by Frank Smith
‘How did you get here?’
‘By bus. I would have come by car, but I must have run over some glass or something the other night, because two of my tyres were flat yesterday morning, and I haven’t had time to do anything about them. I missed the express bus this morning, so I had to take the one that goes all round the villages, which is why it’s taken me so long to get here.’
Emma paused, frowning as she looked from one to the other. ‘But you knew that, didn’t you? About the car, I mean. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked how I got here.’
‘DC Forsythe told us when she went looking for you this morning.’
‘Have you told anyone else about following these men?’ Tregalles asked. ‘Talked to anyone about it at all? Your friends, perhaps?’
Emma was shaking her head. ‘No. To tell you the truth, I felt a little foolish about it, so I didn’t intend to tell anyone but Molly or you.’
‘Even inadvertently? Anyone at the college or the Red Lion, perhaps?’
‘No, no one,’ Emma said emphatically. ‘But why are you asking?’
‘Because,’ Paget said quietly, ‘we have reason to believe that the two men you’ve described are extremely dangerous, and I think it is possible that they may have become aware that you were following them.’ He eyed Emma speculatively for a long moment before going on. ‘And if that is the case – and I hope it’s not – but if it is, then I think it would be advisable for you to stay somewhere else for at least the next few days. Do you have somewhere else you can go? You mentioned a sister? The one who loaned you the camera. Could you stay with her? Or perhaps with your uncle, the chief constable.’
Emma made a face. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘My sister has a houseful of children, and Uncle Robert is . . . Well, to tell the truth I’d sooner go home if you think it’s really necessary. The trouble is, I have exams coming up in three weeks, so I really should be studying.’
‘Where’s home?’ asked Paget.
‘Gloucester. But I don’t have a car, at least not until I get the tyres repaired.’
‘I don’t want you going back to Wisteria Cottage for any reason,’ Paget said. ‘In fact I think it would be best if you go directly to Gloucester from here.’
‘But I didn’t come prepared for anything like this,’ Emma protested. ‘Surely I can go back to get some clothes and other things I’ll need?’
‘You have more clothes in Gloucester?’
‘Of course, but . . .’
‘And I imagine that’s your laptop in the satchel you’re carrying?’
‘Yes . . .?’ she said cautiously
Paget leaned forward to add emphasis to what he was about to say.
‘Look, Miss Baker,’ he said quietly, ‘I can’t order you to stay away from Whitcott, and I cannot say for certain that you would be in danger there. But I would feel much happier if you would take my advice and go home for a few days. And you can study for your exams, using your laptop. Isn’t that right?’
‘Well, yes . . .’ Emma looked troubled as she sat back in her chair. ‘You are serious, aren’t you, Chief Inspector? I mean really serious!’
‘Yes, I am,’ he said.
Emma was silent for a moment. ‘What about Tom and Sylvia?’ she asked. ‘Are they in any danger?’
‘No. And as I said, you may not be either, but I don’t want to take any chances. Now, about getting you there . . .’
Emma smiled as she shook her head. ‘No need to worry about that,’ she told him. ‘What’s the point in having a chief constable for an uncle if you can’t call on him for a favour now and then?’
Twenty-Six
Saturday, March 29
Ben Trowbridge sat at the table that had served him as a desk for the past few weeks, fingers drumming nervously on the polished surface as he watched through mullioned windows the deepening shadows inch their way across the slopes of gently rolling hills. The sun would drop behind them in less than half an hour, but it couldn’t go down fast enough for him.
His temporary headquarters were in what once had been a manor house situated four miles from the Roper farm. Too costly to maintain as a residence, the house had been made over into what was advertised as a ‘quiet country retreat removed from the pressures of everyday living’. Seminars ranging from corporate strategy to fitness and meditation had been held there, and as far as the outside world was concerned, its present occupants were members of SSIS, a strategic studies group concerned with internal security. They had taken over the premises for a month, and they had brought their own household and kitchen staff with them.
Trowbridge looked at his watch for perhaps the tenth time in the last half hour: twenty-six hours to go before they could make their first move. After that, there would probably be another two or three hours of waiting for the signal that would tell them that Kellerman was actually there.
If they missed him this time . . .
Trowbridge closed his eyes. He didn’t even want to think about that possibility. So many things had gone wrong already, and they still didn’t know what had happened to that idiot of Paget’s. He must still be down there somewhere, because Paget would have let him know if the man had managed to get out of the valley under his own steam. Trowbridge’s men had searched the area as best they could, but even night vision goggles couldn’t penetrate the heavy blanket of mist that lay in the valley. And concealed in their camouflaged hides on the brow of the hill during the day, they had scanned the area with high-powered scopes without result, so God knows where the man had got to.
Perhaps he was dead. Perhaps he’d killed himself in a fall down the hillside and had fallen miraculously into a place of concealment. Trowbridge grimaced. An uncharitable thought, perhaps, but he couldn’t help taking some small comfort from it. But whatever had happened to the man, Trowbridge hoped he would stay where he was for the next – he glanced at his watch again – twenty-five hours and fifty-three minutes.
The phone rang. He picked it up and said, ‘Yes?’
The man at the other end had barely spoken a dozen words before Trowbridge interrupted him with, ‘When?’ Then: ‘Why wasn’t I informed before this, for God’s sake?’ He slammed the phone down without waiting for an explanation.
They’d lost Kellerman in London. They’d followed him as usual to his favourite coffee shop in Horseferry Road for his morning coffee and bagel. He would normally spend half an hour there; one cup of coffee, a refill and a toasted bagel while he read the paper, and then he’d move on. But when he didn’t appear after forty-five minutes, one of the watchers had gone in to find that Kellerman had given them the slip.
He supposed it wasn’t necessarily bad news. It had been clear for some time that Kellerman was aware that he was under surveillance, in fact there had been times when he had turned and given them the finger, so it was hardly surprising that he had made his move early in order to make sure he could leave London without worrying about being followed. And that was encouraging, because it suggested Kellerman did not believe he had any reason to worry once clear of London. The one thing that Trowbridge had been afraid of was that Kellerman might call the whole thing off after Newman stumbled into the local operation, and Doyle had to be dealt with. But from what Trowbridge had learned from his source inside Kellerman’s organization, Luka had downplayed the breach of security when talking to Kellerman in order to save his own neck.
The one thing that did bother Trowbridge, however, was the ease with which Kellerman had shaken the trackers. Someone should have been inside the coffee shop, but they’d been lulled into believing that the man would follow his daily routine, and Kellerman had counted on that.
He just hoped that no one on his team here would make a mistake like that. If Kellerman was even the least bit suspicious that things were not right, he would stay away. Not only that, but the auction would be scrubbed and his people would melt away. Months of planning would go down the drain, and dozens of women and children would simply disappear.
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‘All quiet?’ asked Mike Bell, Trowbridge’s second-in-command, as he entered what was once a library but was now a temporary control centre. ‘Any activity at the farm?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary,’ the man said, scrolling through the messages. ‘A Crawley’s van came in at 16.22 to pick up what looked like scrap left over from whatever it was they’ve been doing in the house to cover their real operation down below. Roper helped the driver carry everything out, then went back in the house when the van left at 17.04. The white van we’ve seen before came back again at 18.13. Stopped at the farmhouse, then went on down to the barn. Looks like it’s still there, and that’s about it.’
He fell silent for a moment, watching closely as another message appeared on the screen. ‘Seems like RGS is a bit busier than usual, though,’ he said. The information in front of him was coming in from the watchers in the field using hand-held units.
‘One of those big RangerContinental removal vans came in after most of the staff had gone home at 18.22. But since then, they’ve had two Ford Transit vans come in, stay about twenty minutes, then leave again.’
‘And now,’ he said slowly, as his eyes followed the words appearing on the screen, ‘Unit Three says he can see another one approaching.’
‘Are they loading? Unloading? What?’ Bell demanded. He fidgeted impatiently while the message was being relayed.
‘Three says they don’t know,’ the operator said. ‘They drive inside, the door comes down, then some twenty minutes or so later the door goes up again and they’re off.’
‘In which direction?’
‘Toward Lyddingham.’
Bell bent to look at the screen himself. Unit Three was the observation post in a hide on the edge of a small copse on a hillside about a third of a mile away from RGS Removals. But now that it was dark, a two-man team would have moved in much closer to the buildings, and it would be they who were relaying information back to base.
‘So the RangerContinental is still there?’ he said.
The man frowned. ‘Don’t think so,’ he said slowly as he scrolled back. ‘No. It left again at 18.50.’
Bell’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re telling me a RangerContinental came and left again in less than half an hour?’
‘That’s right, sir. It . . .’ The man grimaced guiltily and sucked in his breath. ‘Ah! Yes, I see what you mean, sir,’ he said.
‘Do you?’ Bell snapped. ‘Pity you didn’t before, because—’
‘Hold on a minute, sir,’ the man interrupted. ‘I’ve got something coming from Unit One. Looks like one of those vans has just been spotted on the road to the Roper farm. Same description.’
Bell stood up. ‘Give me voice contact with all units,’ he said tersely.
‘Right sir. Speaker-phone is on.’
‘Unit Four. This is Control. An unmarked Ford Transit is moving in your direction. Watch for it. If it’s on its way to the target, you should be seeing it in about ten minutes. Report when you see it.’
Bell stood back, arms folded, eyes on the clock, counting off the minutes. Eight . . . nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . .
‘Got it!’ said a disembodied voice. ‘Unit Four reporting.’ There was a pause, then, ‘Turning in. Sidelights only on its way to target. Unit Two should be seeing it any minute now.’
‘Unit Two . . .?’
‘Unit Two. In sight now. Pulling in behind target. Can’t see it now for buildings. Hold on a sec. It’s going on. Headlights on, going down into the valley.’ There was a long pause. ‘Disappeared into the trees. Headlights off.’
‘Unit One,’ a second voice said quietly. ‘Another van on its way up.’
‘Hear that Four?’
‘We’ll watch for it.’
The muscles around Bell’s jaw tightened. He picked up the phone and punched in an internal number. ‘Bell here, sir,’ he said when Trowbridge answered. ‘I’m in the control room and I think you’d better get down here now! Vans are leaving RGS at regular intervals, and they’re going to the Roper farm. We’ve heard nothing from inside, but I think the cunning bastards have brought everything forward by twenty-four hours, and they’re going to hold the auction tonight!’
‘We knew they wouldn’t bring their cargo in until the last minute,’ Trowbridge told Paget, ‘so we’re guessing that they were brought up here in the RangerContinental, then transferred into the smaller vans at the RGS terminal. There’s very little traffic on the road up to the farm, especially after dark, so anything bigger than the vans might have been noticed and remarked upon. And by sending them up there at intervals, they reduce the risk of losing too many if anything should go wrong. There have been five of them so far.’
‘You say you’re guessing, Ben?’ said Paget. ‘Don’t you know? What happened to your informant?’
Grim-faced, Trowbridge shook his head. ‘We don’t know,’ he said tightly, ‘because we’ve heard nothing from him since this morning, and there was no indication at that time that plans had changed.’
‘Could it be some sort of dress rehearsal?’
‘Not a chance. That’s exactly what they were doing the night young Newman almost blew the whole operation by snooping around and getting caught.’
‘And losing his life,’ Paget reminded him.
‘Yes, well, these things happen, don’t they? None of us could have done anything about that. What we have to concentrate on now is making sure we don’t bugger up what is probably the only opportunity we will ever get to break this ring.’
When Paget had answered the phone shortly after nine o’clock that evening, Ben Trowbridge had wasted no time on pleasantries or introduction. ‘If you want to be part of this operation, you’d better get over here in the next twenty minutes,’ he’d said. ‘Kellerman’s jumped the gun. We think he’s running the auction tonight, and our people are scrambling to get into position now.’
‘Where is “here”?’ Paget asked.
‘Erdistone Cross camp grounds. It’s less than half a mile across country from Roper’s farm, and it’s about two hundred yards up the hill from the crossroads. There’s a “Closed for the season” sign at the gate, but we’re in a caravan behind the trees. So get your skates on, because we could be on the move at any time.’
In fact there had been no need to hurry, because they had been sitting there now for the best part of an hour and all was quiet.
The inside of the caravan had been stripped of its regular furnishings to make way for the communications equipment, not unlike a smaller version of the mobile incident room Paget had used on a number of occasions. A tall, rather gaunt-looking man, whom Trowbridge introduced as ‘my field officer, Mike Bell’, sat with an operator equipped with a headset and mike in front of a screen on which short bursts of text messages would appear from time to time.
‘We’re trying to keep voice traffic down to a minimum,’ Trowbridge explained. ‘Our spotters were able to get close enough to identify Skinner and McCoy as the two people who stayed behind tonight to meet the RangerContinental, and they’re still there, but there’s no sign of Kellerman. We don’t know how he proposes to get to the farm but he probably won’t arrive until the very last minute. What worries me most of all, though, is that we haven’t heard anything from our man. We’ve always known that security would be tight and there might not be an opportunity to call us once things were under way, so we made it as simple as possible for him to send us a “go” or “no go” signal in the event that he isn’t in a position to talk to us.
‘It’s very basic,’ he went on. ‘All he has to do is press a button once to tell us the auction is a go; twice for Kellerman’s arrival, and so on. It’s simple and almost impossible to detect; in fact he could be standing talking to Kellerman himself and still send a signal without anyone being aware of it.’
Trowbridge drew a deep breath and let it out again slowly. ‘We’ve monitored that frequency 24/7,’ he continued, ‘but we’ve heard nothing since this morning, so I hope
to God we’ve got it right, and this isn’t some scheme of Kellerman’s to find out if we’re on to him.’
The operator spoke without turning round. ‘Unit Two reporting, sir. The vans are leaving. He has two men down there closing in on the barn. There is no light coming from the barn, but their heat sensors are picking up more heat than they would normally expect to see, even assuming the lights are on inside.’
‘Which probably means that the entire cargo has been transferred to the barn,’ Trowbridge said as he picked up a second mike. ‘Unit Four, report,’ he said quietly.
‘The vans are in sight now,’ he was told. There was a pause, then: ‘They’re going back the way they came, but two cars have taken up positions off-road inside farm gates about a quarter of a mile on either side of the entrance to the target. Flankers. Possibly armed. Over.’
Unit One reported seeing the vans as they passed, and Unit Three reported that RGS appeared to have shut down for the night. Skinner and McCoy had driven off together toward town.
‘So now we wait,’ Trowbridge said.
‘For the buyers?’
‘That’s right. They should be coming in soon.’
‘How do you know they’re not already there?’ Paget asked. ‘They could have come in with the vans.’
Trowbridge shook his head. ‘The buyers won’t be taken anywhere near RGS,’ he said. ‘They’ll be met by some of Kellerman’s men at pick-up points well away from there. They’ll be searched to make sure they have no weapons or electronic tracking devices on them, then brought here in vans or SUVs with the windows blacked out so they will have no idea where they are. Once we know everyone is there and the auction is under way, we move in and close the net. Timing is crucial, because we don’t know when Kellerman will appear, so unless we regain contact with our man very soon, we are going to have to go in blind and hope for the best.’
‘But from what you told me the other day, Kellerman will have to be there personally as a guarantee for the safety of the buyers, and if I were one of them I’d want to see him there when I arrived.’
