Monroe (8)

After just four hours sleep, Frank was back at his desk in Limehouse by 7 am.  One of the guys from the Special Firearms Unit brought him a bacon sandwich left over from their nightshift. Frank washed it down with three mugs of hot black coffee. By 8 am the rest of the team had arrived, all anxious to see what the mysterious “Jackson” had to say for himself.  They all had their theories, the most common one being that “Jackson” was a “Spook”. Someone from the intelligence services that shouldn’t really exist, but did.

At 8.15 Frank looked out of the third-floor window and saw a Black Cab pull up outside the main entrance.  A tall, heavy-set man dressed in a long grey coat and carrying a briefcase got out and paid the driver. Frank, as always, ignored the lift and walked down the six flights of stairs to the reception area just as the door opened. The overweight man in the grey coat looked at him and smiled. He thrust out his hand.

“Frank Monroe. Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t a question, he obviously recognised him. Frank found that slightly creepy. He shook his hand and returned the smile.

“You’ve got the upper hand, you know my name. What’s yours?”

Again the man smiled.

“Just call me Jackson, everyone does.”

Frank wasn’t convinced by either the fake smile or the obvious false name, his patience was wearing thin.

“Okay, there’s a small meeting room on the second floor, let’s set up there and then perhaps you can tell me what the fuck’s going on.”

Jackson ignored Franks comment and walked towards the lift. Now it was Franks turn to lie.

“Out of order I’m afraid. Got to take the stairs. Don’t worry, it’s only four flights.”

A few minutes later Frank and a slightly out of breath, red-faced Jackson sat opposite each other at a desk on the second floor.

 Sandra appeared carrying a tray with a jug of water and two glasses. She placed it on the desk in front of them. Frank was impressed by her timing, but knew the real reason she’d popped her head in was so she could see Jackson's face close up. She would now go away and see if she could find him on any of the Intelligence Service Websites.

“Thanks Sandra.”

Jackson reached over and poured himself a large glass and drank it down in one. He waited for Sandra to leave then opened up his briefcase. He took out a brown paper file. Frank recognised a small black and white photograph of Thomas Sago on the front. Jackson began.

“Okay Frank time to answer some of your questions. I’m going to be as honest as I possibly can with you so that you fully understand the sensitive nature of what’s just happened. I work for a Unit that’s closely attached to the Secret Intelligence Services. We help replace people back into the community once they’ve been helpful with certain “sensitive” information.”

He looked at Frank when he said the word “sensitive.” Frank new exactly what he meant.

“So you’re a handler.”

Jackson didn’t look comfortable with Frank’s response.

“Your words Frank, not mine. Some years ago Thomas Sago was very important to the Intelligence Services and gave us some valuable information. In return we helped him settle back into society. I helped him get a job and a place to stay. Once that was done I kept my eye on him for a while and then he was on his own. Unfortunately, it would seem that his past caught up with him and he suffered the consequences. The case will now be closed on the grounds of National Security. That’s it Frank. That’s the story of Thomas Sago.”

Jackson opened up his briefcase and put the folder away. Frank noticed smugness on his face that he didn’t appreciate.

“What do you mean that’s it? That’s far from fucking that’s it. Who killed him, who chopped his fucking fingers off and stuck them in his mouth? Was it Boco Haram for turning supergrass? Or was it revenge for some of the atrocities he helped carry out?”

Jackson looked surprised. He wasn’t expecting Frank to know that information.

“You’re well informed Frank, how did you know about his involvement with Boco Haram?”

Now it was Franks turn to look smug.

“It’s called good old fashioned police work. Something that you lot seem to know fuck all about!”

For a good ten seconds there was silence. Jackson sat back in his chair. Then suddenly he raised his hands as if in surrender.

“Okay, okay, Frank. Let’s start gain, call a truce. I’ve looked you up, I know you’re a good copper. I’ll tell you about Sago and his involvement with  Boco Haram and in return you just let this one go. Agreed?”

Frank realised he was in a no-win situation.

“Fine by me.”

Once again Jackson opened his case and took out the file on Thomas Sago. This time he opened it and showed Frank a photo. It was a group of black men, dressed in combats each carrying a rifle.

“Second man from the left is Sago. This was taken in 2009, just outside a village in Northern Nigeria where 350 men woman and children had just been slaughtered.”

He pulled another photo from the file and handed it to Frank. This one was more graphic. Three black men were standing over five dead bodies like trophy hunters. He recognised one of the men as Sago.

“You see Frank, Thomas Sago became quite a celebrity within Boco Haram between 2009 and 2013. Not many knew his real name, he was simply known as Awon Eranko which means The Beast. It’s likely he was responsible for the torture and killing of well over 500 people.”

Frank was eager to know more.

“So how the fuck did he change into a mild-mannered school teacher from Clapton in East London?”

Jackson laughed.

“In 2013 Boco Haram were on the run. They were being hunted down by not just the Nigerian Government but secretly by us and the US. Basically we’d all had enough of their bullshit and it was time to take them out. Sago was captured along with a number of others, he was due to be executed but wanted to do a deal. He said he would show us where the last strongholds were in return for safe passage out of the country. His information led to pretty much the end of Boco Haram in Nigeria. He came to me in 2014. He was a bright kid, a real academic, quick learner. I pulled a few strings and got him the primary school job. He knew that he had to keep his head down or someone was likely to take it off. “

Frank was keen to know about the Church.

“And what about Doctor Jeremiah. Is he also ex Boco Haram?”

“Frank, I can’t discuss the good Doctor, let’s just say we look after his little religious group with a bit of funding here and there.”

Frank shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay, but who killed him?”

Without hesitation Jackson replied.

“Definitely not Boco Haram. This was a revenge killing for what he’d done in Nigeria.”

Frank looked surprised.

“How can you be so sure?”

Jackson pulled another photo from the folder and gave it to Frank. He took one look and suddenly Thomas Sagos killing made sense. Sago was dressed in full combat gear holding a pair of wire cutters. Beside him was a man strapped to a chair his hands covered in blood. On the floor next to the chair were the man’s fingers. He handed the photo back to Jackson.

“You see Frank it was his favourite form of torture.”

The folder was put back in the case and Jackson stood up ready to leave.

“That’s it Frank. You’ll get a call from your boss soon to say the case is being handled by the Anti Terrorist Unit. So stop digging and make sure your team do the same. Deal?”

Frank nodded.

“Deal.”

They shook hands. Frank led Jackson back down the four flights of steps and out the front door of the station. Now all he had to do was convince the team that it was all over. His mobile rung. It was his boss.

“Hi Frank, look there’s been a development on the Sago case. Looks like he was some kind of escaped criminal from Africa and on the most wanted list. Anti Terrorism are taking the case over and are arranging for his body to be taken back overseas. Sorry Frank but as far as you’re concerned the case is over.”