The Network: A DI Sean Corrigan short story. Luke Delaney
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These goods are mine.’
‘Not yet they ain’t,’ Ismain told him, the sound of approaching cars increasingly obvious to them all despite the lack of sirens or flashing lights.
‘Fuck this,’ Sean kept bluffing. ‘I’m outta here. This is your shit, Enrico – you sort it out.’ He pushed past Ismain and his bodyguards and headed for the Range Rover while Ismain banged on the side of the truck and shouted his orders.
‘Get this fucking thing out of here,’ but it was too late, the unmarked police cars swarmed into the car park and around the warehouse, cutting off the only road of escape. A mixture of plain-clothed and uniform cops spilled from the vehicles, chasing down the hooded figures running in all directions. Ismain stood still, resigned to his fate and already planning his defence, watching as one of the plain-clothed cops kicked Sean’s legs away and booted him in the stomach as he lay on the floor. Sean pretended to groan with pain and gave the big cop standing over him a wink of appreciation.
‘You fucking set me up, Ismain,’ Sean shouted. ‘You’re finished, you dirty bastard, you’re fucking finished.’
‘No,’ Ismain protested above the din of the screaming, shouting police. ‘It wasn’t me, man. It must have been Jimmy – he set us both up. I’m gonna kill him, man.’
‘Fuck your bullshit,’ Sean spat back as the burly cop led him to an awaiting police car and tossed him in the back before jumping in next to him. The driver sped off, leaving the scene of settling anarchy behind them; Ismain’s protesting voice trailing away till there was nothing.
‘Alright, Sean?’ the burly cop asked.
‘Yeah, cheers Nathan.’
‘Didn’t hurt you, did I?’
‘No, I’m all good.’
‘Interesting last-minute change of plans.’
‘I knew Ismain would try something.’
‘How come?’
‘Because it’s what I would have done,’ Sean told him. ‘It’s exactly what I would have done.’
Next morning Sean sat in the back office of the small, crowded room that was the official epicenter of all undercover operations undertaken in London, the South-East and beyond. The offices of Specialist Operations Ten, more commonly referred to as SO10, were tucked away off a long corridor in New Scotland Yard – suitably covert for an organization that existed to be exactly that. Visitors were met with a small sign on the door stating ‘Admission Strictly for SO10 Personnel Only’. Beyond the door was a chest-high wooden counter where all visitors had to wait until they were checked by whichever member of the team happened to see them standing there. Sean hadn’t been kept waiting long before he was whisked through the main office – small as it was – and into the back room, where he now sat watching DS Arif Chopra reading through the report of the previous night’s fun and games. Finally Chopra looked up, dark, sunken eyes peering out from his square face, the grey stubble that spread down from his cheekbones matching his thick, short, salt and pepper hair – all connected to his short, stocky body by a squat, muscle-bound neck. His overall look of menace and distaste had been honed through fifteen years of permanent undercover work.
‘So,’ Chopra said, ‘you changed the plan at the last minute, without telling anyone.’
‘I had to,’ Sean argued. ‘I had no choice and I did tell someone – I told DC Benton.’ Chopra stared at him darkly, his face impossible to read – like the face of a snake.
‘Fair enough,’ Chopra eventually agreed. ‘Looks to me like you did the right thing. The goods turned up and the baddies got nicked and you’re alive and well, so that’s a result.’ Sean exhaled the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. ‘You can go back to Southwark now and get on with investigating all them frauds that must be waiting for you – if that’s what you want.’
‘Meaning?’ Sean asked.
‘Meaning,’ Chopra began, ‘there’s a job come up – something a little unusual, but important – not a deployment you can do part-time. You’ll have to stay away from the CID Office at Southwark for a few weeks at least, probably longer.’
‘And you can swing that with my DCI, can you? She won’t be happy losing one of her few DSs for weeks.’
‘She won’t have any choice,’ Chopra told him, an expression as close to a smile as he ever had slightly bending his lips, ‘but don’t worry, we won’t piss her off too much. I’ll get the Commander here to give her a call and promise her that her assistance won’t be forgotten. That’ll keep her happy – always does with the ambitious types.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Sean answered, ‘although I haven’t said I’ll take the job yet.’ Chopra tossed the file he was reading to one side and lifted another that had been propped up against the side of his chair, opening it up at the first page.
‘Heard of the internet?’ Chopra asked.
‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘It’s kind of like our own internal e-mail system, only it spans the whole world, or at least the computer-boffins tell me it will soon. But as usual the criminal element is on to it quicker than us, particularly the less savoury types – paedophiles and other types of sex offenders all keen to share their experiences with each other. We have a couple of guys here who understand this information technology – that’s what they call it – better than most. We’ve attached them to the Serious and Organized Crime Group, largely because we didn’t know what else to do with them. However, a few months ago they hooked into a paedophile ring sharing around some pretty heavy-duty kiddie-porn – real nasty homemade stuff. The group calls itself The Network and apparently prides itself on the ability to share this stuff around and still avoid detection. Except they’re not as clever as they think and the boffins not only found out about them, they infiltrated them as well. Just online, though – no live contact. They’ve been pushing for a chance to meet the members who are actually making and distributing the pornography – raping and sexually abusing children.’
Chopra’s words tore at Sean like grappling hooks, ripping his own past and childhood from the places he’d tried to bury them for so long. He could see the children being abused and filmed – the face of each of the abusers turning into the face of his father – and he could see himself, a small boy again, as the monsters one-by-one … Chopra’s voice snatched him back. ‘You alright?’ he asked. ‘You look like shit!’
‘I’m fine,’ Sean lied. ‘Just knackered, that’s all. Go on.’
‘Kid stuff isn’t easy to deal with. If you’d rather not I can always look for someone else.’
‘No,’ Sean argued too quickly and loudly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Got any kids yourself?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I’ve got three,’ Chopra told him. ‘Two girls and a boy. Sean, I’ve dealt with just about everything I could have dealt with and I’m not ashamed to tell you very little of it ever got to me – maybe I just don’t care enough. But this shit – with kids – it’s the worst, you know. If I ever got one of these fuckers on their own … well, let’s just say it’s probably best I never do. My point is there’s no shame in not wanting to get involved in something like this. If we’re going to get you next to these guys, and if you’re going to convince them they can trust you, then you’re going to have to say and do some things you’re going to be very uncomfortable with, and it’s going to leave you feeling pretty dirty for quite some time. So if it’s not for you, be honest and tell me – here and now.’
Sean wanted to leap from his chair and run from the tiny backroom, blitz through the main office, hurdle the counter