It took Knight a moment to grasp the implications of what Morgan was saying. “I am, Jack,” he promised. “But I won’t need to.”
We’ll see, Morgan thought.
Because he knew this was only going to end one of two ways—with the death of Michael “Flex” Gibbon, or with the death of Jack Morgan.
Chapter 65
MORGAN FELT THE shrouded looks and pity-filled smiles as he walked into Private London’s HQ alongside Peter Knight.
“My children are upstairs,” Knight sighed, shoulders slumping in relief.
“You should stay with them,” said Morgan. “I can handle this alone.”
Knight didn’t reply, but there was no chance he would leave this for Morgan to handle alone. “How are we doing on the headcount?” he asked his watch manager.
“Almost everyone is accounted for,” she advised Knight. “We’ve got them either coming into here or safe houses if they’re in other parts of the UK.”
“How is it affecting ongoing ops?” he asked.
“Minimally. Sir Tony and Sophie Edwards were our main investigations. We have a fraud case in Scotland, and a widow in Sheffield has asked that we look over her husband’s death, but other than that, the decks are clear.”
“Those cases can wait,” Morgan said evenly. “Right now, Private only has one case.”
The watch manager nodded. No one needed telling what that case was. “There is just one person we haven’t yet been able to contact,” she said.
“Who is it?” Knight asked, instantly fearful.
“Jeremy Crawford,” she replied. “Hooligan.”
Chapter 66
MORGAN AND KNIGHT sprinted for the Audi. Knight relieved the driver and jumped in behind the wheel. Within a moment they were tearing out into traffic.
It had been less than ninety seconds since the watch manager had informed them that Hooligan was the only Private employee who hadn’t been contacted. She put this down to his being at the West Ham game, where phone coverage was always pitiful due to the number of users in one place, but Knight and Morgan had darker thoughts.
“Flex won’t have had time to get him before the game started,” Morgan worked out. “But he could be waiting for him. Hooligan was one of the team that worked on the case to rescue Abbie Winchester, so if that’s his list, we have to find him before Flex does.”
“How much do we know about the man Hooligan’s with?” Morgan asked.
“Perkins? He was sent from De Villiers to coordinate with them on the tech side of things. No one’s been able to get hold of him either. You think he could be working with Flex?”
“He’s not one of ours, so I’m ruling nothing out.”
I’m not losing anybody else, Morgan promised himself as he picked up his phone, the call going straight to Hooligan’s voicemail for the tenth time. “Come on, dammit! Connect!” He hit his fist against the car’s dashboard.
Chapter 67
JEREMY “HOOLIGAN” CRAWFORD streamed out of London Stadium with thousands of other downcast West Ham fans, having been drubbed 2–0 by the visitors in a pre-season friendly.
“I can’t believe you pay for a season ticket to watch that dross,” said Perkins, the Millwall fan.
“Been paying for the past seventeen years.” Hooligan shook his head. “I must be a sucker for punishment.”
“If you’re into paying to be miserable, there’s ladies that will do that for you in Soho.”
“Black leather doesn’t suit my complexion,” Hooligan laughed. “And I’ve got too much important stuff to say to have a ball-gag in my mouth.”
For a moment, Hooligan thought that the grimace on his new friend’s face was an indication that he had taken the joke too far, but he quickly realized something was seriously wrong as Perkins crashed to the ground. “Crap! Perkins! Help!” he shouted to the crowd around him.