Gray Redemption

  Gray Redemption

  ~by~

  Alan McDermott

  Published by Alan McDermott at Smashwords

  Copyright 2012 Alan McDermott

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.

  Alan wrote this book in his spare time. If you want to read more of his work, please make sure you pay for a copy so that he can quit work and realise his dream of writing full time.

  You may not reproduce this work, in part or in its entirety, without the express written permission of the author.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Also by Alan McDermott:

  Gray Justice (Tom Gray #1)

  Gray Resurrection (Tom Gray #2)

  Gray Redemption is the final book in the Tom Gray series and is not meant to be read as a standalone novel. For the ultimate reading experience you should first read Gray Justice followed by Gray Resurrection. If you choose not to read the books in order, don’t say you weren’t warned.

  Prologue

  Saturday April 21st 2012

  Ben Palmer placed the bloodied knife on the table and removed the tape covering Kan Tek Kwok’s mouth.

  “I know that you’ve been passing sensitive material to Alphaco,” he said, his voice calm. “Just tell me what you shared with them.”

  It was, in fact, a lie. He neither knew that Kwok was selling trade secrets to his client’s rival technology firm, nor did he care. His remit for the current assignment was simply to extract information, and in this particular field he had no equal.

  “I swear...”

  It wasn’t the answer Palmer was looking for. He placed the tape back over Kwok’s mouth and picked up the knife, which he’d found in his subject’s kitchen drawer. It was probably fine for slicing vegetables but it had taken a lot of effort to cut through the man’s fingers. Still, he thought, it all added to the effect.

  Palmer ran the knife down Kwok’s bare stomach and over the two marks created by the Taser. The file he’d been given showed the man lived alone, and fortunately he hadn’t been entertaining that evening. After getting him to answer the door, Palmer had stunned him with the electroshock device. While he was still reeling from the shock, Palmer had flipped him over and administered an injection between his shoulder blades. He had then closed the curtains while the neuromuscular-blocking drug — derived from Curare, a relaxant which left the recipient unable to move any of his voluntary muscles — took effect. Unlike other varieties — such as Suxamethonium chloride, which also affected the involuntary muscles such as the diaphragm — this derivative allowed the patient to breathe unaided. The result was that Kwok was unable to put up any resistance whatsoever, but could still feel every ounce of the pain being inflicted.

  “I can make this last all night, Kan,” he said, moving the knife down to Kwok’s bare genitals. “It would be better to tell me now, while you can still father children.”

  Palmer placed the blade on the man’s penis and applied a little pressure while making a sawing motion – not enough to break the skin, but sufficient to bring a look of horror to Kwok’s face.

  “I’ll count to five,” Palmer said. He got to four when his phone rang and he knew it was work-related — less than a dozen organisations and governments had this number, and his circle of friends could be counted on one hand.

  “Think about it,” he said to Kwok, and hit the Accept button. “Palmer.”

  * * *

  James Farrar had been through Tom Gray’s file twice, but as he’d already suspected there were just two associates known to be in Asia. In order to prioritise them he had been in touch with the Government Communications Headquarters to get a breakdown of recent calls made to their known numbers, specifically anything from the island of Jolo. Within twenty minutes GCHQ had come up with the information he wanted.

  Farrar closed down Gray’s electronic file and opened the one for Timothy Hughes. Once it had passed through security protocols and loaded, he looked for the current address. Minimising the file, he opened another screen and searched for resources in the area. The results showed that the nearest was in Japan and currently working a case, and Farrar didn’t have the authority to pull him off it for his own needs.

  What he could do, though, was bring in some outside help. Given the sensitivity of the mission, it would have to be someone he could trust, and that narrowed it down to just one man. Despite this, he was reluctant to mention Tom Gray’s name. After careful consideration, he decided to limit the mission to locating and, if possible, eliminating the quarry: Len Smart, Simon Baines and one other, as yet unidentified.

  Farrar looked up the number in the database and dialled.

  “Palmer,” he heard when the call was connected.

  “Ben, it’s James Farrar. I have an urgent job for you.”

  “Sorry, gonna be a bit busy for the next few days.”

  Farrar cursed silently. Palmer was the only man he could turn to, the only one he could trust. He had performed other jobs for the organisation and Farrar knew that operational secrecy was a given.

  “How much are they paying you?” he asked the freelancer.

  “Three hundred…” Palmer replied, and Farrar knew from previous negotiations that he had to add “thousand” to the end. He also suspected that Palmer had doubled the fee he was currently earning, but that wasn’t his concern. All that mattered was getting him on board.

  “I’ll give you five hundred if you can start now.”

  The offer brought a pause in the conversation. “Sterling,” Palmer said eventually.

  “Dollars,” Farrar insisted.

  Another pause, then: “Write this down.” He gave Farrar an internet URL consisting of letters and numbers, one that couldn’t be guessed or stumbled upon accidentally. Palmer also gave him a twelve-digit code to enter when he got to the website.

  “Once you’re in, enter the job details and hit send. You can also upload files and images. Don’t worry, it’s secure.”

  “How secure?”

  Palmer explained that it used 2048-bit encryption and a one-time 28-digit key, which meant even a supercomputer would spend a lifetime trying to unscramble the garbled message.

  “I’ll have access to the message in an hour. Please make sure the money is transferred to the usual account before then.”

  The phone went dead in Farrar’s hand. Now that he had secured Palmer’s services, all that remained was to get his hands on half a million dollars. As an idea came to him, it brought a smile along for company. He still had control of Tom Gray’s Manila bank account, which had a balance a shade over the sum he needed. The smile grew as he considered the irony of using Gray’s money to pay the man sent to kill him, and he thumbed through the list of contacts in his phone in search of the account manager for the Philippine National Bank.

  * * *

  Palmer put his phone away and looked down at Kwok. The man had tears streaming down his face and a pool of urine had formed between his legs.

  “You got lucky,” he said, extracting another hypodermic needle. Kwok had overheard his conversation, but that was the least of Palmer’s worries: he had seen his face, and that sealed the man’s fate. Palmer stuck the needle into his subject’s carotid artery and delivered double the normal dose. As he waited for the drug to take effect, Palmer straightened his wig and considered an explanation for his current employers. He settled on reporting that Kwok had been innocent and collecting the fee, which he had tripled for Farrar’s benefit.

  Kwok’s
breathing was becoming laboured and Palmer prepared to leave, replacing the hypodermics in their case and stowing it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He sat there for another minute until Kwok took his last breath, then he left the house, quietly closing the door behind him. As he walked to his car he removed the bloodied surgical gloves and screwed them into a ball before wrapping an elastic band around it to stop them unravelling. The ball was discarded down a storm drain, along with the hairpiece.

  He drove the car to a secluded wooded area and removed the false licence plates which he had stuck over the originals. He wiped them down before digging a shallow hole in the undergrowth and burying them.

  No loose ends.

  Palmer drove back to his rented apartment, curious to see what the urgent mission entailed.

  Chapter 1

  Sunday April 22nd 2012

  The radar indicated a small vessel a mile ahead, apparently stationary in the water. According to his GPS it was within fifty metres of the rendezvous point and the captain made a small course correction to intercept it.

  “Just where you said they’d be, sir,” he said to Timmy Hughes, who had just entered the cabin.

  “Anyone else around?” Hughes asked.

  “Nothing larger than a canoe for twenty miles.”

  Hughes stepped onto the deck and switched on the Carlisle & Finch searchlight, playing its beam out over the bow of the twenty-metre yacht. It was a couple of minutes before he located the small craft and its four occupants. Using hand signals he indicated for the captain to slow their approach and a few minutes later they pulled alongside the craft. Hughes threw out a rope and it was caught by one of the males, who tied it to a ring on the wall of the inflatable. Hughes walked the rope to the stern and tied it off, allowing his visitors the chance to climb onto the swim-deck attached to the transom.

  First aboard was the familiar figure of Len Smart and Hughes gave his old friend a hug.

  “Good to see you, man.”

  “You too, Timmy. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Hughes grabbed an inch from his own midriff. “Maybe a couple of pounds heavier.”

  He looked over the transom at the others. “Who are your friends?”

  Len leaned over and gave Sonny a hand up. “This is Simon Baines. He joined the regiment shortly after you left.”

  The men shook hands.

  “Looks like you’re doing okay for yourself,” Len observed. “Nice boat.”

  “Business has been great for the last couple of years,” Hughes said. “I struggled at first because everyone was going to Viking Securities, but once Tom Gray sold up, the company lost its reputation. They raised their prices and cut the wages for the people in the field, so a lot of the contractors came to me instead. I approached all of Viking’s clients and offered to do the same work for a twenty percent discount and the rest is history.”

  The final two passengers had clambered aboard, and the male came over to shake his hand.

  “Hello, Timmy.”

  The voice was familiar, but not the face. It was a few moments before realisation hit him.

  “Tom?”

  “I hear you’ve been stealing my clients,” Gray said with a grin, his amusement increased by the look on Hughes’s face.

  “But you’re dead. It was all over the news.”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over some food.”

  Once Hughes got over the shock of seeing a ghost from the past, Gray introduced his female companion. “This is Vick.”

  Hughes held out a hand while simultaneously straightening his short-cropped brown hair. For a man approaching his mid-forties he still had the looks and physique the ladies found appealing.

  “Welcome aboard,” he said in his most charming voice.

  Hughes led the party down to the main cabin and offered them seats while he went to the galley. He was back moments later with a champagne bucket full of beers on ice.

  “Something for the lady?” he asked Vick, but she was already reaching for a beer. He disappeared again and was back five minutes later, this time carrying a plate of bread, butter and cold meats.

  “So, tell me how you happen to be in the middle of the Sulu Sea a day after a terrorist attack on Jolo.”

  “You hear about that?” Gray asked, making himself a sandwich.

  “It was all over the local news.”

  Gray gave him a rundown of events over the last year, starting with his injuries in Abdul Mansour’s attack and the government’s subsequent subterfuge in declaring him dead while spiriting him out of the country. He glossed over the following year and took up the story at his kidnapping in Basilan.

  Vick was nursing her third bottle of beer and the alcohol — combined with her first full stomach in months — was taking its toll. Her head was on Gray’s shoulder and her eyes told the others in the cabin that sleep wasn’t far away.

  Hughes sat back in his chair and took a swig of his beer. “I’ve alerted Carl Levine and Jeff Campbell to the danger and they are taking their families into hiding. There’s nothing to stop you calling the media in London and letting them know that you’re still alive.” he said.

  Vick looked at Tom through tired eyes. “Tim’s right. You could just call the newspapers and this would all be over.”

  “It’s Timmy,” Hughes corrected her with a smile.

  Gray sighed. “You have to think like James Farrar. He’s sitting at home listing the options open to us, and going to the press is right at the top of the page. If I was him I would have a blanket DA-notice on anything mentioning my name”

  DA-Notices — called D-Notices until 1993 — come in five varieties, with DA-Notice 05 dealing with British security and intelligence. Although they are advisory requests and not enforceable by law, it would be a very brave editor who chose to ignore one.

  “What about social media?” Sonny suggested. “Get yourself all over Twitter and Facebook. They can’t sensor that, can they?”

  “Trust me, they’d find a way. Besides, I don’t have accounts, and if I create one and claim to be alive, who’s going to believe me? There must be a few million crackpots on the web, and I’d just be the new nutter on the block.”

  “So what have you got in mind?” Hughes asked.

  “I haven’t got a plan as such, but the first step is to get back to England, and that isn’t going to be easy without a passport. Even with one, you can bet every port will be keeping an eye out for us.”

  “Sounds like you’re going to have to sneak in,” Hughes said. “I may know just the man.”

  He disappeared up the carpeted stairs and Gray made himself another sandwich. He took in the sumptuous surroundings and for a fleeting moment considered cruising around the South China Seas for a few weeks, but the urge to get his life back soon put a stop to such thoughts.

  Hughes returned with a handful of towels and put them on an empty chair. “There’s a shower just down the hall,” he said, pointing towards the stern. Vick was quickest to react and disappeared through the door, grabbing a towel on the way.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to be taking her along?” Hughes asked when Vick was out of earshot.

  “If you think you can talk her out of it, be my guest,” Gray said.

  “Stubborn?”

  “She’d prefer tenacious.”

  “Then she’s in for quite a trip,” Hughes said. “I’ve told the captain to head to Port Kelang in Malaysia so I can introduce you to Arnold Tang. He specializes in getting people into the UK.”

  “A people smuggler? Nice company you keep.”

  “He’s actually a respectable businessman. He just happens to have his fingers in lots of pies.”

  “How long will it take to get there?” Smart asked.

  “About fourteen hours,” Hughes said. “This little beauty will do sixty knots without breaking sweat.”

  “No, I don’t mean how long to Port Kelang. I mean how long will it take to get to the UK?”

  “Ah
,” Hughes said, finally understanding the question. “That, I don’t know. I’m sure Arnold will let you know tomorrow.”

  “More importantly, how much is it going to cost us?” Gray asked.

  “I’ll get mates-rates, but it’ll still be pushing seventy thousand for the four of you.”

  Gray explained his cash situation, but Timmy wasn’t concerned. “Once you get this all sorted you should be able to get access to your money. You can pay me back when you do.” Hughes rose from his seat and opened a small safe built into the wall. He handed an envelope to Gray.

  “Here’s five grand. That should keep you going once you get back to the UK.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Gray said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “You could thank me by taking a shower before you mess up the sheets in your cabin,” Hughes smiled.

  Vick entered the cabin wearing nothing but her towel. All heads turned and Gray’s remained fixed on her. She may have looked good in the jungle, but having scrubbed up she had the presence and beauty of a movie star. Her damp, blonde hair fell about her shoulders and she smiled at Gray.

  “Shower’s free,” she said. Gray simply nodded, struck dumb by the vision in front of him. It took him a moment to realise that he was staring.

  “I’ll go next,” he said, averting his gaze.

  As he picked up a towel Sonny offered some friendly advice, accompanied by a huge grin.

  “Better make it a cold one.”

  Gray shot him a look before disappearing down the hallway. The bathroom was not as large as he’d expected but it had a spacious shower stall. He climbed in and turned on the water, letting it soak him for a few minutes while the heat took some of the stress out of his muscles. By the time he had washed and shampooed his hair, his body felt relaxed for the first time in days.

  He returned to the main cabin to find that Vick was no longer there.