The Englishman

by David Gilman

  ‘I don’t need it. I go my own way.’ Raglan knew that Maguire would not have used his own people to track him. More likely the ‘watchers’ from MI5. They were the best surveillance teams in the world. Put fifty of them in a room and they would look no different than any member of the public.

  ‘You know these Russians use anything they can against us. If you’re compromised in this operation everything could go down the pan.’

  ‘I’m off the books, remember? What I do to practise my Russian language skills is none of your business. Have a nice day, Maguire.’

  He left the MI6 man to choke back his annoyance. Maguire had nowhere to go with this. Raglan was an outsider; he was a risk, but one worth taking. He strode over to where DCI James stood with two plainclothes armed officers and Major Sorokina. Maguire tasted the salt on his tongue. Lust was not something easily ignored. She was the perfect honey trap – if that was her game; but whether it was or wasn’t he admitted to himself that Raglan had scored big time. Maguire wished he was still in the field: he’d also have taken her to bed, were she willing. He took a deep breath and by the time he joined the conversation his cloak of professional indifference was back in place.

  *

  Every police officer on vehicle patrol had a map of their own borough’s boundaries where they were to start and spiral outward towards the next area. The search patterns would intersect each other and they would check any abandoned or derelict buildings. Trouble was there were a lot of derelict buildings. Some had been abandoned for over twenty years, their owners clinging to the ever-increasing value the land generated. Raglan sat with a map on his lap and pinpointed some of the known sites so that Abbie could use her knowledge to get them through the heavy London traffic by cutting back and forth through back streets. She was good. More than. When a building lorry blocked one street she expertly reversed, found another route and delivered Raglan to their destination. After two hours they had checked four sites which, given the weight of traffic, was a good result and all due to her skill.

  ‘We’re doing all right time-wise. We need to keep food going in whenever we can. Find a place to pull over when you next see a takeaway and I’ll grab us something.’

  She kept her eyes on the road. Secretly she was pleased that they had assigned the Russian detective to a different unit. She and Raglan were there on Maguire’s say-so and not that of the Metropolitan Police. She felt a growing sense of satisfaction that she had been tasked to help the man next to her. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and wore the same street clothes and still didn’t say much, but the quiet confidence he instilled in her had boosted her confidence. Even knowing that he was armed no longer frightened her. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told Maguire about the gun when she reported finding the first location to him. In fact, she didn’t know the answer to most of what she felt about the man. The confusion, she decided, was because she had never known anyone like him or anyone who did what he did.

  ‘There,’ she said, seeing the canopy of a small takeaway. ‘Don’t take too long. I’m in a no-parking zone.’

  Her brusque order was met with a smile. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  She sighed. ‘I can’t tell a traffic enforcement officer we’re hunting a killer and needed a bite to eat.’

  ‘Is that what they call them these days? Whatever happened to traffic wardens?’

  ‘Lousy pay but enhanced work titles.’ She shrugged. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Preferences?’

  ‘Food and water.’

  As a matter of habit Raglan always checked the way ahead. Pure survival instinct never left him. Going to a takeaway counter was hardly threatening unless you considered the danger of food poisoning, but he was working in no man’s land and right now the killers had the upper hand so it was prudent to expect the unexpected.

  What he hadn’t expected was London prices for a sandwich.

  28

  The Hammersmith traffic demanded patience. JD sat without complaint as the Saab’s driver nudged closer to the address where the woman had been killed. What was so special about it? If there was still a chance to retrieve the information Carter had hidden there then risks had to be taken and that was why he needed to see the building for himself.

  ‘Keep moving,’ he told the driver.

  ‘Barely,’ came the response. The street was one-way westbound and it was clogged.

  ‘It’s enough,’ JD assured him. ‘But if we need to get away from here in a hurry then go down the pavement.’ He studied the small shops and buildings as they edged closer to the target building. Now he could see the police officer who stood guard at the entrance. Blue tape was zigzagged across the door frame. The officer was a tall, bearded man who stood even taller with his raised bobby’s helmet. His hands were tucked into his stab vest but there was a holstered weapon at his side. It was a small show of force not meant for the likes of JD, more for assurance or warning to the general public. ‘Keep going,’ JD said.

  ‘Boss, the traffic is clogging up big time.’

  ‘Take the first turn, let’s get back towards the river.’

  Fifty metres ahead traffic filtered off the congested Hammersmith shopping street. The taped door was four metres away from where JD sat on the passenger side. He looked up. There seemed to be two different apartments that faced the street. Four windows side by side separated by a party wall: two windows had floral curtains; the other two had American shutters. Had Stefan been set up by Carter or had he run into trouble on his way to the next-door apartment? Carter wouldn’t have given him a false address; the consequences would have been too harsh. JD was satisfied that whatever had happened when Stefan went to the apartment, someone else, other than the dead woman, must have been involved. The police officer hadn’t even looked in JD’s direction. Mind-numbing boredom from standing on duty for hours on end allowed the mind to wander. The black Saab nudged forward and then disappeared around the bend.

  PC Jimmy Norris gave the perfect impression of a man bored to tears, but after seventeen years on the street very little escaped his attention. He bent his head to his police radio, pressed the call button, mentally double-checked the car’s description and registration number and called it in.

  *

  Raglan and Abbie had already finished their hurried food intake and were heading south towards the Thames when the alert came through. Contact. Contact. Saab answering wanted vehicle description turned from Hammersmith King Street. Identified moving on to West Cromwell Road.

  ‘We’re close,’ said Raglan. ‘Get us to where it’s heading. He must have been taking a look at my flat. That means he hasn’t got what he’s looking for.’

  Three minutes later Abbie swung the car south.

  ‘He’s going east,’ Raglan said.

  She was concentrating hard on finding roads with fewer cars than those facing her. ‘I’ll cut across.’

  Raglan tugged the pistol free. She glanced nervously at it but Raglan was intent on the road ahead. Suddenly her hands felt moist. She took one from the wheel and wiped it on her jeans, then did the same with the other. Raglan didn’t turn his head, but could feel her stress.

  ‘Just concentrate. Patrol cars will pick them up before we do. There won’t be any trouble. Focus on getting us there.’ His voice was calm and unhurried, with no sense of urgency.

  ‘Can’t we get a helicopter to help?’

  Raglan shook his head. ‘Cloud base is too low.’

  She changed gear and weaved the car through several side streets.

  Another disembodied voice came through. The Saab had turned. The officer who had seen it was caught in the middle of construction traffic. Raglan prayed that the cops’ enthusiasm to catch JD did not scare him off. They had been instructed to use a silent approach until he could be boxed in and armed police officers surrounded the vehicle.

  Raglan remained silent. It was impossible to make headway with any speed. Only when a gap appeared did Abbie go faster. Raglan had no idea w
here they were but Abbie was muttering directions to herself, her mind already streets ahead of their current location.

  Another traffic jam. She swore. Cut in front of an irate driver and barrelled across an intersection. She bumped the kerb. Frustration bordering on panic gave her voice an edge. ‘Sorry, sorry…’

  ‘It’s OK. You’re doing fine,’ Raglan assured her but knew that if he were driving he would have made faster, more aggressive progress. He considered taking over and have her direct him but knew the time lag between thinking through a route and relating it to a driver took longer than a driver who was mentally attuned to where she was going.

  Subject now on Edith Grove, the dispatcher’s voice told them.

  ‘He’s going for the river,’ Abbie said. ‘We need to go another way. Bugger.’

  She pulled up, spun the wheel, taking the car across the road, and then stopped in a side street. She closed her eyes. Raglan waited. Her lips were barely moving but he heard her sibilant whisper mentally checking a route. Her eyes opened. ‘Got it.’

  She accelerated.

  *

  A motorcycle cop was directing traffic around a minor accident. A patrol car had half blocked the road and one officer was dragging clear a boy’s damaged bicycle while its owner sat on the kerb. A car was parked up as a worried motorist gave a statement to the second patrol car officer.

  The Saab slowed. JD lowered the window and checked. ‘It’s nothing.’ He tugged free his pistol and slipped it between the seat and his thigh. The accident scene looked genuine but this was not the time to take anything for granted. The motorcycle cop waved on the cars and as the Saab drew level the cop held out a restraining hand.

  ‘Hang on there!’ he called, looking at the driver, who tensed and put the car into first gear ready to roar past.

  JD spoke quietly. ‘Don’t.’ The officer had halted them to allow an oncoming car to squeeze through. Once it had passed they were waved along. The Saab moved away as JD gave a smile of thanks to the officer dealing with the snarl-up and then referred to the satnav screen plugged into the cigarette lighter socket. He checked his surroundings against the proposed route and then gestured for the driver to continue driving straight ahead. ‘Two hundred yards go right.’

  *

  Raglan scanned the streets ahead. Leaning forward he peered along every side street they crossed over. They came to a set of traffic lights; as they waited for them to turn in their favour, a stream of traffic came into view on a filter light allowing the cars to travel across their path. Four cars back was an old black Saab.

  ‘That’s him,’ said Raglan without raising his voice, not wishing to panic her. ‘He’s gone past. U-turn. Get across the other side.’

  Abbie had no time to question him. She reacted quickly, swung the car out of the line of traffic and forced herself between the oncoming cars. Horns blared in anger but Abbie got the car facing the same direction as the Saab.

  ‘Don’t see him.’

  ‘You’re OK. He’s a dozen cars ahead. Two men inside.’

  She peered beyond the cars to her front and saw the black shape go around the slight bend ahead. ‘Got him!’

  ‘Don’t let him see you. Keep back.’ Raglan knew JD was 150 metres ahead of them. If he stopped for any reason Raglan could sprint and reach them. He was no Usain Bolt, but he could get there in under twenty seconds. But if the shooting started he knew JD would have no hesitation in targeting innocent bystanders to cause mayhem and impede any attempt to apprehend him. The manoeuvre to box him in needed to be done in the right place and then Raglan would deal with him. He saw the attack in his mind’s eye. Shoot the driver to stop any attempt at escape, and then try and wound JD. That part was unlikely because JD would already be shooting. He would have to put JD down quickly.

  Abbie gripped the wheel, concentrating as Raglan’s soothing voice tried to calm her. ‘It’s all right. Stay at this speed. Not time to go yet.’

  ‘He’s going for one of the bridges,’ she said, unable to keep the edge of panic from her voice.

  ‘Just keep him in sight,’ he insisted.

  A Porsche sped past the car, forcing itself in front of her, blasting its horn and giving her the finger.

  ‘Bloody cretin!’ she shouted, slamming on brakes.

  *

  JD’s driver, alerted by the horn blast, checked the rear-view mirror as JD turned in his seat and looked back. The intruding Porsche cut in and out of traffic and then roared past their car. He watched it go by. Nothing seemed suspicious, but instinct always played a part in his survival. He turned back again, and then looked at the wing mirror, checking the line of cars behind them. Four cars back, a vehicle nosed out of line and then dipped back again.

  ‘What do you think?’ said the driver, who had seen the vehicle in his rearview mirror.

  ‘Test them.’

  The driver nodded, found an opening and put his foot down.

  *

  ‘He’s on the move,’ said Raglan. ‘Steady. Stay with him if you can. He might be drawing you out.’

  ‘I don’t think so. He couldn’t have spotted us,’ Abbie said confidently.

  Before Raglan could tell her to stay put she heaved the car out into the traffic, accelerated past one more vehicle than she should have and earned another reprimand from a car’s horn. Abbie swore under her breath, knowing she’d made a mistake.

  *

  JD kept his eyes on the wing mirror. ‘Maybe... maybe not... Let’s not take any chances. Go,’ he calmly ordered.

  His driver dropped a couple of gears and floored the accelerator, eyes flicking between the road ahead and his rearview mirror, their speed forcing oncoming cars to avoid them.

  *

  Now Raglan’s voice was urgent. ‘They’re on to us. Go!’

  Abbie could never match the killer driver’s skill. She changed down a gear, tried to find an opening, then cut into the blaring oncoming traffic.

  ‘Red-line it!’ Raglan said.

  She panicked. ‘What?’

  ‘Second gear, foot down, push it into the red! Max the revs! Go on!’

  Abbie obeyed; the engine protested.

  ‘That’s it! Keep it in the red! You need the power!’

  The car ahead swerved left. A sudden violent turn of the wheel that slewed the car across the traffic.

  ‘Stay with him! He’s going for the other bridge!’

  Abbie tried to turn left but was blocked by a lorry.

  ‘Go straight! We’ll get them at the Embankment!’ said Raglan, keeping his eyes locked on JD’s car.

  Abbie was doing a decent job of keeping up, but the strain was showing. The car they were pursuing was moving swiftly through the gears and swung on to the bridge across the river. As Abbie tried to follow the snarled-up traffic blocked her. Raglan piled out of the car, tucking the gun into his waistband. He ran hard and fast towards the bridge. And then he saw what had brought them to a halt. A car had stalled at the mouth of the bridge and was refusing to start. JD was already clear and on the far side. Raglan clambered on to the bridge railings and balanced precariously, watching as JD’s car was swallowed by traffic in the distance.

  Raglan jogged back to the car and sat back next to Abbie. She was sweating, her hands still tightly gripping the steering wheel. ‘He’s gone to ground now.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. You did well. Most wouldn’t have,’ he said to reassure her.

  Abbie nodded her appreciation. Odds were that anyone else would have torn a strip off her but Raglan hadn’t berated her. Quite the opposite. And for that, she was grateful, though she could not shake the haunting thought had Elena Sorokina been driving the killers would now be captured.

  ‘OK to drive?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She turned the car sedately into the traffic.

  Raglan relayed the information to Maguire. ‘Narrow the search. He’s south of the river.’

  29

  Rain fell heavily, dancing off
the pavements, snare-drumming on car roofs. The downpour shrouded street lights as Raglan and Maguire hunched in a doorway watching Sorokina shaking hands with her police counterparts as she left the control centre at Hammersmith.

  ‘So damned close,’ said Maguire, shaking his head at the thought of how near Raglan had been to stopping JD.

  ‘If it wasn’t for Abbie we’d still be sitting in a traffic jam. And we got lucky. Can’t ever write off luck. We just need a break.’

  ‘What we need, Raglan, is to find out where the hell Carter concealed everything and why.’

  ‘The why doesn’t matter. Even the best field agents can feel compromised. He might have known JD and his paymasters were on to him after Qatar. Who knows? He could have been trying to get them to show their hand. They did and he wasn’t ready.’ Raglan saw Sorokina waiting in the building’s entrance. ‘When you brought me in on this you said I could have whatever resources I needed.’ He took the umbrella that Maguire held. ‘I need this.’

  Before Maguire could protest Raglan had jogged through the rain to Sorokina, raised the umbrella and escorted her on to the street. Maguire watched him for a moment and then smiled. He’d had his own fair share of liaisons. As he splashed through the puddles towards his waiting car the thought crossed his mind that maybe it had been Sorokina who had wooed Raglan. When the car pulled away from the kerb Maguire spotted Abbie. She was parked with a good view of the police station and Raglan and Sorokina huddled arm in arm beneath the umbrella. Had Maguire been able to read Abbie’s emotions he would have been surprised: he wouldn’t have thought her capable of being so envious.

  *

  Raglan ordered the cab driver to take Sorokina to her hotel while urging her to use her contacts to narrow down any derelict sites south of the river. Then he made his way to the Hammersmith Underground Station and in less than ten minutes alighted at Turnham Green. From there he walked to Carter’s house. The armed police were still on duty and once they recognized him he went unhindered through the armed cordon that still straddled the road.