THE TUNNEL: A Ben Hope Story Read Free Page B

stand it any longer. He needed to find out for himself.
    Yet back then in late October, it had all seemed too impossible, too monstrous. Even to him, the man who couldn’t sleep at night because of the things he’d done in the course of what he had once considered his duty, his profession, his calling. ‘Queen and country’, they called it. He’d often thought about that expression, and had eventually come to decide it was a misnomer, for two reasons. Firstly, Ben very much doubted whether the Queen of England, or for that matter whoever might succeed her, or any modern-day reigning monarch, or for that matter again any ruler figure whose face and name were known to the public, knew half of what really went on in the dirty, bloody world of international politics and the conflicts it gave rise to. Secondly, the unsuspecting public who made up the vast majority of the country knew, or were allowed to know, even less. So, by logical deduction, it was clear that these activities were not carried out either for Queen, or for country, or on their behalf, with their consent or even with their knowledge. They went on purely in order to further the agenda of those few, those invisible and nameless few, who held the only true power – not just on a national level, but a global level.
    In his thirty-three years, many of those spent fighting to protect the interests of those powers, Ben had seen enough, learned enough, deduced enough, to know that the only truths worth knowing in this world were those kept carefully hidden behind a smokescreen. Nothing else was real. Not governments, not elected representatives, not nations, not democracy. Everything the public saw, or was allowed to see, was an illusion.
    And everything the public heard, or was allowed to hear, was a lie.
    These people even lied to their own.
    And so, when it came to information of the kind that Jaco Lennox had spilled to him, it was easy to understand the motive of the secret keepers. Easy to understand why they’d do anything, everything in their power to prevent loose tongues from wagging. The alternative was simply not an option.
    Ben could understand it, but he couldn’t forgive it. If Lennox’s story was true – if even a quarter of it was true – this one went way too far off the scale for that.
    Two months and a lot of miles later, Ben now believed he’d covered as many angles and dug up as much evidence as he needed. He was ninety-five percent certain that what he’d uncovered, however disconcerting, was more than just the booze-addled ramblings of a worthless former soldier on the edge of mental breakdown.
    That was the reason why he was here tonight, prepared to do whatever it took to press the final truth from a man he had once admired and respected with all his heart.
    And then, if Ben’s worst fears were proven right, he would have no choice but to kill that man.

 
    3
    It was late now. The temperature was dropping fast and frost was forming on the heather as Ben lay hidden in his observation point, scanning every inch of the house and buildings through his binoculars. The single light in the upstairs window stayed on, casting a dull glow across the front yard, but he saw no movement from within. Nothing stirred. The only sound was the low whistle of the night wind across the glen. It was chilling him down steadily, beginning to bite through his clothes, and he knew he’d have to get moving before he started going numb. The first serious sign of hypothermia kicking in was a dulling of the mental faculties. That was something Ben couldn’t afford to happen here tonight.
    After thirty minutes of observing, Ben finally emerged from his observation point and began the slow, painstaking final approach down the hillside and across the open ground towards the house. From here on in was the time of maximum danger, where he would be the most vulnerable to being spotted. The lie of the land was extremely exposed, not a tree or a bush or a rise behind