Less Than a Treason Read online

  LESS THAN A TREASON

  MARY BIRK

  *****

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2015 by Mary Birk

  eISBN: 978-0-9903277-8-3

  Cover Design by JT Lindroos

  Cover Photos by: citizenthom and Tony Hisgett

  “Ah, when to the heart of man

  Was it ever less than a treason

  To go with the drift of things,

  To yield with a grace to reason,

  And bow to accept the end

  Of a love or a season.”

  Reluctance by Robert Frost

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Quote

  DECEMBER 20, 2009 – SUNDAY

  Chapter 1

  DECEMBER 23 - WEDNESDAY

  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

  DECEMBER 24 - THURSDAY

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  DECEMBER 25 - FRIDAY

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  DECEMBER 26 - SATURDAY

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  DECEMBER 27 - SUNDAY

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  DECEMBER 28 - MONDAY

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  DECEMBER 29 - TUESDAY

  Chapter 58

  DECEMBER 30 - WEDNESDAY

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  DECEMBER 31 – THURSDAY

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  JANUARY 1 - FRIDAY

  Chapter 70

  JANUARY 3 - SUNDAY

  Chapter 71

  About the Author

  Terrence Reid Series

  DECEMBER 20, 2009 – SUNDAY

  Chapter 1

  BRODERICK POOLEY, invigorated from a long steam shower session, stared at the handgun on the bathroom counter while he toweled his dripping hair. The weekend had been great. He’d gotten in a couple of intense workouts, some excellent food and drink, and lots of sex. If past experience was any guide, the coming week would be quiet at the office. The days before Christmas were generally unremarkable in the financial business, unless one was dealing with clients dependent on retail sales spikes.

  Those weren’t Broddie’s kind of clients. His clients had lots of ready cash. Cash to play with. Cash to dream with. Cash they could afford to lose. Though if they took his advice, that rarely happened. Which was why he’d done so well.

  He tied his blue satin robe around a middle still trim despite his forty-six years, slipped the gun in the robe’s pocket, then crossed into the bedroom of his penthouse flat and turned on the television. His eyes slid to the bed, and he smiled at the rumpled sheets. Rumpling them had been fun, as well as damned good exercise. He liked partners who participated fully, giving as good as they got. And this one had topped the charts.

  Unfortunately, he doubted if he’d get any more of that kind of action for the next couple of weeks. At least not with the same partner, and he wasn’t big on changing horses when he was still happy with the one he was mounting. But, as he’d be plenty busy with work and family obligations, he could wait for more until after the holidays.

  After the holidays. A chill crawled along his spine at the thought of the ultimatum hanging over his head. He’d never had a death threat before. He’d had unhappy clients before, who hadn’t? But before now, none had threatened to kill him. His clients were sophisticated investors, and Broddie was meticulous about giving them the cautions. Especially for high-risk investments like hedge funds. What really rankled was that Walter Von Zandt had insisted he be allowed to invest in that particular hedge fund. Now the bastard had given him until January 2nd to come up with two million pounds to make up the punter’s losses. Or else.

  Broddie had no intention of paying the arsehole any money. He was a broker, not an insurer, no matter what the insane thug thought. He’d done what his uncle suggested, and turned the matter over to the authorities. Von Zandt hadn’t actually said he would have Broddie killed, but his meaning had been clear. Now things were in the hands of the police, and Superintendent Terrence Reid had assured Broddie he’d be protected when the time came. In fact, Reid had offered him protection right away, but Broddie had categorically refused. He’d argued there was no reason to cramp his lifestyle until Von Zandt’s ultimatum expired. Finally, and reluctantly, Reid had agreed to delay the protection detail, but only until the day after Christmas.

  Broddie yawned, stretched his arms. He’d check his email and calendar, then take the book he was currently reading, along with a cup of tea, and go to bed. He went to the kitchen island where he’d set up his computer, powered it on, and filled the electric teakettle. He selected a tea bag, Prince of Wales, his favorite, dropped it into an over-sized cup, then pulled up a stool in front of his computer to peruse his messages and appointments. He liked to have a good idea of what his next week was going to look like before he went to sleep Sunday night.

  He frowned when he heard a knock at the door, automatically checking to make sure the gun was in his pocket. Obtaining a handgun in Scotland had been easier than he’d thought, but as he didn’t really know how to use it, other than point and shoot, he didn’t feel as confident as he’d acted when he’d received Von Zandt’s barely-veiled threat. He knew enough about the man’s reputation to take the threat seriously.

  Broddie walked slowly toward the door, trying to decide whether calling his police contact was warranted. The building was a secure one, and drop-in visitors were rare. They weren’t supposed to get upstairs without the guard calling up first to make sure they were welcome. Maybe the guard had called while he was in the shower? Or more likely, the old fart had fallen asleep at his desk again.

  The electric teakettle whistled, and Broddie detoured to turn it off on his way to the door. He looked through the spy-hole, exhaling in relief. He allowed himself a second to let his heartbeat drop back to normal, took his hand off the gun, and opened the door.

  He gestured to his dressing gown. “I wasn’t expecting company. I’m making tea if you’d like some.” He wasn’
t going to offer whiskey. He didn’t want his visitor to stay too long.

  Hearing his guest’s assent, Broddie went to the cupboard. He reached up to select a cup from his eclectic and expensive collection. Which one would best suit? He settled on an unusual black bone china cup, always a conversation starter. Mentally he consigned twenty minutes for the visit. Then he’d yawn and send his visitor off.

  “Earl Grey, Prince of Wales, or would you prefer something herbal?” The words had just left his mouth when his arm was wrenched back. The rare cup crashed to the floor, right as a quick, sharp pain stabbed into his arm.

  “What the fuck was that?” Broddie clasped his hand around the place where he’d felt the pain. He started to lunge forward, but blood began surging through his veins like race cars speeding full throttle around a track. His head throbbed, and his heart swelled up as if it were going to explode. A thousand needles of electricity stabbed through his chest. He fell to his knees in agony, clasping his hands around his head, trying to stop the searing pain.

  He tried to scream, but bloody foam surged into his mouth, making words impossible.

  Before the door closed behind his visitor, Broddie was dead.

  DECEMBER 23 - WEDNESDAY

  Chapter 2

  “GUV?” Detective Constable Allison Muirhead peered into her boss’s office. The man behind the desk looked up at her, his expression distracted. The dark circles under Superintendent Terrence Reid’s eyes made them look even more daunting than usual. He’d been like this all morning—distracted and distant—even before he got the bad news Broderick Pooley had been found dead. For the second time in the course of their investigation of Walter Von Zandt, a potential informant had been murdered. People were going to start to get the message it wasn’t worth it to give evidence against the man.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse, she knew. The Superintendent was getting ready to leave Glasgow for the Christmas holidays. Nevertheless, she needed to interrupt him.

  “Yes, Allison?”

  “You wanted to see these reports before you left.” She held the papers up for him to see.

  He looked at her as if he couldn’t quite place what she was talking about. “Reports?”

  “The ones the FBI sent over from the States. You know, tracing the origins of the money Von Zandt invested?” She tried to jog his memory.

  “Right. Can you put them on a flashdrive? I’m taking my laptop with me.”

  “Already done.” Tapping a small envelope clipped to the papers, she said, “The only thing not on it is the list of Von Zandt’s bankers and brokers. I’ll email that to you, if you want it.” She laid the parcel on Reid’s large, utilitarian desk next to the other neatly arranged piles of papers and bound reports. Manuals and reference materials filled the bookcases behind him, and the walls were covered with maps and charts. Nothing in the room spoke of the man having a personal life at all. Not one family photo or piece of personal memorabilia in sight.

  “Give the list to Harry. I don’t need it right now. There’s still been no change in when we’re expecting Von Zandt to be back in the country?”

  “No, not until after the New Year. He’s supposed to be in Germany through the holidays, but we don’t have an exact date.”

  “I assume Harry will use your list and get the surveillance and wiretaps in place?”

  “Yes, guv, now that we finally got the authority.”

  Reid nodded. “The financial crimes lads at MI5 are tracing the path of the funds in and out of Von Zandt’s hands as well as they can. We should be getting more information on what they find in the next week.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “This is a bad time for me to be leaving town, but I have to go.”

  Allison didn’t even try to disguise her worry. “You’re not looking so good, guv. Are you feeling okay?” Since last spring she could safely say she’d never seen him look happy; he was solemn and worked all the time, but today he truly looked wrung out.

  He smiled, but the worry lines around his eyes were definitely deeper today. “I’m fine, Allison. Getting out of town is always a challenge. Pooley’s death just made it worse.”

  “You’re taking off soon, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “I’ve got to get on the road shortly.”

  “Going up north?” His family lived in the Highlands, she knew. She’d looked up his family’s ancestral home on the internet, and been half-dazzled by the photos of Dunbaryn Castle. She might have wondered why he’d gone into the force when he could have just lived off his family’s money, except he was so good at what he did she couldn’t imagine him not being a cop.

  “Aye. I suppose you’ll be with your family for the holiday?” As much as he didn’t talk about his own private life, he was good at remembering details about everyone else’s life; he could even remember things like her brothers’ names and what they did.

  “As always.” She made a face. “We’ll have a houseful with all my beastly brothers coming over. Should be perfectly horrid.” Maybe she’d have enough saved up to move out of her parents’ house by this summer, if she was careful and didn’t go anywhere for her vacation. She needed her own place. It was embarrassing to have her guv know she lived at home like a kid.

  “And Ian?”

  Of course, he would remember to ask about her current boyfriend.

  “He’ll be about.” She sat down, feeling a little shy. “Excuse me for asking, guv, and I know it’s not my place to mention it since you haven’t said anything, but . . .”

  He looked at her, his face concerned. “Is something wrong, Allison? Something besides Pooley?”

  “No.” She wiggled her fingers through her short brown curls. “It’s just I heard you and Lady Anne had a baby.”

  A shadow passed over his face, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Guv?”

  “You heard correctly.”

  She hoped he wasn’t annoyed with her mentioning it when he hadn’t seen fit to tell any of them.

  “I just wanted to say congratulations.” She didn’t tell him how she’d heard. He hated it when people talked about him, she knew. But when a person had a government job run by humans with big mouths, some things couldn’t be kept secret.

  “Thank you, Allison.”

  “A boy, right?” She smiled, her heart hammering.

  He nodded.

  She reached into her jacket pocket and took out a little package wrapped in white with a blue ribbon. “I got him a little something.” Allison handed it to him, feeling a little self-conscious.

  “Thank you.” He took the package, looking at it as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

  “What’s his name?”

  Now he smiled, and his face seemed to light up a little almost in spite of himself. “Michael. His name is Michael.”

  “Nice name. Michael Reid.” She smiled back at him, getting up from the chair. “I’d better get that list finished up.” She turned around on her way to the door. “Happy Christmas, guv.”

  “Happy Christmas, Allison.”

  Closing the door behind herself, Allison pondered. One thing her source had not known was whether Superintendent Reid’s wife was here, or in the States. If Allison had a husband like Superintendent Reid, she wouldn’t leave him and live somewhere else, that’s for sure. Or get herself in the gossip rags going about with another man. She couldn’t understand what made a man want a woman like that. Superintendent Reid could have just about any woman he wanted. Bad luck for him he seemed to want this one who treated him so poorly.

  Detective Sergeant Harry Ross came into the room, his face red from the cold. He motioned toward the closed door. “How’s he taking the news on Pooley?” His orange red hair, topping his head like a cap of soft fur, along with the stubby nose and freckled face, made him look harmless. But harmless was the last word she’d use to describe Harry.

  “About how you’d expect.”

  “Did you get the reports to him, sweetcakes?”

&nbs
p; “Yes, and don’t call me that. He’s taking them with him, he said, so once again, he’ll get no proper holiday.”

  “Why do all you birds want to mother him?”

  Allison made a rude noise and sat down in front of her computer.

  Harry hung his jacket on the back of his chair and came over to peer at her screen. “It’s hard to believe he’s taking so much time off now—especially with this happening. I was that sure he’d cancel his trip when he got the news about Pooley.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “He’ll be gone, what, about ten days? The last time he did that was when he went on his honeymoon.” He patted her on the head. “That was before you came here, little one.”

  “Stop it.” She swatted at his hand and gave him a warning look. “He needs a holiday. He works too much.”

  He leaned against her desk, a little too close. He was always invading her personal space. “Me, I’m happy to work through the holidays. The trip down and back from Dumfries takes too long. Now I have a good excuse not to go. Besides, I’d rather have time off later—go someplace sunny with a pretty girl. What about you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere either.”

  “Where’s he going? Did he say?”

  “Dunbaryn, I guess.” She looked down at the papers she was working on, trying to look nonchalant.

  He eyed her suspiciously. “I can tell there’s something you’re not telling.”

  She looked up, chewing on the end of her pencil.

  “Give it up, sweetcakes.”

  She squinted her eyes at him, trying to decide whether to tell him, or keep her superior knowledge to herself.

  “Now, Allison, tell Harry, there’s a good girl. You know you want to.”

  She did, of course, but then again, she didn’t.

  “Allison.”

  She smiled, giving in. Motioning to the Superintendent’s door, she whispered, “They had a baby. Last month.”

  “Get on with you? The guv and his wife?”

  The surprise on his face gratified her. He hadn’t had a clue.

  She nodded.

  “How’d you find out?”

  “How do you think?”

  “Bernice?”