Page 4 of The Unlikely Spare

When I step into the room, my training immediately kicks in as I scan the occupants of the polished table.

Martin Thornton, detective chief superintendent of the Covert Policing Unit, sits at the head. He’s the ultimate boss of the MO3, and I’ve come to both respect and fear him during my four years at the Yard.

He’s talking to his boss, Commander Helen Adebayo, Specialist Crime and Operations.

Fuck. If she’s here, this is serious.

I relax slightly when I see a familiar face to Thornton’s right. It’s Superintendent Colin Pierce, his lean frame with wire-rim glasses unmistakable.

Pierce was the chief inspector who recruited me to Scotland Yard after he’d worked with me on a joint investigation into cocaine being smuggled through Belfast and Liverpool ports.

After I’d joined, he’d always seemed to take a personal interest in me, and I’d worked on investigations under him in my first year.

He’d moved to specialist operations a few years ago, and I wasn’t surprised when I heard he’d been promoted to superintendent of the Royalty and Specialist Protection Command. Commonly known as RaSP, it’s the elite unit within the Metropolitan Police, tasked with guarding the royal family and high-ranking politicians. Pierce has always had that combination of warmth and ruthless efficiency which makes him a good boss—he’d bring you rum cake he made from his grandmother’s famous Barbados recipe, then dissect your operational failures with surgical precision.

But why the hell is he here now? It doesn’t make any sense.

He gives me a nod of acknowledgment that doesn’t tell me anything.

Rounding out the table are three people I don’t recognize.

“Detective Sergeant O’Connell,” Thornton says, his gruff Yorkshire accent filling the room. “You’ve come directly from an operation?”

“Yes, sir. The Fletcher diamonds case. Suspect apprehended, evidence secured.” I ignore the throb of my bruised hip as I stand at attention. “Detective Inspector Patel said it was urgent.”

“It is.” Thornton gestures to the others. “You know Commander Adebayo and Superintendent Pierce. This is DCS Walters from Counterterrorism, Fraser Hunt from the Home Office Public-Safety Directorate, and Louisa Prentice QC from the Met Directorate of Legal Services.”

Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph.

Whatever this is, it’s serious enough to involve counterterrorism, legal, and the home office.

That can’t be good.

“Sit down, O’Connell,” Adebayo says, indicating a chair across from Pierce.

I lower myself into it, maintaining perfect posture despite the various parts of my body that are beginning to complain loudly about my recent alley wrestling match.

“I assume you’re familiar with the Matheson-Webley kidnapping,” Thornton begins.

“Yes, sir.”

You’d have to have been in a coma to miss what’s been the biggest news story of the last decade. The leader of the Conservative Party, Harry Matheson, and a rival high-ranking Labour politician, Toby Webley, were kidnapped by a terrorist group on a hijacked chartered plane when flying to a conference in Oslo.

The plane had crash-landed in Finland, and somehow, Harry and Toby had managed to escape the terrorists and survive in the Finnish wilderness for over a month before being rescued a few weeks ago.

It had been portrayed in the media as a triumph worthy of Boy Scout badges, and the tabloids had been in a spin over the idea of two political enemies forced to huddle together to conserve body heat.

“What hasn’t come out to the public yet is that we’ve identified one of the conspirators as a protection officer assigned to Harry Matheson,” Commander Adebayo says.

My blood runs cold.

A traitor in our own ranks.

“Paul Hargrove.” DCS Walters speaks for the first time, sliding a photograph across the table. “Served with RaSP for six years. Exemplary record. No red flags.”

I study the photo. The man has the kind of face you’d forget five minutes after meeting him. Perfect for a traitor.

“He’s not talking,” Walters continues, her voice matter-of-fact. “And neither are the terrorists we apprehended in Finland. This lot’s showing discipline I’ve only seen in special forces. Something’s not right.”