Luke Delaney

The Network

Chapter One

August 2002

The black Range Rover cruised through the streets of Tottenham, North London, the tinted windows hiding the two men inside. It drew both admiring and threatening looks from the youths who seemed to infest the pavements outside, yellow lights from the open shops illuminating their hooded figures even though the time approached ten p.m. — the demands of imported cultures ensured the streets stayed alive well into the night. The traffic along the Seven Sisters Road was as busy as most streets would be at rush hour — a mixture of small-time drug dealers and lost causes who fancied themselves as gangsters, always on the lookout for a rival crew to wreak havoc on, but only so long as they outnumbered them. Knives would be drawn and young lives lost. The owner of a decent semi-automatic could rise quickly to king in a place like this, their coronation fanfare the ubiquitous wail of sirens.

Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan flicked the indicator on to turn right onto Park Lane, next to the Spurs Football Ground. His passenger looked across at him. ‘That’s a no right turn,’ DC Zack Benton told him, his dark skin making his face almost invisible in the car’s dim interior.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sean told him, swerving across the oncoming traffic and inducing a cacophony of screaming horns, enjoying the power of the engine and the feel of a car he could never afford himself. ‘We’re criminals, remember?’

‘You are — not me. I’m just here as your minder,’ Benton reminded him. Sean studied him from the corner of his eye, assessing the man he’d met a few hours earlier at the briefing at Stoke Newington Police Station. Sean had been paraded in front of the arrest team so they would know he was the undercover officer when they moved in on the targets, just in case anyone was looking to dish out some summary justice. Sean didn’t fancy a kicking from his own kind. It was at the briefing that Benton had been assigned as his minder — his first job to escort Sean close to the meeting point before crawling through the undergrowth to get as near as possible to the target venue and call for urgent assistance if Sean ever appeared to be in serious trouble. His second task would be to summon the arrest team once the target vehicle came onto the plot. The arrest team would have to hang much further back or risk compromising the entire operation and weeks of work — not least all of that done by Sean himself in infiltrating a criminal gang and arranging the purchase of the stolen Sony laptops the gang claimed to possess.

‘I’ll get you as close as I can in the motor, but you’re gonna have to hump the last few hundred yards,’ Sean told him. ‘The warehouse is out by the old reservoir — they can see me coming a fair distance off so I’m going to have to cut you loose well before then.’

‘Suits me fine,’ Benton told him with an air of relief. Sean noted he seemed a little jumpy, but he’d rather that than some gung-ho lunatic looking to make a name for himself. Benton would do his job well enough and nothing more and that suited Sean fine.

‘You got the phone?’ he checked, making sure Benton still had the mobile he was given at the briefing — on which Sean would reach him if he needed to warn the team something was wrong.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Benton replied, patting his waistband.

‘D’you want to go over it again?’ Sean asked.

‘No, I’m good,’ he replied unconvincingly.

‘Let’s go over it again,’ Sean encouraged him. ‘Can’t be too careful on a job like this.’

‘If you say so.’

‘It’s simple enough — you make your way to the forward O.P. and I make my way to the warehouse for the meet. The baddies will want to talk a load of bullshit before anything gets done, they always do, but eventually they’ll get down to business and if they’re happy they’ll call the lorry onto the plot. I’ll check it out and if it’s loaded up with the nicked laptops I’ll call you on the mobile, making it sound like you’re the guy who’s going to come and take one of them to where the cash is waiting so he can verify I’m good for the money — understand?’

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Benton argued, ‘this isn’t how they said it was going to go down at the briefing. As soon as the lorry comes onto the plot I’m supposed to call in the arrest team. Nobody said nothing about you calling me first.’

‘Yeah, well there’s been a change of plan.’

‘The briefing was only a couple of hours ago — nobody’s told me about any change.’

‘That’s because nobody knows about it.’

‘I really think we should stick to the plan,’ Benton argued.

‘Listen, Zack — how much undercover work you done?’

‘None,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not a U.C.’

‘Would you like to be?’ Sean asked. ‘You look the part, or at least you could.’

‘Yeah, sure — sometime in the future maybe.’

‘Then you’d better understand that the people you’ll be dealing with aren’t cops. They don’t play by rules. They live day-to-day and rely on their cunning to survive — to get the best for themselves and fuck everyone else. They’ll agree on a price for something then change it. They’ll agree on a place to meet then pick a new one at the last minute. They’ll agree on how much back-up they can bring to a meet then turn up with three times as many. They’ll agree not to bring weapons then turn up with shooters. This fella I’m going to meet is no different — in fact he’s worst than most. Enrico Ismain or Tricky Ricky as he’s known on the street. He’s a good operator, you have to admire him for that. But he’s up to something. I can feel it.’

‘You think he knows you’re Old Bill?’

‘He doesn’t know anything, but he’ll suspect everything. That’s how he stays out of prison.’

‘You should have mentioned this at the briefing,’ Benton told him shaking his head.

‘Fuck that,’ Sean answered. ‘I mention I have doubts, the whole operation would have been cancelled and I would have wasted the best part of a month setting this up. We do it my way and everything’ll be fine.’

‘I’m not sure about this, man.’

‘Like I was saying, you just wait for my call before summoning the cavalry — no matter what happens — understand?’

‘Okay — fuck it. But if it goes tits-up, it’s on your head.’

‘Nothing new there, then,’ Sean told him as he pulled the Range Rover over to the side of the road. ‘This is your stop — I can’t get you any closer.’ Benton opened the door and jumped out without speaking. ‘And remember — don’t make the call until you’ve heard from me.’ Benton nodded and slammed the door shut before disappearing into the wasteland to the west of where the warehouse lay.

Sean eased the accelerator and rolled towards the meeting venue, his heart beginning to pump with excitement. He welcomed the feeling, like an actor before they walked onto the stage, the nervous tension and stress in his body helping to concentrate his mind and increase his speed of thought — if he was going to out-manoeuvre Tricky Ricky Ismain, he’d need to think on his feet.

He followed the road that looped around the huge reservoir hidden behind rows of modest houses, its existence unknown to everyone but the locals, and headed for the warehouse where he’d met Ismain several times over the last few weeks. The ambiguous sign lit up above the front of the building merely stated Ismain Import-Export. He pulled up close to the entrance; fast enough to make the two hooded figures guarding it jump back a little as he leapt from the car. He smiled at them, trying to look as confident as he possibly could. They were clearly expecting him and he walked past them and into the warehouse without a word being exchanged. Once inside, two more hoods stopped him. He recognized them from his previous meetings — they were higher up in Ismain’s organization than the foot-soldiers still hanging around outside.

‘You’re late,’ the black one told him.

‘Traffic’s shit,’ he answered. ‘You know how it is.’

‘Ricky’s waiting,’ the white one added. ‘He don’t like to be kept waiting.’

Sean had expected the bullshit. ‘Yeah, well he’s not going to give a fuck about being kept waiting when he sees the cash I brought him.’

The two goons looked at each other before the black one spoke again. ‘Put your hands up, brother. We need to search you.’

Sean did as he was told, lifting his arms and spreading his legs — all standard procedure for a meet where money was expected to change hands. But this search was more thorough than usual — too intimate to be just a search for weapons — clearly they were looking for a transmitter or recording device. It was the first sign Ismain might have doubts about Sean. Satisfied, the black one spoke again. ‘Alright — he’s clean. Follow me.’ He turned and walked deeper into the bowels of the warehouse, Sean following close behind, trying to remember everything he saw, taking in every possible escape route, until eventually they reached the closed door of Ismain’s office. The white hoodie knocked gently on the door before opening it and leading Sean inside where he was met with a beaming smile from Ismain, who stretched out his hand for Sean to shake.

‘Sorry about having you searched, brother,’ Ismain told him. ‘You know what it’s like when money’s changing hands — everybody gets a little nervous.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ Sean asked, shaking Ismain’s hand with a false smile of his own. ‘Think I’ve come here to rob you?’

‘No, man,’ Ismain laughed, ‘nothing like that. You’re cool. You’re sound. I know that. Now, how about a drink?’

‘Naturally,’ Sean answered. ‘I could go a large bourbon, ice if you have it.’

‘Dalton,’ Ismain told the black hoodie, ‘get the man a drink.’

‘You not joining me?’

‘Maybe later,’ Ismain told him, ‘after the business is out of the way. I’ll take you to a little strip-club I own — get you sorted out, know what I mean?’ Ismain and his cronies laughed together — Sean kept the smile fixed in place. When the laughter stopped, Ismain eased himself back into his oversized leather desk chair, smoothing his Hugo Boss pinstripe suit as he did so, its elegant simplicity contrasting sharply with his shiny black shirt and heavy gold jewellery. He had zig-zag patterns cut into his hair, heavy rimmed glasses and huge diamond earrings in each lobe. As he sat he suddenly became serious, waiting for Sean to be handed his drink before speaking again. ‘So, you got the cash, Sean?’

‘Yeah, I got the cash,’ Sean told him. ‘Seventy-five grand — as we agreed.’

‘Yeah, you see there’s a little problem with that figure. Ismain told him, pursing his lips. ‘Seventy-five grand ain’t gonna be enough no more.’

‘Really,’ Sean said expressionless. ‘How so?’

‘You know how it is, Sean — people hear about a good thing on offer and they come to the table. Now normally I wouldn’t even listen to offers after I’ve made a deal, but when someone offers you fifty grand more, hey, brother, I got to take them seriously. You understand? But if you can match their offer, then I’ll give you first rights, in the interest of our friendship — fair enough?’

Sean had expected some late change in negotiations, there always was. ‘So let me get this right,’ he asked. ‘You want me to pay an extra fifty grand more than we agreed?’

‘There you go,’ Ismain mocked, ‘I knew you were smart. I knew you’d understand.’

‘I understand you’re fucking with me,’ Sean told him.

‘I ain’t fucking with you, Sean.’

‘Yeah you are. You’re definitely fucking with me a little bit.’

‘No, man. You’re getting this all wrong. It’s just business.’

‘Well here’s my business,’ Sean told him. ‘I got seventy-five-grand here and now. You give me the five-hundred laptops and I give you the seventy-five grand — just like we agreed.’

‘Seventy-five ain’t enough anymore,’ Ismain barked. ‘They’re worth three-hundred grand, brother.’

‘Maybe,’ Sean laughed, ‘if they weren’t stolen and you were PC World, but they are and you ain’t, so seventy-five or I walk with the cash.’ Ismain sank deeper into his chair.

‘You got the cash here?’ Ismain asked, an unmistakable glint in his eye.

‘Close by,’ Sean told him. ‘Not in the motor, before you get any funny ideas. A phone call away, once I’ve seen the goods. When I’m happy with the merchandise I’ll call one of my people in, then you send one of yours with him to where the cash is waiting. Once you know I’m good for the money, my man will come back alone and drive the goods away. When I’m happy he’s not being followed I’ll make another call and tell my people to hand the cash to your man. I’ll wait with you until he brings the cash back here where you can check it — that way everyone’s safe, no one gets ripped off — okay?’

‘I knew you was a professional, Sean. First time I met you I says, that guy’s a professional. Okay, what the fuck, let’s call it seventy-five and get this fucking thing done. I didn’t like those other fuckers anyway.’

‘Good,’ Sean told him, the excitement rising in his chest again. ‘Then let’s call the goods onto the plot so I can check them.’

‘Sure,’ Ismain agreed. ‘But there’s just one thing, one little problem that’s come up.’ Sean felt his excitement quickly turning to anxiety. ‘You remember Jimmy Logan?’

‘Yeah. I remember him.’

‘Of course you do, because he introduced us. He vouched for you — said I could trust you — that you were a man I should do business with — right?’

‘What’s your point?’

‘My point,’ Ismain shouted, ‘is that Jimmy’s a fucking grass — so what do you think about that, officer?’

Sean’s belly tightened as he swallowed rising bile. ‘What do I think? What I think is you’re still fucking with me.’

‘No fucking bullshit this time. Jimmy’s a grass and that means everyone he touched is tainted, man.’

‘Fuck Jimmy,’ Sean bluffed. ‘My business is with you — here and now. Jimmy’s nothing but a low-life fixer. So what he introduced us — he’s probably been a grass for years. It doesn’t mean everyone he did business with is dirty, and that means you as well as me, Enrico.’

Ismain sat back in his chair, seemingly calm again. ‘You know what,’ he said, ‘you make some good points. But I got to know if you’re Old Bill, so I had a little think about things — you know what I mean?’

‘I’m listening,’ Sean told him.

‘And I was thinking that if you is Old Bill then right now this warehouse will be being watched, right, and that as soon as the truck pulls up outside all your policemen friends will come swooping down on it, arresting everyone they see, right?’

‘If I was Old Bill — which we both know I’m not — then yeah, I guess you’d be about right.’

Ismain began to laugh, delighted with his own cunning. ‘Only thing is, the truck is going to be empty — so when your police colleagues come running, all they’re going to find is an empty fucking truck and I’ll know for sure that Jimmy Logan is a fucking grass and you’re a fucking cop.’

‘And when nothing happens,’ Sean asked, ‘when none of these imaginary cops come crashing down on us, what then?’

‘You just worry about that empty truck,’ Ismain warned him, lifting a mobile phone from his desk and pressing a sequence of numbers before speaking into the mouthpiece. ‘Send the first truck in,’ he ordered before hanging up. So long as Benton followed Sean’s instructions and held the troops off until he got the call from Sean, they could still spoil Ismain’s day. The two hoodies from outside stepped into the room, meaning Sean was now outnumbered five to one — not good odds if the proverbial hit the fan. Ismain stood. ‘Let’s go. You too, Mr Policeman.’

Sean followed Ismain from the office and along the corridors — a henchman on either side and two more close behind. He tried not to dwell on what they might be armed with — guns would be bad, really bad. He concentrated on his breathing, keeping it short and shallow, enabling him to control his voice when he needed to speak, disguising any nervous tremors. His life was in Benton’s hands — if he called in the cavalry at the sign of the first truck, Sean would be in trouble. Any hint of the police and he could be bundled into the back of a car and driven away to an uncertain future. But if Benton held off until Sean called him, Ismain and his crew would relax, imagining the easy seventy-five grand they were about to pick up. By the time they worked out they’d been played, it would be too late. Benton had to hold his nerve — Sean’s neck depended on it.

They exited the warehouse the same way Sean had entered and stood in the car park waiting. Sean felt the presence of the two men behind him and tried not to imagine the guns, knives or metal bars they could be holding, just waiting for Ismain to give them the sign. He winced at the imaginary pain of a bullet or blade punching through his skin, shattering bone or slicing through vital organs; or the dull, sickening thud of a blunt object caving in the back of his skull. He felt his legs almost give way until he was distracted by the headlights of a single vehicle bouncing down the rough road towards the warehouse — the empty truck. Whatever you do, Benton, don’t make the call — not yet.

‘Now we find out, right?’ Ismain’s voice broke the silence.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ Sean told him, managing to sound sure of himself despite the tightening of his chest. Ismain looked away from him and waited as the truck pulled up in the car park, the driver and passenger remaining in the cab with the engine still running, the back of the truck pointing towards the warehouse. No one else would be able to see whether it was full or empty. Ismain stepped forward and rolled up the truck’s back cover, the noise disturbingly loud in the semi-darkness.

‘Take a look inside,’ Ismain gestured to Sean, a wide smile spreading across his face. Sean stepped forward and peered in before moving away. ‘No, no,’ Ismain told him, ‘all the way inside.’ Every fibre of Sean’s body told him not to climb inside the truck. He weighed up his chances of escape if he made a run for it, which he decided were pretty good — he was in decent shape and doubted whether his would-be captors were, but if they had guns … He climbed into the back of the truck and looked around — empty, just as Ismain had promised.

‘Now what?’ he bluffed.

Ismain looked at his men, all of them smiling and laughing at the joke they thought they were playing on the police. ‘Now,’ Ismain told him, ‘now you get the fuck out of the truck.’ Sean shrugged his shoulders pretending he didn’t know what was happening and jumped down from the back. ‘And now,’ Ismain continued, ‘we wait.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shake my hand,’ he ordered.

‘Why?’ Sean asked.

‘Because I fucking told you to,’ Ismain barked, still smiling. ‘Because I want all your police friends to see you’re happy with the goods.’

‘Like I said — you’re wasting your time — and mine,’ Sean told him, reaching his hand forward for the shake.

‘We’ll see,’ Ismain insisted, searching the night around them for signs of life, approaching lights, the sounds of sirens or revving engines, ready to drag Sean to one of the waiting cars and spirit him away. Sean stood close to him, praying Benton remembered his instructions and followed them to the last. The seconds crawled by, each one feeling like a lifetime, until finally he was sure enough time had passed and Benton had held his nerve.

‘Well?’ Sean asked. ‘We gonna stand here all night, or we gonna do some business?’ Ismain looked him up and down before returning his gaze to the surrounding land. ‘I got seventy-five grand sitting in the back of a motor with one of my boys — d’you want it or not? Laptops I can get anywhere — you ain’t the only supplier.’

‘Okay,’ Ismain relented. ‘I was wrong — you’re good. But I had to be sure. No offense meant.’

‘None taken,’ Sean played along.

Ismain nodded and pressed another sequence of numbers into his mobile. ‘Bring the truck round. Everything’s cool. Everything’s sound.’

As they waited for the truck, Ismain spent his time apologizing and appeasing, explaining why he’d been within his criminal rights to be suspicious of Sean and anyone who’d done business with Jimmy Logan in the past. Sean waved his apologies away as if they were unnecessary, aware that there is no honour amongst thieves, just greed and paranoia: and greed overcomes even the deepest of suspicions. Finally another truck pulled into the car-park, only this time Sean stepped forward and rolled the rear cover up, letting out a long satisfied whistle when he saw the stacks of boxes still wrapped in cellophane and bearing the name Sony. He felt Ismain at his side — all friends now. ‘Nice,’ Sean told him and pulled himself into the back of the truck, tearing the cellophane open and pulling a box free, opening the lid and peeling back the thin foam sheet that covered the laptop inside. ‘Beautiful,’ he added as he took the computer from the box and flipped it open, turning the power on, the screen blinking into life.

‘I can’t guarantee they’re charged,’ Ismain warned.

‘They’re fine,’ Sean told him, ‘more than fine. You get any more like this I wanna know — understand?’

‘You’ll be the first person I call,’ Ismain promised.

‘Okay,’ Sean continued. ‘I’ll call my man forward and he’ll take your man to the cash — alright?’

‘Make the call, man,’ Ismain told him. ‘Make the call.’

Sean pulled his mobile from his pocket and found the number for Benton in the directory. He made the call, Benton’s anxious voice answering almost too quickly. ‘Hello.’

‘It’s me,’ Sean told him. ‘The goods are sound. Send Danny to the warehouse. He can take one of Enrico’s men to see the cash. I’ll wait here.’ He hung up and began the wait, his heart pounding with excitement now rather than fear. Ismain had tried to double-cross him, but Sean had seen it coming and turned the tables. Soon Ismain and his cronies would be scattering around him like frightened rats as the arrest teams moved in on all sides.

‘What’s that?’ Ismain suddenly asked.

‘What’s what?’ Sean asked, jumping down from the back of the truck.

‘I heard something.’

‘You’re hearing things,’ Sean said casually.

‘No, man. I fucking heard something.’

‘You’re talking shit,’ Sean stalled.

‘Fuck. Old Bill,’ Ismain declared, his instincts serving him well, as if he could smell the approaching police no one else had seen or heard. ‘Get the truck out of here,’ he barked at his subordinates.

‘Wait a fucking minute,’ Sean tried to stop him. ‘We got a deal. These goods are mine.’

‘Not yet they ain’t,’ Ismain told him, the sound of approaching cars increasingly obvious to them all despite the lack of sirens or flashing lights.

‘Fuck this,’ Sean kept bluffing. ‘I’m outta here. This is your shit, Enrico — you sort it out.’ He pushed past Ismain and his bodyguards and headed for the Range Rover while Ismain banged on the side of the truck and shouted his orders.

‘Get this fucking thing out of here,’ but it was too late, the unmarked police cars swarmed into the car park and around the warehouse, cutting off the only road of escape. A mixture of plain-clothed and uniform cops spilled from the vehicles, chasing down the hooded figures running in all directions. Ismain stood still, resigned to his fate and already planning his defence, watching as one of the plain-clothed cops kicked Sean’s legs away and booted him in the stomach as he lay on the floor. Sean pretended to groan with pain and gave the big cop standing over him a wink of appreciation.

‘You fucking set me up, Ismain,’ Sean shouted. ‘You’re finished, you dirty bastard, you’re fucking finished.’

‘No,’ Ismain protested above the din of the screaming, shouting police. ‘It wasn’t me, man. It must have been Jimmy — he set us both up. I’m gonna kill him, man.’

‘Fuck your bullshit,’ Sean spat back as the burly cop led him to an awaiting police car and tossed him in the back before jumping in next to him. The driver sped off, leaving the scene of settling anarchy behind them; Ismain’s protesting voice trailing away till there was nothing.

‘Alright, Sean?’ the burly cop asked.

‘Yeah, cheers Nathan.’

‘Didn’t hurt you, did I?’

‘No, I’m all good.’

‘Interesting last-minute change of plans.’

‘I knew Ismain would try something.’

‘How come?’

‘Because it’s what I would have done,’ Sean told him. ‘It’s exactly what I would have done.’

Chapter Two

Next morning Sean sat in the back office of the small, crowded room that was the official epicenter of all undercover operations undertaken in London, the South-East and beyond. The offices of Specialist Operations Ten, more commonly referred to as SO10, were tucked away off a long corridor in New Scotland Yard — suitably covert for an organization that existed to be exactly that. Visitors were met with a small sign on the door stating ‘Admission Strictly for SO10 Personnel Only’. Beyond the door was a chest-high wooden counter where all visitors had to wait until they were checked by whichever member of the team happened to see them standing there. Sean hadn’t been kept waiting long before he was whisked through the main office — small as it was — and into the back room, where he now sat watching DS Arif Chopra reading through the report of the previous night’s fun and games. Finally Chopra looked up, dark, sunken eyes peering out from his square face, the grey stubble that spread down from his cheekbones matching his thick, short, salt and pepper hair — all connected to his short, stocky body by a squat, muscle-bound neck. His overall look of menace and distaste had been honed through fifteen years of permanent undercover work.

‘So,’ Chopra said, ‘you changed the plan at the last minute, without telling anyone.’

‘I had to,’ Sean argued. ‘I had no choice and I did tell someone — I told DC Benton.’ Chopra stared at him darkly, his face impossible to read — like the face of a snake.

‘Fair enough,’ Chopra eventually agreed. ‘Looks to me like you did the right thing. The goods turned up and the baddies got nicked and you’re alive and well, so that’s a result.’ Sean exhaled the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. ‘You can go back to Southwark now and get on with investigating all them frauds that must be waiting for you — if that’s what you want.’

‘Meaning?’ Sean asked.

‘Meaning,’ Chopra began, ‘there’s a job come up — something a little unusual, but important — not a deployment you can do part-time. You’ll have to stay away from the CID Office at Southwark for a few weeks at least, probably longer.’

‘And you can swing that with my DCI, can you? She won’t be happy losing one of her few DSs for weeks.’

‘She won’t have any choice,’ Chopra told him, an expression as close to a smile as he ever had slightly bending his lips, ‘but don’t worry, we won’t piss her off too much. I’ll get the Commander here to give her a call and promise her that her assistance won’t be forgotten. That’ll keep her happy — always does with the ambitious types.’

‘I appreciate that,’ Sean answered, ‘although I haven’t said I’ll take the job yet.’ Chopra tossed the file he was reading to one side and lifted another that had been propped up against the side of his chair, opening it up at the first page.

‘Heard of the internet?’ Chopra asked.

‘I’ve heard of it.’

‘It’s kind of like our own internal e-mail system, only it spans the whole world, or at least the computer-boffins tell me it will soon. But as usual the criminal element is on to it quicker than us, particularly the less savoury types — paedophiles and other types of sex offenders all keen to share their experiences with each other. We have a couple of guys here who understand this information technology — that’s what they call it — better than most. We’ve attached them to the Serious and Organized Crime Group, largely because we didn’t know what else to do with them. However, a few months ago they hooked into a paedophile ring sharing around some pretty heavy-duty kiddie-porn — real nasty homemade stuff. The group calls itself The Network and apparently prides itself on the ability to share this stuff around and still avoid detection. Except they’re not as clever as they think and the boffins not only found out about them, they infiltrated them as well. Just online, though — no live contact. They’ve been pushing for a chance to meet the members who are actually making and distributing the pornography — raping and sexually abusing children.’

Chopra’s words tore at Sean like grappling hooks, ripping his own past and childhood from the places he’d tried to bury them for so long. He could see the children being abused and filmed — the face of each of the abusers turning into the face of his father — and he could see himself, a small boy again, as the monsters one-by-one … Chopra’s voice snatched him back. ‘You alright?’ he asked. ‘You look like shit!’

‘I’m fine,’ Sean lied. ‘Just knackered, that’s all. Go on.’

‘Kid stuff isn’t easy to deal with. If you’d rather not I can always look for someone else.’

‘No,’ Sean argued too quickly and loudly. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Got any kids yourself?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I’ve got three,’ Chopra told him. ‘Two girls and a boy. Sean, I’ve dealt with just about everything I could have dealt with and I’m not ashamed to tell you very little of it ever got to me — maybe I just don’t care enough. But this shit — with kids — it’s the worst, you know. If I ever got one of these fuckers on their own … well, let’s just say it’s probably best I never do. My point is there’s no shame in not wanting to get involved in something like this. If we’re going to get you next to these guys, and if you’re going to convince them they can trust you, then you’re going to have to say and do some things you’re going to be very uncomfortable with, and it’s going to leave you feeling pretty dirty for quite some time. So if it’s not for you, be honest and tell me — here and now.’

Sean wanted to leap from his chair and run from the tiny backroom, blitz through the main office, hurdle the counter and escape into the streets of Victoria below — the fear of facing his past leaking panic into his every sinew. ‘No,’ he forced himself to lie. ‘But why me?’ he asked, suspicious Chopra knew more about his childhood than he possibly could and had picked him for this job for that very reason.

‘Because you can think on your feet.’ Chopra answered.

‘Can’t all UC’s? Seems to me a UC who can’t think on his feet wouldn’t be much use to anyone.’

‘Fair point,’ Chopra almost smiled. ‘Let’s just say you seem to have a little more … criminal cunning than most. Last night’s performance confirmed that. You’re going to need it if you’re going to successfully infiltrate The Network’s hierarchy.’

‘Okay,’ Sean relented. ‘So what’s my way in?’

‘The Crime Unit managed to form an online relationship with one of The Network’s members — just a joy-stick-jockey, but it got them in.’ Chopra pulled a photograph from the file and passed it to Sean. ‘That’s one Justin Cramer. The plan was to win his trust and eventually meet him in the flesh, tease him along, promise him anything he wanted in the hope that eventually he’d lead us to the next level up.’

‘The people actually making the films?’ Sean asked.

‘If not them, at least a layer closer to them. Slow, but usually effective.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Sean agreed.

‘Or at least it did,’ Chopra told him, ‘until Cramer went and died on us.’ He saw the concern in Sean’s eyes. ‘Nothing suspicious,’ he reassured him. ‘Heart attack. The point being, his untimely demise has moved things along apace.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Let’s just say the Crime Unit have borrowed his computer and had a little look-see inside. They’ve dug out all his contacts — even the ones he thought he’d hidden — and cross-referenced them with criminal and intelligence records. It was easy enough to see which of his online buddies were also members of The Network, but that wasn’t what they were looking for — this is what they were looking for.’ He pulled another surveillance photograph from the file and handed it to Sean. ‘John Conway,’ he told him. ‘Definitely had email contact with Cramer, but nothing that obviously linked him to The Network. There was something off about his email style — too formal and polite, nothing criminal or suggestive — as if they were maybe coded. Intelligence Records show that about four years ago Conway was stopped by uniform and found with a nine-year-old boy in his car. Conway said he’d found the boy wandering the streets and was on his way to drop him at the nearest police station. The boy turned out to be a runaway from the Midlands and was safely returned to his not too interested parents — no allegations made. Two years later Conway’s not so lucky and gets caught with his hand in the cookie-jar again and gets a two year conviction for indecently assaulting a minor.’

‘A boy?’ Sean asked.

‘Yes,’ Chopra confirmed. ‘Does it matter?’

‘No,’ Sean lied. ‘I suppose not.’

‘And that’s where Conway is now, banged-up in Wandsworth coming towards the end of his sentence, due for release in a little under three weeks.’

‘And you think he could be a central figure in The Network?’

‘We do. We don’t have much on him, but he feels right as someone who could be pulling the strings and finding the kids — probably takes part in the abuse and filming too. If we can get to him, we could get to the core of The Network.’

‘So, what’s your plan?’ Sean asked.

‘Try and get to him before he leaves prison. Once he’s back on the streets we lose control of the theatre. In prison we know where he is and when he’s there.’

‘And if I should bump into anyone I’ve put inside while I’m there?’

‘You won’t,’ Chopra assured him. ‘Conway’s on Rule Forty-Three, banged-up with the other sex-offenders away from the main prison population. It’s a fairly limited number of inmates — we’ll be able to ensure there’s no one there who knows you.’

‘What about surveillance? Pick him up when he leaves prison.’

‘Way too expensive, way too difficult and way too unreliable.’

‘Informants?’

‘We don’t have any.’

‘Fair enough. But even if I agree to do it, why’s he going to give me the time of day?’

‘Ah,’ Chopra told him, ‘because you’re not going to be you, you’re going to be Justin Cramer.’

‘The member of The Network?’

‘The very same.’

‘Who’s now dead?’

‘We couldn’t try it if he wasn’t.’

‘Then I’m assuming you’re assuming Cramer and Conway have never met?’ Sean asked.

‘From what we know we think it’s highly unlikely they would have met. Cramer was definitely not inside the core of the organization.’

‘But you can’t be absolutely sure?’ Chopra just shrugged. ‘And you’ve had this operation approved, despite the risk assessment?’

‘You’ll find the Director of Intelligence can be quite flexible around risk assessments when vulnerable children are involved. So are you in?’

Sean felt the demons that silently waited just below the surface of his conscious mind reaching up for him, and he pushed them back down. The thought of not seeing the beautiful young doctor he’d only recently met made his heart sink further — a picture of Kate’s face, her golden-coloured skin and long, black ringlets, tormenting him with what he was about to miss. ‘Yeah,’ he forced himself to say. ‘I’m in.’

Chapter Three

Two Days Later

The heavy key turned in the ancient Victorian lock and allowed the prison officer to open the iron-barred door that led into the prison wing where the prisoners on Rule Forty-Three were all kept together, isolated from the main prison population for their own safety. Convicted prisoners and those on remand awaiting court hearings and trials mixed together freely here — the convicted in prison uniform, the remanded still allowed to wear their own clothes. ‘This luxury wing of the hotel’s for you, Cramer,’ the prison officer told him, oblivious to Sean’s true identity. Only the Prison Governor and Head Prison Officer knew about the operation. Sean was posing as a prisoner on remand awaiting trial for sexual assault on a boy under the age of fourteen. The thought of staying in this place for weeks made him feel sick and froze him to the floor. ‘Come on, Cramer,’ the officer barked, ‘I haven’t got all day.’

‘Sorry,’ Sean replied meekly and stepped into the inner sanctum of the prison carrying his supply of bedding and towels. The door was slammed shut and locked behind him.

‘This way,’ the officer told him, striding along the metal-grid walkway that circled the entire wing, leading to the first-floor cells and two separate staircases, both zig-zagging down to the ground floor where more cells surrounded the communal and dining areas. ‘Hurry-up Cramer. I told you, I haven’t got all day.’

Sean increased his pace, following the officer to a cell that was little bigger than the ones he was used to locking prisoners in across various police stations around London.

‘Your new home,’ the officer told him with a grin, ‘and you get it all to yourself — lucky you. We’re not too busy in here at the moment so enjoy the privilege while it lasts. Now make up your bed and put your wash stuff away, and keep an eye on your body wash and deodorants — they’re valuable things in here.’ Sean said nothing, standing in the middle of the cell still holding his bedding and towels, a sense of claustrophobia creeping into his body and mind. ‘Right,’ the officer exclaimed loudly, ‘I’ll leave you to make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s at six, lock-up’s at eight, TV’s off by eleven or at least turned down so I can’t hear it.’ With that he spun on his heels and walked out, leaving Sean alone to study his cell. An uncomfortable-looking double-bunk was riveted to the lime-green wall on one side, and a fold-down desk on the other. A small white toilet and sink that looked like they belonged in a school not a prison filled the space in one corner. At least Wandsworth didn’t have the pleasure of morning slop-out anymore.

Sean threw the bundle he was holding onto the bottom bunk and kicked the side of the bed. He closed his eyes and cursed himself for accepting the deployment — for allowing his ego to rule his better, humbler senses — the word hubris ringing loud in his head. ‘Shit,’ he whispered to himself, wondering what the point of being a cop was if he was going to live the rest of his life as a criminal would — deceiving all around them, locked up in prison.

He moved to the sink and poured a little cold water into the basin, lowering his face into the coolness, holding his breath while he allowed his mind to calm, the sounds of the prison outside becoming magnified by the absence of other senses — taste, smell, sight. Only when his lungs felt like they were on fire did he pull his head up, scraping the water from his face with his fingers before snatching a small towel from the bunk and patting himself dry, wet strands of hair sticking to his brow. He carried the towel with him as he wandered from the cell out onto the walkway, scanning it for prison guards and prisoners alike, checking for faces he knew, despite Chopra’s assurances there wouldn’t be any. One or two other prisoners stood around looking over the barrier down onto the communal area below, but no one he recognized, so he moved forward and peered below, trying to become accustomed to the sights, sounds and smells of the cell block.

As he looked over the balcony he saw about fifteen prisoners below, most in prisoners’ uniforms, but some like him, in their own clothes — those there on remand. He scanned them all, trying to see them in his peripheral vision instead of searching hard for them like a cop would. Some were watching TV, others reading newspapers and one group of five men sat at the central table playing cards. They behaved slightly differently from the others — a little louder and more at ease with their surroundings. Sitting in the middle of the group, saying less than the others, but somehow dominating them, was the man Sean was here to befriend — John Conway. Over six-foot-tall, slim and athletic looking with short blonde hair cut like Steve McQueen, his angular face gave him a harsh, threatening appearance.

Sean forgot his training, forgot not to be seen searching the faces of the men around him. His head was flooded with the images Chopra had shown him of young boys and girls being systematically abused. The ugly nakedness of the men contrasted grotesquely with the beauty of the strange animal masks they wore — exquisitely handmade and painted, feathers streaming from the peacock mask, long thin horns rising from the gazelle, a real fur mane for the lion — all leaping and rejoicing as they did unspeakable things. But the thing that had disturbed Sean most had been the acceptance of the children. There was no crying, no pleading for the abuse to stop, just a cold, lifeless performance of the terrible tasks they’d been given, even when they were told to do things to each other. Their occasional smiles when the adults praised them made the scenes on the film all the more nightmarish — as if for the children this had become normal.

Sean’s belly was a tight knot as he fought the desire to fly down the stairs and drag Conway to the nearest cell, gripping him by the back of the hair and drowning him in the small toilet. Conway lifted his head to look up directly at Sean and smiled — a small almost flirtatious smile, but threatening at the same time. Sean gave a slight nod and retreated back into his cell. He sat on the bottom bunk and listened to the sound of his heart punching inside his chest, fury and doubt a heady, intoxicating cocktail. Did Conway know something? And even if he didn’t, would Sean be able to control his anger or would he pour his bloody revenge onto Conway — the revenge his father had cheated him out of by choosing death instead? He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, allowing the anger and hatred to sink back into the black water, a sense of who he was and what he was there to do returning. ‘Just get the job done, ‘he whispered to himself. ‘Just get the job done and get the fuck out of this hell-hole’. He inhaled deeply and lay down on the mattress, pushing Conway and his past from his mind and allowing thoughts of Kate in.

***

Three uneventful days later and the prison block was almost beginning to feel normal for Sean — the daily routine of up at six-thirty, a shower for those who wanted one, breakfast, TV and games, lunch, TV and games, dinner, TV and games, lock-down. He’d spoken briefly with some of the other inmates — all of whom swore they were innocent of crimes that ranged from minor sexual assaults to sexually motivated murder. He’d let it be known that he stood accused of sexually assaulting a child, although he’d been deliberately sparing with the details and had of course proclaimed his innocence. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the more influential inmates came calling, eager to vicariously re-live his crimes for their own gratification. All he had to do was bide his time and keep teasing the other inmates with his secrecy. If he approached Conway directly he would almost certainly be treated with mistrust, and infiltration would be all but impossible.

He’d walked from his cell to the shower area in his boxer-shorts, his towel over one shoulder and wash-bag in hand, trying to ignore the looks of admiration some of the inmates gave him. His slim, muscular body not the norm in the block reserved for those on Rule Forty-Three. Two other men were already in the shower as he removed his shorts and hung them and the towel on a peg provided. He was careful not to make eye contact with either of them for fear of provoking a reaction, and stepped into the hot water, washing himself as quickly as he could without appearing to rush, using his body-wash just as sparingly as the other inmates, closing his eyes to rinse his face — a dangerous time for any prisoner, Rule Forty-Three or otherwise. When he opened them again the other two men in the shower had left, taking their towels and wash-bags with them before they’d had a chance to dry themselves. He sensed a presence behind him — watching him.

He spun round instinctively, betraying his anxiety and fear, adrenalin suddenly pumping into his body. Through the slight steam of the shower room he could see a tall, slim figure moving towards him, fair, naked skin marking him out from the dark, clothed figures that hung back as the spectre came close enough to be recognized — John Conway, drifting closer and closer. Sean slowly turned his back to the nightmare vision to hide the terror in his eyes, caused not by any fear of Conway, but by the horror of what he might do when he felt the touch of Conway’s hand on his own body.

The breathing too close behind him made him turn and try to head for the exit, but Conway’s hand gently pressed against Sean’s chest with just enough force to prevent his escape. Before he could think, his hand coiled around Conway’s wrist, ready to bend his arm up behind his back then take hold of Conway’s scalp and thrust his face repeatedly into the metal taps. Somehow he managed to stop himself, allowing his fingers to relax around the other man’s wrist.

‘Leaving so soon?’ Conway asked in an accent-less, soft, but seductive voice — the voice he used to reassure and persuade his young victims.

‘I’m all finished here,’ Sean told him, swallowing the bitterness in his mouth.

‘Are you sure?’ Conway persisted.

‘I’m sure.’

‘Shame,’ Conway snapped back, ‘because I’ve been watching you ever since you arrived and I could have sworn you’ve been watching me.’

What did he know?

‘No,’ Sean lied. ‘It’s just that I know you. I know who you are.’

‘And I know who you are,’ Conway countered. ‘I make it my business to know everybody in this happy little holiday home of ours.’

‘Then who am I?’ Sean asked, heart racing, the sound of blood torrents deafening in his own head.

‘Don’t you know who you are?’ Conway asked with a smile. ‘You’re Justin Cramer, aren’t you?’

‘I am,’ Sean answered, staring hard into Conway’s eyes, looking for some sign Conway might know who he really was. But his eyes were like a shark’s — lifeless. They betrayed nothing. ‘And you’re John Conway.’

‘So you know my name,’ Conway said with a shrug. ‘Everybody in here knows who I am.’

‘But I know you from the outside,’ Sean continued, Conway’s hand still on his chest as his minders looked on through the steam, unable to hear their conversation above the sound of the shower. ‘I know you from The Network.’ He peeled Conway’s hand from his chest and waited for a reaction.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Conway answered with a smile. ‘I’ve never heard of any Network.’

‘My Network key is The Unicorn — check it out, and when you come to my cell later, I’ll have something for you — to see you through for a while.’

‘And what would that be?’ Conway asked, his lips swelling with excitement, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, but also anticipation.

‘You’ll see,’ Sean promised as he pushed past him, Conway’s fingers curling around his bicep to stop him.

‘Are you sure you have to go? No one will disturb us.’

‘Let’s just say you’re a little older than my usual.’

‘Sometimes needs must.’

‘I haven’t been in here long enough for that,’ Sean explained, ‘and I don’t intend to be.’

‘Lucky you,’ Conway told him, releasing his arm. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘You know where to find me,’ Sean reminded him, fighting the rising nausea sweeping through his body, ‘and I promise you — you won’t be disappointed.’

Sean sat alone in his cell reading a copy of the Sun that had already been censored by the prison psychiatrist. All images that could be deemed to be stimulating to Rule Forty-Three Prisoners had been removed — pictures of children enjoying the sun wearing nothing but bikinis and swim-shorts, some even less. He looked at the pages, but read and saw nothing as he waited for Conway to take the bait. Having Conway make a play for him sexually hadn’t been part of the plan, but it could turn out to be useful — so long as Sean could handle it. Shortly after lunch a long shadow was cast into the cell. Sean turned his head towards Conway and faked a smile, trying to appear meek enough not to scare Conway off. Conway didn’t tolerate superiors or even equals.

‘Mind if I come in?’ Conway asked politely.

‘Be my guest.’ He entered slowly and sat on the bunk next to Sean, his eyes moving up and down Sean’s torso as he rested a hand on his shoulder. Sean shivered involuntarily and could only hope Conway hadn’t felt his tremor, or had misinterpreted it.

‘So,’ Conway asked, ‘what is it that you have for me?’

‘Well it’s not that,’ Sean answered. ‘Like I said, you’re a little too old for my tastes.’

‘A pity,’ Conway told him sliding his hand from Sean’s shoulder, ‘but if not that, then what?’ Sean began to look around himself, making it obvious to Conway he needed to be careful before he revealed whatever it was he valued so much. ‘No need to worry — my friends are watching out for us.’ Sean could sense the other men waiting outside the cell, watching for any approaching prison officers. ‘We’re quite safe.’ Without speaking Sean stood and crossed the cell, peeling back a poster of a computer game to reveal a white envelope blu-tacked to the wall underneath it. He snatched the envelope away and replaced the corner of the poster, walking back across the cell and sitting close to Conway, trying to act as he believed Justin Cramer would act, passing the envelope to Conway with a nervous grin. ‘And what’s this?’ Conway asked.

‘Take a look inside,’ Sean told him, blinking his eyes rapidly to feign excitement, tapping his foot repeatedly for the same effect. ‘You won’t be disappointed.’

Conway opened the unsealed envelope and peeked inside. ‘Well, well. What do we have here?’ He pulled out the small stack of photographs and flicked through them like they were a deck of cards, showing no trace of emotion as he caught glimpses of the naked children — in the bath, on the beach, the swimming pool, getting ready for bed. ‘How did you get these?’

‘I have a friend who works for an online photo album company. People send their digital photographs to them and they…’

‘Make them into photo albums,’ Conway interrupted. ‘I know the sort of thing you mean. Keepsakes for happy families. Do you have a happy family waiting for you, Justin? When you get out of this stinking dungeon?’

‘No,’ Sean answered, ‘but you already knew that, didn’t you? You know everything.’

‘All I know about the Unicorn is that he is part of The Network and that his real name is Justin Cramer.’

‘Me,’ Sean lied.

‘Maybe,’ Conway told him, sending more electrical shivers down his spine, ‘but as I have never met The Unicorn in person, then I can’t be sure who he really is, can I?’

‘I don’t understand,’ Sean told him trying to look confused.

‘Don’t you?’ Conway asked quickly, searching deep into Sean’s eyes, his own pupils vibrating as they looked for signs of betrayal.

‘You’re confusing me,’ Sean lied again.

‘Am I?’ Conway asked, resting a hand on Sean’s thigh, ‘then I’m sorry, but all will become clear in time.’ What did he know? What did he know? ‘But for now you’ll need to find a better place to keep these.’ He slid the photographs back into the envelope and tapped them with his finger. ‘If your cell gets searched it won’t take long to find them, which I don’t suppose would help your court case, would it?’

‘I want you to have them,’ Sean told him.

‘These are a valuable commodity in here, Justin. What do you want in return?’

‘Nothing,’ Sean answered, forcing himself to be patient, suppressing his cop instincts to drive for the truth and evidence to convict. Conway had to come to him. ‘Not yet.’

Conway stood and eyed him with suspicion. ‘You don’t smoke do you?’

‘No,’ Sean answered. Conway pulled an unopened packet of rolling tobacco from his pocket and tossed into Sean’s lap.

‘That’s worth a lot of credit in here,’ he explained. ‘If you don’t smoke, all the better. You can swap it for phone-cards, toiletries, pretty much anything.’

‘Thank you.’

Conway waved the envelope at him. ‘No, Justin — thank you.’ He gave one last smile and floated from the cell, his minders falling in line behind him.

Sean slumped back on the bunk. The brief meeting had left him feeling physically and mentally exhausted. ‘Jesus Christ. What the fuck am I doing here?’

Chapter Four

Two Weeks Later

Sean walked beside Conway while two minders guarded his front and two more his back. The sad column of Rule Forty-Three prisoners shuffled towards the door that led to a holding-pen from which they could make their way into the small exercise yard beyond. Three prison guards accompanied them, their brief to ensure none of the main prison population could get to the men who needed special protection — the rapists and sex offenders, the informants and disgraced ex-cops, although Sean was thankful there were none of those amongst them today. Over the last two weeks Conway had grown increasingly friendly towards him, but more in the way someone might become gradually more affectionate to the stray dog he’d planned on taking in only temporarily than man-to-man, human-to-human, and each time Sean tried to bring up the subject of The Network, no matter how subtly, Conway moved the conversation on. He constantly reminded himself of the need to remain patient and not panic and move too fast. Conway could be and probably was testing him out — seeing how long he remained in prison, no doubt sure that if he was a cop he would have only stayed for a few days — a quick-fire undercover operation looking for fast, cheap information, not as it was now, almost three weeks. Conway was beginning to relax — a little — allowing Sean to inch closer and closer to the core of The Network, but the time living as a prisoner amongst paedophiles and sex offenders was beginning to take its toll, his isolation from the real world dragging him further and further into a melancholy depression. At least most of the other prisoners around him seemed equally solemn — except Conway.

He’d only managed to speak to Kate twice on the phone — their conversations stunted and impromptu-coded. She knew he’d be going undercover for a while, during which time they wouldn’t be able to see each other, but they’d only met a few months previously and she didn’t know enough about him to trust him completely yet. For all she knew he could be tucked up in some semi-detached in Sidcup with his wife and kids. If she put up with this, he decided, she’d put up with anything. Conway’s voice pulled him back inside the prison.

‘Stay close to me and the others,’ Conway warned him. ‘The exercise yard can be a dangerous place. The screws should have cleared it of the other prisoners, the ones who think themselves better than us, but you can never trust the screws fully.’ He made no effort to avoid being heard by the nearby prison guards. ‘You never know who may have bribed them to leave a door unlocked here or a window open there.’

‘Alright, Conway,’ the nearest guard said. ‘That’s enough of that nonsense.’

Conway ignored him. ‘You see, we’re big prizes. If one of them can in some way injure one of us, or worse, then they’ll become quite a star in their pathetic little world. So keep your eyes open and stay close.’

‘I will,’ Sean promised. ‘Thanks.’

The column concertinaed together as they reached the holding pen and waited for the lead guard to select a single key from the huge bunch attached to his waistband and open the door, bumping and squeezing together as they passed through the narrow entrance. Sean tried to shrug the tension from his shoulders, readying himself for the attack on Conway he knew was coming, but couldn’t warn him about as they stood huddled together like a nervous flock of sheep, those on the outskirts of the human herd more exposed and therefore more frightened. If the pre-arranged scenario went well, Sean’s cover would be truly cemented.

The same guard took another key from the huge bunch and opened the door to the exercise yard, his head peeping inside before swinging back into the holding area. ‘Clear,’ he shouted to his colleagues before addressing the prisoners the main population of inmates called ‘the Lepers’. ‘Alright you lot, it’s all yours. In you go. You only get an hour a week so make it count.’ They started to move through the door into the yard, the stronger, dominant prisoners pushing the lowest ranking through first, so that they would trigger any planned attack and bear the consequences. But as no such assault came the men began to relax, flowing more freely through the oblong entrance.

‘Looks like we’re all safe today,’ Conway told Sean, but he wasn’t listening. He followed Conway’s two lead minders through the narrow doorway, tensing the muscles in his legs, ready to act quickly and decisively when the ambush came. They walked out into the sunlight, and noise and bedlam immediately broke out behind them. A man at least thirty pounds heavier than Sean burst from behind the open door, a home-fashioned prison blade glinting in his hand as he pushed past the two rearguard minders and lunged for Conway.

‘Die you fucking nonce,’ the big man screamed, thrusting the blade towards Conway’s chest, searching for his heart or at least a lung. But the blade never reached its target. Sean deflected the assailant’s arm upwards and away with his own forearm before sweeping his legs from under him with a low kick — grabbing the hand holding the knife before the man had even hit the floor, twisting and grinding his wrist until the knife fell to the floor and Sean kicked it away. Within seconds the guards took over the struggle, separating Sean from the assailant, just as the Head Prison Officer arrived at the scene barking questions and orders.

‘What the fuck’s going on here?’ he yelled.

‘One of the main population’s had a go, guv’nor,’ the guard who’d missed the attacker hiding behind the door explained.

‘What the fuck was he doing in the exercise yard?’

‘He must have been hiding behind the door,’ the guard answered.

‘Didn’t you check to see if it was clear?’

‘I must have missed him. Sorry.’

‘Sorry? Fuck me, he could have killed the cunt. Get him to bloody solitary. I’ll deal with him later,’ the Chief bawled, ‘and I’ll deal with you later too,’ he warned the unlucky guard. ‘Now get these men back to their wing — everybody on lock-down until I find out what the fuck’s going on.’

‘Alright, you heard the man,’ the hapless guard said, venting his frustration on the prisoners he hated almost as much as the main population did. If he had it his way they would all be hanged. He sang a little prison song in his head. Sex case. Sex case — hang him, hang him, hang him. ‘Move it — the lot of you — back to the wing.’

Conway stuck close to Sean as they filtered back inside. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered so no one else could hear.

‘I just reacted. That’s all.’

‘That wasn’t just a reaction,’ Conway insisted, making Sean’s already pounding heart skip a beat, ‘that was training. So the question is,’ What does he know? What does he know? ‘where did you learn to fight like that?’

‘In the army,’ he explained, glad of some truth in Cramer’s background that would check out if Conway looked into it. ‘I did four years in the Green Jackets before they objected to some of my personal tastes. I was part of the judo team.’

‘Lucky for me,’ Conway said, ‘and maybe lucky for you too.’

Later that day Sean sat in the communal area pretending to read a newspaper, the printed words little more than black dots in front of his eyes as he dreamed about the day he’d walk through the front gate of the prison and stroll down Trinity Road to Wandsworth Old Town and the train station. Maybe he’d even walk a little further and take a look at the Thames from Wandsworth Bridge — grab a pint and lunch before heading to the flat in Archway, North London that Cramer had been renting before his demise — rent that was now being discreetly paid by the Receiver for the Metropolitan Police. The flat would be Sean’s home for as long it took to gather enough evidence to convict Conway and the inner core of The Network, or until the operation failed and was cancelled. He dreamed of the long shower he’d take without being watched — always alert and ready to react. He’d stay away from any police stations and buildings until the operation was complete.

Sean felt Conway’s presence before he saw him, the unusual sight of the man alone making him both concerned and excited. Conway sat opposite him with a smile, but didn’t speak for minutes, staring at Sean as if he was making his final judgement on whether he could trust him, searching his face and studying any tiny body movements for any clues. Eventually he spoke.

‘I just wanted to thank you properly — for what you did in the exercise yard,’ Conway told him.

‘I was happy to help,’ Sean lied. ‘After all — we need to look out for each other — men like us.’

Conway licked his lips with the point of his tongue, lubricating his mouth before speaking potentially dangerous words. ‘Yes we do. But is that what you are — a man like me?’

‘I’m part of The Network,’ Sean told him, ‘like you.’

Conway snorted and sniffed a laugh, as if he was offended by Sean’s accusation. He leaned across the table before speaking in little more than a whisper. ‘The Network’s nothing — little more than an umbrella of protection — something simple to distract the police from what’s really important.’

‘And what’s that?’ Sean asked eagerly.

Conway leaned back slightly, smiling more broadly, but still speaking quietly even though no one was anywhere near them. ‘Tell me, have you ever heard of The Sanctum?’

‘Only rumours of its existence,’ he lied, remembering the numerous mentions made to The Sanctum in the intelligence file DS Chopra had made him study.

‘And what do the rumours say?’

‘That the material provided to The Network comes from a small group called The Sanctum. That they make the films themselves — always the same men making the films and … performing in them. They say no one is ever allowed to join unless they have been hand-picked and vetted by The Sanctum’s inner circle and no one knows who they are.’

‘They sound very secretive,’ Conway grinned.

‘I suppose they would have to be.’

‘Indeed,’ Conway agreed. ‘But why circulate the material to others on the internet? Why not just keep it to themselves and minimize their exposure?’

Sean hadn’t expected the question, but somehow he knew the answer. ‘Because it makes them feel special,’ he answered. ‘It makes them feel powerful, especially amongst their own kind. That’s important to them.’

‘Yes,’ Conway beamed, ‘I suppose it would be — wouldn’t it?’

‘And besides,’ Sean continued, ‘not many people are using the internet yet. I doubt the police are even looking at it.’

‘Maybe they’re not keeping an eye on it yet, but they will — in time.’

‘Then The Network will have to find another way of existing — stay one step ahead — and so will The Sanctum.’

‘The Sanctum has nothing to fear from the internet. It exists in the real world, not the electronic. It’s three dimensional. It appeals to all the senses, not just the eyes.’

‘Then you know about it?’

‘As you said — rumours,’ Conway said with his customary grin. ‘I get out of here in a few days’ time — back to the world and the life I had before being unjustly locked in this toilet of humanity. If you avoid conviction and escape this dungeon then you should look me up. I could use a man like you.’

‘I’ll do that. Give me your number and address and I’ll call on you.’

‘No. It wouldn’t be shrewd for you to either visit or call me — you never know who’s listening or watching.’

‘Then how do I contact you?’

Conway took the newspaper Sean had been reading and opened it at random, pulling a felt-tipped pen from his shirt pocket and scribbling something quickly inside before closing it and handing it back to Sean. ‘There’s a very interesting article at the top of page twenty-four. You should read it, memorize it and then destroy it. If you get out you should check the same newspaper daily. When and if it provides you with any instructions you should follow them exactly. Any questions?’

‘Yeah,’ Sean told him. ‘What if I don’t get out any time soon? What if I get convicted?’

‘Then we never met,’ Conway told him, the grin gone from his face, ‘and you must never mention my name again or try to find me. If I need to I’ll find you. Understand?’

‘I understand,’ Sean assured him.

‘Good,’ Conway answered, the grin returning. ‘Then I’ll see you on the other side, where life can begin again.’

‘To the other side,’ Sean joined in, raising a cold mug of tea.

‘Just be ready,’ Conway told him. ‘Be ready for anything.’

Chapter Five

Three Weeks Later

He’d been checking the email address Conway had scribbled in the newspaper every day since he’d got out of Wandsworth — the case against him apparently dropped, or at least that’s what the court’s paperwork had said. SO10 and the CPS had worked together to make the whole charade look convincing, just in case Conway or The Network had someone watching the court. Ever since then he’d been sitting in Cramer’s flea-pit of a flat bored out of his brains, waiting for contact from Conway, but everyday there was nothing — until last night, the inbox blinking that it had received mail. With genuine fear he’d opened and read it — clear instruction of where to be and what time to be there.

Now Sean was driving closer and closer to the address detailed in the email he’d received the previous night — an abandoned and derelict warehouse on the outskirts of North London — the sort of building people only ever saw as they flashed along the motorway fly-over that passed above. The nearer he got the more he wanted to turn the car around and head for home — tell SO10 he had good reason to suspect he’d been compromised and abandon the operation — but as much as his gut told him to cut-and-run, his heart and head told him to keep driving towards the vipers’ pit. SO10 and The Serious and Organized Crime Group knew this would be nothing more than an initial meeting — a chance for Conway and The Network to have a look at Sean on the outside, see if he still looked the part and maybe give him a little test. Hence he would have no back-up or covering surveillance. Using undercover officers and informants was relatively cheap compared to surveillance and the use of technology — both of which were in short supply. Those playing the game accepted they were a commodity that would be used to short-cut a potentially money-draining operation.

Sean gripped the wheel tightly and ploughed forward, shaking his head at his situation and reminding himself to mentally record everything he heard and saw. He was sure Conway would have him searched thoroughly so he hadn’t worn a recording device — they were bulky and difficult to conceal at the best of times. He’d have to do it the old fashioned way, writing a synopsis of events as soon as he could get away and find somewhere safe to record the meeting. The old warehouse loomed ahead of him, black and grey, corrugated iron and breeze-blocks — threatening and foreboding, no doubt just as Conway had planned it. What did he know? What did he know?

Suddenly Sean could think of nothing other than an ambush — he’d been lured here with promises of being given another glimpse of The Sanctum, but in reality the only thing that awaited him was a severe beating and a warning not to pry into their business, or worse. He felt his fear rise to almost panic levels before he managed to calm himself down, assuring himself he was ahead of the game — that Conway knew nothing other than that he was there to recruit another member to The Sanctum, one who had saved his life while they were in prison together. He slowed the car and let it almost roll along the old road leading to the warehouse.

As the car park came into view he could see two cars out front — a battered old Ford Scorpio and a pristine, if somewhat old, Jaguar that someone clearly loved — and he was pretty sure who. A good car to lure young boys into. So Conway liked nice cars — somewhere down the line SO10 and the Crime Unit may be able to use that tidbit. As he got closer he recognized the man standing in the middle of the group of five — Conway, serious-faced and business-like. Even if he knew the other men he wouldn’t be able to recognize them as they all wore balaclavas and even gloves. They stood to attention as Sean approached and pulled his car across the front of them, instinctively blocking their escape even though if anyone needed to escape it would be him. He put on a false smile despite his twisting stomach and nerves that threatened to shake his voice and betray him. They’ll expect you to be nervous, he told himself, don’t worry about it. He stepped from the car and headed towards Conway, his hand outstretched as his eyes moved from Conway to the men in balaclavas. ‘John,’ he said, his voice detectably shaky. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

Conway fired up a hand. ‘Stop right there,’ he demanded. ‘Don’t do anything, don’t say anything.’ Sean froze on the spot, reassuring himself it was all just standard procedure — they’d search him, be happy and move on. ‘Search him,’ Conway told two of his goons who stepped forward and began to run their hands all over his body — not just a TV pat-down, but a proper body search, digging their fingers into the crevices under his arms and between his legs and buttocks, untucking his shirt and belt, checking his waistband and the lining of his clothes while Conway looked on, drawing deeply on a cigarette, his eyes never leaving Sean’s body.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ Sean told him.

‘Never when I’m behind bars,’ Conway answered. ‘Inside it’s a weakness — a tool you can be controlled by, bribed and threatened with. I won’t be controlled by anyone or anything.’

Finally the two searchers stepped away. ‘He’s fine,’ one told Conway.

‘Of course he is,’ Conway said, the familiar grin spreading across his face as he stepped forward and wrapped a hand around the back of Sean’s neck while placing the other on his shoulder. ‘Sorry about that,’ he apologized, ‘but this can be a dangerous world for men like us.’

‘I understand,’ Sean answered.

‘It’s good to see you,’ Conway continued, gently shaking Sean as he spoke, as if greeting a long-lost and much-loved brother.

‘It’s good to see you too,’ Sean lied. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never contact me.’

‘Patience. Men like us must have patience, Justin, and you are a man like us, aren’t you?’

‘I think so,’ Sean stuttered making Conway and the others laugh.

‘Well then, let’s find out.’ Conway turned and headed for the warehouse entrance, two of the minders following close behind while the others waited for Sean to move. When he did they filed in behind him and trailed after the others. ‘Keep up,’ Conway cheerfully called over his shoulder and burst through the front door into the building — the darkness spilling from inside. Sean felt an almost unbearable tension spread across his body as they walked along the dark corridors, the occasional ray of light breaking through windows that had been painted black, the sound of running water from broken pipes seemingly everywhere, and the floor beneath his feet riddled with deep puddles.

‘Where we going?’ he asked the men, but no one answered. ‘Is it much further?’ He tried to break the silence again. One of the minders behind him responded by shoving him in the back, just hard enough to make him stumble forward a little.

‘Shut up and keep walking,’ the minder said.

‘Be careful,’ Conway told him over his shoulder, his head only slightly turned. ‘He’s important to me.’ His words did nothing to calm Sean’s unease. What did he know? What did he know?

Suddenly the front two minders stopped and stood either side of a doorway that Conway walked straight through, a dull artificial light leaking from the room.

‘In there,’ the aggressive minder told him. Sean joined Conway inside what had once been a small office, the source of the light a portable electric lamp perched atop an ancient desk that had been pushed up against the far wall. The desk also held a television and DVD player. All of the appliances were plugged into a small mobile generator. One old swivel chair sat in the middle of the room facing the television. Sean could imagine people being tortured in this room, but could see no instruments of pain or other weapons — bizarrely, just a box of tissues next to the television. When he scanned the floor for signs of blood all he could see were more tissues — used, screwed up and discarded. Oh shit he said in his mind, unsure whether or not he’d actually spoken. The unwavering smile on Conway’s face reassured him he hadn’t.

‘Excited?’ Conway asked.

‘More wondering why we’re here?’

‘Don’t you know?’

‘No,’ Sean half lied.

‘This,’ Conway told him, sweeping his hand around the room, ‘is where we do our editing. The work can be very stimulating. Sometimes over-stimulating. Do you want to see some of it?’

Sean swallowed deeply, staring at the blank television screen that reflected his own image. Two of the minders entered the room and stood in the corners behind him, their excitement tenable. ‘Your work?’ Sean asked, stalling the inevitable and risking his cover at the same time. He felt a sheen of sweat forming above his top lip.

‘Yes, Justin — our work. Do you want to see it?’

He had no choice. ‘Yes. I want to see it,’ he answered, his mind whirling with possibilities of what would happen next — what would appear on the screen and how he would he react. What could he say to convince them — to excuse his lack of a physical response? He tried to think of Kate — think of them being together as they had been so quickly after first meeting each other, neither able to resist the pull of the other. He tried to recall the curve of her breasts, the taste of her lips and scent of her golden skin, but his own damned reflection in the television screen chased her away. He felt his testicles coiling and withering at the thought of what he was about to see.

‘Of course you do,’ Conway told him, his eyes never leaving Sean’s as his outstretched hand found the TV on-switch first time, the screen blinking bright blue, the words written across it complaining of no signal being received. For a second Sean dared to believe that the equipment had malfunctioned and he had been spared, but Conway’s hand drifted to the DVD player and pressed the on-switch with a degree of theatre, turning the screen dark grey. ‘Ready?’ he asked. Sean nodded slowly. ‘Good, then I shall begin.’ He pressed play and leaned back, arms folded as he watched Sean watching the film.

It was almost exactly the same as the film DS Chopra had given him to watch, but he could tell it was in a different location — a large room in a house somewhere, with old chairs and sofas scattered around where the men in animal masks and naked children twisted together. And the children were different too — about the same age as the others and the same mix of boys-to-girls — but definitely different. And just as in the other film, the thing that disturbed him most was the lack of fear and stress amongst the children — performing terrible acts and having terrible acts performed on them, yet behaving as if it was perfectly normal. They were brainwashed and bribed into believing they were having no wrong done to them — praised and rewarded like they’d never been praised and rewarded before — innocent childhoods stolen from them by manipulating monsters. One of the boys smiled broadly in between performing an act for one of the men — the man’s voice on the television telling him he what a good boy he was. The smiling face almost made Sean vomit. He could feel his skin becoming clammy, making him thankful for the gloom of the room and the pale light cast from the screen, but all the same Conway’s sixth sense told him all was not as he’d expected.

Sean looked away from the screen, but as Conway moved slowly towards him, his anxiety grew and he found himself sinking deeply into the small chair. Conway cupped Sean’s chin in the palm of his hand before running his fingers through his hair as he moved behind him, one arm wrapping gently around his neck while the hand of the other arm snaked down the front of Sean’s torso, detecting the thumping of Sean’s heart as it passed over, unable to tell yet whether it was fear or excitement.

Sean felt frozen and impotent as the hand moved towards his groin, too many nightmarish images of his childhood and father robbing him of the ability to react. He felt the hand cradle his genitalia, the limpness making Conway recoil as if he’d had an electric shock. The minders sprang to attention, pinning Sean to the chair — an arm tight around his neck and knee pressed into his chest. He had difficulty just drawing breath.

‘No more games,’ Conway spoke loudly without shouting. ‘Who are you?’

‘You know who I am,’ Sean managed to answer, his words gasped and ragged as the arm stayed tight around his neck. ‘I’m Justin Cramer — I’m Unicorn.’

‘Then what’s wrong with the film?’ Conway demanded.

‘Nothing,’ Sean told him, his mind racing for a way out of the situation. ‘Nothing’s wrong with it.’

‘Then why don’t you like it?’

‘I do,’ Sean lied, an idea firing in his mind, the only thing he could think of that had any chance of explaining away his impotence, ‘but it’s not enough for me — just watching’s not enough anymore — not after…’

‘Not after what?’ Conway pushed.

‘After the real thing.’

‘You’ve never had the real thing.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Sean lied, ‘I’ve had the ultimate.’

‘This is bollocks,’ the man whose arm was around his neck said. ‘We need to get rid of him — he knows too much and that makes him dangerous.’

‘Shut up,’ Conway slapped him down.

‘But what if he’s an informant?’ the man argued.

‘He’s no informant,’ Conway told him. ‘I can smell an informant from miles away.’

‘What if he’s a cop?’ the other minder asked, silencing the room, the three men looking from one to another. Conway moved closer to Sean and pulled the man off his chest, letting him breathe a little easier. He placed each of his thumbs over Sean’s eyes and gently pressed in, the two minders holding his arms down as the increasing pressure made him feel as is if his eyeballs would implode.

‘What do you mean you’ve had the ultimate?’ Conway asked.

‘Runaways,’ Sean almost pleaded. ‘I know where to get runaways.’

‘How do you know we don’t use runaways?’

‘Because you don’t hurt them, which means you’re sending them home after, telling them not to tell anyone — to keep it secret and keep their rewards coming.’

‘Go on,’ Conway encouraged.

‘I know where you can get runaways — not first timers, but repeat runaways that have been in care. When they go missing and can’t be found, after a while people stop looking. I can get them for you, but only one at a time.’

‘How?’

‘I have a friend,’ Sean continued to lie, making up the layers of his impromptu story as quickly as he could. ‘He works with children in care. Every now and then he gets the chance to take one away. Everyone just assumes they’ve run off and are living on the streets somewhere. No one really cares.’

‘But what if they turn up somewhere telling tales?’ Conway asked.

‘They can’t,’ Sean told him. ‘They can’t turn up anywhere.’

‘Why?’ Conway demanded, wanting to hear the words from Sean’s own lips.

‘Like I said — I’ve had the ultimate.’

Conway took his thumbs from his eyes. ‘When can you get one for us?’

‘I need to talk to my friend,’ Sean answered, ‘but soon.’

‘This is bollocks,’ one of the balaclavas said. ‘We can’t trust him.’ Conway ignored him.

‘I know it’s what you want,’ Sean reeled him in. ‘To be able to do whatever you want to them, without fear of being caught. All your wildest fantasies coming true without the need to placate them and nurture them. To break them and twist them as you want and then when you’re finished to dispose of them any way you like. Imagine the power, John. Imagine what it feels like.’

‘Fuck this,’ the balaclava insisted. ‘He’s playing you.’

‘Shut up,’ Conway told him, licking his lips, eyes wide with excitement and temptation. The men stood in silence as Conway considered his next move — Sean’s life possibly hanging on his decision. After an age Conway slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and produced a back mobile phone. ‘Let him go,’ Conway ordered.

‘He knows too much,’ the same man argued. ‘We don’t need him. He’s seen too much.’

‘Pack up all the equipment,’ Conway told them, ‘we’ll take it with us and set up somewhere else. Don’t leave any evidence we were ever here. Clean up these tissues and wipe any surface where a print could be.’ The men reluctantly released Sean. Conway tossed the phone into his chest, making Sean fumble for it. ‘This is for you,’ he told him. ‘It’s totally clean and untraceable — never been used. Keep it with you always and wait for me to call. Only I have the number for it and only I will ever call. Understand?’ Sean nodded. ‘Now wait here until we leave, then wait another ten minutes before you leave.’ He turned to the men in balaclavas who had quickly unplugged the equipment and stood awaiting his instructions. ‘Done?’ he asked — a series of nods telling him they were. ‘Let’s go,’ he told them, their cue to start filing out of the room. Conway rested his hand on Sean’s shoulder before leaving. ‘I like you, Justin. Be very glad I do.’

Sean listened to the footsteps heading away along the corridors, splashing in the puddles as they grew fainter and fainter, his own breathing relaxing gradually until he could hear the steps no more — just the distant sound of cars being started and driven away. He exhaled through pursed lips and began to examine the phone. The battery was fully charged, but the memory was completely virgin — no listed contacts, history of numbers called or calls received — nothing. ‘Careful bastard,’ Sean told the empty room. He glanced around, looking for anything that could amount to evidence, but decided there was nothing worthwhile left so stuffed the phone in his pocket and headed for the exit and his car. More days of boredom and solitude beckoned. Days of waiting in his dingy little flat for the phone to ring with no chance of sneaking out to meet Kate. Not until it was over — not until Conway and his fellow animals were back behind bars where they belonged.

Three days later and Sean still hadn’t received any calls or texts from Conway or The Network, and both SO10 and the Serious and Organized Crime Unit were getting anxious. He’d been summoned to a meeting in the Angel Pub in Highgate — a bus ride away from his temporary home. It had taken him over two hours to travel to the meet, criss-crossing North London by Tube, bus and foot as he made absolutely sure he wasn’t being followed. No one knew anti-surveillance like a cop.

He entered the pub shortly after 8pm and immediately clocked DS Chopra sitting in the far corner with DI Mike Sheenan from the Serious and Organized Crime Unit. He ordered a pint at the bar and sipped the beer as he took his time scanning the room just in case he recognized any of the customers — crook or cop. If he saw either he’d abandon both his drink and the meeting, head out the door and be away on the first bus or cab he could get. He didn’t identify anyone and made his way over to Chopra and Sheenan, both of who blended in with the other customers perfectly — smart-casual professionals on their way home after working late in some West End Office. He sat at the small table without any pleasantries.

‘How’s it going, Sean?’ Sheenan asked. ‘Long time no see.’

‘Fucking wonderful.’

‘You holding up alright?’ Chopra asked, his black sunken eyes emotionless.

‘I’m fine,’ Sean told him. ‘Is that why you dragged me here — to have a look at me? Make sure I wasn’t losing it and going over to the dark-side?’

‘No,’ Chopra lied. ‘We’re here to see how we can move things on. You’ve had no contact for three days, and with no way of contacting Conway, people are getting nervous about just leaving you hanging out there — including me if I’m being honest.’

‘You can’t pull the plug,’ Sean insisted, ‘not yet. He’ll call, I know he will, but we have to stay patient.’

‘Then give us something we can use,’ Sheenan said. ‘Something that will give us an advantage when they do contact you. Something in his lifestyle maybe?’

‘His lifestyle — Christ. He likes having sex with young children — does that help?’ Sean asked sarcastically, the cracks in his armour immediately picked up on by Chopra. Years of seeing undercover officers struggling under the strain of being away from friends and family, sometimes for months at a time, surrounded by and befriending people they will ultimately betray told him when the officer deployed had reached their limit — even if they didn’t know it themselves. He could ill afford another high-profile case of an undercover officer going rouge and switching to the other side.

‘I think maybe you’ve had enough,’ Chopra told him.

‘No,’ Sean snapped, looking around the pub in case he’d turned any heads. ‘We give up now we may never get another chance to get close to The Sanctum.’

‘The Sanctum?’ Sheenan asked. ‘What the fuck is The Sanctum? I’ve not heard that name before.’

‘It was mentioned in the pre-operational reports,’ Chopra told him, ‘but just rumours — nothing solid.’

‘The name they use for the inner circle,’ Sean explained. ‘The ones we’re really after — the ones doing the abusing and distributing. Conway’s the kingpin.’

‘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.’

Chapter Six

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.’

‘You can,’ Sean managed to say through rising bile. ‘I swear you can.’

‘I believe you,’ Conway smiled looking from Sean to the Ford Zodiac. ‘We’ll take your car. I’ll drive.’

‘What about me?’ Sean asked.

‘Oh, don’t worry — you’re coming too. You’re my guest of honour.’ He looked to the man who’d threatened to cave Sean’s skull in and gave a single nod of his head, prompting him to step forward and pull a white hood from inside his jacket, which he tossed it to Sean. ‘Put that on.’ Conway ordered.

‘Why do I need this?’

‘All will be revealed,’ Conway promised. ‘Trust me — it’s for your own protection.’

Sean forced himself to slide the hood over his own head, the material instantly stifling and suffocating — intruding into his mouth as he tried to breathe and making him gag as he felt hands gripping him under the arm-pits and dragging him upright. The car keys with the fob — his lifeline — were snatched away and his arms pulled around his back, thin plastic strips tightened around his wrists. The soles of his shoes slid and bumped on the tarmac as he was led to the rear of the Zodiac. He heard the boot of a car being opened, the smell of the recently cleaned carpet inside assuring him which car it was as his legs were kicked from under him, tipping him into the open space. Conway’s voice cut through his fear. ‘Don’t worry. We don’t have far to go.’ Before he could answer the boot was slammed shut and he was swallowed by the darkness, the sound of his own breathing and cascading heartbeats deafening in the small space. The only other sound he could hear was the muffled laughter of the men who now controlled his destiny. He worked hard to control his bladder and bowels, slow his breathing and pulse rate. What did they know? What did they know? He convinced himself it was all part of the plan, assuring himself that if he was in their shoes he would have done the same to any wannabe new member of their illicit club. He heard doors slamming and engines starting, the sudden motion of the car rocking him to-and-fro in the boot. In a few minutes he would know — know if it was soon to be the end of The Network or soon to be the end of Sean Corrigan.

The car stopped abruptly, rolling him around in the boot like a small boat in a stormy sea. He heard doors open, but no voices — no mocking laughter — just intimidating silence. They were getting ready for something. The boot was opened, flooding it with light and making Sean squint even though he was still covered with the hood. Arms grabbed at his clothes and pulled him up into a sitting position before wrestling him over the ledge and dropping him on the floor with a sickening thud — his bound wrists preventing him from breaking the fall that knocked the wind out of him. More hands grabbed at him, pulling him up and onto his knees and cutting the plastic twine from his wrists before someone whipped the hood from his head, the brightness of the sudden light making him seal his eyes shut for a second or two. When he opened them, the men in balaclavas were gone, replaced by the strange creatures he’d seen in the obscene films — creatures with the ugly unclothed bodies of men and the beautiful heads of wild animals. He took a few seconds to take in the scene, looking up at the men standing in a line in front of him, trying to work out which one was Conway, until finally he removed his mask — the maned mask of the lion, of course.

‘What do you see yourself as, Justin?’ Conway asked.

‘What?’ Sean replied, buying time while he adjusted to his surroundings, the image of an old farm house beginning to come into focus behind the chimeras.

‘I see you as a fox, but you must decide for yourself,’ Conway explained, turning and heading towards the farmhouse, briefly twisting back to speak again. ‘Come on,’ he encouraged Sean. ‘I’ve arranged a little something for you. A very special surprise.’

‘Like what?’ Sean asked.

‘If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise — would it?’ He turned his back on Sean and kept walking to the house, the other men following, their growing excitement palpable as they fidgeted and giggled, mumbling quietly behind their masks, the same two words over and over. ‘Chicken feast. Chicken feast. Chicken feast.’

Sean knew the term — the coded words used by paedophiles and paedophile rings that initially referred to the use of under-age prostitutes, but had evolved to indicate the sexual abuse of any young child. He was now certain he’d been brought to the place where children were being held, but Conway still had his car key and with it the fob he needed to activate the alarm in the tracker that would summon the arrest team. He needed to get the keys back. ‘Hey,’ he called to Conway, stopping his march to the house.

Conway turned back, irritation etched into his face. ‘Now what?’

‘My keys,’ Sean told him. ‘I need my car keys.’

‘Why?’ Conway asked, taking several steps back towards him, his expression changing from irritation to suspicion.

‘Because I need to lock it,’ he answered, trying to look and sound innocent and naive, relieved to see Conway break into a slight smile.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Conway insisted. ‘There’s no need to lock it here.’

Sean thought of Conway’s own immaculate Jaguar. ‘It’s important to me. I won’t be able to relax until I know it’s safe.’ He waited for Conway’s reaction, and finally the other man pulled the car keys from his trouser pocket, pointed the fob at the Zodiac and pressed the button to activate the alarm and the covert tracker. Relief washed over Sean as he tried to stifle a smile. The fact that Conway had alerted his own executioners made the moment all the sweeter, but it would be minutes before they arrived — long minutes during which he would need to survive as Justin Cramer.

‘Happy now?’ Conway asked.

‘Very,’ Sean told him, allowing the smile to spread across his face.

‘Come on then,’ Conway told him and turned back towards the house, his henchmen marching slowly after him. Sean scrambled to catch up — a little anxiety creeping back into his mind that he’d cried wolf too quickly, that Conway was setting him up in the same way Enrico Ismain had tried to do weeks earlier, only this time the merchandise was human. Too late now, Sean told himself. The die is cast.

Conway led the men into the house, re-affixing the lion’s mask to his face as they moved deeper inside, the sights and smells of the house telling Sean it was lived in — either by one of the men behind one of the masks or possibly rented or borrowed from a willing conspirator. He remembered the film they’d made him watch back in the warehouse, the furniture he’d seen, and was pretty sure this house was the location. Children would be here — he was sure of it now. Abruptly they stopped at a closed door and Conway ushered Sean forward to the front of the line, turning the handle and swinging it open, gesturing for Sean to go inside. ‘Just you,’ Conway told him. ‘This is just for you.’

As Sean stepped past him into the room he saw two young children huddled on an old sofa, one boy and one girl, no more than twelve years old, their fragile, naked bodies hidden by a thin blanket. They shivered despite the warmth. In the corner of the room a camera waited on its tripod, the red light indicating it was in stand-by mode. Conway pushed past Sean’s frozen body and headed for the camera, pressing a single switch and turning the red light green.

‘They’re both for you,’ he told Sean. ‘I didn’t know which you preferred so I brought you one of each. Neither has ever been touched before, but they’ve been well groomed. They know what to do and the rewards they’ll receive. They won’t tell anyone about it, so do what you want with them, but don’t mark them. They need to be sent home once you’re finished. Here,’ Conway added pushing the hood he’d worn earlier into his hand, ‘use this until you decide on what mask you want. Can’t have you being recognized now can we?’ Sean took the mask without speaking, his eyes fixed on the young bodies under the blanket. ‘Okay, children,’ Conway suddenly spoke loudly clapping his hands like a school teacher, ‘time to play.’ The girl pulled the blanket from both of them and began to walk slowly towards him, a nervous, mischievous smile spreading across her face as she approached, her head full of warped ideas placed there by months of grooming, ready to perform acts she shouldn’t have even been aware of let alone ready to commit. Conway placed a hand on Sean’s frozen shoulder as he slipped from the room. ‘Enjoy yourself. And remember, Justin, everything’s being recorded.’ Conway looked in the direction of the camera. ‘I may want to watch your little home movie later — for my pleasure.’ Sean felt Conway’s hand slide from his shoulder as he left the room, the door closing silently behind him. The girl continued to slowly advance towards him, her immature nakedness startling and repelling, transfixing and terrifying.

‘It’s alright,’ she told him softly. ‘I know what to do. I won’t tell anyone. You can do whatever you like to me. I won’t mind.’ Sean pushed the demons away and snapped himself back to reality, quickly covering the short distance between them, spinning her around by the shoulders and marching her back to the boy and the sofa. He forced her to sit, folding the blanket over her frail body. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she complained, increasing the look of panic and fear in the boy’s eyes. ‘You’re not supposed to hurt us — Mr Conway promised.’

‘What else did Mr Conway promise?’ Sean asked, suddenly aware of the need to gather evidence, to secure witnesses and find victims. ‘What does he tell you to do?’

‘You know,’ she answered suspiciously, ‘he showed us some films — they showed us what to do. Then he said he’d bring men to us and that we should do things for them — things we’ve seen in the films — and they’d give us money and other things and that we wouldn’t be hurt.’

‘Listen.’ Sean told her glancing over his shoulder at the camera, praying he wasn’t being watched on a live feed to the others, or even worse being listened to, but either way it was too late now. This was the end game. ‘You shouldn’t do these things — it’s wrong. You’re too young and the men are too old. These men are bad men.’

‘No they’re not,’ she argued. ‘They’re kind and they give us things — nice things our parents won’t let us have. And Mr Conway listens to us — he understands us.’

‘You’re wrong,’ he told her. ‘These men are bad men — they’re going to use you and lie to you.’

‘Why are you saying these things?’ she asked through swelling tears. ‘Who are you?’

Sean breathed in deeply before answering, the relief of suddenly shedding Justin Cramer and becoming himself once more almost overwhelming. ‘I’m a police officer — Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan — and I’m gonna get you out of here. But first I need to know if there are any more children in the house. Were any other children brought to the house?’

The girl had gone blank, frozen in a catatonic state, as if the reality of Sean’s words had paralyzed her mind and body, but the boy began to stir. ‘I think there were,’ he answered weakly. ‘When we first got here — I think I saw some other children going into another room.’

‘Where?’ Sean asked quickly and quietly. ‘Where did you see them?’

‘Along the hallway.’

‘How many?’

‘I don’t know. Five or six.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Sean whispered, reeling at the scale of The Sanctum’s abuse.

His mental paralysis was shattered as the door behind them flew open and the men now wearing balaclavas poured through the narrow gap in a seemingly never-ending flow of retribution. Sean managed to spin as he rose from kneeling in front of the children and catch the first intruder on the chin, sending him spiraling away and down. But the second man he hit was already too close to be hurt, his weight and the weight of those behind him sending them crashing to the floor with Sean pinned under the falling bodies. He struggled in vain until exhaustion and the reality of the situation got the better of him. The men above him peeled off one-by-one, pulling him into a sitting position with his arms twisted painfully behind his back, one attacker for each, while three more stood closely in front of him ready to rain down punches and kicks. But instead they waited, and Sean knew who for.

After what seemed like minutes Conway drifted into the room, unmasked and smiling slightly, shaking his head like a disapproving parent to a child. He leant in so close that Sean could smell his minted breath — his eyes were sparkling with cunning and anticipation. ‘Did you really think I didn’t know what you are? From the very first time you looked at me in that stinking prison I knew you were an undercover. Your eyes betrayed you. You looked too long and too deep, like only a policeman looks. You fucked up, Justin, or should I say Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan? That is what you told the children isn’t it?’ Sean looked accusingly at the camera on its tripod. ‘From the very first second, you fucked up.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Sean lied. ‘My name is Justin Cramer.’ Buy time. Just buy time until the arrest team gets here. Tell them nothing.

‘No more lies,’ Conway told him, his voice slightly raised, the smile gone from his face. ‘No more pointless lies. There are more important things to take care of now.’ He looked at the boy and girl and licked his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. ‘You haven’t unwrapped your presents yet,’ he continued. ‘If you don’t want them there are plenty who will. But you do want them don’t you?’

‘It’s over,’ Sean ignored him. ‘You’re fucked.’

‘Do you know why I let you in to the inner Sanctum, despite the fact I knew exactly what you were?’

‘You’re talking shit. You don’t know who I am — you never have.’

‘You may be a policeman, but that only runs skin deep — doesn’t it, my friend? Because deep down, where the others can’t see — I know what you really are. You’re one of us. You may have different tastes, clearly children aren’t your thing, but there’s a darkness in you that runs oh so very deep.’

Sean shook his head feigning disbelief. He knew what Conway meant, but how did he know? How could he see? ‘Jesus Christ,’ Sean finally answered. ‘You thought you could turn me. You thought I’d join you?’

‘Not turn you — awaken you. You already are one of us, of sorts.’

‘You’re desperate, Conway. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘We both know that’s not true,’ Conway told him. ‘You know there’s nothing wrong with what we do. So what if the law and society says that children shouldn’t be touched — they simply don’t understand, can’t see the beauty in being with them in the way we can. They’re the ones with something wrong with them — not us. That’s their misinformed judgement. Don’t deny yourself the simple pleasures God put on this earth for men like us any longer. Work with us to lead the police away from The Sanctum. You can be our man on the inside — not theirs. That’s why you’re here. That’s why I took you in — to save you. Do that and I’ll get you anything you want. Women? Grown women? Is that what you want?’

‘You’re fucking mad,’ Sean argued. ‘I’m not like you. I’ll never be like you. I’m here to take you down — not join you. I’m gonna bury you — all of you.’

‘Then you’ve made your choice,’ Conway barked. ‘You can’t be saved if you’re too weak to admit what you are — to embrace and relish your strength and difference from the mindless masses who wander through life never feeling anything more than self-satisfied contentedness. We live, my friend, as we were supposed to live.’

‘You’re going back to prison, Conway. For a long time.’

‘Really? How so? What evidence do you have? I know you’ve never taped any of our conversations. I know you’ve never been followed to any of our meetings. The warehouse was cleared of anything incriminating and within ten minutes this house will be, too — and the children sent on their way never to be found. So what do you have? Your word? An undercover cop who supplied me with suggestive photographs when we were in prison — who’s acted as an agent provocateur throughout? You’ll never even get past the CPS.’

Sean smiled in spite of his fear and loathing. ‘In ten minutes it’ll be too late,’ he warned Conway and his followers. ‘You’re finished.’

‘Really?’ Conway asked disbelievingly. ‘How so? I can’t see any other policemen,’ he told his laughing subordinates. ‘I can’t hear any sirens. You have no mobile phone to call the cavalry on — no tracker concealed on you — the only way you could have signaled for help would be if …’ Conway froze for a second before pulling the keys for the Zodiac from his pocket and dangling the fob in front of Sean’s face. Sean’s smile grew wider. ‘Clear everything out,’ Conway suddenly shouted at the men in balaclavas, urgency straining his commands and causing panic. ‘Get rid of the children. You,’ he pointed at one of the men. ‘Take these keys and drive his car as far away as you can.’

‘No way,’ the man protested. ‘I’m not taking the fall for you.’

Conway was about to reprimand him before another dissenting voice cut him short. ‘We need to get rid of the pig. Without the pig, they’ve got nothing.’

‘Yeah,’ the other balaclava agreed. ‘We have to do him.’

Sean could feel his heartbeat accelerating before Conway tried to restore order. ‘Don’t be damn fools. Kill a cop and be hunted down like a pack of rabid dogs and spend the rest of your lives behind bars? Even with him alive they’ve got nothing. Now clear out the house.’

‘Fine,’ the lead balaclava,’ answered, ‘but you’re on your own, Conway. Time to save my own skin.’

‘You can’t desert The Sanctum.’

‘The Sanctum’s finished,’ the balaclava told him. ‘Now it’s every man for himself.’

Sean felt the men standing behind him release their grip and quickly follow their new unelected leader out of the room, heading towards the exits from the house, leaving him alone with Conway.

Sean sprang to his feet, the stiffness in his knees and the ache in his shoulders forgotten as his right hand fired towards Conway and gripped him around the throat, his fingers holding him firmly around the trachea. As he increased the pressure of his grip, Conway’s eyes bulged with dammed blood. It was the first time Sean had sensed fear in the man and he liked it.

‘I saved you,’ Conway managed to whisper, his voice raspy and distorted. ‘They would have killed you if it wasn’t for me.’

‘I owe you nothing but contempt,’ Sean told him, his grip tightening so Conway could barely speak or breathe.

‘What are you going to do? Kill me? Then do it. Do it. You haven’t got the courage,’ Conway spat at him through his collapsing windpipe, flecks of his spittle flying through the air across the short distance between them and spraying into Sean’s face.

Sean pushed Conway down on his knees and released his grip. ‘Kill you? You’re not worth it. You’re not worth anything.’ He grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back to his feet, spinning him around and pushing him towards the door, looking over his shoulder at the boy and girl huddled under the blanket. ‘You two wait here. Someone will come for you.’

‘Are we in trouble?’ the boy asked, his eyes full of terror as Sean could hear the sounds of cars and vans screeching to a halt outside the house.

‘No,’ Sean answered without emotion. ‘You’re not in trouble. None of you are.’ He shoved Conway in the back without speaking and marched him towards the front door as the usual mix of uniformed and plain-clothed police flooded into the house while others ran amok outside chasing down the fleeing disciples of The Sanctum.

As he headed down the hallway two determined-looking uniforms came towards him shouting their commands. ‘Police. Get up against the wall — hands high and legs spread.’ Sean pushed Conway against the wall and kicked his legs into position. ‘You too, you bastard.’

‘I’m Old Bill,’ Sean shouted. ‘Undercover Officer.’

‘Then let’s see some I.D.’

‘I don’t have any. Like I said — I’m undercover.’

The uniformed officer was about to speak again until a voice Sean recognized cut him off. ‘He’s alright, boys. He’s one of us.’ Sean looked around to see the man who’d tried to attack Conway in prison all those weeks ago walking casually along the hallway towards them, his warrant card hanging from a thin metal chain around his neck.

‘Thanks, Nathan,’ Sean said before turning to the uniformed officers and pushing Conway towards them. ‘Here. You can have this one. Cuff him and get him back to whatever nick you’re using.’ They cuffed Conway without further discussion and marched him from the house. Sean reached the front door in time to see Conway being driven away in the back of a police car as he looked back and smiled towards him.

‘You alright?’ DC Nathan Hansen asked. ‘Haven’t seen you since our little play fight in the prison yard.’

‘I’m fine,’ Sean half lied.

‘I see our little act convinced them you we’re one of them then.’

‘Apparently so,’ Sean answered.

Sean eased the big old Ford Zodiac through the ever-swelling London rush hour traffic heading for Victoria and New Scotland Yard where he knew DS Chopra would be waiting for him in the little back room in the SO10 office. The de-brief would take a few hours at least, during which Chopra would pretend to be listening to a break-down of how he thought the undercover operation had gone, while really he would be dissecting Sean’s psyche with every word he spoke — looking for signs he was about to tip over the edge, dragged to the brink of insanity by the unrelenting stress of being someone else — never knowing when or if the organization he was infiltrating would unmask him.

It would be late before he got home — late before he could stand in a burning hot shower and try to wash away the lingering remnants of Justin Cramer, John Conway, The Network and The Sanctum, although he knew he would never truly forget them. He’d carry them with him forever — remembering them from time to time, particularly when he touched investigations of similar crimes or met similar offenders. But they wouldn’t haunt him, unlike the faces of the children he’d seen in the films and at the house, their innocent co-operation and naïve complicity in repulsive acts. He saw their faces in his past and knew he’d see them in his future. For anybody else it would be considered overexposure to traumatic events, but cops just called it experience. With each experience he grew in some ways, but died a little more in others as each investigation stripped him of another layer of genuine human compassion, hardening the shell that grew around him, insulating him from the world he had to deal with, pushing him away from everyday people and their everyday lives. As soon as he finished the de-brief and escaped from The Yard he’d begin the process of clearing out his mind of the last few weeks and he was already looking forward to some more mundane police work, although he knew it wouldn’t be enough for him — not long term.

He shook the nagging thoughts from his mind and pictured Kate. He’d already called her from a payphone, deliberately not apologizing for his apparent disappearance, instead promising to explain why he’d had no choice if she’d agree to see him again. She’d been cold at first, but had relented and warmed as she’d felt the genuine urgency in his voice. She’d agreed to meet him back at his flat, no matter how late, the physical desire to be with each other laying waste to any doubts either of them might have. The moment he’d heard her voice down the phone he knew she was the one — knew they would be together forever. A cop and an A amp; E doctor — what could work better? Someone he could love without bullshitting all the time. Someone who saw the same hard edges of the world he saw almost every day.

He broke out of his daydream just in time to see the red light of a pedestrian crossing, hitting the breaks hard to stop the big old car in time and watch as a young mother led her two children across the road in front of him — one boy and one girl aged about nine and ten. The girl smiled at Sean through the windscreen. He smiled back.

Content

Luke Delaney
The Network

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six