The Devil's Handshake

58

London

The despicable and horrific attack made news everywhere for a week around the world. Questions had been asked why, knowing that VIPs’ children were at the school, it had taken thirty minutes for the nearest armed police unit, and medical units to descend on the school in force having been alerted by the two armed security officers. Additional questions were then asked as to how something like this could happen again at a school in his country. Each time, the Chief Constable and the Home Secretary tried their best to give a sensible answer. Each time both failed in the process.

As the dust settled the facts began to come forth.

The assassination team had killed fifteen parents, five teachers, and more terribly six children and wounding another ten in trying to kill Thomas.

He had lost Nara and his unborn child when she had shielded their little girl.

Unsurprisingly Victoria, had had become withdrawn and silent as the direct result of the trauma of seeing her mother die before her eyes. Not even Tania could get a word out of her.

Every night the little girl would climb into his bed and only then would she fall asleep in his arms.

Although he had returned all the numerous calls of condolences from his associates, Presidents, Prime Ministers, and his and Nara’s friends, lost to his demons and grief just like his daughter, Thomas withdrew from the normal world and society.

Within days six men were arrested in the manhunt that followed, now all that remained was the ringleader, a Somali only known as Ahmed.

Although the press speculated to the causes of the attack privately Thomas knew who had ordered it.

With the coroner ordering an inquest into the deaths of all the victims of the school massacre, Thomas was told he had to wait until the body had been assessed for evidence. It had taken ten days for that to happen.

Replacing the phone in his study having just been told he was allowed collect Nara’s body, Thomas took a moment to mentally pull together.

He stiffening his back, straightening his neck then went to find Tania so he could ask her if he could bury her alongside his mother at the family plot at his father’s estate.

“I am sure our Gunara would like that, Thomas,” the woman answered who had aged ten years over the last week as she hugged him in tears sobbing in the sitting room of her bedroom.

“Thank you,” was all he could reply fighting his own grief.

Back in his study, still just holding it together he picked up the phone again. He paused briefly then dialed the number of his father’s office. Immediately he was transferred to Rufus when he announced whom he was.

It had been almost thirty-one years since he last spoke to his father.

“Thomas, I am so very sorry!” the merchant banker said as if they had only spoken yesterday, the second he came on the phone.

“Thank you Father,” replied the man, no longer the angry youth of eighteen.

“I will ensure the family plot is prepared for her alongside your mother,” his father stated, knowing why after all these years he had called him.

“Thank you Father,” Thomas answered again before putting down the phone so not to allow his father to speak any further.

Arriving at the TLH private office Rebecca was immediately shown into the conference room on the ground floor. She declined the offer of refreshments and chose to stand as she waited for Thomas to come.

The last ten days had been a whirlwind to say the least.

When she heard of the attempted assassination and the carnage she immediately asked her counterparts at MI5 if she could question the arrested members of the hit team. After a week of giving her the run around they finally gave her permission to do so. It hadn’t taken her long to break one of the young Somali refugees who up to that point like his colleagues hadn’t said a word despite intense questioning by the locals and the comic relief of Thames House.

Walking into the room Rebecca had quickly taken up position opposite the young man of no more than eighteen, she could tell straight away by the expression on his face he was terrified despite his lack of words.

Her assessment was that he more than likely was a refugee roped in by his Principals on fear of the threat of death of his family in Somalia if he did not do as ordered. She didn’t pity him as he had made his choice, and it was one that would cost him the rest of his life in prison just like his colleagues.

To break him, all she had to do was put a picture under his nose of Ahmed and Wasir to get the answer she had known was right. The look of fear in his eyes told her everything.

“That was quick!” commented the impressed Chief Inspector observing her when she got up without asking a question.

“They belong to the Clan of the former Interior Minister of Adwalland,” she offered as a courtesy towards him. “We will send you over any relevant files we have them,” she added as she left in the interview room hardly less than a couple minutes of sitting down in.

Sitting in Vauxhall Bridge updating the DG, as to who was behind the attack on one of Britain’s most significant businessmen the Head of MI6 she was told.

“Rebecca, the PM wants this bloody bugger caught!” stated the senior officer reflecting on his rather uncomfortable meeting with the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary yesterday when he was informed in no uncertain terms that Britain should not be used to settle debts like something out of the eighteenth century. Such was the depth of public outrage over the murdering of children it was politically damaging the Government. The world’s press were like a swarm of hornets, anything even remotely related to Litchfield was looked at: his links to the Russian President, the fact that an armed police unit was only there to limit the casualties because he held a diplomat passport of Russia, his influence in the corridors of power of Westminster and so on.

The situation was a hot potato, to put it mildly.

“Even the bloody Yanks have washed their hands of him!” he continued making reference to the fact that they covertly supported Wasir’s coup attempt despite denials.

“We believe he is in Mauritania, Sir,” Michael offered, drawing upon from the intelligence that an aircraft belonging to one of the companies Wasir was linked had flown out of Bristol airport two hours after the attack with a passenger that looked like the ringleader onboard.

It had taken them a week to find out that the aircraft had flown first to Madeira then changed it flight plan mid-flight by taking a detour to Mauritania instead of Eritrea.

“Really?”

“Is that confirmed?” asked the DG, looking for a bone for the Foreign Secretary, his immediate superior, to gnaw on.

“Yes, the Americans confirmed it for us,” Rebecca answered. Something she had only just found out about, when to her surprise an English sounding voice had called her back a couple of days before in response to having asked Langley if it were case due to the fact they had assets on the ground. The voice confirmed the inquiry and then followed up with an email attaching surveillance footage to confirm it.

“Mmm so do you have a plan?” asked the DG, hoping it didn’t include an expensive Special Forces assault as he was already over budget.

“Yes we do,” Michael answered looking towards Rebecca.

The man that greeted Rebecca was not the same man of several months ago at his annual party. Although he was smartly dressed and his face sported a neatly trimmed full beard, his eyes told a somewhat different story.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Rebecca said shaking his hand first then just as everybody else had since Nara’s death offering her sympathy and condolences.

“I have something for you,” she said giving him the envelope.

“Where were these photos taken?” he asked after he pulled them out.

“Mauritania,” Rebecca answered simply.

“Thank you. I owe you one,” he said understanding why she was giving him the photos.

“No, you don’t,” she replied before explaining the link that bound them. Once she finished, Thomas took her hand lifted it to his lips and gently kissed her fingers looking her straight in the eyes. Not a word said between them.

Composing herself, Rebecca got up and made to leave the conference room, but when she reached the door she stopped and turned back towards to Thomas.

“Got shtroft! der mentsh iz zich noikem!” she said in Yiddish.

Thomas’s reply to her statement was a mere nod. No translation was necessary; he understood the meaning completely.

Picking up the phone on the conference table, Thomas dialed the personal number for Sergei Andreyevich Petrov who like everybody else when he picked up offered his own set of condolences.

The painful account of ‘thank you’s’ out of the way, Thomas set about explaining what information Rebecca had just given him, if not the source of information.

Once completed, the Head of Zaslon replied he would send Igor and his team to assist him following up on the directive made by the Mayor that all efforts would be made to find the man that had almost taken Russia and America to the brink of war.

Awake at seven. Thomas gently moved his sleeping daughter by the side of him. He got up and went into his bathroom, showered, trimmed his beard and brushed his teeth before returning to the bedroom. Taking a moment, he sat down by the side of Victoria and gently stroked her hair, seeing Nara in her features brought him a sense of peace if only for just a moment.

“Time to get dressed Plum,” he said using her nickname gently as he woke her. Opening her eyes again, he found Nara staring right back at him as if haunting him through their daughter. She still hadn’t spoken since that fateful day. Knowing his daughter was traumatized, initially Thomas had hoped that eventually she would just start naturally talking again but as of yet that still hadn’t happened. Instead, she would just nod and hug everybody she knew when was asked something.

“She needs help!” offered Hannah, firmly backed up by Tania in turn, when they confronted him in the study of the Holland Park house.

“They are right, Thomas,” Mikhail also offered to support his wife and Victoria’s grandmother.

“I’ll think about it,” Thomas had responded, unimpressed with their proposal yet understanding why they were pushing him.

It wasn’t though until Pritchard offered his opinion when bringing him some coffee in the afternoon that he actually took notice.

“Sir, may I have a minute?” asked the butler putting down the tray with the silver coffee pot.

“Of course Pritchard,” Thomas answered, turning off the television he was watching before turning towards him.

“You’re bloody fool, Sir!” Pritchard blurted out when their eyes met.

“Pardon!” Thomas replied absolutely shocked.

“Sir! That little girl needs help! And you’re an arrogant bugger if you think she doesn’t,” he said. “You and she are the nearest thing I have to a family! So please I am begging you, don’t allow her to be lost to the demons of her soul like your mother!” he said going for the killer blow.

Looking at Pritchard who was actually shaking from the emotional courage he had used to create a stand on behalf of Victoria, Thomas reflected first on his statements then acknowledged within seconds that his old charge was right, and it took the mention of his mother’s demons to terrify the hell out of him to recognize it.

“Thank you Stephen,” he said taking his arm to put him at ease as his mind took on board the possibility that his little girl might end up the same way if he didn’t act. “I will make the call,” he continued as Stephen went about pouring the coffee his hand still shaking.

“Blast!” Pritchard said, having spilt coffee in the saucer and not wanting to embarrass him Thomas said nothing having recognizing the courage it took to confront him in the first place.

Awake, Victoria hugged him first, got up with the sleep still in her eyes and left the bedroom, to return to her own room; still not a word muttered by her. Thomas’s eyes never lost sight of her until she closed the bedroom door behind her.

“Soon,” he thought almost as if he were talking to Nara. His mind lost to the demons of vengeance.

Walking into the dressing room that still smelled of Nara’s perfume, Thomas faced up to the possibility that, after the funeral today and when the time was right and he left to revenge Victoria’s mother, his little girl could lose him as well.

He reflected for a moment as he tied his black tie.

“You have no choice,” his mind concluded in reference to the conversation that he now knew he need to have. A conversation with the one person in the world he swore he would never ask for support.

Arriving at the Litchfield House estate they were greeted by a whole volley of flashes from to the cameras outside the gates from journalists that had massed to record the funeral. Keeping his eyes ahead with Victoria tucked under his arm Thomas ignored them. Instead he focused his gaze on the road ahead that led to his father’s mansion.

Admired by all since it was established in the 1880s as a country retreat on a grand scale for its magnificent gardens, the house had once been the glittering hub of society; visited by virtually every British Monarch and home to Litchfield’s since the early twentieth century and just as infamous for its exclusive parties and political gatherings.

Yet, because his mother hated it she had rarely visited it during her lifetime, preferring the party set of London, that’s why he had always found it ironic that she had chosen it as her final place. Of course, he knew why. It was his mother’s twisted way of punishing Rufus and telling his young wife that one day he would come back to her.

Despite his mother’s tormented last laugh on his father Thomas however, thought the house was lovely, but because it would have meant interacting with his Father he had never visited his mother’s grave.

“God has it really been over thirty years!” he asked himself in relation to the last time he was there as the car pulled up outside the house.

Luckily because the Chapel of the great house was private, this meant Victoria wouldn’t have to deal with the attention of the world.

Although he never said anything he was grateful to the personal assistants of both him and his Father in ensuring that all the correct people were invited.

“Thomas,” his Father said once he had exited the Rolls Royce proffering his hand and offering the first olive branch between the two men of the Litchfield Clan.

Standing around six-foot-three with hazel eyes and short white hair, Thomas could instantly see the old bastard was still fairly well built with the firm jaw of all the Litchfield men pointing forward with pride.

“Father,” Thomas answered taking his hand firmly.

Despite all these years and long surpassing his Father’s power and status, Thomas still felt like the young boy in front of him. Today was no different.

Turning to his daughter, Thomas took the opportunity to present them to each other for the first time.

“Victoria, I would like to introduce you to your grandfather, Rufus,” he said.

“You’re a lucky man,” Rufus said taking in sight of the beautiful child and as he did so he could have sworn he saw Amelia in her smile.

“It’s a great pleasure to meet you Victoria,” Rufus said introducing himself by leaning down and kissing her cheek. It was a gesture that took Thomas by surprise, as he was never that friendly with him as a child. It was always handshakes, never hugs or kisses.

Figuring Victoria was shy, as she hadn’t said anything, Rufus moved on quickly to introduce his wife and two daughters.

“Thomas this is my wife, Cecilia.”

Although Thomas had never met her before he was very aware of her, a striking attractive long blonde, blue eyed woman in her early fifties who looked no more than forty years old, he could see why she still captured the attention of all the men, old or young. Standing barely five-foot-three in height, with a very narrow waist and slender legs the woman had been his secretary before becoming his wife at the age of just twenty.

“Cecilia,” Thomas offered with a nod. Defensively.

“And your sisters, Charlotte and Eleanor,” said his father.

Again despite never bothering to meet them Thomas was very much aware of them as they both girls had reputations that would have put the famous Mitford sisters to shame. Just thirty, the twins were the reason his father had left his mother all those years ago. Slight and slim, he could see both had inherited their mother’s figure, with long and wavy dirty blonde hair, wide-set blue eyes, pert upturned noses, and pleasantly oval shaped faces he could see why the papers, including his own tabloid, had made them the darlings of the gossip pages.

Over the years with ambitions of careers in the Media they had many a time tried to engineer a meeting with him. It had taken a tragedy to finally do so.

“Ladies,” Thomas answered. Recognizing despite his personal feelings towards their mother because they shared the same blood he bent down and kissed each of them on the cheek as if it were a regular occurrence in turn.

It was a gesture that wasn’t lost on either Cecilia or his Father. In Cecilia’s case, it was one of fury because he refused to kiss her, thereby acknowledging her place in his father’s life while in contrast his father’s case it was one of pride because it meant Thomas had acknowledged the girls as part of his family.

Awkward introductions out of the way, the Litchfield clan walked into the chapel for the service together.

Because Nara was Muslim the washing and shrouding and Janaazh prayer are the responsibility of the deceased family, but as Thomas wasn’t of the faith, Tania had taken over the responsibility. She allowed Thomas to stand at her side watching her wash her beloved daughter forty times in the morning at the funeral home before Nara was driven down to the country for her final resting place. It had nearly torn him apart watching it, but he had remained composed for Tania’s sake.

Together they had designed a service to reflect the celebration of Nara’s life. So as the Imam sung his prayer it wasn’t lost on him that it made a lovely contrast to surroundings of the Christian chapel, so much so by the end of the service the only ones not crying were Thomas and Victoria. Something he had only noticed when his daughter looked up at him under his shoulder.

He smiled and kissed her head.

At the end, the service over Thomas and Victoria rose together. He felt his daughter take his hand firmly. He squeezed it gently then placed an arm around the sobbing Tania as the coffin was carried out the three of them followed behind so they could walk to the plot that had been made ready by the side of his mother. They were swiftly followed his Father and his second family, Mikhail and Hanna, Sgt. Tan and his wife, Pritchard and the rest of his men and senior staff then finally the now permanent police protection unit that had been increased in size since the incident at the school.

Watching his beloved Nara being lowered into the ground Thomas made a silent commitment to the woman he loved, “I will revenge you my darling! On my life!”

“Please look after them for me?” Thomas suddenly asked of his mother referring to Nara and his unborn child within his confines of his mind.

A gust of wind out of nowhere in response, Thomas took it as a sign his mother would do as he asked. He leaned down and kissed his daughter’s head again at his side, getting another squeeze of his hand in return from the little girl.

An hour later back at the house Thomas found and asked for a moment with his father.

“Of course, Thomas,” Rufus answered putting down his cup of tea.

Walking into the study, he closed the door behind them. Straightaway Thomas spotted the chess set on the side table.

“I would like very much if we could have a game together again,” his Father said having spotted what he was looking at as he placed his hand on Thomas’s shoulder.

“As you wish Father,” Thomas responded before giving the reasons why he had asked for a moment alone with him not really wanting to engage in small talk until he reached an agreement with his father.

Once completed and looking grim his Father give a singular nod of his head if not his approval for he knew his son would not change his mind.

“I ask only one thing in return,” Rufus said before going on to ask that he and his family spend Christmas with him on his return from his duty and that he swore to look after Cecilia and his sisters once he was gone.

“I promise you on my honor that I will,” answered Thomas without a second thought despite his feelings towards Cecilia.

His response was a source of great relief for the old man. He had worried considerably over the years that once he was gone from this world his son would reap his vengeance upon Cecilia and the girls, for though they hadn’t spoken, he still intended to leave the company and house to him as honor demanded but most of all he had worried about his son’s exotic business reputation with its unproven links to a number of high profile deaths in Russia and the former Soviet Union.

Over the years, Cecilia had lobbied hard for him change his will on the basis that Thomas didn’t need his money and would only kick them out with nothing. Relentlessly using the logic that Thomas had not once had he made the effort to be part of their life despite his and the girls multiple attempts not really understanding that was the least of her worries.

The answer his son had just given him had immediately lifted the weight of the world of his old shoulders. Now his concerns would be directed to that of his son’s chosen path.

Seeing an ivory piece on the chessboard, Rufus suddenly picked it up and threw it towards his son. Catching it, Thomas looked at the piece and smiled: It was the Knight.

“Bring it back for our game!” he ordered his son and heir.

“So like his mother,” he thought. “Always swimming upstream as though he was a salmon to its fate.”