Seven Day Hero

by J. T. Brannan

  ‘Okay!’ Amy replied brightly, heading with her mother and brother into the café.

  Ben rolled his eyes at his sister as they passed through the doors. If they were offered cake, the answer should always be a simple Yes! There was certainly never any need for questions. Why did girls always have to make things complicated?

  Across the crowded plaza, a man was watching the Cole family. Andy Cragg saw the three targets enter the coffee shop, and wondered if he should follow them in. His orders were to remain unobserved however, and so he resisted the impulse. The mother seemed to be so far unaware of his presence, but it was clear that she had some knowledge of counter-surveillance techniques. She was no expert, but was good enough for him to have to keep his distance. He couldn’t take the risk of the Cole woman making him, and so he sat down on one of the benches opposite and started to wait.

  He could see the family through the coffee shop’s window, and would pick up the tail when they left. He wondered whether they were waiting to meet up with the Tarr man. That would at least please Albright; his superior had just radioed to say that he’d lost him.

  When the Cole family split up from Tarr in the mall parking lot, Albright had demanded that he be the one to keep tailing Tarr. Although the Coles were the targets, Albright argued that it was Tarr that was the dangerous one. Cragg could see that there was more to it than that though; it seemed somehow personal to Albright. He knew that the senior agent was a vain man – indeed, within the British Security Service, Albright’s narcissistic qualities were well known – but Cragg hoped that it wouldn’t start to colour his colleague’s judgement.

  Half way across town, Albright was once again furious with himself. Tarr had done it again, damn him!

  After the taxi had dropped off the Coles, it had continued on out of the parking lot, still with Tarr inside. Albright had ordered Cragg out of their own car and told him to keep tailing the Coles, whilst he kept in pursuit of the taxi. He knew it was probably futile hoping to stay unobserved, but also knew he had to try; he had to keep going!

  Tarr had tried a couple of taxi changes, but Albright kept on top of him with some intelligent driving. He was just three cars behind him, driving through a four-lane tunnel, when the taxi slammed on its brakes and Tarr burst out of the passenger side door and sprinted off down the sidewalk back the way they had just come, almost certainly headed for the subway station at the start of the tunnel.

  Albright stared innocently ahead as Tarr ran straight past him. He was frozen in his seat, unable to move. What could he do? He couldn’t turn the car around in traffic. Besides which, if Tarr was headed for the subway, he couldn’t use the car anyway. And if he got out to pursue the man on foot, he would give the game away completely; his mission was, after all, to follow the group discreetly to see if they rendezvoused with Cole.

  He slammed his open palms down hard on the steering wheel, anger welling up inside him. If only he had more men!

  Gradually, he calmed down, and sighed in resignation. There was really nothing he could do, except radio Cragg with the bad news, and hope that he was doing better.

  Tarr smiled to himself as he walked down the service steps at the back of the St Nicholas’ Park Apartments. He was remembering the look he’d seen on the face of the blond agent as he ran past his car.

  At the time, he had been surprised; he had thought the mine would have killed everyone on the yacht back in the Caymans. He knew that someone was following him, but not that it was the same man as before. He felt the beginnings of admiration for the agent’s apparent determination, but it had been an easy enough task to shake the tail. Tarr was glad; it meant that the enemy’s resources were not what they could be.

  As Tarr neared the secure fire exit at the bottom of the steps, he checked his watch. The digital readout told him that it was precisely 12:01:03. Less than four minutes to go. He hoped Sarah remembered what to do.

  Across from the coffee shop, Cragg observed Sarah Cole check her watch and then ask for the bill. It came just a minute later, and he watched her take some money out of her purse and put it on the table. He started to react as he saw the mother and her two children stand and start to make their way towards the door.

  He relaxed a moment later when the little girl – Amy Cole, wasn’t it? – stopped her mum and whispered urgently in her ear. Smiling, Sarah Cole approached the coffee bar and spoke to the lady behind the counter, who pointed towards a hallway at the rear of the little café. Cragg watched as she led her children down the corridor and out of sight.

  Cragg wasn’t concerned; just a four year old girl needing to use the toilet after a meal, nothing unusual. He used the opportunity to radio Albright to let him know the Cole family were about to move.

  ‘Why did you want me to whisper in your ear, Mummy?’ Amy asked as they walked quickly past the door to the bathroom.

  Sarah looked down at her little girl and smiled. ‘We’re just playing a game honey, just a game. Like acting, you know? Maybe like hide and seek?’ The trio got to the end of the corridor and stopped at the fire exit.

  Ben looked at his mother with curiosity. ‘Who are we playing with?’ he asked with genuine interest.

  ‘Uncle Phil,’ Sarah replied automatically as she checked her watch. 12:04:45; just fifteen seconds. She hoped Uncle Phil was ready.

  Uncle Phil Tarr’s watch hit 12:05:00 exactly, and he pushed down on the metal bar of the fire door, swinging it open wide.

  In front of him, Sarah and the kids were just three feet away, barrelling towards him at speed. On the other side of the narrow alleyway, Tarr could see the fire exit in the wall opposite was firmly closed, and he stepped to one side as the Coles burst through into the stair well, slamming his own door closed behind them immediately.

  ‘We found you!’ Ben shouted at him, pointing and giggling.

  ‘Found you!’ Amy joined in with him.

  Tarr reached forwards and hugged them both, gathering them up into his arms. ‘You did, at that!’ he beamed at them. ‘And you know what that means?’

  ‘What?’ they both asked in unison, even as Tarr started to head back up the stairs, carrying them as if they weighed nothing at all.

  Tarr turned back towards Sarah and winked at her, and she knew it was his way of saying well done – you did it.

  Hoisting Ben and Amy higher into his arms, he looked at both of them and smiled warmly. ‘It means we get to play another game. I hope you both like fancy dress.’

  At 12:10, Cragg was starting to be concerned. Where were they? Why hadn’t they come out?

  He really didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to give away his presence, but what if there was a back way out that they’d decided to use? He could be sat here wasting precious time.

  Eventually, Cragg radioed Albright again, and was given the order to check it out. Once he’d had the decision made for him, Cragg acted quickly. He moved straight through the front door, ignoring the waitress who wanted to escort him to a table, and entered the female bathroom. Nothing. He checked it from top to bottom, and then moved to the male bathroom. Again, nothing.

  Coming back into the corridor, he rounded the corner and saw the service door. Oh no. This really wasn’t what he wanted.

  Despite the dread of what he might find – or not find – he raced to the door and opened it, spilling out into a narrow alleyway. He ran one way down the alley, then the other. Once again – nothing. No sign of the Coles whatsoever.

  As he picked up his radio to give Albright the bad news, he never even considered the dull metal fire door opposite him.

  Albright had just parked his car in the mall parking lot when Cragg’s message came through.

  His shoulders sagged in defeat; he didn’t even have it in him to shout at Cragg. The fact was, they’d lost. They’d lost, and now he had to tell Hansard.

  As he pulled out his cell phone, he wondered about the words he would use.

  He rolled his neck, the faint cracks relieving some of the
tension from his body.

  It would have to be Cragg’s fault, of course.

  An hour later, Tarr and his friend’s family were making their way down I-87 towards Louisiana, and Louis Armstrong International Airport, from where they would catch the 19:15 flight to Munich.

  The mood in the car was jovial. After they had gone up three flights of steps back in the Miami apartment block, Tarr had taken them through a service door and into a brightly-lit corridor.

  The group had then entered Apartment 1209, where they had all had the chance to get washed and changed into new clothes. For added fun, they had all dyed their hair too, and Amy had been particularly happy with her new blond locks.

  The apartment was owned by Mark Cole, who had bought it some time ago as part of the intricate escape plan he had developed for his family. It had taken him a while to find such a location – with service doors backing onto those of the huge neighbouring mall – but he had eventually managed it.

  And when the happy party were ready, the Ford 4x4 with blacked-out windows they found in the secure underground parking garage was also owned by Cole, who had thoughtfully placed the keys in a drawer in the apartment kitchen.

  As they drove along the parched concrete of the interstate, even Sarah began to relax. After all, they’d done it; they’d finally managed to get rid of their pursuers, and would be in Europe by early morning.

  And soon after that, she hoped above all else, her family would be reunited.

  26

  Cole’s memory of the boat’s layout was mercifully intact. Although the ferries he’d trained on whilst serving with the SBS were somewhat older models, he was pleased to see that the internal superstructure of the new vessels was similar enough to make no real difference.

  After hiding the two bodies, Cole had managed to access the service area through the hatchway near to the stairwell. Since then, he had descended another two levels until he was now at the lowest point in the ship.

  He had successfully avoided contact with the ship’s crew, giving the kitchens and engine rooms a wide berth. The circuitous route had taken a bit of extra time, but was worth it for the lack of trouble he’d run into.

  He worked his way through a tiny passageway – really only designed for an electrical cart to run along but just big enough for Cole to squeeze into – and tried to hurry towards the rear of the boat. He could feel the engines slowing, and knew he didn’t have much time left.

  The clean-up crews started working the moment the passengers began to head downstairs, and Diego Marquez had just been informed that he’d have to do Sections 1a and b today. Another guy would normally do 1b, but Diego’s supervisor had said that the man had been taken ill, and so he would have to clean both.

  It never ceased to amaze Diego how filthy people could be. To a certain extent he had become desensitized to it, but he could never quite understand how such a short journey could result in so much mess. The ferry journey lasted barely three hours, but in that time the two thousand passengers never failed to turn the beautiful, sparkling clean ship into a bombsite.

  After working for three years on the same boat, Diego had managed to get himself a decent area. It was in a relatively tidy area near the jewellery boutique, mercilessly separate from both restaurants and toilets. Toilets were always the worst on sea voyages, and Diego was almost ecstatic when he’d been transferred to Section 1a.

  But now he’d have to go through it again, and he wasn’t pleased by the prospect. The toilets in Section 1b were invariably clogged up and overflowing. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant job, and so Diego made the decision to get it out of the way first.

  Entering the bathroom, the smell was the same as always – repugnant. He scanned the room quickly and was agreeably surprised to see that there was only one pool of vomit on the floor. The place was filthy underfoot, but at least it just seemed to be general dirt and slush from the hundreds of pairs of boots, shoes and trainers that would have trawled through the place over the last few hours.

  The locked cubicle door to his right caught his attention next. Strange, he thought. All the passengers should have returned to their vehicles by now. He approached the door and knocked on the wooden front. There was no reply.

  He bent down, careful not to get too close to the floor even with his gloves on, and saw a pair of legs, trousers pulled round the ankles. He thought back, and remembered that such a sight wasn’t actually all that strange – a lot of passengers would get so drunk that they’d fall asleep on the toilet, and have to be woken by the clean-up crews. Some would need medical assistance.

  He sighed, and banged on the door louder. He really didn’t want to have to go in there if he could possibly help it. It was never nice to have to drag a sleepy, uncooperative drunk out of a cubicle. There was still no answer, and so he banged again on the door, shouting this time for good measure. Still nothing.

  He rolled his eyes up to the sky and muttered a curse under his breath as he pulled a small coin out of his overall pocket. Inserting the coin edgewise into the screw-head on the outside of the lock, he twisted it clockwise. The action caused the lock to unbolt, and he pushed the door open.

  His eyes went wide, and his breath caught in his throat as he became frozen to the spot. He had never seen this before, that was for sure. And as he offered a whispered prayer, he immediately knew that the men in front of him would need more than medical attention.

  Tom Gordon settled into his driver’s seat and prepared for the wait until the ferry docked and they could start moving. It was always annoying that they had to return to their cars so early when all they were going to do was wait, but he supposed he understood. Getting everybody off the ferry was a huge logistical operation, and he realised the necessity of having everybody in their place ready to start.

  Irene Gordon smiled across at Tom and patted him on the leg. She knew her husband could be impatient. But it had been a good journey, and they were both surprisingly relaxed. It was their first trip abroad without the kids, and they were going to make the most of it. The car, a Renault MPV, was really too big for just the two of them, but they hadn’t had time to downgrade. Besides which, it was comfortable, and certainly had plenty of room for their luggage.

  Tom smiled back at her, and poured a couple of mugs of coffee from the thermos. If they were going to be waiting, they may as well do it with a drink.

  Just a mile away, the four British agents waited patiently in the arrivals lounge at Calais. Two of the men had flown over the week before from the UK, whilst the others had been in France for several months, on secondment to France’s DIGN. More men were on their way, but the British intelligence services were spread so far and wide that it was hard to keep everywhere fully manned.

  The leader of the four man section was a former Captain in the Parachute Regiment, Frank Hasdell. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was this man Cole had done. Details were sketchy at best. He’d been told that the target was a dangerous terrorist, wanted for numerous crimes including the killing of other agents in cold blood.

  Hasdell could understand such a response, with all of the powers of the UK police and intelligence network being ranged against this dangerous criminal. What he couldn’t understand was why his orders were to remain as unobtrusive as possible, and to involve the French authorities only as a last resort. Surely if the man was an international terrorist, it was only right to involve Britain’s partners? Especially, Hasdell thought, now that the EU was a true defensive partnership. But the orders had come from on high, and it wasn’t up to Hasdell to question them.

  As it was, Hasdell was a little perturbed. He knew there were four other agents on the boat with Cole, and he also knew that their specific orders were to kill Cole and dispose of the body. Hasdell and his team were only there as back-up, and to meet and debrief the other agents when they made it to shore.

  The trouble was, none of the agents had checked in for the past hour. They all had radios, and knew they should have used t
hem to inform Hasdell of a successful mission. But there had been no such calls, and any attempt at contact with the men on the boat was met by static. Atmospheric interference couldn’t be ruled out, but it was unlikely with such advanced radio equipment.

  The agents all turned as one as they heard a loud commotion behind them. What they saw didn’t help to raise their spirits. It was the French police, a large crowd of them, and Hasdell watched with trepidation as they marched through the arrivals lounge and made their way purposefully to where the boat would soon be docking.

  Hasdell knew in the pit of his stomach that something had gone badly wrong. And it wasn’t the radios.

  Police Capitan Marcel Guerre led his men down the ramp way and across the snow-covered ground, marching quickly towards the exit point. He had men covering all exits, both for vehicles and foot passengers.

  Crimes were certainly not unknown on ferries, that was certainly true enough. Mostly it was restricted to pick pocketing and other minor theft. Occasionally there would be fights and other assaults, more often than not caused by excessive drinking. Since Guerre had worked as Chief of the Calais Port Gendarmerie, there had only been one murder, and that had been solved easily enough – the woman had been found by ferry security in the second floor restaurant, steak knife still in her hand whilst her abusive husband bled to death on the floor.

  But this one, he knew, was different. The killer was a different kind of animal entirely. If the reports by the onboard security personnel were to be believed, two men had been killed by the use of bare hands, and the bodies then hidden. Despite an immediate lock-down of the ship, the killer had not been found. That was the trouble – it could be anybody. The boat’s security room guys were watching the security tapes right now, trying to make an identification.