by Tom Bale
'I reckon it’s bullshit, calling them hostages. The kind of firepower
we’ve brought along, there’ll be a lot more bodies before this is over.’
Liam shrugged. In the face of such belligerence there wasn’t really
much he could say.
'Something else,’ Turner said, jabbing his finger at Liam. “I’ll be
watching my back, just in case some bright spark thinks it’s worth
slimming down the team when the job’s done.’
'Sounds like paranoia to me,’ Liam said.
Turner began to speak, but there was a knock on the door and Priya
came in. She’d changed into a virtually identical boiler suit, though
somehow hers managed to look a whole lot sleeker than theirs. Turner
blew a sarcastic whistle, then pointed at the mask in her hand.
You won’t need that, darling. They’ll never see you coming, will
they?’
Liam winced, but Priya only smiled.
Actually, you’re right,’ she said sweetly. 'That’s something you may
want to think about.’
It took Turner a second to make sense of Priya’s threat. Then he
chuckled, unperturbed, and watched as she made her selection from
the small arsenal of weapons.
'I hear you’ve already chalked up a kill?’
'What of it?’
'Just curious, that’s all. I’ve been wondering what you were good
for.’
'Well, I’m not here to make the tea,’ she said. 'Or flatter your ego.’
She slipped a Walther P99 into one of the deep pockets of her boiler
suit and clipped a sheathed hunting knife to her belt.
“Course you’re not, darling.’ Turner grinned wolfishly. 'Though I
reckon I know what the boss sees in you. A lot of potential.’
'That’s enough,’ Liam said. 'See if the others have finished
unloading. If they haven’t, tell them to shift their arses.’
He waited until he heard Turner’s footsteps on the stairs, then
cautioned Priya. 'Don’t underestimate him. Just because he’s ignorant,
it doesn’t mean he’s not a devious bastard.’
She nodded coolly. 'I know perfectly well what kind of people I’m
working with.’
Whether that was a sly dig at him, Liam couldn’t tell. Maybe he’d
find out later, he thought.
“I’m pairing you with Eldon,’ he said. 'I was going to suggest you
took the Weavers — '
'I should do Felton,’ Priya cut in. 'I’ve already made contact.’
You said he didn’t answer the door.’
Priya gave him an enigmatic smile. 'I’ve made contact, believe me.
I know I can get inside.’
'All right.’ That had actually been his plan all along, but Liam
hoped she’d give him credit for taking her ideas on board. 'We’ll hit
the Weavers, Felton and Terry Fox simultaneously. Then I want one
person from each team to join me before we do Nasenko. A lot of
people in that house.’
'Okay.’
“I’ll take Eldon from your team. I need you to stay with Oliver
Felton.’ He saw her fuming, and added, 'He could be very important
to us. You know that.’
He undipped the Motorola from his belt, found the channel for
the men at the bridge and pressed the talk button.
A gruff voice answered. 'Pendry.’
'Anything there?’
'Quiet as the grave.’
'Good. Ten minutes, and then we move in. Phones will be out by
then, so radios only from now on.’
'Gotcha. Let me know when you need me.’
Twenty-Five
It was almost seven o’clock when they reached Midhurst and turned
south on the A286. At Joe’s suggestion, Cassie had called several hotels
and guest houses in Chichester before finding a bed-and-breakfast
place that had a room available at short notice.
She’d also spoken to her friends back in Brighton and explained
that Sofia had succumbed to a sickness bug. She urged them to party
the night away in her absence, and agreed to meet up again very soon.
'But not at the Blue Anchor,’ she murmured to herself after ending
the call.
Another twenty minutes and they were on the outskirts of Chichester.
There was food in the car for Sofia, but Jaden and Cassie were both
starving. So was Joe, he realised. He made a detour to the McDonald’s
on the ring road and bought some takeaway meals.
The B&B was in the centre of town, a couple of minutes from the
cathedral. Joe parked in a small courtyard and helped carry the bags
inside. The proprietor was a sturdy blonde woman in her mid-thirties.
She fussed over the children and seemed perfectly willing to accept
Joe’s assertion that they were Mr and Mrs Carter and family. If she
found the smell of French fries wafting through her lobby distasteful,
she politely refrained from saying so.
The room was basic but clean. A good size, with an old-fashioned
dresser in addition to two beds: a double and a single. The proprietor
had said she would fetch a travel cot for Sofia. There was also a modest
TV, a hairdryer and a tray with the usual tea— and coffee-making
paraphernalia.
To Joe it represented an improvement on his current living quarters,
and sheer luxury compared to some of the places he’d lived in
recent years. It was only when he pictured it through Cassie’s eyes
that he saw what a step down it must be for her. He watched her
examine the room, unsure of her reaction.
All right?’
She nodded vehemently. Yes, it’s cosy. Safe.’
Jaden shoved a handful of fries into his mouth and gawked at the
blank TV screen. He peered behind it, mystified.
'Why’s it in a box?’
It took Joe a second to comprehend the question. 'That’s how
televisions used to look. Before plasma and LCDs.’
He thought Cassie would smile at that, but instead she seemed
shocked – perhaps contemplating a life away from Valentin, and the
scale of the readjustment that would be required of her children.
After devouring a couple of burgers, Joe used the en suite bathroom
to freshen up. When he came out, Jaden was sitting on the bed, watching The Simpsons. The TV might be in a box, but at least it had Sky One.
Cassie was feeding Sofia her milk. She didn’t notice Joe
surreptitiously plucking his Leatherman pocket knife from the
rucksack, but a look of panic crossed her face when he picked up
the car keys.
'Where are you going?’
'Like you said, we need to find out who was involved.’
'Can’t you phone?’
Joe shook his head. 'I want to see his face when I confront him.’
'But it may be dangerous.’
'I can look after myself.’
Cassie nodded. A moment’s hesitation, and then she plunged in.
You’ve never really said what you did before you went travelling.’
Quid pro quo, he realised, given what she’d revealed to him in the
car.
'I was a police officer.’
'I thought so. What kind?’
'CID. Undercover, for the last few years.’
'So what happened? Why did you leave?’
Joe paused, recalling his earlier promise to himself. That the day
he going to keep to that promise?
He sighed, and said, 'An undercover op went badly wrong. My identity
was compromised, and the gang I’d infiltrated tried to kill me. I
managed to get away, but only just. Some of the gang died in the process.
As a result there was a price on my head. As far as I know, there still is.’
Cassie gasped. 'That’s why you went abroad? One of those witness
relocation programmes?’
'I was offered that, but I made my own arrangements, because it
was probably another cop who blew my cover in the first place.’
'So what about your wife and daughters?’
'They had to start over too, with new identities. Helen was furious,
quite understandably. She felt I’d put their lives in danger. And she
was right.’
'That’s why you don’t see them?’
He laughed softly. 'It’s a bit more complicated than that.’
'Then what?’
'Look, let’s sort this out first, then perhaps we’ll sit down and
discuss it’
Cassie nodded, with an expression that said she knew she’d been
fobbed off. But she didn’t push it. Tears shone in her eyes, and she
looked away from him.
'I’m really sorry.’
At the door, Joe stopped and said: You’ll be perfectly safe here, but
as a precaution, don’t make any phone calls.’
'Not even from my mobile?’
'Especially not that. In fact, I’d switch it off if I were you. It sounds
paranoid, but like we said earlier, a certain person might have access
to all kinds of technology. If I need to call I’ll ring the landline and
ask for you.’
'Mrs Carter,’ she said, forcing a smile.
'That’s it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Joe slipped out, shut the door behind him and hurried along the
corridor, past the reception area and out through the lobby. An idea
struck him as he reached the Shogun. He produced his mobile, deliberated
for a moment, then selected one of the preset numbers.
Yuri answered at once. Yes?’
'This is Joe. I thought I’d call in.’
You are at Blue Anchor?’
'Not yet. One of Cassie’s friends wanted to meet her separately and
have a chat. Some kind of trouble with her husband.’
'Cassie?’ said Yuri, confused.
'No. The friend.’ Joe gave a grim smile. 'Cassie’s delighted with the
eternity ring, by the way. She thought it was a very nice touch.’
Yuri made a dismissive noise: not interested.
Joe pushed it. 'Always good to have surprises, isn’t it?’
'Where are you now?’
'I told you. Cassie’s with one of her friends.’
'In Brighton?’
'No. Timbuktu.’ Joe pretended to laugh. 'Of course we’re in
Brighton. Where else would we be?’
A puzzled silence. Then: 'So when do you go to hotel?’
'Soon, I guess. I’ll let you know if there are any changes to the
itinerary.’ Joe paused a beat. 'How did Valentin’s meeting go?’
'It is not finished. We are busy. Call when you get to Blue Anchor.’
Yuri disconnected. Joe stared at the display for a few seconds,
reviewing the conversation. Inconclusive, he decided. Nothing that
proved Valentin’s involvement in the attempted abduction, but nothing
that ruled it out either. Yuri definitely seemed a little too interested
in Joe’s whereabouts.
It was a short journey to Terror’s Reach, through an idyllic slice of
the English countryside. Once Joe turned off the A259 he was
immersed in a world that had barely changed in decades. A world of
narrow country lanes, hedgerows bursting with wild flowers and a
patchwork of fields where cereal crops grew in vivid greens and golds.
He passed a couple of villages and then he was on the final stretch
of road, travelling through the nature reserve with dark copses and
heathland all around him. The only destination ahead was the Reach,
and the road was deserted. It never ceased to astonish him that a
country as small as Britain could have places that felt so lonely, so
remote, even when they were just a few miles from a major population
centre.
He crested a gentle rise and the island came into view, about a
mile and a half away. Immediately Joe saw something that didn’t look
right. An obstacle on the bridge. He reduced his speed to give himself
more thinking time.
It was a vehicle, he realised, partially blocking the road. Something
else in front of it. A sign, and a row of barriers.
The bridge was shut.
He made an instant decision. There was a parking area coming up
on the left. He turned into it and parked the Shogun behind an avenue
of oak trees, where it couldn’t be seen from the road.
Now he recalled the Citroen van he’d spotted earlier, next to the
ferry shed. Here to do maintenance work, he’d assumed, and maybe
that was what it was. But it was odd that they should close the bridge
without notifying the residents in advance.
And then there was the other van, the Transit. The driver with
the gunslinger’s moustache. The strange noise from the back of the
vehicle that had aroused Joe’s suspicion. According to Maz’s
colleague, the Transit’s registration plates were false.
Lastly, the belligerent fisherman with what might have been a prison
tattoo on his neck. The Honda motorbike had been parked at the
wrong angle for Joe to see the registration mark, but he wondered
now if that too would have come back as false. Three dubious incursions
on a single day. Coincidence?
It could be, but he’d learned to be wary of coincidences.
He went the rest of the way on foot. For a mile or so he was able
to stay within the nature reserve, threading through a coppice wood
of hazel, ash and oak. Closer to the shore, the trees thinned out and
finally stopped. The terrain grew flat and marshy. The only concealment
was offered by a scattering of gorse and hawthorn bushes.
He managed to work his way to within fifty yards of the bridge.
Close enough to see the row of interlocking barriers, and to read a
folding yellow sign that said: BRIDGE CLOSED FOR EMERGENCY REPAIRS.
It all looked professional enough. So did the two men standing on
the bridge, at first glance.
They wore jeans and boots and high-visibility jackets. They weren’t
engaged in any kind of repair work, emergency or otherwise, although
that in itself didn’t mark them out as bogus. But after studying them
for a minute Joe was convinced they weren’t council workers or private
contractors. They had the tense, watchful manner of guards, engaged
in a crucial but essentially mundane task. Lots of nervous energy and
no way to express it.
One strolled across the bridge, while the other wandered down towards
the barrier. Their lack of urgency reassured Joe that he hadn’t been
spotted. Just an occasional routine patrol back and forth, probably to
relieve the tedium. But one thing was clear: there was no way past them.
As the man neares
t the barrier came closer, Joe realised there was
something familiar about him. A couple of seconds later he got a clear
look at his face. The change of clothes and the lack of a baseball cap
had thrown him, but now he could see who it was.
The fisherman.
Joe retreated in search of a better vantage point. The nature reserve
was protected from the sea by a ridge of higher ground, from which
a broad shingle beach sloped down to the shore. Using the ridge for
cover, he ran, almost crouching at times, until he was perhaps half a
mile further east. Then he crawled up the bank and took another look
at the island.
The bridge was still visible from here, and so were the guards.
Beyond that, he could see a sliver of the island’s road, heading south.
Within ten yards it was obscured by trees and bushes, and then by
the high perimeter fence of the old training camp.
Joe studied the bridge for a minute, weighing up his options. Then
he slipped out of sight and lay on his back, staring up at the sky. It
was a beautiful evening. The air was warm and fragrant, the sun a
plump red ball as it sank towards the horizon. Clouds of midges
swarmed above the stones. There was no sound except for the cry of
birds and the gentle slurp of the sea.
He considered what he knew, what he suspected, and what he
might do about it. It appeared that the island had been sealed off,
quite deliberately, at a time of day when the residents were unlikely
to be coming or going, and passing traffic was practically non-existent.
In addition to the men guarding the bridge, he suspected the involvement
of the man he’d seen earlier, driving the white Transit with false
plates.
Then there was the abduction attempt in Brighton, which might
or might not have any relevance to what was happening here. Another
coincidence? Feasibly. Another reason to be cautious? Definitely.
The easiest response would be to return to his car, drive back to
Chichester and notify the police. Report some suspicious behaviour
on the island and leave them to sort it out.
But Joe couldn’t see that achieving much. They were just as likely
to greet his call with scepticism, particularly if he phoned it in anonymously.
If they gave it any credence at all, the investigation would no
doubt consist of a single uniformed patrol, two officers at most, driving
out to the island with no real expectation of danger. A recipe for
