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Retribution (2nd Edition)
Retribution (2nd Edition)
Retribution (2nd Edition)
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Retribution (2nd Edition)

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Book 2 in the, PROBE, Murder Mystery Series. (Warning! Plot Spoiler for Book 1)
Specialist private investigators, Alan Cornish and Melanie Underwood, are once again hired by the Metropolitan Police to solve a particularly gruesome double-decapitation in the city of London.
Ex-Metropolitan Police, Alan Cornish, is intrigued by the fact that the young, Russian male was decapitated but also shot in the head, and he is determined to solve the enigma with, or without, the help of the authorities; because it becomes obvious to Cornish that the authorities are more concerned with appeasing the public rather than uncovering the real truth.

After Probe’s commission is terminated by the Met and frustrated by the hindrance of MI6, Alan Cornish decides to go it alone and, thanks to their gritty determination, he and his team uncover a deadly plot; a plot with unthinkable consequences.

But will the authorities believe him, before the unthinkable becomes reality?
BOOK 3, in the series, 'Bulldogs and Pure Silk,' was released in spring 2021.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherHaydn Jones
Release dateApr 13, 2020
ISBN9780463554128
Retribution (2nd Edition)
Author

Harry Waterman

Haydn Jones is an author of adult fiction. He lives in the UK and his books are available from Watermark Publications on Smashwords, Amazon and Apple.Haydn has released a number of novels in different genres, including: The Angels of Destiny, The Devil and the Unicorn and The Journal of Harry Somerville.Under the pen name of, Harry Waterman, he has written a murder mystery trilogy with includes: Shroud the Truth With Silence, Retribution and the recently released Bulldogs and Pure Silk.The trilogy is available as a download, paperback and hardback.

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    Retribution (2nd Edition) - Harry Waterman

    cover-image, DigitalRetribution 2025 Rewrite

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

    If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

    Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    My sincere thanks for their invaluable advice and time to:

    Doug Galloway

    Chris Sheppard

    Watermark Publications

    Table of Contents

    Acknowledgements

    The Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran

    Chapter 1

    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

    Chapter 16

    Chapter 17

    Chapter 18

    Chapter 19

    Chapter 20

    Chapter 21

    Chapter 22

    Chapter 23

    Chapter 24

    Chapter 25

    Chapter 26

    Chapter 27

    Chapter 28

    Chapter 29

    Chapter 30

    Chapter 31

    Chapter 32

    Chapter 33

    Chapter 34

    Chapter 35

    Chapter 36

    Chapter 37

    Chapter 38

    Chapter 39

    Chapter 40

    Chapter 41

    Chapter 42

    Chapter 43

    Chapter 44

    Chapter 45

    The End

    Other Books

    The Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran, London, early April

    Gilgamesh Jazani, the Iranian ambassador to London, had originally refused to see Jamal Karam, but her persistence had paid off and one morning in early April their paths had crossed outside the embassy. Seeing the beautiful woman approach him, insisting that she had: Extremely important information concerning the economic welfare of Iran! the ambassador succumbed and invited her into the embassy.

    Standing behind his large, leather-topped desk, dressed in a black, pinstriped suit, Jazani regarded the alluring woman facing him; she was wearing a black hijab and a black dress. Her olive complexion was near flawless and her dark, sultry eyes were intoxicating and tantalisingly irresistible. Her bright-red lips were the only outward sign of her rebellious nature.

    ‘Please, take a seat,’ he said as he lit a cigarette. ‘I must say Miss Karam, if nothing else, you are a very persistent woman.’

    ‘Oh—there’s a lot more to me than that, Mister Ambassador,’ she replied confidently, as she settled on one of a pair of ornate, brushed-silk sofas that were separated by a low, marble-topped table.

    Gilgamesh Jazani’s face was full and plump and the wisps of black hair that remained on his head were oiled and combed straight back. His gold-rimmed glasses were far too big for his face and a well-trimmed, moustache adorned his top lip.

    ‘I have ordered some tea and cake, it will be arriving shortly,’ he said, with an insipid grin that exposed his smoke-stained teeth and gold fillings.

    Jamal smiled and replied politely:

    ‘How nice of you, Ambassador.’

    With a condescending tone he asked:

    ‘So… what is it that you have that could possibly affect the economic welfare of my country?’

    With that there was a knock on the office door and a young woman, wearing a sand-coloured hijab and full-length black dress, walked in carrying a tray of Persian tea and Yazdi cakes (cup cakes). The ambassador gestured to her, in a condescending way, to leave the tray on the marble table. The woman subserviently obliged and smiled weakly at Jamal before leaving the office without a word being spoken.

    Jamal smiled as the familiar smell of cardamon filled her nostrils.

    ‘I love them but sadly they’re not good for my waistline,’ the ambassador said, tapping his rotund tummy.

    There was something about him that she didn’t like, but business was business, she quickly reminded herself.

    The ambassador walked over to the table. ‘Sugar?’ he asked, as he poured tea into two fine-china teacups.

    ‘One lump please,’ she said, and took the steaming cup offered to her. She watched her host settle on the sofa opposite her and excitedly inspect the tray of colourful cakes, before finally forcing a whole one into his mouth.

    ‘Help yourself,’ he mumbled.

    Jamal smiled and ignored his offer. ‘…To answer your question, sir—I have something for you that will, without doubt,’ Jamal leaned forward for effect and looked deep into his eyes, ‘persuade the Americans to unconditionally remove much of the trade embargo on your country; and that, I’m sure you will agree, would be worth billions of dollars to Iran?’

    The next cupcake the ambassador was about to devour never reached his mouth. ‘… Are you a mad woman?’ he snarled.

    ‘Do I look like a mad woman, Ambassador?’ Jamal replied, coolly.

    ‘…There is nothing you have young lady, that would persuade the Americans to do such a thing—so please—do not waste my time any further.’

    Jamal leaned forward, took a cupcake and devoured it sensuously. ‘…Mmmm, delicious,’ she said, seductively wiping the sides of her mouth with her index finger. ‘We have similar cakes in Syria ,’ she concluded with a wry smile.

    The ambassador began to stand.

    Jamal quickly added:

    ‘I guarantee you there is something I have Mister Ambassador, and it’s for sale to you at a cost of thirty-million US dollars ; an absolute bargain, even if I say so myself, and the quickest return on investment Iran will ever have offered to them on a plate.’

    The ambassador scoffed:

    ‘… What on earth are you selling that’s worth thirty - million dollars! Miss Karam?’

    Jamal giggled. ‘…I’m selling the best poker hand Iran could ever be dealt; a hand that will make Iran a respected player on the world stage, instead of a struggling, volatile country crippled by antiquated, religious bigots and sweeping economic sanctions.’

    The ambassador closed his eyes and huffed in despair. ‘You are mad and downright rude, and you have wasted enough of my valuable time. You have accepted my hospitality and in return you have chosen to insult the great Republic of Iran.’ Gilgamesh Jazani gestured to the door. ‘Would you now please leave.’

    ‘I only speak the truth,’ Jamal replied. ‘Please, let me explain. I’m offering Iran top - secret Russian military information, Ambassador; information that the Americans would lick your arse and suck your cock for!’

    Her host stiffened and blushed with embarrassment at her vulgar comment but Jamal Karam never took her eyes off him.

    ‘…You have five minutes, young lady,’ he said, ‘to tell me exactly what kind of information you’re selling.’

    Jamal continued, knowing she had his undivided attention.

    ‘…I’m offering Iran top-secret information about the location of numerous hidden underground missile, bomb and chemical warfare sites in Russia. The kind of armaments being manufactured and the throughput at each of the sites. Also, detailed information about the whereabouts of storage facilities for both conventional and nuclear weapons and—if that’s not enough—four locations of major cyber centres that the Russians are developing to wreak havoc on the West’s financial infrastructures, together with two sites where Russia is developing genetic engineering tools to manipulate human DNA.’

    The ambassador sneered. ‘How could you possibly know all of this?’

    ‘Simple,’ Jamal replied, ‘I have access to genuine inside information.’

    ‘I’m sorry young lady but I don’t believe you.’

    Jamal smirked and then stood up. ‘But the Americans will,’ she said, as she walked towards the door. ‘They have suspected Russia of lying for some time, and now that Russia has pulled out of the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty, Iran could offer the Americans concrete evidence to support their claims. Russia would be stripped naked in front of the whole world with nowhere to hide its filthy modesty. A massive negotiating chip, wouldn’t you agree?’

    ‘Do you expect me to believe that you would sell that information to the Americans ?—A fter what they did to your country!’

    Jamal stopped and slowly turned around. ‘Bashar al-Assad, Putin, Trump, Saddam Hussain, ISIS, it’s the same power game and sadly, innocent people always get killed as part of that game. And frankly for thirty-million dollars, Ambassador, I would sell my mother to the Americans!’ Jamal then walked to the door and reached for the handle. ‘Thank you for your time and the delicious Yazdi cakes.’

    ‘…Please!—Wait a moment!’ he called out, in a conciliatory tone—‘We need to talk. Please—come back and sit down.’

    Jamal fought back a smile and returned to her seat on the sofa. She watched the ambassador light another cigarette; he inhaled deeply and then, looking into Jamal’s eyes, he said:

    ‘You know that extremely sensitive military information of this nature can get you killed, don’t you?’

    ‘Are you threatening me, Ambassador?’

    ‘Oh no—certainly not, young lady! I was thinking more like—Mister Putin, for example.’

    Jamal replied resolutely:

    ‘I’ll take my chances, Mister Ambassador.’

    She then watched as a pensive Gilgamesh Jazani got to his feet, walked over to his desk and picked up the telephone handset. After a momentary pause he said in Persian:

    ‘…Put me through to Tehran.’

    retribution | rɛtrɪˈbjuːʃ(ə)n |

    (noun)

    punishment inflicted on someone as vengeance for a wrong or criminal act:

    Chapter 1

    get your coat girl

    Probe’s Offices, Cambridge, 11.30 am, Monday 6 May

    When Alan Cornish walked into his office his desk phone was ringing.

    Tapping the flashing button, he said:

    ‘Yes, Rachel?’

    ‘Alan, I have a Chief Superintendent Montgomery from Scotland Yard on the line. He says he needs to speak with you urgently.’

    That’s the new boy, Cornish thought. ‘Put him through, please, Rachel,’ Cornish replied, as he settled into his captain’s chair…

    ‘You’re through,’ the receptionist replied.

    ‘…Chief Superintendent—this is Alan Cornish speaking—What can I do for you, sir?’

    ‘Ah, yes,’ came the reply, ‘thank you for taking my call, Mister Cornish.’

    ‘Please—call me Alan. My secretary said it was urgent—so what exactly is it about?’

    ‘… I have a double murder on the books and to tell you the truth my department is sinking fast under the current workload. Between you and me, I simply don’t have enough officers. I’ve been advised to contact your organisation for assistance in solving this—double murder.’

    ‘So what are the circumstances, sir?’

    ‘The victims are a young Russian artist by the name of Maksim Mikhailov a nd his girlfriend. Their bodies were found in his Soho apartment by their cleaning lady this morning… Both of them had been decapitated!’

    ‘Oh dear!’

    ‘The girl was killed whilst tied to a chair in the middle of the room and the man was decapitated in the bath.’

    ‘Not your average murder!’

    ‘Exactly! But this is London, Alan—not bloody Iraq! And I can’t hold off the press for much longer, I’m afraid. So it’s going to be a low profile, botched robbery, murder investigation. Two foreigners, decapitated in our civilised, capital city! Can you imagine what would happen if the press got their hands on this? The information we feed them needs to be carefully managed and there must be absolutely no mention of the decapitations, otherwise they’re going to have a fucking field day! I want Probe to take on the case, Alan.’

    ‘…When did this happen, sir?’

    ‘The bodies were discovered at nine-thirty this morning; we’re waiting for forensics to pinpoint the time of death more accurately. I’ve already briefed Ronnie Jarvis, who I believe you already know, that I intend to use your services for this case.’

    ‘And will we be given full investigative powers?’

    ‘ Absolutely you will! Open access—what’s ours is yours—and that includes access to GCHQ. It’s your call! The Russian had a legitimate passport and I’m informed that he was recently granted political asylum here.’

    Political asylum—for an artist? Cornish mused.

    ‘B ut the girl is so far unidentified—all we know about her is that she’s not caucasian.’

    ‘Okay, sir, when do you need an answer?’

    ‘I need a positive answer now! Your organisation, Alan, has the resources and the expertise to take this one on. Obviously we will pay your extortionate rates in the hope that the whole, nasty incident will be resolved in the very near future and in the most discreet way possible.’

    ‘Not knowing the case details, sir, it’s difficult for me to comment on how long it might take.’

    ‘I realise that, Alan, but I’m sure you understand that I don’t have an unlimited budget.’

    ‘I appreciate that sir.’ Cornish, unusually, made a ‘snap’ decision. ‘…I’ll get the paperwork set up and we’ll get the show on the road ASAP, sir.’

    ‘Good man! Thank you for your cooperation. The powers-that-be are insisting that this case be solved very quickly…so please don’t let me down. And on that note, Alan, Ronnie Jarvis is expecting you at the crime scene in Broadwick Street at three o’clock this afternoon for a handover meeting!’

    Cornish grinned and glanced at his watch. Clearly this guy was not going to take no for an answer. ‘Yes, I’ve worked with Ronnie before, sir… Rest assured , I’ll be there.’

    ‘Excellent, and good luck.’

    ‘Thank you.’ Cornish replaced the handset and leaned back in his chair. ‘Double decapitation,’ he said, pensively. With that there was a knock on his door. ‘Come in,’ he called out, and smiled when Melanie Underwood entered.

    ‘Get your coat, girl,’ he said, ‘we have an appointment in town.’

    ‘But…’

    ‘No buts—double murder—high priority.’

    ‘Oh—that sounds nasty.’

    ‘It is. Double decapitation!’

    ‘Oh my god!’ Melanie raised her hand to her mouth.

    ‘Are you up for it?’

    Melanie paused, thinking about the implications. ‘…Yes,’ she said, stiffening.

    ‘Are you sure?’

    ‘…I can’t honestly say I’m sure, but I suppose it comes with the territory doesn’t it?’

    ‘I’m afraid it does, my love.’

    Melanie took a deep breath. ‘It’s not something you’d expect to happen in London is it?’

    Cornish raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s exactly what the authorities are saying and they want it hushed up. If the press get their hands on this we’ll be beheaded in the Tower of London.’

    Chapter 2

    Putting on a brave face

    Cornish and Melanie turned right, off Poland

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