A Piece of Blue Sky - Volume I of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy Read online

  A PIECE OF BLUE SKY

  Part One of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy

  MARK HAYDEN

  Paw Press

  www.pawpress.co.uk

  Copyright © Paw Press 2012

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design - Hilary Pitt, 2QT Publishing.

  Design Copyright © 2014

  Cover Images Copyright © Shutterstock

  This edition published 2015 by Paw Press:

  www.pawpress.co.uk

  Independent Publishing in Westmorland.

  ISBN-13: 978-1511938532

  ISBN-10: 1511938536

  For Anne

  Everything good in life is inspired by you.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  GREEN FOR DANGER - Sample

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Helmand — Guildford — London

  Monday — Sunday — Monday

  10-11 January

  ‘This is the end of the line for me.’

  Vinnie Jensen gripped the clipboard in his freezing fingers and waited for a response. Perhaps his words had been drowned out by the bitter Afghan wind as it blew up the ramp of the Hercules transport and whistled through the struts. There was a moment of quiet, and Vinnie tried again.

  ‘I said I wanted out. Now.’

  This time, Squadron Leader Clarke heard him and turned away from the side of the hold where Corporal Wade was strapping down the cases.

  ‘Calm down, sergeant,’ said Clarke. The officer planted his feet squarely on the deck and folded his arms. ‘Have you considered the consequences of bailing out at this point?’

  Vinnie tried to keep his voice even and match Clarke’s steady tone. ‘Have you considered the consequences of carrying on with this? It’s going to be like Heathrow out there when they’ve finished.’

  He swept his arm towards the open doors which looked on to the runway of Camp Bastion: in the distance, bulldozers were levelling the ground, their rumble adding to the noise. Soon, a full length runway would allow the largest transporters to land. The extra traffic would bring extra police and extra scrutiny. Vinnie was frightened that they would lose control and that their little sideline would get rumbled.

  More than that, he was sick of being on the outside of normal life. His relationship with Kate was built on a lie and if they were ever going to be a proper couple, he had to cut all of his ties with Operation Red Flag.

  Despite Vinnie’s dramatic gesture, Clarke’s eyes never wavered, never looked out towards the clear winter sunshine. ‘It’s our job to worry about that,’ he said. ‘It’s your job to make sure that the right people are on duty at the right time.’

  ‘Well, you can find someone else — I’m out. This is the last time.’

  Vinnie signed the manifest on top of his clipboard and offered it to the others. Clarke kept his arms folded and said nothing. Corporal Wade was doing something with his mobile phone, and he too refused to accept the clipboard.

  ‘It’s all done,’ said Vinnie. ‘All signed and legal. I’ll leave it here.’

  With that, he put the clipboard down carefully on top of the three metal cases in the centre of the hold. Those cases had been Clarke’s official cargo in the Chinook helicopter from Lashkah Gar, and Vinnie had been giving them a wide berth. Each case had its own loading pallet, and each one was marked with a number of bright yellow Biological and Radiological Hazard warning signs. He was sure they were safe, but there were too many old wives tales about radiation making you sterile; he wanted children with Kate and it was time to stop taking risks. All risks. So, after aligning the edges of the clipboard with the edges of the case, he stepped smartly backwards towards the ramp. No sense in being too close if he could avoid it.

  Gareth Wade had stowed the other cargo, the illegal cargo, against the side of the plane. It was listed on the manifest as Spent Shell Casings. No one would ever check. Wade was rubbing his hands against the cold, but Clarke was still motionless.

  ‘All yours, Clarke. Good luck.’ Vinnie gave the men a nod and walked towards the tail ramp.

  He didn’t hear it coming: he just felt his head explode with pain as he pitched forward on to the metal deck. His reactions were quick, but not as quick as theirs. Before he could roll aside, one of them landed on his back, knees first. There was a crack from his spine and his legs went numb. He fought to get air in his lungs and had no strength to stop them pulling his arms behind his back and tying his wrists together.

  Each heartbeat throbbed in his skull, and he could only just hear Clarke speaking to the other man:

  ‘A bit rash of you, Gareth, but he left us no choice. Shame, really.’

  The voice faded and so did the pain. He heard nothing and felt nothing except the cold. It seeped in through his uniform and chilled his face against the frozen metal. He could still see, though.

  Out through the doors of the Hercules, the Afghan sun was shining. It reflected off the snow on the buildings and above them, he could just see a small piece of blue sky, a little triangle cut off by the black line of the fuselage. He heard Clarke again.

  ‘This is going to be a bit inconvenient, considering who his woman is.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t think he had it in him,’ said Wade. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Captain Lonsdale, Military Intelligence.’

  The voices faded again and Vinnie thought of Kate and thought of her smile when they were together. The blue sky merged with her smile and he felt warm inside. Warmer than he had felt all day.

  Tom Morton was peeling potatoes and humming along to some Mozart on the radio. From the oven, the crackle of fat bursting on the hot elements broke through occasionally, and the whole kitchen was filling with the smell of rosemary and roasting lamb. He would have to get the potatoes in there quickly if he didn’t want the joint to burn. He didn’t hear his wife come into the kitchen until she turned off the radio.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom. I’ve tried to enjoy myself this weekend but I can’t. It’s over. We’re finished,’ said Caroline.

  Tom hadn’t expected his marriage to end quite like this, with a whimper, while he was wearing a pair of yellow Marigolds. No matter how much he thought about it, he had to agree: it had been all over for a while now.

  He leaned against the sink and tried to pretend he didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked as he stripped off the rubber gloves.

  ‘You know what I mean, Tom. I want a divorce. For both our sakes.’

  Tom didn’t want a divorce at all. He wanted his old wife back: the one who had grabbed his tie at the Christmas party and dragged him on to the dance floor; the one who had pushed him out of the solicitor’s office and into the police, out of Birmingham and down to London. But when he looked at her, there was no trace of the old Caroline — even her name had changed from Carrie to Caro over the last two years.

  ‘Is that what you really want?’ he said. ‘To throw it all away because it’s easier to let go than to fight for our marriage?’

  She flicked her head up and faced him. ‘There is no marriage, Tom; there’s nothing to fight for. Just the memories. You can keep them, if you like, along with the photo albums and the souvenirs. I just want to get on with the rest of my life
, that’s all. If you were honest, you’d want the same.’

  ‘Honesty? What do you know about honesty? You’ve been lying and cheating for months.’

  The look of detachment was wiped off her face in an instant as Caroline’s rage came out from behind the mask. ‘Oh, grow up, Tom. What did you expect me to do? Sit at home in Guildford knitting booties? If you’re not interested in me, there’s plenty who are.’

  He stepped away from her anger and paused. If he carried on with the row, there was a good chance they might make it up for a while. A few harsh words, a few tears and then off to bed, saying that they’d cleared the air and vowing to book themselves a second honeymoon.

  But it was too late for that. He didn’t want her back in his life or in his bed now that she’d admitted to betraying him. Up till now, he could pretend that her excuses were the truth, but she’d made that impossible. He could still cope with her lies, but he couldn’t cope with lying to himself any more.

  ‘All right,’ he said and went through to the dining table.

  ‘What do you mean, “all right”?’ said Caroline, her footsteps trailing behind him.

  Keeping his back to her, Tom gathered up the case files that were strewn around the table and shoved them in his briefcase. In the zip pocket at the side was a slim document in a shiny pink folder. He gripped it like a good luck charm and half turned to face her.

  ‘I mean that you can have a divorce. I’ll go away and you can buy me out.’

  ‘Get stuffed, Tom. You made us move to this poxy house in suburbia and you can take over the negative equity.’

  He gripped the folder in his briefcase more tightly. The plastic cracked and dug into his fingers.

  ‘It was Nikolai, wasn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘You keep the house and I’ll keep this,’ he said, pulling out the folder. ‘A friend in the Home Office sent it to me. There are pictures, I’m afraid. Enough for the Bar Council to investigate you. Probably enough to get you a formal warning.’

  She slapped him hard, across the face, and then tried to grab the folder. When he didn’t let go, she slapped him again. He grabbed her hand and pushed her away from him into a chair. She stumbled and he shoved the folder back into his briefcase.

  ‘Bastard! You useless, sodding bastard. Give me that sodding folder or I’ll…’

  She launched herself at him and he held up the briefcase as a shield. ‘Enough, Caro, enough!’

  They locked eyes, both of them breathing heavily. Caroline blinked first and turned back towards the kitchen.

  ‘I think we both need a drink,’ she said.

  Tom walked quietly into the hall where he picked up his jacket, his phone and his warrant card before unlocking the door and slipping outside. He had an overnight bag permanently packed in the boot of his car in case he was called away. Everything else could wait.

  He stood by his car and looked up. Above the identikit houses opposite him, a few trees could be seen, bare against winter sky. Above them, some rooks were circling, black dots against the blue. If the birds tried to pick over the bones of his marriage, they wouldn’t find much meat on them. He shivered against the cold. He opened the car door and threw his coat and case on to the back seat. As he climbed into the front, he heard Caroline come out of the house.

  He activated the central locking before she could get to the door handle, then he started the engine. For a second, she pounded on the window with her fists and then took off her shoe to strike at the glass.

  That was more like the Carrie he remembered: impulsive and reckless. As he drove away, he could see her in the mirror, sticking up her middle finger and hopping on one foot.

  Tanya Sheriden finished typing and read over the message:

  Ive thought it over and its still end of the line for us. Sooo sorry. Still luv U but its over babes. XX.

  She pressed Send on the text and it disappeared from the screen, heading through the airwaves to Liverpool. She had lit a cigarette before starting to type, but the wind had whipped most of it away. She lit another and wondered what time Darren would read the message. She had sent it before going into the office because she reckoned he would still be in bed. Today, however, was not her lucky day. The phone started to vibrate and then one of Darren’s songs started to play — that ringtone was going to be the first thing she deleted. Despite herself, she pressed Accept.

  ‘You’re up early, Darren,’ she said.

  ‘I haven’t been to bed. I’ve been walking around ever since the club shut, thinking about what you said last night. I can’t stand being apart from you, Tanya. Why don’t you come home and talk about it?’

  ‘Darren, this is my home for a year, then I’m going back to Uni. You know that.’

  ‘Why are you still doing that stupid course, Babes? It’s all crap. Who wants to work in a bank, for God’s sake? They’re all wankers and they’ve, like, ruined the economy. You’re better than that. You had so much talent and now you’re throwing your life away.’

  Tanya could sense that Darren was getting wound up, like he had when they talked last night and she had told him it was over.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Darren. I’ll be late for work. You know, for my job where they pay me money.’

  ‘I got paid for last night, you know. And they gave me a bonus for doing the final set.’

  Darren was an aspiring rapper, and they had met at college in Liverpool. Tanya had started out as a singer on the Performing Arts course, but had switched after a year to Business. Now she was at university studying Banking & Finance and this was her sandwich year placement.

  The heartstrings which had kept her attached to Darren stretched during the first year, but now she was in London, they had snapped. Darren the Dude had become Darren the Deadbeat. Something kicked inside her and she bit back at him.

  ‘Yeah, and I bet you spent all the money on coke. That’s why you’re still awake: you’re wired. I’m going now, Darren, and it’s goodbye. Take care.’

  ‘Wait…’

  She kept her thumb on the End Call button until he was disconnected, then she rapidly powered down the device and took a deep breath. She took a last drag on her cigarette and looked up at the workers hurrying to make it into their offices before nine o’clock. There were thousands of them, flooding out of the train and tube stations into the City of London. At quarter to nine on a Monday morning, Liverpool was never this busy. Out of the swirling crowd, she recognised one man.

  He was medium height, sandy haired and quite thin, but she remembered his blue eyes in the light of the projector when he had delivered that seminar. Today, he was pulling a large suitcase and staring at the pavement. He only looked up at the last moment and nearly ran into her.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘’S’alright,’ said Tanya. ‘I shouldn’t be here. Excuse me, but isn’t it Inspector Morton?’

  He tried to smile and almost made it. ‘Nice of you to say so, but I’m only a sergeant. A detective sergeant, though. You’ll have to forgive me – I don’t seem to remember where we met.’

  They stood awkwardly on the pavement as more workers hurried by. Tanya suddenly felt her age — very young. Why was she talking to this man? Perhaps it was because of Darren. If he knew that she was consorting with the police, the bizzies, he would be furious. Tanya quite liked this man with his sad eyes, even if he was too old for her. He must be at least thirty.

  ‘God, listen to me acting like Lady Muck. Sorry, Detective Sergeant. Why should you remember me? I’m just doing a placement here,’ she said, pointing to Praed’s Bank behind them. ‘You gave a talk to the Retail Bankers’ Association about money laundering. That’s all.’

  ‘Oh, well, I hope you remember what I said. It was – is – important.’

  She apologised again and they both backed away awkwardly, the policeman nearly tripping over his case. Tanya turned and went into the bank. It was five minutes to nine.

  While she was st
ill taking off her coat, the supervisor stamped out of her cubicle and made a beeline for Tanya’s cramped little desk.

  ‘Good, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve just had Ross on the phone — he’s not just on holiday, he’s done his ligaments,’ she announced.

  Ross was Tanya’s mentor for this part of her placement. A nice guy but a bit flash. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is it bad?’

  ‘Serves him right for going skiing. Stupid tosser. He won’t be back at work for another three weeks, and this won’t wait. Do you think you’re up to handling applications on your own?’

  ‘I’ll give it a go. After all, what can go wrong, eh?’

  The supervisor gave her a dark look but said nothing. All she did was hand over a piece of paper with some almost illegible writing: Tanya recognised it as a new UserID for the banking system.

  A smile came on to her face and she wondered what Darren would think about it. Every fibre of his being would scream at the thought of being excited by bank work. Darren wanted to be rich, all right, but there was no way he was going to lose respect by going to an office and sitting in front of a computer to do it. No way. That made her feel even better, because if Darren wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole then it must be good.

  Instead of the big names like Lloyds, Santander or Barclays, Tanya had opted to work for Praed’s Bank, one of Britain’s oldest and most specialist bankers. Their branch network could only be found in market towns and cathedral cities. They specialised in land: agricultural land and country estates. There was only one branch in the whole of London, tucked away underneath head office in the City.

  She logged on to the system and checked the list of pending applications. When a new customer wanted to open a business account, the application forms were scanned into the computer network and the whole process was completed online. Tanya could see that Ross had started working on a few of them before his holiday — no, she thought, before his break…