Payback

  ‘Or a hospital,’ said Elena.

  Fergus had been listening to their bickering for too long. ‘Look, you two, give it a rest. Wherever he is, we have to assume that our situation here might be compromised. If he doesn’t show up by an hour and a half before first light then we have to get out.’

  ‘But how can you,’ asked Danny, ‘without Joey to drive us?’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ said his grandfather firmly. All three of them looked at Fergus’s leg. The dressing was leaking blood and pus, and at that moment it didn’t look as though he could even stand, let alone manage.

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘We stick to the plan. I meet up with our friend; give her one of the disks to prove that we know all about the whole operation. She’s in for a bit of a surprise when she hears the deal I’m going to offer her. I want new identities for us all, and Fincham out of the way, like she said. If anything happens to us, at any time, the press gets the document. While she chews that one over, we’ll lie low and wait.’

  Danny had listened closely to everything his grandfather said, but Elena’s thoughts were still with Joey. She powered down her laptop and slammed down the top far harder than she would normally have done. ‘If he is in hospital, it’s his own stupid fault,’ she almost shouted. ‘He’s stupid. Stupid!’

  Danny was about to say that he knew Elena didn’t mean what she said. But he saw the tears in her eyes. He kept his mouth shut. Elena was hurting.

  Fergus knew it too. ‘We should grab a little sleep while we can. You two get your heads down, I’ll take first stag.’

  ‘No, I will,’ said Elena. ‘I won’t sleep anyway.’

  Outside, Marcie Deveraux had paused by the metal shutters just as she heard Elena’s raised voice. They were in there. No doubt now.

  Deveraux had left her car outside the square, and out of sight of the window. She was totally confident of her own supreme skill and ability in action. Few people were her equal. Watts was, she knew that. He could not be underestimated, so her approach to the unit had been slow and ultra-cautious.

  She kept to the shadows, hugged the walls and moved silently and cautiously. Now that she had all the confirmation required, she used exactly the same method to return to her car. She reached the vehicle and dialled a number on her Xda.

  George Fincham was sitting in his car, calmly drinking disgusting service station tea from a polystyrene beaker when his official secure mobile began to ring. He had planned that it would be one of the last things he would dispose of, just in case an official call came through. Even so, he was surprised to hear it ring at this hour of the morning.

  He looked at the screen and saw Deveraux’s name appear. He felt his anger begin to rise; only the name Fergus Watts could cause equal fury within him now.

  But he sounded calm and assured as he pressed the answer button and spoke softly. ‘Yes, Marcie?’

  Deveraux sounded equally calm. ‘I’m sorry to call at this hour, sir. But it’s important.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Watts, sir. I know where he is. With the boy and an unknown female around Danny’s age.’

  ‘I see. And your plan is?’

  ‘We could finish this together, sir, before first light. There isn’t time to gather the team, and if we leave it they may move and we could lose them again. It could all be over within an hour, sir.’

  Fincham hesitated, his mind racing. ‘Do you have a ready bag? I shall need a weapon.’

  ‘I have everything we need, sir.’

  Fincham began pulling off the false beard he was wearing. An hour. It still gave him time, plenty of time. He picked up the pen and one of the taxi company business cards and turned it over. ‘Very well, Marcie, give me an RV. We’ll do it, we’ll clear everything up tonight.’

  They decided on the RV and hung up. Deveraux smiled. Clear everything up, Fincham had said. That was exactly what she had begun to do. She had already called in the Firm’s ‘cleaners’ to arrange for Joey’s body to be collected and disposed of; it would be done by now.

  There was one further call to make while she waited for Fincham’s arrival. Dudley might not be happy about being woken at this hour of the morning, but he had insisted on being kept fully informed of all developments, at whatever hour.

  But Dudley wasn’t sleeping: he instantly answered Deveraux’s call to his secure phone. ‘Be quick, Marcie, and I may have to cut you off – I’m waiting for a call of my own.’

  Deveraux was slightly taken aback, but she made her report quickly. ‘First part of the operation completed, sir. Everything else will be within the hour.’

  ‘Good. Report to me then.’

  The line went dead and Deveraux looked at her Xda, puzzled. She had expected more than that; a ‘Well, done’ or even a few questions. Dudley’s own call must have been important.

  It was. Dudley was in his office, and his thoughts were focused on a different operation. He’d been waiting for the crucial information he’d been promised. When it came through he immediately got onto the Prime Minister’s private secretary, who knew better than to argue about the PM being disturbed at this hour. He simply asked Dudley to hold while he woke his boss.

  The Prime Minister came on the line. ‘Yes, Dudley?’

  Dudley wasted no time. ‘The bombings, Prime Minister. We have a lead at last. A significant lead.’

  44

  It was like a deadly game of cat and mouse, and both Deveraux and Fincham believed that they were the cat.

  The MP5 SD was resting across Deveraux’s lap as she put her foot down hard on the accelerator pedal. Fincham was in the passenger seat, the Sig 9mm pistol from Deveraux’s ready bag in his right hand and the keys to the unit in his left.

  They had met and swiftly prepared for the attack in a pitch-dark parking space behind the Renault showroom, less than a minute away from the unit. Deveraux quickly went through the details and Fincham listened in silence, nodding that he understood exactly what his role would be.

  He was backup, which was the correct procedure. Deveraux was the skilled and highly trained operative; she was used to killing. Fincham had been desk bound for years and he knew that if he insisted on leading the attack it would arouse his second-in-command’s suspicions.

  So he listened and made ready the Sig as Deveraux told him the plan. She would go up the stairs first. The suppressed MP5 would allow her to kill Watts and the two teenagers in virtual silence, so as not to alert any all-night workers in the nearby Parcel Force depot. The last thing they needed was the police turning up in response to an emergency call.

  Fincham was only to use the pistol if Deveraux got into trouble. They couldn’t be certain that Watts was unarmed, and although Deveraux was good, like all good operators she knew her limitations.

  Fincham had insisted on only one thing: the attack had to be hard and fast. He was the boss, and this time Deveraux made no complaint. She had planned another covert approach to get inside the unit unheard, but she quickly reasoned that a speedy shock hit might even be preferable. Fincham didn’t have her skills; with a covert approach he could give them away. So hard and fast it would be. It didn’t matter to Deveraux; the results would be the same: they were all going to die.

  As they neared the service road, her boss was thinking exactly the same thing: they were all going to die. Once Deveraux had taken care of Watts and the kids, it would be her turn – a double tap to the head. If any nearby workers were alerted by the two shots then so be it. He would be away in seconds, heading for Heathrow and that eight-thirty flight to Moscow. There would be just time to change back into his disguise and redo his false beard and make-up.

  They reached the service road and Deveraux glanced at her boss. ‘Are you ready, sir?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Marcie. Quite ready.’

  Deveraux hit the gas and the engine screamed at full revs as they headed for the entrance to the square.

  She dropped to second gear as she took the right turn. Her foot was still h
ard down as they hurtled towards the unit, which was to their right. Her left hand gripped the handbrake. She calmly gave Fincham the warning, ‘Stand by,’ and he opened his door and held it open.

  Deveraux yanked the wheel in a complete circle to the right, pulled up on the handbrake, took her foot off the gas and hit the brakes. The car spun around as the handbrake turn pointed the car back towards the entrance.

  Fincham jumped out and ran towards the unit’s shutter door. Deveraux leaped from the vehicle and ran around the front, pulling out her SD’s collapsible stock and putting it to her shoulder as Fincham pushed open the door.

  Both eyes open, safety catch off, trigger finger taking the slack first pressure so that she could fire more quickly, Deveraux ran into the building.

  The surprise attack was working. Elena had been on stag. Despite her protests that she wouldn’t sleep, she was desperately tired after the efforts and stress of the night, and soon after the others drifted off she too was dozing.

  She woke as the car screeched to a halt. She was certain Joey had returned; probably in trouble as usual, but at least he was back. She jumped up and ran to the window as Fergus and Danny stirred. But it was already too late. Their attackers were in the building.

  ‘It’s not my dad!’ screamed Elena. ‘It’s not him!’

  Deveraux was at the foot of the stairs, weapon pointing up at the floor above. Fincham was close behind, and as she got her first sight of the upper level, the spill from the external security lighting revealed exactly what she was hoping to see. ‘Stand still! Don’t move!’

  Fergus had pulled himself to his feet and was standing by the sofa and one of the old freezers they had carried upstairs for protection from the PAD. His arms were outstretched to show that he was no threat. Deveraux quickly spotted the bloodstained leg and then her eyes flicked to Danny and Elena standing by the wall to her right. She moved up into the room. ‘Against the walls! Move! Sit down against the walls!’

  Danny and Elena slid quickly down the wall as Fergus took two hobbling backward steps and painfully lowered himself to the ground. He was sitting on something, and as Deveraux turned momentarily to see Fincham warily appear at the top of the stairs, Fergus reached down and his hand closed around the electrician’s screwdriver. It had fallen to the floor as he stood up.

  ‘Get on with it, Marcie!’ shouted Fincham. ‘Kill them! Kill them!’ He glared at Fergus. ‘Kill them!’

  Fincham could wait no longer; he began to raise his pistol. But then Deveraux quickly spun back to him with her weapon still at her shoulder. ‘You’re first – you have a weapon.’

  Fincham’s face registered one moment of horror and disbelief as he leaped back. Deveraux squeezed second pressure and the dull thuds of a double tap sounded as Fincham was hit in the body and sent crashing down the stairs.

  The assassin swivelled her weapon back to Fergus. ‘Now you.’

  ‘Wait!’ shouted Fergus. ‘We have the Secret Ultra document! We know your real plan! We have Secret Ultra!’

  Deveraux released first pressure. ‘Impossible!’

  ‘It’s not impossible, we’ve got it!’

  She hesitated, trying to work out the implications of Fergus’s words. It was a bluff; it had to be a bluff.

  ‘The document you wrote about Fincham and me, Marcie, I saw your signature. And we’ve burned CDs of it! And they’re safe!’

  The CDs were far from safe. They were in Fergus’s pocket; he was just trying to buy time.

  As the seconds passed, Danny saw a tiny red flashing light coming from his grandfather’s left hand. It was close to the floor, unseen by Deveraux, who was standing to Fergus’s right. It was a message; Danny knew his grandfather was sending him a message. He concentrated hard as the light continued to flash and Fergus attempted to bargain for their lives.

  ‘They’re in a safe place. If I don’t report in tomorrow, they go to the press. You, Marcie, exposed as a murderer.’

  He kept on completing the circuit on the screwdriver, praying that Danny would understand what the flashes meant.

  –.–. – – – . . .– . .–.

  As soon as Deveraux had ordered Fergus to sit by the wall, he had made his decision. He was less than a metre from the power socket and plug for the PAD. He was going to try to detonate the device, but he had to get Danny and Elena to move first. If they could reach the protection of the sofa and the two freezers, they might survive the fearsome explosion.

  He too would have a chance of survival: the old cooker and another freezer were between him and the back of the PAD. But he didn’t care about himself now. He’d been close to death many times. It could have happened in Northern Ireland, or Colombia, or five or six other places. If it were to happen now, then so be it. All that mattered was that he saved Danny and Elena.

  ‘Are you really gonna take the chance that I’m bluffing, Marcie? Are you?’

  Deveraux had thought it through. Watts was bluffing: he could not have accessed the secret file, even if he knew of the existence of SECRET: ULTRA. ‘Good try, Watts, but a lot of effort for one more minute of life.’

  She took first pressure, but before she could fire the shutter downstairs rattled. She heard footsteps. Fincham – alive, and trying to escape. ‘Shit!’

  Deveraux moved back to the stairs and ran down to the bottom. She heard the vehicle start up. A problem, but she would get Fincham later. It was time to finish Watts and the kids. The car’s engine roared and the tyres screeched.

  Fergus knew that this was his moment. He screamed one word: ‘Now!’ and dived for the plug. As he pushed it into the socket, Danny grabbed Elena, pulled her to the sofa and threw himself over her body.

  There was no time to look back. Fergus turned on the power and the world became a blinding flash of white.

  EPILOGUE

  They were in a room with high, frosted glass windows. Wire ran through the toughened glass. They had no idea where they were, although the occasional sound of jet engines suggested a military base of some description.

  Neither of them remembered much about the explosion. The flash of brilliant light, a shock wave of incredible heat, the first thump of deafening noise. And then nothing. Not even the pain. The pain had come later, after they had woken up.

  Elena was the first. Danny had saved her from the very worst of the explosion. The freezers had crashed into the sofa, which had been shredded by the vicious salvo of shattered glass and brickwork. But the foam padding protected them, as the sofa and they were hurled across the room.

  Mercifully they had passed out, and as Elena drifted back to consciousness, she thought the urgent voices she heard were a dream. Then she thought her dad was calling to her. In pitch darkness she heard herself weakly muttering, ‘Dad . . . Dad . . . Da—’

  And then she passed out again. It may have been for seconds, or minutes. She didn’t know. When she came round for a second time, the crushing weight on top of her had been shifted and a medic was staring down at her. Elena just saw the smile.

  ‘Dad?’ she whispered again.

  ‘I’m not your dad,’ said the smiling medic. ‘But I’m glad you’re awake.’

  As her eyes slowly cleared, she turned her head and saw Danny lying next to her amongst the rubble. Two more medics were trying to bring him round.

  Across the devastated room a limp body was being manoeuvred down what remained of the mangled stairs. And then Elena realized. It was Fergus. They were carrying Fergus’s body down the stairs.

  After that everything happened quickly. Elena and Danny were stretchered out to a darkened ambulance and driven away swiftly. They seemed to be on the road for hours and both received medical attention as the vehicle was moving.

  Elena was cut and bruised; every part of her body seemed tender. Her hair and eyebrows were singed and there was a painful flash burn to one arm. Her hearing had suffered the most. Her ears were ringing and although she could just hear words directed at her, they were muffled, almost as though she w
as under water.

  Danny had fared worse. There were more cuts, and deeper bruises, and his hearing was in the same under-water-like state. But more worrying was the acute pain in his side. He was finding it difficult to even breathe.

  The ambulance had drawn to a halt and the rear doors were opened directly onto a corridor with no windows. It was no ordinary hospital; it felt like a prison. Danny was rushed away on his stretcher for X-rays, while Elena was taken to the room where they both were now.

  A nurse, who said nothing while she worked, treated Elena’s cuts and the burn. And then a white-coated doctor came in and gave her a more thorough check. He looked into her eyes and her ears, and when he said he thought there would be no permanent damage, Elena realized that her hearing was slowly returning to normal.

  She was left alone; confused, disorientated and afraid. She was convinced now that she was in some sort of prison and that they had only patched up her wounds in preparation for the interrogation that was to follow.

  On the other side of the locked door, Elena heard a guard shuffling about in the corridor and the fear increased.

  Fergus was dead, her dad had disappeared again; there was only Danny now. She wanted him there with her.

  Some time later – Elena couldn’t tell how long – the door was unlocked and opened.

  A guard stood in the doorway, wearing a pistol on a belt holster. He stared at Elena and then stepped back. Danny was in a wheelchair being pushed by a nurse.

  Once Danny was in the room, the nurse left without a word and the guard pulled the door shut and relocked it.

  Danny’s head was bandaged and there was a dressing, identical to that on Elena’s arm, on one of his hands.

  They sat side by side in a still-stunned silence for a while, and then Danny said suddenly, ‘Fractured ribs. Doctor said they should mend quickly.’

  Elena nodded, waiting for the question she was dreading.

  ‘But they won’t tell me anything about my granddad. Do you know what happened to him?’