The Road To Eden Is Overgrown

THE ROAD TO EDEN IS OVERGROWN –––––––– Dan Wheatcroft Copyright © 2017 by Dan Wheatcroft The right of Dan Wheatcroft to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Acknowledgements: Fabiana: contributions, perseverance and her love. Dexter Petley: advice and encouragement. Firearms advisor: Mike Olley Cover: Phil Harris Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page NOTES CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 31 CHAPTER 32 CHAPTER 33 CHAPTER 34 CHAPTER 35 CHAPTER 36 CHAPTER 37 CHAPTER 38 CHAPTER 39 CHAPTER 40 CHAPTER 41 CHAPTER 42 CHAPTER 43 CHAPTER 44 CHAPTER 45 CHAPTER 46 CHAPTER 47 CHAPTER 48 CHAPTER 49 CHAPTER 50 CHAPTER 51 CHAPTER 52 CHAPTER 53 CHAPTER 54 CHAPTER 55 CHAPTER 56 CHAPTER 57 CHAPTER 58 CHAPTER 59 CHAPTER 60 CHAPTER 61 CHAPTER 62 CHAPTER 63 CHAPTER 64 CHAPTER 65 CHAPTER 66 CHAPTER 67 CHAPTER 68 CHAPTER 69 CHAPTER 70 CHAPTER 71 CHAPTER 72 CHAPTER 73 CHAPTER 74 CHAPTER 75 CHAPTER 76 CHAPTER 77 CHAPTER 78 CHAPTER 79 CHAPTER 80 CHAPTER 81 CHAPTER 82 CHAPTER 83 CHAPTER 84 CHAPTER 85 CHAPTER 86 CHAPTER 87 CHAPTER 88 CHAPTER 89 Also By Dan Wheatcroft About the Author NOTES AWOL: Absent WithOut Leave CCTV: Closed Circuit Television COMMS: Communications CROPS: Covert Rural Observation Posts HUMINT: Human Intelligence IPA: International Police Association MIT: Major Investigation Team OPPO: Colleague or friend OSD: Operational Support Division PNC: Police National Computer PPU: Public Protection Unit SFO: Specialist Firearms Officer SK: Station Keeper Holy Corner: junction in Liverpool’s pedestrianised centre where Lord Street, Church Street, Paradise Street and Whitechapel all meet. Matrix: Police unit specialising in overt/covert disruption of organised crime Signalling stick: Wooden ‘stick’ approx 3ft (90cm) with flat metal tip. Traditionally used in many City Forces, pre-use of radios, to tap on pavement signalling to the ‘Beat Officers’ that their Supervisor required to meet them at the source of the tapping. The Met: Metropolitan Police West Mids: West Midlands Police Knowledge is sorrow, they who know the most must mourn the deepest over the fatal truth Acknowledgement: Lord Byron CHAPTER 1 Nicks took several mouthfuls of his Dreher beer, sat back and surveyed the bar. He liked this place, always had. A hint of ‘student’ reminded him of Keith’s, on Lark Lane in his hometown of Liverpool. Tonight it was not as vibrant as usual. A young couple sat at a small table on the far side, an old guy sat watching the TV and a group of four played pool in the back room. The large, shaven-headed, middle-aged man had been looking at him intently. Foreign Legion, Nicks speculated. Never one to back out of a ‘situation’, he engaged him with eye contact and nodded. The barman nodded back and raised an empty glass. Nicks nodded again and downed his remaining beer. He lit a cigarette and promised himself he would give up smoking soon then put the earphones to his iPod back in his ears. There was no music, just a vestige of the isolation he needed. Placing a Dreher on the table, the ‘Legionnaire’ accepted payment with a hint of a smile. Nicks gulped the beer down, sucked heavily on the cigarette, rested his head wearily against the wall and closed his eyes. He was remembering the letter she’d written, hidden amongst her things for him to find; when the time was right. Imprinted in his memory, each word bore the soft inflections of her voice, each sentence softly crushing his heart. The tears, almost imperceptibly, filtered through his eyelashes, gathering together as if unsure where to go next. He sat up with a start to the pain of the burning cigarette and self consciously eyed the room for any reaction. There was none. He was invisible to all but the barman who stood before him; another beer on the table. Nicks removed an earpiece and stared up at him. “You look as if you could do with this,” the Legionnaire said in Hungarian “It’s on me.” The following day, he left the hotel, walking along Eötvös Utca to the Oktogon. The sun was shining and, with undertones of Paris, Budapest felt welcoming. Usually, he’d spend time in Berlin, harvesting cash from the ATMs, but this time he needed to get home. He couldn’t linger in admiration; one more call to make and a train to catch. He took the Metro to Batthyany tér station and walked across to the nearby man in the wall. It should be enough; anyone tracking the use of his bank cards would think he lived in the Buda part of the city or was on his way to Déli pályaudvar, the Budapest railway terminal serving the west of the country. Job done, he re-crossed the river. As he entered Keleti station through the grand portico, he checked the departures board then bought a kávé from a small shop close to the entrance; walking with it to the side exit. He liked this coffee. It was strong, that’s why you didn’t get much of it. With two sugars it tasted near perfect. At the benches, he dropped the rucksack whilst he had a smoke and finished his drink. He clicked a playlist