by L J Morris
The general looked at the Royal Navy captain who sat opposite him, looking for some sign of agreement. ‘Are you sure about this, sir? Militarily, the time to strike is now. The world is watching and expects us to act, our global reputation may depend on it.’
The Prime Minister cleared his throat. ‘We are about to make a very dangerous mistake, General. There is more than our reputation on the line here. Delaying things for twenty-four hours won’t affect the military outcome.’
The general looked down, staring at his hands. ‘Understood, I’ll issue the order to stand down for twenty-four hours. We need you here, sir. The committee will need to see the information you have.’
‘I don’t think the doctors will allow me out of here just yet. I want you to bring the committee to me. We’ll continue the meeting at the hospital.’
The general looked around the room. Everyone was nodding their agreement. ‘We’ll reconvene in two hours. Is there anything else we need to do now, sir?’
‘Yes, General. The operation in Cumbria must be stopped. The people in that house are not terrorists, they are the key to this whole thing.’
The general looked at his watch. ‘It’s four forty-five. I believe the assault to end the siege has already begun.’
* * *
Assistant Commissioner Robert Nicholson was watching the image on the screen at Counter Terrorist Control HQ. There was a degree of panic in the voice of the general and the COBRA committee. ‘We need to stop it now, pull back immediately. Abort the operation.’
Nicholson was already on the phone, trying to contact DCS Thorpe at the scene, but the call wouldn’t connect. He knew the mobile coverage in rural Cumbria could be flaky at the best of times, and most of the comms had been up and down for the last two days.
Thorpe looked at his mobile’s screen, glowing as it rang. They had called him three times in two minutes, something was wrong. He had a feeling that everything was about to fold in on him, that he was going to be left holding the bag, but he couldn’t just keep ignoring gold command, Vadim would be angry with him if he blew this. He pressed the green button and held the mobile to his ear. ‘DCS Thorpe.’
‘Thorpe, this is AC Nicholson. Abort the operation immediately.’
All the pressure, the stress and the fear weighed down on Thorpe like a sack of rocks. He knew he was finished. If they were aborting the assault, something big had happened. He hadn’t heard from Enfield for hours, was he still in charge?
‘THORPE.’ Nicholson’s voice boomed in Thorpe’s ear. ‘CAN YOU HEAR ME?’
Thorpe shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do this any more.’
‘What? What are you talking about, man? Hello … HELLO?’
Thorpe ended the call and threw his phone into the field behind him. The screen lit up as it rang again, but he had already walked away.
Nicholson slammed down the phone. ‘Get me the number of someone else on the ground. Contact the SAS troop commander.’
Mick Butler’s night vision had recovered from the bright flash of the flares. He checked his watch, they were still on schedule. He knelt at the corner of the barn and peered into the fog. He could barely make out the silhouette of Rock Cottage. It was good that the targets in the house couldn’t see his team, but they couldn’t see the house, either. Sinclair and McGill could sneak out and he probably wouldn’t see them. He pressed the push to talk button on his radio. ‘Bravo two, this is Bravo one, confirm position, over.’
‘Roger Bravo one, Bravo two confirmed at position one, over.’
Both teams were now just outside the area where they would be visible from the house, kneeling in the fog, waiting to advance. ‘Bravo one to Command, confirm good to go, over.’
‘Roger, Bravo one, confirm go, over.’
They had the final go-ahead. There was no turning back. ‘All call signs, this is Bravo one, stand by.’
McGill closed the steel shutter at the window and went back to the screen. The CCTV camera was closer to the barn and gave them a view through the fog. ‘There’s someone kneeling at the corner of the barn. We’ve got minutes. As soon as they move, we get out.’
Hadley stood behind them, watching the screen. ‘What are you doing?’
McGill didn’t look up. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘What about me?’
‘They don’t want you, just lie down and keep still. The blades are good at what they do. You can get back to your life and forget all about us. We can go and live on a beach somewhere and …’ McGill stopped and stood up straight, he recognised the sound of a weapon being cocked. He looked behind him.
Hadley had taken one of the Glocks from the metal box and now had it pointed at Sinclair’s head. ‘That’s not a plan I can work with. As much as I’d like to forget all about you, I can’t risk you popping up in a few months and throwing a spanner in the works.’
On the screen there were four figures visible at the corner of the barn. Butler looked at the other members of his team and gave them a thumbs-up.
‘Stand by …’
Hadley took two steps back. ‘Drop your weapons and move over there. He gestured with his head.
McGill lowered his assault rifle. ‘What the fuck are you doing, Kelvin? You planning to take us in, be a hero?’
Hadley smiled. ‘Not exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of: you both die during the assault and I’m the plucky survivor.’
Sinclair put down her weapons. ‘Why would you do that? You’ve seen the evidence, you know what’s going on.’
‘What if I already knew?’
McGill backed up. He threw down his pistol and placed his assault rifle on the edge of the table. ‘He’s involved. The son of a bitch has been involved all along.’
Sinclair was stunned. Why hadn’t they picked up on that earlier? ‘But … at the airfield. Those men were trying to kill you.’
Hadley kept his nine-millimetre trained on them. ‘No, Miss Sinclair. They were trying to kill you. They had no idea who I was. In the end, it’s worked out quite well. People are saying I’m a hero. My political worth will be much higher after this.’
‘Bastard. After all the shit we’ve gone through, we’re gonna get taken out by this prick.’
The second SAS team edged forward to give themselves a clearer view of the rear door. They were all focussed on the operation. Nothing else mattered but this, the outside world may as well not exist.
‘Stand by …’
DS Gardner stared into the darkness. She knew the special forces teams were about to go in. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. ‘Shit, not now.’ She picked it up and looked at the screen. It was gold command. ‘Shit, where is the chief super?’
Hadley grabbed the folder and put it into a backpack, hanging it from his shoulder.
McGill noticed movement on the screen. He could now see both teams ready to assault. ‘Here they come, Kelvin. You need to think fast.’
Hadley’s eyes flicked to the camera’s image. It was all the opportunity McGill needed. His hand closed around the handle of a boning knife that was in the kitchen sink. He threw it across the room. It wasn’t the most accurate throw, and it wasn’t a balanced knife, but it struck Hadley in the face, slicing through his cheek. Hadley squeezed his trigger; the bullet was off target but accurate enough at close range. McGill went down.
Sinclair dropped to the floor and rolled to the table. She grabbed McGill’s assault rifle and returned fire.
Hadley retreated to the basement door and fell down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom.
DS Gardner answered the call. ‘Sir?’
The voice on the other end was rushed, urgent. ‘Abort the operation now. Stand down, say again, stand down. Abort, abort.’
Gardner looked up the hill, heard the gunfire. It was too late.
Butler heard the shots inside Rock Cottage. He couldn’t hear any incoming rounds, they weren’t shooting at him. Whatever was happening in there gave them the
perfect opportunity to breach.
‘Go, go, go.’
The two teams moved in unison, closing the last few meters to the house. They crouched against the cold stone walls, two men attached explosive charges to both doors’ locks and hinges then retreated two metres.
Sinclair went after Hadley, moving around the table and heading for the basement.
McGill got to his knees, blood pouring from the wound in his chest. He stretched out his hand. ‘No, Ali.’
Butler whispered into his radio, ‘Fire in the hole.’
DS Gardner sprinted to the command vehicle. ‘Abort, abort. Direct orders from gold command.’ She heard the explosion from the house. ‘NOOO.’
The explosive charges detonated, shattering the doors. What was left of the frames fell outwards. Both teams threw CS gas and stun grenades through the jagged openings.
Sinclair spun around at the sound of the explosion. She saw the canisters fly through the doorway and into the room. Clouds of gas expanded to fill the space. Sinclair looked at McGill. He collapsed forward clutching his chest. As Sinclair looked back at the door, the blinding flash and concussive blast of the stun grenade overwhelmed her senses. She didn’t even register the SAS troopers who were now flooding through the door and into the room; she didn’t hear their warnings, their shouts to drop her weapon.
Chapter 54
DS Gardner walked down the steps and out of the command vehicle. She looked around at the chaos the assault had created. Police and paramedics gathered at the bottom of the track, waiting for the all clear from Butler before climbing up to the house. Some reporters had managed to get through the cordon and were trying to photograph the aftermath. At the back, away from everyone else’s gaze, she could see DCS Thorpe throwing a bag into the back of his car. He was looking around, checking for anyone watching him.
DS Gardner had her orders from gold command: she had to stop Thorpe. If she was honest with herself, she was going to enjoy this, she had never really liked him anyway. She picked out two uniformed officers from the scrum at the bottom of the track, and approached the car. ‘You goin’ somewhere … sir?’
DCS Thorpe was surprised by the sudden appearance of DS Gardner and the officers. He tried to look calm but the panic inside him made his voice crack. ‘Out … out of my way, Gardner, I’ve been summoned back to London. They need a debrief.’
Gardner smiled. ‘That’s strange, sir. I’ve just been speaking to AC Nicholson, and he didn’t mention you going back to give him a debrief. What he actually said was that I should arrest you.’
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous, there’s obviously been some mistake.’ He waved the two uniformed officers away from the front of his car. ‘Get out of my way, that’s an order.’
Gardner nodded to the officers. They grabbed Thorpe by his arms and pushed him onto the bonnet of his car. Gardner handcuffed his hands behind his back and he was dragged, kicking and screaming, to a police van that was parked in the layby beside the wall.
Mick Butler came out of Rock Cottage through the tear gas that was still billowing out of the door and dissipating into the fog. He pulled off his respirator and threw it on the ground. Sinclair was draped over his shoulder like a broken mannequin, her arms and legs swung lifelessly and blood dripped from her head, leaving a trail behind them. Butler walked away from the tear gas and lowered Sinclair to the ground, laying her on her back.
Sinclair’s clothes were covered in broken glass and splinters of wood from the assault, her hair and face soaked in blood from the wound on her forehead. Butler put down his weapon and took off his gloves. He pressed his fingers to her neck and checked for a pulse, he found one. Sinclair’s eyes flickered open and she began to cough, her own blood and snot choking her. Butler rolled her into the recovery position, pulling her hair away from her face. He waved at the paramedics who stood close by. ‘Get over here, now.’
The paramedics got to work. They cleared Sinclair’s airways and checked her breathing. Her most serious injury was the long gash in her forehead: blood was pouring out and needed to be stopped. One of the medics shouted into her radio. ‘We need an air ambulance ASAP.’ She looked up at Butler. ‘I need to get her back down the hill, she needs that wound closing up and she’s losing a lot of blood. Her skull may be fractured.’
McGill was sitting up against the wall while more medics worked on him. His injury was less serious – the bullet that had struck him in the chest was a ricochet – it was nothing more than a flesh wound. The paramedics dressed the gash in his chest and helped him to stand up, just as Butler’s men were lifting Sinclair onto a stretcher. ‘Ali?’
Butler stopped McGill from getting any closer. ‘Let us get her down the hill. You can stay with her in the ambulance after that.’
McGill tried to push Butler out of the way, but the SAS sergeant was too strong for him. McGill was in no fit state to fight anyone. Butler hooked his arm around McGill and they followed the stretcher down the track.
* * *
Enfield and Hadley sat in a beaten-up old Volvo, inside a dilapidated hanger back at the disused airfield. They had been on the run for more than two weeks. Hadley had managed to get away from Rock Cottage during all the chaos. At the bottom of the hill he’d heard the police officers talking of a conspiracy, heard them being told to look out for him. He’d spent the rest of that day hiding in an old sheep pen.
Once the sun had set, he’d walked up the fell then down into Ambleside, where Enfield picked him up before dawn the next day. Since then they had travelled at night, hidden in woods and slept rough. They both stank and hadn’t eaten properly in days, but they hadn’t been caught, yet.
Following the events that had taken place, the Prime Minister ordered a major security overhaul. Anyone mentioned in the folder of evidence was being rounded up and held for questioning. Many careers were being ended: MPs, police, military. The PM did everything to ensure they avoided a witch-hunt, but some people were too deeply involved to save.
The leader of the opposition was invited to become deputy prime minister, to ensure the government was being run in the best interests of the country. A general election would be needed in due course, but not yet.
Hadley lowered his window and looked out towards the runway. ‘I’ve been at this airfield once already, and it didn’t end well.’
Enfield was looking up through the windscreen. ‘Where are they?’ He checked his watch. ‘They should have been here five minutes ago.’
‘It’s an illegal flight out of the country, I don’t think they run to a schedule.’
Enfield drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘If anyone spots us here the police will surround the place. I can’t go to prison, I wouldn’t survive.’
‘You won’t go to prison, I can guarantee that.’
Enfield pointed out of the window. ‘There they are.’
The unmarked helicopter was flying low, straight towards them. It flew a circuit around the hanger and came in to land. Enfield got out of the car and started to walk towards the waiting aircraft. ‘Thank God for that. Let’s go.’ He gestured to hurry Hadley up.
Hadley had a nine-millimetre Sig Saur in his hand, pointed straight at Enfield. ‘When I said you wouldn’t be going to prison, I should have been a little more specific. I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere, ever again.’
Enfield backed up, trying to get away from the weapon. ‘But I’ve done everything I was asked to do.’
‘Yes, you have, Marcus, and you have been quite useful, but now you’re just a drain on resources. You don’t bring any skills to the organisation.’
Enfield was shaking and beginning to babble. ‘I could learn new skills, I’m very loyal, I ...’
Hadley shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry, Marcus. I just don’t need you any more.’
Enfield held his hands in front of him and tried to turn away from the shot. ‘NO, Vadim, please.’
Hadley pulled the trigger, the bullet slammed into the centre of Enfi
eld’s chest and he collapsed, clutching the wound. Blood ran between his fingers and started to drip from his mouth. He looked up, his eyes pleading. Hadley shot him again, twice, then threw the Sig Saur down beside the Home Secretary’s lifeless body.
The pilot of the helicopter was waving at Hadley, beckoning him over, trying to hurry him up. He knew that every second they spent on the ground increased their chances of being caught. Hadley ducked under the helicopter’s rotor blades, opened the door and climbed in. The pilot twisted the throttle and they lifted into the air.
As they flew back over the hanger, Hadley looked down at Enfield’s body lying on the runway. This wasn’t the end, it was just a hiccup. The organisation was too big, too widespread for this to bring them down. For him, it was time for a new identity, time to formulate a new plan. He settled back in his seat and smiled to himself.
Chapter 55
Sinclair was sitting up in her bed at the Queen Victoria Veterans Hospital. Doctors were happy with the way she was recovering and her head wound was healing well. They had decided she was now strong enough to have visitors and word had spread. A lot of people wanted to see Sinclair.
McGill sat on the edge of her bed. ‘So, how’s it going then?’
‘The doctors have said I shouldn’t be here long. I can finish my recovery at home, not sure where that is, though.’
‘Rock Cottage won’t be ready to live in for quite a while, they made a bit of a mess.’
Sinclair smiled. ‘Will you be able to fix it up?’
McGill nodded. ‘Yeah, Danny Kinsella is investing in the remodelling. Apparently, he wants to spend some time in the Lake District.’
‘It’ll be nice when it’s all done.’
Lancaster stood up from the chair in the corner. ‘We’ve got several apartments in London, you can live in one of those until you decide what you want to do next. They’re quite luxurious, you should be comfortable enough.’
‘I could do with a bit of luxury. Thanks, Edward.’
‘It’s the least I could do, Ali. You’ll also be glad to know you’re no longer an escaped convict.’
