Storm Crow

by Jeff Gulvin

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Sir.’ Swann looked up.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Fine.’ He held up a sheet of paper. ‘Record of Pia Grava’s mobile phone calls,’ he said. He pointed to one he had marked with a highlighter pen. ‘That’s Tommy Cairns’ mobile. And there’s this number too, 0385 902754. I’ve tried it, but it’s switched off.’

  Colson looked him in the eye then and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir. So am I.’

  Harrison backed up the tunnel, keeping his gun high, careful where he placed his feet. Gunfire, ripping through his ears, the muzzle flash half blinding him. He dropped to one knee and returned fire. ‘Missed me again, Jesse,’ he yelled.

  Jesse shot into the darkness again. Harrison was flat on the floor now and the shell pinged off the walls. He was at the lip of the shaft leading down to the Devil’s Breath. He slung the carbine across his chest and gripped the iron rungs of the ladder. Now he was descending, quickly, aware of his heartbeat, the gun bouncing against his ribs. Above him, he saw the sudden beam of a flashlight. Instinctively, he fired, then dropped to the floor, squatted and turned 180 degrees. He could not smell gas in the air. He was glad: if Jesse started shooting in air contaminated by methane, he would kill the both of them.

  He moved up the tunnel, one hundred feet, two half-cut stopes and the water. Beyond it, Heaven’s Gate and the surface. He heard Jesse coming after him, his breathing slightly heavy now. Harrison wondered if he had hit him. He was using the flashlight intermittently, to get a handle on the path ahead and move on. Again he heard the thin voice of that VC calling out his name. Again in his mind he loosed off six shots instead of three, and bit down on his lip. He was almost to the water and he knelt against the tunnel wall. Jesse moved towards him. Harrison could not see him. All at once the flashlight was in his eyes and shots rang out. He leapt back and spun, lost his grip on the MP5 and rolled over backwards. He came to rest with one foot in the water. Jesse was still firing, round after round into the darkness. Harrison had both hands over his ears and slipped into the water. The shock nearly stopped his heart, freezing the blood in his veins. He almost surfaced again, but then he dived, kicked with his feet, three, four times—and then he surfaced. He was on the other side of the wall and he pulled himself out directly below the shaft that lifted to the top of the hillside.

  On the other side of the rock, Jesse shone his light into the black of the water and frowned. The roof dipped right to the surface here, effectively the end of the tunnel. All that looked back was the reflected beam of the flashlight. He bent and studied the water line on the floor, but he could tell nothing from it. Harrison was gone. Standing, he thought for a moment, then, shining his flashlight back along the tunnel, he spotted the fallen MP5. He muttered something to himself and turned back to the water. Again he shone his flashlight, then levelled his Casull and fired six rounds into the darkness.

  On the other side of the wall, Harrison heard the sudden muffled thuds. Six shots. He knew what Jesse was doing. Slowly he stood up, shook himself down and unclipped the flashlight from his belt. He took his Glock, worked the mechanism and then he slipped back into the water. This time he did not feel the cold, his mind was sharp and clear and he dived beneath the surface, brushing the top of his head against the underside of the roof. He swam deep, then breathed on the other side. All was blackness. He could hear Jesse retreating along the tunnel. He glided to the edge of the water and lifted himself gently so he was resting his arms and chest on the floor, the rest of him still in the water. Glock in his right hand now, flashlight in his left. He sucked a breath, flicked on the flashlight and framed Jesse in the sudden pool of light. Jesse half turned and Harrison drew his lips over his gums.

  ‘Lights out, motherfucker.’ He fired three times. Jesse buckled, dropped the pistol and fell against the wall. Momentarily he looked back, eyes pinched in the light that played over his face. Then he slipped down the wall and his head lolled to one side.

  Harrison dragged himself back into the tunnel and crouched, still shining the beam over Jesse’s fallen body. He stood up and walked towards him, aware of a tingling sensation; partly the cold and partly the exorcism of the past in his veins.

  ‘Three shots, Johnny,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Just the three shots.’

  Jesse was dead, slumped there on the floor. Harrison was desperately cold. Drake was back there somewhere, but he was suddenly tired of killing. He turned back to the water and dived beneath the surface. This time he came up spluttering, hauled himself out and immediately started up the incline, pulling on the tattered rope cable, feet slipping and sliding on the grease of the wall. He came out on the top of the hill and heard himself whistling ‘Dixie’.

  Chief heard Harrison as he sat on the ground at the top of the saddle, the rifle still pointed at Salvesen. He could feel himself getting weaker and he watched the sky for helicopters. The Feds ought to be here by now. He looked across the rise to the pinnacle of the hill and saw the small figure framed against the skyline. He moved the gun towards him.

  Harrison shook himself and slapped his arms. Then he took the flashlight from his belt and played it across the hill to get his bearings. He didn’t recognize where he was and then he saw Chief pointing a gun at him.

  ‘Jesus Christ. Chief?’

  ‘Yo.’ Chief’s voice was low and weary. Harrison sprinted across the hillside to get to him. He saw the blood seeping through Chief’s jacket.

  ‘What the fuck happened?’

  Chief said nothing, but waggled the rifle at the boulder across from him. Harrison shone the torch into Salvesen’s eyes.

  For a moment, he forgot he was a law-enforcement officer. This man had tried to hang him, would’ve succeeded, had it on video tape even. Video tape. He smiled suddenly then. It didn’t matter if the T-17 had failed him. He turned to Chief again.

  ‘You OK, buddy? We need to get you down.’

  ‘I’m OK. Bleeding’s stopped, I think. Your friends should be on their way.’

  ‘Friends?’

  Chief shook his head at him then. ‘Harrison, I knew you were FBI a long time ago. Don’t you know I can smell ’em?’ His breathing grew suddenly heavier. ‘Little T saw Tate come get you. I figured the shit was hitting the fan, so I called your buddies in Salt Lake. Fuck, they’re taking their time.’ His head lolled again, then he looked up. ‘Found that cooler of yours last year. You walked right by me one night in the rain.’

  Harrison stared at him for a moment, then he saw the dead man from Salvesen’s compound with an arrow broken under him. Chief looked slantedly at him. ‘Figured you needed some help.’ He breathed heavily again. ‘What happened down there, anyways?’

  Harrison glanced at Salvesen. ‘Oh, nothing much. Wingo’s dead. Oldfield’s dead. Slusher’s dead.’ He paused then. ‘Oh, and I put Jesse’s lights out too.’ He took the gun from his belt. In the distance he could hear a helicopter approaching. He walked over to where Salvesen was sitting. ‘It’s all on video tape, Jake. Vanity, it always gets you in the end.’

  Salvesen stared at him then, beaten about the eyes. Harrison looked him over. ‘Unhurt, huh? That was remiss of me.’ He bent to his haunches and glanced at Chief. ‘Can you walk, buddy?’

  As if in answer, Chief got to his feet. Harrison nodded, then looked back at Salvesen. ‘Seems like the situation’s changed, Jake.’

  Salvesen did not reply.

  ‘Thing of it is, I don’t need you alive. I got your camera footage and my own audio tape.’ He pressed his face in close then. ‘You see, I wired up your courtroom.’

  Salvesen licked white spittle from the line of his lip.

  ‘Tell you what though, eh—we could make us a deal. You tell me how you knew I was out here and I’ll just arrest you.’

  ‘You think I’m gonna tell you anything?’

  Harrison sighed and looked back at Chief for a second. ‘Don’t tempt me, Jake,’ he said.
‘I killed four men already today, a fifth ain’t gonna make no difference.’ He threw out a hand. ‘I mean just look at this mess. We got your buddy lying dead there and Chief with a great big hole in him. Fuck, alls I gotta do is shoot you and the party’s complete.’ He unwound his wire garrotte from his pocket and flexed it in front of Salvesen’s face. Then he moved behind him and slipped it round his throat. He pulled it tight, not enough to cut him, but almost. Salvesen stiffened, lifting his chin suddenly high.

  ‘Now tell me, Jake. Who was it that burned me?’

  ‘You can go to hell.’

  Harrison looked at Chief who still rocked on his heels. ‘Shoot him for me, buddy. Would you?’

  ‘Pleasure.’ Chief aimed the rifle, one-handed.

  ‘OK.’ Salvesen choked on the word. ‘I got a visit from a fella down in Hagerman. John Henry Mackey.’

  Harrison tweaked the garrotte that little bit tighter. ‘And how come he knew?’

  ‘He got a phone call.’

  ‘From who?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Chief.’

  ‘No. Wait.’ Salvesen lifted his hands. ‘The call came from the Storm Crow.’

  28

  GEORGE WEBB DRESSED AGAIN after decontamination and felt the fresh air on his face. He could not help but smile. The city had been so silent, so incredibly still and now the people were streaming back in their droves. No sooner had the helicopter taken off for Porton Down, loaded with the sealed scaffolding pipes, than the Prime Minister went on television before flying to Rome for an EU summit meeting, and the City reopened. Effectively one day’s trading had been lost; but the economic effects had still reverberated round the world. SO13 moved back to the Yard and Colson called a briefing. Webb met Tania and she told him about Swann’s discovery in Paris. Webb found him talking on the telephone to his kids. He put the phone down, let go a sigh and placed both hands on the back of his head.

  ‘You OK, mate?’ Webb asked him.

  Swann flared his nostrils. ‘I got stitched up, Webby. It’s how Boese stayed ahead of the game.’

  ‘Pia.’

  Swann nodded. ‘Joanne Taylor, and Byrne thinks she’s Brigitte Hammani too. Jakob Salvesen is one of her clients.’

  ‘She’s in banking. Could be just a coincidence.’

  ‘No.’ Swann showed him the cellphone bills. ‘Made one mistake,’ he said. ‘She phoned Tommy Cairns from her mobile.’

  Webb sat on the edge of the desk and studied the sheet of paper. ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Your place still, with the kids.’

  ‘She know anything?’

  ‘No. The DSU’s getting a warrant. We’re going to nick her as soon as she’s back in the office.’

  Clements came in then and gestured to them. ‘Meeting upstairs, lads.’

  Colson stood at the front of the conference room with a smile on his face. ‘All I can say is a big thank you to everyone,’ he said. At the back of the room a mobile phone sounded and Louis Byrne got up and went outside. Colson turned to Webb and Christine Harris.

  ‘I want to thank you two particularly for manning the ops room and spending so long in those suits. George, a special thanks for your input with 11 EOD.’ He looked round and spotted Phil Cregan, sitting with his arms folded by the window. ‘And you, Phil.’ He paused again. ‘The scaffolding pipes are at Porton Down right now. We should have some form of analysis soon.’

  The door opened then and Byrne came back into the room. ‘Jakob Salvesen’s been arrested,’ he said. ‘He’s being held in the Blaine County jail in Idaho.’ He told them what the leg-att had just told him, Harrison’s ordeal, the video tapes and the book of Revelation. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got our fair share of psychos back home. US-funded terrorism on UK soil. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Louis,’ Webb said. ‘We’ve had US-funded terrorism on UK soil for years.’

  Colson stood up again. ‘Stranger than fiction,’ he muttered. ‘But then most terrorism has its basis in land or religion, or both for that matter. Anyway, there’s been a few other developments while the army were busy in the city. The Action 2000 crew are still in custody, and we’ve got enough evidence to put the Cairns brothers away. I’m not so sure about James Ingram—he’s saying nothing. It’ll depend on what Cairns says when he realizes he’s going to be gone for a while.’ He paused then and rubbed his lip with a thumbnail. ‘Boese, Tal-Salem and Pier-Luigi Ramas are still at large. But at least we stopped them. There is something else, though.’ He looked at Swann then. ‘Do you want to tell them, Jack?’

  Swann sucked at his teeth. ‘Joanne Taylor,’ he said. ‘Possibly alias Brigitte Hammani. I found her in Paris. She’s living right here in London, working as an international private banker. Her name is Pia Grava.’

  Everyone stared at him; some of them knew, some of them did not. The silence was total save the buzz of the computers next door. Swann looked at the floor.

  ‘The reason Boese stayed ahead of the game was probably down to me.’ He stood up then. ‘There I was squawking about leaks and moles and stuff and it was me all the time.’ He flapped his arm at his side. ‘You have my apologies.’

  ‘I need to make something clear,’ Colson said. ‘Jack did not—I repeat, did not—leak any sensitive information. We all know what it’s like with our partners, they guess most of what’s going on. Pia or Brigitte Hammani, as we think she is, really wanted to know—so anything Jack muttered, she seized upon. They’ve been together for eighteen months now and nobody can blame him.’ He looked at Swann then. ‘You’re an excellent copper, Jack. And nobody will ever blame you. If it wasn’t for your initial vigilance we’d never have latched on to Boese.’

  Swann looked between his feet. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘we’re scooping her up as soon as she gets back to her desk.’ He looked back at Colson. ‘I want to be there, sir.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘OK. But you can’t interview her, Jack. Someone else will have to do that.’ Swann stared at him.

  ‘You know I can’t allow it. Personal involvement.’

  ‘I’m going to want to speak to her at some point.’

  ‘Nobody said you couldn’t, just not in an interview.’ He looked at Louis Byrne. ‘I guess you’ll have a few questions to ask her too.’

  Pia brought the children back to Swann’s flat. She took him in her arms and he held her, nothing showing on his face, but breaking to pieces inside. She kissed him again and again. ‘I’m so glad you’re all right, Jack. So glad.’

  Outside, the streets were teeming with people, London back to normal, as if nothing whatever had happened. As Swann was trying to keep his demeanour and body language easy, the doorbell sounded. Charlotte stuck her head out of the window and squealed with delight. ‘Daddy, Mummy’s here.’

  Rachael came upstairs. She looked weary, smiled at Pia, then took Swann to one side.

  ‘Can I take them home with me?’

  ‘For now or for good?’

  She looked at him then. ‘I’ve got my last few bits next month, but my parents are coming down from Suffolk.’

  Swann forced the lump down in his throat. ‘I’ve had them almost a year, Rachael.’

  ‘I know. It’s longer than I imagined, Jack. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not. I want to keep them.’

  Twisted silence. She looked him in the eye and he looked away. Pia was making the girls laugh in the living room.

  ‘Jack, you’re not going to start fighting me for them, are you?’ Rachael said. ‘Please tell me you’re not.’

  Swann bit his lip. ‘I don’t want to lose them.’

  ‘You won’t lose them. We’ll just go back to how it was.’ She touched his arm. ‘Please don’t fight me, Jack. You’ve got Pia. Your lives can get back to normal.’

  Swann looked right through her, not seeing anything. ‘I won’t fight you,’ he said.

  Harrison sat in Jakob Salvesen’s office with Bob
Jackson and Max Scheller. Chief was in the Westlake Memorial Hospital having his shoulder repaired. Harrison had just left him. Stony-faced, the three of them watched the video tape from Salvesen’s mock courtroom. Earlier, Harrison had shown them the armoury and gallows, and FBI agents were swarming all over the compound. The county sheriff had instructed the Fire and Rescue Service, under the guidance of Danny Dugger, to recover Tate’s and Slusher’s bodies from the Magdalena mine. Wingo’s had been brought in already, as had Tyler Oldfield’s, and the man Chief had shot. Salvesen was in custody. The rest of those who’d been in the ‘common law’ courtroom were taken by the FBI Hostage Rescue Team.

  Jackson’s face was thin and drawn as he watched Salvesen’s rhetoric. Harrison said nothing, just sat in his chair with an ankle across his knee and smoked. The tape got to the bit where he threw the chair and disappeared underground. He got up and switched off the TV, then stood with his back to the set.

  ‘Un-fucking-believable,’ Scheller said.

  ‘Wanted to do it for a long time.’ Harrison crushed his cigarette against the hearth. ‘They’ve bragged about it on the websites. Posse wanted to do it years ago. Somebody’ll try again.’

  Scheller looked at him with admiration in his eyes. ‘You got four of them, Johnny.’

  Harrison made a face. ‘I got burned, Max.’

  Scheller was silent. Next to him Jackson was silent. ‘The deal worked out, JB,’ Scheller said. ‘Scotland Yard disabled the bomb and we’ve got Jake Salvesen in custody.’ He nodded to the video tape. ‘Put this on the six o’clock news and the Bureau’s image will catapult.’ He looked at Jackson. ‘What do you think, Bob?’

  Jackson nodded. ‘Kinda evens things up after Waco and Ruby Ridge.’

  ‘Somebody burned my fucking ass.’ Harrison’s voice started low and rose as he ground out the words. ‘Somebody on the inside.’ He looked from one to the other of them. ‘Who had access to the product?’

  Jackson dragged fingers over his face. ‘Fucking everyone, John. There’s us here, the back-up team in Salt Lake. Then there’s D.C. You got the Domestic Terrorism Ops Unit, that’s what forty guys from unit chief down. You got the lab technicians and the Analytical Unit, that’s another forty.’ He made a hopeless gesture with his hands. ‘Then you got the leg-att, the FEST and Scotland fucking Yard.’