The Division Collection

by Angus McLean

  There was no response and he tried again. Still nothing.

  Moore hit the talk button taped to his thumb. ‘Stand by,’ he said. The tiny mic pinned beneath his tie picked it up clearly.

  He moved quickly to the front doors and checked the exterior. The Minister’s silver Opel waited at the doors with the engine running, the backup car behind it. The two uniformed cops supposed to be on duty there were off to the side, chatting and smoking. From the doors Moore could see that one held the radio the PPOs had loaned them.

  Moore stalked over to them and whistled sharply as he approached. Both men looked round guiltily and tossed their smokes aside. Moore waggled his ear and pointed at the radio.

  ‘Got your ears on?’ he snapped.

  The radio man flushed and checked the radio, turning it on with an audible click.

  Moore suppressed a snarl and keyed his radio. ‘Standby one.’

  He turned to the two cops and angrily pointed them into position. The one without the radio, a fat guy with a bushy moustache, looked obstinately at Moore and said something in Greek. It clearly wasn’t an invitation to dinner, and Moore shot him a glare.

  ‘Really, sunshine?’ Moore took a step forward. He was older than the cop but bigger and stronger, and clearly in no mood for a debate. ‘Get moving before I kick your fuckin’ arse.’

  The message didn’t need translating and they scurried off to their positions. Moore gave the all clear as he returned to Katie’s side, silently fuming. Katie sensed his anger but stayed quiet,

  They watched Oldham and his party – Tristan and a couple of other aides – finish up their pleasantries and head that way, Chris and Alex boxing them front and back.

  He was pleased to note that the PPOs looked sharp and alert.

  As the group moved past them, Oldham looked in their direction and seemed to break stride when he recognised Moore. There was a pregnant pause for the slightest of moments before Tristan ushered him on and the Minister disappeared out the door without a word.

  Moore watched until the Minister was in the back seat of the Opel before he turned away.

  Chris’ voice came on the net through the earwig. ‘Mike One mobile.’

  Moore heard Nga acknowledge it and give a three minute warning to the High Commissioner’s driver to bring their car round. He and Katie automatically moved, exiting the main doors and taking up positions on the flanks. This enabled them to have eyes outside before the principal emerged. He saw the pair of Greek police officers standing over where he had caught them, fresh cigarettes sparked up.

  They were displaying no situational awareness, and he wondered at the sense of having used them for the outside watch during the Minister’s departure. Whoever had decided that clearly had no tactical nous.

  The fat one eyeballed Moore across the gap, made sure he had caught the foreigner’s eye then turned and pointedly spat on the ground. He looked back with a sneer and blew smoke in Moore’s direction.

  Moore bristled but ignored him. He didn’t have time for childish bravado.

  ‘Moving to the doors,’ Vince said over the net.

  Moore subconsciously stood a little straighter and scanned the driveway and front apron. The maroon Toyota being used for the High Commissioner was in place by the doors, the security vehicle sitting back further.

  The party emerged and moved towards the car, Vince getting the door. The High Commissioner and his wife climbed aboard and Nga took the front passenger’s seat. As soon as the Toyota began to move the security car, a blue Skoda, slid forward and picked up Vince.

  ‘Hotel One mobile,’ Nga transmitted, and in seconds both sets of taillights disappeared down the drive.

  The cop who had the radio ambled over and handed it to Moore without making eye contact before re-joining his fat mate. Moore and Katie headed back inside, finding Ingoe and Gutry making their farewells to the hosts. Ingoe gave them a nod and Katie headed outside again.

  Being just the support crew, no driver had been supplied. Moore waited while the small talk and pleasantries wound down, nodding and smiling to some of the old warriors as they headed for the door.

  He wondered if it would too late to get a snack by the time they arrived back at the hotel.

  Suddenly the net opened and he heard a grunt in his ear, a muffled cough and some kind of rustle. Maybe Katie had inadvertently triggered her talk button. Another cough sounded followed by a groan and Moore moved fast towards the door.

  He sidestepped a small group of guests as he ran towards the car park, hitting the talk button.

  ‘Katie? Katie?’

  He rounded the side of the hotel and spotted their car several metres away, the last official vehicle in their designated spot. It was a blue Toyota Corolla lift back – hardly the standard car for a protection job, but the Greeks seemed to like their small cars.

  The lighting was dim round the side of the hotel, but Moore could see Katie on her hands and knees by the front of the car, her hair hanging down over her face as she moved feebly.

  Moore sprinted to her, drawing his weapon as he ran and scanning for threats. He saw none but took a few extra seconds to circle the car before dashing back and skidding to a stop beside her. He took a knee and swept the area, his eyes and Sig working as one, checking again.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, not looking at her.

  ‘Ahh…shit...’ She groaned and touched the back of her head gingerly. ‘Someone…hit me.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Dunno…didn’t see.’

  He holstered his weapon and helped her to her feet. She leaned against the side of the car and let him check her over. Aside from a bang to the head which had produced a nasty lump and a small amount of blood, she appeared to be uninjured. She still had her weapon and the car keys; this was no robbery.

  ‘Look at me.’ Moore checked her eyes. Satisfied she hadn’t been concussed, he helped her into the front passenger’s seat then went and fetched Ingoe and Gutry.

  He quietly filled Ingoe in on the attack as they walked back to the car, but left Gutry out of the loop for now. Despite being in the same game, he was from a different agency and Moore had never dealt with him before; therefore he was an unknown.

  They took their places, Moore at the wheel with Katie beside him. Gutry raised an eyebrow at Katie’s condition but said nothing. Moore put the Toyota in gear and moved out of the car park slowly, the headlights sweeping the Police Skoda near the main entrance. The two uniformed cops glanced at them as they went past and Moore caught a sneer on the fat guy’s face.

  He ignored him and rolled out to the road, nosing down the hill towards Chania and starting to move.

  Katie was gingerly probing her head and grunted as the car hit a bump and she inadvertently jabbed her wound.

  ‘Sorry,’ Moore murmured, tapping the brakes.

  The pedal was soft under his foot and he pressed harder, pushing it all the way to the floor. There was no resistance and the car continued to accelerate with gravity. They were already doing forty klicks.

  ‘Oh shit…’

  He dropped the auto transmission into second and felt the engine grab, the tach needle flicking up sharply as the engine tried to slow itself.

  ‘Got no brakes,’ Moore said sharply as he seized the hand brake and lifted it hard, keeping the button down with his thumb. ‘Buckle up.’

  The hand brake came straight up with no resistance and he realised it was gone too. He immediately hit the hazard lights and turned the wheel sharply, throwing the car into a zig-zag across the lanes to gain traction on the tyres. A hair pin turn was coming up fast and he zigged back onto the correct side of the road – all he needed now was an oncoming car.

  The Toyota took the sharp turn at forty klicks and he began to zig-zag again as they entered a straight of a hundred metres or so. On the right was a safety barrier on the cliff side. The mountains loomed on the left, a steep bank dropping to the road with another safety barrier.

  He need
ed dirt or grass to slow them down, but there was no other option. He continued to zig-zag, pumping the brake pedal as he did so in case he could build up pressure in the line, but it was like pushing on a sponge.

  ‘Hope you got insurance, Jed,’ Moore muttered, ‘heads down!’

  Katie covered her head and ducked as he zagged back her way. There was a bang and a shrill screech of metal as the front left wing connected with the safety barrier. He rode it hard, steering against the barrier and seeing pieces flying off the side of the car into the darkness, bright orange and yellow sparks cascading across the glass.

  Moore jerked the car back to the right as the road turned that way, the speedo immediately picking up again from thirty. The tyres sang as he cut left sharply, the tail slipping a bit before he could recover – a slide now would be fatal.

  He got the car back under control, slapped the gear stick down as low as it would go and aimed the nose towards the safety barrier on the left again, connecting at thirty five klicks with a horrendous screech. There was a jolt as the wheel clipped a post on the barrier and the car lurched to the right, headlights coming up fast behind them.

  ‘Watch the back!’ Moore shouted, hoping against hope it was not some drunk Greek meandering his way home after too much ouzo. Or worse still, their attackers coming in for the kill. In an incapacitated car and with one gun hand out of action, they were sitting ducks.

  He swung back left, spotting the end of the barrier as the bank on the left dropped to an easier slope covered in brush. He rode up onto the slope with the left hand wheels, as far as he dared without risking a roll, feeling the long grass and smaller scrub grabbing at the chassis of the car and slowing it down. A larger shrub went down under the front of the car with a rustling crash.

  The car behind them flew past on the right, the passenger gesturing angrily at them and the driver tooting loudly. The taillights disappeared around a bend and Moore followed, dropping back onto the asphalt again to take the curve. Rubber screamed as the Toyota slid across the road and careened off the right hand safety barrier. A hubcap rattled away and dropped off the edge into the darkness.

  ‘Try to stay to the left Rob,’ Ingoe said drily, ‘there’s a bloody great cliff down there.’

  They got round the bend and Moore took it up onto the left hand bank again, swiping a sapling and scraping against a rock hidden by the undergrowth. The speed was bleeding off but momentum was still the enemy, dragging the car forward. There was still no response from the brakes so Moore left the pedal alone and focussed on the wheel, his hands in a strong 10-2 position. He brought the car back to the right again, throwing a fast zig-zag from shoulder to shoulder that tossed his passengers around but got good traction on the rubber and bled off ten k’s an hour. He steered back into the left hand barrier, sparks showering over the windscreen and popping across his night vision like fireworks. The left headlight blew and the steering wheel was juddering in his hands, fighting against the resistance of the metal barrier. A right hand bend was fast approaching and headlights were coming with it. Moore flicked down the sun visor to protect his vision as best he could.

  The other vehicle narrowly missed them as Moore slalomed in the width of his lane before crossing over to the right again and swinging it hard. He estimated they were probably half way down the hill now and they needed to stop before they hit Chania. An out of control car in a busy town centre would be disastrous. An out of control car full of foreign intelligence officers would be an international incident of epic proportions.

  He hauled hard on the wheel, feeling the tail of the car lift and threaten to slide as he aimed for the grassy bank on the left. The front left wheel bumped up onto the grass just before the tail lost grip, and the car started to slide.

  ‘Fuck!’ shouted Katie as the landscape spun before them.

  Moore steered into the skid, keeping his eyes on the grass bank and praying another car didn’t suddenly appear on the scene.

  The car flicked around in a full circle, the tyres screeching and pouring smoke so thick that Moore couldn’t see even with one headlight still working.

  He lost sight of the bank and fought the wheel, the steering juddering in his hands before the front right wheel thumped into the kerb and they were up onto the grass again, backwards now but moving slower.

  He leaned into it, feeling the car slowing more, bumping over unseen objects he had no way of combating. There was a sudden crunch from the rear, a lurch and the back of the Toyota dropped.

  The car came to an abrupt stop, the engine roaring and the front wheels spinning for grip. Moore grabbed at the key and killed the ignition.

  Silence fell on the car and they sat for a moment, regathering themselves. The remaining headlight popped and died.

  ‘I don’t know about you guys,’ Gutry piped up from the back seat, ‘but we don’t get this much at NAB.’

  Chapter Fifty One

  Both of them found it hard to unwind once they got back to their room.

  Katie sat with an icepack on her head to reduce the swelling, a glass of water and strong painkillers ready at her elbow.

  ‘I’m sure a decent drink would work better,’ she grumbled, watching Moore pour himself a short bourbon over ice.

  ‘Not with a head injury,’ he said, recapping the bottle and picking up his glass. ‘Keep that pack on your head for another four minutes.’

  He took a swig and savoured the burn as it slid down his throat. They’d been over the night’s events a dozen times and it never got any better.

  An unseen, unidentified assailant cracked Katie over the back of the head as she was getting the car keys out, paused long enough to kick her in the guts and ran off. No attempt at robbery, no words said, not a damn hint of who they were. Then their brakes failed and they nearly all perished in a fiery crash down a mountainside.

  Jedi had organised for the car to be towed and stored at the local Police headquarters, and Moore was going to look at it in the morning. There was no doubt in his mind though that it had been a deliberate act of murderous sabotage. It was clearly linked to the attack on Katie, who had presumably disturbed the bad guy and spooked him into action. But why?

  The question remained, hanging out there unanswered. Random? Highly unlikely. Linked to their mission at hand? Quite probable. Personal? Possible, but unlikely. Maybe the two cops Moore had rarked up, but they were obvious suspects and had a lot to lose if they were found out. They certainly had the opportunity though, the motive, and probably the knowledge.

  The longer it tumbled round in his head, the more he kept coming back to the Minister’s assistant, Tristan. Moore knew he had nothing to base his suspicions on aside from a strong dislike for the jumped up, objectionable little man, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was behind it. Something about him just gave Moore the creeps.

  He took another drink and dug out his cell phone. He brought up a number and hit the call button. It took a few rings before Chris answered. He sounded sleepy.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘When you guys left tonight, did you all go together?’ Moore didn’t apologise for waking him. His felt his heart pounding in his chest.

  ‘Yeah, you saw us…what’re you on about? Oh, hang on, umm…no.’

  ‘No? What d’you mean no?’

  ‘No, we didn’t all leave together. We were going to, then one of them decided to stay and make his own way back to the hotel later.’

  Moore put his glass down with a clunk. Katie stood now and walked over, the icepack in her hand.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Moore said, ‘the Minister’s assistant?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Chris replied. ‘Tristan.’

  ‘Thanks mate.’ Moore disconnected and turned to Katie. ‘I think we have a problem.’

  The open plan office was mostly in darkness at nearly midnight, just a cone of light falling over a single desk as the lone intelligence officer worked late.

  Sarah Loughlin lifted her mug and screwed up her face at the tast
e of the cold tea. Bugger it, it was better than nothing. She drained it and put the mug down, sitting back. The mug was bright red with white lettering – World’s Best Mum.

  Like hell, she thought bitterly. The world’s best mum wouldn’t be at work at this time of bloody night, would she?

  She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She felt like a sack of shite but was too wired to knock off just yet. There was a pair of night shift surveillance teams out there, trying their damndest to track down their target.

  Melinda Ashford-Blaine had been missing for only a day and a half, and the police had barely raised an eyebrow so far. At Millbank it was a different story. Being the daughter of a well-connected Viscount ensured things got done that wouldn’t normally get done, and in this case, it was just as well.

  It had taken all of an hour to establish that Melinda, a twenty year old arts student, had been frequenting a particular café in High Wycombe, just up the road from her family’s plush property outside Marlow. The Buckinghamshire countryside was hardly a hotbed of terrorist activity, but the working town of Wycombe was well on MI5’s radar.

  The café in question was run by a Pakistani family with known connections to various radicals, some of whom had been caught up in previous anti-terrorism operations. Not only had young Melinda begun frequenting the establishment, it seemed she had also hooked up with one of the sons and had spent at least one night at his flat, according to the text data one of the team had been analysing.

  Melinda gushed enthusiastically to a girlfriend about how amazing Imran was, and how now that they had consummated their relationship – multiple times, no less – he had asked her to go away with him for a weekend. There was no way her parents would allow it, the ignorant bastards, even though everyone just knew Daddy was having it off with that slapper PA of his and Mummy was spaced on fucking Valium most of the time, so who the hell were they to question anything anyway?