Harper went over to the car. The passenger side window wound down. ‘Have you got any trackers with you?’ he asked Barry Big.
‘I never leave home without them.’ He nodded at the glove compartment. Barry Whisper opened it and took out two compact devices.
‘Hansfree’s finest,’ said Barry Big. ‘They’ll stick to anything metallic and once they’re in place they kick off automatically, He can pick them up on any iPad.’
Harper nodded at Barry Whisper. ‘Do the honours, mate, and fix those to the Land Rovers they were looking at. I’ve got a feeling they’re going to be buying them.’
‘Roger that,’ said Barry Whisper. He climbed out and headed over to the vehicles. Harper went to a Bedford truck parked outside and climbed into the cab so that he could look into the office. He glimpsed McGovan handing a wad of cash to the salesman. ‘Have we missed a brush contact somewhere along the way today?’ he murmured, into his shoulder mic. ‘Or has Tango One been packing a fortune in cash ever since we started surveillance on him? Where did that cash come from?’
Shortly afterwards the two men set off, each driving one of the ex-army Snatch Land Rovers.
Harper’s team followed them back to London, Harper taking the lead on his bike and the rest following in the car. It was after dark before the long drive back to London ended with the targets circling the capital on the eastbound M25, then turning off just south of the river. To the south-east of the junction the unearthly glare of light from the Bluewater shopping centre lit the night sky, but the two vehicles turned in the other direction, driving upstream from the Dartford River Crossing for a few miles, parallel to the south bank of the Thames, then turning off again into a light industrial estate, stopping outside one of thirty or forty units on the site, most of which looked to have seen better days.
The sprawling estate was dominated by a crumbling concrete structure, like a tower, part of a factory that must once have stood there and which the developers had not yet got round to demolishing. The unit were occupied by the usual post-industrial mixture of service companies, printers, plumbing supplies, waste-product recyclers and direct-sales companies, leavened with a mixture of vacant and derelict sites, festooned with optimistic ‘To Let’ and ‘Development Opportunity’ signs. At first glance, the unit the targets had rented was no different from the others, but it stood out from its neighbours in one way: it was surrounded by a pristine new high-security fence
Harper parked his motorbike, clambered part of the way up the concrete tower and, using a small pair of high-powered binoculars, he watched as McGovan unlocked the gates of the compound and the two men parked the Land Rovers in two lean-to garages, which formed part of the unit. The main building was a single-storey warehouse with a main entrance at the front but no windows that Harper could see. Before leaving the compound, McGovan tested the doors of the buildings, then walked around the site, checking the fence. Two twenty-foot shipping containers – one blue, the other blood red – had been parked at the far end and he examined them carefully, testing the padlocks on the doors. He waited until Yankee Four was safely outside the fence, before releasing a ferocious rough-coated German Shepherd, which had been locked up in a small shed at the side of the main building. ‘Where the fuck did the dog come from?’ said Maggie.
The two men left the site, locking the gate. They walked up the road together to the far end of the estate, then parted company, McGovan turning left towards Erith, while Yankee Four walked in the opposite direction, heading east.
Harper stood down the team, though Hansfree remained at his post in the ops room, monitoring the electronic equipment and the feed from McGovan’s room at the military club. Before climbing down from the tower, Harper fixed a small surveillance camera to the rough concrete surface, using strips of gaffer tape to hold it in place, and adjusting it so that it was pointing at the jihadists’ compound. When Hansfree’s voice in his earpiece confirmed that he was receiving and monitoring the signal back in the ops room. Harper climbed down and walked towards the compound.
At that time in the evening, the other units on the site were quiet, locked up for the night, and, after making sure that the targets really had left the area and were not doubling back on their tracks, Harper walked around the perimeter of their unit, peering in through the chain-link fence. All the time he was doing so, he was being tracked by the dog, which kept pace with him all the way round. The Alsatian made no noise but its eyes never left Harper, and once or twice when it decided that he was too close, it flung itself at the fence, regardless of its own safety, baring its teeth. Even with a chain-link fence between them, Harper took an involuntary step back, startled by the savagery of the animal.
Using his binoculars, he looked closely into every part of the unit. Finally, when he was satisfied that he had seen everything there was to see on the site, he walked back to where he had left his bike and rode back into London at high speed.
CHAPTER 43
Harper hurried up the stairs to the ops room, where Hansfree was sitting in darkness, staring at his computer screen, his face lit only by the cold metallic glow from the display. ‘Give that a rest a moment,’ he said. ‘I need your help to access the site where the targets have stashed their vehicles and equipment.’ Hansfree had his equipment cases stacked at the far end of the room, and after a few minutes’ rummaging through them, he had what he needed: a battery-driven electric drill, a set of drill bits, and a fibre-optic endoscope, a super-thin, flexible extending device that enabled the user to penetrate sealed or inaccessible spaces. With the device came a couple of attachments that fitted onto the end of the optic cable: a small camera and an even smaller light.
The pair travelled in Hansfree’s van, out through the hinterland of new builds, drab suburbs and fading industries that lined the south bank of the Thames.
On the way, Hansfree briefed Harper on what he’d discovered about the man he’d photographed in Paris. ‘Dmitry Fedkin, assassin for hire,’ said Hansfree. ‘He operates mainly in Russia. Former Spetsnaz, as all the best Russian assassins are. As you know, Spetsnaz has become a catch-all for any sort of special-operations group, from the cops to bog-standard military. But Fedkin is the real thing, Alpha Group. It was created by KGB boss Yuri Andropov after the 1972 Munich Olympics massacre. The Germans fucked up big-time and the Russians wanted to make sure the same thing couldn’t happen to them. They’re on a par with the SAS or Delta Force. They were used as storm troopers, cracking the whip right across the former Soviet Union. After it fell apart, Alpha Group was downgraded and moved from pillar to post before being swallowed up by the Federal Security Service. Fedkin joined in 1996 and left five years ago to go private. Works for a company based in Moscow. Most of the clients are Russian Mafia or oligarchs, though these days those terms are pretty much interchangeable.’ Hansfree looked across at Harper, frowning. ‘Was he just following you, Lex? This guy isn’t about surveillance, as a rule.’
‘He didn’t try anything, but he had a couple of henchmen who had a go.’
Hansfree nodded. ‘Well, if this guy’s on your case, you’ve got problems.’
‘I spoke to him professional to professional,’ said Harper. ‘I think I’m good.’
It took them just over two hours to reach the industrial area where the targets had stored their vehicles and equipment. Hansfree parked well away from the unit and the two men studied the live pictures from the surveillance camera being relayed to his laptop before they got out of the van. All appeared quiet at the site, but they still made a covert approach, slipping between the patches of shadow in the lee of the other buildings on the site and pausing frequently for minutes at a time to look and listen before moving forward again. As they reached the compound, the German Shepherd spotted them and stood stock still as it stared at them, ears pricked.
‘I can see what you mean about the dog,’ Hansfree said. ‘It’s got a head like a bleeding alligator. Have you seen the state of those teeth? That’s the most evil-looking g
uard dog I’ve ever seen.’
‘It’s not a guard dog,’ Harper said. ‘It’s an attack dog. If they’d wanted a dog to work as a guard, they would have used one that barked whenever anyone walked within yards of the compound. This one is much too quiet for that, which makes it even more dangerous. Given the chance, it’ll attack and kill if it can. The question is, where the hell did it come from? Muslims won’t have anything to do with dogs – they reckon they’re unclean. McGovan obviously has others helping him put this together.’
Harper walked parallel to the fence for a few yards, then turned back, all the time watching the dog intently. It kept its gaze just as firmly fixed on him and when he moved towards the fence and placed a hand against it, his fingers projecting through the steel mesh as if about to scale it, the dog launched itself at him in a heartbeat, its jaws closing with a snap on the point where Harper’s fingers had been, its body crashing into the mesh with an impact that set the fence rattling for several yards in both directions. Harper had only just been in time as he snatched his hand away. The fact that it had attacked in total silence, without emitting so much as a growl, had been even more frightening.
Hansfree’s face had gone even whiter than its usual pallor. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘That’s not a dog, it’s a Terminator.’
‘It’s good, all right,’ Harper said. ‘I’ve got a mate who makes a decent living training attack dogs. Normally the first stage in training a dog is to boss it. In effect you become the pack leader, and once you’ve dominated it, you can make it do what you want it to do. But with attack dogs it’s just the opposite. You have to brutalise it, but if you want a dog to be a killer, of humans as well as other dogs, you have to defer to it constantly and retreat before it whenever it moves towards you. That tells the dog it’s the leader of the pack, even when humans are around, which makes it much more aggressive and fearless.’
‘That’s all very interesting,’ Hansfree said, ‘but it doesn’t tell me how you propose to deal with it.’
‘I’m not quite sure myself yet,’ Harper said. ‘But it’s going to have to die, there’s no question of that. I can’t see there’s any way of us getting inside with the bastard thing alive. But we’re going to have to make it look like natural causes or an accident, because if there are any unexplained wounds on it McGovan will know we’re on to him. But I’ve got a plan. We’ll just need a few bits and pieces before we start.’ He led Hansfree back to where they’d left his van.
‘Where to?’ Hansfree said, as he started the engine.
‘A corner shop will do.’ Harper glanced at his watch. ‘If you can find one that’s still open, that is.’
They drove for a couple of miles before Hansfree spotted an open corner shop and pulled up outside. Harper went in and bought a can of some luridly coloured soft drink that only kids would have contemplated drinking and a packet of Haribo sweets. When he came back outside, he poured the drink into the gutter, crumpled the empty can and slipped it into his pocket. He ripped open the sweets and tipped them into the rubbish bin outside the shop, but once again he kept the crumpled packet and put it into his pocket with the can.
‘What was that all about?’ Hansfree said, but Harper merely winked and tapped the side of his nose with his finger.
‘Now we need to find a charity shop or maybe some recycling bins would do.’
‘There won’t be any charity shops open, Lex – it’s the middle of the night.’
‘I know. It shouldn’t make that much difference with what I’m looking for.’
Hansfree shot him another quizzical look, but Harper said nothing. They drove along a run-down high street where even the few shops that had not been boarded up or left empty had long since closed for the night. They passed several closed charity shops in a succession of rust-belt north Kent towns before they found what Harper was looking for. In the doorway of an Oxfam shop there was a stack of cardboard boxes and three or four carrier bags but, having rummaged through them, Harper returned to the van, shaking his head. ‘No good,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to try again.’
‘If I knew what we were looking for, it might help,’ Hansfree said.
‘Children’s shoes.’
Hansfree thought for a moment, then broke into a grin. ‘Now I get it,’ he said.
Having exhausted the local supply of charity shops, they drove to a large supermarket on the outskirts of a town. There was a row of recycling bins at the side of the access road, including two for clothes and shoes. Both were full to overflowing and several carrier bags had been left on the ground around them. This time Harper’s search was rewarded and he returned to the van holding a carrier bag containing two pairs of children’s trainers. ‘We’ve hit the jackpot,’ he said, with a smile.
They drove back to the industrial site, and as they walked towards the compound, Harper paused long enough to snap a thin branch from a spindly tree planted in a feeble attempt at landscaping the site. He carried it with him as they moved on towards the compound. The area was still silent and deserted but the dog was no less alert and watchful.
Harper ignored it and, keeping his feet clear of the muddy puddles in front of the compound’s gates, he took the trainers out of the carrier-bag and placed them on the ground, positioning them in as natural a way as he could, then putting his own foot on top of each one in turn. He pressed them down into the mud so that when he lifted them up again a pair of child-size footprints had been imprinted in the mud. He repeated the process a couple of dozen times altogether, until it appeared that a small group of children had paused by the gates, then moved towards the fence and stood there for some time. To reinforce that impression, he took the crushed can from his pocket and tossed it onto the ground, then crumpled the empty Haribo bag into a ball and placed it at the foot of the fence next to the gate, hooking it onto a loose strand of wire so it couldn’t blow away. He poked the thin branch through the bars of the gate. The dog pounced on it at once, biting it savagely and, as Harper tried to pull it back, it broke off the end with a vicious jerk of its head.
Harper withdrew what was left of the branch and examined it carefully. The broken end was now scored with the dog’s tooth marks. He nodded to himself and dropped the stick on the ground next to the gate. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Job done. Let’s get to work.’ He left Hansfree taunting the dog by rattling the fence while he quietly moved to the opposite side of the compound. The dog was puzzled and didn’t know which target to pursue first, repeatedly switching its gaze from one man to the other, but Hansfree kept goading it and forced it to focus on him by repeatedly moving towards the fence and rattling it. Every time he touched the fence, the dog hurled itself at the other side of it with such force that it left a few tufts of its fur caught on the wire. It became even more confused when Hansfree put his prosthetic hands through the gate and tried to entice the dog to bite them. It needed no encouragement but found its jaws closing on steel fingers rather than flesh-and-blood ones. While the dog’s full attention was focused on Hansfree, Harper seized the moment to climb up and jump over the fence at the back of the compound.
As he hit the ground, he immediately crouched in a boxer’s stance, bracing himself for the onslaught from the dog. It had heard the thud as his feet hit the ground and immediately stopped biting at Hansfree’s prosthetic hands. It spun around and raced across the yard towards Harper. A few feet from him, it launched itself into the air, its hackles raised, yellow teeth bared and jaws gaping, ready to tear out Harper’s throat.
As the dog approached, Harper forced himself to suppress any fear and kept a cold, savage focus on the animal that was hurtling towards him. At the last possible moment before it struck him, so close that he could feel the dog’s foul breath on his face, Harper grabbed both of its front legs in his hands. Just as the dog’s jaws filled his vision, he put all his strength into one vicious jerk, first forcing the dog’s legs inwards and then yanking them apart. He heard a distinct crack as the animal’s sternum and ribcage collapse
d and the jagged ends of the bones were driven deep into its heart. It was already dead when as its momentum sent it crashing into Harper. He fell onto his back, with the dog pressing down on his chest.
Harper exhaled in a long, juddering breath, then pushed the beast to one side and got to his feet. It took several seconds of deep, controlled breathing before he had recovered enough to carry on. He stared down at the animal, examining the fur on its chest for any external sign of what had killed it. It looked far less fearsome in death and seemed diminished in size, more like a discarded and dilapidated fur coat than the savage and powerful creature it had been just moments before. Harper hoisted it onto his shoulders and walked over to the fence, close to where he had left the footprints. He hefted the dog up and poked its front two legs through the fence, making it look as if it had hurled itself there and become entangled.
‘I get it,’ said Hansfree. ‘Kids tease the dog, dog goes crazy, dog dies. Think they’ll buy that?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Harper.
‘I didn’t think you were going to kill it with your bare hands,’ said Hansfree. ‘Where did you learn that trick?’
‘In the Paras,’ said Harper. ‘But that’s the first time I’ve done it for real. They’re vulnerable once they leap. They lose all traction and they can’t see what’s underneath them. Then it’s just a matter of timing. Now let’s get a move on. It’s already almost two o’clock and we’ve still got a lot of work to do.’
Hansfree went to the gate and passed the drill and the fibre-optic endoscope through to Harper, who took them back to the unit while Hansfree kept watch. He walked around to the back of the first of the two sea-containers, and drilled a narrow-diameter hole through the steel wall near the top so that it was well above anyone’s eyeline. He fed the endoscope with the light attachment through the hole and put his eye to the scope. The container was partly filled with uniforms – British Army by the look of them – in plastic bags. Next to them was a stack of wooden boxes. Harper moved the endoscope to get a better look. He caught his breath as he saw that the boxes were marked PE-4A. PE-4 was the British equivalent of the widely available plastic explosive C-4, a mixture of explosive with a plastic binder and a plasticiser to make it as malleable as Plasticine, so that it could be formed into any shape desired. An explosion could only be initiated by the combination of intense heat and a shock wave produced by a detonator. All manufacturers of C-4 and its variants, including PE-4A, routinely added to the mix a chemical tag or marker, a constituent unique to that particular batch of explosive, so that forensic teams could trace the batch’s origins if it was later used in a terrorist attack or any other unauthorised way.
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