Seven Day Hero

by J. T. Brannan

  Without a second thought, he increased his pace, legs starting to pump wildly, along with his heart. He knew he just had to follow the group, but his adrenaline started to kick in when he thought about Tarr. Something told him that the future held more than just a simple tail; confrontation was inevitable.

  36

  The Audi estate Cole was driving was the third stolen car of his trip across Germany, and he was doing it in quite possibly the worst conditions he had ever come across. The compacted snow under his tyres made grip all but nonexistent, and the snow was coming down so heavily that even with his wipers on at double speed, he could barely see the road ahead.

  As he carefully navigated his way down the E532 towards the small border town of Vils, where he hoped to pass through into Austria, his thoughts turned to Sarah, Ben and Amy. He prayed that they were okay, that Tarr would manage to get them to the RV. The escape plan had been good, but he didn’t know what resources Hansard would have put in place for their pursuit.

  Indeed, he didn’t even know what Hansard’s orders would have been. Clearly he wanted Cole dead, but his family? Cole wasn’t so sure, and tried to tell himself it wasn’t just wishful thinking. No, he thought, his family would be more use to Hansard alive than dead. Alive, there would be the hope that they might lead his agents to Cole. Dead, they were a wasted asset.

  There was the possibility that they would be captured, and potentially tortured, but Cole deemed it unlikely. Hansard would simply not trust information extracted in this fashion.

  So the chances were that his family was relatively safe. As long as he was safe, Cole realized. If he was dead, then Hansard would have no more need for his family. Maybe he would let them go, or maybe he wouldn’t risk any more loose ends.

  Either way, Cole had to get to the rendezvous point as fast as he could, and the weather be damned.

  37

  Sarah stared out of the window at the people milling about the platform. Who was friendly?, she wondered. And who, more to the point, was not?

  Four businessmen chatting over coffees, steam billowing out from the hot liquid into the cold air as they laughed at some unknown comment; young lovers, hand in hand, with rucksacks on their backs, gazing at one another almost without blinking; a homeless man begging near to the long queue of a cash machine, two armed station security guards hustling over to move him on; a school party, two dozen excited children and two distinctly stressed adult chaperones; these, and a hundred more besides.

  Sarah sighed inwardly. It was just impossible to tell. Impossible!

  She knew the people who were after them would be trained not to stand out, would blend easily into such a crowd. So what am I even looking for?, she asked herself. She turned her head, and saw her two children, both sleeping peacefully next to one another in their big seats. She smiled warmly, smoothing their hair with her hand. They’d had a long, tiring day and were doing the only sensible thing.

  Tarr seemed to read her mind. ‘Makes you wonder how they do it so easily, doesn’t it?’ he asked.

  Sarah nodded. ‘They’re so sweet . . . So innocent.’ A tear welled at the corner of one eye.

  Tarr nodded in return. ‘They have the right idea, too. You should do the same, you know. We all have to sleep sometime.’

  She smiled tiredly back at him. ‘You don’t seem to need it.’

  Tarr shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘I’ll have plenty of rest when we get where we’re going.’

  Sarah glanced down at Ben and Amy again, children sleeping peacefully in the safety provided by adults, then turned once more to stare out of the window at the crowded platform. ‘Me too,’ she said simply.

  38

  The train pulled out at 2.34 precisely. Albright smiled into the bathroom mirror as he adjusted his hair. German precision.

  He had made the train with only moments to spare, but he was confident that he had done it unseen by the targets.

  He paused, looking into his own eyes in the mirror. He looked drawn, tired. But it was worth it; they’d tracked down their prey, and had closed the noose. There were two men in Carriage D, two more in F, whilst the four targets were ensconced in the cabin between them.

  Albright had officially taken charge, and was seated in the same cabin as two of the other agents. He knew Tarr would recognize him instantly if their paths were to cross. He also knew he should have taken the helicopter to Innsbruck to meet the train when it arrived and to organize the agents waiting there to pick up the tail. But he felt an urge – inexplicable, but there all the same, as an almost tangible, physical sensation – to keep close to the targets. Especially Tarr.

  No!, he reminded himself. Tarr wasn’t a target; Sarah Cole and the two children were. He shook his head, looking down at the sink. What was it with Tarr? Why was the man’s presence affecting him so much? But he knew all too well. Albright had underestimated the man, and had paid the price. He turned his face to the mirror once more, fingers tracing the ugly scabs that traced their way across his forehead and down his cheeks, remnants of Tarr’s explosive gift on the yacht back in the Caymans. Yes, he was under no illusions about his obsession with Tarr. It was revenge, pure and simple.

  His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He looked at the screen, saw that the number was withheld. Still, not that many people had access to this number. He answered after the second ring.

  ‘Albright,’ Hansard heard the agent say over the secure line.

  ‘This is Hansard,’ he said coolly. ‘Sit rep?’

  He listened as Albright described the operation so far, sipping from a glass of cognac as he sat behind his office desk. He couldn’t remember the last time he had managed to get home, but it was of no consequence. Comfort and relaxation could come later.

  Gregory was making progress with his ERA counterparts, other elements of the plan were about to fall into place, and although Cole had not yet been caught, surely it was only a matter of time.

  He listened with silent amusement as Albright told him how the targets had been reacquired – the agent tried to dress it up as best he could in order to maximize his own role in the proceedings, but Hansard saw between the lines instantly, recognizing the more important role played by blind luck. Still, he reflected, there was nothing wrong with a little bit of luck now and again. Nothing at all.

  The team of UK agents had a tight loop around the targets now, it seemed. The only problem would be if they realized they were being followed and called off the RV completely. There was no reason this should happen if the agents exercised caution, but you could never tell what might go wrong. Murphy’s Law was, after all, a regrettable fact of life.

  It wouldn’t mean the end of the operation, of course; the targets could always just be picked up and interrogated, or held as bait for Cole, but such methods were crude and unpleasant, and would not guarantee results. As back-up plans, however, they were better than nothing.

  39

  Moses and Arnold sat across from Harry Trencher, his normally neat and tidy desk awash with papers and clutter. He looked dishevelled, tired and miserable, as if he had not slept in a week.

  ‘Tell me you’ve got some good news,’ he said, as if already expecting an answer in the negative.

  Moses and Arnold looked at one another, smiled, and then looked back at their fatigued boss. ‘We do as it happens sir,’ Albright offered.

  When there was no sign of Trencher’s expression changing, even in the slightest, Moses continued. ‘The person that Bill was having those secret meetings with? We got an ID sooner than we expected.’

  ‘And?’ Trencher asked testily.

  ‘His name’s Nicholas Stern, ex-British military, which is how we found him so quickly. He was in our database, he came over for a tour with the Rangers when he was a Captain in the Parachute Regiment.’

  ‘That’s very nice. Would you mind telling me what he’s doing now?’

  Moses took over once more. ‘Nicholas Stern is currently serving as the priv
ate aide to Sir Noel Hansard, Chairman of the British Joint Intelligence Committee and the guy who is leading the way for ERA’s own JIC.’

  Trencher was silent for a long time. He pushed papers across his desk, and started to get his pens in a straight line. Eventually he looked up. ‘Hansard?’ he asked as if for confirmation.

  ‘Yes sir,’ Arnold replied. ‘And interestingly, it seems he has spent some time over in the US.’

  Trencher nodded his head. ‘I know. I’ve met him several times. Spent quite a while here, looking at how we run things. Especially interested in the ops directorate. Struck up something of a friendship with Bill as I recall. Hansard had lost his wife too.’

  ‘So he definitely knew Bill then? We assumed, but we didn’t know for sure.’

  ‘So we’ve got our connection then,’ Moses declared. ‘Hansard had something on Bill, and used Stern to strong-arm him into setting up that op in Sweden. The question is why? Why would he do something like that?’

  The words of Major Drake drifted through the minds of both agents at the same time. Bill was merely being used, possibly by an unfriendly foreign nation. But Britain? It just didn’t seem credible.

  Trencher seemed to read their minds. ‘Despite how outlandish it seems, we’re going to have to run with it. The fact is, we’re running out of time, and I need answers before the official team come back with anything and the whole world goes to rat shit. Follow this up, I want evidence I can take to both Dorrell and to Abrams. We might have the who, but we also need the why.’

  ‘You want proof? How are we –’

  Trencher held up a hand to silence the question. ‘You’re the investigators. You find a way. Fly to London and string Hansard up by the balls if you have to, you hear me?’

  The three men smiled at the suggestion, wishing that it could be done that way.

  ‘Have you got anything on the killer from the cemetery yet?’

  ‘Not, not yet sir. Seems like a bit of a ghost.’

  ‘Check people associated with Hansard, see if anything ties in.’

  ‘We’ll get right on it,’ Arnold confirmed.

  40

  Was it him? He had only a brief look, but Tarr was positive. He had decided to take a stroll through the train just after it set off, just to double-check that they were safe, and in the very next carriage his attention had been immediately captured. A blond-haired man sitting and staring out of the window. Tanned, blond, with what looked like recent facial injuries. It was the agent from the yacht, the one who had followed them to Miami, no question about it.

  We’ve been found.

  Albright spotted Tarr straight away, of course. Indeed, he had taken a seat in this carriage on purpose, to invite just such a situation. It wasn’t that he was making anything happen. Rather, it all depended upon whether Tarr remained in his own seat, in his own carriage, or whether he went roaming. The way Albright saw it, it was entirely up to fate. And in this instance, fate had been kind.

  He kept looking out of the window, pretending not to see the big man. Tarr was still some distance away, and still without looking at Tarr directly, he got up from his seat and headed for the far door.

  Where’s he going? Tarr wondered. He was sure Albright would have seen him, but it was of no consequence. He decided to follow him anyway. The agent had turned up too many times, in too many different places. Tarr simply figured that taking him out of the equation would give Sarah and the kids a better chance of meeting the contact at the back-up RV.

  Tarr was entirely sure that he was being led into a trap, but wasn’t overly concerned. A surprise only worked if you weren’t expecting it.

  Albright grinned as he sensed Tarr taking the bait and following him. He had given Dean and Mathers, the two other agents in the carriage, hand signals for them to follow Tarr out into the corridor between the carriages.

  It wouldn’t be long now, Albright knew.

  The corridor was fairly long, but narrow. It was also empty, except for the retreating form of Albright at one end, and the two men – obviously agents – who had followed him.

  The trap was an obvious one – lure him forwards, in order to attack him from the rear – but Tarr was far from powerless. As he made his way forwards, feeling the approach of the two agents behind him, he surreptitiously withdrew the weapon he carried in his coat pocket. He had picked it up from a hard-wear store in Berlin, and its weight and heft provided a feeling of innate security.

  Feeling the proximity of the men behind him on an animal, instinctive level, he span around in the narrow confines of the corridor, the lump hammer describing a shallow arc before crashing into the first man’s temple with a sickening crack. The eyes went blank and the gun fell out of the agent’s hand moments before the body sagged to the floor. The two agents were in a line due to the lack of space, and the second agent, placed at the rear, was slow to react as his partner had obscured his vision. The man’s gun was only partially raised when Tarr’s hammer came down hard on his arm, breaking the forearm cleanly in two.

  Without missing a beat, Tarr grabbed the man and puled him over his partner to the front, strangling him from the rear as he used him as a human shield, protecting himself from Albright, who he expected to be aiming a gun at him from the other end of the corridor. In the same movement he scooped down to pick up one of the fallen pistols, aiming it around the agent’s body.

  But there was nobody there. Albright was gone.

  Tarr started to move cautiously down the corridor, handgun aimed straight ahead, his eyes darting periodically behind him to make sure there were no other agents closing in.

  ‘Tarr,’ he heard from right next to him, and he turned, gun swinging round quickly to the sound.

  His eyes locked into Albright’s for a fraction of a second, and he took in the sight of the man hanging onto the outside of the train, pointing his own gun in through the corridor window.

  His eyes then registered the bright, glaring muzzle flash, and he felt a searing pain in his forehead, felt his arm go limp, his gun dropping to the floor. He felt the weight of his own body also collapsing towards the floor. And then nothing.

  After climbing back into the train, Albright stood there for several seconds, shaking with pleasure, close to delirium. He’d done it. He’d fucking done it!

  It was a shame about Dean and Mathers, but Albright had read Tarr correctly. He knew the man would feel he was being led into a trap, think that Albright was leading him down a dead end, so that the two agents behind him could come in and execute him from the rear. He knew Tarr would then respond by doing the unexpected, and attacking these agents first.

  Albright had therefore climbed out of the train whilst Tarr was preoccupied, via the main door at the end of the corridor. He had then pulled himself along the outside of the train until he was level with Tarr, before popping up to the side of him.

  He knew he shouldn’t have warned the man by shouting his name, but he just couldn’t resist the impulse. He wanted the big man to know he had been beaten, and to know that it was Albright that had beaten him.

  Recovering his composure, Albright checked the two agents. Mathers had been killed instantly by the hammer blow, and Dean had eventually expired from the strangle hold.

  Thankful that nobody had wanted to come down the corridor in the last minute or so, Albright wasted no more time in pulling the three dead bodies into one of the toilet cubicles opposite the corridor windows. He then signalled the other two agents on board to come through and help clean up.

  Steeling himself, Albright then picked up his phone and called Hansard.

  41

  The collision was inevitable. The weather was so bad that visibility was limited to mere inches, the ice on the road making progress even more treacherous.

  Cole barely had time to turn the wheel when he saw the muted glare of headlights swiftly approaching from the side, out of a concealed entry road. The lights were swinging wildly from side to side, and in the instant before impac
t, Cole understood that the car must have lost control coming down the hill, picking up speed as it careered forward on the ice.

  Cole managed to turn the steering wheel just in time to angle the car so that the bunt of the impact was taken on the rear end. Because he had a few precious instants to prepare, the collision didn’t shake him as much as it might have done. The icy conditions were merciless, however, and Cole felt his own vehicle start to spin wildly. He tried desperately to correct the wheel, but it was no good, and less than two seconds after the initial crash, the Audi was straddling the opposite lane of the highway.

  Cole had no time to prepare for the impact of the second vehicle as it ploughed straight into him; he merely felt the car roll, and then everything went blank.

  42

  Sarah watched with dreadful anxiety as two suited men moved with purpose from the carriage in front of her, through her own, and into the corridor where Tarr had disappeared a couple of minutes earlier. Had she not been so stressed, she may have found it pleasantly surprising how easy the agents were to spot.

  She quickly scanned the interior of her own carriage, but didn’t feel that she was being watched. What had happened? Where was Phil?

  She decided to take action of her own, and whispered to her children. Moments later they were on the move.

  Once she had Ben and Amy secreted in a toilet cubicle at the far end of the train, Sarah made her way back through to her original carriage. All that mattered now was her children. If she drew the attention of the agents, maybe they would forget all about Ben and Amy.