Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  “That we did.”

  “Tell me. How did we let this all happen to us? Did we get too cocky?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question all day. Going over every decision I’ve ever made, working out where it all went wrong. Working out at what point I allowed a Chinese double agent free rein on this nation. Do you know what conclusion I came to?”

  “Go on, enlighten me.”

  “No one could have seen this coming.”

  Brad hoped for his friend’s sake that would indeed prove to be the case. Right now, he wasn’t as sure.

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. We’ll be waiting. Do you want me to arrange collection?”

  “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll get someone to send the details across to your people when we have them. See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow it is. Safe travels.”

  “Safe travels indeed.”

  Adam put the phone down. Catching Elizabeth Mayfield had to be his main priority for the rest of the day. News of her capture would undoubtedly sweeten the mood in Washington tomorrow and could give them some bargaining chips in the process. He left the conference room to rejoin the rest, eager to hear the latest update on the pursuit and was even more prepared now to pull in any extra manpower needed to finish the job.

  South East England

  Bomb disposal experts were on their way to Elizabeth’s mansion in Chislehurst. A device had been found in the garage, though the British agent was still at large. They’d have to stop calling her that shortly. She was nothing more than a double agent, a plant by the Chinese at the highest level. It was all still too raw. The fact she’d placed a trap for her pursuers only focused the team more on her capture. She apparently cared little for the men and women she’d been surrounded by for so long. The Security Service was a surprisingly close-knit group. It just went with the job. It made the betrayal by one of their own only all the more bitter. She was a very popular girl. Still, there apparently wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to escape. That made catching her alive all the more vital, but challenging. Would she instead take her own life, and anyone around her, than be found alive? Or did she have help that they didn’t yet know about? Someone ready to get her a long way away from the country.

  From the outside of the garage, the hatch was visible inside through a window high up on the garage door. Having cleared the house out, the garage sitting at the end of the garden, connected by a long driveway but still noticeably distant from the back door, made a conspicuous hideout. Trained well, they’d resisted just opening the door; instead, they spotted the trap. The man leading the chase on the ground had made some calls while the bomb disposal experts were still on their way. A hatch in the floor, so far from the house, made little sense other than some underground bunker, or possibly escape tunnel. He’d made a quick tour of the garage. There were no other doors, nor did it look like there were other rooms besides the central space of the garage itself, no toilet would required drainage. Just an area for a couple of cars, it would seem. It was relatively new, too. That got him onto who’d built it, and twenty minutes after arriving at the property, he was speaking with the building firm that had constructed the garage. It took him a little while to confirm identity––the person on the other end of the line suddenly sounding very nervous when the questions started to arise about what was under the garage. She’d paid them well not to mention this to anyone. Eventually, it was clear that the tunnels had been found, access exclusively to the garage and owner of the property where the garage stood. Her own private section of caves. The agent pressed for any further information, but it was clear there was very little. They had not explored the caves themselves, just exposed them when the foundations went down, creating a hatched entrance and ladder shaft into the floor of the garage but nothing more than that. Again the person on the other end of the line sounded concerned. They asked if they should be saying this and once more they were reassured that this was of national importance. He ended the call.

  “Get a team to the caves. And get me someone on the telephone who knows the history of this area will you,” he barked, walking back to the car. The bomb disposal experts were just getting to work on the garage door. They’d removed a front window section and were getting their camera equipment ready to take a look inside.

  Thirty miles from there, and making more ground all the time, Elizabeth was travelling in a stolen sports car. Having emerged from the caves earlier, working her way up through the trees, checking the coast was clear before stepping back into civilisation, she spotted a man parking his vehicle outside an upmarket cafe that she often went to herself. He was smartly dressed, the usual city-type, and Elizabeth saw her chance. Walking over to him, she bumped into the back of him, as if by accident. The man turned angrily, but when he spotted her, his tone changed instantly.

  “I’m sorry,” she’d said, and that was all it took. He was hooked. He ended up being the one to apologise for having knocked into her, Elizabeth’s looks and honed manner working wonders as always. She just wanted his car keys, which were proving a little hard to get. Most men seemed just to slip them in their outside coat pocket, but she’d searched them both in the initial encounter, not that he’d noticed, her bright blue eyes already working their charm on him. She would have to get physical, turning up the charm into overdrive, the guy not knowing what to do, happy that his luck had turned for once. They kissed, pressing against the side of the building in the alley next to the cafe, Elizabeth running her hands over him, only to search him. His face showed this didn’t happen to him every day. He would undoubtedly have something to tell the boys in the office later, not that they would believe him. He already knew that.

  Still no keys. She’d just seen him park up. Reaching up as if to kiss him again, her hands now under his chin, she wrenched violently, snapping his neck. His body slumped onto hers, to any passer-by he was just kissing her neck. No one was around, and she carefully moved back down the alley, dumping the guy behind the bins, searching him before covering him over with some bin bags that were overflowing from the industrial container meant to house them. It was early in the day, they’d probably bring the rubbish from the cafe after closing, so she’d be long gone. Still, no keys. Getting back to the street, the pavement still quiet, she spotted the keys on the edge of the road, under the car door. He’d apparently dropped them when he’d locked the car before she’d even bumped into him. She was sure she’d have heard it if it had happened when she was there. She’d had to kiss the guy for no reason. She spat on the ground, frustrated with herself. Seconds later, keys in the ignition, she was off down the road, the car responding well to her, racing along. She slowed to a reasonable speed, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to herself. The first waves of freedom started to flow through her. She was on her way. She had a decent lead. How long it was before they found the body would depend on how long the missing car would go unreported. She guessed she had a few hours at most. She’d get down to the coast, maybe as far as Dorset, before switching cars.

  Back in Chislehurst, at the ticket office for the caves, three police officers were waiting for the manager to arrive. A call had been put through, and the person was on their way. Usually, the caves were closed on that day. Traffic was relatively light, cars slowing at the sight of the police car, but there was little to see. The nearby shops and cafes of this part of Chislehurst, some distance from the High Street, were relatively quiet.

  Across the road, coming out of a cafe, a waitress was having a cigarette. She was watching the police across from her, unseen in the alley next to the building. The smoke was wafting up. It felt good. Halfway through her smoke, the sound of a phone was heard, though she ignored it the first time. When she was just about to finish the cigarette, the mobile sounded again. She turned around, but the alley was empty. Only the bins were there. Still, the phone was ringing. She walked further down the dark alley, following the sound. It was coming from the pile of rubbi
sh. Maybe they’d thrown out a customer’s phone the night before? She moved the first bag, revealing the leg of the victim buried underneath. She screamed. Panic consumed her before she remembered the police across the street. She started back down the alley but having heard the scream, the two officers were already on their way over.

  “I heard a phone ringing,” she said, shaking, the officers now standing in front of her. “Back there down the alley, behind the bin. There’s a body.”

  The officer nearest her got on his handset straight away, calling it in. The other officer went down the alley to look, before confirming with a nod what they’d both just been told. A couple of people emerged from the cafe, hearing the commotion. The officer blocked them from entering the alleyway. Shocked expressions appeared on their faces, hands to faces in disbelief, as they listened to the waitress telling the police what she had seen. They stood in silence processing what was happening in front of them all.

  Across the road, the manager had just arrived. The third officer was speaking to her when two further police cars arrived on the scene, this time stopping outside the cafe, police tape being used to section off that part of the pavement.

  “What’s going on over there?” the manager asked. “Has it got anything to do with what you’ve come to ask me about?”

  “Not at all,” the officer said, unsure himself of what was going on. “We just need to ask you some questions about the caves, that’s all. Tell me,” he started, “are there sections of cave beyond the parts open to the public?”

  “Plenty, of course, that we keep from the public. Parts that are dangerous, or in need of repair. Why?”

  “Just something we are looking into, that’s all. Is it possible that there are sections of the cave not connected with what you have here?”

  She paused, trying to work out what was being asked, before giving up and after another moment’s thought said; “It’s entirely possible, yes. This whole area is awash with caves. Of course, the main sections, the most famous parts, are here. Certainly what we know of, anyway. But in their day, there were probably more, almost certainly. They were used for pagan rituals in Druid times, you know.” He didn’t, but that didn’t bother him. She continued. “All entirely man-made, I should add. Twenty-two miles of caves created for chalk and flint mines. Some people think they are haunted.”

  “Is it possible that someone could gain access to your section of caves from another point?”

  She struggled to think for a moment before stating confidently.

  “No, what we have here is one sealed loop. What wasn’t closed off in the past certainly has been now. Some parts are now sectioned off, but they still form the same loop. One way in, one way out. That’s what makes these caves so useful. They were used to store ammunition during the First World War and as an air raid shelter during the Second. Housed fifteen thousand people in its prime. That’s why rock bands use it so much. Nowadays it’s mainly for the tourists. We get coach loads on day trips from London. Can I ask,” she said, “what’s happened?”

  An ambulance was just pulling up across the road, its rear doors opening as soon as the vehicle came to a stop.

  “Just a line of enquiries, Ma’am. Thank you for your time, we appreciate it.” He shook her hand before crossing the road, mobile phone out calling his boss before he even reached the others.

  “Sir, I’ve just been to the caves. There is no way she could have made it into the main section of tunnels, but the idea that there were other mines set up in other parts is entirely possible. A body has also shown up,” he said, reaching the other two officers, though he’d heard the radio traffic following the discovery. “Could be connected. We’ll let you know.”

  12

  Northern Nigeria – Boko Haram territory

  Jianguo had been treated relatively well for the previous twenty-four hours since first making contact with China. It made a pleasant change to the month of hell through which he’d just gone. His leg was still causing him severe pain, the break showing no signs of healing itself. It made movement hard but also helped to reduce his risk of escape, which allowed him a little more privacy that hadn’t been the case since first arriving. Plus he was finally giving them something that they could use––power. Not the blueprints for nuclear power; they still planned on pressing for that once this episode was concluded. The resource they were waiting to gather was information, lots of it. Info that they could use against their enemies, use to exploit them, expose them and maybe even kill them. It was information that would give them status and bargaining power within the Jihadist communities around the world. It was high time they became top dog.

  Jianguo had a wheelchair to help him move around. It was very new, probably stolen from some hospital somewhere, along with most things around him at that moment. A computer was placed before him once more. It was the same one he’d used the previous day, which was good. The computer virus that had been uploaded was sitting ready, waiting for reconnection. Soon he’d be broadcasting his unknown location, silently, to people who could make a difference. His people. Men with weapons and resources. Surely they’d come for him, surely they’d not leave him there to die? He’d made it this far, and undoubtedly it was now just a matter of time. It made what he was about to do all the more electric. He was working with all his strength at keeping this from his captors, acting like nothing was happening. If he could give them the impression he was unhappy about handing over this information, all the better. Anything to distract them from what was really going on.

  Jianguo opened the program that he’d used the day before. Everything appeared to be working smoothly. The Chinese were already in place at the other end, somewhere. He assumed it was Beijing, but it could have been anywhere for all he knew. It didn’t matter, and he reminded himself. Focus was needed, not speculation. Once identity was confirmed, the files could start to be sent. That took a little while, the conversation continuing between the two locations while the downloads completed. Through code once again they said they had his position, they promised to send some help, and he was to remain in place, ready, for such an escape. He wrote back that he was hurt––there was no code for specific injuries. Maybe there should have been. He had no way of really saying he was immobile for the foreseeable future. He was sure they’d think of a way to rescue him. Maybe real fire-power and force. Send enough men, and they would be able to carry him out, wheelchair and all. That was their task.

  Once the files were all downloaded, a man came into the room where Jianguo had been left alone and copied the files to a portable data card. He then removed the computer from the prisoner.

  “Excellent start,” he said in broken English. There was a mocking smile on his face. He barked something out loud, two more men coming into the room as he was leaving. They were dressed in black, like all the attackers he’d encountered so far. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

  The first man into the room placed his right foot against the sizeable back wheel of the chair Jianguo was sitting in, pushing the table out of the way, the glass of water, which the Chinese man had not touched, smashing to the floor. With his foot still on the wheel, he pushed hard, sending the wheelchair onto its side, Jianguo falling with it, hitting the floor and rolling clear. The pain in his leg was excruciating, and he couldn’t help but let out a loud cry. He lay there just sprawled on the floor. Both men left the room laughing.

  Currently crippled, his wheelchair lying on its side next to him, there was no risk of the man leaving anytime soon. The room was quiet. But he was not lost. Thousands of miles away, someone now knew where he was. However hard it would be, however close to death they would take him; now there was a chance of rescue. It remained to be seen how much there would be left of the man to rescue, should help make it that far.

  13

  Cape Town, Rio de Janeiro, Montreal, Dubai, Kiev

  Colin was your average blue collar worker with contacts and connections all over the place. He worked in some of the most s
uccessful firms across South Africa, and as he left home that morning in Cape Town, life seemed safe, even if the streets of his home city were anything but that. Colin travelled extensively across the continent, there were very few countries closed to him, and his network of information was very useful, as were his loyal contacts. Plus he paid them rather well and was equally well rewarded. It was after walking out of the local shop that the man on a motorbike across the road parked up and started to follow him.

  In Brazil, where it was late the previous evening, Robyn was out walking her dog. It had been a long day in the office from where she ran her marketing company. Not limited to the six-plus million in Rio, she had sister companies right across Brazil and planned further offices in other countries. In her role, she travelled freely around the region and was well connected because of it. She was another excellent source of information. She lived in the wealthiest part of the city, and it was reasonably safe for her to be out this late by herself, though her little designer dog did nothing to add to her safety. Across the park, a motorbike pulled up, a man in black leathers getting off his bike and walking towards her.

  Some eight thousand two hundred kilometres north of Rio on the snowy streets of Montreal, Michael was on the night shift at the television station he co-owned. It was his favourite time of the day to work, even if the television on at that time was far from the best they had to offer. A newspaper journalist who had moved into TV, he’d used his connections well to build a reputation within the political sphere right across North America. He was a frequent visitor to the White House though he preferred life north of the border as much as possible. He had dual nationality, which helped, through his Canadian mother and American father. He was also a heavy smoker and left his desk to have yet another cigarette, about his dozenth so far that night. Outside, things were quiet. Only the sound of a motorbike parking up could be heard, the rider getting off and walking towards him.