The man was showing professional interest in the scene; the look in his eyes wasn’t the casual curiosity of a bystander, but far more aware, far more focused.
Cole wasn’t exactly a criminal investigator, but he had worked with many over the years, and had certainly studied their methods and protocols, and he knew that – more often than not – the perpetrator would return to the scene of their crime.
And yet the three known perps had been killed, hadn’t they?
So who was the man?
Cole continued to surreptitiously monitor him as his mind ran at a thousand miles an hour. Cole believed that the three men hadn’t acted alone, must have had training, funding, help acquiring the weapons they’d used.
Was this unknown man in the crowd a part of that? Had he come to check out his boys’ handiwork?
Cole knew that there was only one way to find out – he would have to get his hands on the guy and ask him.
But he didn’t want to alert him early, give him a chance to escape; he would have to get over to him subtly, without him noticing.
And then Cole wondered if it might not be a better idea to simply follow the man? Perhaps they could learn more by surveilling him, see if he led them to anyone else?
But he needed a team for that, and how was he going to alert Tom and Liz without the target realizing?
The man was hovering now, checking his watch.
Was he waiting for someone?
Cole’s pace was slowing, and he knew that his British partners would soon wonder why he was lagging behind. He had to tell them, because if the man was waiting for someone, it could prove to be a break in the case.
Of course, Cole knew that the man might also be entirely innocent; but in over twenty years of operational work, he had developed a gut instinct that he trusted absolutely, and he wasn’t about to second-guess himself now.
He needed to alert Tom and Liz to the situation without giving anything away to the target, and they needed to start organizing a surveillance op around him.
He turned to Tom, the closest one to him, and was about to whisper in his ear when he saw Liz staring at the crowds; he saw recognition on her face, and he tried to move, to get past Tom and stop her before she could do it.
But it was too late.
‘Khan!’ Liz shouted across the rain-slicked street, pointing at the same man Cole had seen. ‘Javid Khan!’
The man saw her instantly, eyes wide –
And then he bolted.
15
More shouts rang out just moments later – Wait! – Stop! – Stop that man! – Don’t let him get away! – but the target was already on the move, and fast.
Cole was furious that the British agent had shouted out like that, taken away the element of surprise – the only advantage they had – but he also instantly recognized the futility of wasting his energy on worrying about it now. Now was the time for action and – if surveilling the man was no longer an option – then catching him would now have to take precedence.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Cole was sprinting across the road and vaulting the barrier, the shocked crowd moving out his way like a single living organism, all moving as one.
Morgan and Cranshaw were also on the move, calling for assistance both to the nearest police officers, and to their own agency via their secure radios. Cole could hear the calls somewhere behind him, but knew that help from MI5 would be a while coming. The police, too, would be slow to react, and certainly wouldn’t be able to get ahead of Cole; he was the point man, and he knew it.
He hoped that his two colleagues would think quickly, use their contacts and organize the local resources effectively, send units around to cut off this man – did Liz call him Javid Khan? –no matter where he ran to.
But the job was going to be a difficult one – Khan had been hemmed in on either side by the crowd, and so he had done the only thing he could, turned and run toward the rear, right onto the driveway of one of the suburban houses which lined the street behind the barricaded sidewalk.
Cole watched as he pushed a couple of the demonstrators out of the way, and kicked open the iron side gate which led between the house and garage toward the rear yard. Cole pushed through the crowd after him, straining to see him through the mass of people, the rain, and the November gloom.
He didn’t have a radio, couldn’t coordinate his actions with Morgan and Cranshaw, couldn’t ask them to seal off the surrounding streets or give them an update on Khan’s location; but he would just have to trust them to do their jobs, while he concentrated on his.
He slid over the rain-slicked hood of a white sedan parked across the driveway and hit the ground running, bursting through the iron gate after Khan, legs pumping as he raced down the narrow alley between house and garage until he emerged onto a grassy lawn out back; saw a pair of legs disappearing out of sight over a neighboring fence as he hurdled a kid’s broken tricycle and then slipped past a swing set before getting to the fence himself, hauling his body over it in one smooth movement that landed him in another rear yard.
This yard adjoined the last at an angle, the house at the front pointed toward the corner of East Lane and the adjacent street, and Cole realized that the yards would sweep around from an east-west axis to a north-south axis. He was too late to see the legs over the fence this time, but there hadn’t been time for Khan to have made it to the house and so Cole knew the route the man must have gone and jumped over the next fence, sprinted through another yard, over another fence, and then another, until he was headed due north and he knew he was in the yards of a new street.
He took one more fence, feet sliding in the wet grass and mud, and this time saw Khan again, breaking right and heading for the house. Cole turned with him, heard the dog barking behind him, resisted the temptation to turn, knowing it would only slow him down; but the dog sounded so close, so big, so blood-crazed, that Cole couldn’t help himself; as he neared the house, he turned and was hit by equal parts terror and relief – terror as he saw the jaws of the massive Rottweiler accelerating towards him, relief as the chain that secured the animal finally reached full extension and yanked it back with an angry yelp.
Cole followed Khan’s path past the side of the house, toward the front yard and the street beyond. He could see Khan just ahead of him, and he confirmed his previous assessment – the man was definitely fit for his age.
As Khan reached the street, Cole saw him check both directions and make a decision without even breaking stride; instead of turning left, away from East Lane, he ploughed on ahead, straight toward the opposite row of houses on the other side of the street.
As Cole reached the roadside, he glanced right in the direction of East Lane, saw that this street had been barricaded too, and Khan had come out just north of it, judged perfectly; saw also that Cranshaw and half a dozen armed officers were pushing through the crowds there, sprinting up toward him. He gestured quickly for them to head back, to try and cut Khan off on the other side of the block, and then increased his own pace, determined to catch the man in front of him.
Javid Khan’s heart pumped furiously in his chest, and it wasn’t just from the running. He’d been a good athlete at school back in Pakistan, and had improved his endurance with his training in the military, and then at the various camps he had attended since his change of allegiances had forced him to leave the Pakistan Army and throw his hand in with Daesh, what the infidel westerners called ISIS.
No, the pumping of his heart – how it threatened to burst right out of his chest – was due to the massive adrenaline spike that came from being discovered, from turning rapidly and unexpectedly from predator to prey.
How had he been spotted? And who had done it?
It had been a woman that had shouted his name, but who was she? And how had she known who he was? He’d thought his cover here had been perfect, that he was safe.
But, he realized as he raced past another house, heading east into another rear yard – this time
avoiding washing lines and patio furniture – it was a truism that in his line of work, no cover was ever perfect, there was always the chance of discovery.
He still didn’t know who he’d been supposed to meet outside that school, didn’t understand why he’d been summoned to so public a meeting place. At the time, it had seemed brave and zealous, one in the eye for the western law enforcement pigs; in retrospect, however, it now seemed foolhardy at best. His only hope now was to avoid capture and hope to reestablish contact with his masters, attempt to try and arrange another meeting.
He vaulted another rain-soaked fence, landing in a yard which backed onto the perimeter of an infidel church and wished his brothers had had the time to leave that a smoldering, charred ruin too.
He increased his pace despite the burning in his lungs, desperate to open a slightly bigger gap between himself and the man chasing him, determined bastard that he was.
All he needed was a few extra seconds.
Cole saw the back lot of a United Reformed Church, raced between that and what looked like a repair garage and came out onto a small dead-ended side street that fed up from East Lane.
That was when he heard the roar of the engine, and threw himself sideways just barely in time to save himself from having every bone in his body broken by the big SUV which had been bearing down on him, Khan behind the wheel, a homicidal look on his face.
But Cole managed to avoid being hit, at the same time marveling at how fast Khan must have broken into the vehicle and hotwired it; and also at the same time looking around the same scene for options of how he could do exactly the same thing himself.
Javid Khan burst out of the side street next to the church at nearly fifty miles per hour, the gathered crowds scattering in all directions; he still managed to hit two of them though, and he smiled with glee as they bounced off the front fender of the stolen SUV. Two more infidels down, why not rejoice in it?
He crashed through the barricade onto East Lane, pulling the wheel hard left and accelerating fast toward the next junction. He crouched low as he heard the automatic gunfire, felt the glass shattering around him as the windows caved in under the onslaught of the infidels’ rifle shots; but the tires held, and he pulled a sharp right at the next junction, south onto Wembley Hill Road.
He was away from those armed cops now, staggering across the roads behind him on foot, too slow to ever catch him. It would take them too long to get in their own vehicles to give chase, by which time he expected to be well away from the area.
The road was empty, still cleared of traffic while the investigation was ongoing, and he gunned the engine, opening it up as he continued his journey south.
But then he caught something in his rearview mirror, looked again and was horrified to see a man on a motorcycle accelerating up behind him.
And although it was dark, gray and rainy, Khan recognized him immediately.
It was the same stubborn son of a bitch who had been following him on foot.
Cole had seen Cranshaw and Morgan as he raced out of the side street on the hotwired Yamaha sports bike, shouted at them to get their people organized toward the southeast, convinced that Khan was headed toward the huge Wembley Stadium complex.
As well as the sports arena itself, it also housed Wembley Retail Park, and London Designer Outlet, alongside a couple of large hotels. There would be thousands of people there, along with thousands of vehicles parked in the gigantic parking lots – plenty of places to hide, plenty of cars to steal.
He had no idea if the British agents had heard him, but he trusted them to come to the same conclusions that he had – after all, he’d only had a few hours on the plane to familiarize himself with the area, whereas this was their patch, where they operated on a daily basis. Cole had to believe they would plan to put assistance up ahead.
He watched as armed police manning the southern barricade, where Wembley Hill Road intersected with Wembley Park Drive, opened fire at the oncoming SUV.
But Khan had chosen his stolen vehicle well, and despite the damage inflicted by the 9mm rounds, it wasn’t sufficient to stop him, and Khan carried straight on through the barricade as the police officers were forced to jump out of his way.
They continued to fire after Khan, and as Cole approached at breakneck speed, he prayed that Morgan or Cranshaw had passed the word to them not to fire at the guy on the motorcycle; and then he was past them, and although they turned toward him at the noise of the bike’s engine, they didn’t shoot, just let him carry straight on through the damaged barrier onto the next section of Wembley Hill Road as it worked its way southeast toward the stadium complex.
Khan bullied his way forward, playing chicken with the oncoming traffic as he overtook one vehicle after another on the narrow road; some cars veered away so suddenly they ploughed straight through the front yards of the homes that lined the street. Chaos followed Khan everywhere down the street but still he carried on, headed toward the retail complex that supported Wembley Stadium. A seething mass of humanity, it was the perfect place to get lost in.
A Toyota sedan clipped him and spun him out to the side, where he took another impact from the Land Rover 4x4 in front of him; the car stalled, but he quickly dipped the clutch, restarted the engine, shifted back into gear and pulled away.
The car was a wreck, but it still functioned, and that was good enough for Khan. The bike was still behind him, though, and that that was rather more of a concern.
But then again, Khan considered, why should it be? It was just one man alone and – no matter how tough, how determined – Khan was convinced that no one man could possibly cause him any real problems.
As the next intersection came up upon him, he smiled.
He was home and dry.
Cole watched as Khan smashed his way forward, relying on the weight and mass of the SUV to get through the traffic. As he used the maneuverability of the motorcycle to weave in and out of the mayhem wreaked by Khan, Cole had a moment of hope as the SUV was hit, bouncing hard across the road, before being hit again; but the sonofabitch still kept going, seemingly unstoppable.
Finally, Khan reached the intersection at a roundabout where Wembley Hill Road dropped south, and as the man slowed, Cole was finally right there behind him.
But Khan must have seen him and jammed hard on the brakes, and Cole had to dart right to avoid smashing into the back of the SUV; as he moved, he barely missed an oncoming hatchback before mounting the sidewalk and slipping past two terrified pedestrians.
He saw Khan turn right down the hill, and followed the sidewalk to the turning, people jumping to the side as the bike raced toward them.
Cole pulled off the sidewalk onto the southbound road, narrowly missing a red double-decker bus as he pulled across into the opposite lane to follow Khan; as he did so, he saw flashing lights further up the road, coming down Empire Way on the other side of the roundabout. In his mirrors Cole saw them take a left on Lakeside Way, and knew that they would be heading round toward the rear of the complex to head Khan off.
Cole also heard a chopper overhead, and knew that Khan’s progress was being monitored from above. Morgan and Cranshaw must have pulled out all the stops, and Cole was pleased.
Khan couldn’t possibly get away from them now.
Had he seen flashing lights in the mirrors back there, for one brief instant? Javid Khan checked again, and they were gone.
Maybe he’d made a mistake – it was dark and rainy after all, and his eyes could be playing tricks on him.
But if he had seen them, where were they now? Had they raced around the back to cut him off?
He shook his head, trying hard to see as the rain pounded him through the broken windshield.
It didn’t matter anymore anyway; his path was charted, and only Allah could decide now what would become of him.
He jerked the wheel left onto Stadium Way, cutting across a delivery truck as it rounded the same corner from the opposite direction; looked in his rearview, saw that t
he bike was still right behind him; looked ahead and saw a side entrance to the London Designer Outlet mall directly ahead of him; looked back again and stared, open-mouthed, as he realized that the rider was no longer on the bike.
Cole had only narrowly missed the delivery truck, had been forced to accelerate so hard that he was in danger of running straight into the back of the SUV.
And so he had gone with the flow instead, accelerated even harder right up behind it until the Yamaha was almost bumper-to-bumper with the bigger vehicle; and then he had jumped forward, gripping hold of the SUV’s bodywork as the bike carried on for a few more yards before skittering sideways across the street behind them.
He gripped tight, but it was clear that Khan had seen him; and even though an access road to the mall was rapidly approaching, Khan didn’t slow down for a moment.
Cole started to move, to try and pull himself inside the back of the vehicle through the shattered rear windshield, but simply didn’t have the time.
Just twenty yards from the mall’s entrance, Khan yanked the wheel to the left, and Cole had only fractions of a second to process the sight of the bollards that the SUV smashed through, the sidewalk it bounced over and then – finally – the concrete wall it smashed into.
And then Cole’s mind could process nothing more, as his entire world went dark.
16
Cole’s eyes opened at first only gradually; but then, when his mind caught up and he realized what had happened, they shot wide open in an instant, scanning the area to find Khan despite the pain which wracked his entire body.
The man was nowhere to be seen, but Cole knew that he couldn’t have blacked out for too long; he could still hear the sirens over on Lakeside Way, could still see the chopper hovering overhead. With luck, it would only have been a few seconds, a minute or two at most.
PLEDGE OF HONOR: A Mark Cole Thriller Page 10
