Deadly Terror (Detective Zoe Finch Book 4)

by Rachel McLean

  She snapped her focus back to Andreea’s plane. The side doors had opened and people were visible in the openings. Someone hurled an object to the ground: the inflatable slide. It hit the tarmac and filled with air.

  She needed to get closer. She needed to find her sister.

  She was about to run for the plane when Adam grabbed her. He span her round to face him and shouted into her face.

  “The boss has got instructions for you.”

  She nodded. “Where is he?”

  “He’s not here. But you have to do as he says.”

  “OK.” She glanced towards the plane, tugging at his arm.

  He leaned in, his breath stinking of the roll-ups he smoked. “You have to listen to me.”

  “OK. Just tell me.”

  He shoved his free hand into his pocket and brought out a sheet of paper. “There are kids on that plane,” he said. “They’ve come from a school, in Romania.”

  She nodded as he crumpled the paper into her hand.

  “On there’s names. Seat numbers.”

  She frowned. Nobody would still be in their seat.

  “Find those kids. Get them off the plane and bring them here. If you can’t find them, just pick eight kids.”

  “Why eight?”

  “Just do as you’re told, will you?”

  “What about Andreea?”

  “I’ll worry about her.”

  A second van stopped beyond the gate, behind the one Adam had brought her in. Sofia stared at it. Had Titi come for her?

  Adam shook her arm. “We’ll take care of your sister. You have to get those kids off. You got that?”

  “I do.”

  She could find the kids and look for Andreea. If she had time.

  The second van’s doors opened and three men tumbled out. One of them carried a gun. They ran to the gate and shoved their way through it.

  Sofia felt ice run through her veins, remembering the men who’d come to their village with guns when she was a child.

  “What’s happening?” she asked Adam. “Where’s Titi?”

  “Boss is fine. He’s somewhere safe.”

  What about me? She thought. Why aren’t I somewhere safe?

  Adam dug his fingernails into her wrist. “Eight kiddies. You speak their language. You find them, you get them off the plane, you bring them back here. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Sofia wanted to spit in his face, but the man with the gun made her scared to breathe.

  Adam let go of her arm. “Good. Now run.”

  Chapter Nine

  Randle stopped in front of the main entrance to the airport. Zoe jumped out, scanning the scene.

  People were being herded away from the building, onto patches of open land. She knew there had to be a system, but she couldn’t see it.

  “Remember,” said Randle. “The forensics.”

  Zoe nodded. They ran into the building, pushing past the crowds coming the other way. Suitcases and bags were strewn across the luggage drop-off hall, abandoned in the panic. They had to swerve and jump to get through the chaos, but eventually they reached the doors to the security offices at the far end.

  “Ops base will be in here,” Randle said. Zoe blew hair out of her eyes.

  “How d’you know all this?” she asked.

  “The May Day preparation exercise. June last year. Don’t you remember?”

  She’d been a detective sergeant at the time, unconcerned with emergency operations like this. She didn’t reply.

  “Right,” he said, after a moment’s silence. “You’ll need to speak to Donnelly.”

  Zoe tensed. The last time she’d spoken to Chris Donnelly had been the day she transferred to Force CID. It had not been a friendly conversation.

  But more important things were at stake.

  They ran along corridors until they came to a set of double doors with security signage. Randle pressed an intercom buzzer.

  “Detective Superintendent Randle. I’m Gold Command. Let me in.”

  The door opened. Beyond, the room was being set up. Staff dragged long tables into place and set up computer monitors. A notice board was being erected. People rushed this way and that, all busy, all focused. The room was hushed, patches of conversation interrupting the quiet.

  Donnelly was leaning over a woman at a computer two tables along. He wore cords and a brown sweater. So he hadn’t been on duty.

  Randle approached him. Zoe hurried to keep up, not wanting to trail behind. Randle stretched out a hand.

  “DCI Donnelly,” he said.

  Donnelly looked from Randle to Zoe. He raised his eyebrows at his former DC then returned his attention to Randle. “Sir.”

  “What’s the situation?”

  “Come with me.”

  Donnelly led them to a bank of monitors. Three techs flitted between them, threading wiring between the screens and plugging in more.

  “Eleven aircraft are in a holding pattern above the airport,” he said. “Air traffic control are looking after that but they need to get them down before they run out of fuel. The runway’s unsafe, apparently the heat has affected the tarmac within a three hundred metre radius of the explosion.”

  “What about survivors?” Zoe asked.

  Donnelly glanced at her and then back at Randle. “There are six planes out there right now, either just landed when it happened or preparing to take off. Nothing is allowed to land or take off until they’ve secured the airport and sorted the tarmac.”

  A woman in a dark blue suit approached, her hand out towards Randle. “Barbara Rolands, Head of Airport Security.”

  “Ms Rolands.”

  “I’m second Silver Command along with DCI Donnelly here. You’re Gold?”

  “I am. This is DI Finch. She’s going to be working with Forensics to ensure—”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Randle leaned back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The airline is going to want first dibs on investigating what happened.”

  “We have a potential terror attack here,” Randle said. His blue-grey eyes bored into hers. The woman stared back, refusing to be cowed. “The priority is to identify potential perpetrators so we can stop them striking again,” he said.

  Rolands opened her mouth to speak. Randle turned away from her to confer with Donnelly.

  “Do we have video of the incident?” he asked.

  “From three angles,” Donnelly replied.

  “Good. We need everything we can get, and fast. You do know about the New Street attack?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We have no reason to believe the two are connected,” said Rolands. “The likelihood is failure in the aircraft.”

  Randle gave her a condescending look. “With respect, Ms Rolands, I think the chances of two major incidents in the Birmingham area within an hour of each other are slim to say the least. We are treating this and the New Street incident as a coordinated terror attack.”

  Zoe felt the breath leave her. Hearing Randle say it out loud highlighted the scale of what was happening.

  “I’m going to check what’s happening with the plane,” she said. “Find whoever’s in charge of search and rescue.”

  Randle nodded. Donnelly gave her a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. She returned the same.

  Zoe passed the next bank of monitors. Security personnel and police officers mingled, some staring into screens and others darting between them, carrying printouts and talking into phones. To one side was a group of men. Two of them wore heavy jackets with West Midlands Fire Service logos on the back. She made for them, identifying the grey-haired man at their centre as the most senior.

  She was almost on them when a door to her right opened and a man came out. He was short with dark hair and a nondescript face.

  Zoe stopped walking. “Ian?”

  DS Ian Osman stared back at her, his face losing what little colour it had. “Boss.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

&nb
sp; “Helping with the investigation, boss.”

  “What investigation? There is no investigation yet.”

  His gaze flicked over her shoulder. She turned to see Randle watching the two of them.

  “Did he call you?” she said as she returned to her sergeant.

  “Got a call from the office, boss. I’ve done major incident training. You’re Bronze, I hear.”

  “It was your day off.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why did they call you out?”

  “To help you, boss.”

  “If I needed your help, I’d have asked for it.”

  He shrugged. “I’m here now. Might as well make the most of it, eh?”

  Chapter Ten

  The squad car pulled into the underground car park beneath the Mailbox and sped towards its rear, types squealing as it turned corners. The car park was deserted, access denied to all but residents and those involved in the operation.

  At the rearmost lifts, the car stopped with a jolt. Lesley opened the passenger door. Her vision was hazy and she didn’t entirely trust her legs to take her weight when she got out.

  But she couldn’t let the driver see that.

  She heaved herself up, using the door frame as support, then pushed away from the car, focusing all her energy on staying upright.

  “You alright, ma’am?”

  She waved in dismissal, not turning for fear of losing her balance. “I’m fine. Leave me.”

  The car drove off. Lesley took a few long breaths and made for the lift doors. She pressed the button for the top floor. There was an events suite, normally rented out for parties and conferences, that the police used for incidents in the city centre. They hadn’t needed it before, but today it would afford a good view and a large space they could fill with the equipment they needed.

  The lift door opened and Lesley shuffled inside, glad to be able to lean on the back wall as she travelled upward.

  Her neck hurt. She reached her fingers inside the goddamn brace and touched her skin, feeling for where she’d been cut. The paramedic had been attempting to remove the shards of glass but Lesley hadn’t let her check she’d got them all.

  It hurt less when Lesley put pressure on her neck, inside the brace. So she did.

  The doors slid open. Ahead of her was a blank wall, a corridor leading to the room she was heading for. She was familiar with this, had rehearsed it in the May Day practice event that had brought together police, fire service and ambulance crews to prepare for incidents like these.

  She turned right and then right again, reaching a flight of stairs which she took two at a time. Halfway up she felt dizzy, and slowed her pace.

  At the top of the stairs she took another left turn and came to a door. A buzzer and camera were mounted on the wall beside it. She leaned towards the camera and checked her image in the screen. She was pale.

  She pressed the buzzer.

  “DCI Clarke, Silver Command. Let me in.”

  “Ma’am.” There was a click and a buzz and the door opened. Lesley pushed her fingertips against it and it gave under the pressure.

  Overcome by disorientation, she tried to stop herself toppling forward, the pressure of her hand against the wood threatening to pull her over. She shifted her feet, regaining her balance just in time.

  Sanders was twenty paces away, talking to a senior fire officer. He turned towards her. His expression fell.

  “DCI Clarke. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Get me a glass of water,” Lesley muttered. She put a hand out to the wall to steady herself, and raised the other to her neck. The skin below her blouse collar throbbed. Her hand felt wet. When she brought it in front of her face, it was covered in blood.

  “I’m, I’m not…” she said. She leaned on the wall, grateful for its solidity. She closed her eyes.

  Gravity sucked at her. She let the ground pull her down, slumping against the wall as she slid to the carpet and the world went black.

  Chapter Eleven

  The plane was dark and still in the low light of evening. People threw themselves down the inflatable slide. At the top, a woman argued with a stewardess about her shoes. The stewardess yanked the shoes off and gave the woman a shove. She slid down, shrieking all the way.

  Towards the rear of the plane, steps had been lowered. The men were making for them, Adam at the front. Sofia followed, hoping she wouldn’t miss Andreea.

  They ran up the steps. There was no one at the top to challenge them, no one to tell them they shouldn’t be here. Sofia covered her face with her sleeve as she waded into the plane. It stank in here: urine, sweat and shit. The smell of people scared for their lives.

  Adam turned to her, jabbing his finger at her hand. The list. She had to find those children.

  She sniffed and scanned the plane. How would she find eight children in all this?

  People were climbing over the backs of seats, standing on one another in their desperation to escape. A woman in a purple headscarf huddled in the seat next to Sofia, her head in her hands. She sobbed, making no attempt to get out.

  Sofia dipped down to check the woman’s face. She knew it wasn’t Andreea, her sister wouldn’t be seen dead in a headscarf. But she had to be sure.

  “You need to get out of here,” she told the woman in Romanian. The woman’s face softened at the sound of her own language.

  Sofia felt a hand on her shoulder. A tall, blue-uniformed woman wearing heavy makeup stared into her face. She frowned.

  Sofia looked away, terrified this woman would identify her as an intruder. Instead the woman gave her a smile.

  “Make your way calmly to the doors behind aisle 37,” she said in English. “Remove any heels and leave your belongings behind.”

  Sofia nodded. The woman smiled. Her makeup was sliding down her face, her forehead beaded with sweat. A man came up behind her, wearing a similar uniform. He shouted into the woman’s ear and she shrugged wildly.

  “Sofia, over there!” Adam was up ahead, gesticulating at her. The eerie illumination provided by the emergency LEDs along the floor only added to the sense of strangeness. When Adam was sure he’d got her attention, he pointed at a group of children further forward in the plane. There were twenty of them at least. Not eight.

  She had to get through. Andreea would have been near a door, she was the cautious type. She’d be out by now. Sofia could only hope she’d wait somewhere for Sofia to find her. Maybe the women and men in the tight blue uniforms would take her somewhere.

  Sofia muttered an apology to the head-scarfed woman and placed her hands on the back of her seat and the one opposite. She braced herself and shoved through the crowd, apologising as she went.

  A man turned to glare into her face. “You wait,” he barked. Behind him, Adam approached. The man grunted and slumped to the floor.

  Sofia clambered over the man. She tried not to look at his face. He was solidly built and tanned. She hoped he’d get out.

  Adam and the other men had disappeared into the crowd. The children were close now and Sofia reached them easily once she’d struggled past the man.

  There was no sign of an adult with them. Maybe their teacher was up ahead, working out how to get them out. Maybe there was no teacher.

  Sofia squinted at the list. She angled it down to the floor lights for a better view, stooping to read.

  “Alexandru Balan!” she shouted. “Is Alexandru here?” The first name on the list.

  The kids looked at her as if she was insane.

  “Alexandru Balan!” she repeated.

  “That’s him!” came a shout. A hand went up, hooking over to point at a blond boy who looked twelve or thirteen years old. He turned as hands landed on his shoulders and shook him. They all pointed back at Sofia who threw the boy a smile.

  “Wait there!” she called. She looked behind her. The route to the steps was clear, if you ignored the stewardess pushing people towards the slides.

  “No, come here!” she called. Alexandru let himself be shoved to
wards her by his friends.

  She repeated the exercise as he approached, calling out names and summoning children to her. Five of the names on the list were accounted for and she soon had a gaggle of children surrounding her.

  “Are you their mother?” the stewardess asked. “We need to get them off first.”

  Sofia nodded at the woman, pretending not to understand. She called out the last three names but no one answered.

  Just get eight kids, Adam had told her. He was gone, along with the other men. They were up at the front of the plane somewhere. Doing what?

  She scanned the plane for signs of her sister. Andreea would have heard her calling the kids’ names, would have recognised her voice. No, that was impossible. She wouldn’t have heard her in the chaos.

  Sofia took a huge, gasping breath and shouted as loud as she could. “Andreea Pichler!”

  No response.

  The stewardess shoved Sofia forward, pushing the kids along with her.

  Three more kids. All the kids on her list were twelve or thirteen. She singled out three more the same age and grabbed each of them in turn. The stewardess put a hand on her arm, shouting in her face.

  “What are you doing?”

  Sofia shrugged. I don’t understand. She threw her arms out wide to encompass the kids. The slide was closer now, the panicked crowd shuffling jerkily forwards. If she went that way, she’d lose them.

  “Kids! Come with me!” she called in Romanian. The kids looked at her and then between themselves.

  “Trust me!” She cried. Alexandru, the boy she’d picked first, nodded at his friends.

  Sofia turned to push the stewardess out of the way. The woman was skinny and it wasn’t difficult to overcome her. She yelped as Sofia shoved her down onto a row of seats.

  Sofia pushed the children past the stewardess. She pointed to the open door. “Out! That way!”

  The children did as they were told. Romanian children, she thought. So much better behaved than English brats.

  The stewardess hauled herself up and lunged at Sofia. “What are you doing?”