Death Games

by Chris Simms

  ‘Divers.’

  ‘Divers?’

  ‘Yes, they have a boat. They load it up each morning with their things then disappear out to sea.’

  ‘Of course; the lettings agency said it has its own jetty. Diving? Unusual activity for a family.’

  ‘No, it’s five young men. All very polite.’

  ‘From Britain?’

  ‘Yes, I think they’re lawyers. Two said they were anyway.’

  ‘Right. I’ll have to see what the availability is like for next summer. Thanks.’

  Back at the car, he climbed in with a shake of his head. ‘No joy,’ he said, handing the sheets back to Iona.

  They made their way along the narrow lane until they reached a crossroads. ‘Got to be straight on,’ Jon said, crossing over more in hope than certainty. Eventually, it brought them back out onto the A5025. As they meandered through the gently undulating terrain they kept passing other turn-offs, some little more than grassy tracks. ‘They’ll all lead to something,’ Jon announced. ‘Farms, or other buildings. Need a bloody helicopter to search this island properly.’

  Iona was nodding glumly when her eyes widened. ‘Over there!’

  Jon hit the brakes. ‘What?’

  She was pointing off to the side. ‘The tortured pine. The one from the drone footage. That’s it!’

  The twisted upper part of the solitary tree was clearly visible against the sky. She’s right, Jon thought. A lane was on their left and he turned into it. After about two hundred metres they could see a lay-by on their right. At its far end was a stile and, next to it, a green footpath sign that pointed across the fields. The tree was now in full view. It stood beside an outcrop of rock flanked by a patch of gorse bushes.

  ‘So this is where they came,’ Jon said, pulling in. ‘I bet they parked right here.’

  ‘They could be somewhere close,’ Iona responded. ‘Why else come all the way to this spot? Shall we wander over?’

  Jon shook his head. ‘It’s too open. For all we know, they’re in a property that’s within view. We’ll be far easier to spot than the other way round.’

  Iona sat back. ‘If they are, it’s not one on this list. Next is an address in Amlwch itself.’ She was flicking through the other sheets when her phone started to ring. ‘Weir.’

  ‘Put him on loudspeaker, will you?’

  She did as he asked before accepting the call. ‘Hello, sir. I’ve got you on speakerphone. I’m with Jon in the car.’

  ‘Sir,’ Jon quickly said.

  ‘No problem.’ His voice carried a faint metallic echo. ‘We’ve got stuff happening thick and fast this end, I need to fill you both in.’

  Iona glanced at Jon. ‘Go ahead, sir.’

  ‘The French have now provided some additional details. The boat they intercepted belonged to a charter company. The owner of that charter company was in his office, skull caved in by something big and heavy. On the boat, they recovered two handguns along with the surface-to-air missile. So these boys really meant business. Got all that?’

  They both spoke together. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Next thing, we’ve had a possible sighting of Doku Zakayev back here in Manchester.’

  Iona hunched forwards. ‘Where was this?’

  ‘In the vicinity of a residence belonging to a relative of Bilal Atwi. This was two hours ago. We anticipate having warrants for all seven properties connected to the family in another hour’s time. The units in the Wirral have already been recalled. Jon? I want all Specialist Firearms Officers back here, you included. We’re going to strike simultaneously on the properties in the early hours.’

  Jon caught sight of himself in the rear-view mirror. His forehead was buckled by a frown. ‘We now think they’ve doubled back to Manchester?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘But the vessel coming from France. That wouldn’t have got here until late afternoon. Aren’t we working on the assumption Doku was trying to meet it when it arrived?’

  ‘We’re working on the assumption word has got to him that the plan is fucked. Now he’s trying to flee.’

  Jon sent a dubious look up at the car’s ceiling. ‘Where did this sighting come from?’

  ‘An officer in an unmarked, stationary vehicle.’

  ‘And this sighting is solid? The officer who made it feels confident?’

  He saw Iona’s head turn. He knew the implication of what he was saying, but couldn’t hold back.

  When Weir spoke, his voice had tightened. ‘As I said, warrants are due and I want all SFOs back here, Detective Constable.’

  Jon closed his eyes. This was simply not right. If you’re fleeing, why go straight back to a place you know the police will be watching?

  ‘DC Spicer? Is that understood?’

  He felt a finger prod his ribs and opened his eyes to see Iona motioning at her phone. Reluctantly, he said, ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Good. Last thing, we found a dealer who sold a Rib with a two-hundred horsepower Marina engine and trailer, to a Mr Hassan Omari. The man paid cash and towed it away eleven days ago. Now, get yourselves home for a bit of a breather, then I want you in here ready for a briefing at ten tonight.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Iona promptly responded. ‘See you then.’

  The call cut and Jon slumped back in his seat.

  ‘You bloody pushed it there,’ Iona stated.

  He sighed. ‘Yeah, well. Does it feel right to you? Because it certainly doesn’t feel right to me.’

  ‘I can’t say. Not without all the information to hand.’

  ‘He said it himself. Possible sighting.’ He looked about. ‘The Uncle brought the Rib here, to this island, I bloody know it. And this is where Zakayev will be, not back in Manchester.’

  ‘What can we do? We have to head back.’

  He clenched a fist, bobbed it up and down before him as if sizing up which part of the dashboard to punch. His hand dropped back into his lap. ‘He said the briefing’s at ten. If we go straight to the office from here, it’ll give us time to check a few more properties.’

  Iona said nothing.

  ‘Are you up for that?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Come on, Iona. Two more hours, then we drive back. Who’ll know?’

  She turned to him. ‘Two hours, and that’s it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Nice one.’ He checked the lane behind was deserted then pulled out. ‘My guess is this loops back to the main road. The last one did.’

  It swung to the right, and before dipping down, they had a glimpse of the sea through a gap in the hedge. They were no more than fifty metres from the water. They passed another lay-by then crossed a small humpback bridge. On the other side of it, a blue dumper truck was completely blocking the road. Jon came to a halt. A white van was further along and there was a digger scraping out a ditch in the field to their left. Stacked on the grass beside it was a load of bright green pipes. The dumper truck driver started pointing back up the lane. Jon twisted in his seat and began to reverse. ‘Shit, should have just done a U-turn back at that lay-by near the pine tree.’

  CHAPTER 46

  She still wasn’t hungry, but went through the motions anyway. Scraping the knife across the surface of the margarine, watching a rime of yellow build on the blade’s edge then smearing it in a thin film over a slice of bread. Would he want any? It was hard to tell. Since the workman had knocked on the door, he’d become even more agitated. Now he divided his time between checking the Xbox and sitting at an upstairs window where he could watch the men digging the ditch in the field beyond the garden.

  He wasn’t convinced they were genuine. And when they’d backed the half-filled dumper truck onto the road, effectively blocking it, he’d almost bolted for the boathouse.

  It had taken all her powers of persuasion to convince him the property wasn’t under surveillance, that it wasn’t about to be raided. Why would they mount a surveillance opera
tion that was so obvious? Surely they had ways that were silent and impossible to see? How could they even know about this place? Uncle Bilal would definitely have used a false name when he’d rented it. They’d left nothing back at the flat in Manchester. They couldn’t be traced to here. They were safe.

  He’d stalked back up to his observation point; the five workmen were still milling about, attention on the excavation at their feet.

  As she laid a couple of plates out on the table, she checked the time. Half-past-two. Their window of opportunity was steadily shrinking. In less than five hours his shift would come to an end. They’d never know her pain. It wasn’t fair.

  She heard his footsteps on the stairs and lifted a dishcloth. Delicately, she dabbed at her eyes while ramming her emotions back down deep. It didn’t help the way he was treating her, either. She wasn’t expecting him to fawn over her, but he could show some sort of affection, couldn’t he?

  The thud of his feet went towards the front room. Of course. The futile hope they’d responded to his messages. Hardly messages. Pleadings. Desperate, like the whining of a child who had been –

  A guttural shout.

  She half-turned her head, listening for anything else.

  His exciting mumblings were just audible and she almost ran towards them, knife still in one hand. It couldn’t be. Surely not now, not after so long.

  There he was hunkered down before the TV screen, arms stretched toward the brightly lit glass.

  She arrived by his side and said nothing. Hardly daring to believe. The doors to the cave had swung open and the dragon was waddling into a cavern lit by flaming brands bolted to the rock walls. A galaxy of gems winked from the craggy surface. Curled on the floor beside an open chest of gold coins was a yellow worm-like creature. A line of small purple spiky horns ran above its slanted emerald eyes. The tip if its thin tail twitched.

  Doku halted his dragon and brought up an inner panel containing the Russian alphabet. She guessed his opening comment was some kind of coded phrase. The text vanished and, a few seconds passed before one appeared above the slender inhabitant of the cave.

  Doku appeared happy with this. He pressed a button that caused the message to fade then typed in a second, shorter one of his own. When the response appeared his grip on the controller stiffened. She looked down at his face and saw his lips moving as he read the brief lines over and over. ‘Prynesi mne ruchku.’ He looked at her and mimed writing. ‘Ruchku!’

  This was bad. She knew this was bad. He’d looked...he’d looked almost scared. She rushed into the kitchen and swopped the knife for a pen, scrap of paper and the phone. Laying them before him, she stepped back. A new message was on the screen. A series of numbers. 49.563844/1.844308.

  Carefully, he copied them out and she guessed they were coordinates. For the GPS device in the boathouse. He checked the numbers two more times before accepting the message. Immediately, the yellow dragon’s head sank back to the floor and its eyes closed. Doku reached over and yanked the plugs from the wall. Everything went dead. He slid the Xbox out from below the TV and started to disconnect its cables.

  She picked up the phone and spoke into it. ‘What is happening?’

  He looked blankly at her, as if her presence next to him had been forgotten. She offered the phone and, standing up, he took it.

  The double beep seemed to take ages. ‘We have to go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Across the sea. To people waiting.’

  ‘Is this the plan? For the helicopter?’

  ‘No. This is a different plan.’

  ‘Different?’

  He stooped to pick up the games console and marched towards the corridor with it in his hands.

  She pursued him. ‘Different? I don’t understand.’

  With a shake of his head, he advanced towards the kitchen.

  ‘Doku! Stop.’

  With a grunt of anger, he slammed the Xbox down on the kitchen table, whirled round and snatched the phone from her. ‘Something has happened. I don’t know what.’

  She shrugged her shoulders, both hands out at her sides.

  ‘I don’t know! We must get ready to go.’ He gave the phone back, lifted the Xbox up and walked briskly across to the kitchen door. Outside, he made a bee-line for the garage.

  She could only follow.

  There was a toolbox on the shelving unit in the corner. He selected the largest hammer from inside it and methodically started to smash the Xbox open. The casing split and fractured and he continued raining blows down on its inner parts. Once all the components were pulverised, he threw the hammer aside, brushed past her and returned to the house.

  In the kitchen, she called to him again. ‘Doku, what did they say to you?’

  He came to a stop, turned round and stepped back to her. Again, that look in his eyes. This time it felt like she was closer to being punched. But he dragged in a deep breath, unclenched his fists and took the phone from her fingers. He spoke slowly, waiting for the translation to sound after each sentence before adding the next. ‘The helicopter plan is ended. The ship is not coming. Now we must cross the ocean. They will not wait long. As soon as it is dark we must leave.’

  CHAPTER 47

  Jon leaned his elbows across the bonnet of the car and looked off down the cul-de-sac. ‘I’m wasting our time, aren’t I?’ The holiday rental had no privacy; it was midway along a row of bungalows and beach access meant crossing the narrow road they were parked on, walking down a series of steps to a gravel slope leading down to the sea.

  ‘Well,’ Iona replied glumly, ‘it kind of counts as private beach access. Just not quite as private as we meant.’

  The couple who’d rented the place – probably with a combined age of over one-hundred-and-sixty years – were in plain view, fast asleep in the conservatory that jutted out into the front garden.

  It must be like an oven in there, Jon thought, and they were both wearing cardigans. The bloke’s glasses had slipped down his nose and her head was tipped back, mouth hanging open. Bless them.

  ‘How many more on the list?’ he asked.

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Five – and it’s almost four o’clock. We need to allow three hours for getting back to Manchester. Maybe more since we’ll be hitting the rush hour.’

  Iona closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. Now its fierceness had faded, it felt so good against her skin. ‘I wish I had a magic idea, Jon. But I don’t.’

  ‘How about this one: we wander into Amlwch and get an ice-cream? I’m buying.’

  She tipped her head to the side, eyes still closed. ‘You mean call it quits?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t think we stand much chance traipsing around here, do you?’

  ‘To be honest, no.’

  ‘Come on then. There was a little place round the corner. We can eat them on that bench further along.’

  As they set off along the pavement, Iona spoke down at her feet. ‘Maybe if we’d had proper support back at the office...’

  ‘Talking of which...’ Jon took his phone out. ‘May as well find out if there’s any more news.’

  He put in the number for Kieran Saunders’ extension. ‘Hi there, any juicy developments, mate?’

  ‘Not much. Bilal Atwi’s missing car has been located. Two streets away from the flat on Fairbourne Road. A little bay of lock-ups: he’d rented one off a resident in the adjoining flats.’

  ‘How was that found?’

  ‘A uniform doing door-to-doors. She asked if anyone had seen a silver Mercedes and the person said there was one parked in his garage. Belonged to a man called Mr Dajani.’

  ‘So he was using yet another false name?’

  ‘He was. Paid cash, wasn’t interested in a receipt.’

  ‘Anything of interest in the car?’

  ‘It seems not, but they’re still going over it.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Just the briefing at ten – you’re aware of that?’


  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Warrants are now in for all the properties.’

  ‘OK, we’ll see you later.’ He pocketed his phone and glanced at Iona. ‘Atwi’s Mercedes has been found. Garage two streets from the flat in Longsight.’

  ‘You said something about another false name?’

  ‘Mr Dajani. He was certainly being careful with covering his tracks.’

  They were now adjacent to the end bungalow. Its unlit rooms had an empty appearance. Jon’s eyes lingered on the placard on the front wall. For Hire. The number at the bottom was for Menai Cottages and Caravans, Holyhead. ‘That’s the third name we know he was using.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he used it for renting a property on those sheets?’

  She checked through the photocopies the owner of Morgan Holiday Lettings had given them. ‘Nope.’

  They set off once more, but had only gone a few steps before Jon glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Hang on a second.’

  ‘What’s up now?’

  ‘Just want to try one last thing. The end property? It belongs to the other lettings company.’ He walked back to the placard, keyed in the number at the bottom and his call was immediately answered by an enthusiastic-sounding female.

  ‘Hello, my name’s Detective Constable Spicer, I’m with the Greater Manchester Police. I have an extremely urgent enquiry: could you help me, please?’

  ‘Erm...I can try.’

  ‘Thanks. I believe you have about four properties in the north of Anglesey that come with private beach access. I’m standing outside one in Amlwch. What I first need to find out is if any of the remaining ones are currently booked. If any are, I need to know what name they’ve been booked under. I’m happy to hold.’ He looked at Iona and winked. ‘Worth a try, don’t you reckon?’

  She crossed her arms with a smile. ‘You are like a dog with a bloody bone.’

  They turned to the sea and watched as a thick slab of cloud inched across the setting sun. The world around them dimmed for a moment, then a small gap in the cloud allowed a single beam to shine down. It played slowly across the still ocean; an alien searchlight scouring the planet’s surface for life. The lady came back on the line. ‘Hello? Our property by Burwen is the only one currently taken. A gentleman called Mr Dajani has that on a three-month rental.’