In the open passenger door of the trailing Toyota he noticed a shoulder bag on the floor, its flap open and the contents spilled out. He might’ve moved on had he not caught sight of a British passport lying amongst the trash. He opened it. The name was different but he instantly recognised the face. The jets screamed overhead. They’d seen the vehicles.
Gunnymede checked the dead driver. Not Saleem. He hurried to the other vehicles to check all the bodies. Taz was amongst them but none of the others was the English-born terrorist. He faced the countryside in the direction he’d seen the man run. It had to have been Saleem. Somewhere out there was the Daesh commander. If he had survival instincts, he’d still be running and Gunnymede suspected Saleem wasn’t short of any.
Gunnymede went back to the shoulder bag. There were various currencies including British pounds. A phone which suggested Saleem probably didn’t have one on him. There were pens and paper and a well-worn map of London. Did Saleem have the WMD with him? He’d been running for his life. He would’ve taken his satchel if he’d had the time to grab anything. But maybe the WMD was more important. He remembered what Saleem had said about the UK task being simplicity itself, without WMD or explosives.
‘Saleem was the cargo,’ Gunnymede realised. That’s what Lamardi was giving to Jervis.
Inside the backs of two of the Toyotas were bicycles. Useful if they broke down. Gunnymede lifted one onto the ground. It would do nicely. He looked to find the jets again. They were still circling.
He dumped his rifle, shouldered Saleem’s bag and cycled away. He reached the Ford and as he caught sight of the heroin he slowed to a stop. He moved the bicycle backwards until he was able to see all of the heroin in the back of the vehicle. There certainly was a great deal of it.
He climbed off the bike and picked up a block of the sugary substance. He went to the side of the road to examine the terrain once again, even though he knew it well enough by then. He was hoping it might offer hope of providing a hiding place for the stuff. But there wasn't. And even if there had been, there was far too much of it to move and conceal against the elements in the time that he probably had, bearing in mind the aircraft and the likelihood of imminent visitors.
It was a missed opportunity for sure.
He climbed back onto the bicycle and pedalled on down the road.
Chapter 18
Gunnymede entered the Heathrow arrivals hall carrying Saleem’s shoulder bag. He stopped to one side and ran his eye along the waiting people as other arriving passengers walked through the exit from the customs and baggage hall and past him. He wasn’t surprised to find Aristotle staring at him from the back of the hall. The tall Greek made his way over as Gunnymede headed towards him.
‘I didn’t know you were so competent in battle,’ Aristotle said. ‘I watched the satellite display. Impressive.’
‘Fish in a barrel.’
They walked outside to a waiting car.
‘We traced the MINs of the four Russians you ran into,’ Aristotle said. ‘They were members of a cartel from Kiev.’
‘They were there for the heroin.’
‘Did you find a weapon?’
‘Nothing. Did you see the one who escaped the ambush?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you place a track?’
‘We were focused on you.’
Gunnymede held out Saleem’s shoulder bag. ‘This belonged to him.’
Aristotle looked inside the bag, took out the passport and opened it.
‘Lamardi was giving us Saleem,’ Gunnymede said.
Aristotle nodded as he thought about it. He climbed into the car. Gunnymede got in beside him and it pulled away.
‘He still has to make his way to London,’ Aristotle said.
‘My money’s on him getting here.’
They sat back in thought.
‘Where are we going?’ Gunnymede asked.
‘Jervis wants a personal debrief.
‘Will Harlow be there?’
‘No.’
‘What’s the relationship between those two?’
‘Jervis is technically superior to Harlow. But Harlow doesn’t work directly for him.’
‘Are they close?’
Aristotle stifled a chuckle. ‘It’s safe to say they don’t like each other.’
‘Why?’
‘The same reason I don’t like you. One of us is a snake in the grass.’
It was getting dark by the time Gunnymede left his debriefing in Legoland. As he headed along the pavement overlooking the Thames he pulled out his phone and made a call.
Bethan was at her desk in Scotland Yard staring at a sheet of paper with a picture of Megan on the top half, the bottom dedicated to Milo Krilov and a short summary on him.
Her mobile rang. She answered it. ‘Hello?’
‘Bethan?’
She smiled. ‘Devon. Are you back?’
‘I am.’
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ She tried not to sound as hopeful as she suddenly felt.
‘I’m sorry about the other night,’ he said.
‘We were cut off.’
‘I meant the hospital.’
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘I left without an explanation.’
‘I think you were entitled.’
He went silent.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked.
‘Is that meal still on offer?’
‘Sure. When did you have in mind?’
‘Well ...’
‘Tonight?’
‘It’s late ...’
‘Tonight’s fine,’ she said.
‘You sure?’
‘Got to catch you when I can. Technically we’re still partners. The case isn’t solved.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ll send you the location.’
‘You’re sure it’s no big deal?’
'Nope.'
‘I look forward to it.’
'Bye.’
She grabbed her coat and headed for the elevator.
Gunnymede arrived at Bethan’s house holding a bottle of wine and knocked on the front door. It opened and Bethan was standing there with a smile.
‘I’m looking for Captain America’s sister,’ he said.
‘Shh. Not so loud. The neighbours have no idea.’ She let him in and closed the door.
He pulled off his coat. ‘It’s nice to be here.’
‘A rough one?’
‘Challenging.’
‘We’d better begin the treatment then. Wine or whisky?’
‘I’d prefer to start with a fine Albanian sheet-pees.’
‘I’m afraid we’re out. Would sir make do with a scotch?’
‘Damn it all, if I must.’
She poured two glasses and handed him one. They clinked and took sips.
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘As a wise person once said to me in Albania recently, has there ever been a better all-round medicine in the history of the world?’
She saluted that and went back into the kitchen. ‘When’s the last time you had a home cooked meal?’ she asked.
‘Years,’ he said.
‘Can you actually remember?’
He took a moment to think about it. ‘My Aunt Grace. At her cottage. The last meal I had with Megan.’
He didn’t see her pause before scooping food onto a couple of plates. ‘How long were you together?’ she asked.
‘Altogether ... I suppose, eight years.’
‘That’s a long time.’
‘She was too good for me,’ he said, more to himself.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Lots of reasons. I was hardly ever home.’
‘She would’ve understood that, her father being SAS.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘A nurse at the hospital. I suppose it’s tough on both parties, a relationship in your business.’
‘It can be a distraction.’
‘Having
a girlfriend?’
‘Having someone you care about. What about you? What’s your excuse?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’m alone because my girlfriend hanged herself.’
She came in with the plates of food and put them on the table. ‘I don’t know why exactly. The right man hasn’t come along. I’m too particular. I rate myself higher than I am. Choose one.’
They tucked into the meal. ‘Why was it years since your last home cooked meal with Megan?’ she asked.
He carried on eating while considering her question. ‘That was a bit of a slip, wasn’t it,’ he eventually said. ‘I expected you to know anyway.’
‘That you spent time in prison?’
‘Is that all you heard?’
‘I didn’t dig if that’s what you mean.’
‘If you did, you’d find I was convicted of stealing twenty kilos of heroin.’
‘Wow. That’s a lot of heroin. So how come you work for military intelligence if you have a criminal record?’
‘MI has a long history of employing criminals.’
‘Really?’
‘Didn’t you hear the story about the Nazi safe that needed to be cracked during World War Two without the Nazis knowing and the only man who could do it was languishing in Wandsworth prison doing a twenty year stretch for a string of bank robberies? His employment by the SOE kicked off a long history or utilising underworld skills.’
She was impressed. ‘Why’d you do it?’
He shrugged. ‘Moment of weakness. Greed. Or maybe it was a cunning plan that went horribly wrong and left me high and dry. Choose one.’
She contemplated his answers as she sipped her drink. ‘What are your particular skills?’
‘Luring.’
‘What?’
‘I’m a lure. Bait.’
‘Can you elaborate?’
‘A decoy.’
‘As in, expand on.’
‘No.’
She reached for a bottle of wine and unscrewed the top. ‘Wine?’
‘Sure.’
She poured a couple of glasses and they took a sip.
‘Can I ask you something about your work?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘Sure.’
‘Do you know anything about Megan’s case?’
She paused to look at him. He was staring at her as if studying for signs. ‘I’m not involved with that case,’ she said, going back to eating.
‘I’m surprised they’ve no suspects.’
‘That’s how it goes sometimes.’
‘Is it possible they have a suspect and aren’t telling anyone?’
‘If that’s true it’s because they don’t have the evidence to get a conviction.’
‘So, no one was brought in for questioning?’
‘Like I said, I’m not involved in the case.’
They ate the rest of the meal in silence.
‘Thank you,’ he said, sitting back. ‘That was very nice.’
‘You’re welcome.’
She got to her feet and went to pick up his plate. He put his hand on hers. She didn’t pull away. He put his other on her hip as he looked into her eyes. She leaned down and kissed him on the lips. He got to his feet without disconnecting and they kissed deeply.
Bethan’s bedroom was dark but for a shaft of light from a streetlamp finding its way through a small gap in the curtain and cutting across the bed. Gunnymede and Bethan lay naked together, content in each other’s company.
‘You said he died in Lebanon while in the military.’
He glanced at her. They’d been lying in silence for some time. He looked back at the ceiling in thought.
‘What was he doing in the British military in Lebanon?’ she asked.
‘Do you ever stop working?’
‘I stopped for the last couple of hours. This isn’t work anyway. I’m interested in you – I hope you don’t mind.’
He didn’t. ‘He was working in the British Embassy.’
‘In Beirut?’
‘Yes.’
‘How’d he die?’
‘A bomb as he was leaving the embassy. It was during the civil war.’
‘I’m sorry. And you went to live with your aunt.’
‘She always looked after me when he was away. I think I spent more time with her than him anyway.’
‘How many other staff died?’
‘None. The embassy had already been evacuated.’
She looked at him questioningly.
‘He wasn’t an ordinary member of staff,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t know what he did, exactly.’
‘Where’s he buried?’
‘He’s not.’
‘His body was never repatriated?’
‘Never found.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Big bomb. Disrupted country in the middle of a civil war. No-one from our side in country to take care of things. I can understand.’
‘You could find out more if you wanted to, couldn’t you?’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘You’ve never been interested enough to try? I’d be dying to know.’
‘Time out. Loo break,’ he said as he climbed off the bed and stepped out of the room into the dark hallway.
There were three doors suggesting three options to the bathroom. He went to the nearest and opened it. It wasn’t a bathroom, but it wasn’t a bedroom either. There was no bed at least. He was about to close the door when a wall with several pictures stuck to it caught his attention. He stared at them and, in the dim light could make out the word ALBANIA hand written on a card. There were other labels with strings connecting them to the various pictures.
His curiosity got the better of him and he moved inside to take a closer look. The matrix included the Afghan Lamardi shot in Macedonia with a piece of string linking it to the Albania killings. There was a floating label with British Special Forces/SAS on it. But what got his attention was a picture of Megan linked to a picture of a Russian called Milo Krilov.
Gunnymede unpinned the picture of Krilov.
Bethan stepped into the doorway behind him. ‘I forgot to lock this room,’ she said.
‘Milo Krilov is the rapist?’
‘I couldn’t tell you. I’m not supposed to know.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a confidential case.’
Gunnymede weighed his feelings. ‘I’m not angry,’ he decided. ‘But I do feel betrayed.’
He walked past her and went downstairs. Within a couple of minutes he was dressed and out the door.
Bethan sat on the top stair and held her head in her hands.
Gunnymede walked along the street studying the picture of Krilov. He pulled out his phone, placed the paper against a wall and photographed it. He searched his contacts for a number and hit the call button. It took a while for it to pick up.
‘What do you want?’ Aristotle asked.
‘How do I check a name and face these days?’
‘You don’t.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t? I don’t? We don’t?’
‘You don’t. You don’t have access to that facility.’
‘That’s a part of my job.’
‘You want to know something, you ask me.’
‘Where’s the love?’ Gunnymede muttered, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m sending you a name and a face.’
The phone went dead. Gunnymede sent the picture as he entered Hampstead underground station.
Chapter 19
Bethan walked into her busy office, slumped into her chair, opened her laptop and, after a long moment of indecision, closed it and looked over at Dillon’s office. The pain of having to go and see him drained her.
Jedson stepped out of the elevator wearing an outfit that suggested homeless. He looked for Bethan, as he always did on arriving at that floor, made his way over and sat on the edge of her desk. ‘Hey.’
She didn’t appear to see him despite him practically breathing down
her neck.
‘Heavy night?’ He nudged her.
‘Not now, Jedson, please.’
‘Why don’t we skip this place and get an early one? Hair of the dog and all that.’
‘What part of your ridiculously small brain informs you that I’m remotely interested in even talking to you?’
‘Hey, calm yourself. No need to be rude.’
‘Go away or I swear I’ll scream.’
The people nearby glanced at Jedson, of whom they appeared to share the same low opinion.
Jedson eased himself to his feet. ‘I can see I’ve caught you at the wrong time of the month. I’ll return when you’re in a better mood.’ He made his way out of the room.
Bethan’s phone chirped and she answered it. ‘Trencher.’
‘Bethan. It’s Ardian Kostag.’
‘Hello, Ardian.’
Ardian was on his computer at his desk in a large, crowded office. There was a lot of noise coming from outside, like people shouting.
‘Did you receive the forensics on the PAD device I sent through a couple days ago?’
‘Yes. Also the results of all foreigners passing through ports and border crossings in the last nine months. No flags though.’
‘And no further progress this end. Anything your end?’ Someone walked into Ardian’s office and while the door was open the sound of shouting increased.
‘What’s all that noise?’ she asked.
‘Those are protestors. Families of the officers killed. They’re demanding to know what is happening. We’ve had demonstrations for several days. They are angry we haven’t named those responsible. Some are saying there’s a cover up. We’re getting pressure to come up with answers. The conspiracy theorists are causing lots of problems. Some say it’s the Russians. Others it’s the Americans.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘You know, world wars have begun with much less in the Balkans.’
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