David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good

by Andrew Grant

  “I have to ask, David, mugging someone?” she said after we’d covered fifty yards in silence. “After everything you spouted off about in the garden? Was that all lies? Or have you switched sides? Honestly, I’m a little shocked.”

  “Mugging that little weasel? Is that what you thought I was doing?”

  “Wasn’t it? You threatened him. And you took his money. That sounds pretty textbook, to me.”

  “I took his money, yes. But not for myself. I’m going to give it to the first homeless person I see.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She slowed down a little.

  “David, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor – that’s not your job,” she said. “In fact, that’s not anybody’s job.”

  “Well, it should be someone’s job,” I said. “You saw how that guy behaved. Do you think it’s OK to treat people that way? To take whatever – or whoever – you want, just because you’re rich?”

  “Of course not.”

  “The guy was a bully. Someone needed to stop him. Or else why would he think twice, next time?”

  “And you were the person to do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was there. And it was the right thing to do.”

  “But who gave you the right to decide?”

  “You don’t think I did the right thing? You think I should have sent him to the hospital, instead?”

  “No.”

  “Look, I let him walk away. I saved the country the cost of an ambulance and a hospital bed. I made it so that Christmas is coming early for some tramp, tonight. And do you know why?”

  “You have a soft spot for tramps?”

  “No. Because you told me to.”

  “Wait. Let me think. No. It’s as I thought. I did no such thing.”

  “You did. Back at the hospital. After I finished ‘spouting off’ in the garden. Remember?”

  “I told you we had to find a balance,” she said, after a moment’s thought.

  “Exactly,” I said. “And that’s as balanced as it’s going to get.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I usually fall asleep within seconds of my head touching the pillow, but that night my eyes would not stay closed. I lay awake for two hours, and even after I dozed off, I only slept fitfully. I couldn’t stop dreaming. A woman was in most of them. A Navy Intelligence Liaison Officer. We’d been close from the moment our paths first crossed in Madrid, then again in Morocco, and more recently in New York. So when Melissa appeared next to my bed – fully dressed, and with no sign of the wheelchair – I thought for a moment she’d taken her place. Then she reached out and shook me by the shoulder, and I knew it was no dream.

  “David,” she said. “Wake up. Quickly. Get your clothes. Something’s happened.”

  “What is it?” I said, sitting up and instinctively smelling the air. “What’s the problem?”

  “There’s been an explosion.”

  “Where? In the hospital?”

  “Yes. In the basement.”

  “The room with the caesium?”

  “We’re not sure. That corridor, definitely. But there’s a lot of smoke, so no one can see anything.”

  I slid out of bed and crossed to the window, then drew back the heavy curtains.

  “Is the fire brigade on its way?” I said.

  “They’re already here. The fire engines are round the other side. They aren’t visible from here. But there’s not much they can do, anyway. Because there’s another problem. The radiation alarms have gone off.”

  “Meaning what? That the caesium vault has been breached?”

  “It looks that way. We’ll know for sure in an hour or so.”

  “What about the hazmat team? Can you bring them forward?”

  “No. They wouldn’t be any use. They do inventory control. Too specialised. But another team is on its way, in their place. An emergency response crew.”

  “Is the hospital being evacuated?”

  “Not yet. That’s a last resort. They avoid it at all costs. Unless the fire spreads, the patients are safer on the wards than out on the street.”

  “What about the radiation?”

  “It’s seems to be a small leak. Very localised. Any further action depends on what the emergency team finds.”

  “Is there anything we can do in the meantime?”

  “Yes. Two things. Check the CCTV to see if it caught anyone suspicious coming in. And fetch some tea. My mouth is as dry as a bone.”

  We agreed on a division of labour. Melissa and the people back at her office would chase up the surveillance tapes, and I would head to the canteen - which was supposed to be open twenty four hours a day - in search of the tea. It was a reasonable plan, on the face of it. I had further to walk, and I wasted a little time watching the emergency crew Melissa had mentioned crossing the garden with their equipment, but it seemed like I had the easier job. And this impression was made stronger when I pushed open the door to her room and caught sight of the expression on her face.

  “More bad news?” I said.

  “I just got off the phone,” she said. “Not bad news, exactly. Not good news, either. The hazmat guys are here. They were out of the traps pretty fast. I spoke to the team leader just before you got back. He says their operation’s already underway.”

  “They aren’t hanging around. I saw them, on my way back. And they looked like they knew what they were doing. But what about the CCTV? Is anything doing there?”

  “No. A big fat zero. It’s the same story. None of the cameras that are working picked up anything. The ones in places that would have helped us aren’t back in service yet, despite Stan Leckie and his ‘best in the country’ contractors. He probably meant ‘cheapest in the country.’ We’re going to have a serious conversation when this is over, he and I.”

  We sipped our tea. Melissa put her cup on the table and wheeled restlessly backwards and forwards, her gaze flicking from a window to the door to her phone and back again. I sat on her bed, and waited.

  “No sign of a new chair, then,” I said.

  “What?” she said.

  “They didn’t give you a new chair. For the desk. To replace the one that got broken. You told me you’d spoken to Jackson about it.”

  “Oh. No. I guess they didn’t think they could trust me with one.”

  Melissa stopped moving and looked at me.

  “I’m surprised you’re still here,” she said.

  “I haven’t finished my tea,” I said.

  “I mean, because of that girl. The one in the Frog and Turtle.”

  “Which girl?”

  “Oh come on. You know which girl. The tall brunette at the far end of the bar.”

  “The one with the interesting blouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s she got to do with anything?”

  “She liked you.”

  “She didn’t like me. You’re making that up.”

  “Did you at least get her phone number?” she said.

  “Why would I want her phone number?” I said.

  “I saw how you were looking at her. Don’t try to deny it. At one point I thought I was going to have to reach across and wipe the drool off your…”

  Melissa’s phone interrupted her so she grabbed it from her lap, talked for three minutes, then got to her feet.

  “That was the hazmat team leader again,” she said. “Come on. We have to go.”

  “What’s happening?” I said. “Was it a deliberate attack?”

  “They can’t be sure. They’re looking at some worn out insulation they think came from the old generator equipment. It’s soaked in oil residue, and they say a spark from some kind of electrical short circuit might have been at the root of it.”

  “Is the fire out?”

  “Not yet. But here’s the thing. They had to move the caesium out of the way before the fire crew could get to work. They’ve no way of telli
ng how long it’ll be before it can go back in the vault. And they can’t tell why the radiation alarm sounded, because none of the canisters appear to be damaged. So guess what they’re doing with it?”

  “Moving it.”

  “Correct. They’re doing exactly what you said would make the stuff most vulnerable.”

  The hazmat truck was sandwiched between four police cars when it pulled out of the service entrance at the side of St Joseph’s, ninety minutes later. You could hear its engine rumbling from a hundred yards away. Its six spherical wheels could have been taken from a moon buggy, and its high, rugged bodywork looked like a Hollywood version of an armoured personnel carrier.

  “If this pays off, I’ve got to warn you, I’m taking the credit,” Melissa said, easing the black Ford Mondeo away from the kerb. “It was hell, putting all this together with ten seconds notice. But if nothing happens, and anyone starts asking where all the money went, you’re taking the blame.”

  “Wait,” I said, as she shifted into second gear. “Stop the car.”

  “Come on, I was only joking. It’s not like the government can’t afford it. Austerity hasn’t gone that far. Not yet, anyway.”

  “What have you got covering that thing, aside from the police?”

  “Four unmarked cars, with two agents in each of them, and a helicopter.”

  “And the real truck?”

  “It has one car, which is standard.”

  “OK. I think we should change our plan. We should follow the real one instead.”

  “Why?”

  “The decoy sounds like it’s well taken care of. If anyone hits it, having us there won’t make any difference. But the caesium is vulnerable, just like someone wants it. That’s where we should be.”

  Melissa was silent for a moment, then swung the car back to the side of the road.

  “This is insane,” she said, coming to rest again. “And all the more reason to blame you. I hope you realise that.”

  For fifteen minutes we sat and listened as the agents tailing the decoy van called in their movements. Street after street, turn after turn, as central London began to give way to the outlying districts, they had nothing untoward to report. Then the hospital gate opened again and a plain white, long wheel-base Mercedes Sprinter emerged, closely followed by a silver Vauxhall Insignia. Melissa let the pair of vehicles pass us and make their way around the next corner before pulling away herself, guided by a new voice on the radio.

  The agent in the chase car spoke calmly and clearly, giving precise details after each junction, and Melissa’s driving reflected his tone. She drove slowly and smoothly, making sure we were always at least two moves behind, worrying more about being spotted by anyone watching the truck than getting held up by the sparse traffic that was left on the road at that time of night.

  The decoy convoy was making better time than us, and after another twelve minutes we heard them report their arrival at the Queen Elizabeth II Hospital in Croydon. The threat wouldn’t be over till the real truck caught up and the caesium was locked in the back-up vault, but a disappointed expression started to spread across Melissa’s face anyway. She glanced at me, and I thought she was about to say something when her phone began to ring.

  “OK,” she said, ending the call after two minutes. She was breathing hard now. “Let me think for a minute. David, can you look at the map? We need a place to stop the van. As close to here as possible, but where the other units can quickly get back to, and nothing too near any housing. And we need it quickly.”

  “Stop the van?” I said. “Why?”

  “That was Jones on the phone. He’s back at St Joseph’s. All hell’s broken loose over there. A fire crew’s just discovered the hazmat team. The whole of it. In the basement. Knocked out. Tied up. And stripped of all their kit.”

  “So who are we following?”

  “That’s a very good question. Someone with the savvy to trick us into giving them a ready made caesium removal machine, I guess. Oh my God, David – you know what this means? This is it. The nightmare’s begun. The caesium’s gone. We don’t know who’s got it. Or what they’re going to do with it. Or when. All we know is how they got it.”

  Melissa’s words raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Someone had seen the logistical problems of removing caesium from the hospital, just like I had. And they’d realised it would be easier to take the stuff if it was already outside the vault. But when they’d joined the pieces of the puzzle, they’d come up with a subtly different solution. One that could be even more effective. And in a case like this, effective equates to lethal.

  “Where’s the helicopter got to?” I said.

  “Half way back to base by now, I should think,” Melissa said. “Why?”

  “Well, I know you’re desperate to get your hands back on the caesium as quickly as possible. But here’s a thought. Are you sure you want to stop the van right away? Why not follow it? See where they’re taking the stuff. That way, maybe we could scoop up whoever they’re planning to hand it off to, as well.”

  “That’s risky,” she said, after a moment. “I don’t like the idea of that stuff on the loose for any longer than it needs to be. But I guess you’re right. Jones is already whistling up another hazmat crew. I’ll have him get the chopper back, and see if he can get hold of any more of our people, pronto.”

  Melissa picked up her phone and was half way through giving Jones his instructions when we reached a roundabout. It came sooner than I’d expected, because it was the last point on the route the MI5 agent had reported. He’d called in a right turn. Melissa was driving much faster now, and she had to hit the brakes hard as we came to our exit. Because the road was blocked. By a car, slewed sideways across the carriageway. A silver Vauxhall. The driver’s side was completely caved in. Both windows were smashed, and two male figures lay slumped in the front seats.

  Melissa swerved and came to a stop behind the remains of the car. She glanced back at the agents. Then looked forward, along the road. It was completely empty. There was no sign of the vehicle that had caused the accident. And no sign of the white Mercedes van.

  Chapter Thirteen

  There are times when improvisation is your only option. There are times where you have to just cross your fingers and ride your luck. But nine times out of ten - as my father used to say - you can’t beat having the right tools for the job. And in this case, Melissa and her people had the right tools. A GPS transponder concealed in the truck carrying the caesium, and a helicopter to track its signal.

  We drove for three more miles, then left the car next to a wrecked phone box and covered another hundred yards on foot. It was dark. None of the streetlights were working, and we had to move slowly to avoid tripping on the cracked and cratered road surface. The weather wasn’t extreme enough in that part of Croydon to account for the damage, so I put it down to abuse from the trucks that used to serve the abandoned freight depots we passed on both sides.

  The eight agents who’d been following the decoy truck were waiting for us, weapons drawn, bodies tense, pressed up close to the eight foot wall at the far end of the street. No sound reached us from the other side, but we knew we were in the right place. The MI5 technicians had supplied the co-ordinates they’d derived from the van’s transponder signal, and the helicopter pilot circling high overhead had visually confirmed it was still there. The four occupants were still with it, but there was no sign of anyone else in the surrounding buildings. That meant there was a good chance we’d found them before they’d rendezvoused with their contacts. Now we just had to find a way into the compound without giving them the chance to raise an alarm. And without damaging the caesium containers.

  Melissa told four of the agents to prepare their Kevlar blankets for spreading over the glass shards embedded on top of the wall. Then she dispatched the other four to the far side of the compound, to mop up anyone who tried to escape. “Squirters,” she called them.

  It took the first agent three minutes to re
port he was in position. The next two confirmed within another thirty seconds. That just left one more to call in, and Melissa was starting to get a little jumpy when the helicopter pilot cut across him.

  “Hold, hold, hold,” the pilot said, on the radio. “Movement.”

  Everyone froze.

  “Two suspects,” he said. “Breaking away from the van. Heading for the rear wall. No, ignore that. For the main building. They’re going inside. I’m switching to heat-sensing. OK. They’re still moving. Slower now, though. Looks like they’re starting a room by room search of the place.”

  “Where are the other two?” Melissa said.

  “No change,” he said. “Holding position at the van.”

  “OK,” she said. “Change of plan. This is what we’re going to do.”

  The agents huddled for a moment while Melissa ran through her new instructions, then one pair moved away towards the heavy double gate set into the wall forty feet away. They looked back, checking their colleagues were ready, then one of them banged twice on the wood.

  “Movement,” the pilot said. “One suspect. Leaving the van. Approaching the gate.”

  “The two in the building?” Melissa said.

  “No change,” he said. “Looks like they’re continuing to search. OK, the first suspect’s reaching the gate... now.”

  “Who is it?” a man’s voice said from inside the compound.

  “Who do you think?” the agent who’d knocked said. “Open the gate.”

  “Where have you been? You’re late.”

  “Took longer to get here. It’s all kicked off at the hospital, apparently. Had to make sure we weren’t followed. Now let’s get this over with. Open the gate, or I’m out of here and you’ll be the one holding the baby when the police turn up.”

  I heard a rustling sound as the stiff Kevlar blankets were eased into place, behind me. There was a pause, followed by an angry squeak as the gate was jerked back a couple of inches. Then the nearest agent raised a square, yellow and grey handgun and fired through the gap.

  “Suspect one down,” the pilot said, and I turned just in time to see the other pair of agents disappear over the wall.