Jedson chuckled. ‘Yeah. Right. Need to know. Understood. Well, gotta go. Bad guys to catch. Off to the range to do some pistol shooting. Oh, and, look after our Bet. She’s great. Nice bit of stuff. And hands off, ha! She’s mine. Or I’ll have to shoot you.’
Jedson shot Gunnymede with his fingers and walked away.
Bethan packed her laptop and files and was ready to go when Jedson blocked her way.
‘The strong silent type,’ Jedson said, referring to Gunnymede.
‘Love the last bit,’ she said.
‘Let me know if he gives you any trouble.’
She sighed and skirted around him without touching him. Jedson watched her go. An eraser bounced off the side of his head and he looked around angrily to see who it was but all heads were buried into work.
Bethan joined Gunnymede in the elevator. She gave him a polite smile and the doors closed.
Two hours later, Bethan led the way down the aisle of a commercial aircraft to their seats and opened the overhead locker. ‘Do you mind if I have the aisle seat?’ she asked.
‘Nope,’ he said, stuffing his jacket and bag into the locker.
As he leaned forward to get to his seat she accidentally struck his side with her laptop bag and he winced painfully, grabbing his wound.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, surprised at his sudden pain. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, recovering and sitting down.
She put her laptop into the locker and sat beside him.
The plane was three quarters full and they settled in as the crew prepared for take-off.
‘I take it you’re not enthralled to be on this job,’ she asked.
‘I was trying not to be obvious,’ he said, propping the pillow behind his neck and closing his eyes.
She rolled her eyes and sat back.
When they reached cruising height the seatbelt signs flicked off with a ping. Bethan got to her feet, removed her laptop bag from the locker and as she was about to sit back down she saw a large patch of wet blood on Gunnymede’s side.
‘Mr Gunnymede’ she said, trying not to be loud despite her concern. He remained fast asleep. She prodded his shoulder. ‘Gunnymede!’
Gunnymede sprung awake and for a second had no idea where on earth he was. As reality returned, he looked at her quizzically.
‘You’re bleeding,’ she said, indicating his side.
He looked at his bloody shirt, frowned and unbuckled his seatbelt. He stepped into the aisle, took his bag out of the locker and walked away.
She watched him enter the toilet and sat back down somewhat perplexed.
Ten minutes later he returned wearing a clean shirt. He placed his bag into the locker and got back into his seat.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘I’m fine.’
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t you think I should know what it is? That was a lot of blood.’
‘It’s just torn stitches. Nothing serious, I wouldn’t be here if it was.’
A stewardess arrived pushing a refreshments trolley. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked him sweetly.
‘I’ll have a scotch,’ Gunnymede said. ‘A double.’
‘They are doubles,’ the stewardess said.
‘A double double, then,’ he said forcing a smile. ‘With a little water.’
The stewardess handed him a glass and two miniatures.
‘I’ll have a single double, please,’ Bethan said.
The stewardess handed her the drink, dropped a couple bags of nuts onto her food tray and moved on.
They poured their drinks and savoured them.
‘Have you ever worked with the police before?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘As a technical advisor?’
‘No.’
‘Have you worked with Scotland Yard before?’
‘No.’
‘Okay ... well. Scotland Yard protocols. They’re simple enough for something like this. Whatever we find technically belongs to the Albanians but information sharing is the prerogative of those I – we – work for.’
He nodded and finished his drink. ‘I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve had a long couple of days.’
He lowered the back of his seat as far as it would go and closed his eyes leaving her to enjoy her drink alone.
Chapter 11
A black Mercedes saloon drove along a wide country road snaking through a vast forest that carpeted a hilly terrain. Gunnymede and Bethan sat silently on the spacious black leather rear seats. Ardian Kostaq of the Sherbimi Informativ Ushtarak was in the front beside his driver.
Gunnymede stared at the tree line as it strobed past, set back from the crumbling edge of the tarmac road, the gap in between filled with rubble, weeds and trash. They’d been driving for almost three hours since leaving Tirana. Kostag had said little beyond his greeting. He was pretty formal. He and his driver both smoked cigarettes and between them pretty much had one going throughout the journey. Bethan opening her window for fresh air didn't appear to encourage any consideration on their part. Gunnymede didn't seem to mind.
The car began to slow on a straight, broad open road with no other traffic in sight. Kostag said something to the driver as he pointed ahead. A vehicle was tucked into the trees on the left. As they got closer, more cars and people came into view.
The Mercedes pulled over and came to a stop. Kostag turned in his seat to face the others. ‘This road runs north south, north being that way,’ he said, pointing in the direction the car was facing. ‘The border with Macedonia runs parallel a kilometre inside those woods.’ He pointed to the right side of the car. ‘What you’re going to see now is the site of an atrocity. A massacre. We have no motive. No suspects and a small collection of evidences.’
He climbed out and looped a satchel over his shoulder.
‘Take these,’ Bethan said to Gunnymede, offering him a pair of latex gloves.
In the clearing was a local police car, several uniformed officers, two border police cars and a truck. Another border police car was ominously alone, deeper into the clearing with its driver’s door open. A stand with a small red flag was inside the open door.
As Gunnymede followed Kostag he could see other numbered markers placed around.
‘K-17 was here for maybe an hour when they were attacked,’ Kostag said. ‘Officers were checking a car, here. Three Albanians, father, mother, daughter. They are the only witnesses. One by one, the officers were shot dead.’
‘Did the Albanian family have much to offer?’ Bethan asked.
‘They saw nothing other than the carnage.’
‘And they were not shot at?’ she added.
‘Untouched,’ Kostag said. ‘We must assume the killer could have shot them but he was only interested in the police.’
‘Killer?’ Bethan asked. ‘Just one?’
‘We are certain,’ Kostag said.
‘And male?’ she asked.
Kostag shrugged. ‘He or she. I would suspect a he, but we will keep an open mind. You’re the British military specialist,’ he said to Gunnymede, addressing him directly for the first time since they’d met.
Bethan looked at him as if looking forward to the answer herself. Gunnymede gave a nod that Bethan didn’t find very convincing.
‘Can I ask where you would expect to find the sniper position?’ Kostag asked him.
Gunnymede took a moment to contemplate the question before walking from one marker to the next. When he reached the far side of the clearing he looked down into the ravine and back up to woodland the other side. Bethan stopped beside him to see the five body markers on the slope.
‘There,’ Gunnymede said, pointing to the woodland across the ravine.
‘What range do you think he could make these shots from?’ Kostag asked. ‘Do you mind if I say he?’ he said to Bethan. ‘We’ll accept that for now it could be a he or a she?’
‘Of course.’
‘What was the calibre?’ Gunnymede asked.
The intelligence officer signalled his driver to come closer. He had followed them across the clearing carrying a long canvas bundle. The driver unwrapped it to reveal a sniper rifle.
Kostag took a hold of it, raising it into his shoulder to look through the scope. ‘You know this weapon?’ he asked. ‘We’re pretty sure the killer used one just like this.’
‘Dragunov,’ Gunnymede replied. ‘Basic, but gets the job done in the right hands.’ He gauged the distance to the wood. ‘Were there any head shots?’ he asked.
‘Four out of twelve,’ Kostag said. ‘Armour piercing. Their body armour was of no use.’
‘Eight hundred metres would be respectable with a Drag on a good day,’ Gunnymede said, estimating the distance.
‘It was a good day,’ Kostag said. ‘The firing point was much higher. One thousand two hundred and fifty two metres to this edge. Twelve bullets. Twelve kills. More than a respectable shot, wouldn’t you say?’
Gunnymede had to agree. He held the Dragunov out to Bethan who was taken by surprise and had to make a concerted effort not to drop it, holding it like a large fish.
‘Are you okay to walk up there?’ Kostag asked Bethan, seeing she was wearing a sturdy pair of trainers.
‘Lead on,’ she said with confidence.
‘Shall I take that for you?’ Kostag asked and she handed him the rifle and he handed it back to his driver. Kostag secured his satchel over his shoulder and led the way down the slope.
‘Are you a sniper?’ she asked Gunnymede as they set off behind him.
‘No,’ he replied.
‘But you obviously understand the business.’
‘I’ve worked with guys who are snipers and picked up a thing here and there. Sniping is a speciality. It takes natural talent as well as training. A headshot at twelve fifty with a Drag is very good I’d say.’
‘What makes a good sniper?’ she asked. ‘Apart from training and natural ability?’
‘Lots of practice.’
She found the comment interesting.
They crossed the ravine and headed up the other side. It was steep and lumpy with Bethan the most walking fit of the three. Kostag wasn’t fit at all and was clearly feeling the strain as his breathing became severely laboured.
A policeman stepped from the trees as Kostag approached. He’d obviously been dozing as he brushed the dust off his backside and smartened himself up.
They entered the wood which was not as dense as it appeared from the clearing. Another fifty metre climb and Kostag stopped to rest, his hands pressing heavily on his knees. Sweat trickled down his face and off the end of his nose. A police tape connecting a line of trees was a few metres beyond. Gunnymede and Bethan waited politely. The Albanian didn’t take long and soon pressed on, ducking under the tape.
Another thirty metres and they came to a double line of tape. Kostag stepped under them and stopped again, taking a moment to dab his face with his shirt sleeve. He pointed to a patch of scorched foliage blackened by fire. ‘You call this a hide in English, right?’ he said, inhaling and exhaling audibly between each couple of words.
Gunnymede moved to get a better look. The side of the slope had been scraped away to form a level area long enough for a person to lie on. The ground and immediate foliage was heavily charred.
‘This is how we found it,’ Kostag said. ‘The officer who was first on the scene was smart enough to make sure the area was not trampled.’
Kostag indicated another police tape that traversed the slope. ‘It looks like the shooter came and went along this way.’
Gunnymede plucked a blackened blade of grass and inspected it. There was a deposit of white powdery substance where the charcoal ended. ‘Phosphorous,’ he said.
Kostag nodded. ‘He used a phosphorous grenade to destroy everything. No evidence. No DNA. All burned.’ Opening his satchel, he removed a plastic evidence bag with a charred metallic object inside and handed it to Gunnymede. It was the burned out phosphorous grenade.
Gunnymede scrutinised what remained of the factory markings. They were obvious enough.
‘British army issue,’ Kostag said. He produced another evidence bag. Inside was a small plastic container twisted by heat.
Bethan examined it. After a moment she shook her head, unable to identify it.
‘Our forensics laboratory said it’s a combination of ground turmeric, cumin, cardamom seeds and chilli powder,’ Kostag said.
‘Curry powder,’ Bethan said.
‘Yes. Based on the deterioration of the foliage we estimate he was here for five days.’
Gunnymede looked towards the clearing the other side of the ravine, assessing the sniper’s point of view, the officers and vehicles quite visible.
‘In that time, three different patrols occupied that clearing,’ Kostag said. ‘Each patrol spent between eight and twelve hours in position.’
‘You said K-17 was in position for less than an hour when the first officer was shot,’ Bethan said.
‘Yes. The sniper was specific about who he wanted to kill. K-17 was his target. All of them.’
Gunnymede moved around the back of the hide and looked beyond it, further up the slope. ‘What was his route out?’ he asked.
‘That’s not clear,’ Kostag said. ‘We traversed in both directions but found nothing. I assumed he made his way to the road at some point. Perhaps he went directly to the border and crossed into Macedonia.’
‘What about directly uphill?’ Gunnymede asked.
Kostag looked up the steep slope. ‘Why would he go that way? It’s just a more difficult route out.’
Gunnymede moved in that direction. Kostag joined him. There was a barely discernible path through the foliage. Blades of grass were disturbed in one direction, away from the hide.
‘Any of your people go that way?’ Gunnymede asked.
‘I don’t think so.’ Kostag moved uphill to get a closer look. ‘It could have been an animal.’
Gunnymede indicated a twig at shoulder height that had been broken and bending away from the hide. ‘How tall are the deer around here?’
Kostag took his point. ‘So let’s check it,’ he said, stepping off.
‘Wait,’ Gunnymede said.
Kostag ignored him. ‘Let’s just see where it goes.’
‘Stop!’ Gunnymede said firmly.
Kostag stopped to look back at him.
‘Maybe he wouldn’t want anyone following him,’ Gunnymede said moving past him. A couple of metres up the hill he crouched to inspect something.
Kostag looked over his shoulder. ‘What is it?’
Gunnymede plucked a long twig and reached out with it. Kostag focused on the end of it. A slender length of wire running across the path.
‘A trip wire?’ Kostag said, shocked.
Gunnymede followed the wire to the base of a tree where something was concealed by foliage. He removed the leaves to expose a black plastic device.
‘What is it?’ Kostag asked.
‘A PAD – perimeter area defence. A directional mine.’ Gunnymede looked back to see where Bethan was. ‘We’re all in the kill zone,’ he added.
Kostag swallowed. ‘Let’s all move away. I’ll call the bomb disposal.’
‘No need,’ Gunnymede said.
‘I must insist you do nothing.’
Gunnymede pulled on the latex gloves. Bethan remained where she was, strangely fascinated. Kostag looked back at her with an exasperated expression.
Gunnymede applied the device’s safety catch, disconnected the rubber strap securing it to the tree, unhooked the trip wire, removed the detonator and offered it all to Kostag. ‘You have an evidence bag?’
Kostag exhaled deeply, pulled a plastic bag from his satchel and held it open for Gunnymede to place the PAD inside.
‘It’s safe,’ Gunnymede said. ‘Careful with the detonator.’
Kostag held the bag with some reve
rence as Gunnymede moved on.
Ten minutes later, they were back at Kostag’s car.
‘The PAD. Is it British?’ Kostag asked.
‘Yes,’ Gunnymede said.
‘You think the sniper was British,’ Bethan said to Kostag. ‘Which is why we’re here.’
‘There were some pretty good snipers around here by the end of the Kosovo war,’ Kostag said. ‘That was over twenty years ago. Whoever did this had a lot of recent practice killing people. He was a soldier, for sure, wouldn’t you agree?’ He was looking at Gunnymede.
Gunnymede didn’t disagree.
‘What was the motive?’ Bethan asked.
Kostag shrugged. ‘Whatever it was, he had a hatred for K-17. There was no mercy here.’ He closed the trunk. They climbed into the car and it set off back the way it had come.
It was dark as the Mercedes pulled up outside a hotel in the heart of Tirana. Bethan and Gunnymede climbed out as the driver opened the trunk, pulled out their bags and placed them at their feet.
Kostag climbed out and offered his hand to Bethan. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said as they shook. ‘If we find anything of interest I’ll be in touch.’
‘And the same for us,’ Bethan said.
Kostag looked Gunnymede in the eye and held out his hand. Gunnymede took it and Kostag shook it firmly, as if it was a little more special. ‘And thank you, Devon Gunnymede. It was, how you say, most illuminating. Have a safe trip back home.’
Kostag climbed back into the car and it pulled away.
Gunnymede and Bethan picked up their bags and headed for the hotel.
‘Wheels up at ten?’ Gunnymede asked on receiving his room key.
‘Excuse me.’
‘Ten am, ready to go?’
‘Yep. Sure.’
‘Have a good night,’ he said and walked up the stairs.
She watched him go. That was abrupt. But oh, well.
Gunnymede reached the second floor, walked along a creaky corridor to his door, unlocked it and went inside. After locking the door behind him he took a moment to take in the renaissance styled room that could’ve done with a face lift. In the bathroom was a large old bath with piping hot water. It was the first order of play.
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