Meltdown

by Andy McNab

  Fitting the goggles over his face, he switched them on and heard the gentle hum of the power pack sparking up. Soon the world turned a hazy green colour and Phil saw a beam of bright white light burning its way down from the night clouds and spreading out over one of the hangars on the far side of the old runway. Like a jet of water hitting concrete, the laser beam broke up and splashed outwards from the top of the hangar.

  Phil got back into the car, still with the goggles on.

  'Got it. You can turn off the laser.'

  Within a couple of seconds, the beam disappeared back up into the clouds. Headlights still off, Phil drove towards the gates. He also hit the cut-out switch beneath the dashboard so that there would be no brake or reversing lights to give him away.

  He drove into the airfield, using the NVGs and keeping to his side of the runway, well away from the target hangar – he didn't want to be pinged by anyone on stag outside. He parked up behind a brick building, took off the goggles and picked up his MP5 from under the rubber mat in the passenger's footwell before getting out of the car.

  He checked that his Sig was firmly in its holster and started towards the hangar. Then he stopped. The hangar doors were opening, and Phil heard the sound of a heavy engine. He looked back towards the gates and saw a huge truck approaching.

  35

  The 4x4 screamed out of the city towards the airport to meet up with their transport.

  Fergus glanced at Deveraux, who was sitting in front of him, as his mobile rang again.

  It was Phil. When he spoke, his voice was calm but Fergus could plainly hear the contained excitement.

  'I think we're on to something. Could be a while, but stand by.'

  'Keep me informed,' said Fergus. It was all he needed to say. Phil had only one objective: to locate and destroy the DMP; there was no need to waste time discussing the details.

  Deveraux turned round to look at Fergus. 'Well?'

  'Looks like we're making progress back in the UK.'

  She nodded. As always, she was focused on her own side of the operation, but she was mindful of Dudley's warning that her mission could not, and would not, take priority over his.

  Kubara's black Mercedes was now heading north, deeper into the Catalan heartland, and Danny was edging the Corsa closer in the darkness. All the Merc driver would see was headlights in his rearview mirror.

  As soon as Teddy had made the calls Kubara had requested, the bodyguard had taken the twins' mobiles, ripped out the sim cards and batteries, and dropped the phones and parts out of the window, one after the other. No one was going to use the phones' signals to get a fix on them.

  But Danny was still following.

  'No change. Ninety, one hundred Ks an hour, still heading north.'

  Fergus had taken over the net as Deveraux spoke on her mobile to her team members at the airport.

  'Roger that. Soon as we're airborne, we'll pick you up.'

  'Need to be quick about it. That's the Merc turning left off the main into darkness. I can't follow. Get a fix on me! Get a fix!'

  Danny slowed the Corsa as he saw the Merc's headlights puncture the inky darkness to his left. He wanted Fergus to know exactly where the turning was. The mobile tracking would fix and confirm that.

  'Approaching the turning . . . Stand by . . . Now!'

  Danny continued a little way down the road, then pulled onto the verge and switched off the Corsa's engine.

  'Danny's foxtrot. I'll use the mobile.'

  He grabbed the handycam, got out and ran, as the Merc's lights disappeared into darkness about 1K away.

  Thorn bushes snagged at his jeans as he sprinted over the dusty, undulating ground, holding the handycam tightly. His mouth was dry and sweat seeped from every pore; he ran as hard as he could. Getting to the target was all that mattered.

  He was no more than 200 metres away when he heard the electronic whine. He knew immediately what it was: a helicopter's rotor blades had started to turn and were getting quicker as the engines revved up.

  Danny closed in on the target, powered up the handycam, attached it to the phone and started recording, using the powerful lens to make out the details of the scene in front of him.

  The Sikorsky S-92 helicopter stood waiting, its huge rotor blades now at full speed. They were cutting an enormous circle through the air and pushing out a tremendous downdraught, throwing dust into the air. Further away were the shapes of derelict farm buildings and a tanker, which had obviously been brought in to refuel the helicopter.

  The S-92 was only for the seriously wealthy, the Bill Gateses of the world, or rulers of oil-rich Arab nations – or the top drug dealers like Enver Kubara.

  The aircraft had been developed from Sikorsky's S-70, US Army Black Hawk and US Navy Seahawk helicopters. Its twin engines delivered massive power and a flying range of over 600 nautical miles.

  There were military and air-sea rescue versions of the S-92, but it was the civilian version that stood waiting for take-off. The aircraft raised helicopter in-flight luxury to a different level. There was room for no fewer than nineteen passengers to be comfortably seated in leather, airliner-style seats and there was a thick, shag pile carpet on the floor – which meant that conversation could be held at normal levels; there was even a fully stocked bar.

  Teddy and Will knew and cared nothing about any of that as they were ordered out of the Mercedes and bundled across the open ground, crouching low and running towards the side door.

  As he watched from the perimeter, Danny was already on his mobile to Fergus. 'They're going airborne.'

  Teddy was first up the steps, followed quickly by Will. They looked around the cabin. It was almost like entering one of their own luxury coaches. But the luxurious surroundings were not what made them gasp with shock as they stepped inside. Someone was sitting at the back of the aircraft.

  It was Storm.

  Kubara followed Teddy and Will and pushed them down into their seats. Teddy looked at Storm, then back at the Bosnian, and for once in his life he tried to do the decent thing.

  'There's no need to take her; she knows nothing. She can't help you. Please, leave her here!'

  Kubara simply ignored Teddy's plea. The bodyguard climbed into the heli and pulled the door shut. His boss was already instructing the pilot to proceed with the take-off.

  In a thunderous roar of sheer power, the helicopter lifted into the night sky, and far below Danny watched as it flew off towards the sea. Quickly he ran back to his Corsa to make his report.

  Inside the Sikorsky Teddy turned back to look at Storm.

  'I'm sorry, Storm,' he told her. 'I'm so, so sorry'

  36

  The helicopter that Danny was flying in could hardly have been more different from the Sikorsky, but in its own way it was just as impressive.

  The Cougar was a no-frills military helicopter. It could carry twenty-nine combat troops, all seated down the centre of the aircraft in red, nylonwebbing seats that could be folded away to make room for cargo or stretchers.

  The interior walls were covered with a thin silver padding. It was there to protect the wiring, which lay behind it against the aluminium bodywork.

  Conversation at normal levels was impossible; the two turbo engines were directly above the passengers, so they had to shout or talk via the intercom with earphones and mic.

  There was a constant smell of aviation fuel being burned and the floor was covered with solid, gritted tar to give some grip in wet conditions.

  It was Danny's first time in a helicopter and he was one of just seven passengers. The others were Fergus and Deveraux and her four-man team. The team was already prepared for action: they had to be ready; no one knew where they were going or how long the flight would last.

  They were wearing full body armour, with a ceramic plate placed in the pocket over the chest. The plate was capable of taking and dispersing the energy of a round by shattering on impact. Ceramic is extremely tough when acting as a shield but delicate when being ha
ndled, so wearers always take great care when handling their plates.

  Deveraux and her team had MP5s as their main weapons, with a torch attached below the barrel, zeroed so that the rounds would go wherever the light shone. The MP5s also had a laser-beam box next to the torch. These carried out the same function as the torch but were more precise and could be used in the dark if the team was wearing NVGs.

  The five also each had a Sig 9mm semi-automatic pistol strapped to one leg, with spare magazines attached to the other, as their secondary weapon. They were carried on their legs because the body armour made it difficult to draw a weapon from a belt.

  The only ones not ready for immediate action were Fergus and Danny, and Fergus wasn't happy about it. He looked back and was glad to see that Danny was dozing. It was an important lesson to learn: you grabbed any opportunity you could to catch up on sleep.

  Fergus was sitting directly behind Deveraux. As soon as she had checked her body armour and weapons, he tapped her on the shoulder.

  When she turned back to look at him, he nodded down at her ready bag and then shouted to be heard. 'What about Danny and me?'

  Deveraux shook her head. 'I shall be operating with my team, as a team. I don't want Batman and Robin getting in my way.'

  'This is a joint operation!' yelled Fergus. 'You know Dudley's orders. I'm in command. We must have weapons!'

  Deveraux hesitated. She had been hoping to avoid handing over the two Sig pistols Dudley had ordered her to provide for Fergus and Danny. Reluctantly she reached into her ready bag and took out the pistols and just one spare magazine for each short.

  'These are for your defence only. For your protection. Do not get in my way! I will not be responsible for your safety if you or the boy get in my line of fire!'

  Fergus smiled. The warning was clear enough and he reckoned that Deveraux would be only too pleased if he or Danny got anywhere near her line of fire. But he was going to make absolutely sure that didn't happen.

  The pilot's voice came over the intercom. 'He's just entered French airspace. Still staying close to the coast.'

  Dudley was overseeing the tracking of the Sikorsky, working in tandem with experts back at GCHQ in Cheltenham.

  The helicopter was being tracked through the EU's air traffic control centres. All countries would no doubt have co-operated with GCHQ had there been time to make the arrangements. But there wasn't time and it wasn't necessary anyway. GCHQ boffins could easily infiltrate the systems. They were reporting directly to the Cougar pilot, who was passing everything back to Deveraux and Fergus over their headphones.

  It meant they knew exactly where the Sikorsky was heading, but they still had no idea of its ultimate destination.

  Kubara was getting stuck into a plate of bread and cold meats. He wanted to keep his strength up.

  Teddy watched him, too scared to ask questions for fear of hearing the answers.

  Will had his eyes closed and his head against a window. He wasn't asleep; there was no way he could sleep. He was thinking; he'd been doing a lot of thinking since they got on the aircraft.

  He'd glanced back at Storm several times. She seemed perfectly calm and unruffled, even flicking through a magazine as casually as if she were on a pleasure trip; some specially arranged mystery tour.

  The helicopter suddenly dropped as it hit an air pocket, and Will opened his eyes and saw Kubara slip a large piece of bread and meat into his mouth.

  The Sikorsky sank again and he continued to chew contentedly. Will wanted to throw up.

  The Bosnian smiled at Will and lifted the plate he was holding, offering him some food. Will barely had the energy to shake his head.

  Storm finished her magazine. She tossed it onto the seat next to her, got up and walked over to the sofa where Kubara was sitting. She smiled as she sat next to him, and then, to the twins' amazement, she took a small piece of meat from his plate and popped it into her mouth.

  Teddy could keep quiet no longer. 'Storm! What are you doing? Get away from him!'

  She smiled. 'Oh, Teddy. I don't know how you could have been so stupid for so long.'

  Teddy stared, his tired brain struggling to make sense of the situation.

  Storm was still smiling at the total confusion written all over his face. 'You don't get it, do you, Teddy? Even now.'

  He didn't. Maybe it was the fear, the terror of flying into the unknown, but he still didn't understand what Storm was trying to say.

  But for Will it was all becoming horribly, terribly clear. 'She's right,' he said, shaking his head. 'We've been so fucking stupid.'

  Kubara laughed at Teddy's bewildered face. 'Did you never wonder how I found you? And how I knew exactly what you were doing? All the time? The trucks . . . the coaches? Yes, you told me the basics, but didn't you ever think that somehow I always knew more than you told me? No, because you were too arrogant, always too arrogant.'

  Teddy looked at his brother and then back at Kubara. 'You mean . . . you mean Storm was working for you?'

  Kubara laughed again. 'Oh, more than that, Teddy. Much more than that.'

  This time both brothers looked at Storm, their minds racing with the implications of what he was saying.

  'She's . . . she's your . . . ?' Teddy was desperately struggling to voice what he was thinking. 'She's your . . . your girlfriend?'

  Storm shook her head. 'You know, I somehow knew you'd think that when the time came. Someone else for you to be jealous of. But no, Teddy, I'm not his girlfriend.'

  'Then what?'

  Kubara leaned close to them. 'Don't you English have a saying about blood being thicker than water?'

  Teddy gasped. It was impossible.

  But Kubara was nodding proudly. 'Yes, Storm is my daughter. The most wonderful daughter any man could have.' He kissed her on the cheek. 'And the image of her beautiful mother.'

  37

  The Sikorsky was beginning to descend, and in the Cougar the pilot came on the intercom. 'He's going down. Looks to me as if he's going into the heliport at Monaco. What do you want me to do?'

  'Wait out!' said Fergus into his mic before Deveraux had the chance to reply.

  'Roger that,' came back from the pilot.

  Deveraux turned to Fergus, her eyes demanding an explanation.

  'We don't know that this is his final destination,' he told her. 'He may just be refuelling. Wait until we know for certain, and in the meantime find somewhere we can refuel if necessary'

  Deveraux nodded. Fergus was right. They needed to be able to refuel quickly if the Sikorsky was preparing for a longer stretch of flying time.

  The heliport at Monaco perches on a stretch of land reclaimed from the sea and is a favourite arrival point for visitors to the millionaires' playground of Monte Carlo and for the residents of Nice.

  The Sikorsky touched down smoothly and Kubara was quickly out of his seat. His dark eyes rested on Teddy and Will. 'My earlier warnings still stand.' He gestured towards his bodyguard, who had sat in menacing silence throughout the flight. 'If I am not watching you, he will be. At all times.'

  They stepped out of the aircraft and Teddy and Will saw the lights of Monte Carlo glittering back at them from the shoreline. The harbour was full of yachts the size of cruise liners, many with helicopters of their own resting on the stern. The twins had visited Monaco for the Grand Prix, but all that – all their past life – seemed a million miles away now. Everything that was normal seemed a million miles away.