by Karla Forbes
Whatever happened now, for good or for bad, this would be his last day on the run. He almost welcomed it.
Chapter Sixteen
“Taylor?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“The man who’s got your kid.”
Taylor felt the rush of fear turn his bowels to water. “I’ll co-operate in every way,” he said, sounding calmer than he felt. “Just don’t hurt Emma.”
“Have you spoken to the police?” the caller asked
“No, I wouldn’t do that. Put Emma on. I want to talk to her.”
“You can talk to her if you get her back.” The threat in the caller’s words hung ominously in the air.
“How do I know she’s safe?” Taylor asked, trying hard to retain some measure of control.
“She’s safe all the time you obey instructions and keep your mouth shut. One word to the police and she’s dead.”
“I haven’t spoken to anyone,” Taylor said, desperate to assure him.
“Have you done everything you were told to?”
“Yes everything. I’ve got four bikes standing by, exactly as you said.”
“Identical plates?”
“Yes. I had to go to three different garages. I nearly didn’t manage it in time.”
“Cut the whining,” the caller said. “I’m not interested. Listen to what I have to say. Your kid’s life depends on you getting this right. At precisely fourteen-hundred hours today, the three remaining men who aren’t already in position will arrive at the main entrance of Kent International Airport Arrivals lounge. Two of them will wait outside and the third will go in. He will find a man waiting for him there, carrying a box and a placard with the name FELTHAM written on it. Your man will identify himself by asking for the package for Amsterdam. He will take the box and go outside and join the others, then all three will set off together in the direction of Ramsgate. I will phone you again at 14.03 to give you further instructions. Remember, if you speak to the police or deviate from these instructions in any way, you won’t see your kid again. There won’t even be a body for you to bury.”
“I keep telling you, I won’t go to the police,” Taylor said, his voice cracking.
“Your men can be relied on to do exactly as they’re told?”
“Yes, I promised them a week’s wages for obeying me and not asking any questions. They might think it’s strange, but they’re not going to argue. Please, let me talk to—”
The line went dead, cutting Taylor off in mid-sentence. He stared in horror, then, suppressing the urge to howl in panic, he radioed to his senior driver.
“Trev,” he said, “you, Jason and Darren get going. Your destination is Kent International Airport. I’ll fill you in on the way…and Trev…whatever you do, don’t let me down.”
***
As Fox crouched down by the shoreline checking his equipment, Wilson terminated the call. Hubner was lighting a cigarette, shielding the match from the gusting wind in his cupped hand.
“OK so far?” Hubner asked, glancing up as he tossed away the match.
“Yeah,” Wilson said. “He’s trying to tough it out, but he’s pissing himself. When this is over, are we going to tell him where he can find his kid?”
Hubner inhaled deeply. “No,” he said shaking his head. “It will be too risky. By that time the police will be with him, monitoring his calls. No doubt someone from the caravan site will find her eventually.” He turned to Fox. “Are you ready to leave?”
Fox cast his eyes once more over his equipment. When it came to his own skin, he rarely took chances. “Ready when you are.”
“Good. Go now. And make sure you’re not seen.”
“I won’t be,” Fox told him, savouring the moment. It wasn’t often that he was able to feel superior to the others. “It’s all about compromise,” he explained. “It’s tempting to dive too deep trying to stay out of sight, but the deeper you go, the slower you have to come up. If you don’t get the calculations right you end up with the bends.”
“I’ll take your word for that,” Hubner said, without interest. “You’re the expert.”
Fox puffed up with self-importance. “Don’t forget that you couldn’t have done any of this without me.”
“You’ll be getting what’s due to you,” Hubner told him coldly.
Fox walked out across the mudflats to the edge of the water heaving his tank behind him, then squatted down to pull on his fins. He took another few seconds to adjust his mouthpiece and mask and check his re-breathing valve. When he was satisfied, he began belting on weights to counterbalance his natural buoyancy. In the meantime Wilson was busy dragging a small underwater propelled vehicle out of its carrying bag and hauling it down to the shoreline. He hung around waiting until Fox gestured that he was ready, then Wilson handed it over.
Hubner looked at his watch. “Are we agreed, it is now 13.45 exactly?” Fox nodded. “Go, and good luck.”
Fox sketched a salute in the air and waded backwards into the water. He cut a bulky figure with his dry suit and diving paraphernalia. It was difficult to imagine that he wasn’t going to sink like a stone, but within minutes the water was up to his waist and he was swimming out to sea with a lightness and grace that he didn’t possess on dry land.
***
Anson paced the floor of Fryer’s office. The Chief Executive was sitting grim-faced and silent behind his desk. In contrast to Anson, who seemed to be enjoying himself, the tension flowing from his colleagues was palpable. It had been decided that McKay would take control of operations at ground level, leaving Anson to act as a conduit for information and handing out instructions according to the events as they occurred. An elaborate conferencing system had been set up in Fryer’s office to allow Anson to speak to all the key players, either individually or simultaneously.
Everyone was waiting for the word. As the digital clock on Fryer’s desk measured out the seconds and registered 14.00 hours he opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Anson held up his hand for silence as he listened to Doughty through his earpiece.
“Monitor them, but don’t allow any of your men to move them on,” he said. “If it’s about to kick off, we can’t take chances.” He turned to Curtis and Fryer to explain. “Three pizza delivery bikes have driven up to the main entrance. Two of the men are waiting outside on double yellows, and the third man has gone into the arrivals lounge.”
“A pizza delivery bike?” Fryer repeated, uncertain. “Are you sure?”
“Why not?” Anson asked. “It makes sense. Someone on a motorbike can cut through heavy traffic, and they’ve got a better chance of losing anyone who is trying to follow by car. We never expected our villains to collect the diamonds in person.”
Fryer seemed unconvinced. “But why three drivers?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet, but there’ll be a reason,” Anson assured him, then once again held up his hand for silence and listened intently. “Right, this is it,” he said. “Tell your men to hang well back. When he leaves, they follow, keeping a safe distance. You know the drill.”
Anson spun on his heel and spoke to Curtis. “The package has been handed over. The pizza delivery company is called Mamma Mia’s. Get around there and find out what you can. They’re either doing it for payment or they’re being coerced; I want to know which.” As Curtis sprang to his feet, Anson was already talking again into his mouthpiece. “Doughty, have the police marksmen reported anyone else on the scene?”
“No,” Doughty said. “So far it’s just the delivery drivers, no one else. They assembled outside the arrivals lounge and now they’re moving off.”
“OK,” Anson said. “In that case we can assume the action is moving elsewhere. You might as well have them ready to stand down.”
He stabbed buttons on the telephone. “McKay, you’re aware of the situation?
“Of course,” McKay said. “Unmarked cars are following and the helicopter’s been scrambled.”
“My guess is we can forget
the cars. The bikes will probably be taking evasive action any moment now to lose them. Are the unmarked motorcyclists ready to move in?”
“Yes, but the pizza motorbikes have been fitted with identical plates.”
“That’ll be to confuse us.”
“In that case, it’s working. They’ve been weaving in and out of traffic, and we can’t be certain which of them is carrying the diamonds. If they split up we’re going to have a job knowing which one to follow. We’ll need the info from the tracker.”
“I’ll get onto it. In the meantime, whatever happens it’s imperative that you stick with all three.”
Anson called the headquarters of MI5. “Anson here. Are we tracking the Zirconia?”
It was his boss, Jenkins, who answered. “No, they’ve blocked it. They must have used a lead-lined box in the panniers.”
“Fuck!”
“We expected it.”
“Yes,” Anson said. “But we weren’t expecting them to send three drivers with identical plates. They’ve effectively divided our resources.”
“Deal with it,” Jenkins ordered. “Nobody said they’re going to make it easy for us.”
Anson disconnected and called McKay. “The tracker isn’t working. What’s the current situation?”
“The three drivers are still travelling together.”
“They won’t be for long,” Anson stated with glum certainty. “When they separate we must be in position to follow all three. Is the helicopter still with them?”
“Like shit on their shoes,” McKay assured him. “And we’re scrambling two more. One is coming from Sussex.”
“Good. Where are they now?”
“Approaching Ramsgate…hang on…news is just coming in. The three bikes have taken separate routes.”
“Whatever happens you must stick with them all,” Anson ordered.
“That’s easier said than done; the traffic is really heavy. We need to know the target vehicle.”
Anson was thinking on his feet. “If I was the driver with the diamonds, I’d be taking evasive action to lose the cars. If that happens, we’ll know that’s the target vehicle. Keep me informed.”
He spoke to Doughty through his mouthpiece. “What’s happening out there?”
“Nothing,” Doughty said. “What do you want us to do?”
“Stand the police marksmen down. We need them elsewhere. Confer with police headquarters where they want to re-deploy them.”
A call came through from McKay. “It’s just been reported that one of the bikes has peeled away and sped down a narrow lane with No Entry bollards at the end. The cars couldn’t follow.”
Anson smiled grimly. So far he had anticipated their every move. “OK. We’ll assume that’s the bike carrying the diamonds,” he said. “Concentrate your resources on that one, but keep following the others as well. It could be a bluff. Where are the choppers?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “When the bikes split, we had only one helicopter immediately overhead. It had to choose which one to follow.”
“And it chose the wrong one,” Anson finished for him. “Tell it to turn back and pick up the trail. What other vehicles are in the area?”
“Only two police motorcyclists, but the rest of the pursuit vehicles have picked up the trail again and are closing in fast. I’ll have the bike pulled over.”
“No,” Anson said quickly. “Don’t do that. I doubt that the pizza delivery driver is part of the operation; it doesn’t work like that. He won’t know what’s going on, and he won’t be able to lead us to the men or the plutonium. Your men must stay with him but hang well back.”
“If you say so,” McKay said. “Have you got any idea where the hell they’re going?”
“At this stage,” Anson admitted, “that’s anyone’s guess.”
***
The sweat was trickling from Taylor’s armpits as he struggled to control his shaking fingers. He tried not to think of Emma. At this moment it was taking all his mental reserves to focus on the job in hand. The instructions were coming through the telephone second by second, and he was passing them on, almost simultaneously, to his drivers. Every movement or change or direction they made was being relayed to them at the behest of the monster who would kill his daughter if he made one false move. The note that Leah had brought back with her had laid out the terms for Emma’s safe return. Now all that was left for Taylor to do was comply with them.
The note had been clear: Assemble four motorcyclists with identical bikes and identical number plates. Send one ahead to a particular location, and have the other three standing by to await further instructions. At 13.35, the call had come through and the nightmare had begun. He was listening to Abby’s abductor relaying the next set of commands when he heard a loud rapping on the door and a shouted command to open up. His stomach lurched and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick.
“The police are outside!” he yelled to the man on the phone.
“It was expected,” the caller said calmly. “Ignore them. Is Driver Four waiting in the underpass?”
“Yes.”
“Driver One will take the next turning on the left and continue along that road until he reaches the underpass. He will then veer away and let the other driver take over. He must wait one minute before doubling back on himself. Tell him that.”
“Trev,” Taylor shouted. “Take a left to the underpass and let Mick take over. Wait one minute and then double back and await further instruction.”
The knocking on the door became more urgent. “The police are still outside,” he yelled in panic. “What shall I do?”
The caller ignored the question. “Driver Four will follow directions towards Margate. Driver One will proceed towards the harbour via the town centre. Tell me when he’s there. If he takes one second longer than five minutes you won’t see your kid again.”
“Five minutes?” Taylor screeched in dismay. “He can’t get through the traffic in five minutes.”
“He’s on a motorbike, not a donkey and cart. You’ve now got four and three quarter minutes.”
“Mick! Take the main road to Margate,” Taylor bellowed. “Trev, you’ve got four and a half minutes to get to the harbour. Let me know when you’re there.”
“He’s on his way,” he shouted. “Please don’t hurt—”
Taylor shot to his feet as he heard the front door splinter and heavy footsteps thunder up the stairs. Seconds later the office door burst open, and he found himself staring at six police officers in full riot gear. He raised his hand above his head and began babbling, but another man, wearing civilian clothes, stepped lightly through them and addressed himself to Taylor directly.
“Mr Taylor,” he stated, neutrally. “You have five seconds to explain your actions.”
“Someone’s holding my daughter…” Taylor stuttered, unable to finish the sentence.
“When was she taken?”
“This morning. They said they would kill her if I didn’t do everything they said.”
The man nodded, and spoke into his mobile. “Mark? Curtis here. I’m with Taylor now. They’ve got his daughter. What do you want me to do?” He listened to the reply, then disconnected, and with a tilt of his head gestured to the policeman who were crowding the room that they should stand easy.
Taylor grabbed the handset from where it had fallen and clutched it to his ear.
“It’s him,” he hissed. “He’s asking me what’s going on. What shall I say?”
“Put him on speaker,” Curtis instructed. Immediately the caller’s voice could be clearly heard.
“I said what’s going on?” he was asking sharply. “Are the police with you?”
Taylor turned to Curtis for guidance who nodded, giving him permission to answer. “Yes they’re here,” Taylor said into the phone.
“You know what’s at stake,” the caller warned. “If you tell them anything, your kid will pay the price.”
“I won’t…you know I won’t”
“Has Driver One arrived at his destination?”
“Trev,” Taylor yelled. “Are you there yet?”
“Just pulled in now, Steve. What’s next?”
“Yes, he’s there,” Taylor yelled. “Where does he go from there?”
“Good,” the caller said with satisfaction. “Tell him to take his bike to the café on the East Pier and push it over the edge of the harbour wall. He has precisely ten seconds to do this, and then you are all free to get on with your lives.”
“Take the bike to the café on the East Pier and push it into the harbour, now!” Taylor screeched.
Curtis looked on, stunned. They had all been outwitted.
***
“Shit!” Anson spat as the news came through. He spun on his heel and stared unseeing out of the window, his fist to his mouth. His indecision lasted just seconds and he turned back to the phone.
“Anson here,” he barked. “Are the coastguards on the scene?”
“Yes and we’ve got three helicopters scanning the shoreline.”
Anson sighed deeply. “OK. Keep an eye on Fox’s car at Ashford International. It’s a long shot, but other than that all we can do now is pray.” He disconnected and resumed staring through the window, his face grim.
“What happened?” Fryer asked nervously.
“We’ve lost them,” Anson said, grinding the words through tight lips.
“You lost them?” Fryer asked, aghast.
