Meltdown

by Andy McNab

  Kubara smiled at Teddy and put one huge hand on his shoulder.

  'No, you are right, my friend,' he said, pushing Teddy firmly back down onto his chair. 'You do have a right to know about my plans, so I shall tell you . . .'

  He reached into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a thin, solid silver toothpick. Carefully he slipped it into his mouth and freed something jammed between two of his back teeth.

  Teddy and Will watched as he licked his lips and winked at them before putting the toothpick back in his pocket.

  'The reason for our meeting . . . ' he said, his face still friendly and open. 'Well, it is very simple. I am taking over the business.'

  Teddy's mouth gaped open. He was speechless.

  'No,' said Will firmly. 'I'm afraid you've got it wrong, Mr Kubara. We're not interested in selling out.'

  Kubara's mocking laugh was deep with menace. 'You people – even kids like you – you still think you rule the world. You still think we are scared of you. But you are nothing. You are not selling to me. I am taking the business. You have no strength; you are weak. From now on, you will work for me.'

  Teddy's mouth was still gaping, but Will was redfaced with anger. 'How dare you! You can't just order us around, tell us what to do. We're . . . we're British subjects. We won't work for you!'

  Kubara took a step closer to Will; he was so close that Will was forced to stagger back down into his chair.

  'Oh, but you will . . . Will.' Kubara laughed at his own joke. He nodded slowly. 'You, I have just a little respect for. At least you try to fight. It's useless, but you try.' He looked at Teddy and sneered with distaste. 'Him? He is . . . nothing.'

  He turned back to Will. 'You are both coming with me, to my new factory. It is in . . . ' He paused and smiled again. 'It is far away. There, you will work for me, preparing the laboratory and eventually producing Meltdown. You will show my people the formula and the manufacturing process. In the meantime, production will continue in England, until we have no further need of England—'

  He broke off as his eyes were drawn once again to Teddy, who was surreptitiously reaching for something in his jacket pocket.

  Kubara smiled. 'Trying to call your security, Teddy?' The smile vanished. 'Give me your phones, both of you. Now.'

  Teddy looked at Will in dismay.

  'You can't do that!' shouted Will.

  'Don't make me have to ask our friend behind you to take them from you by force.'

  Slowly, reluctantly, the twins handed over their phones. Kubara tucked them into his jacket pocket and then went back to his food.

  When the match restarted, Barcelona again had most of the play, and after a few minutes of sustained pressure, their Portuguese midfielder, Deco, was brought down in the box.

  'Penalty!' screamed Kubara – along with every Catalan in the Nou Camp.

  The referee agreed. Deco put the ball on the spot and stroked it casually into the net. The stadium erupted: two-nil.

  Kubara broke off his celebrations and seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments. Then he gestured to his bodyguard, who pulled out a mobile and speed-dialled a number.

  Outside, Danny saw the Merc driver answer the call.

  'Stand by! Stand by! That's the Merc driver on a mobile. Wait . . . That's jacket on.'

  In the executive box, the bodyguard nodded to Kubara that everything was ready.

  He turned to the twins and smiled. 'Don't look so worried, boys,' he said. 'I will look after you.'

  Without warning, his smile disappeared and his voice took on a new menace. 'If you refuse, or try to resist in any way, I will kill one of you tonight.' He shrugged. 'It doesn't matter which one. You are both the same to me.'

  33

  The black limo pulled away from its parking space.

  'Stand by! Stand by! That's the Merc mobile.'

  Fergus could barely hear what was going on amid the noise of the crowd after the penalty. It was deafening. Everyone was standing, yelling and clapping, delighted that their team had scored another goal. He fought his way along the row of seats past the cheering supporters.

  As he reached the end, he looked up towards the box and cursed. Kubara was making a move earlier than he'd anticipated. He paused to check that he could be heard over the noise of the crowd.

  'Fergus foxtrot. Danny, you still have?'

  'Danny has. Stop! Stop! Stop! That's the Merc static outside exit gate. Engine still running . . . He's on his mobile.'

  'Roger that! If they leave now, there is no way I can get to you! Take them! Danny confirm!'

  'Roger that!'

  'Good! Deveraux, we need an air assist to take over from Danny with your team on board. We need to stick with the target at all costs – they could be going anywhere in Europe! Deveraux acknowledge!'

  Deveraux was already on the phone to Dudley. 'Range, anywhere in Europe. And big enough to take my team and' – she almost spat out the last words – 'Watts and the boy.'

  Fergus was still waiting.

  'Deveraux acknowledge!'

  'Dudley is arranging transport now.'

  Fergus was still battling his way through the crowd, desperate to reach Danny so that they could take the Mercedes together. They would follow until Deveraux and her team were airborne and could pick them up.

  'Roger that. We can't take Kubara yet. Not until we know where the DMP is back in the UK. We must co-ordinate both attacks or one side could warn off the other.'

  Deveraux angrily hissed back her reply.

  'I know that.'

  She could see that Kubara was talking to his bodyguard. He was speaking very quietly – too quietly for the microphone in the TV set to pick up what was being said. As the bodyguard made his way back towards the rear of the box, the twins caught a glimpse of the Makarov semi-automatic pistol he was wearing beneath his jacket. They glanced at each other fearfully.

  Kubara turned to them and smiled. 'You boys are OK, yes? You look forward to your trip?'

  The twins said nothing and Kubara issued another stark warning. 'Remember, I need only one of you. If either of you attempts to run or call for help, I will kill one twin and do whatever else is necessary so that I can leave safely.' He glared at them. 'You understand that I am speaking the truth?'

  Without waiting for an answer, he went out of the box and into the corridor, heading for the exit.

  As they walked down the carpeted corridor, followed by the bodyguard, they heard another huge roar of delight erupting from the Nou Camp.

  Kubara shook his head. 'A tragedy to miss such a match.'

  Danny had the trigger.

  'Stand by! Stand by! That's the twins and Kubara and body-guard getting into the Merc. Wait . . . wait . . . That's now mobile towards the main. Deveraux, I'm gonna need some help around here. The tracker working?'

  Danny's mobile was being tracked by Spanish intelligence and Deveraux's monitor would pinpoint Danny's position to within ten square metres.

  'We have you. Just keep with the target.'

  'Roger that. That's at the main and turning right, towards the roundabout.'

  Danny made the right turn and fell into the traffic, two cars back.

  'Target at the roundabout. Pass first option . . . pass second option . . . pass third. He's turning back!'

  Fergus had finally made it out of the stadium and was heading towards Deveraux's office.

  'That's anti-surveillance! Don't go with him!'

  Danny took the third option and the Merc drove all the way around the circle of flowers and back in the direction it had come. But not for long.

  'That's the Merc unsighted.'

  As soon as the Merc driver was out of sight of the roundabout, he cut across the oncoming traffic and headed back the way he had come. Drivers hit their horns, jammed on their brakes, swore and shook their fists as he swerved his way through the traffic.

  'Merc still unsighted. I'm checking.'

  Danny spun the Corsa round the roundabout, l
ooking down all the exit roads for the Mercedes.

  'Danny has a possible. First option.'

  He took the first turn and pushed forward through the traffic, trying to make out the black shape in the distance.

  Inside the Merc, the atmosphere was calmer, for Kubara at least, as the air con gently blew out cooling air. The bodyguard was in the front passenger seat and Kubara was in the back, sitting between the twins, his arms around them like the kindly uncle Will had imagined. He pulled them close. 'Don't worry about the driving,' he said. 'He's just making sure none of your friends are following.'

  The twins looked at each other but said nothing. It seemed that the Bosnian knew everything.

  Kubara turned to Teddy. 'Now, I want you to make some phone calls to your people in England. Let me find your phone for you.' He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a mobile.

  Teddy took it wordlessly and looked at Kubara for further instructions.

  'Good boy. Call your people. Tell them we need a new consignment of Meltdown prepared. They will begin now, tonight; get your scientists to work together – I know they don't normally work like that—'

  Teddy interrupted. He'd been desperately trying to think of anything that might stop Kubara, or even hold up his plan. 'But our security is here in Barcelona, with the coaches. There's no one in the UK to protect the process and—'

  'Enough! No more excuses. I cannot afford a delay in supplies while you are organizing the new factory. We will let them know about transportation to Europe. Just get them making it. I want full production now.'

  Teddy looked at his brother. Every order that Kubara gave them seemed one more step closer to their elimination. It was obvious that he was only going to keep them alive for as long as he needed them.

  And Kubara's next words confirmed that every member of the operation was marked down for elimination once he had everything he wanted: 'You will give the names of the two chemists you use, and where they live.'

  'Danny has! Danny has! That's the Merc now heading out of the city. Don't know the name of the road but heading west.'

  Deveraux look down at the tracking monitor.

  'We have you.'

  34

  Lee was still unconscious in his private hospital bed. His mouth was covered with an oxygen mask, a drip fed into his arm and there was a constant blip from the heart-monitor. There had been complications: the knife had sliced into one of his kidneys and the blood loss during the long wait for emergency treatment had been severe.

  Phil stood looking down at him. He didn't know what to say. There were things he wanted to say, but emotions never came easily to him. Not that Lee would have heard a word he said.

  So Phil talked about work. 'We'll find the DMP, mate – don't worry. We'll find it and get them all.'

  He leaned down and whispered in Lee's ear, 'Albie's dead.' Phil smiled; he knew Lee would be pleased. 'Blew himself up on Melt.'

  Phil's mobile started to vibrate in his jacket. He pulled it out and recognized the number; it was Predator operations.

  Mr Monotone was back. 'He's on the move, heading north out of the city.'

  'OK.'

  Phil closed down the mobile and whispered to Lee, 'Gotta go, mate. The doctors say you're stable now. They reckon you'll be running about in a couple of months. See you soon.'

  Back in his car Phil hit the radio pressel. He spoke urgently; this was the first time that Freddie had driven out of Greater Manchester.

  'That's Phil mobile. Where is he?'

  The operator still spoke in the same flat voice, sounding about as exciting as the speaking clock.

  'Still heading north on the A56, towards Prestwick and the M60.'

  In the Mini, Freddie saw the sign for the M60; it was ten miles away. He was driving a lot faster than usual. He'd been seriously spooked by the call he'd taken from Teddy. He'd sounded strange. More than strange; scared. And the orders he gave were like no others before.

  Freddie didn't like it, working together with the other scientist and in the same place as last time. It was all wrong; they never operated that way. He hadn't even met the other guy. But he couldn't refuse. If he didn't turn up, someone would come looking for him; the threat was always there. He couldn't run. Not this time.

  Earlier in the day Freddie had seen the story in the newspaper about Meltdown. Maybe the twins had seen it too, and were panicking almost as much as he was. He didn't care about riots on the streets, or terrorists, or anything else. This had to be the last one; he'd get himself a little bonus by slipping a few packs of Meltdown into his pockets. Then he was out of there, a long way away.

  He pushed his foot down on the accelerator, his greed a lot stronger than his common sense, which was telling him to turn the car round and drive in the other direction.

  Mr Monotone came back on the net to Phil, who was now clear of the city.

  'Target is at the motorway now . . . Wait . . . Wait . . . He's not taking it. That's the target still heading north on the A56 towards Bury.'

  Phil hit the pressel.

  'Roger that'

  The Predator circled high above the target, cutting through the night sky.

  Forty thousand feet below, Phil followed the A56 as the operator came back with another fix on their target.

  'That's through Whitfield, still towards Bury.'

  Phil remained calm and professional, but with a growing feeling of optimism. This had to be the break they'd been waiting for. Maybe at last he'd have some good news to report to Fergus before the night was out.

  As Phil reached Whitfield, Mr Monotone came back on the net.

  'He's turning right . . . right. Off the A56, just halfway from the motorway to Bury. Wait . . .'

  Phil slowed down in case he passed the turning Freddie had taken.

  'The target has gone into the old airfield on the other side of Hollins village. It's now an industrial estate. He's going into one of the hangars. Wait . . . now unsighted.'

  Phil had clocked the sign giving notice of Hollins village.

  'Which hangar? Which hangar?'

  He was shouting as he turned right off the A56 for Hollins.

  Mr Monotone remained calm.

  'Do you have NVGs?'

  'Of course I've got them!'

  'OK, I'll splash the hangar for you. Splashing now!'

  Hollins village had come and gone and Phil followed the signs for the industrial estate. The high wire fence was still there, and so were the gates – though they were permanently open these days, one of them hanging off a single hinge at a strange angle. Phil pulled his car off the road just before the gates and turned off the lights.

  He got out, went to the boot and pulled his NVGs from the ready bag. Even before he put them on he could see the semicircular outlines of the old hangars as well as the other buildings. He put on the ski-goggle-style NVGs. Instead of clear plastic in the lenses there was black glass. They made Phil look like a giant wasp.