First, they drove to Oz’s place. He wasn’t too pleased at being knocked up at four-thirty in the morning but once he saw the person responsible for breaking into his beauty sleep, he lightened up. Even in his dressing gown, Oz managed to look proud and imposing, Tallis thought.
‘I don’t want to know how you got into this mess,’ Oz said, looking Tallis up and down before casting a mischievous glance in Lavender’s direction.
‘If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,’ Tallis said, ‘forget it.’
‘If you say so.’ Oz grinned. ‘Going to introduce us?’ he said, showing them inside.
Tallis did. ‘Think you can get them off?’ he said, lifting his arms and rattling the restraints. They were standing in Oz and Cheryl’s living room. It was all hot colours, bleached-out backgrounds, a reminder, maybe, of the Australian outback.
‘No prob. I’ll drill the locks out. Want to clean up and get some shut-eye first? You could use the spare bedroom.’
Tallis looked at Lavender. For someone who’d been working round the clock she looked remarkably perky. ‘I’d rather use some coffee,’ she said.
Tallis agreed. ‘Then I’d really like to get moving.’
‘All right, give me five,’ Oz said. ‘Follow me to the kitchen, Charlie. Then you can tell me how you two met.’ He winked back at Tallis.
Tallis sank down into the nearest easy chair. Lavender was quite a girl. On the drive to Oz’s place, she’d told him how she’d watched the workings of the airbase, spotted the lax approach to security deep inside, timed the patrols protecting the perimeter, cut through the chain link with wire cutters and made her move. If it wasn’t for Lavender, he’d be somewhere over the horizon, well outside British airspace, dressed in double-layer nappies, a tracksuit in excruciating taste and flat on his back shackled to a stretcher.
‘Here,’ Lavender said, putting a mug of coffee down in front of him. ‘I got you a straw. Thought it was better than you trying to pick the mug up and spilling hot coffee down your trousers.’
He smiled thanks. It didn’t suit him to feel so dependent, but he had no choice.
‘How are you going to tackle Kennedy?’ she said, giving him a level look. He’d already told her of his suspicions, how Kennedy had tricked everyone in order to carry out a bomb attack in some perverted act of revenge. She, like him, was aghast at the prospect of Britain’s second major city suffering what would appear to be a terrorist attack just when the security services thought it was safe.
‘No point in appealing to his better nature. He’s planned this for a while.’
‘Think you know where he’ll strike?’
Not for certain, but there was a deadly logic to one location that sprang immediately to mind. Two criteria were needed: vulnerability and accessibility. Where else would Kennedy’s enemies and those who’d denied Billy Kennedy gainful employment gather? When he’d tried to talk to Kennedy about possible terrorist locations, Kennedy had breezed on about all the main landmarks bar one.
‘I’ve got a rough idea.’
‘Kennedy will hardly confirm it.’
‘Depends on the pressure I put on him.’
Lavender’s expression turned thoughtful.
‘What?’ he said.
‘You should be careful.’
‘I’m always careful.’ He laughed.
‘I don’t mean like that.’ She was unsmiling. Her eyes, deep pools of green, looked troubled. ‘Kennedy’s dangerous but not for the reasons you think. He’s a shrewd operator. You’re vulnerable to a man like him because of the lousy relationship you had with your dad. The man’s got under your skin.’ Tallis opened his mouth in protest, even though he knew deep down that she spoke the truth. Lavender continued to talk. ‘Equally, he’s vulnerable to you because you represent the son he no longer has. He sees you as a replacement. If push comes to shove, he’d make allowances for you.’
‘For God’s sake, are you a shrink, too?’ It sounded harsh, testing, probably because, again, he knew she was right. Instantly regretting his flash of bad temper, he apologised straight away.
‘Still think it wise to go in alone?’ she said softly.
‘Until I’m absolutely certain about Asim, I don’t have much choice. Anyway.’ He grinned. ‘I won’t be alone, will I?’
Lavender glanced up at him from beneath coal-black lashes and smiled.
Tallis was freed shortly before six-thirty that morning. Oz insisted they have breakfast to celebrate. Tallis looked at his watch. If he was correct, he had four hours to avert disaster so it made good sense to eat—bacon butties all round care of a carryout sandwich shop. Tallis was glad that Lavender wasn’t one of those women who were picky about diet. Food was food—especially when expending the amount of calories she was.
‘Here,’ she said, handing him her weapon. ‘Might come in handy.’ It was a Beretta, a model 92, 9 mm, 8-round magazine, compact version.
He thanked her, took it. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a phone on you?’
She nodded, reached into her jacket pocket. ‘Asim?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Bit early for a call,’ she said, ruthlessly fishing.
It was. Crow was going to be none too happy, he thought, punching in her number, walking away a little. To his surprise she answered after the second ring, though he was right about her not being exactly thrilled to hear from him. Still, he’d soon change that.
‘Right, Micky, might be worth you following up some names. Got a pen handy? I reckon they’re all associates of Johnny Kennedy’s. Once you’ve found out, let Gavin Shaw know at the Organised Crime Division, West Midlands.’
Aware that Shakenbrook might be under surveillance by both sides of the divide, Tallis borrowed Oz’s work van. He also borrowed a pair of overalls. Even though he knew the code to open the electronic gates, he wanted Kennedy to know that he was playing things by the book, that he was showing due respect, that he didn’t suspect him of hostile intent. It didn’t occur to him that the man would refuse to let him in. Like Lavender had pointed out: Kennedy needed him.
Pulling up outside shortly before eight-thirty, he leant out of the van and activated the voice entry system. Two words were all it took: ‘Johnny, Tallis.’
The gates swung open. Tallis felt as if he was seeing his surroundings for the first time, the slow, elegant curve of trees lining the block-paved drive, the vistas and terraces, the lawns and flower beds, the ha-ha and extensive grounds beyond. Then there was Shakenbrook rising up out of the landscape, defiant, proud. Kennedy, alone, stood at the entrance, a smile concealing the darkness in his eyes.
Tallis parked, jumped out, pulled off the overalls, throwing them into the back of the van.
‘I knew you’d come back.’ Kennedy smiled in greeting.
‘Did you?’ Tallis’s voice was even. ‘Where are Sam and Melissa?’
‘Somewhere safe,’ Kennedy said, closing the door behind them, letting Tallis walk ahead. ‘I know it’s early but you look as if you could do with a drink.’
‘I could do with the truth.’
Kennedy didn’t break step. ‘What will it be?’ he said, crossing the hall to the drawing room. ‘Think I’m up for a Scotch and soda. That do you?’
‘Johnny, can we stop playing games?’
Kennedy wheeled round. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I know what you’re planning.’
‘To stay alive.’ Kennedy let out a dry laugh.
‘To kill hundreds of innocent people.’
Kennedy said nothing, slowly helped himself to a drink from the cabinet. He had one of those old-fashioned soda siphons like the one Tallis’s dad had used when he was a kid. His dad used to drink milk and soda, Tallis remembered, for when he’d had one of his frequent upset stomachs. After all these years, the thought still made him shudder.
Kennedy turned round, studied him with deep, distant eyes. ‘Sure I can’t tempt you?’
Tallis shook his head. ‘You’re
using Ahmed and his crew as a smokescreen.’
‘Am I?’ A sly smile played on Kennedy’s lips.
Tallis stared at him. Why did he look so triumphant? Then the truth suddenly hit Tallis with the same force as the Birmingham-to-Euston Intercity. He should have tumbled to it before. There was no smokescreen. Out of all the leading crime bosses, Ahmed simply fitted the profile best. Kennedy had set him up. He knew where to leave the evidence, how to incriminate his so-called brother in arms, and because he’d always come up with the goods before, why wouldn’t he be believed this time? Even if Asim and his team found out that Ahmed was innocent, which was a moot point—people tended to believe what they wanted to believe in matters of terrorism—the real bombing would already have taken place by then.
‘Wasn’t difficult,’ Kennedy murmured. ‘To say that he was a sympathiser was an understatement.’
‘The world is full of sympathisers. Doesn’t mean to say they actively aid and abet terrorism.’
‘True,’ Kennedy conceded, as if it were a matter of no consequence.
‘You want revenge for Billy’s ruined life,’ Tallis said simply.
‘I took my revenge some time ago,’ Kennedy said, snatching at his drink.
‘On the wrong man.’
Kennedy gave Tallis a slow-eyed stare. No shock, no denial, Kennedy’s failure to respond damning. ‘The Turks were right,’ Tallis continued slowly. ‘You were even inciting your criminal chums, stirring them up, meanwhile playing the security services and law enforcement agencies, convincing them that you, and you alone, could deliver known criminals and unknown terrorists.’ That’s why Ahmed had looked so concerned after the first meeting, Tallis recalled. He knew that if anyone would be in the firing line for a link to fundamentalist nutters, he’d be first. Had he said as much to Kennedy? Was that the reason Kennedy had been in such a foul mood afterwards?
‘Fuck, I reckon you even had Gabriel killed to build up your credibility.’
Kennedy said nothing.
Tallis felt his stomach give a queasy lurch. The man had died in agony. Kennedy had ordered it, supervised it. It was Kennedy who’d had his hand on the remote. ‘He found out about your real agenda, didn’t he?’
Kennedy didn’t speak, his expression curiously inert.
‘Everything you’ve said and done has been a blind so that you can take revenge.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘You’re looking the wrong way.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Kennedy smiled.
‘You should be taking a good hard look at yourself.’ Tallis’s tone was uncompromising.
Kennedy’s smile weakened. ‘How do you work that out?’
‘For your own dismal failures as a father.’ And, my God, I should know, Tallis thought.
The smile vanished.
‘Yeah,’ Tallis jeered. ‘Sam told me,’ he said, driving home the emotional stake deep into Kennedy’s heart. ‘It was your fault Billy couldn’t find work. It was your thuggish reputation that meant nobody wanted to touch him. Deep down, he was ashamed of you.’
‘That’s not true,’ Kennedy burst out. ‘It’s a filthy lie.’
Time to give the stake a little twist. ‘Why else do you think he stepped out in front of that car that night?’
‘You bastard. He did no such thing.’
‘How do you know? Did you speak to Carroll or his wife before you had him killed?’
‘Stupid fucking man,’ Kennedy cursed with savagery.
‘He should never have covered for Finch.’
‘Do you kill everyone who gets in your way? Is that why you had Garry Morello slotted?’
‘Morello?’ Kennedy railed. ‘Who the fuck’s Morello?’
‘The journalist who was investigating you, who saw you with Tardarti.’
Kennedy gritted his teeth. ‘I don’t know what, or who, you’re talking about.’
Tallis studied him. Kennedy looked genuinely clueless. Looked as if Crow was on the right trail after all. None of this was looking any prettier. He glanced at his watch and swallowed. ‘I know the building you’ve targeted.’
‘Really?’ Kennedy shrugged.
‘The Rotunda.’ Tallis watched Kennedy with the same precision as a bird of prey.
‘Why would I do that?’ His voice was even but the glint in his eyes betrayed him.
‘Because it will kill your enemies with one click of a button. Today’s the day they’re having their little party, remember?’
Kennedy stared at him, unblinking.
‘Who’s the bomber?’ Tallis demanded.
A dark laugh trickled out between Kennedy’s bloodless lips. ‘There is no bomber.’
Christ, how can four and a half hours disappear to thirty-five minutes? Tallis thought, glancing at the grandfather clock in the drawing room. ‘If you avert an attack, I’ll do my best to put in a good word for you. The fact you’ve already helped should count for something.’
‘Paul, you have this all wrong.’
‘You want to spend the rest of your days banged up in Belmarsh?’ Tallis burst out angrily. ‘Never seeing your wife, or watching your daughter grow up, or holding Billy when he dies?’
‘Like I said,’ Kennedy said, eyes stormy. ‘There is no bomber.’
Ten people on the list, Tallis thought frantically. Ten bombers? He pulled the Beretta.
‘You won’t shoot me.’ Kennedy’s voice was like honey dripping in his ear.
‘The last man to say that didn’t live to regret it.’
‘We’re family, you and me,’ Kennedy schmoozed, taking a step backwards towards the drinks cabinet. ‘First time I clapped eyes on you, I knew you could be like a son to me, like I could be a dad, a proper dad, to you. I know what you’ve been through.’
‘Shut up.’ Tallis tightened his grip. ‘Contact the bombers. Call them off. Innocent people will be killed, children. You want blood on your conscience?’
But Kennedy was gone, lost in a monologue of self-justification. ‘We’ve both suffered in life. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and me, know what we want, how to get it. Both smart as razors.’ Kennedy laughed. ‘Both…’
Without warning, Kennedy produced a gun like a magician delivers a canary from the sleeve of his jacket. ‘I never wanted it this way,’ he said, eyes narrowed. ‘And, for what it’s worth, I never played you, Paul. Everything I said and believed about you was genuine, is genuine.’
‘Don’t be so bloody stupid,’ Tallis said, steely. ‘Look, in twenty minutes there will be a hole in the centre of Birmingham as big as a moon crater.’
‘Shame.’
Tallis blinked. What the hell? His hand tightened on the gun. ‘For Chrissakes, this is the city you love…’
‘The city that fucked me over,’ Kennedy growled. Tallis stood his ground. ‘You have to abort the attack.’
‘Couldn’t if I wanted to.’
‘Yes, you can,’ Tallis yelled in frustration. The big hand was ticking relentlessly round the clock.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Kennedy goaded Tallis.
‘Shoot me.’
Tallis felt sweat break out across his brow. Somehow he had to keep things moving, keep Kennedy talking. If he took down Kennedy, he’d never find out the exact location of the strike and how to stop it. ‘The meeting with Tardarti in Turkey,’ he began.
‘Nothing more than a ruse to prove I was a credible source of intelligence.’ Kennedy smiled grimly. ‘That prat, Napier, fell for it sweet as a nut. Thought he was onto something really big. Didn’t take much convincing, I can tell you, positively gagging for glory. Suppose that’s what happens to people when they know they’re screwed. They like the idea of one last roll of the dice. He really is a sick man, you know.’ Then, for reasons beyond Tallis, Kennedy raised his weapon, left-handed. Two shots rang out simultaneously, one veering wide. Tallis leapt forward to Kennedy’s crumpled form. ‘Good shot,’ Kennedy murmured, blood seeping from a wound in his chest. Tallis cursed. It
should have been a clean shot to wing him, to disable his shooting arm, but instinct had prevailed. Either kill or be killed. Was that what Kennedy really wanted, a perverse desire for death by cop?
‘Johnny, the bomber…’
Kennedy smiled. ‘Told you, son. There’s no bomber.’
‘But, Johnny…’
‘Look after my Billy for me, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Johnny, but, please, this is really important,’ Tallis said, cradling the man in his arms, watching the light in his eyes waste and fade.
‘You’re a good man, Paul.’ Kennedy smiled then he was gone.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Tallis cursed, laying Kennedy down and reaching for his phone. Frantically trying to think. No bomber. Building about to blow. Instantly he thought about Demolition Dave, Griggsy, then, hell, yes, an idea as fragile as a butterfly was hovering at the back of his mind, and strangely he had Napier to thank for shining a light in a most unlikely corner. Tallis punched in a number. ‘Listen, Asim, you son of a bitch. You’ve got exactly fourteen and a half minutes to evacuate the Rotunda.’
39
* * *
IT STARTED as a whisper, a murmur, eventually a word followed by phrases, the odd sentence until the ripple effect of the news spread like wildfire throughout the assembly. The mayor, together with the chairman of the development company, took the lead, moving swiftly, without panic, without fuss.
They were British, for God’s sake. Dignitaries and worthies, the great and the good of Birmingham City Council headed silently after them for the nearest exits. Among their number was a man called Cain Finch and two others who’d travelled in the car with him that fateful night; they didn’t yet realise that they were the reason behind the evacuation. They didn’t catch on that they were about to be interviewed by West Midlands police.
Outside, media personnel, the communications men, television and camera crews hung around, trying to get the story, before being moved on briskly by police officers, some armed, to a designated place of safety. Ironically, Kennedy’s diversionary tactics had ensured a heavy police presence already in the city so that shoppers in the nearby Bullring and commuters from New Street Station were also quickly evacuated from the scene. As the bomb disposal team moved in, confirming that another terrorist attack was in the process of being thwarted, smartly dressed men, some wearing sunglasses, all with ear-pieces, talked into their cuffs. A tall Egyptian-looking fellow was taking command. He had one hand clamped to his ear, his wrist to his mouth near the transmitter embedded in his sleeve.
The Mephisto Threat Page 34
