by Angie Smith
Woods shook his head in disbelief, but before he was able to respond his phone buzzed. He answered.
It was Hooper. He put it on speakerphone so the others could hear. “I’m sorry, Greg, we’ve lost Plant.” There was a pause. “We’re searching the area, but he’s given us the slip.”
Woods put his head in his hands.
“How did that happen?” Barnes snapped.
“We were following him, as he appeared to be doing yet another sweep of the area around Guilford-Johnston’s, but after he turned a corner and momentarily went out of sight, he must have dived round the back of the houses. Despite frantically checking the gardens we’d lost him and have no idea which way he’s gone.”
Woods was incandescent, although, unusually for him, realised it was not the time for ridicule, or reprisals. “Faulkner-Brown may have contacted him. They might be meeting up somewhere,” he suggested.
“Aye,” McLean chipped in. “I’ve just returned from the hotel; Faulkner-Brown’s checked out.”
“I’ve put the call out to stop his car,” Woods shouted, “but I suspect he’ll already have switched vehicles.”
“We’ll keep a lookout while we’re searching for Plant,” Hooper said ending the call.
Woods closed his eyes, his heart pounded and his breathing was laboured. He needed to calm down, but that was easy to say. “We need to find them,” he snarled.
“Why don’t you ring Faulkner-Brown?” Barnes suggested.
“I don’t have his number; I’ve never been privy to it.”
“I do, and Plant’s and Dudley’s, if you need all three.”
Woods looked at her, but didn’t say anything.
“I took them off Dudley’s phone while he was locked up in the cells; Fat-Boy’s number, who I presume to be Faulkner-Brown, and Jonnie’s number, who I assume to be Plant’s, were both saved on it, along with a few other interesting ones.”
Woods smiled as she took out her notebook, opened it and handed it to him. He keyed in Faulkner-Brown’s number.
“Hello,” he snapped when it was answered. “Where are you?” he demanded.
“Who is this?”
“Woods. Have you got Dudley with you?”
“No, I have not!”
Woods sneered, “Is Plant with you?”
“No!”
“Where are you?” he demanded again.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. I suggest you concentrate on finding Williams before it’s too late.”
“If I find out you’ve got Dudley, I’ll have you both locked up.” The line went dead and Woods immediately keyed in Plant’s number. “His phone’s switched off,” he said, keying in Dudley’s, “and he’s not answering. Can we have a trace placed on all three?”
Barnes shook her head. “They’re blocked numbers; you can’t track them.”
Woods groaned. “This is turning into a monumental disaster.”
“He isn’t responding,” Faulkner-Brown muttered as he shook his head. “His phone must be switched off.”
“Why would he switch his phone off? He told me he’d make his way here.”
Faulkner-Brown thought for a few moments, breathing heavily. “I think I need to get over to Guilford-Johnston’s and see what’s happening. You’ll have to wait here, just in case Plant shows up.”
“He should have been here by now. He doesn’t make mistakes; something’s gone wrong,” Dudley baulked. “I don’t want to be hanging around wasting time. Do you think he’s spotted Williams and gone after him?”
“He would’ve rung me,” Faulkner-Brown insisted. “I could really use your help right now, but if you show up they’ll arrest us both.”
“This isn’t looking good. What if Williams has Plant?”
Faulkner-Brown shuddered. “Then we really are in trouble.”
Woods paced up and down the Incident Room cursing to himself while Barnes worked away at her PC. “Have you found anything?” he asked.
“There’s a large out-of-town shopping mall not far from Harrogate. It’ll be really busy and the sort of place you could meet up if you wanted to blend into the background. If I were looking for somewhere nearby I’d choose that.”
Woods sighed and came across. He didn’t have time for doubts now, he needed to find Plant. He peered over her shoulder at the image on screen.
“It’s only five miles from Guilford-Johnston’s.”
Woods took out his phone and called Hooper. “Can you get someone over to the shopping. . .?”
“Just a second,” Hooper interrupted. “My other phone’s ringing; I need to take this.”
Woods paced around the room like an expectant father outside a maternity ward. He listened to snippets from Hooper’s conversation, the gist of which did not sound promising.
“Shit, are you there?” Hooper sounded panicky.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Apparently it’s chaos out at Guilford-Johnston’s. There’s been an attack on the house and I think at least one of the protection officers has been shot. The Armed Response Unit is on its way.”
“Christ!” Woods put his hand to his forehead. “That might be Plant making a move. Get over there and keep me updated.” Woods ended the call and looked around for Barnes who was speaking on her phone. He went over and from the tone and content of her conversation gathered it was the officer in charge of the protection team. She finished the call and looked at him. “Guilford-Johnston’s been abducted!”
“Fuck!” he said, and in a futile attempt to hide his frustration he placed his hands over his face. “Do we know if it was Plant?” he finally managed to say.
She shook her head. “Three of the protection officers have been shot. One’s in a critical condition.”
Hooper arrived at Guilford-Johnston’s house and was allowed through the cordon. He went over to speak with the senior protection officer, whom he did not know. “What’s the latest?” he asked.
“We’ve looked at the house CCTV and a delivery van arrived; the driver got out with a parcel, walked up the footpath towards the front door and was challenged by the officer, presumably asking to see his ID. The driver pulled out a semi-automatic pistol, shot the officer in the upper chest, and then ran inside the house. He fired at the two other officers, injuring them both. He grabbed Guilford-Johnston, cuffed him and marched him out at gun-point, bungling him into the back of the van. It took less than two minutes to abduct him. The officer at the front door is in a bad way; he’s in surgery now.”
“What about the officer at the rear?”
“Never heard a thing, the pistol had a silencer. It was Guilford-Johnston’s wife who raised the alarm.”
“Any trace of where the van headed?”
“It had a tracker fitted, and we’re in contact with the delivery company who are assisting us. What did your guys see?”
Hooper held up his hands. “We were out searching for Plant; he’d given us the slip and we missed all the action.”
The officer shook his head, but his attention was distracted by an approaching PC. “Any news about the van?” he asked.
“Abandoned in the lay-by, about a mile away. The original driver was found in his underwear, gagged, blindfolded, and tied up in the back. The gunman overpowered him as he was taking a break. He took his uniform. There was no sign of Guilford-Johnston, who was apparently dragged off to another vehicle which must have been waiting for them.”
“Any idea what it was?” Hooper asked.
“The driver said it sounded like a diesel Transit. Interestingly, although he couldn’t see anything, he was aware of someone else being put into the back of the van with him, but they didn’t say anything on the journey to where the van was abandoned, so he’d assumed they’d also been gagged. However, when the door was reopened there was a heated conversation between the gunman and the man who’d been in the back. Both were well-spoken and the gunman was making threats.”
“Where’s the delivery man now?” Hooper as
ked.
“On the way to hospital.”
“I’ll get over there and. . .” Hooper stopped speaking when he spotted Faulkner-Brown arriving on the scene. “Where’s Plant?” he shouted.
Faulkner-Brown approached and shrugged his shoulders. “What’s happened here?”
Hooper updated him.
“Can I have a look at the CCTV images?” he asked.
The senior officer agreed and they were taken into the study and shown the footage.
“That’s Williams,” Faulkner-Brown confirmed, pointing at the gunman.
“I’ll need to update Woody,” Hooper stated.
“This is one of the biggest cock-ups I’ve ever seen,” Faulkner-Brown confirmed, appearing deflated. “You know Woods will be finished as a detective after this.”
“Where’s Dudley?” Hooper responded.
“I’ve no idea. As far as I knew he was safely locked up in your HQ.”
“Well, he isn’t any longer.”
He shook his head and looked up at the sky. “Woods’ and your priority should be finding Guilford-Johnston and Williams before it’s too late.”
“And what’s your priority?”
“Be sure to give my regards to Woody,” he shouted as he walked off, shoulders down.
Woods received the update from Hooper at around 1.30 p.m. The suspicion that Williams had abducted Guilford-Johnston became a stark reality and Woods knew he was running out of options. He was due to meet with Foster in half an hour, as both of them had been summoned to the Chief Constable’s office. Someone had leaked the story to the media, and Foster was expected to hold a press conference with Woods at around five o’clock. Woods had a feeling it was going to be unpleasant. The press apparently knew the police were supposedly protecting Guilford-Johnston — suspecting him to be one of the final two victims — and would no doubt be asking awkward questions. His plan to use Plant to draw Williams out had backfired, and he was unsure if either Plant or Dudley were now accomplices. He had tried again in vain to make contact with Faulkner-Brown, but the phone number he had been given by Barnes was no longer connected to the network. The impending cloud of doom was now his shadow and following his every move.
Faulkner-Brown arrived back at the out-of-town shopping mall just after two o’clock and wandered around looking for Dudley, eventually finding him milling around the lake watching the geese feeding. “I take it he didn’t show?” he questioned.
Dudley shook his head. “His phone’s still disconnected.”
“Williams has Guilford-Johnston, and possibly Plant. We need to get out of the country.”
“Have we any idea where Williams may have taken them? We can still retrieve this, and possibly discredit the police, provided we get to Williams before he kills them.”
Faulkner-Brown, more than anyone, realised the gravity of the situation. “I can get you out with me, but we must move now.”
“What about Plant?”
“It’s too late; he’ll have to fend for himself. That is if he’s still alive. Are you coming with me, or staying to face the music?”
“Where are we going?”
“Hull, there’s a container ship leaving this evening. We’ll both be on it; no questions asked.”
“Where’s it heading?”
“Who cares, as long as it’s as far away from here as we can get.” Faulkner-Brown paused and looked down at the lake. “You know when we started with this, I knew we’d have difficulties with Woods, but Barnes was totally unexpected. She instigated much, if not all, of the trouble we’ve had, and although I’ve had her thoroughly checked, I still believe she’s a connection to Russia. She must have been assisted and heavily influenced by them. What the hell she’s doing working for the police beggars belief.” He scratched the side of his nose. “When we’ve had a chance to settle and regroup I’ll organise something special for her.”
Woods returned to the Incident Room to find Barnes, McLean and Hooper waiting for him. “Aye, it went better than I thought it would,” McLean said.
Woods looked tired after the press conference. Nevertheless he found a smile. “Aye, it could have been worse,” he replied, mimicking the detective inspector.
Hooper approached with a resigned look. “I’m sorry.”
Woods sighed. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but we should’ve seen it coming; reacted differently.”
“If you can believe them, the Intelligence Service now say they can’t trace Plant, Dudley or Faulkner-Brown; they claim to have a team out looking for them.”
“I bet it was Faulkner-Brown who tipped off the press,” Hooper suggested.
“I don’t think so. He’s tried to bury the story from day one; he’s the last person who’d go to the press.” Woods glanced over and saw Barnes working on her PC. “Have you found anything?” he called out.
“There’s a mass of activity about the story on social media sites right now. They’re discussing a particular webpage and something that’s happening on it. I’m trying to load it, but there is so much traffic, it’s taking forever… Oh, here it is.” Her expression gave an indication of the severity of what she was witnessing. “You need to see this. I’ve found Guilford-Johnston and Plant.”
Woods sprinted over and stared down at her screen. “Now we are done for,” he said, reaching for his mobile.
The others came across and looked with horror at what was being shown live.
Chapter 22
Sunday 10th June.
As Woods re-entered the Incident Room — following his impromptu meeting with Foster and the Chief Constable — Barnes was busy supervising one of the IT technicians. She was organising for the webpage to be played through the large TV screen which was fixed up on the wall. The screen had not been removed since the night of the Crimewatch broadcast. Eventually it flickered into life, but there was a problem with the audio, and the technician persevered, trying to rectify the situation. It was obvious he was trying to impress Barnes, even flirting with her, but she wasn’t interested; she was concentrating on the footage which showed Plant and Guilford-Johnston sitting next to each another. They were securely strapped into separate chairs. Above them, CCCXVI and CXVI had been painted on the otherwise blank wall. Plant’s shirt had been removed, and above where he was sitting there was a large glass demijohn fixed to a hospital drip-stand. It was feeding a tube, the contents of which were being slowly dripped onto his right forearm, which was blistered and severely swollen.
“They’ve tried closing down the webpage, but it immediately reopens in a thousand new formats and diverts the existing traffic to them,” Woods said, visibly cringing as he glanced up at the pictures. “It’s being streamed through several websites. They can’t trace where it’s being uploaded. The IP address is in New Zealand; obviously it’s using a proxy-server to hide its real location. They’re talking about damage limitation.” Finally the sound came through the TV. “What’s been said while I’ve been away?” he asked.
McLean, who’d been making notes as he watched on his PC, answered. “Aye, Plant’s not saying a word. He’ll be trained not to crack; but the wee other fellow has been singing like a canary. He’s giving out all kinds of confidential information.”
“Such as?”
“He’s confessed to authorising the murders of the Mathewson family. You’ve had a mention, Dudley’s been implicated in your attempted murder, and Faulkner-Brown’s been named as masterminding quite a few dodgy dealings all around the world… and he’s even implicated the PM. He’s been discussing secret operations in Afghanistan, Iraq and Iran. He’s like a scared rabbit.”
“He’ll wrongly assume talking will save him from what’s happening to Plant.”
“Aye, well it’s clear someone else is in the room with them, but you can’t see or hear them. I’m assuming Williams is controlling the microphone and prompting Guilford-Johnston; probably with a gun trained on him.”
Woods cringed again as another droplet
of liquid landed on Plant’s arm. “They say it’s most likely a high concentrate of sulphuric acid; it’ll be burning through the outer-layers of skin and on through the sub-layer; it’ll be extremely painful. Not only that, the vapour will cause chest tightness, difficulty breathing, fever and confusion.”
McLean shook his head. “Aye, well it’s not nice viewing.”
Woods raised an eyebrow and looked as though he was going to respond, but stopped as Barnes came right up to the screen and stared — eyes wide open — at the picture. “Where’s the remote control?” she asked, looking around the room.
“Aye, Sharron used it last,” McLean offered.
She rummaged around on West’s desk. “Got it,” she shouted.
“What are you doing?” asked Woods.
“I’m trying to see if I can get a broader picture. I’m interested in what that is.” She pointed to the very top right of the image. “I think it’s the bottom corner of a small photo frame which is mostly out of shot,” she said.
Woods turned up his nose. “As usual, Williams has been meticulous; there’s no clue to where this is happening.”
Barnes wasn’t taking much notice of him. She pressed the remote and managed to get a slightly larger screen-shot. Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the top right. “I think I know where that is,” she said, biting her lip.
Woods frowned. “Where?”
“I need to go,” she replied, as she ran to her chair. She grabbed her coat and made for the door.
