Chapter 23
Hank strapped the SMG under the yellow coat and
took a few seconds to practise grabbing it and bringing it up on
aim. Neither of the Irishmen had a pistol, or even a spare magazine
for the SMG. The young man sat limply on the floor, propped against
the pole, his head hooded and hands and feet tied up as Hank’s had
been. The other man was stuffed in a corner hidden under a
tarpaulin and some ropes. He was still breathing faintly when Hank
covered him, but if the guy ever did come out of it he would
probably have brain damage. The image of himself beating the men
kept flitting into Hank’s head, the brutality of it. He had never
done anything remotely like that before in his life although he had
imagined pounding a man to death on more than one occasion, such as
the time Kathryn came home upset because a bunch of hooligans had
harassed her outside a mall while she was loading her shopping into
the car. Helen and Janet had been with her and Kathryn thought the
thugs were going to rob her, or worse. For hours after Hank’s mind
fed on the images of him finding the guys and beating them to a
pulp. This day on the boat he had lived out what could have been
just another of his daydreams: a persecuted individual,
outnumbered, unarmed, his life threatened. But he had beaten one
guy to death and the other as good as. Hank wondered if perhaps the
daydreams had actually been a preparation for this day. He found a
chocolate bar in a pocket of the coat, unwrapped it and bit into it
greedily.
He readied his weapon and opened the door carefully
as he munched. The corridor was clear of life in both directions.
One end was a metal watertight door that looked like an entrance to
the engine room.The other end of the corridor appeared more
promising: a flight of stairs went up into light.
Hank remained in the room and closed the door again
to take a moment to think it through once more as he stuffed the
rest of the chocolate into his mouth. He was growing confident and
having second thoughts about his options. It might just be the
adrenalin, but he was feeling a lot better physically than he had
been earlier. His plans of action were becoming grander. Freedom
was obviously the primary aim, but he wondered if there was more to
be gained from this escape attempt. There didn’t appear to be many
people on board. Judging by the size of the boat he figured there
was no more than a dozen crewmembers. Hell, a super tanker, ten
times the size, had just over two dozen men. And since the boat was
alongside it was more than likely some had gone ashore. No one had
been along the corridor for ages. It was an opportunity he should
at least explore. It might just be possible to take over the boat
by himself. He could always go back to the original plan at any
time and leap overboard.
That made up his mind. The first thing he needed to
do was a recce. He would take a look around and assess the ship’s
manpower and location. Based on what he found he’d decide whether
or not to have a go at securing the boat or to slip over the
side.
He checked the weapon once again, made sure the
safety-catch was off, firmed his grip and pulled it out so that the
strap was taut. He opened the door, checked up and down, and
stepped out into the corridor, pulling the weapon in close to his
body and keeping it central so he could swiftly turn and engage
targets front or rear. He reminded himself, on engaging the enemy,
to keep his bursts to three shot maximum if possible. Distract,
destroy was the principal - first round in the chest to distract,
then in the head to destroy.
He moved his feet easily along the corridor careful
not to cross them over as he was taught and maintain his balance,
like a boxer, ready for anything. He came to the bottom of the
stairs and looked up to the first landing, where a corridor crossed
port and starboard and then continued up to another deck. The
corridor was brightly lit, electric lights, not natural, and there
was still no sign of life. Hank could feel a cool breeze coming
down the steps, a strong indication the deck led to the outside. It
was fresh with a chill to it and felt good.
Hank placed a foot on the first rung. He was
committed. The feeling that whatever was about to happen would
change the course of his life for ever suddenly washed over him. He
took another step, aimed the barrel at the doorway above, and moved
carefully up.
Bill Lawton zipped up his holdall, which looked as
if very little more could have been squeezed into it, lifted it off
the bed, and placed it near the front door. He selected a jacket
from several hanging on coat hooks, his favourite black leather
one, and pulled it on. He went to his sideboard, opened a drawer,
took out his passport and buried it in the inside pocket of his
jacket. He checked the contents of his wallet - almost a hundred
pounds and two credit cards - and put it in his pocket alongside
his passport. He looked around the apartment to see if there was
anything else he needed. He was suddenly gloomy at the thought he
was seeing it for the last time. It had been his London home for
more than four years and held a lot of memories, some of them
exceptional. A few very beautiful women had graced it . . .
This was the end of London for him. If he survived,
perhaps he could come back one day, twenty or thirty years from
now. Who was he kidding? he asked himself. He could never return if
he wanted to be sure of staying free. RIRA might give up after a
while, but if the Brits decided to go after him there would never
be a time, if he lived to be a hundred and fifty, when he could
relax and think it was over.
He suddenly thought of Henri, in a cell somewhere
no doubt, never to sit in a café again and sip a glass of wine, or
walk along the banks of the Seine on a perfect evening. Bill’s
chances of getting away were fair as long as he had an early drop
on both the IRA and the Brits. He would leave the flat just as it
was. Once out of the country he would call the police and tell them
where to find the virus. The flat would soon be filled with people
from every imaginable department of military intelligence. Dozens
upon dozens of them would troop through this room before it was
over. Every single item would be inspected and taken apart, every
minutia of his life pored over. Everyone he ever knew or met that
there was a record of would be scrutinised. Every number he ever
called from his home or mobile phone would be run through a
computer, every recorded purchase logged.
On a table was a picture of his mother and father,
his natural parents, a gift from Father Kinsella a few weeks after
that first meeting in the cemetery all those years ago. At the time
he was overcome with appreciation at the gesture as Kinsella knew
he would be. Kinsella never told him how he came by it. Only in
recent years, when things began to look jaded to Bill, did he start
to doubt the authenticity of the picture. He wondered if MI5 knew
about that part of his life, his true beginnings. It was probably
in a file somewhere. The picture would be a clue otherwise. Bill
picked it up and looked at it, as he had a hundred times. There was
something in the woman’s eyes. Perhaps they were Bill’s. He wanted
then to be. He took the picture out of the frame and put it in his
pocket.
His eyes then fell with finality on the vial of
liquid on the coffee table. It stood alone, simple and unadorned,
innocent and attractive, yet capable of wiping out all of humanity
if allowed. He wondered what kind of mind could think of creating
something like that.
The knock on the door was like a cannon going off
in Bill’s head. He stared at it in disbelief. Perhaps Kinsella had
come back to escort him on this, his greatest triumph. Or perhaps
it was his own people, MI5. Bringing a bottle of deadly virus into
the country was perhaps too ambitious for RIRA and it had been
traced to Bill. His heart pounded in his chest.
Bill went to the window and looked down on to the
street. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no unfamiliar
vehicles, no one visible. The knock came again. Bill couldn’t
ignore it. If it was Kinsella or MI5 he wasn’t going anywhere else.
His plans to escape evaporated.
Instinctively, as a precaution, he put his holdall
behind the bathroom door and went to the coffee table and picked up
the virus carefully. He opened a cupboard, put the vial in the back
between some blankets, made sure it was safe and closed the door.
The knock came again. He closed Kinsella’s briefcase, put it down
beside the empty hatbox, went to the front door, and opened
it.
Aggy stood there, framed by the doorway, looking as
though she was trying to hide some embarrassment behind her slight
smile. His heart fluttered as it always did on seeing her. No
memory of her image was equal to the sight of her in the
flesh.
‘Hi,’ he said, unable to hide his confusion.
‘I should’ve called,’ she said. ‘I was with a
friend just up the road and decided to pop round. I know you said
you had to go out but I took a chance . . . Is this a bad
time?’
‘No. Just got back actually. He didn’t want to go
to dinner in the end . . . I was just about to call you.’ Under
normal circumstances he would have been more than just delighted to
see her. He would have dragged her in and be ripping her clothes
off within seconds of closing the door. All he could think of now
was how to get out of inviting her inside. What he would have given
for a surprise visit from Melissa any other time. She no doubt
wanted to stay the night or she wouldn’t be here. It was what they
both originally expected to do that night. What a cruel world this
was. He would have to let her in, but just for a minute. He did not
have the heart to turn her away and never see her again. Perhaps
that’s what this was. Providence had intervened to allow him one
more look at her, one more embrace, before it was all to end. He
stepped back from the door.
‘Come in,’ he said.
She remained outside on the landing as if the
threshold to his flat was a landmine. ‘Would you like to go for a
walk?’ she said. ‘It’s a nice night. Maybe we could go to the pub .
. . I fancy a walk.’
There was something different about her. He could
sense it. Something was on her mind. Why didn’t she want to come
in? It suited him perfectly, but it disappointed him at the same
time.
‘Sure,’ he said smiling. ‘Let’s go.’
Then he suddenly considered the wisdom of leaving
the ‘stuff’ in his apartment. Then again he was going to walk away
from it in a very short while anyhow. He stepped through the door
and closed it behind him, ensuring it was locked. He winked at her
as he went ahead and led the way downstairs. Both their smiles
disappeared as he turned his back on her.
On the landing, across from Bill’s apartment, a
grey fire door with ‘ROOF EXIT’ written on it was wedged slightly
open by an empty cigarette packet. Someone in the darkness behind
it was looking through the narrow gap. The door slowly opened and
Brennan stepped on to the landing and looked down the stairwell
that zigzagged to the ground floor.
He regarded Bill’s front door. His brief had been
to stay with the bio, but something about the woman’s arrival
tweaked his curiosity. They’d left empty handed so the bio was safe
enough in the apartment. He made his way down the stairs.
Bill and Aggy walked out of the apartment block
and up the street. Bill placed his hands in his pockets as they
walked along together in silence. Aggy was aware of her awkwardness
when Bill opened his door and hoped he’d put it down to shyness.
She was warming to the show, trying to act natural, as Stratton had
told her to, but it was a different kind of undercover work than
she was trained for. The dets for the most part observed, listened,
photographed, recorded and followed.They mingled but never adopted
false identities or attempted to penetrate society.That was
unjustifiably dangerous, difficult, and arguably unnecessary. But
Aggy was now mingling with the enemy, only because of her unique
circumstances perhaps, but nevertheless.There was something
exciting about it. On the other hand, it felt unreal because it was
Bill. He was, essentially, still her lover. In many ways she didn’t
know this man beside her, but she didn’t feel as if Bill had
cheated her. He’d never used her to gain intelligence. He knew or
could find out more about the operations she was involved in than
she. And she still believed him when he said he had fallen for
her.
She put her arm through his. Even though Stratton
had warned her Bill was now dangerous she felt sad for him. She
looked at him and he glanced at her. They both smiled and walked
on.
Brennan looked out of the apartment entrance to
see Bill and Aggy walking up the street arm in arm. He waited until
they were a good distance on before walking out of the building,
crossing the street and following them.
Stratton remained around the corner in the
alleyway where Aggy had left him. He checked his watch. Sumners
would be getting agitated. If Lawton was in his apartment, Aggy
might find it difficult to get him out of it, especially if he had
the virus. What was his plan if she didn’t show? He would have
little choice but to go to the apartment himself and take it from
there.
He decided to give Aggy another five minutes. Then
she appeared with Lawton.
‘Ata girl,’ he said to himself as he watched them
cross the street and continue out of sight towards Wandsworth
Road.
Eager though he was, he forced himself to wait a
moment and give them time to get some distance from the apartment.
When he stepped out of the alleyway he quickly ducked back into it.
A figure was walking up the road in the same direction as Aggy and
Lawton. The person was the other side of the road and Stratton
couldn’t make out any features. He could see it was a man with a
limp but not much more. Stratton waited for the figure to move on
before leaving the alley, crossing the road and heading for
Lawton’s apartment block.
As he turned the corner he checked Aggy, Lawton,
and the other figure were still walking away. Then he entered
Lawton’s building and jogged up the stairs. When he got to the top
floor he was a little out of breath, a reminder he had not been
working out much lately because of all that had been happening. A
month ago a couple flights of stairs would have been nothing. He
needed to start putting the miles in again, just one more reason he
wanted to see the back of this operation.
He stopped on the landing and paused a moment to
survey the scene and listen. There were four doors on this top
floor: three apartments and a grey door marked ‘ROOF EXIT’. He
walked over and opened the grey door. A flight of stairs led up to
another door. He quickly went up the steps and tried the handle. It
opened on to the roof. That would be useful if anyone came.
He returned to Lawton’s door and took the small
leather case from his pocket and unzipped it. Inside were several
finely crafted tools that could easily be mistaken for a dentist’s
travel set, each in its own little sleeve. He examined the lock. It
was a Yale dead bolt with a fixed collar and several years old. The
older the better. He selected a tension spring, a slender piece of
flat metal bent at one end, and inserted the short end into the
keyhole, bending the other end to apply pressure to the tumblers.
He decided to rake the six tumblers first. If that didn’t work he
would have to choose a fine pick and push each individual tumbler
up until they all cleared the revolver. He slid the rake in, teeth
upwards, and pulled it out swiftly while maintaining the spring
pressure. He repeated the action without a result. He then raked it
back and forth swiftly and suddenly the lock turned under the
pressure from the spring and the door opened.
Stratton moved inside and closed the door behind
him. He replaced the tools in the case and put it back in his
pocket.
Lawton had left the light on. That meant Stratton
had to be careful moving around or he would be seen from the
street. First rule of searching was to stand and look, divide the
room up into quadrants and furnishings and search each section in
turn with his eyes before moving from the door. He looked in the
bathroom beside the front door and noticed the holdall. He checked
it. It was full of clothes. He closed it and took another look at
the room. On the floor was a hatbox that fitted Aggy’s description.
Beside it was a small briefcase. He’d seen enough and it was time
to physically search.
Keeping low he moved to the case, put it on the
coffee table and opened it. He noted the two halves filled with
sponge one of which had a bottle-shaped cut-out. If he had had any
doubts about Lawton’s involvement with the bio this quickly
eliminated them. He checked the hatbox. In it was a polystyrene
mould that had a similar sized cut-out in the centre. The most
cynical intelligence expert would have to concede this was damning
evidence. The briefcase obviously didn’t come with the box since
there wasn’t enough room in it with the polystyrene, therefore it
was quite likely intended to supersede the hatbox as a carriage for
the bio. But where was the bio? There was no time to search the
entire flat before Aggy and Lawton returned. If he knew for certain
the bio was in the building he could close the operation there and
then, take care of Lawton, and leave the rest up to a search team.
But the bio could be anywhere, hidden outside in a garden or in a
car. And so the op would have to go on until they could pin it
down. He couldn’t afford to be caught in the apartment or leave any
sign he’d been there.
Stratton had to get going, but something was
holding him back. He needed some kind of insurance. He just about
had time for that.
He took one of the sponges out of the briefcase.
There was plenty of it and it was a snug fit. Using a pocketknife
he cut a piece out of the back of the sponge and put it in his
pocket. He took the three small black hexagonal blocks from a
pocket and pulled off the magnets that were stuck to the back of
each. They were even lighter now. He flicked a tiny switch on one,
arming it, placed them snugly into the sponge, and fitted it back
into the briefcase. He weighed the case in his hands to feel if it
was noticeably heavier. A person would have to be supersensitive to
detect a difference. If it was discovered the game was up but his
need for some kind of contingency outweighed the risk he was
taking. He put the case back on the floor as it was.
After a quick double-check to make sure he had
everything he left the apartment.
He walked down the stairs to the glass entrance,
paused to see if the street was clear, and walked out of the
building and away.
He pulled out his mobile phone, hit a key and put
it to his ear. ‘Sumners? Stratton. No bio but wait. There’s a
briefcase with a bottle-sized sponge mould in it. The hatbox is
there. All signs indicate the bio is close and that Lawton still
has it. I’m pretty sure we can close this down here.’
‘Okay,’ Sumners said, thinking as he listened. He
trusted Stratton, but if anything went wrong it was on his
shoulders, and there was another set of shoulders above him. And
after all, Stratton was just a ground operative. Sumners respected
his opinions and usually went with his recommendations, but
Stratton would never know the whole picture. And Stratton had his
own views on the outcome, and his own politics, which were not
always shared by those above. Then there was the operation value,
the price one was prepared to pay to have an op succeed. It varied
from op to op. Usually the value just referred to equipment and
money, but sometimes the price was higher. A ground operative could
not be expected to give his life for an operation, but someone else
could give it.
‘The wheels are in motion and going as fast as they
can,’ Sumners said. ‘We’re setting up a chemical hazard centre
about a mile from you. Every biohazard team within two hundred
miles is on its way to that centre. The police have been prepped
that something big could be going down, though they don’t know what
yet. All leave is cancelled and they have literally hundreds of
teams earmarked to move to any area in London and seal it
off.’
‘And my teams?
‘I understand some are already on the way to you.
The others are still on the outskirts of London. When they get to
you the package will include an eye in the sky and a link into the
traffic camera surveillance system.’
Stratton hoped they would get to him soon. ‘There’s
something else,’ Stratton said. ‘I’ve mined the case.’
‘You’ve what?’ Sumners said.
‘I’m flying by the seat of my pants here.’
‘If they find it they’ll know we’re on to
them.’
‘If we lose them or the bio we lose
everything.’
‘You don’t even know if an explosive charge is
enough to destroy the bio.’
‘That’s right. But I should by now.’ Stratton was
politely scolding Sumners. Fortunately, in this business, rank was
not in your face. Everyone was a professional working their own
part of the complex game and it was not inconceivable to ball out
the boss if he did something wrong.
‘What kind of charge?’ Sumners asked. He
sympathised with Stratton. He was out there on his own and, given
the circumstances, the charge was not a bad idea.
‘American Super “X”. Their new lightweight door
charge.’
‘I’ll find out and get back to you asap. Don’t use
it unless I tell you to, no matter what. It’s possible all it will
do is spread the damned virus into the air.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ Stratton said as he approached
a major road. A couple turned the corner towards him. ‘Get me my
team,’ he said quickly and killed the phone.
All things considered, he felt the balance of
control was in his favour, despite the fact he was without a team.
His gut feeling was things were okay. He needed to stay lucky;
although that was not a good place to be - an op of this magnitude
being dependent on luck.