“Yes, Paul.”
“A call just came in. A body has been found on wasteland near Longbridge Way. Looks like he’s been through a mincing machine.”
“I’ll be with you in two minutes.”
Latimer hung up and made for the stairs. The Robert Waterstone pictures had already been removed from the notice board, ready for the next case. Sadly, the wall never stayed bare for long.
Chapter 42
“You scrub up well,” Brigshaw said as he took a seat opposite Ryan.
“It feels good to be back to normal,” Ryan said, running his hand over his smooth face. His hair was back to its normal one-inch length, and his jeans and hoodie had been swapped for chinos and a Ralph Lauren polo.
They were sitting in the restaurant at the Savoy. Brigshaw had chosen the venue and ensured they had a quiet table in the corner. They ordered drinks and waited until the server had gone before getting down to business.
“Have you made a decision?”
“Tell me more about the role,” Ryan said.
“As I said before, we’ll be dealing with people who have a base both here and abroad. Your work will take you all over the world, from Europe to the Far East and all points in between. You’ll be expected to gather intelligence and send it back to us so that we can match it up with operations running locally.”
“What about back up?”
“A team of two will go with you everywhere. They’re seasoned professionals, been in the business for years.”
“Which begs the question, why not just use them?”
“Because they’re operational support,” Brigshaw said. “They currently work for Six, but they’ll be transferred to Operation Broadfoot in the coming weeks.”
“Catchy name. What about rules of engagement?”
“You’ll be totally autonomous. We supply the objectives, you fulfil them. How you do that is up to you, just as long as you don’t go creating an international incident that comes back to bite us.”
“Weapons?” Ryan asked.
The waiter arrived with drinks. Brandy for Brigshaw, a bottle of lager for Ryan.
“Whatever you need,” Brigshaw said when they were alone again. “Within reason.”
Ryan took a swallow from his bottle. “What if I get caught in some God-forsaken shit hole. What then? Disavowed?”
“We don’t leave our people behind. If diplomatic efforts fail, we’ll send someone in to get you.”
“Even if it might cause one of these international incidents you’re so keen to avoid?”
“I promise we’d do everything we can,” Brigshaw assured him.
He seemed sincere, but Ryan knew that any such decision would rest with politicians, and he’d trust a pack of wolves before he put his faith in the government.
His only alternative was to re-join 2 Para and hope to pick up where he left off. It would take a couple of years to reach peak fitness, by which time his chances of joining the SAS would be slim. Apart from the physical aspect, the Special Air Service needed men who were mentally strong and stable, and there was no telling what long-term damage his run-in with Marsh had caused. The army shrinks would no doubt want to thoroughly evaluate his state of mind, and if he failed to meet their standard, he’d be out. No more army, and Brigshaw probably wouldn’t be interested in damaged goods.
“How long do I have to think about it?” he asked.
“I think a week should suffice. And in case you were wondering, there will be a mental assessment before you are cleared for operational duty. It’s standard, I’m afraid.”
“And if I fail that?” Ryan asked.
“Then we’ll work with you to see if we can resolve your issues. I’m not one for throwing an asset on the scrap heap at the first sign of trouble. If that was the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Ryan finished off his bottle and put it on the paper coaster. After a moment’s thought, he picked it up and held it in the air, catching the waiter’s eye. “What kind of people will I be up against? People like Franklin Marsh?”
“Good heavens, no,” Brigshaw smiled. “These guys make Marsh look like a rank amateur.”
Ryan couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks. That fills me with a lot of confidence.”
Brigshaw polished off his brandy. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. You know where to find me.” He patted Ryan on the shoulder as he left.
Ryan watched him go, then settled back in his chair. The waiter brought his refill, and Ryan knew it wouldn’t be the last of the night.
Epilogue
The early evening sun cast long shadows over the square as the target emerged from the bank. In her hand was the same briefcase she’d entered with, and she strode confidently to the Mercedes parked in the side street.
“She’s on the move,” he said into the microphone sewn into his collar. He climbed aboard his motorcycle, a powerful Suzuki, and fired up the engine.
The target, Lorena Vasquez, reached the car and the rear door was opened by her driver. She slid in elegantly and he closed it before getting behind the wheel.
“Mobile in a few seconds. Everyone on station?”
“Roger that.”
“Good to go.”
He liked that. The team had only been together for a few weeks, but already they functioned like a single organism.
“They’re moving. I’m on their tail.”
He pulled out behind the German car, keeping half a dozen vehicles between himself and Vasquez.
And the item she’d picked up.
“I see you now,” Sophie Harris said. She was tasked with watching the feed from the traffic cameras dotted around the town, just in case he lost visual.
“I’m on San Martin,” David Hunter announced.
The road paralleled the street he was on, meaning Hunter could intercept Vasquez if he was forced to abandon the chase for any reason.
“She’s still heading for home,” he told them. “Remember, we make the move in the tunnel, not before.” There really was no need to remind them; they’d been over the plan time and time again.
“That’s affirmative,” Hunter said.
He followed the Mercedes through relatively light traffic, its gleaming white chassis easy to spot. It turned right on Bartolomeu Mitre as expected, heading for the Rua Mario Ribeiro that would take Vasquez west to her home.
“On Bartolomeu,” he told the team, and they acknowledged his call.
Two minutes later, they reached the junction with the freeway. The Mercedes pulled up at the red lights, indicating to turn left. He was just four cars behind now. Almost time to make his move.
The lights changed to green, but the German car didn’t move. Drivers behind beeped their annoyance, but the Mercedes stayed where it was.
“Something’s up,” he said.
“I see them,” Sophie announced. “I’m looking right at the driver. He seems to be talking to the rear passenger.”
Cars began to edge around Vasquez’s car, leaving him vulnerable. If he went with them, he would be out of position. If he stayed where he was, they’d spot his bike. He was about to move when mercifully the lights changed back to red.
“If he doesn’t move the next time they change I’m gonna—”
The Mercedes shot out into the junction, the driver throwing the wheel to the right as he hit the gas. Cars skidded to a halt to avoid a collision, leaving the road blocked.
“They’re on to me,” he said, giving his own engine plenty. He snaked his way through the stalled vehicles and was soon doing eighty as he weaved in and out of traffic in an effort to stay with Vasquez.
“Alpha Two, where are you?”
“On your six,” Hunter replied. I see you.”
He didn’t bother looking behind. Instead, he maneuvered around a painfully slow bus and almost ran into the back of a taxi. He hit the brakes at the last second, then jerked the handles to the right and mounted the pavement, scattering pedestrians. It was a hundred yards b
efore he could get back onto the road, by which time the Mercedes had gained a big lead.
It was going to take a lot to rescue this mission, but he wasn’t going to fail.
It wasn’t in his nature.
Ryan Anderson spun the throttle to the stop and a grin slid onto his face.
“Man, I love this job!”
THE END
Author’s Note
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All rights reserved.
Motive Page 32
