Owen
That was two hours ago. Henry has uploaded the content of the hard drive to his secure server, and is in the process of sending some key documents to each of the news outlets where they will release whilst Owen is live on TV.
We are hoping the BBC will react in the exact way we planned. For them to use the opportunity to grill Owen whilst he’s on air. Although, what they won’t realise is it’s from him, so they are giving him the ideal platform to speak his truth.
“Is he on yet?”
“Coming up next,” Roman answers from the doorway.
“What is it with you and lingering in doorways?” I mumble, looking over Henry’s shoulder. “Is that his NCA contact?” I point to one of the screens where he has an electronic file, a picture of a man displayed; middle aged, silvering hair, brown eyes.
Does he only know hot people?
“It is,” Henry replies. “He looks honest.”
“You can tell that from the picture?”
“No, I tell that by the fact that his record calls out multiple cases where he has gone against the grain and gone after those that no one would ever have tried to—including none other than John Weston.”
“Well, if that’s the case, he must have balls of steel to go after the Covenant. Shame the fat fuck is dead already.”
“We can also thank Nick Amory for the multiple hits on the Westons operations in Liverpool.”
“That fucker,” Roman says, joining us in Henry’s darkened study. “He cost us millions.”
“I like this guy already,” I say, grinning. Roman gives me the stink eye. “Come on, Roman, you know how hard it would have been to coordinate those hits?”
“How do you know?”
“Know what?”
“About the hits at the docks.”
“I’m not exactly in the same line of business, but Apex hears things. Anyway, shut up. I think this is it.”
We all turn our attention to one of the screens, and Henry mutters, “Showtime,” before clicking away. “Okay, done.”
He leans back, his hands going behind his head, his bulging muscles hugging his t-shirt.
“Let’s watch in the living room,” Roman suggests as Henry grabs the laptop, nodding.
I walk quickly and take my seat on the sofa, the men joining a moment later. The screen flicks to the BBC where Owen has now joined them in the studio.
My leg bounces up and down, my hands constantly fidgeting as nervous energy flows through me, along with a dose of anxiety.
I glance across at Henry, his features illuminated by his laptop.
Roman sits on the large red sofa, and I lean forward and watch.
“Owen Cooper, thank you so much for joining us this morning. I must admit, you’ve been creating quite the storm.”
“Nice to see you both,” Owen replies. He looks at ease, smartly dressed and oozing confidence. I don’t know how he makes it look so easy.
“We were honestly surprised that you took the interview based on some of the stories that have been circulating.”
I frown, and glance across at Henry. “What stories?”
Henry ignores me.
