by L J Morris
Sinclair panned the cameras around. ‘Looks like they’re in position, as close as they want to get.’ She focused a camera on a single woman who had walked through the gate. ‘Someone’s coming up the track.’
DS Gardner walked up the steep track, her arms held out to the side. In her right hand she carried a megaphone and in her left a radio. She stopped at the top of the track and lifted the megaphone to her mouth. ‘Sinclair … McGill … My name is DS Zoe Gardner. I want to talk.’
There was no movement in the house.
‘I want to get you out of there before anyone gets hurt … Please.’
McGill swung open the steel shutter that was covering the window and watched Gardner through the net curtain. ‘You think we should talk to her?’
‘It might help. It’ll certainly kill more time.’
McGill cracked open the window. ‘Walk forward, slowly, no sudden moves.’
DS Gardner walked towards the house, keeping her arms to the side. When she was a few feet away she checked to her left and right. The armed officers were watching her, one of them gave her a thumbs-up. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and approached the window.
The net curtain was blowing in the breeze and Gardner could just make out a figure standing at the other side of the window. ‘Hello?’
Sinclair stepped forward. ‘Hello, Zoe, I’m Ali Sinclair.’
Gardner was nervous, she’d never been in this situation before. ‘I’ve been sent up here to negotiate your surrender and …’
Sinclair held up her hand to stop her. ‘Forget the playbook, Zoe. Just talk to me.’
Gardner looked behind her, as if seeking approval from her boss. ‘Okay. My boss, down there, is ready to order an assault on the house if you don’t give up.’
‘And what do you think? Are you comfortable with that?’
Gardner looked at her feet. ‘Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter what I think. My boss is in touch with Gold Command and they will be talking to the COBRA Committee. It’s probably the Home Secretary that’s giving the orders.’
‘Listen to me carefully, Zoe. This is all part of a massive conspiracy that involves the Home Secretary and lots of others. Get in touch with Edward Lancaster, he works for MI6. He’ll tell you the same.’
‘I’ve met Lancaster. He was at an interview we were doing.’
Sinclair nodded. ‘So you know he’s genuine. Look, whoever is pushing you to finish this quickly, is probably involved.’
‘But my boss is the one who’s in charge.’
‘Exactly. Has he been doing anything a little strange, a bit out of character?’
Gardner thought for a moment. ‘Well, he does seem a bit on edge, and some of his decisions looked a bit flaky, but we’re all under a lot of pressure. I’m sure if you gave yourselves up, we could get to the bottom of things.’
Sinclair smiled. ‘We can’t do that, we don’t know who we can trust.’
Gardner remembered the radio in her hand. She held it through the gap in the window. ‘Take this so we can contact you. Please think about coming out.’
Sinclair took the radio. ‘Watch your back, Zoe, and do try and contact Lancaster. It’s for your own good as well as ours.’
Gardner turned and walked back down the track. Sinclair closed the window and swung the steel shutter back into position.
* * *
The Home Secretary walked into the COBRA meeting and sat down. He looked a mess. Several people sitting around the room were shocked by his appearance and the smell of drink on his breath. He had a cut next to his left eye and his shirt collar had blood on it.
One of the junior ministers from the Foreign Office voiced everyone’s concerns. ‘Are you okay, sir?’
‘Err … Yes, thank you. I was involved in a minor car crash this morning. I’ll be going to hospital to get checked out as soon as we finish here.’
The others around the table exchanged glances, some concerned, some admiring his commitment. They carried on. The Chief of the Defence Staff was first to speak. ‘As you all know, we have received no confirmation from the Turkish government that they are willing to meet our demands. For that reason, we have now finalised our preparations and the first air strikes will take place at zero six hundred tomorrow morning, unless we receive the order to stand down.’
Enfield was staring at the briefing notes he had been given. He wasn’t taking in all the details, he needed another drink. ‘Thank you, General. We all hope that the government of Turkey contacts us before then, but, if they don’t, we must be willing to strike to protect our democracy.’
Nods and murmurs told Enfield he still had the support of the committee – even if some of that support was insincere. He looked at the Assistant Metropolitan Police Commissioner. ‘I see on your brief you mention the events in Cumbria, can you give us an overview of the situation, Commissioner?’
‘Yes, sir. We currently have an operation going on in Cumbria. These two people …’ He pointed to the wall of screens at the end of the room. Side by side were mug shots of Sinclair and old service photos of McGill. ‘Frank McGill and Ali Sinclair are both known to the police and security services. The Intelligence Service has received intel that shows these two are involved, in some way, in the recent terrorist attacks. Unfortunately, we believe they are now holding the chief of the Intelligence Service as a hostage.’
Enfield nodded. ‘These are grave times for all of us. How is the operation proceeding?’
‘I’ll be heading back to the CTC after this meeting, to take charge personally. We are expecting an armed unit from the CTU in Manchester to mount an assault very soon. I’ll keep you informed, sir.’
‘Yes please, Commissioner. You have my authority, do whatever it takes to ensure the safe return of Kelvin Hadley.’
‘Will do, sir.’ He stood up and left the room.
Enfield looked at everyone else. ‘If no one has anything to add, I think I should get myself to A & E.’
Everyone around the table nodded, still concerned by the Home Secretary’s appearance.
‘Thank you all. With your support, we’ll get through this.’ He held on to the table as he stood then, unsteadily, walked across the room and out of the door.
Chapter 48
The radio that DS Gardner had handed to Sinclair was in the middle of the table. Every few minutes it crackled into life as Thorpe called them and told them to surrender. It had been ten minutes since the last call, and all three of them were staring at the radio waiting for something to happen.
McGill picked it up and checked the battery was still okay. ‘Looks like they’ve given up on the idea of talking us out.’
Sinclair went to the screen and studied the grey images. ‘They haven’t moved yet, what are they waiting for?’
‘They’ll be checking for the final go ahead. We need to be ready.’
Sinclair opened the weapons box and took out more ammunition for her Glock. McGill unloaded his rifle and put the magazine inside the box. ‘We don’t need that, this’ll be all up close.’
Hadley was still hoping he could talk them out of this, but wanted to be ready in case he couldn’t. ‘I’ll need a weapon. To protect myself.’
Sinclair shook her head. ‘They’ve already said on the radio that they think you’re a hostage. It’s probably why they haven’t come after us already. You stay down on the floor, if they get in here, they won’t shoot you if you’re not armed.’
‘But if none of us were armed, they would have to take us in. I could tell them everything that’s happened.’
McGill took a pump action shotgun out of the box. ‘I have a feeling they’re going to shoot us whatever happens. It’s a special request from the Home Secretary.’
Hadley shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe what you’ve told me. I’ve known Marcus for years, he’s as committed as any of us.’
‘But committed to who? We’ve got it in black and white.’
Hadley pointed at the folder. ‘
Is his name in there?’
McGill picked up the folder. ‘It doesn’t mention his real name, but Danny Kinsella will find the link.’
‘If his name isn’t in there, what makes you so sure that Marcus is this … Vadim?’
Sinclair stared directly at Hadley. ‘Because I met him. I’ll never forget his face. He looked down at me and ordered Bazarov to have me killed. Ever since then he’s been paying people to take me out. I’ve been beaten more times than I can remember. That prison was hell because of Vadim. The next time I see him, I’m gonna kill him.’
Sinclair was getting angry just talking about it. She stabbed her finger on the table top, her voice cracking with emotion. McGill grabbed her hand and squeezed it to calm her. ‘Let’s just say we have more than the folder. That prick is going down, no matter what.’
Sinclair had stopped trembling and was breathing normally. She patted McGill’s hand. ‘Thanks, Frank.’ She looked back at Hadley. ‘Frank’s like a human form of Valium: he keeps me calm, stops me from doing something I might regret.’
Hadley knew Enfield could be a bit of a smug bastard at times. Instead of getting the job done, he preferred to gloat – that would be his downfall. Enfield wasn’t happy to stay in the shadows, out of the limelight, that’s why he liked being the Home Secretary. A man like that could never be running a global conspiracy. Hadley was also in no doubt that Sinclair, given the chance, would kill Enfield rather than bring him in.
McGill panned one of the cameras. ‘Looks like they’re coming, Ali. Get ready.’
They could see the two four-man police teams cocking their weapons and starting up the hill. Sinclair and McGill grabbed their weapons and made a final check of the windows and doors; all were locked and the steel shutters were in place.
McGill pumped the action of his shotgun. ‘Here they come.’
The first team approached from the front, quickly arriving at the house and crouching down next to the door. The second team paused at the barn before taking up a similar position at the rear.
Simultaneously, a member of each team stood back and fired tear gas through the window. At the same time, another team member sent in a stun grenade. Both projectiles broke the windows, but only got as far as the steel shutters before bouncing back and landing at the officers’ feet.
The CS gas didn’t affect the men as they were wearing respirators, but the concussive blast of the stun grenades blinded them and caused momentary deafness and loss of balance. Some of the men held their ears and managed to stand, but they were no longer able to attack the house.
Sinclair swung open the steel shutter behind the front window, McGill aimed his shotgun through the gap and pulled the trigger. The first beanbag round hit one of the officers between the shoulder blades and knocked him forward, onto his hands and knees. The second round hit another officer in the thigh and numbed his leg, causing him to fall to his knees.
McGill cleared the window and Sinclair closed the shutter. One of the front team members, who hadn’t been as badly affected by the stun grenade, picked up the enforcer battering ram and swung it at the door. The door shook in its frame under the assault of the heavy steel battering ram, but, with the brace McGill had fitted, the door wasn’t going to break down. McGill picked up the steel box covered in LEDs and flicked one of the switches.
Above the front door, McGill had installed a stun grenade of his own. The bright flash and explosive percussion made the officer drop the enforcer and he rolled away holding his head. The other three members of his team were lying or kneeling on the ground, in no fit state to do anything.
By now, the team at the rear had abandoned their assault and were making their way around to the front. McGill flicked two more switches and set off bird scarers at the front of the house to keep their heads down.
As the rear team arrived at the front, McGill swung open the steel shutter and took aim with the shotgun. Sinclair put her hand on the barrel and pushed it down. ‘Leave them, Frank. Let them pull back. They’re no threat any more.’
McGill pulled the shotgun in and closed the shutter. ‘I don’t think they were expecting that.’
Sinclair watched the screen as the two teams limped back down the hill towards their command vehicle. ‘How long do you think they’ll wait before they come again?’
McGill put down his shotgun. ‘They won’t come back again.’
Hadley came out from his hiding place in the kitchen. ‘What do you mean? Surely, they won’t just give up?’
McGill zoomed in on a figure they could just make out, standing close to the dry stone wall. He was wearing civilian clothes and had been watching everything. None of the police were attempting to move him on, and, as they watched, he lifted a phone to his ear. McGill tapped the screen. ‘We just ramped it up to a whole new level. I would say, that guy there is Regiment. Right now, he’s calling his boss back in Hereford. The next people to assault the house … will be our friends from the SAS.’
* * *
Danny Kinsella looked out at the docks through a grubby window of the warehouse they were now hiding in. Nash had recently bought the warehouse and planned to turn it into luxury dockside apartments – that was going to take a great deal of work. In the meantime, Nash had arranged for some inflatable beds and sleeping bags to be brought, just in case their stay was extended. Kinsella switched on his phone and dialled Carter’s number.
Carter looked at the number on the phone: he didn’t recognise it, but only a handful of people knew his. ‘Hello?’
Kinsella was pleased to hear Carter’s voice. ‘Simeon. It’s me.’
Carter felt a wave of relief wash over him. He’d been worrying about Kinsella since he heard about the attack at Brantleigh House. He trusted that Nash would keep everyone safe, but it didn’t stop him from thinking the worst. ‘Danny, thank God you’re alive. I really was worried.’
‘I’m okay, Simeon, everyone is okay. We’re in—’
Carter cut him off. ‘Don’t tell me where you are, Danny, I don’t need to know.’
‘Of course, right, I’m not used to this spy stuff.’
Lancaster was gesturing to Carter, trying to mime a folder. Carter nodded. ‘Listen, you’ve all done as much as you can. You have to keep yourselves safe and look after your copies of the evidence. It’s all we’ve got now. If anything happens to me, you must make this stuff public. Don’t let Vadim get away with it.’
‘I promise I won’t, Simeon, but I’ve found something you need to know.’
Carter didn’t like the sound of this. ‘What is it, Danny?’
‘I went through all of the profiles and compared them to known people, and I got a match. I’ve been thinking, why would Vadim risk everything by letting people know who he is? Why would someone as powerful as him be doing his own dirty work?’
Carter was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
Kinsella watched as the rush-hour traffic picked up on the other side of the river. Regular people, getting on with their lives, oblivious of the nightmare being cooked up by the people they trusted to protect them. ‘We know that Vadim hires people to get their hands dirty, so why go to the island to see Bazarov, why give Sinclair the opportunity to identify him?’
Carter’s eyes widened. ‘He wouldn’t, he would send someone else.’
‘Exactly. Enfield is nothing more than a straw man, put in place to take the heat off Vadim. A sacrificial lamb to give Vadim time to escape if it all goes wrong. Nobody knows who Vadim really is, not even the other conspirators.’
‘Jesus, Danny, are you sure?’
‘I’ve checked Enfield’s background, he doesn’t fit at all. I don’t think the other conspirators even know he isn’t Vadim. The cover is so complete, so perfect.’
Carter was stunned, it had never entered his mind that they were chasing the wrong guy. ‘Do you know who he is, Danny?’
‘I’ve found a profile that fits exactly. I’d bet my life that this is Vadim.’
Carter ended t
he call and looked at Lancaster. ‘We need to get to the Prime Minister, now.’
Chapter 49
Visibility around Rock Cottage was getting worse. A fog bank had begun to roll up the valley and dark rainclouds obscured the sun. A flock of Herdwick sheep moved as one towards the relative shelter of the lee side of a dry stone wall, while birds and other wildlife disappeared into burrows, sets and nests, sensing the approaching storm. With nothing moving, and any remaining sounds deadened by the fog, the normal peace and quiet of the area was even more profound. This new silence, this new tranquillity, was broken by the rhythmic beating of a helicopter’s rotor blades.
The Dauphin helicopter, from the Army Air Corp’s 658 Squadron, appeared between the hills at the far end of the valley, skimming the trees and dry stone walls as it tried to keep below the level of the encroaching fog. The pilot hugged the ground and swung left and right, following the undulating contours of the Lake District’s rugged landscape. The Herdwick sheep, huddled together and settled in their new-found shelter, scattered and ran from the aircraft’s noise and downdraft.
Inside the helicopter, the co-pilot checked his map, and pointed to a field next to the road, in the bottom of the valley. The pilot nodded and gave a thumbs-up, turning his controls and heading for their landing spot. The co-pilot signalled to the passengers, telling them they were about to land. The passengers were members of the Special Air Service’s Counter Revolutionary Warfare Wing, the most elite counter-terrorist unit in the world. They checked their kit and readied themselves to disembark. All their training, all the planning, had been leading to this point. It was time for them to go to work.
Mick Butler leaned on a rust-covered steel gate and watched the aircraft bank along the side of a hill, then slow, and descend towards him, touching down one hundred metres from the edge of the field. The pilot throttled back on the engine and the passengers began to climb out.
