The Becket Approval

by Falconer, Duncan

  ‘Is Krilov at the refinery?’ Gunnymede asked.

  ‘Krilov. Da! Da!’

  ‘Da’s yes in Russian,’ Boris offered.

  ‘Armia,’ the thug said.

  ‘What did he say?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Say that again,’ Boris said.

  ‘Krilov has army,’ the thug said.

  ‘Krilov has an army,’ Boris clarified.

  Gunnymede leaned over the thug again. ‘If the girl isn’t there you’ll belong to these men for the rest of your short and painful life.’

  ‘She there,’ he insisted. ‘She there.’

  Gunnymede left the kitchen and walked out of the house.

  Charlie and Boris went to the front door to watch Gunnymede go.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ Boris asked.

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Take on a Russian army by the sound of it.’

  Boris nodded approvingly. ‘Got balls.’

  As Gunnymede climbed onto his bike, several police vehicles arrived at the end of the street and armed officers got out. Gunnymede started the engine and drove away.

  He turned onto a main road, his mind buzzing, trying to understand what could be going on. He accessed his phone and called Bethan’s office number. A moment later the operator picked up announcing he’d reached Scotland Yard.

  ‘I want to speak with DCI Dillon.’

  The operator asked him to hold. A moment later she came back to tell him Dillon was unavailable.

  ‘It’s an emergency,’ Gunnymede stressed.

  The operator asked him to hold again. A moment later a man’s voice came on the line asking how he could help as Dillon was unavailable.

  Gunnymede hung up. There was no point. He turned onto a main road and bombed along it.

  He hit another phone contact. It picked up. ‘Aristotle?’

  Aristotle was in a dark 4x4 parked in a deserted section of a dock. ‘Yes, Mr. Gunnymede.’

  ‘I need help.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Last night I met Milo Krilov.’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘I was with a police officer. The one I went to Albania with. Krilov has kidnapped her.’

  ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  ‘He’s taken her to an oil refinery down the estuary from Southampton Docks. Fawley refinery.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We expect Krilov to be in Southampton Docks for the arrival of his vessel.’

  ‘So why’s he at the refinery?’

  ‘Perhaps you have your information wrong,’ Aristotle said.

  ‘I don’t think I do. You need to send a team to the refinery to check it out.’

  ‘I will ask the police to send a patrol to investigate.’

  ‘No. Krilov is armed and dangerous. You have to send an armed response team.’

  ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we will need all our resources for the ship. You yourself reported there will be ISIS members on board. They could be armed. The crew could be armed and hostile. We have armed response teams and special forces here.’

  ‘Is that where you are right now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Something’s happening at the refinery and we haven’t got it covered.’

  ‘I’ll report what you have told me but I don’t think anything will happen at such short notice and without evidence.’

  Gunnymede understood the dilemma.

  ‘Why don’t you go and check it yourself?’ Aristotle suggested. ‘Report what you see. If it’s significant perhaps that will convince superiors to send assistance.’

  ‘It’s a big place. I’ve got no gear.’

  ‘I don’t have any other suggestions for you.’

  ‘Great.’

  Aristotle looked through his window at a SAS command station with troopers preparing their assault equipment. ‘I can meet you and bring you some “gear”,’ he said.

  Gunnymede thought about that.

  ‘That’s all I can do for you, Gunnymede.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll meet you outside the refinery. I’ll send you an RV.’

  Gunnymede disconnected and took a moment to think things through. There was nothing else for it. He opened a map app on his phone and searched the refinery perimeter. He found a location, pinned it and sent it to Aristotle.

  He veered the bike across the road, took a sharp turn at a junction going through a red light and speeded away.

  A line of vans drove along a disused road, the lead vehicle’s headlights cutting into the darkness. They passed through a pair of rusting, disfigured gates into a derelict section of Fawley oil terminal on the west coast of the Southampton estuary. Manning the gates were two men armed with AK47 assault rifles. When the last vehicle passed through they struggled to close them.

  The vans followed the heavily potholed perimeter road, past a block of empty storage containers daubed in graffiti and over a pair of rusting railway tracks, the gaps between the rails filled with old sleepers to allow the vehicles to cross easily.

  The road passed through a large, open space with warehouses dotted around its edges and to a ramp that climbed onto a long, poorly lit jetty that carried miles of piping between the terminal and the estuary landing stage. One of the vans remained at the bottom of the ramp long enough to unload armed men while the rest continued along the pipe jetty road above the salt marshes and over the shallows until they reached the landing stage suspended high above the water on dozens of concrete pillars.

  ‘Get the forklift truck,’ the leader barked and two of the men ran off towards the main terminal.

  The vans that continued on came to a halt in a line at the end of the pipe jetty where it connected to the landing stage and a dozen more armed men dismounted. Krilov climbed out wearing a black one-piece and looked across the estuary, breathing in the air deeply as if savouring it. The sky was clear with a gentle breeze. The air smelled of salt and kelp, the dominant sound the estuary water lapping against the legs of the landing stage.

  The landing stage was a long narrow platform a couple of hundred metres from the shore in deep water, designed for large vessels such as oil tankers to come alongside and discharge their cargo. Krilov walked onto it and climbed a large valve head in order to better observe the estuary in all directions. The waterway was busy with a sprinkling of coloured navigation lights from channel markers and boats.

  One of the men escorted Bethan, her hands tied in front of her. Krilov looked down on her. She scowled at him, her eyes filled with defiance.

  ‘Take the little bitch over there,’ Krilov ordered, indicating the parapet at the land side of the landing stage.

  Her handler yanked her over and forced her to sit on the crumbling tarmac. When he walked away she lowered her head, desperate and despondent.

  Chapter 24

  Gunnymede drove along a narrow, poorly maintained tarmac road that was in complete darkness beyond his headlights. He’d left the main road half a mile behind. A dirt track led through a line of trees into what looked like an access to the salt marshes but it ended in an empty clearing a hundred metres further on. Parked at the back of the clearing was a 4x4. Gunnymede stopped beside it and turned off the engine.

  The driver’s window slid down to reveal Aristotle. ‘I talked with Simons and his response was as I expected. With no evidence he cannot divide what forces they have to come here.’

  ‘Would a sighting of Krilov be enough?’

  ‘I should think so.’

  ‘Isn’t anyone a little concerned that if Krilov is in the refinery and not in the docks, then we don’t have full control of what’s going on.’

  ‘If Krilov is indeed here then it would be a cause for concern. But this is a police operation and they don’t know that Krilov might not be at the docks.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we haven’t mentioned it to them.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘B
ecause we don’t know for sure. You don’t know for sure. Remember, the police don’t know about Saleem.’

  ‘Why not? They’re going to know about him when the ship docks.’

  ‘No they’re not. They’re going to have six members of ISIS on their way to UK.’

  ‘Why don’t they know about the threat to London anyway?’

  ‘Come on, Gunnymede.’

  ‘Because that’s our route to Spangle.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘A high price to pay for Spangle.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone is suggesting that. The longer we can keep a lid on the operation the more chance we have of flushing him.’

  ‘You know an awful lot about the engine for an oily rag.’

  Aristotle treated the comment with his usual contempt.

  ‘What about Bethan Trencher?’ Gunnymede asked. ‘The police officer who’s been kidnapped.’

  ‘Again. No proof. I’m surprised a person of your experience in the business has not considered the information you’ve gained about Krilov and the police woman could be disinformation designed to throw us off the real operation.’

  ‘I don’t believe it is. Why are you here if you don’t believe me?’

  ‘Because there’s always a chance. And what else do you have to do tonight.’

  Asshole. ‘What did you bring me?’ Gunnymede asked.

  Aristotle climbed out of the cab and opened the back of the vehicle. Inside was a large black plastic box. He raised the lid to reveal that it was filled with a variety of assault equipment. ‘Compliments of the SAS.’

  Gunnymede looked through the box. ‘Shit. This is everything.’ He removed his jacket and pulled on a moulded torso armour with high velocity plates front and back. Over that he fitted a weapons harness with various pouches filled with munitions and a pull-down knife in a sheath on his left shoulder. He lifted out a rubber pack and examined it.

  ‘What’s that?’ Aristotle asked.

  Gunnymede opened a flap to expose the innards. As he thought. ‘A drone. Nice toy.’

  He looped the strap over his head and placed it on his back where it was designed to sit. Next was a helmet with a dropdown screen and a pair of tight leather gloves.

  The final items were weaponry. Gunnymede loaded a semi-automatic pistol, cocked it and placed it into a thigh holster. He lifted out a G36 rifle with underslung grenade launcher and suppressor, attached a 100 round twin drum to it, placed a 40mm grenade into the grenade breech and hooked the tail of the hands free rifle sling to the centre of his chest harness. He was good to go.

  ‘You look like the real thing,’ Aristotle said.

  ‘Let’s hope anyone I meet is as dumb as you.’ Gunnymede looked in the direction of the refinery. ‘Now all I have to do is find that son-of-a-bitch and Bethan.’

  Aristotle closed the back of his 4x4 and climbed back behind the wheel. ‘Good luck,’ he said as he started the engine.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Gunnymede said going to the cab window. ‘That’s it. You’re just driving off.’

  ‘Did you want me to come with you?’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. This is a big deal. What happens if I do find Krilov?’

  ‘Let us know. Oh, and, please keep in mind you’re breaking a large number of laws and you’re on your own if caught. All of that equipment is deniable.’

  ‘But if anything happens to me, doesn’t that scupper your plans for Spangle?’

  ‘We can’t wrap you in cotton wool. Spangle expects to see you operating as normal. Let me tell you a truth, shall I? There’s little chance of Spangle going for the bait anyway. He’s sure to see through you. But the small chance is still worth it.’

  ‘You don’t believe Krilov’s here, do you?’

  Aristotle just looked at him.

  ‘It’s me you don’t trust, isn’t it? I keep forgetting. I’m just a low-life heroin thief whose only purpose in life is bait for Spangle ... with a small chance at that.’

  ‘You’re not the smartest operator in the box but you always get there in the end, don’t you?’ Aristotle smiled and drove away.

  Gunnymede watched him go. Fucking Greek wanker.

  He sighed heavily and looked at himself in his war gear. This was ridiculous. He should dump this shit, climb back onto his bike and ride off to the nearest pub. Who cared about Krilov? But he couldn’t. Because he cared about Bethan. Arguably it was his fault she was in the mess she was. He had to try at least.

  He cocked the G36 and set off along the track back to the narrow tarmac road. Once he reached it he headed south. The salt marshes were on one side and the sprawling refinery on the other with dozens of huge, drum shaped containers spread around like giant draughts on a board. The breeze played with the tops of trees and the broad carpet of marsh grass, the shimmering rustle providing cover for his footsteps.

  Gunnymede had gone a couple of hundred metres when vehicle headlights appeared behind him. He ducked into the marsh reeds as it went past.

  A car. With just one person in it.

  Gunnymede carried on while watching the car’s tail lights move away. A little further on they glowed brightly as the brakes were applied. The vehicle had come to a stop.

  As Gunnymede got closer he could hear voices above the idling engine. A moment later, the car continued on its way into the refinery. Gunnymede dropped the screen over his left eye. He could hardly see through it. He found the switch on the thermal that turned it on. The imager kicked into life and within seconds revealed two figures. They looked like they were carrying rifles.

  He continued forward, cautiously, bringing the rifle into his shoulder. The thermal images grew sharper. It crossed Gunnymede’s mind they could be a couple of local poachers. As he closed on the gate the men remained engaged in conversation. It didn’t sound like English. He needed to find a way around these guys. That would mean pushing through bushes and climbing fences. Boring and time consuming.

  The gods solved the problem for him. As he took a step closer, he accidentally toed an empty beer can that rattled as it rolled away.

  He froze, as did the two men now looking in his direction. Gunnymede took a slow step backwards and stopped. They were probably unable to see him but then they might if he moved again. This was an impasse. Not a good start.

  Gunnymede watched one of them bring his rifle into his shoulder. He wasn’t prepared to take any risks with them and so he aimed his rifle and fired several silent bullets into the thermal shadows. They dropped like sacks, their weapons clattering on the road.

  Gunnymede moved forward and eased through the gate to check on the bodies. They were both dead. And the two AK47 assault rifles were proof enough they weren’t poachers. It also lent credibility to the possibility that Krilov was somewhere nearby. He thought about calling Aristotle to let him know but changed his mind. It wasn't concrete proof Krilov was at the refinery. And there was no time to lose.

  He broke into a jog along the road. The lights from the vehicle that had past moments earlier followed the perimeter of the refinery, keeping close to the water. Gunnymede followed it.

  Krilov sat on a bollard on the landing stage looking onto the estuary, patiently waiting. His men lounged around, quietly chatting, smoking, some of them dozing. Bethan sat back against the rails, looking at Krilov, hating the man and fearing for herself at the same time.

  A pair of headlights illuminated the landing stage. A vehicle was coming along the pipe jetty. Bethan heard it stop. The engine died and a door slammed shut. She saw a figure step onto the landing stage carrying a suitcase and move between the down lights towards Krilov. It was Jedson. Another loathsome individual.

  Jedson wore a look of triumph as he closed on Krilov. The Russian ignored him and went back to gazing on the estuary. Jedson looked like he was going on holiday, dressed in a snazzy shirt and jacket. He put down his suitcase and held out a police radio for Krilov to hear. Police chatter filled the air, snippets of voices declaring various teams were moving into
position, covering this section and that.

  ‘All good,’ Jedson said with a grin. ‘Over a hundred officers and other agencies. And all in Southampton Docks.’

  Krilov nodded. ‘You done good job, Jedson.’

  Jedson appreciated the compliment as he looked around for something specific and found it.

  Bethan watched him as he walked over to her.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asked, crouching by her.

  She turned away, unable to look at him she felt so disgusted.

  ‘I always wanted to go on holiday with you. Never thought of a cruise though. We’ll share a cabin. It’ll be nice. Don’t you want to know where you’re going?’

  ‘I know where I’m going.’

  ‘Where’s that then? Oh, I see. You mean you’re not going across the ocean but under it. Well, we’ll see. That’ll be up to me. Depends on how well you treat me. I’m moving to Russia, you see. Won’t be able to stay here now. Not after this little caper. I didn’t think it was going to end up this way, me going to Russia and all. Not when I was first offered the job. One thing led to another. You know how it is. Sneaky little Cossacks probably knew all along. But I don’t mind. I’ll just have to get used to vodka that’s all, once I run out of bourbon.’ He tapped a shoulder bag he was carrying. ‘Fancy a drop now?’ He opened the bag, pulled out a bottle and offered it to her.

  ‘What is your reality?’ she asked. ‘Is everything just one big fantasy to you?’

  ‘If you mean, do I take everything seriously, obviously not. What’s the point?’ He smirked and took a swig.

  ‘You’re a child.’

  He stood up. ‘Well. Be a good girl and you can join us. If not, then it will be the bottom of the big blue for you.’

  Krilov’s team leader walked by.

  ‘Where’s the ship, comrade?’ Jedson asked him.

  ‘There,’ he said, pointing to a cluster of lights in the estuary.

  ‘There you go,’ Jedson said to Bethan. ‘All going smoothly to plan. Up you get.’

  She reluctantly got to her feet and they walked to the estuary side of the landing stage to look at the ship.

  ‘That’s the cargo ship?’ she asked.

  ‘Yep.’