by L J Morris
Enfield smiled. ‘You people don’t know who you’re dealing with.’ He aimed his gun at Carter and pulled the trigger.
Lancaster could see it coming; he pushed back as hard as he could and slammed them both backwards into the door frame. Enfield’s grip loosened and Lancaster dived away from him, pushing Carter into cover. Lancaster picked up Carter’s pistol and returned fire from behind a small wall where he and Carter had landed.
Enfield grabbed the folder and ran to his car. He started the engine and floored the accelerator, the wheels spinning and throwing up gravel as he took off down the driveway. The iron gates were old, and rust had eaten through part of the hinges; they were designed to stop people driving in, not driving out. Enfield hit the gates at speed, the weight of his official car pushed the gates open and knocked one of them off its hinges. The car’s windscreen cracked and one of the wing mirrors shattered as it accelerated through the gap in the buckled gates.
Lancaster watched as the car disappeared round a bend. ‘We’ve got to get to the Prime Minister, get past his security, hope he’s recovered enough to understand what we’re telling him and can do something about it.’
They walked back into the house. Carter unloaded the bodyguard’s weapon and dropped it beside him. ‘Do you really think he’ll hang around now? We know he’s Vadim, surely he’s going to run while he still can?’
Lancaster shook his head. ‘Not a certainty, Simeon. Without evidence, we can’t prove a thing. Sinclair has the original folder and won’t be handing it over any time soon – if she survives, and Enfield has got our copy. We have to warn Danny, if anything happens to his copy, we’re the ones who are fucked.’
‘We have to keep this away from the media, Edward. We don’t want to spook anyone who’s working with him till we know who we can trust.’
Lancaster looked down at the bodyguard. ‘I’d better get an ambulance for this piece of shit.’ He took out his phone and pressed a quick-dial number.
Carter checked the man’s pulse and shook his head. ‘He won’t make it.’
Chapter 46
Kinsella opened the window. He had spent nearly three days working in that room and the air was hot and stale. The computer he had wasn’t up to the standard he usually used and it was overheating. He planned to run one more comparison, between the folder profiles and the data he had gleaned from the Internet, then call it a day. He looked out of the window at the extensive grounds and envisaged his route through the gardens. There was a cool breeze blowing and he closed his eyes, looking forward to the fresh air. He promised himself that he would get out more. He was spending far too much time staring at computer screens and needed to live a little, being in prison had convinced him of that.
As he stood, lost in his thoughts, the printer whirred into life behind him and started churning out sheets of paper. It meant his last comparison of the day had finished. All he had to do now was read through the results. He bowed his head and paused, he hoped this was it, he hoped this analysis showed that the Home Secretary was Vadim, without any shadow of a doubt. If it didn’t, no one would believe them about the conspiracy. An ageing spook, a computer hacker, an escaped convict and a slightly unhinged ex-marine. Who was going to believe them above the Home Secretary? They were going to be on the run for a very long time. He took a deep breath then walked back to the desk.
He picked up the papers from the printer and put them down in front of his keyboard, Enfield’s profile at the top. He picked up a highlighter and started to work through it: physical characteristics, check; family history, check; dates and locations … ‘Shit.’ There was still a gap in the comparison. A handful of dates that didn’t match. He threw the sheet to one side and picked up one of the others. This time he had run several other people through the comparison process, as he wanted to work out how many gaps there were, on average, so he could say that Enfield’s profile was statistically the best fit. It would give them something to show that the comparison was valid. He started to work his way through the others and there were gaps in all of them, as he had expected. Some had the right dates but no family history, others had the physical aspects but not the dates. Enfield was still the closest match. He picked up the last sheet: physical, check; history, check; dates and locations, check. That couldn’t be right. He looked at it again: check, check, check. He grabbed Enfield’s sheet, knocking his coffee over himself in the process. He compared them side by side. ‘Shit … Shit. SHIT.’ He grabbed all the paperwork and ran out of the room.
Harriette Nash and Callum Porter were sitting together next to the wood burning kitchen stove, chatting about nothing in particular, when Kinsella burst in. He was shuffling through the papers, a large coffee stain on the front of his jeans. ‘We’ve got to get hold of Simeon, he needs to know right now. Why the fuck didn’t I do this sooner?’ He threw the papers on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Shit.’
Nash grabbed Kinsella’s arm. ‘Have a seat and calm down, Danny. I’ll get you a towel for your leg.’
Porter picked up the papers and looked through them but couldn’t make much sense of them. ‘What is it, Danny? Did you link Enfield to Vadim?’
Kinsella slammed his hand on the table then stood again, pacing the room. ‘The folder has the evidence in it, all of the killings, everything Vadim has done. We have to stop him.’
Porter was a little confused. ‘Now we know it’s Enfield, surely we can stop him. Frank, Ali, Simeon, they’re all working to bring him down. It’s just a matter of time.’
Porter shook his head. ‘The Home Secretary isn’t Vadim.’
Porter looked at Nash. ‘But Ali recognised him from the island.’
Kinsella picked up the papers again and picked out two sheets. He placed the first one in front of Porter. ‘This is Enfield’s profile. You see where I’ve marked down the bits that don’t match?’
Porter nodded. ‘You said that finding some errors was normal.’
‘It is, but only until you find a perfect match.’ He placed the other sheet down on the table. ‘This profile matches perfectly.’
The explosion outside shook the windows in their frames. Nash ran to the window. ‘What the hell was that?’
Luke Durand ran into the kitchen. ‘Get away from the window and stay down.’
Nash was on her hands and knees, crawling towards the table where the other two were sheltering. ‘What’s happening, Luke?’
Durand crouched at the window, his pistol drawn. ‘Someone’s blown the gate. They’re heading up the drive.’
‘What do we do now?’
Durand crawled to the door and checked the hallway. ‘The lads can hold them at the front. We’re well protected for now, but we need to leave. If they’ve got explosives they’ll get in eventually. Everyone out.’ He crawled out of the room and ran towards the rear of the house.
Nash, Kinsella and Porter followed him out of the room and into the hallway. Nash stopped and looked up the staircase. ‘My mum and dad. What about my mum and dad?’
Durand grabbed her arm. ‘It’s okay, they’re already outside in one of the cars.’
Kinsella split from the group and headed for his computer room. ‘I’ve got to get the hard drive, it’s got everything on it.’
Durand pushed the other two towards the back door. ‘Get out, and get in the car. I’ll wait for him.’
Nash and Porter did as they were told. Neither of them was an expert at this and they were both beginning to panic. They ran down the hallway to the back of the house and out of the door.
Durand stood facing the front door, weapon aimed, waiting for anyone who tried to come in. ‘Hurry up, Danny. We need to go now.’
Kinsella pulled the cables from his portable drive and put it into a carrier bag with his notes. He could hear the shooting outside and dropped to the floor when the room’s window shattered. Bullets struck the back wall and slammed into the screen on the desk. Kinsella slithered through the broken glass and out into the entra
nce hall.
Durand picked him up. ‘On your feet, Danny.’ He pushed him down the corridor and out of the house.
Outside, the engine of the people carrier was already running. Porter, Nash and her parents sat in the back. Kinsella and Durand jumped in the front and Durand floored it, the spinning wheels sent a shower of gravel over the black Range Rover that carried Nash’s men.
The two cars stayed in close formation as they sped through the woods at the rear of the estate. The Range Rover coped with the rough track better than the people carrier and made an effective shield from the gunfire that followed them. Nash’s men in the four-wheel drive returned fire and forced their pursuers to stay back far enough to make their shots ineffective.
As the two cars rounded a bend, Nash clicked a button on a small remote control that was normally kept in the vehicle’s centre console. Behind the Range Rover, a steel barrier slowly rose from the track, leaves and mud slid off it as it reached its full height. The lead chase car had no chance, it slammed into the barrier and burst into flames. The following car swerved and careered into the undergrowth, hitting a tree side on.
At the back of the estate was another gate. This one was solid steel and not normally used. Nash pressed another button on the remote and the gate rolled open. The people carrier and the Range Rover powered through the opening and fish-tailed as they hit the tarmac of the road. Mud and debris flew from their tyres as they accelerated, the occupants of both vehicles watching the pall of black smoke coming from the burning vehicle, as the house disappeared into the distance.
Chapter 47
The police command and control vehicle was parked diagonally, blocking the road, just out of sight of Rock Cottage. Inside, DCS Thorpe stood in front of a whiteboard, where a layout of the area had been sketched. ‘This is a Counter Terrorist Command operation and I will be acting as silver commander on the ground. I am in direct contact with the assistant commissioner, who is gold commander in the CTC HQ in London. The whole operation will be overseen by the Home Secretary himself.’ He pointed to the chief inspector beside him. ‘This is Chief Inspector Andy Dawson, from the CTU in Manchester. He is bronze commander, and any reports should be directed through him. Any questions?’
A local Cumbria police sergeant raised her hand. ‘Yes, sir. What are we up against here? We’ve all seen the news and had briefings on events in London, who are this lot?’
‘Good question Sergeant. Intelligence has told us that these people are part of the terrorist cell that launched the attack in Geneva. It is believed they may have further stocks of nerve agent in the house and we can’t run the risk of them escaping. It may sound heartless, but a nerve agent release here is only going to kill a handful of people and a few sheep. If they attack London, we would be looking at thousands.’
There were murmurings amongst the gathered police officers. They didn’t like the suggestion that the people who lived there were somehow less important than those who lived in London. The sergeant raised her hand again. ‘What precautions are we taking in the event of a release of any nerve agent? How do we protect ourselves and the local population?’
The DCS wanted to keep any witnesses to what might happen at the house to a minimum. His plan to worry the local police officers was working. ‘All civilians will be kept back behind a cordon, and personnel who are not required to assault the house will stay with the command vehicle. We have indicators set up in the road to give us early warning of any release, and decontamination and medical teams are on standby. All armed officers approaching the property will be wearing protective clothing and respirators.’
‘Does that mean we are definitely assaulting the house?’
Thorpe nodded. ‘Plans are being drawn up, I’m awaiting the go ahead from Gold Command.’
‘Do we know how many of them there are?’
Thorpe shook his head. ‘We have no way of knowing. We suspect there are at least two and they may have a hostage. Whatever happens today, we can’t allow the terrorists in that building to carry out any more attacks. This is a matter of national security. They must be stopped, at all costs.’
Standing at the back of the briefing was SAS Sergeant Mick Butler. Recently returned from operations in Syria, he was there to liaise and advise. If the CTC and the Home Secretary deemed it necessary, he would lead the Regiment’s assault on the house. He didn’t like the way things were going so far. Thorpe was too keen to throw other people into the line of fire. Butler had met Sinclair and knew McGill by reputation, they weren’t terrorists. It was time for Butler to contact his bosses back in Hereford. He stepped out of the command vehicle and pressed the call button on his secure phone.
* * *
The armed officers from the Counter Terrorism Unit checked their weapons and adjusted their protective suits. All exposed skin had to be covered up and respirators put on before the assault could begin. Each man checked the man next to him: gloves pulled on; cuffs taped over; respirator harnesses tightened; if the intel was right, they couldn’t afford to take any risks.
McGill watched the officers through his binoculars. ‘They’re definitely putting on chem suits. They must’ve been told we’ve got nerve agent.’
‘You think they’re getting ready to come at us?’
‘I’d say so. You wouldn’t put a mask on and then hang around for hours, you know how uncomfortable they are.’
Sinclair nodded. ‘Yeah, like trying to move about with your head in a bag. I thought they’d at least wait until it was dark.’
‘Normally you’d assault before dawn. It’s when anyone on watch is at their lowest point, makes it easier to surprise them. Vadim’s obviously still pulling the strings, I think he wants this dealt with quickly.’
‘Remember what I said, Frank.’
McGill lowered his binoculars. ‘Yeah, I know. We don’t need to kill them, they’re just doing their job.’
Hadley didn’t relish the thought of being at the centre of a full-blown armed assault. ‘Maybe it would be better if we handed ourselves in. I’m still the head of SIS, they’ll listen to me.’
McGill didn’t lower his binoculars. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure. Some arsehole is probably down there right now telling everyone that you’re in on it. Probably fancies takin’ your job.’
DS Gardner was uneasy with the way DCS Thorpe had been running things since they’d arrived. He seemed to have a gung-ho attitude and wasn’t listening to any of the advice he’d been given. He wasn’t even trying to talk to McGill and Sinclair. She stopped him as he left the command vehicle. ‘Could I have a quick word, sir?’
‘What is it, Zoe? We are a little busy at the moment.’
She pulled him to one side, out of earshot of the others. ‘I’m a bit concerned that we’re rushing things, sir. We haven’t sent a negotiator in yet.’
‘These are terrorists, DS Gardner. They don’t want to negotiate.’
‘I’m aware of what they are, sir. I’m also aware of how it will look if we unleash an armed team without giving the terrorists the opportunity to give themselves up. You don’t want to end up in prison yourself, do you, sir?’
Thorpe wasn’t happy, but Gardner was right. This was a high-profile case. They had to be seen to do everything right and he couldn’t afford to fuck up again. ‘Okay, Zoe, well volunteered. I want you to go up to the house and convince them to surrender.’
‘Wait … What? Me? But I …’
‘You can do it. Take them a radio, then at least we can talk to them. Okay?’
Gardner looked up at Rock Cottage then back at the DCS. ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’
Mick Butler watched the preparations, they were rushing into it. They hadn’t done any recon to check the defences, they didn’t even know how many people they were up against. Thorpe was pushing it too fast. He pressed the call button on his phone and waited for an answer. ‘I’m not too happy with this, boss. There’s somethin’ about this guy, he’s makin’ everything sound as bad as he can. It’s like h
e’s trying to make sure the assault is as aggressive as possible, like he’s tryin’ to make sure no one in the house survives.’ He nodded as he listened to the voice on the other end of the call. His concerns were being taken seriously, and noted, but, if he was ordered to, he would have to assault the house. People way above his pay grade would make that decision. He nodded again. ‘Will do, boss.’ He ended the call and put his phone away.
DCS Thorpe was talking to the firearms team lead. ‘We know there are at least two terrorists in the house and we now know they have a hostage. They are both ex-military and one is an escaped convict. The priority is to disable them quickly and prevent them from setting off any devices or releasing any chemicals. Any evidence in there MUST be left for me to examine first. Good luck.’ Thorpe walked away and left the team to do their job.
McGill had put down his binoculars and was watching events through the scope of his Barrett. One team of four were standing on the road by the gate making last minute checks. The other four-man team had disappeared off to the right and seemed to be working their way around to the other side of the house.
Sinclair was sitting in front of the CCTV monitor. ‘We’ve got a four-man team heading up the hill towards the barn.’
‘The other team has spread out and are coming up the track.’
Sinclair zoomed in with one of the cameras. ‘They’re being a bit reckless, aren’t they?’
‘They’re just getting into position, they won’t come too close just yet. They’ll have a sniper somewhere, waiting for us to make a move.’
‘How do you think they’ll play it?’
McGill put his rifle on the table. ‘Once they’re in position, they’ll check for final approval. When they get that, it’ll be fast. Probably tear gas through the windows and an enforcer through the doors.’
‘Are we ready?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’ McGill lifted a steel box, the same size as the control for the cameras, onto the table. He turned on the power and three rows of ten red LEDs lit up. Each of the lights had a small toggle switch below it. ‘They’re all armed.’
