by Paul Watson
Teague hadn’t reached the motorboat yet. Roberts studied a route to the beach; he could have run down the road, but he took the more direct way over the rocks. He crossed a concrete ramp near a crumbling structure, the old lifeboat station perhaps.
Roberts scrambled over the rocks, jumped down onto seaweed and made his way over the slippery surface; the cliff face shielded him from view.
High tide blocked his dry route; the only way would be to swim. A slow breaststroke got him across the first pool, he clambered over an outcrop and dived. He saw Teague and the big guy climbing into the powerboat. They pulled out of the bay, through a channel of yellow buoys and out to sea.
Roberts swam to the shore. He searched for any other powerboats but found only kayaks. He sat on the pebbles and picked up a potato shaped stone, not a flat one like he wanted, threw it, and watched the ripples fan out as it sank, with no bounce. Roberts walked around looking for a flat stone and then lay on the pebbles. He slept for twenty minutes.
When he awoke, he found the perfect stone; he kept his hand low to the ground and span it: one bounce, then two, three, four, five; it hit a rock on the sixth bounce, pinged up and hit a tarpaulin out in the bay.
The tarp was close enough to wade out to, and Roberts found a jet ski underneath the fabric. There was a chord over the handle which Roberts put around his wrist. He jumped on, pressed the red button, plugged in his strap. Nothing. He pushed the red button again, and the motor revved.
Roberts looked out over to the mainland; the power boat was out of sight, the sun a few degrees higher in the sky. Now he had more horsepower than Teague; he ratcheted up the ski and hit sixty knots. The calm conditions were in his favour. He followed the coast of the mainland, which stretched to his right.
Thirty minutes into the journey, he passed a lighthouse. There was no trace of Teague; Roberts had run parallel with the coast road all the way. Perhaps they’d already got across and ditched the boat. He’d not seen the boat moored up though.
Roberts spotted Teague as he passed the headland, approaching a bay in front of an offshore wind farm; the giant blades were motionless.
Roberts closed in at seventy knots and got between them and the dock wall. The powerboat headed out to sea again towards the turbines. Yellow cylinders rose from the blue water; the white towers above held blade tips one hundred and fifty metres above the sea.
FORTY-FIVE
‘He’ll be on us soon,’ Andy said.
‘Nothing I can do,’ said Higgins. ‘He’s got the same power as us with a tenth of the weight.’
They looked back and glimpsed Roberts closing on them, zipping through the turbines in the outer field and into the central channel.
‘I need a plan, Andy.’
‘We did all right against him two on one last time, but I’d prefer to get away from the water, I’m not a fantastic swimmer.’
‘Yeh, I figured that back at the ferry.’
‘Pull over to the base of that turbine.’
Higgins cut the throttle, and the powerboat drifted to a stop. He threw a line out and moored them to the yellow turbine base. Andy stumbled out of the boat and climbed the ladder; he noticed a steel wire running inside the yellow rungs, used by the maintenance crew.
The wire reminded Andy of climbing courses he’d done with Max and Sam on holidays in France. Andy had admired how Max had always faced his fear, and kept going to the end, every year progressing to harder and harder courses, taking Andy out of his comfort zone too.
There wasn’t a harness today. The climb would be easier but any potential mistakes costlier. Andy blocked the noise of the closing jet ski and focussed on putting one hand over another. He arrived at a platform and opened a gate to the transition piece of the turbine. Andy looked down and saw the jet ski next to the powerboat; Roberts had jumped into the boat. Higgins climbed the final rung and joined Andy behind the gate; Higgins had a big pack on his back.
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ll tell you later, get up to the next platform.’
Andy continued up the next segment, thankful that the wind was light. His hands and feet moved quicker this time; he heard Higgins on the ladder below him. They reached the top of the transition piece, opened another gate and stood on a yellow platform at the base of the white tower. They both stared skyward; the tower soared one hundred metres into the sky.
Roberts had started up the ladder; he had a pack on his back too. Andy thought he recognised it from the gear in the powerboat.
The white door into the upper tower was easy enough to open. Inside the tower, a two-person lift waited with its door ajar. The elevator ran up rails that had rungs forming a ladder. Andy appreciated the design: the incorporation of an emergency escape system into the lift structure. He got into the lift, and Higgins handed him the huge pack. There was no room for Higgins.
‘Change of plan, take this with you, you’ll figure it out when you get to the top. I’ll be in the boat waiting. Trust me.’
Andy trusted him and entered the lift. Higgins rolled down the door and watched the elevator start its slow ascent. He then walked back out of the tower door and made it round to the back of the turbine, on the opposite side to the entrance. Higgins listened.
Thirty seconds later, Higgins heard footsteps, and then a pause, and then a clang from inside the tower wall. He stepped back around and closed the door. Higgins lashed it shut with the bungees he’d taken from the power boat.
Roberts looked down from the ladder. He saw the door close and tried to open it, but they’d imprisoned him. There was no way out at the base, so he climbed.
The lift stopped; Andy stepped out onto a spacious, red painted, steel platform. Andy gazed along the coast of Wales, into England; a breeze chilled his cheeks. He stared at Liverpool in the East, the sun hovering over it, and then back to Anglesey in the West.
I’ll be in the boat waiting.
Andy peered over the edge of the rail; Higgins signalled him. Higgins had set the jet ski adrift and was driving the powerboat around the turbine. The Irishman motioned with his hand towards the sea. Did Higgins want him to jump? Andy trusted the man, but not that much.
Andy could not see Roberts in the sea below, which made him think he might have unwelcome company soon. He opened the pack, found a rope, and lashed the exit from the tower shut as best he could.
Andy returned to the pack, and spread the contents onto the deck which included a harness, nylon webbing, a coil of thick yellow rope and multicoloured nylon lines. He pulled out a circular canvas canopy, which he placed, folded, on the deck.
He paused for a second, but only a second; a bang on the door from the tower interrupted him. The latch strained against the rope.
Andy put on the harness; he laid it in front of him and stepped into it. He pictured Max next to him before a climb through the trees.
The latch on the door jerked down, pulling the rope free from the rail; the door opened, but only by a few inches, as the line snagged between the latch and a steel loop fixed to the tower.
Andy connected the coloured nylon lines from the canopy into the stainless-steel rings on the webbing; it looked ok. He connected the yellow rope to the harness.
Roberts took out his knife and cut the latch rope. He joined Andy on the steel deck.
‘Guess I’ll take those drugs from your dead body.’
‘How’s the head?’
The memory of his recent defeat on the beach renewed the anger in Roberts. ‘Your big buddy’s not around to help this time.’
Andy ran to the safety rail and jumped. Roberts jumped too and landed on the canopy. Andy’s weight dragged Roberts all the way to the fence; Roberts sat on the canvas and tied a few of the lines around the barrier post.
Andy hung underneath the platform, suspended by the webbing, connected to the canopy lines. He swung and felt the breeze freshening.
‘Give me the drugs, and I’ll do my best to help your kid.’
‘Come down and ge
t them.’
Andy felt a weight below him. It was the coil of yellow rope he’d fixed to the harness. He pulled it up to him and loosened the fastener; the rope uncoiled and dangled below him. The boat moved towards the platform.
Roberts hauled the webbing, bracing his feet against the safety rail. He pulled most of the strap through the fence and made another knot. Andy now faced Roberts; staring through the steel uprights
And then all the turbines started. The canopy behind Roberts inflated and blew over the rail where it rustled above the platform like an oversized child’s kite on a short string.
The knots in the canopy line fixed Andy to the platform; he stretched and tried to undo them, but Roberts kicked his hands away and reached over to drag him onto the platform. Andy’s jacket snagged on the rail, as Roberts grabbed at him. A nut, securing a rail post, slashed Andy’s jacket pocket and the plastic pouch containing the drugs. The egg and the cricket ball were ground to powder as Roberts struggled to haul Andy over the barrier.
Roberts heaved Andy over by holding his belt.
The turbine speed increased. Roberts took his knife out and pushed it towards Andy’s neck.
Andy got two hands around Roberts’s wrists and deflected the knife against the rope. Andy forced the blade under the loop of the knot that secured him to the platform. The edge was razor sharp, and it cut through the line.
Andy heaved himself to his feet, still holding Roberts’s knife arm. Andy fell over the rail, and the wind did the rest.
The parachute pulled Andy clear of the platform, and he couldn’t resist a thumbs up to Roberts; he’d always lectured Max and Sam against cockiness, and he soon regretted the action. The wind blew him towards the rotating blades of the next turbine. Roberts waved at him.
Andy was just a few feet from the blades.
Then a sudden wrench to his torso, Andy span full circle and spotted the powerboat in front. Andy approached the boat; which powered away from the turbine. Higgins had hooked the dangling rope to the winch on the vessel and was reeling him towards the powerboat.
Roberts watched the canopy soaring away from him; there was a trail of powder behind Andy. Roberts dipped into the pack he’d carried up from the powerboat and took out a flare gun.
He had only one shot, but the target was big enough and still close enough.
Roberts got lucky. The flare followed a flat trajectory, landed on the parachute and lit the canvas.
Andy saw the fire above him, and so did Higgins, who increased the winch speed; Higgins cut the throttle as Andy hit the water and then doubled back and collected him.
‘That went well, did you put the GoPro on?’ Higgins said.
Andy sat on the bench as Higgins aimed the boat to the shore. Andy took off his harness and then his wet jumpsuit; he noticed the slash in his pocket, and then he collapsed on the deck, in tears, as he saw the salt water had washed it clean. Not a single grain of powder remained.
And hope disappeared for Andy as he slumped on the deck of the boat and cried; he’d lost Max.
Andy pictured Jess; he pictured Sam. Nothing would be the same again.
FORTY-SIX
‘Are you ready for this?’ The solicitor said.
Amy nodded.
The solicitor read from a handwritten sheet. ‘Following my client’s arrest in 1998 for unauthorised use of a university computer system, the UK government offered him immunity from prosecution along with his co-defendant Bob Simpkin. The government offered this immunity in return for helping the British Intelligence community develop fine-grained computer simulations. My client’s father gave my client responsibility for a subdivision of PKL, that focussed on developing a connection between the human brain and simulated environments. PKL and the UK taxpayer co-founded the venture. My client used his friend Bob Simpkin to develop the software.’
The solicitor peeped over the paper to check his audience was listening, but he had their full attention.
‘My client recruited another colleague from university, Dr Julia Matthews. The government spared my client day-to-day involvement with the operation and replaced him with an official called Patrick Laws in 2001. Julia Matthews contacted my client one week ago. She told him that his life was in danger, she’d taken the research in a different direction, and her government bosses had found out. Dr Matthews feared that they were sending someone to kill her.’
Rob coughed.
Amy handed him a glass of water.
‘Simpkin asked my client for help, and my client paid Jake Mcguire to steal the brain drug from Steven George. Patrick Laws provided my client with a photo ID of George, which my client gave to Mcguire. After the unsuccessful robbery, my client told Simpkin about it, and overheard Simpkin inform Bill Rand and Patrick Laws, by telephone. After the hit on Simpkin on Friday night, my client removed computer equipment from the office at the theatre, containing proof of Laws’s involvement with Simpkin, and evidence of motive for Laws to kill him. My client is in fear of his life and requests protection and amnesty from prosecution in return for testifying.’
‘How did you know Jake Mcguire?’ Amy said.
‘Jake was my dealer,’ said Taylor.
‘I’d recommend you not to say anything else,’ said the solicitor.
‘Ask away,’ said Taylor. ‘I’ll answer your questions.’ There was the trace of an American accent.
‘What evidence do you have of the British government’s involvement in the crimes you mention?’
‘Not government, I’d say it stops at an agency in the civil service. This agency recruited Bob Simpkin and me; they saw it as an opportunity to extort my father. The taxpayer’s input to this project has been minimal. My father paid to keep me out of jail, to defend the family name. I’ve got emails between Patrick Laws and Bob Simpkin, starting twenty years ago, dealing with software development, animal testing, human testing with unfortunate consequences, illegal drug development. I’ve got the money trail too. All the bank account numbers.’
‘So why was Simpkin killed?’
‘Bob was holding on to something they needed to launch the project; he was trying to get more money out of them; my father’s allowance was small.’
‘You and Bob Simpkin were partners?’
‘Since university.’
‘Do you know what he was holding from them?’
‘I’m not sure, he’d hidden it in his car; I sent you that way hoping you’d find something and get involved.’
‘That’s very generous of you,’ Rob said.
A knock on the door.
Amy stopped the recording and left the interview room. Thomas stood outside and asked, ‘Have you ordered a doctor for him?’
‘No, there was no reason too, he’s fine.’
‘The front desk called through to say there’s an FME in reception to see a prisoner, and Taylor’s our only prisoner.’
‘Who’s on the front desk, are they still on the phone?’
‘Yes, it’s Becky.’
‘I’ll talk to her Sarge.’ Amy crossed the floor and picked up the telephone. Amy spoke in a soft voice. ‘Becks, listen and nod your head; I’m not taking the piss; your life is in danger. Tell the man you’ll come around and let him in, but don’t. Get yourself around the back and into the custody suite.’
‘No problem,’ said Becky. The man in front of her was a similar build to Roberts, but younger, and had a trimmed beard and bright green eyes. The man was throwing a tennis ball from hand to hand. Becky would have asked him out on a date; she changed her mind. ‘I’ll let you into the custody suite.’
Becky walked back through the doors behind the front desk but didn’t unlock the door connecting the station office to the main corridor.
Green eyes saw her running down the corridor, through the mesh reinforced glass in the door. Becky punched in a code and entered the custody suite.
‘Anyone in the station office?’ Thomas said to Becky.
‘No, he was the only one in there, I was a
bout to lock the doors.’
Rob joined them along with Frank and Tim, and they convened an emergency meeting. Amy filled them in on the details. ‘It looks like the last rogue doctor did the Kings Cross shooting. If this man is as competent, we’re in trouble.’ Rob pulled the shutter down over the cage entrance from the yard.
‘Rob, get everyone into cell one as quick as you can,’ Thomas said, and then used the phone on the desk. ‘I need firearms, Tactical support group, London Ambulance Service and Fire Brigade down here now.’
Rob glanced at Thomas and raised his eyebrows as he escorted Taylor and the bedraggled solicitor from the interview room and into cell one. Taylor took the keys from Tim and ushered him into the room along with Amy, Rob and Frank. ‘Stand next to the benches out of the line of the door slot,’ Thomas said.
A face appeared in the door mesh between the station office corridor and the custody suite. Green eyes peered at Thomas and fired three rounds into the door lock; splints of wood exploded like darts. Thomas jumped into cell one, with the bunch of keys in his hand, and slammed the door shut.
‘Good guess on the firearms,’ Rob said.
‘Let’s hope help gets here in a hurry. The door is steel and two inches thick, and the walls are two feet of reinforced concrete, so we’ve got time.’
The group heard gunfire outside, against the steel roller door; then they heard an explosion.
‘Christ,’ Rob said. ‘Sounds like the army has arrived.’
Footsteps tapped like a machine gun firing. There were three or four men at least. The steps got closer and stopped.
Thomas pushed Taylor into the wall next to the door, out of view of the hatch; the flap on cell one lowered.
The cell door rattled as bullets bounced off it, and the occupants covered their ears as the room vibrated like a speaker.
‘Send out Taylor, and that’ll be the end,’ said Green eyes.