No Time to Lose: A Matt Flynn Thriller Read online

  No Time to Lose

  Iain Cameron

  Copyright © 2021 Iain Cameron

  The right of Iain Cameron to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright owner.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  To find out more about the author, visit the website:

  www.iain-cameron.com

  Homeland Security Agency (HSA)

  HSA is a UK security services organisation established by the Home Office, the brainchild of HO Minister, Sir Raymond Deacon. Its unofficial motto is: ‘Fight Fire with Fire.’

  It was set up to combat the changing threat faced by UK security forces from terrorists, organised criminal gangs, ruthless businesses and individuals. Terrorists who no longer appeared in the open but integrated themselves into local communities, criminal gangs using open borders and the web to traffic guns, drugs and people, and rich organisations and individuals who believed they were above the law.

  The agency is located at a secret address in London. There, HSA agents have access to a shooting range, computers with access to all law enforcement systems, incarceration facilities, interview rooms and overnight accommodation.

  Dedication

  For Janice

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Homeland Security Agency (HSA)

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  About the Author

  Also by Iain Cameron

  A Small Request

  ONE

  His phone buzzed, rousing him from a deep slumber. He had almost fallen back asleep when the phone vibrated and lit up for a second time. With some reluctance, he sat up and switched on the table lamp beside his bed.

  Matt Flynn had been out on a job the previous night and hadn’t arrived home until late. On the way home, shortly after midnight, he had been forced to sit in a traffic jam for over forty minutes. He’d watched with wearied fascination as a fire crew attempted to free four party revellers whose car had been in a collision with a stolen BMW, driven by two lads who were as high as kites.

  This wasn’t his assumption, it was the words of a bored copper put in charge of traffic duty. The smash had left all manner of debris, including the contents of the BMW’s boot, strewn across the carriageway. As a result, he hadn’t managed to open his front door until after two in the morning.

  He looked at his phone. It was a text from Templeton Gill, Director of HSA, Homeland Security Agency. His texts, like the man’s own clipped manner of speech, were short and to the point:

  Meeting in my office 8am. Important. Be there.

  No ‘cheers’ or little smiley emoji. Gill, a former Army major, was used to issuing orders and having them obeyed without question. Matt looked at the time: 7:00am. ‘Shit’, he muttered. He jumped out of bed and headed into the shower. He wasn’t convinced he’d make the meeting; he’d only been living in the new house for a couple of weeks and had no clear idea how long the journey from home to office would take.

  The hot water helped revive him, but he couldn’t dawdle to enjoy it. Ten minutes later, he was dressed and standing beside the kitchen sink, eating a bowl of the first thing he found in the cupboard, and not the cooked breakfast he’d planned in one of the cafes nearby. That, and several other activities he’d wanted to do today on his day off were now consigned to the dustbin, like the cartons from the night before last’s Uber Eats delivery.

  In the hall, he attached the shoulder holster containing his weapon, and covered it with his jacket. He picked up his phone, wallet and keys and set off for Clapham North tube station at a hasty clip, along with innumerable others appearing from neighbouring houses, like actors in a play emerging stage left and right in unison.

  He never liked going into the office; the paperwork, meetings, office politics, and went there as little as possible, and if he could help it, not at the same time as the rest of London. This was an exception, but not one he wanted to repeat. The train, when it arrived, was packed. He hoped anyone leaning against him in the crush would think the solid lump under his jacket was an iPad or a Kindle. He didn’t have time to deal with the wholesale panic revealing what it actually was would evoke.

  He walked into Gill’s office feeling hot and sweaty and in need of another shower: the train had been like a sauna, and when he’d emerged at Holborn Station, hoping for a dose of cool air, the late summer sun was already heating up the street through the forest of tall office buildings all around. It didn’t help his mood when he glanced at the clock behind the director and realised he was ten minutes late.

  ‘Good of you to join us, Matt,’ Gill said, his face stony and terse. ‘Close the door and sit.’

  Matt had known Gill long enough not to apologise, make excuses about a late night, or remind him this was his day off. In the director’s view, you were either there, and he could start, or if you were not, there would be hell to pay.

  Already seated were fellow HSA agents Rosie Fox and Joseph Teller. Rosie looked as she always did: alert but a little frayed around the edges. She survived on little sleep, and when Gill’s text had arrived she’d most likely been sitting at her kitchen table with a pot of tea and reading a book. Joseph, on the other hand, looked only marginally better than Matt. With this being Wednesday, it was unlikely he would have been out clubbing the previous night, but still, he wouldn’t have been in bed before two, and Matt doubted he would have been there alone.

  ‘Now we’re all here,’ Gill said, looking pointedly at Matt, ‘let’s make a start. As you are all aware, a major Middle East Summit is being held in London next month at Lancaster House. It will be chaired by the prime minister, and in attendance will be the American president, heads of state from most EU countries, and various presidents and potentates from the Middle East. They will discuss and try to resolve many of the serious issues existing between the Middle East and the West. All in all, a
large and very important gathering.’

  Gill stopped to drain his coffee cup. Lucky man to have one, Matt thought. He hadn’t had time to make one at home, or stop at any of the half-dozen coffee shops he’d passed on his way to the station.

  ‘What perhaps isn’t so well known, is that MI5, in the shape of Assistant Director David Burke, is responsible for overseeing all the security arrangements.’

  Matt sat up. He knew David, and would even go as far as to say they were good friends following a joint HSA/MI5 operation the previous year. Matt had saved David’s life, and in turn, David’s subsequent intervention had spared Matt from a disciplinary which could have led to his dismissal from HSA, and a possible criminal prosecution. The fall-out had been justified in a sense, as he had broken into the house of a former cabinet member without authority.

  ‘It’s a huge responsibility,’ Rosie said, and Matt agreed. Threats could appear from many directions: criminal gangs, trained assassins, terrorists, and aggressive protestors. In addition, with the attendance of delegations from so many countries, including several ‘rogue’ states, it raised the spectre of spies disguised as delegates, electronic eavesdropping, defectors, and agents provocateurs.

  ‘It is Rosie, and even though David has a large team working with him, many of the issues are so sensitive they are only discussed in confidence between him and the prime minister. Which leads me to the reason for this meeting. David Burke has gone missing, believed kidnapped.’

  TWO

  Matt carried the sheaf of papers given to him by Gill’s personal assistant into the general office area. Finding a spare workstation, he dumped the pile down on the desk and, without sitting, flicked through them. It was a strange sensation, reading reports not of some John Doe, but someone he knew well.

  A few minutes later, he walked off in search of coffee. Rosie was standing at the machine when he approached.

  ‘The early start too much for you too?’

  ‘Oh, hi, Matt. Sorry, I was in a daydream. You want one?’

  ‘I’ll do it when you’re finished.’

  ‘No problem, mine’s ready. No, I wasn’t out late last night. Phil and I went to the cinema.’

  ‘Who’s Phil?’

  ‘My latest… I don’t know what you’d call him… I don’t want to say he’s my boyfriend, or the new man in my life, as I hardly know him. I’ve only been out with him twice.’

  ‘Good film?’

  ‘It was a sort of crime-cum-romcom movie,’ she said, crinkling her nose.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘He loved it, but I thought it was stupid, and the jokes crass and juvenile. Trust you to spot the fatal flaw at the first pass and the reason why we’ll probably not be going out together for much longer.’

  ‘He wasn’t to know before he signed up that with you in the business, watching any crime-based feature would bring out your inner critic, as harsh as that woman in The Sunday Times.’

  ‘He does now.’

  She handed Matt a cup. If it was cooler, he would have downed it in a couple of gulps.

  ‘You know David Burke, Matt, better than anyone here. What do you think’s happened to him?’ she asked.

  They walked back to the office area. Rosie took a seat, Matt leaned against the partition.

  ‘We can discount the trivial,’ Matt said, ‘like illness, holiday, a family crisis. No way would he miss the PM’s daily update. The obvious is a good place to start. An unknown terrorist group have perhaps taken him to find out the security arrangements for the conference. If they find a gap, they can exploit it and kill a leader they don’t like. How about you?’

  ‘Thinking like a former cop, it might be something from the work he’s previously done in his career at MI5, or from his private life.’

  ‘It adds another dimension, certainly, as does his relationship with the prime minister. In particular, the rumour of him being taken on as the PM’s personal advisor once the Lancaster House meeting is over. Providing it turns out to be a success, of course.’

  She looked at him sceptically. ‘You’ve looked through the pile of documents Gill gave us already?’

  ‘I only flicked through them.’

  ‘We’ve got a few options to explore, but whatever the reason, David will no doubt be tortured. If it’s an organised crime mob taking revenge, or terrorists, you need to be prepared for us finding a body.’

  ‘Yeah, that crossed my mind too.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Getting divorced.’

  ‘Is there someone else?’

  ‘For him, or for her?’

  ‘Him.’

  ‘She’s got a new boyfriend, but not him, as far as I know. It was the pressure of work and not spending much time at home. He has two daughters, both at university, and dotes on them.’

  ‘Maybe they won’t feel the same way when he moves out. I know I didn’t when my father left home.’

  ‘They moved out a while back. David’s staying in the former marital home until it’s sold, and Phillipa and the girls have moved in with her sister. The girls are away for a good part of the year at university, so it’s not the short-straw it sounds.’

  ‘How was his state of mind the last time you saw him?’

  ‘We met for a drink after work about three weeks back. He’s so good at this secret spy stuff, I had no idea he was head of security for the Lancaster House conference until Gill mentioned it.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not a whisper. I’m no psychologist, but I would say he hid it well, under what must have been a considerable strain. He was laughing and joking like he often did.’

  ‘Problem is, he’s MI5.’

  ‘I know what you mean. You never know if you’re talking to the real person, or they’re acting out a role. Many of the old guard have been working there so long, they don’t realise they’re doing it.’

  ‘What if he found the responsibility of the work he was involved in, added to the strain of divorce, too much, and he’s gone and done a runner?’

  Matt thought for a moment. ‘He’s been in worse situations than this. A few years back, he did some undercover work and infiltrated a violent football crew. The stress of doing something like that, leading a double life, not letting your guard down for one minute, must have put him under severe strain, way beyond what he would be experiencing at the moment.’

  ‘Maybe, but this is a different time, and don’t forget he’s older. When you add family upheaval into the mix, and with all the scrutiny something like this involves, including reporting directly to the prime minister, maybe something snapped.’

  Matt shook his head. ‘I still think the answer is no. David is one of the most level-headed guys I’ve ever come across. Think Gill, but better-looking, and with better dress sense.’

  ‘Don’t let Gill hear you say that,’ Joseph said walking towards them. ‘He pays Savile Row prices for those pinstriped suits.’

  ‘I was just comparing David Burke’s level-headedness with Gill’s,’ Matt explained, with a nod in greeting, ‘and telling Rosie it makes me think we can discount the possibility of David doing a runner.’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t think we should dismiss it out of hand,’ Joseph argued, ‘especially if we investigate his background and can’t find any obvious suspects.’

  Matt shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Joseph said, ‘I’m in search of a desk to read all these bloody reports. A good way to spend a morning, I don’t think. Catch you guys later.’ He gave them a desultory wave of the hand and walked off.

  ‘I think we should do the same,’ Rosie said.

  ‘I’ve done all the reading I want to do today. Why don’t we go and take a look at his house?’

  ‘You know where he lives? I thought MI5 types kept their personal details quiet.’

  ‘David didn’t publicise the details, for obvious reasons, but if you look in there,’ he said, pointing to the papers on Rosie’s desk, ‘you’
ll find his address.’

  ‘Who’s a clever clogs, then?’ She pushed the pile containing the police report, his MI5 biography, and witness statements, to the back of the desk, and stood. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  THREE

  ‘It’s a smart road this. Houses around here must be worth millions.’

  ‘If you’d read the information provided, Ms Fox, in particular the MI5 bio, you would know our man made a packet working as a hedge fund manager for many years before he joined the security services.’

  ‘It makes you wonder why he joined, then. I don’t see how anyone from the private sector can get accustomed to graduated pay scales and annual reviews at RPI plus one percent.’

  ‘With a bloated bank account, he probably wasn’t even aware how much he was being paid. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he gave a chunk of it to charity.’

  They were parked outside a double-fronted villa in Highgate. It was large and white, with several chimneys and little balconies; a house that wouldn’t look out of place in Beverley Hills. As David’s disappearance had taken place the night before last, the crime tape was fresh, and a couple of police cars were still in attendance.

  Matt and Rosie showed their ID’s to the cop manning the front door, and headed inside. It was a tribute to the size and soundproofing of the house that, standing in the hall, Matt had no idea where the other police officers were. They walked down the hall in the direction of the kitchen at the back of the house. In Matt’s experience, this was where most intruders would make their entrance, and was a good place to start.

  David, not to anyone’s surprise, was a stickler for security. The door from the kitchen to the rear garden could comfortably grace the inside of a bank. It was made from solid teak, and the window, double-glazed with reinforced meshing between the panes. Two deadlocks plus top and bottom bolts, both locked, completed the set-up. In addition, the entire house, including this door, was alarmed.