I heard Weatherby chuckle.
‘He’s going to do the Cobra. He’s really going to town for this audience.’
This time, no explanation was necessary. Olgachov zoomed the aircraft close in to the stand, then pulled back hard, while rotating the nose past the 90 degree vertical, and without any noticeable change in altitude. The effect was stunning and the pilots in the stand got their feet and roared approval. The rest of the display was more conventional but Olgachov already had complete control of his audience. He could have flown straight and level and would still have won applause. He performed a series of loops and spins, coloured smoke trailing, then did a final victory roll and prepared for landing.
It was the moment we had been waiting for. With any luck, Olgachov would taxi to the hangar and the officials and Vossler would go to greet him. It was our chance for the shot we wanted: Vossler and the whole crew together. Birdy warmed up the helicopter engine, then Tim came on the Loop.
‘Looking good. Omar and Yukovsky are here. Vossler and Simpson-Carr are on their way, Olgy is just taxiing in. Looks like photo-op time.’
I decided to take a chance. With the Flanker drawn up outside the hangar, an aerial shot of the plane would be a natural. If we could film Omar, Yukovsky, Vossler and Simpson-Carr together, with the Flanker in shot, it would be powerful evidence.
I was in the co-pilot’s seat and operating the main camera. Kate was behind me with a back-up. Birdy took off and we rose slowly, circled the stand and approached the hangar from the east.
I raised the camera and began to film. I was getting perfect shots, then suddenly the helicopter’s engine stuttered, first once then again and a third time. A red warning light flashed in the cabin.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Fuel blockage. I’ll have to take her down.’
Birdy managed some control but we were going down far too fast. Through the screen, I could see Vossler and his party, not more than a hundred yards away. If we did hit the ground, the enemy would be among the first rescuers.
A warning buzzer sounded loudly in the cockpit. We had passed the point of no return. We were going down. It wasn’t a crash and it wasn’t a landing. The helicopter bumped heavily, then tipped. It was the worst of all combinations. No big drama. No fire or obvious risk of fire to keep would-be rescuers back. If it had been a real crash, Vossler would not come anywhere near. With this situation, he would enjoy being at the forefront and it would be game over.
I had reckoned though without the quick reactions of two people – Weatherby and Kate. Weatherby waved the VIP crowd back and signaled an ambulance from the edge of the field. At the same moment, Kate hit me hard on the nose causing blood to spurt, then grabbed an emergency oxygen cylinder from beside the passenger seat and shoved the mask roughly over my face.
The rescue tender screeched to a halt beside the helicopter and Weatherby made a grab for the emergency door release. Vossler and Simpson-Carr were at the front of the crowd running towards the plane, but Kate and Weatherby were too quick for them.
‘Pilot OK, co-pilot hurt,’ she shouted, ‘oxygen needed. Give me a hand.’
Before the medics could see exactly what was going on, Weatherby had grabbed me and pulled me sideways so that his body shielded me from the crowd behind.
‘Take him to my house,’ he shouted to the driver
It was a voice no-one had ever argued with. I felt myself dragged by Weatherby and laid flat with the mask covering my face. Weatherby scuttled me into the tiny ambulance and hauled Kate in after us.
Chapter 24
‘I’m sorry about the nose,’ Kate said, but she didn’t look sorry. She actually looked quite pleased with herself. ‘I thought we’d better have some blood in case I couldn’t get to the oxygen mask fast enough,’ she explained as I continued cleaning myself up.
We were alone in Weatherby’s house. We were too far away to see exactly what was happening but there was still some chaos around the area where the helicopter had come down. Weatherby had gone back to take charge and a great deal depended on whether he could keep everyone away. Birdy was not well known to Vossler’s team but he could not keep his goggles on forever and if the officials in charge of the airfield insisted on questioning him there and then, there was a chance that someone would recognise him.
But our luck held. Weatherby got back in time to take over the unofficial inquest into the accident and better yet, he managed to turn it to advantage. When he came back, bringing Chunk with him, he was in cheerful mood.
‘As it turns out, the crash may have done us a bit of good,’ he said. ‘Your man Vossler was getting impatient to get his kit unloaded and there was some talk of cancelling the Flanker’s demonstration flights but I managed to scotch that.’
‘How?’
‘I made a fuss in my capacity as former Master of the Guild about the helicopter blocking the view from the main VIP stand and I had it towed in front of the Russian hangar. Vossler wasn’t pleased but he couldn’t really say much and I promised it wouldn’t be there long.
‘I also made sure that a couple of my pals made an enormous fuss about cancelling the demonstration flights. They went on and on about how very senior members had paid a lot of money in advance and in the end the Russians gave in. So the flights are going ahead and no-one has had any chance to unload anything from the plane so far. The Flanker is being refuelled now and unless something goes seriously wrong, you’ll have a couple of hours to sort yourselves out.’
‘Have you got the pictures you want so far?’ Chunk asked.
‘Yes, thank God I got some brilliant shots just before we started coming down and the camera wasn’t damaged.’
‘Excellent,’ Chunk said, ‘Lottery says you can safely go ahead and leave the rest of the photography to him and Jay. They’ve got the inside of the hangar fully covered.
‘Is Birdy OK?’ I asked
‘He’s fine and well out of the way,’ Chunk said. ‘He’s pissed off with his friend for not maintaining his helicopter properly. Said it made him look a right arse.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Weatherby said, ‘I’ll make sure there’s no problem about the crash. Do you need a replacement helicopter?’
‘Ideally yes,’ I said. ‘We can get back to the ambush site by road, but I want a helicopter as backup in case we need to do some fast manoeuvring when the crunch comes.’
‘I can find you something,’ Weatherby said, ‘but not this minute. I’ll be as quick as I can.’ He laughed. ‘Birdy had better take better care of it than the last one. It’s a brand new Corporate Bell 216-4L. About a million quid’s worth.’
‘With this kind of staff work, you don’t leave me much to do,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry’ Weatherby said, ‘you’ll have enough to take care of when the time comes. Incidentally, is your nose OK?’
He made a slight bow in Kate’s direction. ‘You have a very quick-thinking team.’
I laughed. ‘Everyone should have a colleague who knows exactly when to punch them in the face.’
I saw that Kate was pleased, not just with the compliment but with the reference to her as a colleague. I would have preferred to say ‘lover’ but if I had, she would probably have punched me again.
In the hour that followed, everything went according to plan. The Flanker made two demonstration flights, refuelled, and was preparing for a third when I received word from Tim that everything was ready around the Tiger Trap. Lottery was acting as Jay’s minder and three other team members were close by. Rachel was also with them. As she had no connection with Vossler’s associates, she was acting as lookout and general observer outside the hangar. Birdy had left the airfield and been driven to a nearby estate where Weatherby’s friend kept his private helicopter. It was time for us to leave.
I decided to take Chunk and Rachel back to Ravenswood straightaway. Rachel’s role was to make the formal arrest of anyone we could lure into the Tiger Trap and Tim’s team was tasked with holding them u
ntil Rachel summoned official backup. The absolute priority though was to make sure that everything that happened was made available to the media before the police or any of the intelligence services could try to suppress it. That was Kate’s job but I had arranged for her to have help.
The plan was to video the ambush live, stream the data by wireless to an intermediate point where another member of the team already familiar with satellite communications, would transmit the images, using a BGAN terminal on to the farm where Kate would do the rest.
I didn’t want to take our own vehicle as Lottery and the rest of team would need it to head back quickly once Vossler’s convoy had left. Also, there was still an outside chance that Vossler would ignore the Green Lanes and transport the Spinner by normal road. That seemed very unlikely, given the trouble they had taken to secure access to the cross country route but I needed to cover every option.
What I hadn’t reckoned with, though, was that the car I borrowed from the airfield would cause problems at the roadblock. I thought I’d taken every possible precaution. Weatherby offered various vehicles and I deliberately avoided anything too flashy or valuable and chose one that couldn’t possibly raise suspicions. It was a Vauxhall Astra belonging to the Air Museum maintenance team, a couple of years old, with Danton Air Museum stencilled on the side – not a vehicle any car thief in their right mind would target. What I hadn’t calculated properly was the boredom threshold of the policemen manning the first road check point we came to.
I was driving, with Kate beside me. She had changed into a skirt and jacket so that she more or less matched our Edwardian look. Chunk and Rachel were in the back seats. Chunk, as usual, looked like something out of another century and Rachel looked like a suitably demure consort in her long blue-grey skirt and frilly blouse.
We came to the roadblock just inside the county boundary and I sensed trouble as soon as I saw the two young policemen. They had pulled too many of these shifts. They had only just come on duty and already they were bored and irritated at what they obviously saw as yet another pointless night working only to save the Chief Constable’s face.
We might have gone through without problems, but at the exact moment when we were flagged down and asked to pull into the lay-by, my mobile rang. It was Jay with a routine report that all was still going well.
‘Would you mind turning that thing off, while I’m talking to you,’ the policeman snapped, adding a ‘Sir’ with great reluctance.
‘Sorry,’ I said amiably.
Because the handset was a substitute for a throat mike, it had not been designed to be switched off. The phone controls on the unit were strictly for show and it took me a few moments to suppress the incoming signal. It was too long for the policeman.
‘Would you mind stepping out of the car please,’ he said angrily, ‘and turn that mobile off, now!’
It was the beginning of a run-around routine that the two of them had obviously practised over many boring nights. They checked my licence ludicrously slowly and searched the car with painstaking thoroughness, even though there was nothing remotely suspicious about it. They looked hard at the Edwardian blazers and long skirts but initially spoke only to me.
‘This is not your vehicle,’ the younger policeman said, comparing the vehicle log book with my driving licence. It was in the name of John Butterworth, one of my pre-prepared identities.
‘There are no credit cards,’ he said examining my wallet.
‘I don’t carry them unless I plan to use them.’
‘This vehicle isn’t yours,’ he said again.
‘No, it belongs to the Danton Air Museum. We’ve just been to a Garden Party there.’
‘What kind of Garden Party. Fancy dress was it?’ he added with a slight sneer.
‘The party was given by GAPAN, the Guild of Air Pilots and Air Navigators.’
‘Are you a pilot?’
‘No. I was just a guest.’
‘A guest who borrows one of their cars. Do you have authorisation to be driving this vehicle?’
‘Of course.’
‘May I see it please?’
‘I don’t have written authorisation. I don’t need it.’
‘You just went to the party and left with one of their vehicles. Just like that.’
‘No, of course not. I’ll give you the number of the man in charge. He’ll confirm that.’
I glanced around the car. Chunk, I knew, would say nothing and Kate and Rachel were showing remarkable self control.
‘We don’t make that kind of call, Sir.’
‘Then you’ll have to take my word for it.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not how it works. There’s been a lot of ‘borrowing’ of this kind of vehicle in the area for some time. We have to check these things.’
‘Then check,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you the relevant phone number.’
‘We’ll come to that, Sir, but I have a couple more questions first. You say you’ve been to a party.’
‘Yes.’
‘Good party?’
‘Excellent,’ I said, ‘a lot of very interesting aircraft.’
‘And good entertainment, Sir.’
‘Of course.’
‘In that case, perhaps you’d care to blow into this bag. Have you used a breathalyser before, Sir,’ he added sarcastically.
I didn’t reply. I took the breathalyser and blew into it. The policeman took it back and examined it slowly. It recorded nothing. Barely able to conceal his disappointment, he looked at my driving licence again and at the car logbook. Time was passing. We couldn’t afford much more delay.
I heard the rear door of the car open. Rachel got out and showed her warrant card.
The constable looked at it, surprised but still arrogantly confident.’
‘Ma’am.’
‘Have you finished pissing about?’ she said quietly.
‘We’re just doing our job.’
‘And that would be antagonising the public for absolutely no reason.’
‘I’m following guidelines laid down by my Chief Constable, Ma’am. It may not be how things are done in the Met but that’s how we do it here.’
She handed over her mobile. ‘Use this to make the call.’
‘Is that an order, Ma’am?’
Rachel’s voice was steely. ‘No, it’s a request, but it’s one you’d be advised to follow if you don’t want to land in a shitload of trouble.’
The constable hesitated but only for a second.
‘There’ll be no need Ma’am, if you vouch for the car, that’s good enough.’
As we drove on, Chunk said casually. ‘Pity. I was hoping I might be forced to strangle them both. I was quite looking forward to it.’
‘I’m sorry I had to get involved. They’ll report me, of course, but I knew time was getting short,’ Rachel said.
Chunk grinned. ‘Don’t worry my dear. If this little ambush goes well, there won’t be any problem. If it doesn’t, the roadblock will be the least of our worries.’
Chapter 25
When we got back to the farm, GG was waiting for us. His name was Gregory Gregson, but no-one ever called him anything but GG. He was the help I had organised for Kate. In the media world, he was a quiet legend: one of the most skilful and most courageous ShootEdits in the business. ShootEdit was a role originally dreamed up by accountants, to make cameramen shoot and edit their own films, to save paying two people. Controversial at first, it was now simply accepted.
I had known GG since Iraq, where he had worked variously for CNN, Sky News and the BBC. He was freelance by choice but worked mostly now for the BBC. He was rarely in London and I had been lucky to bring him into the team.
GG knew Chunk already and knew Kate, as he put it with a mischievous smile, by her BBC reputation. I introduced Rachel and wasn’t surprised when she gave him the warmest of smiles. Tillie was already fussing over him which was no surprise either. GG had a hypnotic effect on women. He had a reputation as a woman-chaser,
but I don’t think he had ever actually chased a woman in his life. He had never had to. He could arrive on an assignment anywhere in the world and with half an hour, some astonishingly good-looking creature would have appeared and simply latched on to him with no apparent effort on either of their parts.
When I had called him, I had explained nothing. I hadn’t needed to. He kept abreast of news as naturally as breathing. I also didn’t need to worry about being considered a traitor. GG had a lot of friends in Special Forces, made where it counted, on the front-line in Iraq and Afghanistan and I had no explaining to do.
‘What’s your daily rate these days,’ I said, as he took a cup of tea from Tillie.
‘More than you can afford,’ he said cheerily, ‘a bottle of single malt will do it. What do you want me to do?’
‘There’s nothing to shoot,’ I said. ‘It’s strictly an editing job, but possibly the fastest one you’ve ever done.’
‘Intriguing,’ he said, ‘tell me all.’
‘There’s going to be ambush, organised be these gentlemen here,’ I said, indicating Chunk. ‘We’re going to video it and get the pix out to the world. We’ve got a good set-up, part military, part civvie. The ambushers will use GoPro helmet cameras. They’ll transmit the pix by radio to an operator about five hundred metres from the ambush point.’
‘The operator is a good man,’ Chunk interrupted. ‘very experienced with field comms. We call him Oxo.’
‘He’s got a BGAN terminal set up and as soon as he’s acquired the satellite, he’ll use Quicklink to send us the pix. Kate’s job is to get the pix out to the world in one hell of a hurry. There’s a serious chance someone will try to shut us down. As we start feeding to BBC or Sky, they’ll know and try to stop the transmission.
‘Kate is fine with the kit – she’s used BGAN and Quicklink all over the world but she can’t edit fast enough. That’s where you come in. Oxo will feed everything he gets from the helmet cams into our base here. It could be that one camera will give the whole picture, but I doubt it. There could be quite a scrap out there. I need you to put together a coherent picture of the ambush within minutes so we can feed it to the world.’
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