worth.”

  “I’m sure it was a barrel full of fucking laughs, having to bury the last of her immediate family and then giving up her life to save the livelihood of hundreds of people, only to discover her family’s legacy is funded by Russian gun money,” I threw back at him.

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t realise it was a touchy subject. I just figured she was nothing more than intel,” he protested.

  “You’re being a dick,” Eli pointed out. “You know how much it winds him up when you act like a dick.”

  “I thought it was me being immature that wound him up?” Crash asked, in all seriousness.

  “When you’re being immature, you act like a dick, so in a sense, it’s a double whammy that makes him want to nut punch you,” Eli explained to him.

  I wasn’t sure if it was just because Crash was the youngest, but I hoped that a little more operational experience would season him. He was a fucking good soldier and an asset to my team, but he had all the subtlety and compassion of a sledgehammer. I couldn’t give a shit about the compassion, but the subtlety would come in handy at times.

  Contrary to appearances, formalities of rank existed between us, same as any other military unit, at least when it came to taking orders. When I talked, they listened. End of story. Anyone who didn’t do what they were told, when they were told, could fuck off. Outside of that, the boys were far more relaxed in the way they addressed me than their ranks would ever normally allow. It was a camaraderie unique to our regiment, and one permitted amongst us at my discretion. I ran the most lethal counterterrorist team in the Special Air Service, and I did it my way.

  “What’s the score, Tom. Why are we even here?” Will asked me. Although not the most senior-ranked member of my unit, he held more combat experience than the rest of the team and was definitely the most steadfastly reliable man I knew. His deep voice and thick northern accent had an almost calming effect, even in the most hostile situations. Hearing his question, the rest of the guys tuned in, waiting for my response.

  “Things are changing for the regiment, lads, and I’m not sure it’s for the better. The prime minister’s getting nailed by the press for her soft stance on terrorism. She needs a blunt instrument as a show of strength, and we’re it. The word from MI5 is that something big is going down. Things are escalating, and the government wants something done before suicide bombers are knocking at the gates of Buckingham Palace,” I explained.

  The last three months had seen attacks on British soil, the likes of which were unprecedented. The latest assaults were as horrific as they were effective. Recently petrol cans rigged with explosives had been thrown simultaneously into all the entrances and exits of a central London school. The building was old and several stories high, but with no way out, the kids climbed to the upper floors to escape the fire while they waited for the emergency services to arrive. When they did, a powerful explosive device was triggered, collapsing a stairwell. Firefighters regrouped, but by then the inferno had breached the already damaged fire doors. The devastation had been catastrophic, and when the smoke cleared, five firefighters, two teachers, and twenty-three children were dead. In the weeks prior, the same practice had resulted in fatalities at a nightclub and a department store. But it was those iconic images, the burnt corpses of innocent British children being stretchered from the rubble, that had the prime minister making the call. London would burn no more.

  “The brass says the PM wants the SAS to send a message. We work in conjunction with MI5. They provide the intel, we provide the muscle and protect the asset as far as we can without jeopardising the operation. If it works, it will model a new era of interagency and military cooperation for domestic terrorist threats. They line ’em up, we take ’em down. Given the pressure from up high, I wouldn’t mind betting the regiment’s budget hinges on our success,” I replied.

  “Makes sense when you think about it. We do well, she gets to reassert her strength and make a statement about how the country will respond to attacks on home soil. What about Special Branch?” Will asked, astutely referring to the branch of the police force integral to investigating domestic terrorism.

  “Someone’s obviously pissed her off there, because they’re out of the picture completely on this one. They’ll be kept in the loop, but ultimately this is a military operation,” I told him. The room went quiet as the weight of expectation settled on everyone’s shoulders. “We just have to make sure not to fuck it up now,” I replied.

  “How does the girl fit in? Any guidance on when we need to pull her from the set up?” Will asked.

  “Her name’s been splashed around the papers a fair bit lately, and given that she’s about to become pretty high profile at our request, the cabinet would prefer to avoid the bad publicity that would come from her death. But ultimately, if it means our success, she’s expendable. They can make her out to be a martyr, so long as they get to say we’re winning,” I admitted, nonchalantly feigning my indifference.

  “This is new ground for us. I mean, we’re not secret agents for fuck’s sake. How’s this supposed to work?” Eli asked with a frown.

  The radio at my side cracked.

  “She’s on her way,” the voice said over the line.

  “Look lively, lads. You’ll get a rundown when she’s briefed,” I said. The elevator along the hallway pinged, and then I could hear it. The soft, gentle swish of silk fabric brushing against her thighs as she walked. Man, those fucking legs of hers would be the end of me. Long, toned, and downright sinful, they were the sexiest pair I’d ever seen. Handmade to wrap around my waist. Not that it could or would happen, but that didn’t stop me and my hand from dreaming about it.

  Rounding the corner, she stopped suddenly as my team and the guys from MI5 came into view. She knew they were going to be there, but I imagined at first glance they made quite an imposing sight. These guys were hand-picked and individually trained to be the most elite special forces operatives in the world. They weren’t just highly skilled soldiers; they were trained killers. Fortunately for her, they were all in her corner.

  “Hi,” she squeaked, giving everyone an awkward wave. On the other side of the room, the group of MI5 operatives that had been huddled together and talking quietly in the corner, broke apart at Sarah’s arrival. It was almost comical how similar they all looked with their soft hands, neatly trimmed hair, and suits so uniform, I was beginning to think they were standard government issue. Same as before, the dickless wonder that was Simon Masterson emerged from the pack to swallow Sarah’s hand between his bony paws, like he was embracing an old friend. For absolutely no reason I could fathom, I had the sudden urge to find out exactly how much pressure it would take to break one of his fingers.

  Just one.

  Preferably the
index finger on his left hand that he was surreptitiously using to stroke the soft skin on the back of hers.

  Dropping her hand, he turned to place a palm on the small of her back and guided her towards his group where he was making introductions, effectively excluding my guys from the proceedings. If I had any doubts about whether our two teams could work cohesively together, I had my answer. Sarah turned to look for me over her shoulder, and when her eyes met mine, she released the tension in her body and relaxed. Sensing that she was looking for me to rescue her, and given how the dickless wonder was pissing me off, I was only too happy to oblige.

  Sauntering over to them, I stood on the periphery, crossed my arms across my broad chest, and waited. At six foot four, my imposing figure sent a silent message. There was an air of smug entitlement surrounding all of these pen-pushers, who’d likely grown up wanting to be James Bond and were living with the disappointing reality of being tied to an intelligence desk with a mediocre salary. A chance to flex their figurative muscles in front of a beautiful woman against the likes of us was obviously too good for them to pass up. I didn’t care to measure dicks with any of them. If they had a problem with us, they could fucking live with it, but neglecting to introduce her to both teams was just bad manners. And bad manners pissed me off.

  “Lieutenant Harper,” Masterson said, acknowledging me with a nod of his head when he’d finished speaking.

  “Shall we get on with the briefing then?” he suggested, holding out a chair for Sarah.

  Ignoring him, I turned my body to face her. “Would you like to meet the rest of the team?” I asked.