The galling thing was that Hansard was no longer in direct control of what was happening. Some of the control was now in the hands of fate, and that was something Hansard had no time for. He hated the uncertainty of it, and further hated the fact that his careful plans, which had been years in the making – years! – could soon be undermined by one man.
But Hansard was an optimist at heart – he would never have even dreamt of such a venture if that had not been the case – and felt quietly confident that Cole would soon be reacquired, and quickly silenced. There was still plenty of time before he could become a true danger, after all.
57
Tarr was still watching the boat when his phone rang. Still keeping his eye glued on the night-vision binoculars – his opposite number had come back and resumed his position of observation on the yacht’s deck – he struggled to pull the cell phone out from his trouser pocket, the small cubby hole in which he lay making the task into something of a contortionist exercise.
He finally retrieved the buzzing phone and put it to his ear. ‘Tarr,’ he whispered quietly.
He went still as the voice on the other end spoke, listening intently. After the short call, Tarr simply said ‘Yes,’ and hung up. So there it is, he thought with interest, and not a little sense of expectation. The emergency call. Something had gone badly wrong, and it was now Tarr’s job to protect Cole’s family until they could be reunited. That meant they would have to move, and soon.
But first, Tarr knew, he would have to do something about that yacht.
Cole hung up the receiver of the payphone with a shaking hand. In such a run-down area, it had taken him some time to find a phone that worked, and that hadn’t been vandalised beyond either function or recognition.
His extended search had, however, provided him with a new set of clothes, although he would have been the first to admit that they were far from perfect. As he had staggered from one destroyed payphone to another, he had soon become aware that he was being followed. He would normally have realized sooner, but his senses had been dulled by the afternoon’s activity.
It was past four o’clock now, and in the rapidly diminishing light, the predators were already out and operating, looking for victims. And in his obviously weakened state, Cole looked like just such a thing.
They approached him two minutes after he had spotted them. One circled round in order to approach from the side, whilst the other stayed behind, confident that he was out of view.
The first man was casual, almost friendly. ‘Alright mate, have you got the time?’ he asked in a broad cockney accent. Cole was well aware of the trick – distract the victim with a question, make them look away, perhaps down towards a watch, then pull out a knife and demand money, backed up by the second man from behind, who would also be armed – and had no desire to get into a protracted fight with the men, having neither the time nor the energy.
And so no sooner had the man got the words out of his mouth than Cole had knocked him unconscious with a clean straight right to the jaw. The second man went down just half a second later as Cole spun round and connected with a vicious left hook.
Cole dragged the bodies out of sight into the deep shadows of a nearby side street, and stripped them both, then himself. He used the clothes of one man to dry himself, rubbing his body vigorously with the jacket, top and trousers until they were soaked through. They might not have been the cleanest things in the world, but Cole was not so much concerned with hygiene as with avoiding hypothermia.
Once thoroughly dry, he put on the clothes of the man who was a more similar size to himself, along with the boots; too big, but they would certainly do for now. He found two flick-knives, a Bowie, and a knuckle-duster on the men as well – just necessary tools of their chosen trade, Cole supposed – and pocketed the items. He also found over two hundred pounds in cash, and decided that they must have had a busy day. Cole was glad that he had ended it early.
Although they were not an ideal size, the clothes were at least non-descript. The man had obviously chosen them to be bland and unmemorable; victims’ police reports would subsequently not be much help in finding the culprits, and this suited Cole’s needs perfectly.
He had finally found a payphone just around the corner on the next street, and used some of the change he’d found on the men to place a call to Phil Tarr. The normal procedure was to place a coded call to a bureau in Grand Cayman, who would then relay an innocuous message to the house’s landline telephone. But that would take time, and Cole wanted Tarr and his family to get moving now. Who knew what Hansard’s plans for them were? Maybe they wouldn’t be touched at all; or maybe his men were already there.
Cole’s heart had been beating rapidly as he made the call, frightened that there might be no reply. As the phone rang and rang, the fright turned to terror. Had Hansard already sent his men to Cole’s home?
But then Tarr had answered, and everything was okay. He would take Sarah and the kids to the emergency rendezvous. The man was nothing if not resourceful, and Cole was entirely confident that Tarr would do exactly as he had asked. His family would be at the RV within three days.
The question is, Cole wondered as he considered the security net Hansard would be spreading out over the country to bring him in, will I manage to make it there myself?
PART TWO
1
Hansard drew in the cold air through flared nostrils, savouring the sharp sensations, the smell of the street. It was already dark, and Stern watched nervously from the limousine parked nearby as the old man strolled easily across the crowded pavement towards the news stand.
‘Evening,’ the young man greeted him from behind the counter, coat collar pulled up against the cold, his breath crystallising in front of him.
Hansard nodded in response, returning the greeting. ‘Good evening.’
He scanned the headlines of the papers lined up in the thin rack to the side of the counter, studying both tabloids and broadsheets.
‘Britain Leads Way to Peace,’ ran the Telegraph; ‘Sanity Returns!’ sang the Guardian. The Times proclaimed that ‘ERA-China Relations Set to Thaw’, and Hansard picked up a copy, handing the young man some change.
‘Thanks mate, have a good evening,’ he responded cheerily, but Hansard ignored him, taking in the front-page article in the ten seconds it took him to return to the car.
Stern relaxed only when Hansard was inside the vehicle and he had pulled out into the traffic. Looking in the rear-view mirror, he noticed the look of satisfaction on Hansard’s face. It was, he reflected, a nice change from the mood he’d been in for the rest of the afternoon. ‘Everything okay, Noel?’ he asked from the driver’s seat.
‘Oh yes,’ Hansard replied without looking up from the paper. The plan was in motion. Britain had gained a great deal of face in the present negotiations, both within ERA and the world further afield. As long as Cole didn’t throw a spanner in the works, it might come off. It just might come off!
Hansard picked up the secure car phone and punched in a number. It was time to call his friend in the Canadian Secret Service, and set the second phase in motion.
2
Moses and Arnold left Paul Richmond’s house at just after ten in the morning, emerging out into the harsh glare of the winter sun.
They had interviewed the man for over an hour, and were no better off for the experience. They had learnt very little that they did not already know from their initial discussion with Trencher, and the official depositions from both Richmond and the Special Projects Director, Chris Ellison.
Crozier had seconded Richmond for a special assignment, choosing him due his fluency in both Cantonese and Mandarin. He was sent around the country, liaising with immigration officials and interviewing illegal immigrants that were being held in detention. He had been told to specifically seek out men of Chinese origin, preferably with some prior military training, and test them for physical, mental and psychological aptitudes. He was then to choose the thirty most pr
omising candidates, men who would be willing to perform a ‘service’ for the government, in exchange for citizenship of the United States.
Crozier had told Richmond to offer US citizenship not only to the chosen men themselves, but also to their families. Once the team had been assembled, Richmond was then to round the group up, sort out the relevant release paperwork with the authorities, and then book them into the Palace Hotel in Boston.
That was where Richmond’s responsibility ended; he ensconced the thirty men in the hotel, registering them as a trade delegation from South Korea, and then left, to return to his regular duties at headquarters. He reported directly to Crozier; even Ellison, his official team leader, could not debrief him.
After he left the hotel, he had no idea what became of the men he had recruited; who their new contacts were, where they went for training, or even what that training was to entail. As a newcomer to the SP section, Richmond couldn’t even take so much as an educated guess.
Moses and Arnold exchanged looks at one another as they climbed into their car. It was looking more and more like Crozier had been acting alone, but why? And where could they go from here?
‘They had to get trained somewhere,’ Arnold complained. ‘Someone’s gotta know something, dammit.’ Moses steered the big Chrysler out into a stream of traffic, as Arnold’s mind raced on apace. ‘Right. Richmond’s small-fry, couldn’t give us anything we didn’t already know. Now who do we speak to?’
‘Who would know the places where black ops guys get trained?’ Moses wondered aloud.
‘If we’re talking illegals, Ellison will be the man. He’s been head of SP for fifteen years. Let’s go see him.’
Seeing no reason to respond, Moses just increased the pressure of his right foot on the accelerator.
3
Cole had the radio tuned into the local news. His recent exploits had been given a full three minutes of airtime, and he had heard himself referred to not only as ‘armed and highly dangerous,’ but as a leading member of a murderous break-off group of Al Qaeda known as the Islamist Jihad Martyrs Brigade.
In fact, the news programme then spent the next two minutes describing the growing trend in white middle-class converts to radical Islam, and how such extremist groups were utilising such men for terrorist attacks, as it was easier for such people to avoid surveillance and detection.
As Cole eased the stolen Vauxhaul hatchback into the vast onslaught of traffic on the westbound M25, he had to laugh at the irony of the situation. Here he was, having spent the last two decades fighting terrorists and their various associates, now accused of being one himself. But he could certainly see the logic of such an accusation. Terrorists were big news, and the fact that there was one on the loose – especially an ‘armed and dangerous’ one – would ensure that all resources were directed his way, with full cooperation from the public. Cole felt sure that there would be a ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ policy in operation.
But why? It just didn’t make sense to him. Why would Hansard want him dead now, after all these years? Evidently, it was linked to the assassination of Crozier. Hansard didn’t want him to talk. But why would Hansard have thought he would talk? He hadn’t talked for the two years he’d been in P’ang Dakkar prison, and not many men could say that. Hansard knew he could be trusted. So what, then?
The answer was there in front of him, taunting him, jeering at him. He knew there could only be one answer, but he didn’t want to admit it. He couldn’t. And yet, there was no way to avoid it.
Hansard knew that Cole would never talk about a legitimate mission – never. He wouldn’t even talk about illegal missions, if the cause was a just one. Which meant one thing, and one thing only – Hansard had lied to him about the reason for the Crozier job, and was scared Cole would talk if he found out the truth.
Glancing at his speedometer, he reduced his speed fractionally. He was in a hurry, but there was no reason to attract any unnecessary attention. It was important to keep to the speed limit. The car had been stolen from a small independent garage that was closed until the New Year. The loss shouldn’t be noticed for days, unless police attention was drawn to the car for another reason. He re-checked his headlights, and reassured himself they were functioning. Confident that there was no reason for him to be spotted, he let himself be pulled along by the heavy flow of seasonal traffic, along the most hated road in Britain.
His mind soon drifted back to Hansard. If the reasons he gave me were lies, he wondered, then what is the truth? Why did he order me to kill William Crozier? According to current news reports, the ERA-China situation was starting to level out; it even appeared that things might soon be peacefully resolved. This seemed to back up the information Hansard originally gave to Cole – that Crozier’s death would give Gregory and the other leaders the time they needed to work out a diplomatic solution.
What other reason could there be for Hansard wanting Crozier dead? Again, Cole was confronted by a cold certainty; Crozier knew something that Hansard wanted kept secret. The relationship between the two men ran deeper than Cole had thought. He wanted me to silence him, Cole realized with a sickening conviction.
The answers provided him with nothing but more questions. What did Crozier know? What was the relationship between him and Hansard? What was Hansard’s plan? Cole was sure that the man had one, and he was sure it was something huge. It would, he considered, at least give him something to think about for the long drive to the ferry port at Dover.
4
Tarr surfaced for a visual check just twenty metres to the starboard side of the yacht. He grinned underneath his respirator. Spot on.
He’d found the wetsuit and the Draeger rebreather exactly where Cole had told him he would. The special present that Tarr was going to give the men on the yacht had been secured right next to them, again just as Cole had described. The man was nothing if not thorough, Tarr thought admiringly.
The swim had not been hard. After all, Tarr was a professional diving instructor, and the fins Cole had left for him were the best on the market. The ten kilometre distance had seemed like a mere fraction of that, and Tarr was still fresh as he slipped once more beneath the waves, angling in on the yacht for his final approach.
Tarr had discovered diving relatively late in life, but had developed an instant passion for it. He had been thirty-two when he had been sent by Mad Dog Parks for three months to Corfu, whilst they waited for a little pressure from the boys in blue back home to cool off.
At first angry to be away from home, he’d spent the first month drinking and getting into various kinds of mischief, and it wasn’t until he started a romance with a local scuba instructor that he actually did something constructive. She taught him the basics of diving, and he loved it. A naturally big man, he loved the weightlessness he felt beneath the waves, and the intense feeling of being in a completely alien environment, away from the pressures of the real world, away from the screaming hordes of people in the bars and on the beach.
Despite the way he lived his life, very much operating day in and day out with other people, Tarr was in many ways an intensely private man. Indeed, his ability to disassociate himself from others was one of the reasons he was able to do the things he did for Parks. But in many ways he felt trapped in his life, and diving in the open ocean gave Tarr his first real taste of freedom. He often felt that his first dive was what planted the seed that eventually enabled him to get out of the life he had grown to despise, and start over again.
As he swam easily towards the starboard side of the yacht, unconcerned that he might be spotted – the attention of the men onboard was directed solely on the Cole household – he once again felt that same sense of freedom, of life, he had first felt all those years ago.
And when he placed his little present against the smooth metal hull of the vessel, magnets attaching it firmly in place with a soft thunk, he realized that despite the years, he was still able to disassociate his actions from the potentially deva
stating effects that they could have on people.
5
The atmosphere in the room was stifling, the nervous energy almost a living thing itself, pulsing with its own heartbeat. Everyone knew that when they were called to an emergency session at Downing Street’s Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, known by the rather ominous acronym COBRA, there was a good reason for it. Crisis was the word most commonly used.
The associated cabinet members now gathered around the imposing table reflected the government of the United Kingdom’s ability to cope with any such crisis. There were the various Secretaries of State, most notably the Foreign Secretary Andrew Bourne and his domestic counterpart, Home Secretary Dennis Swan, as well as the heads of the three major intelligence groups. Sir Brian Ryhope, the head of New Scotland Yard, was also seated at the table, across from David Mason, the EU commissioner.
There was conversation in the room, but like past meetings, it centred more on personal gossip than on speculation about the meeting itself. Indeed, the possible reasons for their presence here in the early hours of the morning were never discussed; conjecture was futile, and they would all soon know anyway.
At just after two thirty that Thursday morning, the large double doors of the conference room swung open and Adam Gregory strode in, flanked by Hansard. They nodded to the gathered ministers in greeting, but remained resolutely serious as they took their seats.
Gregory started the meeting without preamble. ‘Right, first things first – I’m damned sorry to have dragged you all here at this hour of the morning. However,’ he continued sharply, ‘it can’t be helped. Something important has come up, and we need to deal with it now.’ He had the attention of everyone around the table, he saw. Good. They sat in silence as they waited for him to continue.
Seven Day Hero Page 17
