State of Fear
Page 32
‘A cut . . . I’m not sure. Don’t think it’s too bad.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘Fucked if I know, mate.’
Ronnie shuffled on his knees to his right, feeling for a pulse, before reaching for his phone. ‘I need an ambulance at Victoria Embankment, by the river next to Horseguards . . . two men injured, one critical.’
Ronnie tore off his jacket and wrapped it tightly around Mustafa’s neck. ‘You got him good, bubba. How’d you –’
‘Bottle of single-malt. Best thing I’ve ever done with it.’
Sitting up against the wall, Bailey was feeling light-headed. He reached for his shoulder and felt an open flap of skin, the blood soaking his chest and arm.
‘Actually, mate, I’m in a bit of trouble here.’
Ronnie slid over to Bailey, inspecting his wound. ‘Keep the pressure on, bubba. You’ll be okay. Won’t be long.’
‘How’d you find me, Ronnie?’
They could already hear a siren in the distance, getting closer.
‘You didn’t take my call. I looked up where you were. That phone Dorset gave you. One of the features.’
The bait.
Bailey should have been pissed, only he wasn’t. He was angrier about the fact that Ronnie appeared to be doing everything he could to keep Mustafa from bleeding-out on the footpath beside them. If anyone had deserved to die, it was this guy.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I want him alive.’
EPILOGUE
The glazed arched roof at Paddington Station was like a big iron rainbow with white light beaming through the glass panels onto the orange and grey tiles below. It was so bright outside that the lights dangling from the roof needn’t have been switched on, although Bailey had known London long enough to expect that a thick cloud could blanket the city at any time, and probably would.
He looked up at the old iron clock: 2.59 pm. The train to Portsmouth was due to depart in six minutes.
It had been four days since Bailey had listened to a doctor tell him that the woman that he loved was dead. Dexter’s body had been loaded into the cargo-hold of a plane that morning. Bailey wasn’t going home to bury her. He still blamed himself for her death and nothing was going to change that. Not the commiserations from friends and colleagues. Not even a hug from his daughter.
In the end, Gerald had been the one who’d told him that it was okay not to come. Gerald knew that his old friend needed some time. And he trusted Bailey not to go off the rails, threatening to hop on a plane and personally come to England if he did. Gerald had done it before.
The New South Wales Police service would look after the funeral arrangements and Gerald said that he would assist in any way that he could, now that he was out of hospital, albeit with a large scar in his neck.
‘I think I can match it, by the way,’ Bailey had said when they’d spoken on the phone that morning.
‘What?’
‘That little scar of yours.’
The knife attack from Mustafa had opened up two large gashes in Bailey’s shoulder. Luckily, there wasn’t much damage to the tendon and doctors were expecting him to get all of his movement back. But right now Bailey’s right arm was in a sling, taking the pressure off the eighteen stitches in his shoulder. Gerald only had six.
Gerald had dismissed the quip with a question. ‘Where will you go?’
‘Got a cousin down Hampshire way.’
‘Hampshire?’
‘She’s got a pub. Says she’ll give me a room, I might even help out behind the bar.’
Gerald laughed, awkwardly. ‘You, working in a pub?’
‘She’d be foolish not to utilise my experience.’
‘Just don’t sample too much of the merchandise.’
‘Doesn’t work for me anymore.’
‘Good . . .’ Gerald said. ‘Bailey, one more thing?’
Bailey could hear the change in Gerald’s voice and he knew what was coming.
‘It wasn’t your fault, you know that, right?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Bailey said. ‘Look after Miranda for me. I told her I’m all-in for the wedding. Just make sure she knows, okay?’
‘What are we talking, weeks, months?’
‘I’ll be back to walk her down the aisle.’
With that, Bailey had hung up.
Word hadn’t gotten out that John Bailey had been attacked by Mustafa al-Baghdadi alongside the Thames. It never would. According to British authorities, the incident had never happened. Tony Dorset had arranged for a media release to go out from the Metropolitan Police saying something about a drug deal that had gone wrong. A cover story aiming to blow any attention away from Bailey and let the Brits concoct a tale about how they’d managed to take down the world’s most wanted terrorist in a daring raid on a house in North London.
Ronnie Johnson was okay with the Brits claiming the credit because he’d also gotten what he’d wanted. Mustafa al-Baghdadi was alive.
The big Oklahoman had visited Bailey in hospital a few days ago and told him that he wouldn’t be seeing him for a while. Bailey hadn’t bothered asking why because he knew the answer. Ronnie was about to escort Mustafa al-Baghdadi on a military plane to a CIA black site somewhere like Poland, Romania or Afghanistan.
Bailey didn’t like thinking about this side of Ronnie, knowing that he’d crossed a line a long time ago. A line that enabled him to do bad things to bad people for the greater good.
A whistle sounded on the platform as a train snaked its way along the tracks beside him. It was a thing of beauty. The black edges and yellow paintwork surrounding the tinted glass of the driver’s carriage made it look like an oversized racing helmet. The guy sitting in the front seat, slowly bringing it to a halt, had one of the best jobs in the world. An adventure every day. Getting out of the city, away from the hustle. His job was as clear as the winter sun in Baghdad. He had a purpose.
Bailey used to be just like him. Now that part of him was gone.
You’ve done good.
Dexter’s last words had been repeating over and over in his mind.
What now, Sharon? Where to from here?
The doors closed and the whistle sounded again.
Today he was on his way to Hampshire.
He had no idea about the rest.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Firstly, I’d like to thank everyone at Simon & Schuster Australia for your encouragement and support, particularly Fiona Henderson, and editor, Deonie Fiford, for workshopping ideas and pushing me to make State of Fear the best book possible. I’d like to single out my ‘reader in chief,’ David ‘Mac’ McInerney, for always being poised with his pen, and my other ever-reliable reader, Gavin Fang, for his friendship and encouragement. Thanks also to Stan Grant for his advice and insights along the way, and to the brave reporters around the world who often put their lives at risk to tell the ghastly truth about Islamic terrorism. And special thanks to my wife, Justine, and our children, Penelope and Arthur, for filling our house with laughter and love.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tim Ayliffe has been a journalist for almost 20 years and is the Managing Editor of Television and Video for ABC News. He was TV News Editor for ABC News and Executive Producer of ABC News Breakfast. Before joining the ABC in 2006, Tim worked in London for Sky News as a digital and television journalist. Tim’s first novel, The Greater Good was published in 2018. Tim lives in Sydney.
SIMON & SCHUSTER
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Also by Tim Ayliffe
The Greater Good
STATE OF FEAR
First published in Australia in 2019 by
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© Tim Ayliffe 2019
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ISBN 978-1-9256-4095-3 (ebook)