“I’m fine. Jack I’ve got Tom with me.”
“Thank God for that we’ve been bloody panicking since he escaped from the luxury of his five-star hotel.”
“No time to explain. We need some support mate but not the cavalry just yet. Who’s with you?”
“Just Carrie.”
“Right, Carrie, I need you to run a couple of plates. Then relay this to the duty officer at Orion. First number when you are ready.”
“Go JD.”
He passed the number in a calm manner – looking straight at the plate as the van it was on hurtled towards them, whilst Hewett expertly steered the cab back down the street.
“Hang on!” He spun the steering wheel which threw the TX4 taxi into a ferocious manoeuvre. “These things can turn on a sixpence!” He was actually smiling.
Daniel called out the second number to O’Shea. “That should come back as a silver Mondeo. We are behind that with the van behind us.”
“If this is a hit on Tom, why is the Mondeo not stopping, sounds like a textbook stop.”
“Because right now Johnnie is pushing it down my street Carrie. How far away is our backup?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“We’ll be dead in fifteen. Call the local units. Get an ARV too.”
“Stand by.” She picked up her own cell and dialled into the CAD room. “Yes, that’s correct. Target vehicles are a silver Mondeo and a white VW Transporter. So far?”
“Yes received, I’m dispatching what units I’ve got left to your team. You say they are in a black cab?”
“Yes. No idea of the registration but it contains three of our assets.”
“Tell them the cavalry is on the way. Get their hazard lights on so we can ID them. In fact, we are getting other calls coming in about a crash on that street.”
“I think it’s more likely that our team are pushing one of the targets out of the way.”
“Any weapons?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Stay on the line and I’ll relay any new data.”
“Thanks.” She put the phone in her lap and talked back to Daniel on the hands free.
“We are making our way to you but we are in a plain private car. A grey new model Audi A3. Where are you now?”
“Still Park Vista towards Greenwich Park Street. Stand by…”
Hewett accelerated more, pushing the iconic black vehicle as hard as he possibly could. He could see the van was about a metre off their bumper now and knew what was coming.
“Are they after me or you Tom?”
“I’ve no idea lad but it’s not good is it. Just stop and I’ll offer myself up as a trade.”
“No way. That’s not how we work and you know it,” shouted Daniel over the metallic din of the two vehicles as they ground their way up the road.
“OK, here we go.” Hewett positioned the cab to the right of the Mondeo’s rear and accelerated again causing it to spin violently.
The silver car arced around as the cab began to turn right into a side road. The van misjudged the move. Its well-built African driver and passenger could sense they had got it wrong. Hewett could see the look in their eyes – they were that close.
“Hang on. This might go very wrong. Seatbelts on!”
Hewett pushed again and now the Mondeo was spinning and heading backwards into a large wall that was built in Victorian times when builders took a pride in their work and the street was a lot quieter.
Hewett and Daniel looked at the Ford. In the passenger seat was a tall, elegant black woman wearing a blue dress and next to her, driving, a white woman with her blonde hair in a braid wearing a green jacket upon which was a row of medal ribbons.
They looked at the taxi. The occupants looked back as their Mondeo hit the wall with a huge bang that woke the neighbourhood. The van continued forward, woefully gauging the situation running into the front of the silver Ford. There were three sounds, one the sound of metal on metal, a hideous squealing, the sound of components collapsing, hoses bursting, heated fluid flying everywhere, then the driver and passenger airbags deploying, a lower guttural sound followed by the cabin filling with the acrid smell of black powder.
The third was silence.
Daniel glanced at his phone. He’d lost the signal to O’Shea.
In the VW, the driver braced for the impact and broke his right wrist as the airbag tore into him at a speed that his reactions simply couldn’t compete with. The passenger was less fortunate, propelling himself forward through the tinted windscreen and onto the bonnet of the Mondeo. He hit it so hard it created its own incredible noise on one of the quietest back streets in London.
Behind it was a black Mercedes 300. It stopped and two men got out.
Both wearing suits. Both ignored the van and the large African male lying on the Mondeo moaning quietly as he began to lose his fight for life.
“Are you OK boss?”
“Do I look OK? You should have been here.”
“I know. We got here as fast as possible. The traffic…”
“Enough! Let’s go.” Doto ran to the Mercedes shouting back to the Mondeo. “Well, are you coming?”
Captain Susan Reddington ran her hand over her face. Blood. Not much, but enough to cause concern. She’d had worse.
“Too bloody right. I need five…” She pushed the glass away with her sleeve then her hand. Safety glass had a habit of not living up to its name when it had cubed after a collision. Her hands were now bleeding too and her temper had got very suddenly worse.
“This is the mess suit of a captain in the British bloody Army! No one treats it like this.”
The Mercedes revved and started to move off as Reddington extracted herself from the wreckage, wondering how the hell she was going to explain this to her commanding officer in the morning.
Her thoughts became rational.
She hissed a few words into the rear of the German saloon. “Go! I’ll be in touch. It’s better this way Doto. Trust me.”
The Mercedes shot down the side road after the taxi.
Reddington staggered a little then sat down.
An elderly man approached her. Ex-army himself he recognised the uniform and the rank.
“Ma’am, are you OK? Do you need an ambulance?” Then he looked at the van and then the Mondeo. “I guess we need more than one. Stay there…”
“I’m fine. Can you help me up?”
“Of course. What happened? Did this lot attack you or something?”
“Something like that yes. I was lost, minding my own business when I got car-jacked and then rammed. Bloody amateurs. Thank you for helping me. I’m fine. Honestly.” She began to wander down the street as sirens approached. A fire engine was the first to hurtle down the residential street towards the scene. An ambulance followed.
“It’s me they are after lad. Just stop the car. Let me talk to her. I should never have gone to the embassy function. It was too risky.” Denby was holding on tight as Hewett navigated through the series of back streets that led them to a faster route back north and to relative safety.
“We stop for the police and no one else Tom. You have something they want and I suspect it is the same thing we’ve been discussing. What they don’t realise is you have no idea yet, anyway.”
“Torture. They’ll torture me until I tell them.”
“Do you think you’ll withstand such treatment?”
“No, of course not John. That’s why I want you to stop. I can get them off our tail and you can go and find the girls.”
“Tom, it’s not that easy. They could be anywhere in England. Or Europe or even back in Guinea.”
“Or dead,” added Hewett being entirely pragmatic.
“Or they could all still be within striking range. We just have to give the signal and they’ll start coming in. Or we find them first. Either way, if that woman finds them, they are dead and buried.”
“Why is this woman feared so much?” Hewett asked as he looked right and turne
d left onto a wider, well-lit street. It was then he spotted the Mercedes.
“JD did you see a black Merc back at your place?”
“Negative. The only black Merc I saw tonight was outside the embassy.”
“Well, unless my eyes deceive me, we’ve got a 300 series a way behind us but catching up fast. Driver and passenger are both big lads, black, West African at a guess.”
He glanced at the swooping lines of the German saloon with its overly large three-pointed star.
“How far away is our backup?”
“I’ll check.” Daniel re-dialled O’Shea.
She answered quickly. “Boss, you OK?”
“Yep, we are making off from a black Mercedes 300 – at least we are until it catches up with us which is anytime soon. We need some support here. It’s obvious someone spotted Tom tonight.”
“Well, of course they did JD!” shouted Cade into the hands free, concentrating on making progress through the still busy main streets of the capital.
“What on earth possessed you to expose him to such trouble?”
“Jack, if you could see Tom you’d realise he looks a whole lot different. I doubt you’d pick him out from a line-up. Anyway, we need to focus on getting him to a safe house.”
“What about my place? You and Carrie could move in too. Loads of room. You could have the master suite.”
He looked at O’Shea. She nodded.
“You’ve got yourself three lodgers JD.”
“Great, I’ll get some fresh flowers…by the way, it seems that we’ve learned a whole lot more this evening.”
“Such as?”
“Such as one of our major targets is dead. Allegedly fell off a bridge into the Thames and drowned only recently. He was a major player in the Orion team back in the day so whether it was suicide, an accident or a deliberate attack remains to be seen.”
“This story just gets better with age – like a Central Otago pinot noir!”
“I’d agree on your choice. I’ll get a few bottles in.” He took a quiet breath. “Jack, someone is on the hunt and the fine old sailor that is sat next to me is the prized trophy.”
“OK. We’ll deal with that tomorrow. I’ve diverted Del to your rough location and I think local units are making their way. Sooner or later we’ll all meet and let’s hope we have them outgunned.”
Cade dropped the Audi into third, felt the turbocharged engine spool up and power it forward, at seventy without warning lights he knew he was pushing things. He held back, waited then changed down again and pushed ahead finding the gaps, reading the road. He missed the added bonus of sirens and lights. There was something very hypnotic about the way the lights and sound ricocheted off buildings at night.
“Clear left Jack!” shouted O’Shea, holding onto the door trim and trying to hold two conversations at once.
“JD we are on the A200 approaching Greenwich.” She knew the CAD call taker was listening in and diverting marked patrol units accordingly.
“Yes, received we are on the…” He looked for a landmark. “Somewhere near the Cutty Sark.”
The beautiful tea clipper was a national monument, dry-docked sixty years before and once the fastest ship on the open seas she had carried tea from China back to Britain until replaced by the more modern steam ships.
“She’s a beautiful old ship is the Cutty Sark,” said Denby. “Can we go and see her?”
“Er not now Tom now. Perhaps another day.”
“I’d like that very much. Thank you. Do they have a café?”
Daniel gave Hewett a look that said he was both concerned and unsure of where the old man’s mind was at that time.
“Carrie we’ve passed Nelson Street and onto the A200. Creek Road.” He repeated himself in the time-honoured fashion of a pursuit driver.
The CAD call taker also repeated it to her own units who were still travelling from a job twenty miles south of the river.
“Where are the bloody local cars Carrie?” yelled Daniel into his phone.
“No idea. At the rate Jack is driving we’ll be with you first.”
“Received and then what is Jack’s plan exactly. You remember I’ve seen him behind the wheel before!”
She had time for a quick smirk. “Stand by I’ll ask.”
She turned to Cade who was focused completely, the tendons in his forearms were pumping and his concentration was at absolute maximum. He considered himself a good driver. No more than that. Great drivers won world championships and most drivers on the road were average.
“Yep, we are minutes away from you JD.” She looked at herself in the shop windows, a high-speed reflection, chance to take it all in. She missed the thrill of the chase.
The Mercedes was inches off the taxi’s bumper with the black cab struggling to keep them at bay.
“Brake!” shouted Daniel. “This thing was built to last.”
Hewett rammed his foot onto the brake pedal. The old girl did as she was asked then laboured again as the large intercooled diesel engine coughed into life and left the Mercedes in a thick cloud of smoke.
They were soon back with them, trying to get alongside but mistiming their move as pedestrian refugees kept thwarting their efforts.
Denby was enjoying the ride. “This is marvellous. Like being back at sea in a Force Ten off the coast of Russia. It was 1942 I think. Bloody marvellous!” He punched his good hand into the air.
“You’ve got to love these black cabs. I remember when they first came out. You could only get black.” No one was actually listening to the dear old man, but he cared not one bit.
“Hackney Carriages of course is what they should be called.”
Hewett was accelerating now, then braking again, easily swinging the cab from side to side to keep the predatory Merc off his tail.
“It comes from the French hacqueneé – something to do with horses and carriages I can’t remember. For the life of me I can’t. By the way, did you know there’s a black Mercedes behind us?”
“Yes, Tom we did. Thanks.” Daniel was trying to be all things to all men.
“And I can see a grey car approaching up ahead. It’s moving faster than we are. Is that the police?”
It was as if the old man had regressed. Something had shifted him back in time, into the cavity of his own mind.
“Carrie is that you coming in at warp factor five on the A200?” Daniel asked, hoping. “If so, has Mr. Cade got a plan yet?”
She looked again. He shrugged. His black leather-soled Oxford shoes, a gift to himself, were switching rapidly between the clutch and accelerator as he braked hard then powered through the gaps.
Now he was travelling straight, and very fast.
“You are not going to ram him Jack? No!” O’Shea had seen this done before and began to shake. “Please, Jack no!”
And then the Mercedes braked fiercely and turned left down a side road. And it was gone.
“Carrie the Merc went down Norman Road. Left onto Norman Road. No idea where it comes out. Something happened. They just pulled away from us. Stand by I can see you now.”
The black taxi and grey Audi pulled up alongside each other in the middle of the main road attracting the fury of a few late-night motorists.
The Audi brakes were ticking, the engine red hot.
“You OK?” Cade asked Hewett.
“Yes, thanks Jack. Nice to see you again.” His resting heart rate must have been in the low fifties, there was barely a bead of sweat on his forehead.
“Indeed. Is it me Johnnie or does shit stick to you like it does to a much-loved blanket?”
“It has been said. Look what are we going to do with Tom? He’s a wanted man.” As his sentence finished, he heard the wailing of sirens.
A Ford Focus pulled up, blocking the road further.
“The cavalry is here. You all OK? Where’s the Merc?” asked the youthful constable behind the wheel of the Focus which had been clearly thrashed to within an inch of its life. He shuffled around, unco
mfortable in his body armour but clearly loving life.
“Thanks. Yes, and it went onto Norman Road.”
“Roger that and what are they wanted for?” It was a fair question.
“Dangerous driving and probably a hatful of traffic offences,” said Daniel knowing they were often easier to prove, especially with modern-day CCTV.
“And if we get them?”
“Let us know. Here’s my card.”
The Focus spun around noisily and headed back down the main road, blue strobe lights flickering before turning right.
“You’ve got cards? Very flash, do we get them?” Cade smiled at his old boss.
“You need to earn these. Right let’s get back to the ranch.”
“Which ranch?” It was another appropriate question.
“I’m thinking the hotel is out of bounds for Tom, we need to stow him at the Yard.”
“Agreed. Listen you go back, Carrie and I will have a tootle around, it’s amazing who might pop up and give us a little wave. You know how criminals think JD.”
“You are loving being back in the saddle, aren’t you? Before you go, we need a quick chat. You, me, Carrie and Johnnie.”
They stood outside the cab and JD filled in the gaps about the missing girls and the relevance of the numbers. And then the questions flowed.
“So what we are saying is his memory has peaked a little, he’s recalling some important stuff and to date this relates to a dozen girls – now women – who at best might be within the city limits, at worse, hundreds of miles away or worse still dead. And if we find them all then we still don’t know the sequence of the numbers? This is all a bit bloody far-fetched.” O’Shea wanted to believe the delightful ex-sailor.
“But so far, despite Jack’s thoughts on this and a ridiculous find at the hotel he’s not helping us get to the bottom of this. We need a break.”
“I agree, Jack. I know Jason is pushing shit uphill trying to convince his boss that there is mileage in this. But after tonight I feel we need to back him and by that I mean you too. And get him to open up the corporate wallet a little. We’ve got some amazing CHIS out there. Let’s use them.”
Covert Human Intelligence Sources. They were what made law enforcement tick. Had done since Roman times. Snitches, grasses, sources, narks. Call them what you like, some had agendas; money, revenge, moral decency. Whatever their intentions the humble CHIS was a very valuable tool in the modern arsenal of a police officer.
The Angel of Whitehall Page 28
