Sky Foil: An International Conspiracy

By Gerry Burke

“In recent times, we’ve received many veiled threats; but this one has legs.”
—Dave Mackrell:MI5


This one, Fatima Khan, manages to retard the efforts of the CIA, and confuse the combined resources of MI5 and MI6. There’s an international conspiracy in play but the secret can’t get out; or can it? The aviation industry is in turmoil, and the U.S. president is off his game. He just shanked his drive into a water hazard on the fourth hole.

How many heroes can you fit into one story? Defined by their individual talents, they serve it up to the villains in this contemporary thriller, involving murder, espionage, and perfidious political power-plays.


Fast-paced, fascinating, and imaginative…Readers’ Favorite

The shameless spy novel you didn’t know you were missing…Indies Today

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663244819

Gerry Burke

Gerry Burke received a Jesuit inspired education at Xavier College in Melbourne, Australia, where he still lives. Before commencing his long career in advertising, he was employed by an international mining company, which included a three year stint in New Guinea. He also dabbled in the horse-racing industry, as an owner and breeder, with some success. Being a former accountant and advertising creative, no one expected Gerry to become a published author, but he embraced this initiative in order to stave off dementia. He has since penned 6 novels, 6 volumes of short stories, and 2 offerings of commentary and opinion relating to Politics, Entertainment, Sport, and Travel. The PEST pseudonym was subjected to a sea change with the introduction of his popular protagonist Paddy Pest to booklovers everywhere. Most people see the garrulous gumshoe from Down Under as a cross between James Bond and Maxwell Smart, and he has been the centre-point of the author’s humour-laden resume. In recent times, there have been diversions into Science Fiction and absolute fiction, all of which have won enthusiastic acclaim. Mr. Burke’s credentials have been well established with ten of his books featuring as a winner or finalist in a variety of international literary competitions. His last three volumes have received multiple citations. Gerry is single and lives with photographs of his best racehorses. http://gerryburke.net

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Copyright © 2022 Gerry Burke.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Edited by: Kylie Moreland

Interior Image Credit: Shutterstock/iStock Libraries

ISBN: 978-1-6632-4480-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-4482-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-4481-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022916097

iUniverse rev. date: 09/09/2022

Contents

Main Characters

BOOK 1

1. Down to Earth

2. He Picked Up The Bill

3. A Few Days Earlier

4. Putney Control Centre

5. The Foreign Secretary

6. The Mole in Mink

7. The Special Relationship

8. Prue Pimento & Olive Green

9. Langley, Virginia

10. Back in Britain

BOOK 2

11. Splashdown

12. Fatima & Asad Khan

13. The Five Amigos

14. Tittle Tattle in Seattle

15. More Than a Game

16. Spies, Lies and Apple Pies

17. Pillow Talk

18. Cool Dudes

19. Santa Claws

BOOK 3

20. Great Balls of Fire

21. Chin Wag in Moose Jaw

22. What’s Yours is Mine

23. Loose Lips

24. Let’s Get The Bogey Man

25. Justice for All

About The Author

Author’s Previous Works

Main Characters

BOOK 1

1

Down to Earth

The body just fell out of the sky and landed on the roof of Joel Haire’s Porsche Targa, which, only days before, had been spruced-up and detailed. Joel heard the heavy thud from the front bedroom of his semi-detached unit in Chiswick, where he was having it off with Barbie, the recently appointed leasing consultant at Rowland and Rushbrooke Realty, where he worked. They both hurried to the window, with his lady friend verbalising the anguish, foremost in his mind.

Oh my God! You only had the car detailed a few days ago.

Fate can really deal you a bum hand. The lady’s clapped-out Fiat was parked directly behind the classic car, and if the body landed there, it could only have improved the vehicle. With a crowd gathering, Joel put on his pants in record time, leaving his lover to reflect on a moment that would be lost forever.

It didn’t take the onlookers long to speculate as to what might have occurred. Suicide seemed out of the question, as there were no high-rise buildings in the vicinity. Being under the flight path from Heathrow Airport, one could easily surmise that one of the carriers might now be a passenger short.

When Mr. Haire hurtled through the front door of his residence, this kind of speculation was far from his mind. He was contemplating the repair costs to his pride and joy, which he knew would be substantial. Nevertheless, on arrival at the scene of the tragedy, he became mesmerized by the crumpled body that had already entranced his neighbours. The broken bundle of bones was cradled in the indented roof of the vehicle, and blood was slowly seeping from the body, looking for an escape route to ground zero. Joel was relieved that none of it was heading for the car’s upholstery of luxurious leather and soft-trim accessories.

It was inevitable that he would be button-holed by the street’s most inquisitive neighbour, who lived across the road.

Geoffrey Godkin had recently survived a prostate scraping at Ealing General Hospital, but otherwise appeared alert and inquisitive. So much so that his chain of thought would relate to a trip to Benidorm, some years earlier, a heavily discounted holiday, memorable for all the wrong reasons.

The toilets on some cheap-flight planes are not identified well. The poor bugger probably opened the wrong door.

Although this comment was directed at Joel, it was Mr. Godkin’s tenant, Fanny Abromwich, who blessed them all with her opinion. It was inconceivable that Fanny would not have an opinion.

Perhaps, Geoffrey, he just wanted a breath of fresh air?

With no further comment from the eighty-year-old pensioner, the lady chose to commiserate with the car owner. She could see no point in directing her sympathies towards a dead man. For all she knew, he might have tried to get into the gates of heaven and been rejected?

Do you know if your insurance will cover this?

Well, said Joel, the premiums are certainly sky high, but I’m not sure whether I’m covered. Perhaps with the roof gone, I can use it as a convertible.

A new-age person would not jump to the conclusion that the victim was male just because the body was wearing trousers. In point of fact, the clothes kept all the broken bones together. In the long run, recognition protocols would be fast-tracked, as it could be seen that the bundle of bones boasted a beard. When the medical examiner arrived, she provided her assessment, which even surprised the scene-of-crime officer.

It’s a he alright, who probably fell from the 7.15 flight from Heathrow to Mumbai.

Get out of here, exclaimed Sergeant Plod. How did you know that?

Well, said the ME. People in our profession only look at two choices when sexual identification is required and a little dicky bird tells me this person is male. Also, that bundle of cloth on the ground is a turban.

You mean he was a Sikh.

Assuredly, replied the medico, and when we retrieve the contents of his stomach, I am sure we will find his last meal to be curry.

You might also find he comes from Slough, not Mumbai.

This comment came from Geoffrey Godkin, whose state-of-the-art hearing aid picked-up most audible asides inside twenty paces. The medical examiner may also have wondered about the size of his proboscis. Such a nosy neighbour!

Nevertheless, the old codger had a point. Large Sikh communities did live in Slough, Hounslow and other areas close to the airport. With no identification on the body, the corpse would go to the morgue with the moniker Punjab Pete, and be identified as either Indian or Pakistani. The Americans preferred the terminology John Doe, but they don’t have any imagination, do they?

You may be right, sir, said the woman in the white boiler suit. Please speculate if you think it might help the investigators? Or are you just a tourist?

There was no need to be so prickly, but most people don’t like having their views trashed, especially by a pensioner. With some grace, the resident from number 96 watered-down the exchange, and then departed to warm-up his television set. Thank God the body didn’t land in Coronation Street.

Crime scenes are always difficult to insulate against the inquisitive, when there is a limited police presence, but that was about to change. Cue Scotland Yard. Cue the media.

Ann Capon at Number 19 can take credit for alerting the media, although her house was a long way from the incident. The woman’s intuitive reporting had aroused newspaper editors in the past, and she was now accepted as a news source by one of the tabloids. This particular daily paid her peanuts, but she regarded her on-the-spot alerts as a public service. An avalanche of journalists arrived, as did the OB vans, and it was all down to Ms. Capon.

Why does the arrival of television reporters encourage authorities to respond with such diligence? The police presence amounted to overkill, and it was hard to understand why the dog squad needed to be involved. Or the RAC? Would they be responsible for prising the body off the roof of the car?

Many of the superstitious residents willingly provided their opinion for the TV cameras, and these opinions were as diverse as they were ludicrous. Some claimed the fall from above to be a defiant act of God, while others just blamed climate change and the Tory government. As you might expect, at least three people saw an unidentified flying object, but this turned out to be a real estate drone evaluating wanted properties in the area.

One of the onlookers would be quite circumspect. Having just finished his shift at Heathrow, the chap was walking to his house when the body fell from the sky. After seeing the turban fall from the man’s head, he looked up in case there were any more bodies on the way down. Turbans in his workplace were commonplace, so he didn’t think it important enough to mention to the police, who would be charged with the job of identifying the poor chap.

It must have been a slow day at the precinct because the boys in blue arrived from everywhere. Statements needed to be provided, but one can over-investigate. Those with little to do started taking down the registration numbers of the cars parked along the strip. Quite frankly, no one expected to find a Porsche in this street, and bingo—it was found to be stolen. Poor Joel! After the ignominy of the damage, they now marched him to the divvy van, hoping that he could help with enquiries, which is police speak for busted. How distressing for Barbie! The lass had been cavorting with a criminal.

What about criminality surrounding this skyfall? This burning question inflamed all conversation, and the answer would determine which law enforcement division would investigate. Those at the scene would demand first bite at the cherry, but the presence of the media often made the bigwigs nervous. Already, a report, short on detail, found its way to Scotland Yard. Rehnu Ramadas, the go-to lady for all things turban, always wore a sari to appear more convincing. In this instance she produced nothing.

I offer no clue as to why one of my people would jump from an aeroplane. If pushed, I would have less of an idea. We are so friendly and accommodating. Perhaps the meal choices were not to his liking. After all, airline food?

All these considerations were discussed before the news came through that Flight 329 from Heathrow to Boston had come down in the Atlantic Ocean. Was there a link between the two incidents? At this stage, no one had any idea, but with alarm bells ringing, it was time to afford both events the highest of priorities. Rehnu returned to her cubby hole and waited for the next ethnic episode to arise. Her superiors alerted their best men and women from various departments and charged them to investigate possibilities and probabilities. They all recognised the smell of terrorism in the air.

2

He Picked Up The Bill

Two days went by before the police could identify the baggage handler. As the body plummeted to Earth, his loose-fitting Hi-Viz safety jacket was sucked into the heavenly abyss and eventually floated down on top of drinkers in a beer garden in Southall. Before that, the ID card around his neck had departed for Richmond. A pedestrian, walking her dog, found the plastic tag and handed it in at the local nick.

The corpse, previously known as Punjab Pete, would prove to be a missing Heathrow employee who failed to arrive home for dinner. His beloved alerted the authorities, who discovered his phone, wallet and other personal items in his locker. They also discovered multiple pictures of cricket commentator Isa Guha pinned to the back of the door, but this information was kept from his wife.

The quick identification ticked off a box or two, but it didn’t cast any light on the circumstances of the catastrophe. The Mumbai destination no longer became a priority, as many Sikh and Hindu employees contributed to the many services at Heathrow airport. This place is a city within itself, with over thirty miles of conveyers in operation, and security personnel screening around 200,000 bags every day.

Any crime or potential crime connected to the airline industry makes the police jumpy, so they passed the case on to MI5, who shared the load with MI6—a rare occurrence, but demarcation issues often arise between these two agencies. The body landed on British soil, indicating homeland jurisdiction. The stratosphere outside Britain provided a different boundary point, and nobody knew where the blighter succumbed. How would they work it all out?

Those committed to investigating the incident were getting to know each other at an up-market city restaurant. The tables were discreetly separated, which gave the diners some privacy, and the dim lights provided a certain degree of camouflage, away from prying eyes.

Is Stephen Small your real name? It’s hardly likely to get you priority service for a Vodka Martini—shaken or stirred.

MI5 people always like to take the mickey when indulging in banter with their counterparts from the external agency. In this instance, the two lead investigators were breaking bread, and they had never met before. Dave Mackrell presented as a 6ft. 4in. giant and he looked down on Mr. Small, a very optimistic 4ft. 6in. One almost expected the fellow to speak with an Irish accent, but he was not a leprechaun.

Because of my lack of height, some misguided people under-estimate me. I have a black belt, as well as a blue and brown one.

Surely a joke? The conservative public servant couldn’t tell, so he erred on the side of caution and proprietary.

One can readily see that you are clothed by the tailors at Savile Row. How I wish I had your expense account, said the envious operative, hoping like hell that Mr. Small would pick up the check.

In terms of seniority, they enjoyed equal rank, but the MI6 man enjoyed access to influential people and operated with the biggest budget. In this instance, the co-operation would be genuine as neither man had sullied his reputation by being overly ambitious. There were others who you wouldn’t want standing behind you.

With the small talk out of the way, the two professionals got down to business, both speculating on what might be going down. They couldn’t see this episode as being an unfortunate accident, and with aircraft implicated, terrorism loomed large as the crime most likely.

As a breeding ground for extremism, Britain is right up there, and even a literary slur might see you with a fatwah to your name. Allah just doesn’t seem to possess a sense of humour. Both intelligence agencies have their work cut out, but they keep good records and employ excellent staff. The biggest problem is usually the availability of money. Steve Small came to the table prepared to be gracious and generous in his agency’s appropriations.

The Foreign Secretary thinks it important that we merge our activities and has approved a task force to operate out of one of our safe houses. Other operational expenses will be equally divided unless one agency takes control of the investigation exclusively.

That will not happen, Stephen. We have a body on the ground, an airliner in the ocean and confirmation that a flight to Boston went-off the radar, less than one hour out of Heathrow. The dead baggage handler loaded this particular plane before departure. How big should my squad be?

"Three should do it. Let’s not overlap with our resources. My contribution will be a killer, a honeypot sparrow and a Russian expert. Can you provide a couple of analysts and a Jihad specialist?

The exciting news for David Mackrell, known to his friends as Fish, was that MI6’s celebrated covert was the shameful seductress Floriana Keggler. Everybody in MI5 had heard about this femme fatale, both beautiful and mysterious. She had purportedly seduced more men than Mata Hari. Fish hoped the leggy lovely was equally disposed between friend and foe.

The Small man displayed quite an appetite for a man of his size, and his knowledge of wine varieties impressed his dining partner, who nearly gagged on his Filet Mignon when he saw the cost of the vino on the menu. The chap didn’t look a bit like agent 007, but he seemed to possess all his characteristics.

Are you enjoying the Chateau Margaux? It is one of their best vintages.

More than acceptable. It sure beats the Chateau Cardboard, which they flog at my off-licence.

Yes, an Australian product, I believe. Fancy keeping wine in a plastic pouch and serving it through a tap. It sells well in Kangaroo Valley, I’m told.

Dave Mackrell actually lived in Earl’s Court, the home away from home for many Aussies, where local retailers enthusiastically yielded to demand. Liquor sales in this neighbourhood eclipsed the national average. The safe house would need to be stocked with certain beverages to keep both teams happy, and Fish hoped that his new friend would take on the responsibility for these orders. The gang would end up with a better brew, to be sure.

After sipping on his favourite tipple, Steve Small thought it wise to reflect on the state of affairs, so far. They didn’t have much, but it was early days. The best investigators try to anticipate what is to come.

"This jet that went down in the Atlantic.