by Brian Cain
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Tuesday the 12th October 4.30 am, north end hangar international freight terminal, Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport; Stanton stood just inside the end door looking like part of the furniture in his grey overalls and bright orange vest. He studied every plane as it landed looking for something that would make the distance in the time and not a commercial liner. The wind was north west and all arrivals were using the main runway coming in over the sea and taxiing to terminals right in front of him and to his right depending on their gate allocation. His night scope binoculars could pick up the faces of the pilots when the planes taxied from the main runway.
An executive Lear jet touched down and Stanton watched with interest as it taxied left. He commandeered an electric baggage truck and hugged the hangar watching the plane, his perfect forged ID tag blowing in the wind behind him. It parked on the concrete apron and was met by a small bus taking one passenger and two crew to customs; Stanton had no idea what Price looked like now but the passenger was the same height and build that he could remember and was in his age bracket. Stanton boldly pulled up at the little jet and accessed the cockpit activating the navigation computer and retrieving the initial take-off coordinates; thirty-four degrees twelve minutes north by sixty-two degrees thirteen minutes east. Stanton put the information in his GPS in his phone, Herat Afghanistan. Stanton had checked and no plane coming in had a flight plan ex Afghanistan. He got back on his baggage buggy and accessed the terminal waiting at the customs check in exit to the lounge and only the two crew emerged. He stopped; them they were westerners.
"Your passenger - where is he?"
"I beg your pardon, please let us pass."
"Your plane is x Herat, no flight plan, unless you want to fly a crop duster for the rest of your life I suggest you tell me where the passenger is."
"You don't understand, the passenger is a VIP taken through a private customs room escorted and assisted by government officials."
"What's his name, you got ten seconds?" The two pilots looked at each other, the one that had not spoken nodded.
"One of his name’s is Peter, that's what he asks he be called." Stanton called two state police officers standing near the exit and they responded. He showed them his fake ID as he spoke to them.
"These pilots just brought in a Lear jet ex Afghanistan - their flight plan does not show this. I believe the plane is carrying drugs. Confiscate their phones and call David Stokes of the CIB, inform him and tell him Stanton told you to call." The pilots tried to walk away and the officers detained them, one officer asking for ID the other making a call. They looked around and Stanton had disappeared. This had been cumbersome but Stanton was now sure they could not contact Price. He accessed the departure area in front of the terminal and walked towards the area allocated for government vehicles.
A plain white Holden Statesman with plates that checked out to ASIO waited with a single driver standing alongside on the pathway. Stanton waited inside the building until he saw the passenger coming towards the exit. Stanton removed his vest and coveralls exposing a black suit; he walked outside to the waiting vehicle still with his ID around his neck and spoke to the attendee now in the driver's seat reading the paper; he noticed the keys were in the ignition.
"You here for Peter Price?" asked Stanton.
"Yes I am."
"He's at the government pick up area and requires some assistance with his luggage, he's most agitated." The man put down the paper and got out of the car.
"Good Lord. Can you just watch this for a moment while I get him?"
"No problems," replied Stanton. The driver passed Price as he walked through the doors Stanton stood by the car’s front wheel and Price approached him studying the number plate on the vehicle then talking to Stanton.
"Who are you waiting for?"
"Mr Price sir, would that be yourself?"
"Yes." Stanton had the keys in his hand and opened the boot, stowing the luggage while Price got into the back seat. Stanton climbed aboard and casually drove away.
"You know where we are heading?" asked Price.
"Oh yes."
"Is that today's paper on the front seat there?"
"Yes." Stanton handed Price the paper and he tucked his head in the pages.
Stanton drove to the park ‘n’ fly multi storey car park in Botany road Mascot overriding the boom gate with a programmed remote and driving to the rooftop in the far north eastern corner overlooking the rail line and vacant corner block below and pulled up; he knew this area was out of view of any surveillance cameras. Price took his head from out of the paper.
"Where the hell are we and why have we stopped?" shouted Price. Stanton got out opened the rear door and dragged Price out by the collar with both his hands drawing him nose to nose and kneeing him in the groin at the same time.
"Do you remember Albert Hollis?" growled Stanton. Price swallowed, then coughed trying to contain the pain from his groin.
"Who are you?" chocked Price.
"I generally give people two minutes, what will sustain that is answers."
"Yes you obviously know I do."
"Al Ahmadi."
"Look I have powerful friends here you could..." Stanton head-butted Price between the eyes and drew him nose to nose again.
"Al Ahmadi."
"Yes," whimpered Price. Stanton put him against the side of the car and pulled out his wallet inspecting his ID. Driver’s licence Washington DC. Driver’s licence Mayfair UK. Credit cards Peter Price. He fumbled through his jacket pockets pulling out two passports, Kuwait Peter Price, Afghanistan Peter Price.
"Mm… hard man to find and after all this time you come to me. I'm John Stanton Price. Name ring a bell?"
"Spare me anything you want is yours."
"Now Al Ahmadi, other than you who is he dealing with and how far from accessing Pakistan's weapons of mass destruction is he or you?"
"You won’t stop us now Stanton, the chains too big, just a matter of time."
"Chains are rarely of any use if links break. The more broken links the less use the chain will be until you can’t use it anymore. You would not have risked coming here if not for some serious problems with the chain. The authorities will be forty-eight hours behind me; I just want to make sure the trail has the right leads." Stanton pulled out his pistol and fitted the silencer, Price began to squirm so Stanton kneed him in the groin again and he fell to his knees. He took a couple of steps back and levelled the weapon at Price. "I sanction you for the death of the Fredrick, Harold and Cynthia Hollis outside a school in Oxford and in front of many children no older than twelve. No one’s life has been the same since including mine. You have anything to say Price?"
"I hope you fry with the rest of your kind Stanton." Stanton raised his weapon and after two dull thuds Price fell face down on the concrete bleeding profusely from the head, creating a red pool in an ever-increasing circle. Stanton looked at him for a while, threw his identification on top of his body and walked to his Mustang parked on the southern side of the roof. He left the car park installation in a cloud of smoke, not even bothering to raise the boom gate and roared off north along Botany Road. Stanton called Hurst bouncing the call from Florida.
It was seven pm in London when Hollis accepted a visit from Hurst. Hurst informed him Price was dead and the circumstances in which it happened.
"Stanton?"
"Yes sir."
"Are we in control yet?"
"John doesn't think so sir but he thinks the chain is that badly broken it will take years to recover. One more link and it will be finished. He's asked for forty eight hours."
"Well we can't keep the lid on this much longer. The mess in Pakistan is causing some problems in the press, we were lucky to get Barkly back. What on earth did he bring a Pakistani chopper pilot back with him for?"
"Barkly described him as a trainee furthering his ability and knowledge with the RAF sir with a stark demonstration that we leave no one behind. Give Stanton the
time he has asked for, I'm sure he will hand it to authorities and bow out should he need to."
"Inform the Americans involved we are backing Stanton to the hilt."
"We will have to inform the French involved as well sir."
"I'll do that myself when they find out Stanton had one of their operatives in Pakistan, she may be looking for a job with us."
"Um… she's still in Florida at a place owned by Stanton sir, looking after some Pakistani taxi drivers who Stanton just happened to take with him sir." Hollis took off his glasses and rubbed his face.
"Anything else I need to know?"
"This is swinging our way sir, the Americans have shut down six radical terrorist organisations in the US and we have found four with the information from the target lifted out of Pakistan. He is singing like a bird; you could end up with a feather in your cap sir."
"Or a boot up my arse."
"Eh yes sir."
