by Andy McNab
'Thought we had him there,' said Mick as they climbed the stairs.
'We'll get him soon,' said Fran.
But they found nothing until they reached the top floor. And then, stepping into the open, they spotted something that was surely what they were looking for.
Parked in one corner was a large Winnebago with two small satellite dishes on the roof. One of these was pointing directly towards the hotel and the other was aimed in the opposite direction. All the curtains at the Winnebago's windows were drawn, even the ones dividing the driver's seat from the rear of the vehicle.
Fran and Mick inched closer to the vehicle until, weapons up, they reached the side door. They stopped and listened. There was no sound. Nothing. After a couple of minutes Fran reached into her jacket, took out a Leatherman and pulled the knife from its sheath.
Mick, still with his weapon up, was covering Fran as she gently worked the blade into the gap between the door and the bodywork. Within seconds she had forced the lock.
She flung back the door and stood aside as Mick burst into the wagon and went right. Fran was immediately behind him. She went left and they stood their ground inside the wagon, weapons up, ready to drop anything that moved.
But there was no one inside the vehicle. Instead, Fran and Mick immediately saw a suitcase-sized machine on the Winnebago's dining table. Two sets of wires came from the back and went out through the roof to the two satellite dishes.
'The bastard's using a rebroadcaster,' said Fran as she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket.
From his study in The Hamptons, Pointer watched as Fran punched in Deveraux's number. Hidden in the Winnebago was another tiny camera. It had been fitted by Herman Ramirez for just such an eventuality.
Pointer watched Mick inspect the rebroadcaster and then begin to check out the Winnebago's cupboards and drawers. The bomb master frowned as he pondered exactly who the two uninvited visitors were. He knew they would find nothing in the vehicle that would help them.
But who were they? Police? FBI? CIA? Did they know about Elena? The pistols they held looked highly unusual. And how had they found the vehicle?
He allowed himself a slight smile. It didn't matter now. None of it mattered. He had always known this would happen eventually. Some form of law enforcement agency was closing in on him. So what? Tonight was the night he had waited so long for. This would be the last one, the one that really mattered. By the time they found him it would be too late. His beloved son would be finally, and spectacularly, avenged.
Marcie Deveraux and Fergus Watts were treating each other with what might best be termed as 'professional respect'.
Fergus had decided during the flight in the Tornado that he would say nothing to Deveraux about the fit-up at Heathrow. For one, it had been a job well done, and Fergus had a grudging respect for that. For two, he didn't want to antagonize Deveraux any further and possibly alert her to his own plans. And for three, Fergus just wanted to get on with the job in hand.
So he made no mention of Deveraux's killing of Joey Omolodon, but simply reiterated Dr Jacobson's concerns about Elena's mental state. When they discussed the letter Elena had left for her father, he didn't refer to the fact that Joey would never read that letter. It was almost as if he were still around, but missing.
Deveraux was more than a little relieved: they didn't have time for recriminations. In return, she brought Fergus fully up to speed on developments since their arrival in New York. She even spoke of Fran and Mick's role in the hunt for Black Star just as if Fergus had known about their involvement all along.
Fergus nodded but made no comment. Without spelling it out, Deveraux had revealed to him who was on hand to carry out the actual killing of Black Star. And Fergus didn't need telling that they were also around for when Deveraux decided that he, Danny and Elena were no longer needed.
They were both being polite and professional as the limousine arrived back in the city and headed towards the Four Seasons.
And then Deveraux's Xda rang.
'Yes, Fran?'
'We've found a vehicle. There's a rebroadcaster. The signal's being encrypted and sent out by microwave.'
Deveraux sighed with irritation and considered for a moment. 'I suppose we shouldn't be surprised – he was never going to make it easy for us.'
It was a blow, but as Deveraux had said, not completely unexpected. It meant that the signal was being received in the Winnebago and then sent on to another receiver. Black Star might be at that location, but it was equally possible that the signal was going on to another rebroadcaster. And then another. And another. For all they knew, Black Star could be way up north, in Canada.
The rebroadcaster boosted the strength of the encoded signal, and this could be sent onwards over long distances. The only thing in the hunters' favour was that the microwave operated within a narrow band and the dish had to point in the direction in which the signal was being sent.
Deveraux knew that. 'You'd better start playing dot-to-dot.'
'Yeah,' answered Fran, 'I thought you'd say that. Could be a long job.'
'Give me the details of the wagon and we'll check it out. We're closing in on the bastard.'
Deveraux noted down the details as Fran gave them to her and then ended the call. She quickly relayed the facts to Fergus.
'Doesn't make me feel a whole lot better about Elena's safety,' he said. 'Where is she now?'
'She's shopping.'
'And what's she buying?'
'Black Star's got her running all over the city. Danny's doing his best to keep track of her, but he's on his own while Fran and Mick chase Black Star, so—'
Deveraux's Xda rang again. It was Danny.
'Yes, Danny?' She put the Xda on speaker mode.
'I've lost her. I followed her in a cab to another drugstore. She was buying aspirins, candles . . . other stuff. It's definitely mix thirty-nine. But then she took the subway, and by the time I'd got a ticket she was gone. There was no way I could stay with her.'
Deveraux took the news well; she hadn't expected Danny to be able to stay with Elena indefinitely. 'At least we know what she's doing. Go back to your hotel and leave a marker and a message for Elena. Tell her we need any information she can give us through the DLB.'
'But I don't want to just sit around waiting,' said Danny urgently. 'There must be something else I can do.'
'Yes, there is, Danny,' said Deveraux curtly. 'You can follow orders. Now get back to the hotel and wait.'
Fergus butted in. 'Danny?'
'You're here!'
'Of course I'm here,' said Fergus, glancing towards Deveraux. 'Look, don't worry, we'll get Elena through this.'
Deveraux cut the call; there wasn't time for family reunions.
'I need to be at the Pennsylvania with Danny,' said Fergus. 'If Elena starts mixing when she gets back, it means the attack is on today. I have to be at the hotel.'
'And what can you do there?'
Fergus had no intention of telling Deveraux about the powder sitting in his dip bag. 'If you and your team get to Black Star while Elena's mixing, I can get her out of there and make the mix safe.'
Deveraux knew that Fergus was right. It was the best use of his skills; it was what he was here for. But for now she wanted Fergus where she could see him. They were nowhere near to catching Black Star yet, and for the moment, even with the concern about Elena's state of mind, while they had her under surveillance she was safe enough. If they tried to get close enough to talk to her, they risked blowing the whole operation.
'No,' she said without looking at Fergus. 'You stay with me until I say otherwise.'
Fergus sat back and said nothing. He had read Deveraux's sit reps: he knew exactly what she wanted for himself and Danny and Elena, once Black Star was dead. But he didn't know what Dudley's response had been to Deveraux's recommendation, although he could make an educated guess: 'Recommendation for elimination approved.'
He almost smiled at the irony of it all: while Bl
ack Star lived, so did they.
34
Elena finally returned to the hotel after her shopping expedition, carrying two bulging carrier bags and the new sports bag, which was full to bursting. She had moved beyond any normal concept of tiredness now and felt strangely but distantly alert. Detached from everything except what she had to do. It was the feeling she'd had in Dolce & Gabbana, but now it was there all the time.
Black Star had warned her that there would be further items for collection at the hotel reception. She trudged up to the desk and gave her name and room number. 'I think there's something for me to collect.'
'Gee, that's a lot of souvenirs to take back home,' said the receptionist, looking at her shopping bags as he handed over a carrier bearing the Dolce & Gabbana logo, along with another brown padded envelope with Elena's name typed on the front. 'You're gonna have to pay big time excess baggage on that.'
Elena couldn't even be bothered to reply. She smiled weakly, slipped the envelope into one of her shopping bags and continued over to the lifts. She was expecting Black Star to come straight online as soon as she entered her room. And he did.
U done good, Gola, real good, & I no ur tired. But dont worry, a few more hours & this will all b over. I need u 2 do exactly wot I say from now on and be REAL careful as u work. OK?????
Watching her from his desk many miles away, Pointer was tempted to tell Elena to switch off the television set, which was still tuned in to the C-SPAN channel, but he had more to think about than his Angel's viewing habits. It was possible that Elena suspected he was somehow watching her, but he wasn't going to confirm that. Not yet. Not until it was necessary.
As he considered this point, Elena seemed to realize for herself that the TV was still on, blaring out unwanted news. She walked over to it, giving Pointer a close-up view of her exhausted face, switched it off and then went back to the BlackBerry.
Yes, ok.
Good, now 1st i need u 2 get everything out of the bags and lay it on the bed. Make sure the do not disturb sign is on yor door.
Already is!!
Pointer had instructed Elena to buy everything that was necessary to make mix thirty-nine. She looked at the strange assortment of ingredients: aspirin tablets . . . tubs of Vaseline . . . bottles of rubbing alcohol . . . packs of candles . . . even a jar of sulphuric acid, which she had obtained from a hardware store. She had also bought a set of kitchen scales and electric rice cookers.
When everything was laid out on the bed, with the rice cookers and scales on the floor, Pointer was ready for Elena to begin preparing the instrument of her own death, and the death of many others.
He had to work quickly; the device would take around three hours to complete but could not be rushed. One wrong move could end in disaster, and the years of planning and preparation would be wiped out in an instant.
Ok, lets go. First, this stuff is gonna smell bad and its gonna get hot, so i want u 2 put the aircon on cold – full blast. Close the curtains, then get a spare blanket from the cupboard and shove it in the gaps around the door so the smell dont get outta the room. We dont wanna give no warning of wot we're doing.
In her room, Elena suddenly went cold. So this was it.
Her heart pounding, she thought quickly. She knew she had to concentrate and follow her instructions methodically, almost robotically, obeying Black Star's orders to the letter. Not giving away for one moment that she knew anything about PE.
Ok, Gola, put on the rubber gloves. We gotta crush all those aspirin. Take around 50 to start with and fold them in a sheet of newspaper and I'll tell u wot 2 do next.
Elena reached for a tub of aspirin and a sheet of newspaper.
Fergus and Deveraux were in the suite at the Four Seasons, and they had just received news of a vital breakthrough.
No attempt to trace the identity of the owner or hirer of the Winnebago could be made through US Security Services because the entire operation was deniable.
But MI6 officers back in London had been working overtime to find the missing details. And they had struck gold.
They had traced the vehicle back through the number plate and discovered that it was one of five purchased recently and registered to an address on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
The vehicles were registered in the name of a film company at that address. But further checks had revealed that the film company had never made a single film, or been in any way involved in one. All the company had ever done was buy the Winnebagos.
The company secretary was listed as a man called Herman Ramirez, who apparently lived at the same address. Further undercover searches had revealed his driver's licence. Fergus and Deveraux were now staring at a photograph of Ramirez, which had been lifted from the licence, on Deveraux's laptop computer screen.
'Perhaps I should have had a little more faith in Danny,' said Deveraux as she looked at the face on the screen.
'What do you mean?' said Fergus.
'He said he thought he saw a Mexican following Elena. He was right – we have Black Star.'
Fergus was never easily convinced, and he was too concerned about Elena's safety to make any comment about Danny's surveillance skills. He nodded towards the computer screen. 'What else do we know about this guy?'
'Nothing. Nothing at all. Before this, he doesn't appear to have existed – not in the US, anyway.'
As they stared at the computer screen, Deveraux's Xda rang.
It was Fran. 'We've found another Winnebago. Rebroadcaster, same as before. This could take a long time.'
'Forget it,' said Deveraux quickly. 'I have an address for you. The Penthouse, Wiltshire Buildings, East Ninety-sixth Street. The name is Ramirez. Herman Ramirez. You know what you have to do.'
Elena reacted like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car when she heard the knock at her door. She froze, her eyes wide with fear.
She had been totally absorbed in following Black Star's instructions, working for over an hour as quickly as she could, following every order exactly. She had been careful to make a few unimportant mistakes, to hesitate occasionally. Black Star had been quick to correct her, repeating instructions until he was sure she had got it.
The explosive was gradually being created, with ingredients measured out in precise quantities and added carefully to the deadly brew.
The air conditioning was going at full blast but the room was still hot and the atmosphere was thick with pungent fumes as the mixtures in the rice cookers were slowly heated and reduced. Elena's eyes were streaming, there were beads of perspiration on her forehead and she was fighting to stop herself from gagging as she breathed in the toxic fumes.
But she worked on, following every instruction to the letter, horribly fascinated now at what she was cooking up.
And then came the knock at the door.
Elena stared, wide-eyed, at her BlackBerry, somehow expecting Black Star to tell her what to do. But nothing appeared on the screen: she had to sort this for herself.
'Hello?' she called.
'It's the maid. I need to do your room.'
Elena tried not to breathe too deeply as she thought of what to say. 'I don't want my room cleaned, thanks. Not today.'
There was a pause as the maid outside the room attempted to weigh up exactly what was happening on the other side of the locked door. 'Are you OK in there? There's a kinda strange smell. Like . . . like cooking.'