Terminal (Major Crimes Unit Book 4)

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Fuck you.” He managed a pained chuckle. “You have to get lawyer. You cannot torture and tell me these lies. UK are the good guys, no?” He laughed again as if he had said something absurd.

  He was right, of course. Sarah was totally bluffing. Once the transport arrived, the prisoner would be taken to an interview room where things would achingly proceed by the book. The only chance she had to extract answers was now, while he was bleeding and in pain. She pulled out her Sig and placed it against his guts. “Does anyone really know how many times I shot you? I mean, the paramedics might make a fuss, but it’s easy to scare gentle souls like them into keeping quiet. How about I plug you again and watch you bleed out before help arrives? Then I’ll go visit this law firm of yours and see if I can get the answers I need there. Even if you were to somehow miraculously survive, you’re going to have a nice stay in one of Her Majesty’s prisons, where I assume there’ll be certain dangers for you. Your boss might want to ensure you stay silent. For good.” She shrugged. “What kind of man do you work for? Is he the understanding sort?”

  Sarah was assuming much, but she understood enough about violent criminals to know they were rarely sentimental.

  “If I tell anything, I die.”

  “Tell me what I need to know and I’ll make sure you end up on a nice warm beach somewhere. What the hell were you doing here today? You wanted the kid, right?”

  He hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “To recruit.”

  “For who?”

  He looked away and pressed his lips together. Sarah considered hitting him again but decided it would only send him the other way. He was as compliant as he was going to get. “Who do you work for?”

  He declined to answer.

  Sarah took a shot. Lately, one particular Russian had been popping up on her radar consistently. She spoke his name. “Is it Maxim Ivanov?”

  The man flinched.

  Sarah put a hand on his trembling leg and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Just nod.”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Now I need to know where to find—”

  The bell above the door sounded and a trio of armed police officers entered the shop, their jackboots clunking on the laminate floor. They were equipped with MP5s but left them hanging loose by their straps. The officer in charge, a tall man with large green eyes, put up a hand and told her, “We’re here to take this man into protective custody.”

  Sarah stood and faced the intruders. “I’m with the MCU, and I’ve already arranged transportation for this prisoner. It’ll be here any moment.”

  “I suggest you tell it to head back home. Our orders came directly from the Home Office and we’ve been dispatched here to take this man into custody and keep him secure.”

  Sarah hissed. “I’m trying to investigate the plane crash this morning. Do you really want to get in my way?”

  The officer took a step forward, but rather than confront her aggressively, he moved her away and spoke quietly so his colleagues couldn’t hear. “Look, I appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m going to carry out my orders, okay? All I can say is that this guy must have friends in high places because the Home Secretary herself has got involved. Plus, his lawyers are already on the case, making trouble. They’re insinuating you used unnecessary brutality.” He peered sideways at the dead body in the room.

  “That’s ridiculous. How did they even find out about this so quickly?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry for stepping on your toes, but you’ll have to take it up with someone else, okay? Just giving you a heads-up because I respect the MCU and the work it does. It’s Sarah, right?”

  Sarah grunted. “I have a face that’s hard to forget, right?”

  “It has more to do with you jumping out of a helicopter above the Thames. I watched that whole thing on the news.”

  “Long time ago now,” she said. “I doubt my body would allow me to get away with a stunt like that now.”

  “Your body looks fine to me.”

  An awkward silence settled. Flirtation had become alien to Sarah, and the officer appeared mortified by what he had said.

  “I, um…”

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Matt. I’m with SCO19.”

  Sarah gave an appreciative nod. SCO19 was the Metropolitan Police’s armed response unit. An elite group of officers.

  But what are they doing in Ipswich?

  “Look, Matt, I appreciate the heads-up, but don’t be offended if I kick your door in later and take this guy back. I shot him, so I should get him.”

  “Not sure that’s how it works.” He flashed a set of straight white teeth at her as he smiled. “But I’ll be ready to hand him over.”

  Sarah nodded. There was little she could do, so she stood back.

  Sometimes it felt like there were too many chefs adding salt to the law enforcement stew, but mostly they were on the same side. She was in no position to take on three heavily armed police officers, so she wasn’t going to try.

  “Hey,” she shouted as they carried her prisoner away, “what about the dead guy?”

  “All yours,” said Matt, and he exited the shop.

  “Gee, thanks. I suppose I’ll go and—”

  Three paramedics wheeled Mattock out from the backroom on a gurney. The one Sarah had pulled a gun on averted his eyes and flinched when she came close. She had no interest in the paramedics, though. She wanted to check on her friend.

  Mattock was half-conscious, with a blood-speckled oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. There was no way he could hold a conversation, so she simply put her hand on his knee. “Next time bring a gun, you muppet.”

  Mattock lifted his arm and gave her the middle finger.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  His arm flopped back to the gurney.

  Sarah sighed as the paramedics wheeled him away, but then she got her head back in the game. While she had gained little to no intel from the wounded prisoner, she hadn’t come here to investigate Eastern-European thugs. She had come to find a kid with the skills to crash a jumbo jet.

  A banging sound alerted Sarah to the backroom just as she’d been about to head there anyway. There had been no danger of Oliver escaping when she’d left him sitting in a pool of his own urine, but she hurried now, suddenly anxious. The cramped backroom was a disaster zone, with chunks of plaster and bloodstained dust all over the floor. One laptop on the desk had a bullet hole right through the centre of its screen. “I think that’s beyond repair,” she said, and turned to talk to Oliver.

  But the kid was gone.

  The broken fire exit door hung open, letting in frigid air. It slowly swung shut.

  “Damn it!” Sarah threw herself out of the exit and found herself standing in a small yard behind the shop. Oliver couldn’t have gone far. He only had a ten-second head start.

  She rushed forward into the road and looked left and right. Traffic whizzed by in both directions, and there was a small covered market on the far side of the road. Pedestrians rushed back and forth, carrying shopping bags and hauling backpacks.

  Sarah stopped, knowing a chase would do her no good. Even if she knew which direction Oliver Simpson had gone, the teenager was probably faster than she was at a battered and beaten forty. She pulled out her phone and made a call. “Jessica? I’ve lost both prisoners. One to some kind of political power play and another to my own goddamn stupidity. I need all teams on me, right now. We need to find Oliver Simpson.”

  “Jesus, Sarah, what happened?”

  “There’s no time to explain, but I screwed up, okay? Just get everyone out here. And get Thomas on the line with somebody at the Home Office. They have our prisoner.”

  “Okay, Sarah, but I need to—”

  The line went dead.

  Sarah tutted, frowned, and quickly redialled. Her phone had lost its signal, doing nothing now except beep at her irritably. She s
tared at the screen, failing to make sense of it. There wasn’t even a signal bar.

  What the hell?

  Oliver made it through the covered market and hopped on a bus. His heart thudded against his ribs as he took a seat. He was certain the woman with the scarred face would appear at any moment and arrest him.

  Sarah, she said her name was Sarah.

  When the bus pulled away, he realised he had escaped.

  But it’s only a matter of time before they catch me.

  Still frantic, he pulled his smartphone out of his trouser pocket and plunged himself into the only world he knew – the one place he wielded any kind of power. Using a variety of tools in tandem, he hacked into the local cellular masts and deactivated them. He had learned to do so months ago now, but he had never messed with anything before that could land him in trouble. Things couldn’t get any worse now, though, so there was no reason not to do whatever he needed. It was ridiculously easy to access and disable the transmitters.

  Just like it was easy hacking into that plane. They should have done a better job of securing it. They’re to blame as much as I am.

  With the teeniest spark of delight, Oliver looked up to see several passengers on the bus groan and tap at their phones. Hopefully, the disruption would prevent the police from organising an immediate effort to apprehend him. He was safe for now. He could relax.

  The smell of his own urine brought him out of his thoughts. At the computer shop he had been so terrified – so sure he was going to die – that he had regressed into a trembling child. His mind switched off completely and all he could feel was fear.

  Then, all the shooting and the shouting had stopped, and paramedics were suddenly everywhere. Blood was everywhere. A nightmare, except he was fully awake.

  When the paramedics wheeled the scary northerner out of the backroom on a gurney, Oliver had suddenly found himself alone. Mortal terror demanded he flee, to escape the chaos and blood and people who wanted to hurt him. And so he had obeyed, grabbing the claw hammer that hung from a hook beside the fire exit and using it to pry open the broken catch. It had been no lie when he’d explained the fire door was broken, but he hadn’t added that he knew a workaround to open it.

  He had rushed out into the yard, but then he had paused.

  Where the hell do I go? The police know who I am. They know what I did.

  And who the hell were those men? They sounded Polish or Russian or something. They were after me. Why?

  I want to go home.

  I want my mum.

  Oliver caught buses all the time, so he quickly realised he was going the wrong way. At the next stop he would get off and head for the bus station. From there he would travel home, praying he didn’t get caught first. All he wanted, before his entire existence came crashing down around him, was a hug from his mother. Once he had that, he would accept whatever came next.

  There was no avoiding it.

  I deserve to be punished for what I did.

  The strike team turned up five minutes later, claiming to have come as fast as they were able. Sarah wished she had kept better track of time so she could verify exactly how long they had taken to respond to the distress call, but she was in no doubt that it was too long. Worry nagged at her, a fear that the strike team may not have got the call when it had been made. She needed to find out who Mattock had spoken to on the radio.

  I’ll have to wait until he’s in better shape.

  As well as creating dead bodies, the strike team also cleaned them up, which was a good thing, because the body on the shop floor was beginning to stink, bowels and bladder releasing. The corpse had no ID, so his name was currently ‘Sergei-question mark’.

  Sarah stepped out onto the pavement outside the shop and waited for her ride. The earlier drizzle had become a light, refreshing shower, and not the storm she had feared. The press, however, had brought a storm of their own. Sarah ignored their attempts to approach her, and thankfully, with armed police in attendance, they were on their best behaviour. It gave her time to think.

  Oliver Simpson had all but admitted he brought down that plane, but the kid hadn’t seemed proud or defiant about it. He had only seemed afraid. Had he brought down the plane by accident?

  Then there were the Russians. What the hell had they been doing there? Clearly, they had wanted Oliver, but why? Had they forced him to crash the plane?

  No. The wounded prisoner said he was there to recruit Oliver on behalf of Maxim Ivanov. The kid didn’t recognise them either. They were there to kidnap him.

  A black 2020 Range Rover Sport hybrid skidded to a halt on the opposite side of the road. The driver couldn’t park outside the shop because of all the police vehicles, but Sarah knew the ride was for her. She trotted across the road and hopped into the passenger side, glad to see a friendly face after being shot at and nearly killed.

  “Hey, Mandy. Thanks for getting me.”

  He gave her a thin smile, hands tight around the leather-wrapped steering wheel. “No problem. How’s Mattock?”

  “I think he’ll pull through. More scars for his collection.”

  Mandy released a gush of breath. “Good. Good, because I can’t…”

  Sarah reached over and patted him on the arm. “I understand. It’s okay. Just try to keep your mind in the present. I hate seeing you like this.”

  “Maybe we’re getting too old for this, Sarah.”

  “Ha! You thinking about retiring? Where would you even go without your licence to drive recklessly?”

  Mandy leant forward and started the engine. Staring ahead, he muttered, “I don’t know.”

  They drove in silence for a while before he asked her for a destination. The only logical place was the Simpson residence, so Sarah said to head there. The kid was scared, perhaps he would try to go home.

  Scared kids want their parents.

  All I ever wanted was mine.

  Something didn’t sit well with Sarah as they headed along the highway, and she had to voice it. “Hey, Mandy? Have you been listening in on the radio today?”

  He nodded. “I always do.”

  “Did you hear Mattock request backup?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who responded?”

  “It was Thomas. He’s back at the earthworm coordinating everything. He answered the call.”

  Sarah nodded and let the information sink in. “What about the Home Office? Did you hear any mention of it? The Home Secretary got involved ten minutes after the whole thing went down. How did she find out so quickly?”

  Mandy shrugged. “An ambitious analyst with a buddy in high places? Leaks are always a problem in our line of work.”

  “I suppose so, but something doesn’t feel right about this. Things got real crowded real fast, and I…” She sighed. “Never mind. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  Mandy frowned. “About what?”

  She wanted to share the end of the thought with him, but once it was out there, there was no taking it back. The situation was delicate; she was hesitant to add additional moving parts. “I recognise this road,” she said, pointing over the dash. “We’re almost at the Simpson address. Take a left here and—”

  Sarah’s mobile rang in her pocket. The problems with the network must have been fixed, which was a relief.

  She answered the call. “Jessica? We’re about to revisit the Simpson residence, so can you… Wait, what? You’re shitting me? Okay, keep me posted. Oh, and don’t use the radio, okay? I understand it’s against protocol, but speak to me first about anything you find out. And get a team out to the Simpson residence ASAP. We’re not the only ones looking for Oliver Simpson.” She ended the call and put her phone away. She banged her head back against the headrest, gritting her teeth and hissing. “Shitting hell.”

  Mandy glanced sideways at her. “What is it?”

  “Someone just hit the transporter and murdered our prisoner.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “Maxim Ivanov. He’s willing to d
o anything to protect himself. That’s not what concerns me, though. What bothers me is that, once again, we’re three steps behind. Something stinks here, Mandy, and it’s time to grab an air freshener.”

  “Just tell me what you need.”

  “Okay, listen. Things are going to get dramatic. Do I have you at your best?”

  “Of course.” He said it with a hint of frustration. “I’m your faithful driver as always.”

  “Good. We’re not heading to the Simpson residence any more so turn around. Do you know the MCU safe house in Hornchurch?”

  “There isn’t a safe house in Hornchurch.”

  Sarah chuckled but felt positively grim at the same time. “Mandy, I’m about to blow your mind.”

  With Mandy’s preternatural reading of traffic allowing him to always be in the right lane on the quickest road, they reached London in sixty-minutes. Sarah didn’t enter the Hornchurch address into the satnav because it would leave a record, so she barked out directions. The last thing she wanted was for anyone else to find out about the safe house.

  Sarah directed Mandy to a side street half a mile away from their destination. She would have had him park even further away, but time was of the essence. Her chief priority was apprehending Oliver Simpson, but she couldn’t do that with her every single move being pre-empted. There was a rat at the MCU, something she had known for a while.

  But it’s not time yet to put down the poison.

  Mandy disliked non-vehicular travel, so he was panting and complaining by the time they reached the end of the road. Sarah shushed him and said, “Untwist your knickers, big guy. We’re here.”

  “Where?”

  She nodded to a small petrol station off the side of the road. The pumps were empty and abandoned, but above the shuttered building’s ground floor was a decent-sized two-bedroom flat. For the last six months, it had been registered as vacant. In reality, a single occupant had been living there for just over two months. It was someone she hadn’t seen in a while. Two keys accessed the property, and she had one of them.