Faulkner smirked. “And?”
“And I know who he sold the drone to.”
Faulkner’s smirk flattened. “Tell me.”
“No.”
Faulkner took a step towards her. Jenks moved in front of her, and he stopped. He looked past the constable. “Don’t be a bloody idiot. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of us. Not now. All your little games up until now… that can all be forgiven. If we worked with bloody hill chieftains and warlords, we can work with a Labour politician.”
Sarah nodded. “What do I get in return?”
Faulkner sneered. “You get not to get arrested here and now.”
“Not good enough. Hannah walks.”
Faulkner’s sneer faded. “She’s a terrorist. Or at the very least, terrorist-adjacent.”
“That’s total crap and you know it. This is just you trying to get your own back, because I’ve been making you look a right pillock lately. Not you needed much help in that regard.” Faulkner clenched his fists, but she could see the gears turning in his head. She kept talking. “You don’t have anything right now. You’ve hit a few hacktivist hives. Good for you. But when people learn that Albion sold a weaponised drone to a murderer, all that good PR goes right in the bin.”
“What are you proposing?”
“A trade. Hannah – and a clean slate, between you and me. In return, I’ll give you what I know. Eminently fair, I think”
“What do you know? What have you actually got?” he growled.
“A name. And an address.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then the press will know what I know the moment you leave this office. It goes without saying they’ll fall on it like ravenous hounds, and pretty soon Albion will be in the crosshairs of every pundit, muckraker and politician in Whitehall. And Nigel Cass will have you to thank.”
“I could arrest you.”
“Not going to happen. Yes, you could arrest my assistant. You might even arrest my personal security here. But you can’t get to me. Not yet. Not without a bloody good, totally watertight reason. You’re hoping to find something to hang me with, but the truth is… you have nothing, and you know it.”
Faulkner grunted and looked away, plainly debating with himself. Sarah sat back down and began to arrange her paperwork. At her gesture, Jenks sat down as well. They held the cards now. Faulkner had to choose between petty satisfaction – and job security.
Faulkner turned back. “Deal.”
Day Zero
Friday
Bagley-bytes 13698-4: Okay, things look bad, I admit it.
+++
Today’s big news, besides the imminent extermination of DedSec London, is the TOAN Conference. Met, Albion and more out in force, so anyone still planning on crashing that particular party needs to be on alert.
+++
Related to yesterday’s unfortunate occurrences, things are hotting up further afield in old London town. It’s no longer just the East End feeling the heat. Met officers in full riot have been spotted mustering near both Kensington and Chelsea field bases. If you’re in residence, clear out. That means you, Dalton.
+++
No, Terry, they’re definitely not following you. In fact, if an unmarked van offers you a lift, you should definitely take it. I insist.
+++
On the subject of unmarked vans and Wandsworth, we’ve learned that prisoners are being transported from Albion’s Tower Hamlets facilities to Nine Elms Docks. That includes DedSec members. Just a heads up.
+++
Everyone else… it might be time to think about relocating. London is getting a mite dodgy.
27: Breakout
Danny made his move just before dawn on the day of the TOAN conference. It had taken him until then to come up with a workable plan, and to gather his courage enough to enact it. Hattersley was on duty, which made things both easier and harder.
The Tower Hamlet South base was stripped bare of personnel, thanks to the conference. Albion was on full alert, every set of boots on the ground barring those on essential duties. Danny was supposed to be part of a sweep in Limehouse, but he’d begged off, calling in sick. Faulkner wasn’t going to like it, but – well, Faulkner wasn’t going to like what happened next either.
Thankfully, he was distracted. Faulkner was busy overseeing the latest raids – and the media frenzy that surrounded them. He was in a bad mood as well, despite everything humming along like clockwork. Something had gone wrong somewhere, though Danny wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was just the fact that Cass had pulled two out of every three Albion operatives out of the field in Tower Hamlets for a special detail. A special detail Faulkner obviously wasn’t a part of.
Whatever the reason, Danny was glad of it. The fewer people in the base, the less chance there was of things going wrong. Not that he expected things to go right. Hope for success, plan for failure – that was his motto.
He approached the custody suite as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The layout of the back of the warehouse was simple enough. The custody suite was at the end of an improvised corridor of steel grating and chain link fencing, overlaid with a network of gantries and drone berths and interspersed with electronically controlled gates.
The suite sat at the centre of several such corridors, each branching off in a different direction. Behind the suite, near the loading bay doors, were several parked APVs, their bumpers aimed at the doors. Danny’s exit strategy hinged on stealing one.
This time of day, there’d only be one person on duty and a response team on call. Even so, he’d have to be quick. There were cameras everywhere. The minute he made his move, it was all but certain someone would scramble the response
