He shook his head and tried taking a gulp of air, his head hanging low. ‘Dis…disabled,’ he murmured. ‘Find… find it with GPS.’ He looked up and stretched out a hand. ‘Need a… a phone. Please. Need it now before I… before I forget. Quick!’
‘Forget what?’ Ruth looked at Vaslik, who shrugged and handed James his cell phone.
Crouched over the device and waving away their offers of help, James slowly tapped out a number, blood dripping from the sleeve of his jacket. When he finished dialling he struggled to sit upright, wincing at the pain and supported by Vaslik. Ruth noticed that he was watching the patrol vehicle in the distance and holding the phone out as if it were a television remote.
‘What are you doing?’ she queried. ‘Let me help you.’
James shook his head. ‘No. I’ll do it. It’s… my right.’ He waited with his thumb poised over the SEND button. ‘Promise me something?’
‘Of course. What?’
‘Don’t let them have this… this phone. You’ll see…why.’
In that moment Ruth knew what he was going to do as surely as if he’d told her in detail. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words stuck in her throat.
‘Malak’s going for the president!’ Vaslik shouted.
He was right. The patrol vehicle had begun to turn towards the remembrance site and the watching crowd, and was putting on speed, the engine howling in protest as the wheels left the ground.
‘No,’ James said calmly. ‘He’s not.’ He pressed the button.
It seemed to take forever for anything to happen, but in reality was only a heartbeat. Malak’s vehicle, bouncing over the rough terrain in a mad dash, seemed to hesitate and lift for a fraction of a second, and hung in the air as if suspended on a wire. Then came a vivid flash of light and a clap of thunder as an explosion ripped the bodywork apart and the shattered remains began tumbling over in a lazy cartwheel of fire and flame, scattering burning debris over a wide area.
When Ruth looked at James, he had passed out.
She picked up the phone and passed it to Vaslik, who stripped out the Sim card and dropped the phone to the ground and stood on it, grinding it into the dirt.
* * *
It took Tom Brasher twenty minutes to fight his way through the cordon of Secret Service, military police and local police that had been thrown up around the area, and to confirm that James Chadwick was pronounced still alive and rushed away for treatment.
‘Did Chadwick cause that explosion?’ Brasher asked. He stared hard at Ruth and Vaslik, who exchanged a look but said nothing. Without needing to talk about it, they had agreed not to dump James into the frame. Brasher huffed impatiently. ‘I’m just asking, that’s all. Between us. I’m not looking to bust his balls.’
Ruth trusted Brasher completely, but she knew that nothing stayed completely secret among government organisations for long; especially with a scoop-hungry press already on the scene and demanding answers. Was it a suicide bomb that had gone wrong, or had somebody else intervened in some way to prevent an assassination on the president? She could see the headlines already, leading the world’s media straight to the Chadwicks’ door in search of a hero.
No, if Chadwick wanted word to get out about what he’d done, it had to be his choice, not theirs. He and his family had gone through enough already without adding media intrusion to their problems.
‘According to James,’ she said cautiously, ‘Malak had rigged a spare cell phone with a pack of C4, for reasons we can’t even guess. He didn’t seem the sort to consider suicide, but who knows, if he saw no other way out?’ She looked at Vaslik to see if he had anything to offer, but he gave a brief nod for her to continue.
‘So Malak blew himself up?’
‘In trying to get away and take the bomb to the president, he must have triggered it himself. You agree, Slik?’
Vaslik nodded. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself. But what about the fourth drone?’
The change of subject made Brasher blink. ‘What? Oh, yes. A military biohazard team is tracking it down right now. If Donny was telling the truth about that, it’s likely to be carrying the chemical tube. Was that Chadwick’s doing, too, keeping it grounded?’
‘It must have been.’ Vaslik spoke firmly. ‘Nobody else knows how to programme those things. It would be a pity if that action got neutralised by anybody thinking he’d done something wrong, don’t you think? You know what the press will do when they get hold of the story: they’ll look for victims and heroes.’ And even manage turn the heroes into victims, she thought cynically, if they saw a story in it.
Vaslik returned Brasher’s look with one of complete innocence, then shook dust from his jacket and added casually, ‘I need a drink. Anybody care to join me?’
‘Count me in,’ said Ruth, and waited for Brasher to signal his agreement. She knew they would soon be overwhelmed by investigators from every conceivable agency under the sun, and their every action would be taken apart and analysed minutely for flaws, gaps and inconsistencies. But for now she was trusting in the FBI agent to get them some breathing space.
He sighed. ‘Yeah, I get the message. But don’t go far, you hear? I’d hate to have to send the SWAT team looking for you.’
Ruth turned as Dave Proust joined them, a broad grin on his face at seeing they were all in good shape. ‘Dave, do you know any local bars?’
He nodded. ‘Sure do. I can even get you there in style.’ He winked at Brasher and smiled. ‘Who’s buying?’
About the Author
Adrian Magson has written eighteen crime and spy thriller series built around Harry Tate, ex-soldier and MI5 office, and Gavin & Palmer (investigative reporter Riley Gavin & ex- Military Policeman Frank Palmer). He also has countless short stories and articles in national and international magazines to his name plus a non-fiction work: Write On! – the Writer’s Help Book. Adrian lives in the Forest of Dean, and rumours that he is building a nuclear bunker are unfounded. It is in fact, a bird table.
Also by Adrian Magson
Smart Moves
Inspector Lucas Rocco
Death on the Marais
Death on the Rive Nord
Death on the Pont Noir
Death at the Clos du Lac
Rocco and the Nightingale
Rocco and the Price of Lies
Cruxys Solutions Investigation
The Locker
The Drone
First published in the United States in 2017 by as The Bid by Midnight Ink
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
31 Helen Road
Oxford OX2 0DF
United Kingdom
Copyright © Adrian Magson, 2017
The moral right of Adrian Magson to be identified as the creator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781800323735
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Look for more great books at www.canelo.co
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