by Andy McNab
Jockey turned away and got on the net. ‘Alpha, this is Blue One . . .’
94
TOM’S PKM TOOK a round into the front of its feed tray. The force of the impact punched him back. A split second later the round splintered, peppering the side of his face with brass and lead fragments. The combined momentum hurled his head against one of the solid steel wheels.
The next thing he saw was a shitload of boots tap-dancing all around the track. Three of Laszlo’s sidekicks yelled at him, and motioned for him to get out. They wanted to see his hands. Tom had ended up lying on his back, starfish-style. He felt his boots being grabbed and hauled out into the open.
As he emerged, they gave him a couple of kicks for good measure, and gestured for him to get to his feet. He heaved himself up, hands in the air. He stared straight ahead, no scowl of defiance, no eye contact. His training had taken over. There was no way he’d show them that he was scared in a situation like this; he just stood there, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let them get on with it.
One of his new best mates jabbed him with a machine-gun and signalled for him to get down on his knees. Tom did exactly what he was told. When he looked up, the kick to his jaw knocked him backwards against the train. Blotches of intense white light filled his head. He opened his eyes. Through the starbursts, he saw the world closing in.
He took another boot to the side of his head. He wasn’t going to come up from that one in a hurry, even if he’d wanted to. His brain felt like it had been shaken loose and everything was spinning.
Even though he was winded, Tom’s instinct for self-preservation programmed his body to roll itself over. Face down on the concrete, he curled into a tight ball. He knew he had to accept what came his way; there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He tasted blood in his mouth. One half of his mind was telling him to close his eyes and take a deep breath, and maybe it would all go away. But at the back of the other lurked a small but insistent voice that said, Let’s wait and see, maybe they won’t, there’s always a chance . . .
It was trampoline time. They leaped in the air and landed on his back and legs. He felt each impact, but no longer the pain that went with it. His system was pumping too much adrenalin. He wasn’t blacking out – Tom had never been totally out of it from a blow of any kind – but he was sinking into a world of mush. He tightened his stomach, clenched his teeth, tensed his body as much as he could, and hoped they weren’t going to start to give him a really serious filling in.
The whole performance couldn’t have lasted for more than a minute or two, but it was long enough. When they backed off, he kept himself in a tight ball, but trying now to slide his arms underneath his body. His mind was numb. The kicks to his head had been punctuated by well-aimed toecaps to the kidneys.
When they finally wrenched him into a standing position, he fell down almost immediately onto his hands and knees, coughing up blood.
He felt them search his clothes – and find his mobile, passport and wallet – then push his face down into the concrete. His hands were pulled behind his back and zip-tied. He tried to raise his head so he could breathe, but someone seemed to be standing on it. He gasped and inhaled blood. He felt as if he was going to suffocate. Every sound was magnified, distorted, then diminished. He heard distant voices debate whether or not to kill him. And, for an agonizing second or two, he thought it would be quite nice if they did.
95
TOM WAS DUMPED on the buffet-car floor, the side of his face thumping hard onto its unyielding surface. A couple of small shards of broken glass pierced his cheek. His hands were still zip-tied behind him, but he’d have been incapable of breaking the fall even if they’d been free. He lay in a pool of liquid and it trickled into his open mouth. The alcohol burned his cuts.
Tom could hear Laszlo barking out orders nearby.
‘Be quick!’
But he couldn’t really work out where he was, let alone try and turn what was left of his head to look for the speaker.
‘Brother, I want this train fully operational in ten minutes. You need to organize the equipment. I will meet you at the engine.’
Another kick helped him get his bearings.
He opened one eye to see Laszlo squatting beside him. He felt the South Ossetian grip his wrists, then slice through the zip-ties. With the speed and elegance of a magician, Laszlo liberated his Omega.
As he stood up once more, Laszlo dropped his own broken wristwatch next to Tom’s head and left the buffet car.
96
HER HANDS AND thighs still duct-taped together after she’d been cut loose from the shelving pillars, Delphine was now being dragged towards the engine by a fighter. The deafening explosions, machine-gun fire and men in black trying to force their way onto the train might have stopped, but the cries, sobs and prayers of the hostages had not.
The floor was strewn with broken glass. So were many of the hostages. The reek of cordite hung in the air, mingling with the haze of smoke from the devices that had made her ears ring. One was still smouldering – it had ignited the fabric and foam innards of a chair. The stink of burning plastic was acrid and frightening.
Old men gripped their wives protectively as Delphine was pulled past them. Some just cowered and looked away. Parents comforted their children.
She saw Laszlo enter the carriage.
He paused every couple of steps and pointed at selected passengers. ‘You are now free to go.’
Nobody moved. They just looked puzzled. Some didn’t understand him; those who did couldn’t bring themselves to believe him.
Laszlo walked slowly along the carriage, pointing as he did so. ‘You . . . you . . . you four . . . you two . . . and you.’
Delphine was fearful. There seemed no particular logic in the choices he was making. She couldn’t help thinking that it was yet another of his tricks.
‘You . . . and you . . .’
He stopped and turned back to a group of four at a table he had freed, and pointed at a thin man with short grey hair, dressed in a black Puffa jacket and jeans. ‘You will stay.’
The woman next to him burst into tears. He tried to comfort her, while almost hyperventilating about his own potential fate.
The air was thick with suspicion. After all they had been through that day, Delphine shared their disbelief. By the time Laszlo got to the end of the carriage, he’d selected a total of twenty males to remain in the tunnel. Some looked resigned; some couldn’t conceal their envy of those whose nightmare might – just might – have been about to end.
He turned, smiling benevolently, like an Old Testament prophet preparing to lead the chosen ones from the desert. ‘Go. Walk back along the tunnel. You will find yourself in England, in sunlight and open air, and all this will start to seem like a bad dream.’
One of a four-man group finally raised a hand, braver, Delphine thought, or perhaps more foolhardy than the rest. ‘How do we know you aren’t just fucking us about? You know, we get off the train, and then you kill us.’
Laszlo spread his open palms in a theatrical shrug. ‘I just may do that.’ Then his face changed. The smile became chilling. ‘But if you’re still in this carriage in one minute, I’ll kill you anyway. So what have you got to lose?’
There was a moment’s hesitation and then a mad scramble of the chosen ones towards the exit. The sound of Laszlo’s laughter pursued them as they clambered down onto the track.
Delphine could no longer see them, but she heard no shots. She heard murmurs. She imagined them looking around them, perhaps expecting guns to go off, then finally turning and starting to run breathlessly along the tunnel. The murmurs receded.
Laszlo looked at Delphine and laughed. ‘Some of them must be your fellow countrymen. They’re heading the wrong way, towards France.’
He moved into the next carriage. Delphine was dragged along with him. He barked at the hostages that they were all to be released. The same happened in Coach One too. She almost dared to h
ope that it would be her turn next.
She was pushed into the driver’s compartment and dumped on the floor. She watched, bemused, as Sambor detached what looked like oversized skateboards from the sort of oxygen sets she’d seen fire-fighters wear.
Laszlo appeared pleased. He reached down and cut through the duct tape with his knife, and pulled her to her feet.
‘It’s perfectly safe now.’ He peeled the last of the tape from her skin and thrust her against the wall. ‘The fireworks are over. For the moment at least.’
Delphine looked down at the limited edition Omega gleaming on his wrist, dreading what it implied.
97
THE TIGHTNESS OF Delphine’s bonds had cut off some of the circulation to her legs, and she gasped as her capillaries started to refill with oxygenated blood. The driver remained curled up on the floor, having tried his best to get his body as far under the control panel as he could, as if he was pulling a duvet over his head and hoping this was all just a nightmare he’d wake up from.
Her eyes were still glued to the Omega on Laszlo’s wrist.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was Tom’s. He was responsible for my own being damaged, so it seemed only fair . . .’
He slipped the watch off his wrist and showed her the engraving on the back of its case. ‘BU . . . And a lovely winged dagger.’ He smiled. ‘Vanity is a terrible burden, isn’t it, Delphine? Really, I thought your Mr Buckingham would have been beyond this sort of thing.’
He turned back to the radio mic and switched on the speaker. ‘Mr Woolf, it is time for you and me to converse once more.’
A voice crackled back over the speaker. ‘What do you want, Antonov?’
Woolf clearly thought the time for diplomacy was over, that the situation was far too advanced now for anything but an exchange of cold, hard facts.
But Laszlo didn’t see it entirely that way. He still wanted to play a little. Why not, when he so obviously had the upper hand? ‘Well, for a start, I think it would be a nice gesture if those fools at COBRA stopped sending their people in to try and kill me. It’s really not helping.’
Woolf didn’t bite. Laszlo thought he heard the sound of a pencil on paper. So that was how the MI5 man kept himself under control.
‘You left them with no other choice, right from the moment you started killing hostages.’
‘Believe me, I do see your point, Mr Woolf.’ Laszlo was enjoying himself immensely. ‘But if you had not been so impatient, you could have congratulated me on releasing so many hostages. They should be with you quite soon, hundreds of them, though I think some ran towards France. Maybe they’re still hoping to make their appointments. I will give you thirty seconds to make sure a reception is organized for them.’
While Laszlo waited, he produced a taped and modified handheld VHF radio from the desert-tan grab bag that had never left his shoulder.
Woolf took no more than twenty seconds. ‘Thank you for their release. But I know it’s because you don’t need them any more. They must just have been getting in the way. You have a device on the pipeline now. You have traded up. What do you plan to do with it? Is it just leverage? Or are you really going to try and destroy the tunnel?’
‘Mr Woolf, I feel the tone of our conversation has deteriorated somewhat. You were once so . . . congenial. Perhaps we would both benefit from the services of a suitable mediator. I think I have found the perfect woman for the job. Introducing a real person into the mixture will serve to remind you all that there is a matter of common humanity to consider. Sometimes these people become little more than statistics as we each move forward with our own game plans.’
Laszlo turned to Delphine. He held the radio mic up close to her mouth. ‘Say hello.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘I do hope our conversation isn’t being broadcast to the nation.’ Laszlo wiped her saliva once more from his face. ‘It would be a shocking example to set. I’m afraid this young lady’s vocabulary leaves a lot to be desired. But she has had a very exhausting day.’
Laszlo held the device inches from Delphine’s face. ‘What would you say I was holding in my hand?’
She didn’t answer. Perhaps she didn’t know.
‘Mr Woolf, the item she is refusing to describe to you is the initiator for the pipeline charge. I built it myself. It has no need for re-broadcasters in the tunnel, and of course will defeat your electronic countermeasures. I am extremely proud of it.’
‘Get to the point, Antonov.’
Laszlo nodded to himself, with some satisfaction. ‘Well, simply put, if you attempt to launch another attack, I will detonate the device. If you do not meet my revised demands, I will detonate the device.’ He paused. ‘In fact, to distil the situation completely, Mr Woolf, if you disobey me or deviate from my instructions in any way at all, I will . . . well, I’m sure you can complete the sentence.’
‘And what are these revised demands?’ Woolf was still trying to sound calm, but Laszlo could hear his vocal cords tightening with stress. His voice had risen half an octave. Laszlo liked that.
‘My price has now doubled, to three hundred kilos of gold.’ He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the grab bag and moved closer to Delphine. She moved away an inch. There was nowhere to go.
Laszlo cut the comms to the hangar. ‘Perhaps you’d like to read Mr Woolf the detailed list of my requirements. If you do, I’ll have Tom brought to you. He’s alive.’
Laszlo didn’t get the reaction he was expecting. Instead, she launched an even angrier mouthful of spit onto his face.
Laszlo merely wiped it away again, with the back of his hand. ‘Now, Delphine, just read what’s written on the paper to Mr Woolf, and you will be reunited with the father of your child.’ He handed her the sheet. ‘Nothing more – but nothing less, either.’
He held Delphine’s stare. ‘Young woman, put aside your hatred and pride. In our world, these wild emotions only get people killed. This is not about you. It’s about all those people who are still with us, wanting so desperately to survive.’
Delphine’s eyes broadcast her feelings for a moment or two longer, then she dropped her gaze. Laszlo turned on the comms and she started to read.
‘The Eurostar, along with the remaining hostages, will be driven back to Folkestone. No barricades or other obstructions are to be placed on the tracks. The Chinook will be positioned twenty metres from the track, at the mouth of the tunnel. Air space is to be cleared of all air traffic in a twenty-kilometre radius from that point, in all directions.’
Laszlo glanced at the Omega and retrieved the mic from Delphine. ‘Thank you. Mr Woolf. You now have ninety minutes.’ He switched off the comms system.
The train driver still lay face down on the floor, but he was no longer a picture of defeat. He knew at last why he had been held for so long on his own. Laszlo turned him over with the toe of his boot. ‘Very soon you will be resuming your normal duties. But, as you may have gathered, there has been a slight change of plan. We will be returning to Folkestone. So now you must make your way to the other engine and carry out whatever preparations you need to.
‘One of my men will be with you at all times. If you do exactly as you are told, you will live to tell your grandchildren the story of what happened to you today. If not, there will be one more body lying at the side of the track.’
Laszlo kicked open the compartment door. One of his men responded to the signal and escorted the driver away. The next moment, Tom’s semi-conscious body was dumped at Delphine’s feet. She gave a small cry and dropped on her knees to comfort him. His clothes were covered with dirt and oil; his face was cross-hatched with cuts and bruises and bullet fragments. One eye was half closed by a livid red swelling, and his lips were swollen and split. The makeshift sweatshirt dressing around his left thigh was stained with blood. It had dried to a dull brown at the edges, but was still a dark, liquid crimson at the centre.
Delphine didn’t know how to help, what to soothe. All she could do was gaze down at hi
m, horrified. ‘Tom . . . Tom . . .’
He looked like a drowning man, fighting his way to the surface. He managed, finally, to open one bloodshot eye and give her the ghost of a wink. His lips moved. He seemed to be trying to say something to her, in the faintest of whispers.
She leaned closer, her ear inches away from his mouth. She felt his breath on her cheek.
‘You . . . OK . . .?’
‘She’s fine.’ Laszlo squatted beside them. ‘Though, as you can see, she’s a little tongue-tied at the moment. Still, no permanent harm done and, by the way, I’m sure she’ll make a very good mother to your child when the time comes. I have an instinct for these things.’
‘Why are we still alive?’ Tom mumbled. His words were still barely audible. A thread of saliva fell from the corner of his hideously damaged mouth.
Laszlo tutted. ‘All those blows to the head must be affecting your brain, Tom. I’d have thought the answer was blindingly obvious. It’s because I like you both. I admire you for the way you have conducted yourselves during our time together and maybe, just maybe, I am a little envious. Your commitment to each other is quite inspiring, in its touchingly bourgeois way.’
He stood and headed for the door. ‘And, of course, because you are going to help me escape.’
98
A GUARD HAD been positioned the other side of the open door. He shouted down the passageway towards the first carriage. Another group of Laszlo’s gunmen shouted back. Some of the hostages started shouting too, and Delphine thought she could hear more of them outside on the track.
