Under Fire: (A Dan Taylor thriller)

by Amphlett, Rachel

  They entered the furthest side of the quadrant and stopped in front of a large double door, its worn oak panelling weathered from years of exposure to the elements. David stopped and turned to face Dan.

  ‘You need to be aware if this goes wrong, you and I will be facing trial and prosecution. Keep to the facts, don’t let your emotions get involved, and we might just be okay.’ He turned back to the door and knocked.

  Dan noticed the security cameras above the door moving from side to side, appraising the small group on the steps. Whoever monitored the camera feed seemed satisfied and a few moments later there was a click before the door swung inwards.

  A security guard, his gun at the ready, stood in the doorway glaring at them. ‘Security passes,’ he said.

  The three men handed over their passes and fell silent as the documents were inspected. After a short period, the guard handed back their passes and stood to one side, pushing the door open for them to enter.

  ‘There are cameras throughout the building,’ the guard said. ‘Don’t go anywhere you’re not authorised to. We’ll be watching you.’

  David glanced at Dan and Mitch. ‘This way,’ he said and, turning, headed across a wide hallway and up a broad wooden staircase.

  The stairs wound round back and over the hallway they had just entered, curving towards the left and right of the building. David hurried left at the top of the stairs and, without checking Dan and Mitch were keeping up, strode through a doorway into the bowels of the building. A long wood panelled corridor stretched before them, their footsteps muted by a crimson plush carpet dappled by the grey light streaming through a series of high windows set into the left of the walls.

  As they walked past, Dan glanced through the windows to the quadrangle below. Four civil servants scurried across the courtyard, clutching documents to their chests with one hand while desperately trying to flatten hairstyles back into place against the vicious wind.

  David stopped at an oak panelled door and turned to Dan and Mitch.

  ‘Best behaviour, okay?’

  Dan nodded.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ said Mitch, grimacing as he straightened his tie. ‘Before this thing chokes me.’

  David rapped twice on the door. There was movement behind it, and then it swung inwards. A tall man dressed in a grey suit, blue shirt, and contrasting tie stood before them, absent-mindedly running his fingers through his grey-flecked light brown hair, then stood aside to let David in.

  ‘Glad you could make it,’ the man said, and turned back into the room.

  David followed him, Dan and Mitch on his heels.

  Dan could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t often feel nervous around people, but he was growing more and more aware how desperate their situation was becoming. He forced himself to unclench his fists and concentrate on what was being said.

  The man moved to a conference table set in the middle of the room, which had eight seats around it. Two were already taken. A cup and saucer at the head of the table suggested the Prime Minister had already settled into his anointed place before David’s team arrived.

  As Mitch closed the door behind him, the men began to drift back to their places. The man flicked his hand towards the spare seats, indicating to Dan, David and Mitch they should join the group.

  While they settled into their chairs, the man who had opened the door made the introductions.

  ‘Gentlemen, we know who you are but let me formally introduce you to the Prime Minister, Mr Edward Hamilton. To his right, we have Vice-Admiral George Moore, Second Sea Lord to the British Navy. My name is Hugh Porchester and I’m the Secretary of State for Defence’s representative,’ the man finished.

  The Vice-Admiral was the first to stand and offer his hand to David, then Dan and Mitch. He was tall, a little over sixty, and wide enough to suggest he’d spent time in his youth as a rugby player.

  Dan sat down after shaking hands with the Prime Minister, who held his gaze a fraction of a second too long, as if trying to fathom the man in front of him.

  All the time, the Defence representative ignored the three men and busied himself with the documentation he had laid out on the desk between them.

  The Prime Minister turned to him. ‘Hugh – why don’t you start the proceedings?’

  The man nodded courteously at the Prime Minister, leaned forward and flipped open a leather binder on the desk in front of him. He cleared his throat then glanced up at the three men who sat opposite him.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he began pompously, ‘the Prime Minister has called this meeting so Mr Ludlow can help us, shall we say, fill in some gaps, in relation to a bomb scare a while back in the city and explain how two members of the public, namely you Mr Taylor,’ he turned his gaze to Dan, ‘and Mr Frazer became involved.’ He glared at Mitch before looking down at the contents of the leather binder and removing a series of photographs, which he threw on the table.

  Dan ignored them.

  The Defence Secretary’s representative then pulled a large ring binder towards him, opened it up to a section about three-quarters of the way down, folded his hands over the page, and looked up at Dan.

  ‘Now, Mr Taylor,’ said Porchester. ‘Perhaps you could enlighten us as to how you managed to get yourself entangled in this mess.’

  Dan cleared his throat, and stared at the man. ‘A friend of mine was killed. His ex-wife asked me to help her investigate as she didn’t feel the police were seriously looking into the possibility her husband had been murdered. Instead, it was made to look like he took his own life. We followed his research notes and it led to us being contacted by Mr Ludlow.’

  Porchester looked down at the file in front of him, saying nothing. He flicked the pages back and forth before clearing his throat and looking up at Dan once more.

  ‘Were you forced to work for Mr Ludlow?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you, a civilian, were quite happy to put yourself in danger, not knowing the consequences of your actions?’ asked Porchester.

  ‘It was the right thing to do,’ said Dan. ‘There was a madman with a bomb and no-one else in your Government seemed to give a rat’s arse at the time. In fact, I seem to remember one of your colleagues was, in fact, assisting him.’

  Porchester quickly looked down at the page in front of him. He reached out for the glass of water in front of him, took a delicate sip and placed the glass back on the table.

  Dan waited, his heart pounding in his chest. Not from fear, but sheer anger and frustration he and his colleagues were being questioned in such a way. He met Porchester’s gaze when the man finally looked up again from his notes.

  ‘How are the nightmares?’

  Dan blinked. ‘What?’ The question was unexpected and threw him for a second. ‘Fine. Why?’

  ‘Well,’ said Porchester, leaning forward in his seat, ‘we have to look at the fact that a mentally disturbed person was left to dismantle a bomb.’

  Dan stood up, his chair falling backwards. He leaned over the desk towards the other man, who visibly shrank in his chair.

  ‘Now you listen to me you bastard,’ he snarled. ‘I served this country proudly and I don’t need you trying to second-guess what the consequences of my experience in Iraq had on me. I don’t need your sympathy and I don’t need your back-handed accusations. Just because you completely missed the opportunity to get your name in lights because you were too busy scratching your arse to wonder how a weapon heading your way got missed by your department, don’t blame me. I did what I had to. I’d do it again.’

  Dan turned around, picked up the chair and set it straight. He caught David’s glance as he sat back down and folded his arms in front of his chest. He glared at Porchester, who was trying to appear unflustered by Dan’s outburst and busied himself with his documents and files. Dan glanced down and noticed the man’s hands were shaking. He smiled inwardly but continued to glare at Porchester.

  The Prime Minister coughed. ‘Perhaps, gentlemen, we should t
ake a short break.’

  There were murmurs of agreement around the table.

  ‘Excellent – we’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes. Mr Ludlow – perhaps I could have a brief word with you in private before you leave?’

  Dan pushed his chair away and stood up. Mitch grabbed his arm and propelled him out the door, then didn’t let go until they were halfway down the corridor. They stopped at one of the windows which overlooked the quadrant below.

  Mitch ran his hand over his eyes. ‘That went well.’

  Dan shook his head as he watched the people below scurry back and forth.

  ‘They’re a bunch of idiots,’ said Mitch. ‘Instead of congratulating you and David on a job well done, they’re going to hang you out to dry, aren’t they?’

  Chapter 8

  Hassan Nazari straightened his blue silk tie, pulled his pale grey suit jacket sleeves down over pristine white cotton cuffs, and turned to look at his profile in the full-length mirror.

  He raised his right hand, flattened his jet black hair, noting the grey highlights, then smiled, perfect teeth glinting through a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes travelled down his reflection. When his gaze reached his shoes, he grimaced inwardly. To him, the uplifts in the soles appeared too high. Too obvious. He shrugged, gave himself a reassuring smile, then turned and held out his hand. A briefcase was handed to him, his assistant avoiding direct eye contact.

  ‘Is it all here? The original lease agreements for the farmhouse as well?’

  ‘Yes sir.’ The assistant bowed slightly and moved to the side.

  Nazari looked at the two large men dressed in black suits who stood guard in the hotel suite – one just inside the door, the other to one side of the large window that provided a birds-eye view of the city. They were the only two people on his staff taller than him. Broad-shouldered, calm, imposing, wearing matching suits and black gloves – and carrying nine millimetre guns. On paper, they were noted as bodyguards, though often their job description stretched a little further than the title suggested.

  ‘Are you both clear on what you have to do? Mustapha?’

  The man at the door looked Nazari in the eye and simply nodded. Nazari turned to the man standing next to the window, and raised his eyebrow. ‘Ali?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Then let us proceed.’ He tested the weight of the briefcase in his hand, strode across the room, and handed it to the man next to the window. ‘Ali, take this.’ He then watched as the bodyguard pulled a cloth from the inside pocket of his jacket and began to wipe all traces of Nazari’s fingerprints from the briefcase.

  Hassan turned to a man hovering nervously on the periphery of the room and beckoned him closer. ‘Ibrahim, come here,’ he commanded.

  The man licked his lips, and took a couple of paces nearer to Hassan. A bead of sweat pooled on his forehead, which he wiped away as his eyes flickered over the gun in Mustapha’s grip. In his late thirties, his cheap suit jacket was creased. He pushed the sleeves up his arms before running his hand through his dark brown hair. Unfastening the top button of his shirt, he kept his distance from Hassan, who noticed the odour of fear emanating from the other man, and smiled.

  ‘It is alright Ibrahim, there is nothing to be scared of,’ he soothed. Reaching out, he put his fingers around the man’s arm, failing to notice Ibrahim’s top lip curl up slightly in distaste.

  ‘In our business,’ continued Hassan, ‘there is very little room for error, misjudgement, or,’ he said, turning to glare at the assistant, ‘treachery.’

  ‘Treachery?’ Ibrahim asked. ‘When?’

  Hassan watched the assistant wither under his stare and nodded to himself. ‘Yes, treachery,’ he whispered. He turned to Ibrahim. ‘You would never betray us, brother, would you?’

  Ibrahim shook his head and blinked.

  ‘Good, good.’ Hassan smiled tightly. ‘We are too far along in our plans to stomach failure or a change of heart. Unfortunately, my assistant here does not show your faith or tenacity.’ He beckoned to the second of the two bodyguards. ‘Mustapha, if you please.’

  The man stepped away from the door, an uninterested expression on his face. He calmly reached into his jacket, put away his gun, and pulled out a long piece of coiled wire. He slowly began to wind it around his fingers, twisting it methodically as he walked towards Hassan’s assistant.

  Hassan walked across to the window and gazed out at the cityscape below. He raised his eyes to the sky, noting the grey-yellow clouds which threatened snowfall before the afternoon was over, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

  ‘Sir? Mr Nazari?’ The assistant finally spoke. ‘Is there a problem?’ He turned, trying to face Mustapha, his eyes wide.

  Mustapha, who was easily four inches taller than the assistant, quickly slipped his hands over the man’s head and pulled the two ends of the looped wire together.

  The assistant’s hands flew to his neck, his eyes bulging while he tried to work his fingers under the wire which held him. A thin, reedy, choking sound escaped from his lips. Blood gushed from between his lips as he bit through his tongue, tears rolling down his cheeks.

  Ibrahim closed his eyes and turned his head, trying to block out the sound of the other man slowly choking to death.

  Mustapha’s biceps twitched, the wire tightened once more and the assistant’s head fell forward.

  ‘No problem,’ smiled Nazari as his assistant’s body slumped to the floor. ‘Not any more, at least.’ He looked at Mustapha, who was slowly re-coiling the wire. ‘Make sure you tidy up.’

  Mustapha nodded, tucked the wire into his pocket and beckoned to the second bodyguard.

  ‘Come,’ said Hassan and led a sweating Ibrahim past Ali, who was fanning out a black plastic sheet on the floor, rolling the assistant’s body onto it. They stepped out of the room and into an adjoining suite. ‘Let them clean up in peace.’

  He shut the door behind them and sat down on one of the pristine white three-seater chairs, before signalling Ibrahim should sit opposite. While the other man lowered himself onto the chair, Hassan smiled to himself, elegantly crossed one leg over the other and relaxed into the upholstery.

  ‘Now,’ he said, and watched Ibrahim as he sat down and perched nervously on the edge of the chair, his arms resting on his knees. ‘Let us talk about you.’

  ***

  As Dan and Mitch filed back into the conference room and sat down, Dan caught the Secretary of State for Defence’s representative staring at him, and did his best to avoid the man’s gaze. Instead, he leaned forward and reached out for a glass of water, ignoring his heart thumping between his ribs.

  As the men settled around the table, the Prime Minister raised his hand and indicated to Porchester to begin taking notes.

  ‘Mr Taylor, it seems you were caught up in events beyond your control,’ the Prime Minister began. ‘However, the fact remains you were very lucky in that instance.’

  Dan risked a glance at the Prime Minister and forced himself to breathe slowly. He bowed his head, began to fold his arms across his chest, then thought better of it and placed his palms on the table in front of him.

  ‘Upon discussing the evidence in front of me, and taking into consideration the account of Mr Ludlow, and the advice from the Secretary of State for Defence and the Vice-Admiral, I am unfortunately left to conclude that prosecution would be deemed appropriate in the circumstances.’

  Dan stared at the Prime Minister. His mouth went dry and the sound of his heart echoed in his ears. His hands slipped from the table into his lap as he swallowed, fighting down bile.

  The Prime Minister sifted through the documents in front of him. ‘It seems you acted recklessly at times, often with little regard for the people around you in your relentless pursuit of the explosive device.’ The Prime Minister sighed and leaned back in his seat, watching Dan.

  ‘However,’ he said, ‘it does seem incredibly unfair to pursue such a course of action against someone with a prior service record like your
s, who averted a terrorist threat against this country. I am therefore left with one other choice.’

  Dan held his breath.

  The Prime Minister leaned forward. ‘After further discussion with the other members of this Committee, I have decided to grant you a reprieve.’

  Dan breathed out, his relief echoed on the faces of David and Mitch.

  ‘There are conditions to this reprieve,’ said the Prime Minister, glancing at Porchester and the Vice-Admiral, who were both nodding in agreement. ‘I understand from Mr Ludlow that you are currently required to assist him in assessing a potential threat against our Qatari colleagues.’ He paused and glanced at David.

  ‘In the circumstances, your reprieve is conditional upon completing these investigations to a satisfactory conclusion and ensuring the possibility of any imminent threat to this country is effectively eliminated.’

  Dan nodded. ‘Yes sir.’

  The Prime Minister held up a warning finger. ‘If you fail to prevent such an attack, the reprieve will be rescinded immediately – do I make myself clear?’

  Dan swallowed. ‘Yes sir.’

  David waited until the murmurs around the table settled, then turned to the Prime Minister. ‘Sir, if I may be so bold – we do have some pressing issues to work on. Perhaps you could let me have my orders?’

  Dan frowned and glanced sideways at David.

  The Prime Minister appeared to suppress a smile before speaking. ‘Certainly, David.’ He turned to the men sitting either side of him. ‘Actually gentlemen, this meeting was convened to serve two purposes. Firstly to provide clarification with regard to the last terrorist threat, which was,’ he nodded at David, ‘successfully thwarted by the hasty actions of Mr Ludlow’s team. Secondly, having spoken to both the heads of MI6 and MI5, and the new Minister for Energy, the British Government wishes to build upon that success and provide funding to you, David, to develop the proposal you brought to me some months ago.’