inside Outside

By John Morritt

Jack Griggs, Director General of MI5, has a problem, one that he is unable to resolve using his own resources without compromising the agency or risking the life of an agent. Jack is under pressure from both the Home Secretary, and the Lord Privy Seal who wants his nephew found.
Jack can think of only one man who has the tenacity and attitude to successfully complete the mission. He has no option but to ask his old friend Ed Case to help. Ed not being an agent is able to make his own rules, and gives Griggs deniability should anything go wrong.
Ed has a choice and can turn down Jack’s cry for help but Ed owes Jack for past favours and the man he wants him to find once saved his life so Ed is compelled to help despite putting himself in the most hostile and dangerous environment he has ever experienced.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Morritt
• Release date: Sep 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215024645

John Morritt

English by birth but after 30 years of daily grind, earning money for fat cats that don't really need any more money, John relocated to Thailand to teach English. His first novel, Black Cockles was published in 2010 but was only available in paperback until now. The sequel, Nine Lives, was published in 2012. His third novel, Vengeance was published in January 2014 and the sequel to Nine Lives in due for release in the summer of 2014.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The south coast of England

What seemed like a good plan and a sound idea had turned out to be anything but. Tim was in a whole world of pain. He’d been punched, kicked, beaten and then incarcerated inside a dank shipping container. He was hungry and had a raging thirst, but these discomforts paled into insignificance compared to his physical injuries. He considered himself fortunate that the punishment dealt out to him was concentrated more on his torso and limbs rather than his face and head, apart from the initial blow to the back of the head which had rendered him unconscious. When he’d regained consciousness, he explored the back of his head and his hand touched a significant and tender lump. His hair was matted. Tim rubbed his hands together to rid himself of the still sticky blood.

He’d been in the container two nights. He’d ascertained that from the small chink of light that emanated through a narrow gap between the stout steel doors to his makeshift cell, unless of course he’d been unconscious longer than the few hours he thought he had. The container stank of stale piss and worse. He knew from the stench, he wasn’t the first occupant, and no doubt wouldn’t be the last.

The makeshift cell was empty, devoid of anything that he could use to aid his escape; not even a rusty nail or sharp object to use as a weapon, if and when his jailers decided to release him from this hell on earth, if at all. His only option was to wait it out and hope that an opportunity to escape presented itself. He hadn’t been killed so he was being kept alive for a reason, one he’d yet to figure out. Unless of course, his captors were sadistic bastards and they’d only kept him here out of the way until he died of starvation or thirst, only to be discarded to make way for the next unlucky occupant. Tim pushed these morbid thoughts aside and tried to remain positive, which wasn’t easy considering his dire predicament.

His assignment had started out easily enough, but had quickly turned sour, after eventually meeting with his target in a bar in Canary Wharf. He’d being trying to get close to the man for a few days now, but Canary Wharf had many bars and being in the right one at the right time was always going to be a difficult task. Time was of the essence as his target only spent one week a month in London. Tim was sick of drinking tonic water as a guise to make it look like he was a hapless drunk drinking a gin and tonic, and prayed he’d find his target soon.

The man he was after was known to MI5 as being part of a gang involved in the trafficking of people, drugs and arms. To date, their intelligence had yet to ascertain who all the key players were and exactly where their centre of operations was located. It was Tim’s job to infiltrate, get proof and find out, then assist in taking the bastards down. It was a risky assignment, but one he relished, or had done until he found himself locked in a metal box, hungry and thirsty. Right now, he could murder a tonic water that he’d come to hate over the previous week.

His target was an ex-alcoholic who’d reformed, but once in a while liked to binge drink. He was considered a soft target, which turned out to be true. When Tim finally caught up with his man, he casually took the bar stool next to him and engaged him in conversation. A few pints later, or tonic waters in Tim’s case, and his target had loosened up enough to talk about his line of work. Tim pleaded hard times and said he needed to find work and money and was prepared to do anything to get his life back on track. Tim excelled in playing the part of a fellow drunk, and his drunken drinking partner’s tongue was loose enough to help him. Tim managed to get an address as to where he could possibly find employment. His target offered to take him there the next day but told him that his days as a free man were possibly numbered with a court case pending for a drink-driving offence the day after. His target was resigned to a prison sentence due to the severity of the offence and it not being his first offence for driving whilst under the influence.

Excited by the prospect of finding the location at the centre of operations, Tim made his excuses and left. He took a quick look at his watch and reckoned he could easily catch a train to his destination, carry out a quick reconnaissance and then put in a meaningful report to his superiors, who could then take it a step further and shut the operation down, assuming his information was correct. He was reluctant to call in so late at night with anything unconfirmed and waste time and resources. He decided he’d make the call the next morning when he had a tangible lead. In hindsight he wished he’d called in before he boarded the train, as by now it was likely he would’ve been rescued.

Alas, his expectation of what he thought he’d find was far from reality. He’d caught the train from London and got a taxi to the address given to him by his inebriated target. He told the taxi driver to wait. Tim took a look at the meter and paid him double the displayed tariff, which seemed to appease the driver and he agreed to wait, but only until the meter showed the amount Tim had given him. Tim reluctantly agreed but really wanted more time. He gave him a five quid tip on top regardless. However, he knew he couldn’t make the taxi driver wait for ever. He took a business card from the driver so he could call another taxi from the company, just in case he took longer than the time his money would buy; it was a long walk back to the station.

The main gates were manned, but only by a single guard. Tim made an on the spot decision and carried out almost a complete circuit around the premises on foot, before making his entry into the site. There were few cameras and plenty of blind spots. Tim was something of an expert, it was all part of his training, and he found his way inside easily enough, avoiding the cameras. Alas, he’d been too hasty in his appreciation of the lack of security and unfortunately ran into two guards patrolling the inside of the large compound.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re up to?’ the guard asked and took a pistol from his utility belt.

‘A friend said I could find work here. I came in the front gate but there was nobody there to talk to so I just walked in and hoped to find someone who could give me a job. Maybe you can help, or take me to someone who can?’

While Tim was talking the second guard was on his radio talking to someone in charge. The guard nodded and turned to Tim.

‘On your knees,’ he said softly but authoritatively.

Tim had no choice and dropped to his knees. That’s when the punishment started.

His steel home was bathed in sunlight as both doors to the container were thrown open. The sun wasn’t shining, in fact when Tim adjusted his eyes, he noticed the sky was clouded over, but the presence of any light after two days in almost total darkness was going to be hard on the eyes.

Tim was hauled out from his metal prison. He couldn’t call it a cell as the container had been spacious; he’d even done his best to exercise and keep some semblance of normality. Even so, with no food or water for two days, he felt a little weak and vulnerable.

He was taken to a portacabin and pushed into a chair facing a man he didn’t know. The man didn’t introduce himself, but being in the secret service he made mental notes about the man’s features, mannerisms and accent, which might be useful at a later date. Right now though, he wondered if that was going to be something he needed to worry about. Tim stared back at the man behind the desk.

‘I understand you said you were looking for work. Who said we were looking for any new people,’ the man asked.

‘Mark. I met him in a bar in Canary Wharf. We got talking and he gave me this address.

‘Does this man have a surname?’

‘I’m sure he does, but we were first name terms only. He was pretty drunk, and for that matter, I wasn’t much better either.

‘Did this Mark tell you anything about our line of business?’

‘He was pretty vague from what I remember. Like I said, I’d had a few too many myself. He just said a bit of this and a bit of that.’

The man behind the worn desk glanced at one of the men who’d brought him to the portacabin and rolled his eyes.

‘I know Canary Wharf and I know most of the bars and pubs around that neck of the woods. A man out of work doesn’t drink there as the beer is too bloody expensive.’

‘I agree, but I’d been at a mate’s house in Lewisham and I had a couple of good wins on the horses at the local bookies. I was on the way home and had to change at Canary Wharf to get to the Jubilee line. I decided I’d stop for a quick pint as I was feeling a bit flush and some of the women who work around that area and go to the bars are really hot. I was feeling lucky and thought my luck might continue; you know how it is. Anyway, it seemed my luck had ended at the bookies and that’s when I got talking to Mark. I only stopped for a couple; you’re right, prices are bloody extortionate and it burnt through my nice little winnings in no time at all.’

Tim lied expertly, and even he thought he sounded convincing.

‘You got a name?’

‘Tim. Tim Price,’ he said giving the name on the fake ID’s in his wallet that was taken from him along with his mobile phone and other personal effects. ‘What about you?’

‘Keith,’ the man replied.

Tim looked at him and nodded, once more taking in his appearance and making mental notes. He looked to be in his mid-to late thirties and just about everything about him was unremarkable: average build, brown hair; no distinguishing features, but he had the look of a cold hearted, ruthless man.

‘So what skills have you got that makes you think I want to hire you to do a bit of this and a bit of that?’

‘I went to university so I’m well-educated. I know my way around a computer, I’m a pretty good cook, I can handle myself, and I’ll be honest with you, I need work,’ Tim replied with genuine desperation in his words, knowing if he was rejected he might be killed.

‘If you’re so well educated, why are you here?’ the man asked unable to hide his suspicion.

Tim gave him a sheepish smile and lowered his eyes.

‘I said I was well educated, but didn’t say I was smart. I lost my job because I like a drink, and I just need a break to get back into the game.’

‘You said you can handle yourself. Get into a lot of fights do you?’

‘As you can see, I’m tall, and I was, and sometimes still am, a drunk. Let’s just say I’ve attracted a lot of attention over the years and learnt how to take care of myself.’

Tim thought he was putting on a pretty convincing show; considering he was just making it up as he went along.

‘I’ll tell you what Tim. Let’s step outside and you go toe-to-toe with Richie here and if you win, I’ll see about finding you some work. Lose and well, let’s just say you won’t have to worry about finding work or another bottle of oblivion for that matter.’

Tim was weak from his beating and his confinement, but knew he’d no choice. He nodded his agreement and turned towards the door.

Outside the portacabin, Tim took off his jacket and rolled his shoulders. Richie was a few inches shorter than he was, but was powerfully built. Tim knew his strength against this man would be his superior reach, both with his arms and legs and he needed to work those to his advantage. He also assumed he’d be much faster than Richie despite being hungry and thirsty, as he was well trained; an assumption he hoped was correct.

Richie eyed Tim up, who knew he was thinking about the recent beating he’d been given and how he must be hurting. Tim made a mental note to try and protect the tender spots.

‘Are you two ready?’ the boss asked.

‘I’m always ready,’ Richie replied.

Tim just nodded.

Richie stomped towards him, his fists balled. Tim sidestepped at the last minute and slammed his own fist into Richie’s face and skipped back. Richie seemed amused by the punch and snorted derisorily, letting Tim know he hadn’t hurt him. Tim showed no emotion and was fully focused on the next assault.

He didn’t have to wait too long as Richie came at him a second time, his face and eyes blazed with anger. When he was in striking distance he lashed out with powerful left and right hand punches. Tim blocked them with his forearms, grimacing as their arms clashed. Tim was driven backwards until his back was pressed up against the portacabin; not a great position and he braced himself. Richie threw a roundhouse which Tim ducked underneath. Richie’s fist slammed into the side of the portacabin, making a hole in it, and bloodying his knuckles as he dragged his fist out of the ragged hole, cursing. Tim brought his knee up, striking Richie in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him. Using the momentum, Tim spun away with a speed that caught Richie by surprise. Tim hammered Richie’s kidneys with left and right handed punches. After five debilitating blows, Richie sank to his knees. Tim turned and smashed the heel of his boot into the side of Richie’s head. His face crashed into the side of the portacabin and he slumped unconscious to the concrete floor.

The boss nodded and the second of his tormentors entered the affray. Tim was now fired up, but remembered his training that taught him to remain calm, focused and to think with the head not the heart. He took a few deep breaths and readied himself.

His opponent approached but seemed hesitant; perhaps knowing he was not as an accomplished fighter as Richie and worrying about losing or even facing the repercussions from his boss.

His hesitancy was his undoing. Tim lashed out with a stinging left handed jab that landed squarely on the end of his nose. His nose dripped with blood and his eyes watered. Immediately he was gasping for breath as Tim jabbed his stiffened fingers in to his throat. Tim followed up with a kick to the balls to end the fight completely.

Tim turned to face the boss and gave him a questioning look.

‘You don’t wanna fight me. I don’t fight fair,’ he replied.

Tim grinned and took a step forward, only to stop dead in his tracks as he faced the barrel of a gun.

‘Like I said, I don’t fight fair, but I’m happy for you to give it your best shot.’

Tim held his hands up in the air and slowly lowered them and smiled.

‘I like your style Tim. I think you could be a useful asset to have on board, but you’ve gotta earn my trust. I’ve got another facility near Bexhill and it just so happens we’re a little short on kitchen staff. You told me you could cook so you’ve got a job. You prove yourself there, call it a trial period, and then maybe I’ll see about getting you more involved with some of our other activities,’

‘What are they?’ Tim asked.

‘Don’t ask so many questions. You’ll find out on a need to know basis, but only when you’ve earnt my trust.’

‘Anything you say boss,’ Tim replied.

Tim mentally gave himself a pat on the back. He was back in the game.

CHAPTER ONE

London

The sky was slate grey and rain didn’t look to be too far away Jack noted, as he turned and looked out of the window of his corner office, rubbed his temple and sighed. It’d been a frustrating few days in the office, where nothing had gone to plan; it was all part and parcel of the job. There were long periods where everything went according to plan and results were even greater than his expectations and others like today, where nothing had yielded any tangible results; it was the nature of the job. Jack had learned to live with the disappointments as much as he did the successes.

London, he thought, was a depressing and drab city when the sun wasn’t shining. He turned his face from the window and glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was almost time for his meeting with his boss. It wasn’t going to be an easy meeting and he prayed for a favourable outcome; he could do with at least one positive to walk away with, from an otherwise unproductive working day.

The desks outside were mostly empty as the working day for the majority of staff was over, but not for Jack. As the director general of MI5 his hours were longer than most. Regularly, he’d be behind his desk late into the evening or even into the early hours of the morning if there was a major operation ongoing. He reported directly to the home secretary, who he was due to meet very shortly and he expected an uncomfortable ride, but hopefully a short one. He’d had enough for today and only wanted to get home and put his feet up and try and relax with a glass of wine; or relax as much as his position allowed him to.

A few raindrops splattered on the window, doing nothing to raise his melancholy mood. He ran his hands though his hair and caught his reflection in the window. For a man the wrong side of fifty, but still a few years on the right side of sixty, with a stressful job, he felt he was ageing quite well. His hair was notably greying at the temples and the rest of his hair generously flecked with more than a few steel grey hairs too. Overall, he thought himself to be in good shape. His face wasn’t too lined and he thought he could pass for a few years younger than he actually was, which considering his position, was in his opinion, quite an achievement.

His mind drifted back and his thoughts turned towards his career. Jack had joined the police force straight from university, very much against his father’s wishes. His father himself had been a detective chief inspector in the Metropolitan Police and had warned his son of the problems he’d face should he decide to marry and have a family. He frowned as at that age he’d no plans to marry and start a family and so he dismissed his father’s advice, but now older and wiser with a family of his own, he knew exactly what his father was talking about. Relationships and family life were hard and became harder as he rose through the ranks. Fortunately, Jack had a strong relationship with his understanding wife, who did a great job keeping the family together.

Jack Griggs, had been an outstanding recruit and a move to the Criminal Investigation Department, abbreviated to CID and back then widely known to the criminal fraternity as Copper In Disguise, due to not having to wear a uniform and for their undercover operations, seemed inevitable. In CID, Jack proved to have a natural flair as a detective and showed great management skills, and soon found himself one of the youngest detective chief inspectors in the force. Despite his father’s displeasure at his son joining the force, he was immensely proud that his son had achieved what it had taken him his entire career to aspire to. Some years later, Jack moved across to Special Branch and attained the rank of chief superintendent heading up Internal Affairs. Jack made somewhat of a name for himself and, as such, became very well-connected. It was still a surprise when he was head hunted for a similar role within the secret service.

Former Director General of MI5, Anthony Brown-Smith was on Jack’s watch list as being involved in activities considered detrimental to the country. Matters were taken out of his hands as he met an untimely death, which he himself covered up. Jack was put in place as the acting director general and again through his connections, exemplary record, and integrity was recently given the role on a permanent basis.

Jack, like his father, was proud of his achievements, but he was always at odds with himself morally. When he joined the police, he was a strong believer in rigidly upholding the law. He knew of many colleagues who were on the take, turning a blind eye for the odd backhander, but he resisted temptation and never once took a bribe to look the other way. He took law enforcement seriously and prided himself on his honesty. Being the head of MI5 was therefore very difficult for him. Many times he found himself in a position where he’d be forced to break the laws he’d held so sacrosanct when he was a serving police officer. It came with the territory, but for the most part, he tried to abide by the law. However, he had to put the security of the country first, and as much as he hated doing it, he had no choice but to act outside the law when the need arose, which was more frequently than his conscience was comfortable with. It also made his private life difficult. When he was in the police force, he was often asked about cases that were in the media or for his opinion on whether the person on trial was guilty, which he could give most of the time, unless of course it was one he was actively involved in. Now, he had to use phrases like I’m sorry that’s classified, which he knew made him sound full of his own self-importance and made him unpopular; again it came with the territory. His family, especially his long suffering wife who’d stood by him all these turbulent years, and true friends understood, and they were the people that mattered - those and the people who worked for him, trusted him and relied on him for his support.

Jacked looked at his watch; an expensive Rolex given to him as a gift from a man he greatly admired. It was time to leave. He looked at the manila file on the desk in front of him and drummed his fingers on it for a few seconds. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

‘Sorry mate, but your country needs you,’ he said quietly and placed the file, marked confidential, into a document case.

The rain was light and there wasn’t even a whisper of a breeze in the air; an umbrella was enough to keep him dry. Jack’s position entitled him to a chauffeur service, but the walk from his office in Millbank to the Home Office building on Marsham Street was only four minutes, and regardless of his lofty position, nobody ever recognised him, despite being one of the most powerful men in government service, outside of parliament itself. He arrived, and in spite of who he was, went through a rigorous security check before finally being taken to the office of Howard Dixon, Home Secretary, for what was going to be an awkward meeting.

‘Evening, Jack thanks for coming. I’ll try and keep it brief as I’m sure, like me, you’ve had a long day and want to get home to see your family,’

You’re not wrong there, Jack thought.

‘Of course, sir,’ Griggs replied, as if working late was a pleasure not an inconvenience.

‘I keep telling you, you don’t need to call me sir.’

Jack thought about a reply, but smiled his acknowledgment instead and silently prayed Dixon wouldn’t procrastinate like he had a tendency to do and just say what he had to say. Jack wanted nothing more than to go home and put his feet up with an enormous glass of wine.

‘You know why you’re here, so I’ll get straight to the point. I’m under a lot of pressure on this issue. I assume your agent is still missing?’

‘He is and although I don’t want to give up hope; I fear the worst could’ve happened. He is deep undercover, but his lack of communication is a grave concern. However, he’s an excellent agent and has had a lot of experience working undercover with both MI5 and MI6 before that’ Jack replied.

‘Quite’ Dixon said and paused. Jack knew how to read people and knew the next sentence was going to be profound. ‘I’m not sure if you know, but your agent’s uncle is Sir William Offord, who is the Lord Privy Seal and the most important man in the House of Lords? Well… let’s just say he’s been rather vocal and wants his nephew found. So you need to do something, and do it quickly, to get us both off the hook.’ Dixon said deliberately, not telling Jack of Lord Offord’s ultimatums if he and Jack should fail.

‘I know sir, but I’ve hit a little bit of a setback. The only person who might be persuaded to help has just been handed a five year prison sentence for causing a death due to drink driving. I wasn’t aware of the impending trial, and have to say, I’ve been completely blindsided by this and only became aware of the man’s sentencing after the event. I’ve tried to have him interviewed but he’s refused to speak to the police or any of my agents.’

‘Well that just won’t do Jack. You’re a resourceful man. Can’t you send in an agent to umm… get to him?’ Dixon replied, his apprehension clear at directly suggesting something unlawful.

‘Well that’s a bit of a problem, Howard. If it became public knowledge that I sent an agent in to interrogate or threaten a prisoner, it’s likely to create a lot of serious repercussions with both the press, who’d have a field day, and the public, which I certainly wouldn’t want on my conscience. The secret service are either seen as an organisation full of James Bonds or as big brother watching each and every move the public make. I need to try to preserve what little credibility we may have with the general public and more so with the media.’

‘Yes, I appreciate that, but do you have another suggestion?’ Dixon asked.

Griggs nodded and sighed. He removed the manila file from his document case and pushed it across the desk. Howard Dixon looked at Jack, frowned and then looked back at the file. He opened it and scanned the pages, once in a while making sounds of surprise or even disgust. Eventually he looked up to speak to Griggs.

‘This person isn’t an agent?’ the home secretary asked.

‘No, but he’s a very capable man and one that can be trusted and relied upon, even in the most hostile of environments.’

‘I assume by the content of this file he’s on the payroll or at least military. Surely someone involved in the deaths of so many people can’t be a civilian; that would mean we’ve a serial killer on the streets.’ The home secretary said light-heartedly and laughed, but Jack could see through his fake laughter.

‘Most of the people he’s killed have been… justified. I know that man personally and can vouch for him. If I’m honest, I’ve been grooming him for a quite some time, but so far he’s turned me down each time I’ve asked him to become an agent.’

‘Well, he seems very capable. There are a number of very high profile names on his record whose downfall he’s been involved with. Has he agreed to take on this assignment; that’s all I really care about?’

‘Well, in principal. He owes me a favour; more than one actually as you can see from his file. I’ve spoken to him and he’s offered to help. He doesn’t know the dangers involved, but because he’s a man of honour he’ll repay me for the help and leniency I’ve afforded him in the past.’

‘Quite a lot of leniency it seems,’ Dixon replied and looked at Griggs who remained silent; his face