Death Games

by Chris Simms

  ‘Half hour left, Howie. That’s all.’

  The Prince took his feet off the chair and smiled across at his radio operator who was standing in the doorway. ‘And no call outs. Are you up to much over the weekend?’

  ‘Off to our place in Abersoch. Just hope this weather lasts.’

  The Prince examined the satellite image of the weather system displayed on the nearest screen. ‘This high pressure isn’t moving anytime soon. Though don’t expect any wind for sailing.’

  ‘That’s fine. I got one of those sea-kayaks the other day. Me and the missus, we’ll give that a go. How about you? Being dragged back to London as usual?’

  ‘For once, no. We’re just going to mooch about here. I’m trying to teach our oldest to swim, so plenty of splashing about in the shallows with him.’

  ‘Where’s your house, again? Close by, isn’t it?’

  ‘Near Rhoscolyn Head. Twenty minute drive, at most. That reminds me, I need to make a call. Excuse me.’ He punched in the number for his Close Protection Officer into the desk’s phone. ‘Evening, Colin.’ He swivelled his chair so he faced the window. The runway lights were now all on, dots of light like a trail of gems in the dark. ‘Looks like I’ll be ready for a get away at about seven-fifteen. Can you bring the car round? Oh, you’re already there?’ He looked across to the main buildings where the staff car park was located. ‘That’s great. We’ll hand over and I’ll be straight across.’

  He cut the call and went over what needed to be briefed to the crew that was due to relieve them. With the warm weather and lack of wind, and no call outs for the entire shift, there wasn’t much to report. He ambled through to the rest lounge. The second pilot and winchman were before the TV, game controllers in their hands.

  The footage showed an aerial view of a city under siege. Downtown Los Angeles, by the look of it. Wrecked cars littered the freeway, many acting as anchors to churning columns of black smoke. People were dotted about, some sprawled lifeless on the tarmac, some running, some directing weapons skyward.

  The helicopter banked to the side, white-hot slashes of tracer scoring the sky around them. Beeps sounded in the cockpit along with comments from other pilots.

  Firing missile!

  Good engagement!

  You got it!

  They passed over a tower block, gouts of flame spouting from holes in its roof. Sparks swirled up like fireflies. On the streets far below, more gunfire echoed. A harsh alarm sounded and a yellow diamond lit up on the control panel.

  Enemy lock alert – incoming!

  The only constant in all the chaos was the chop-chop-chop of the helicopter’s blades.

  CHAPTER 50

  ‘Come on!’ Jon jumped down onto the damp sand. Even though the motorboat was rapidly receding, the noise of its engine carried clearly across the flat water. He began running along what was left of the beach, occasionally jumping over narrow gulleys flooded by the advancing tide.

  Iona called out behind him. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘End of the inlet!’

  They came to a knee-high outcrop of rock that continued right into the water. Jon picked his way over it and turned, expecting Iona to be well behind.

  She flashed past him, landed on the sand with both feet and was off through the swirling shallows.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Jon muttered. She was fast.

  He ran after her, Glock thudding against his upper ribs with each step. After another forty metres, what was left of the beach dwindled to nothing. The open sea was now directly ahead and they clambered up the rock for a better view.

  Away to the left, a blood-red smudge was all that remained of the horizon. A purplish mass of clouds bore down on it, as if determined to crush the sun’s power once and for all. The Rib was now about a hundred metres out, its dark colour making it all but invisible.

  Jon heard the SBS boats before he could see them. The first appeared to his right and he immediately recognised it as an ORC: an offshore raiding craft, armour panels giving it a clumsy appearance. Its twin inboard engines had carved a wake that stretched right back to the coastline. The second appeared from the rocks less than thirty metres to their left. Jon could clearly see the heavy machine gun mounted on its front end. Behind the gunner were the heads and shoulders of at least five other men, all wearing black.

  ‘Ha!’ Jon shouted. ‘Deal with this, arsehole!’

  ‘Look behind us,’ Iona stated.

  Jon glanced inland. A procession of blue lights pulsed along the lane. The cavalry really had arrived in force. He turned back to the ocean. The boat that had appeared on their left was powering across on an angle that would intercept the path of the Rib. The second vessel was rapidly closing in from behind.

  Jon shook his head. ‘Game over, pal. Game over.’

  Zakayev, obviously realising he was on a collision course, started into a sharp U-turn, only to see the second boat directly behind him. He swung it round and started on a course straight out to sea.

  ‘Where the hell is he going?’ Jon asked. ‘Scotland?’

  The two SBS boats positioned themselves about fifty metres either side of the Rib and began to squeeze in. It was like watching a pair of lions hunting a gazelle. The Rib swerved one way, then the other.

  By now, the lack of light was making it hard to see what was happening. A few more seconds and they would have disappeared from view. An amplified voice carried back to them.

  Jon cocked his head. ‘What did they say to him?’

  ‘Couldn’t make it out.’

  ‘Whatever it was, he needs to do as he’s told. Those guys do not fuck around.’

  As the voice spoke again, Zakayev turned sharply and made straight at the boat to his left. A thin trail lanced out from the front of the Rib then ricocheted up off the ORC’s armour. A bloom of white light shone briefly in the air before settling on the water.

  ‘Distress flare!’ Jon said. ‘He fired a distress flare at them!’

  The three vessels faded from view.

  A second white dot lit the darkness, a horizontal comet which seared away to the side. The engines’ tones changed again, one lifting into a whine. A burst of gun fire rang out. Someone bellowed defiantly then more gunfire and the whining engine cut. The two deeper-sounding engines also dropped in volume.

  ‘Jesus,’ Iona whispered. ‘What just happened?’

  They watched the life of the two white flares sputter out. The dark sea was silent. A spotlight then flickered into life, followed by another. The two beams converged on one point, but it was too far away for them to make anything out.

  Iona passed the scope to Jon and reached for her phone. ‘Sir? We just observed the Rib being intercepted by the two – OK, yes. I’ll hold.’

  Jon had directed the lens at the shifting blobs of light. The Rib was listing badly. One ORC was now alongside it. Silhouettes were bending over the side. He thought they could have been attaching lines to the vessel.

  Beside him, Iona spoke again. ‘Yes, Sir. Still here.’ Her voice was subdued. ‘No one alive? I understand, yes. See you there.’ She lowered the phone and looked at Jon. ‘We’re to go straight to the police station in Holyhead. Rendezvous is there.’

  Jon lowered the scope. ‘ Doku Zakayev and Elissa Yared?’

  She shook her head.

  CHAPTER 51

  As they approached Jon’s car they could see a uniformed officer standing beside it. By the time he’d heard them and shone a torch up the lane, their identifications were already raised.

  ‘DCs Spicer and Khan,’ Jon announced. ‘Greater Manchester Police.’

  His torch lowered. ‘Right, this is your car, then?’

  ‘It is,’ Jon answered, looking past him towards the humpback bridge.

  ‘I was told to wait here until you reappeared.’

  ‘Thanks. The house has been secured?’

  ‘It has. No one was in it, so they’ve withdrawn and are now waiting for forensics.’

  ‘Feel free
to join them; we’re to proceed directly to the station in Holyhead.’

  ‘OK.’ The officer paused in the act of turning. ‘Who was it in there, then? No one actually said.’

  ‘We’re not a hundred percent sure,’ Iona replied. ‘Working that out will be next on the list.’

  The officer had noticed Jon’s firearm. ‘Was that gunfire just now?’

  ‘Gun fire?’ Jon looked around. ‘I don’t know, was it?’

  The officer’s face changed. ‘I get it. Not allowed to say.’

  They looked back at him with blank expressions.

  ‘Evening, then.’ He walked away.

  Iona sighed. ‘What does he expect? We tell him everything about an ongoing operation? As if.’

  Jon unlocked the boot and keyed in the combination for the weapons box. As he put everything back in its place, Iona stepped from foot to foot. ‘Just realised my shoes and socks are soaking.’

  ‘Mine, too. Reminds me of playing out in the woods as a kid.’

  ‘I bet your mum had a nightmare washing your clothes.’

  ‘She probably did. But she preferred that to me and my brother charging around inside the house.’ He climbed into the car and leaned his head back. ‘I’m so looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight.’

  Iona slumped into the passenger seat. ‘We’ve got the de-brief, first.’

  Jon looked at her with dismay. ‘Is it likely to take long?’

  She puffed out her cheeks. ‘I really don’t know.’

  Jon started the engine, eyes settling momentarily on the dashboard as he started to turn the car around. ‘Seven o’clock. If we’re home by midnight, I’ll be happy.’

  They’d been on the unlit A5025 for a couple of minutes before Jon cleared his throat. ‘I wonder how Elissa died. Zakayev or the SBS.’

  ‘Zakayev? Why do you say that?’

  ‘He was happy to get rid of that working girl, Kelly. If Elissa had served her purpose, why not the same? One less person to be smuggled back to safe ground.’

  ‘So why have her body in the boat?’

  ‘Dump her out at sea? Or she was still alive in the back of the boat, but restrained. With that tape he liked to use.’

  ‘Maybe she caught a stray bullet,’ Iona said. ‘Quicker than being knifed and rolled overboard, I suppose.’

  They continued on in silence and, when they reached Holyhead, Jon glanced up. ‘Proper streetlights. Easy to forget how dark it is without any.’

  They pulled in alongside a dogs van in the police station car park. The crop-haired officer standing beside it was about six-foot-three. Jon guessed he wasn’t far off eighteen stone. ‘Your animals in there?’

  He nodded. ‘Waiting on a possible tracking job at the north end of the island.’

  The man’s heavy East London accent took Jon by surprise. ‘You’ve come across from Bangor?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Vaguely aware of a faint thrumming noise coming from nearby, he said, ‘I don’t think you’ll be doing any tracking tonight.’

  ‘No?’

  The news didn’t seem to bother him. Jon guessed being a dog handler involved plenty of call outs where his presence was only a precaution.

  The man glanced briefly at Iona as she got out of Jon’s car. ‘You’re part of this operation?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked at the rear of the police building, wondering if the noise he could hear was an extractor fan running at full speed.

  ‘I’m guessing you’re not with North Wales police,’ the dog handler said.

  The sound had shifted. Now it seemed to be coming from beyond the building. And it was growing more intense. Jon looked around. ‘What’s making that – ’

  ‘Sea King’s been called out,’ the dog-handler stated matter-of-factly. ‘Some numb-nut, probably hiking in Snowdonia without a compass. Once it gets dark they always panic and call for help.’

  Jon looked up into the dark sky as a huge yellow helicopter rose into view, lights winking at various points on the fuselage. Waves of intermingling sound rippled down; the roar of the engine and chop of the rotors fighting for supremacy as it began to turn.

  The dog-handler stepped away from his vehicle, chin raised as it started moving off. ‘Heading East. Definitely Snowdonia.’

  ‘Where has it taken off from?’

  ‘Valley.’

  The way he said the word made Jon feel he’d asked something that barely merited a reply.

  ‘Valley?’ Iona said. ‘What is Valley?’

  ‘The airbase? Where the Search and Rescue is based?’

  ‘An airbase?’ Iona mused. ‘Has it...has it been in the news or...have I read about it? Why does the name seem familiar?’

  ‘It’s where Prince William is currently stationed. You mean that?’

  The comment caused her to visibly flinch. She looked at Jon. ‘He’s a Sea King helicopter pilot at that air base.’

  Jon could only stare back as the realisation hit home. ‘A quick word, Iona?’ He got back in the car.

  The passenger door opened and she jumped in, eyes fixed on his as her words rushed out. ‘They were after him, not the younger brother in Afghanistan.’

  Jon breathed in deeply through his nose. ‘Hang on, we need to think this through.’

  ‘Jon, Search and Rescue – not a combat helicopter at all. Not even army. That’s why they were here on Anglesey. Christ, that might have been him we just saw flying off.’

  Jon tapped a finger up and down on the gearstick. ‘Quarter past seven. Weir’s not due for another thirty minutes. Let’s find out before we present a theory that makes complete prats of ourselves.’ He lowered the window. ‘Mate, how do we get to this air base?’

  ‘Head left out of here. At the end of the road, you’ll see a sign at the junction. You’ll be at the main gates in all of three minutes.’

  ‘Cheers.’ He pulled out of the car park.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Iona asked. ‘Drive up to the barrier and demand to know if the Duke of Cambridge is on duty?’

  ‘Unless you’ve got a better idea, because I haven’t.’ He could see the sign up ahead.

  ‘How does it work with members of the Royal Family?’ Iona asked. ‘Will he have an armed escort or something?’

  ‘For round here? No. He’ll have a Close Protection Officer acting as his driver. Some bloke on a jolly, sitting round for most of the day with his thumb up his arse. All he’ll have is a side-arm.’

  ‘And the car?’

  ‘That’ll have anti-ballistic protection. Bullet-proof windows and reinforced doors. But all that’s irrelevant if you’re shooting at it with a fucking surface-to-air missile.’

  A thought thudding home caused Iona to lift a hand to her lips. ‘What if it wasn’t the car? If they knew he was on duty, the target could have been his helicopter.’

  Jon shot her a horrified look. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, I hope we’re wrong about this.’

  By now they were on a long, straight road that hugged the edge of a large lake. They overtook a lone cyclist. A moment later, he appeared in the rear-view mirror, his front light rapidly blinking on and off, on and off. To their left was a deserted housing estate. When the gaps between the rows of plain-looking properties aligned correctly, it was possible to see what appeared to be floodlights beyond a perimeter fence. ‘That must be it, just over there. I bet this is all accommodation for the personnel.’

  A side road branched out from it and Jon’s eyes snagged for an instant on the large blue dumper truck parked on the verge. In front of them, a distant pair of headlights came into view. Iona’s phone started to ring.

  She flipped it over in her palm to see the screen. ‘Weir again. I’ll put him on speakerphone.’

  Jon’s attention was on the solitary vehicle coming the other way.

  ‘Hello Sir, how far off are you – ’

  ‘Iona, we just had word from the SBS commander. There was only one body in the boat: Zakayev’s.’

  The
other car was now no more than thirty metres in front. Dark Blue. Jon recognised the make. Jaguar.

  ‘Only Zakayev? What about Elissa Yared?’

  ‘She wasn’t there.’

  ‘But I thought they said – ’

  ‘So did we.’

  The car passed them at the point where they were alongside a streetlight. Jon got the briefest glimpse of the man at the wheel. White. Balding. Moustache. Barely visible in the back was another figure, also male.

  His eyes went to the rear-view mirror as he touched the brakes. ‘Think we just passed him.’

  ‘Hang on, Sir.’ Iona lowered the phone. ‘Passed who?’

  ‘The Prince.’

  Iona twisted round. ‘In there?’

  ‘Yes. The guy driving had CPO written all over him.’ Still looking in the rear-view mirror, his attention shifted to the cyclist. Pedalling slowly, the man was almost at the turn off for the side road where the dumper truck was parked. The large vehicle started to roll forward off the verge. Jon came to a stop, eyes now locked on the bulky vehicle. The mound of earth showing above the sides of the rear compartment must have added another few tons to the vehicle’s weight. Its lights had failed to go on. Jon started to reverse, knowing something was seriously wrong.

  As it reached the junction with the main road, the truck seemed to be slowing. It was at that point Jon knew where he’d seen it. Blocking the road just past the humpback bridge. ‘Iona...’

  Suddenly the truck lurched across the white lines. Missing the cyclist by inches, it crunched into the side of the Jaguar.

  CHAPTER 52

  Iona’s shocked cry filled the car. ‘No!’

  Jon veered to the left, only just hitting the brakes in time to stop the car plunging down the short, sharp slope and into the inky water.

  Iona was leaning forward, face turned away from him. ‘It’s reversing! It’s reversing!’

  Weir’s tinny voice rang shrill from her hand. ‘DC Khan, what’s happening!’

  Jon slammed the car into first then floored the accelerator, hands fanning to and fro across the wheel.