Chapter 6 Miserere Mei, Deus
BBC News September 2044
“A memorial service will be held today at Christ Church, Oxford to remember the 30 students slaughtered by Chinese dissidents in a cowardly nerve agent attack in July. The young men, all students at Oxford University, were enjoying a quiet meal at a local bistro to celebrate the end of term, when they became unwell. All 30 later died in nearby hospitals. Among the dead was Andrew Harrington, son of Lord Peter Harrington, Government advisor and wealthy philanthropist. There will be a private family reception after the service, at the Macdonald Randolph Hotel, where Lord Harrington is the proprietor.”
Harrington was sure this announcement would flush out Hayne and provide the perfect bait for his trap. Simon wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to come after him on his home territory, a relatively soft target and an area he knew well. This would be a textbook assassination the like of which Sargeant Hayne had performed many times, however, this time, heavily armed Secret Intelligence Service operatives would outnumber the assassin by a hundred to one and any suspicious activity would be attended to with overwhelming force. The BBC would provide the necessary propaganda with the blame placed firmly at the door of Chinese terrorists. All 151 rooms at the Macdonald Randolph had been booked by Harrington’s team for his guests and Bullingdon Club alumni, that is, 150 for the rich and powerful and one, left available, for Simon Hayne. Harrington knew Hayne’s MO from old and that he would want to be inside the kill zone to execute his mission effectively and with one day left before the service, that room was booked, using a burner phone but with a credit chip baring the identity code of a certain Mr S Hayne. The trap was set!
The service was beautiful, culminating in a performance of the magnificent “Miserere Mei, Deus” by Allegri and, as the voices of the Choir of New College Oxford soared among the Oxford Spires, a crack SIS team made their move on room 151. Earlier CCTV footage had shown a heavily built man, in his sixties, checking in that morning with a single suitcase. He had remained in his room all day and no sound or movement had been detected.
A flash bang through the window, an explosion, a boot through the door and a hail of automatic gunfire spattered body parts, offal and blood over the luxurious decor of room 151.
The news was immediately communicated to Lord Harrington who released a deep sigh and smiled sweetly as he led his guests out of the Cathedral and into the early Autumn sunshine. The threat was eliminated and he could finally begin to grieve for his son.
“The flight now boarding at gate 13 is the 15:50 Iran Airways flight to Tehran, please have your passport and boarding pass ready for inspection at the gate,” announced the tannoy at Heathrow Airport. A 62 year old businessman routes through his hold all to find the required documents and shuffles un-noticed towards the departure gate. James Hargreaves, legitimate business owner by day, satanic peodophile by night, not a pleasant man but an excellent double who didn’t need too much ‘persuading’ to exchange identities. The threat of exposure to his clients and family of his nocturnal pastime at the Albany, was sufficient to do the trick. Of course Harrington would quickly realise the remains were not Simon’s, but the diversion would buy him enough time to get out of England and begin his mission in Iran. There would be other opportunities to take out Harrington but for now, where better to start his campaign than at the Ministry of Enlightenment, Tehran.