Hunter Killer

by Chris Ryan

  ‘You’re going to rape me, you pig?’

  ‘Not really my scene, darling. I’m just going to ask you a question, and you’d better fucking answer. Where’s Abu Ra’id?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she breathed.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Danny said. ‘Kill her.’

  Spud pressed the silencer against her neck.

  ‘No!’ she hissed.

  ‘Where’s Abu Ra’id?’ Danny repeated.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said loudly. Too loudly. Spud pressed harder.

  ‘Let’s keep our voices down, shall we?’

  ‘I can’t,’ the girl whispered. ‘He’ll kill me if I do.’

  ‘Then you’ve got a problem, because we’ll kill you if you don’t.’

  She twisted her head to look at him. ‘You’ll kill me anyway,’ she hissed.

  Danny gave her a bleak smile. ‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘We’ve got friends in high places. You help us, we can make sure that they help you.’

  ‘Can’t promise you’ll get away scot-free,’ Spud butted in, ‘but if you’re lucky, you might avoid spending the next twenty years being fisted by the dykes in Holloway.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she spat.

  ‘Well, put it this way. Right now, this fella and me, we’re your best friends. And best friends tell each other everything.’ Danny pulled his own gun and pressed it into the soft flesh of her cheek. ‘Where’s Abu Ra’id?’

  She was trembling, almost too scared to speak. But when she did speak, it wasn’t what Danny wanted to hear. ‘You won’t kill me,’ she said. ‘Not as long as I know something you want to know.’

  ‘Wrong answer,’ Danny said. He looked around the room, then stood up and fetched a pair of grey tights from the floor.

  ‘What are you doing?’ the girl demanded.

  Danny knelt back down over her and, with the fingers of one gloved hand, forced her lips and teeth open. She tried to bite him, but he was too strong. He stuffed the tights into her mouth.

  ‘All right mate,’ he said to Spud. ‘Break her arm.’

  Spud didn’t fuck about. With one swift movement, he grabbed her right arm and bent it sharply back at the elbow. There was a cracking, splintering sound. The girl’s body went into a rictus of shock, and though she tried to scream again, the tights stuffed in her mouth muffled everything.

  Danny let her get used to the pain for a moment. Then he said: ‘There’s one arm left. After that we get to work on the legs. And after that, we’ve got all sorts of tricks up our sleeves. So I’ll ask you again: where’s Abu Ra’id?’

  With a rough yank, he pulled the tights out of her mouth.

  Her breath was juddering. He held the material a couple of inches from her mouth in case she tried to scream, but she was clearly past that. ‘I . . . I . . . saw him this morning,’ she whispered.

  ‘Where?’

  She closed her eyes and didn’t answer.

  ‘Okay, mate,’ Danny said. ‘Do the other one.’

  ‘No . . .’ she gasped. ‘Please . . . don’t . . .’

  ‘Then give me an address. You’ve got five seconds.’

  ‘He’ll kill me.’

  ‘Four seconds.’

  She whispered something in Arabic. Her face screwed up in torment.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ said Spud.

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ she spat. ‘I’ll tell you, okay?’

  ‘Now,’ said Danny.

  ‘There’s a block of flats . . . Docklands . . . the big glass one . . . overlooking the river . . .’

  ‘There’s a lot of big glass towers in the Docklands. What’s it called?’

  She screwed up her face again.

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘Hertford Tower,’ she whispered. ‘The penthouse.’

  Danny stared at her, implacably.

  ‘You’re lying,’ he said. ‘Break the other arm.’

  ‘No . . .’ she whimpered. ‘I swear I’m telling you the truth. I swear it.’

  Spud reached out for the good arm and started bending it back. Danny could tell there was another scream coming, so he quickly stuffed the tights back in her mouth. Then he held one finger up in Spud’s direction to tell him to stop.

  ‘One last chance,’ he said. ‘What’s the address?’

  He removed the tights again. The girl whimpered pitifully. ‘I’m telling you the truth,’ she whimpered. ‘Hertford Tower, I swear, the penthouse. But you’ll never get in . . . it’s guarded . . . armed men . . .’

  Danny nodded slowly.

  ‘How big is the apartment? Does it take over the whole floor?’

  ‘Yes . . . apart from the bit around the lift. But you need a special code to get the lift there anyway . . . and the men guarding it have guns . . .’

  ‘Good girl,’ Danny breathed. Then he reinserted the tights for a final time. He threw Spud a questioning look.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ Spud said. ‘Through the window.’

  The girl’s body tensed up. She used her good arm to try to push herself to her feet, but it was a pathetic attempt and only took a single shove from Spud’s gloved hand to push her down again. Danny hurried over to where the rucksack was sitting next to the pizza box. From inside, he pulled a copy of the Evening Standard he’d bought at the service station, its front cover plastered with pictures of the horror in Piccadilly. He opened it up, removed some of the inside pages that showed more images of devastation, then rubbed the front page over the girl’s wriggling head to smear it with her DNA. He gave half a thought to forcing her to write a suicide note, expressing her distress at what she’d done, but quickly discarded that idea. Too obvious. The scene they were going to leave behind would have to tell the story.

  He laid the sheets of newspaper around the floor, then turned back to Spud and the girl. ‘Take her feet,’ he said.

  Seconds later, they were carrying her to the open window. She weighed almost nothing, but she wriggled like an eel out of water. Danny was holding her by her upper arms, but he knew not to squeeze too hard. The broken arm was fine – by the time they’d finished with her, it would be just one broken bone of many. Entirely unsuspicious. But bruising would indicate a struggle, and if they wanted it to look as if Tasmin Khan had thrown herself from the window in a moment of unbearable guilt, that wouldn’t do.

  They reached the window. A desperate, animal grunting was coming from the girl’s throat. It was still muffled by the material of the tights, but they had to come out before the guys dispensed with her.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked Spud.

  ‘Ready.’

  It happened quickly. Danny yanked the tights from her mouth. She screamed. And then the SAS men posted her through the open window.

  She fell head first. The scream faded quickly, and ended abruptly.

  Danny and Spud moved quickly away from the window back to the door, stopping only to pick up the crushed pizza box and the rucksack, where Danny stowed the saliva-contaminated tights. Spud ripped off his mask, hairnet and gloves. Danny kept just the gloves on as he opened the door for his mate, who stepped out into the unlit corridor, then looked back and gave Danny the all-clear. Danny exited, closed the door silently behind him, then stowed his gloves. They walked calmly but with purpose towards the stairwell.

  Where they stopped.

  Voices below them.

  ‘Did you hear it?’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Like a scream?’

  A man said: ‘Probably just a cat. They make that noise sometimes.’

  ‘First time I ever heard a cat sound like that round here.’

  Footsteps. Ascending. Danny pointed upwards. Silently, the two men moved up to the fourth floor.

  They heard the footsteps stop beneath them, then head along the corridor towards flat 38. There was a lessening of the darkness: they’d pressed the light switch down there.

  ‘We can’t get stuck up here,’ Danny said. ‘Let’s move.’

  Carefully, they crept back down again. The t
wo neighbours were standing at the open door to flat 37, deep in conversation with the occupant. They didn’t notice Danny and Spud disappearing down the stairwell.

  Two minutes later, they were back in the Discovery, their clothes sopping wet from the rain. Spud sat in the passenger seat, the crushed pizza box on his lap. He opened it up and removed a mangled slice of pizza. Danny gave him a look. ‘A man’s got to eat,’ he said as he crammed the slice into his mouth. ‘Want some?’

  Danny shook his head. He checked the time: 04.37. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and stared at the rain-spattered windscreen.

  ‘Let’s go for him,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who do you think? Abu Ra’id. Let’s go for him now.’

  Spud swallowed his mouthful of pizza. ‘We should check with Hammerstone first, mucker.’

  ‘We haven’t got time,’ Danny said with sudden vigour. ‘Who knows where he’ll be by the time they’ve given us the go-ahead? If we don’t nail him, these bombings will go on and on. We can kill as many of his foot soldiers as we want, he’ll always find more. And while we’ve got a lead on his location . . .’

  Spud closed the pizza box. He looked like he’d lost his appetite.

  ‘Listen,’ Danny persisted. ‘You said yourself how easy it’s been, nailing these three.’

  Spud shrugged. ‘Maybe we’re just good at it, mucker.’

  ‘Oh come on. They’re just cannon fodder. Abu Ra’id’s been sprinkling them in our path to keep us too busy to get our hands on him.’

  ‘We’re two guys. It’ll need more than just us to make a hard arrest on a major terror suspect. Fuck knows what sort of close protection he’ll have around him.’

  ‘Then answer me this,’ Danny said, an aggressive edge in his voice. ‘How come Abu Ra’id is still even in the country? Why haven’t they kicked him out months, years ago? You really believe all that human rights bullshit?’ He gave Spud a piercing look. ‘Who’s Abu Ra’id got in his pocket? Do you really expect the authorities to bring him down?’

  ‘Jesus, Danny. I thought I was the one that liked a conspiracy theory. Listen to yourself. We can’t just go round killing people without the say-so from the headshed, okay? They’ll throw the fucking book at us. We go back to the safe house, we inform Hammerstone what we’ve just learned, then we wait for instructions. End of.’

  Danny felt every muscle in his body tense up. But he knew Spud was right. He was getting too emotional. In this job, there was no room for it. You had to be cold and hard-headed. And if you weren’t able to do that, you had to rely on your mate to do it for you.

  He started the car and pulled out into the empty road. They drove in silence back to Battersea, the air in the vehicle thick with the stench of cold pizza and the unspoken tension between them.

  They arrived back at the safe house at 05.00 on the nose. Five minutes later they had saved a draft e-mail on the Hammerstone account, confirming they had a lead on the location of Abu Ra’id and stating his potential location.

  Thirty minutes later, they had their instructions. Hereford had mobilised a unit. Danny and Spud were to RV with them at Hertford Tower.

  The Regiment was on its way.

  Twelve

  06.00hrs

  The Docklands. A bleak network of roundabouts and building sites hardly improved by the grey light of dawn. Immobile cranes and half-built structures dominated the riverside. It seemed to Danny that everywhere he looked there was a speed or security camera looking down at them from a lamp post. On one of them sat a seagull, somehow lost upriver and looking for all the world like it was watching the black Discovery drive past.

  Rising up from the centre of this concrete jungle, however, were the impressive towers around Canada Square. Looking up, Danny recognised company names – HSBC, Citigroup, KPMG – affixed to the upper floors of these immense buildings. ‘More crooks round here than in Belmarsh,’ Spud muttered, and Danny nodded his agreement. As they spoke, a shard of red sunlight broke through a threatening sky and reflected brightly off the mirror and glass structures that dominated the skyline. Canary Wharf glowed like blood in the dawn.

  They left the Discovery in an open-air car park where a grizzled old man in mittens, scarf and a threadbare woollen hat accepted twenty quid for the day. Then they walked the almost deserted streets towards the glass and steel skyscrapers that were the beating financial heart of London. Danny’s every sense was on high alert. Of all the locations in the capital, this was surely at the highest risk of attack. There would be undercover security personnel here, without question. Maybe even private security, employed by the banks. Danny and Spud certainly didn’t want to get mixed up with them.

  Hertford Tower. It had to be at least 200 metres high – there was even a wisp of cloud curling round the upper levels. There were countless panes of glass – it wasn’t even possible to estimate how many apartments there were in the block. Danny and Spud stood casually at opposite corners of the plaza that faced on to the tower. The plaza itself was 50 metres by 50, with a large fountain in the middle and a line of Boris bikes along the far edge. Along either side of the plaza, more for decoration than timekeeping, was a series of analogue clocks on posts, like three-metre-high lollipops. Perfectly synchronised with each other and with Danny’s watch, they read 05.37. Even though it was early, men in suits and women in winter coats and fashionable scarves were walking briskly across the plaza, clearly on their way to work before the financial markets opened. Like Danny’s and Spud’s, their breath steamed in the early morning cold. Many of them held cups of coffee from Starbucks or Costa. Cafes on the side of the plaza were already opening, their interiors glowing an inviting yellow against the half-dark of morning. Danny and Spud were the exceptions in their leather jackets, jeans and Gore-Tex shoes. Under other circumstances they’d be suited and booted too, in order to blend in. But not this morning. Things were moving too quickly for that.

  Danny kept his eyes on the main entrance. Distance: 35 metres. There were lights on in the lobby, but so far nobody had entered or exited. He was aware of Spud walking along the far side of the plaza, before disappearing along one edge of the building. Two minutes later he heard his mate’s voice in his earpiece. ‘Goods entrance at the back. Main gate locked. For now at least.’

  ‘Roger that. Keep eyes on.’

  Time check: 06.15. Danny’s every sense was on high alert, his lack of sleep pushed to a far corner of his mind. He looked at the left-hand side of the building. It faced on to a one-way street, but there was no traffic and hardly any pedestrians walking that way. He craned his neck so that he was looking at the top of Hertford Tower. The shard of sunlight that had lit up the building had been an anomaly. Now the clouds had rolled back in again. The penthouse level was still visible, but shrouded in a murky haze. His eyes focused as best they could on the top floor. Was Abu Ra’id up there, hiding in plain sight in the heart of the financial district? It seemed too obvious a location, but so did any location when you knew what it was concealing. Just look at Bin Laden.

  ‘Where the fuck are they?’ Spud said over the radio.

  Time check: 06.21. Danny suppressed a surge of frustration. This was taking too long. They should have come here earlier, under cover of night, barged in on the fucker while he was sleeping . . .

  He looked up again. The sky was empty. There was nothing to suggest that this was anything other than an ordinary day.

  He felt for his weapon under his jacket. Not that he needed it yet. It was just good to know it was there. Then he turned his attention back to the atrium of the tower. The human traffic in and out became more frequent. City types, mostly, suited and barking into their phones as they hurried out of this expensive residence. Almost exclusively male. But nobody suspicious. Nobody . . .

  He blinked. Fifteen metres away, to his ten o’clock, standing just by the fountain in the centre of the plaza with two broad-shouldered men flanking her on either side, was a woman he recognised. Black hai
r, grey roots. As Danny looked at her she was blowing her nose into a piece of tissue, which she then shoved into the sleeve of her dark overcoat.

  Their eyes met. Victoria Atkinson said something to her two bodyguards, then walked over towards Danny.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Danny demanded. ‘This could go noisy. And if anyone recognises you, you’ll blow the whole thing.’ He avoided eye contact, even though he knew it was ridiculous. If anyone was watching them, their RV would have been noted.

  ‘I’m relying on you,’ she said. Her northern accent sounded full of cold. ‘Abu Ra’id cannot leave that apartment alive. He’s extremely clever. He’ll try to talk his way out of it, and on past performance he’ll probably succeed. If he leaves this building alive, the victims of these bombs will never have justice.’

  Movement in the street along the left-hand side of the building. An unmarked Transit van had just pulled up. Danny felt his face twitch. ‘Get back to Bill and Ben over there,’ he said. ‘And stay clear of the building. The Regiment’s here.’

  Victoria looked anxious. She swallowed hard, then scurried back to her two bodyguards. Danny spoke into his radio.

  ‘The workmen are on site,’ he said cryptically. ‘Repeat, the workmen are on site. Making contact in thirty seconds.’

  A double-click of the pressel was Spud’s only reply.

  He was alongside the Transit now. He made no eye contact with the driver, but walked round to the back and knocked three times on the rear doors. They opened immediately. Danny slipped inside.

  It was crowded. Seven men in black ops gear: dark trousers and T-shirts, ops vests laden with their radio equipment, and weaponry: frags, flashbangs and ammo. Three of them already had balaclavas over their heads, the remaining three were just about to apply them. Danny recognised Ripley’s face and gave him a nod. It felt like weeks ago that he’d last seen him, not four days. Each of the guys had their assault rifles strapped to their bodies by a piece of cord. Ripley handed Danny an ops vest, rifle and balaclava of his own. He pulled off his jacket and got kitted up, discarding the earpiece that kept him in touch with Spud and inserting a new one. In less than thirty seconds they were ready to move.