Dan turned from the senior policy advisor’s secretary in time to see Porchester stride from his office, his hand outstretched.
He set his jaw and returned the handshake. ‘Thanks for seeing me at short notice.’
‘No problem at all. I got the impression it was rather urgent.’ Porchester handed a leather-bound signing case to the bewildered-looking woman behind the desk, who seemed as surprised as Dan to see the politician emerge from his office in such a hurry. ‘See to those, will you, Hannah?’ He returned his attention to Dan without waiting for a response from her.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’ asked Dan.
Porchester checked his watch. ‘I’ve got another two hours until I have to hold a press conference. Let me show you something I think will interest you,’ he said and gestured towards the door.
Dan blinked, caught off-guard by the man’s casual demeanour. What if Mel had been wrong?
‘Um, sure,’ he managed.
‘Excellent,’ said Porchester. ‘Follow me.’
Dan glanced at the secretary, who looked as confused as he felt before she averted her gaze and busied herself with the contents of the folder that had been thrust at her, and then he spun round and hurried to catch up with Porchester, who had already left the reception area and was stalking towards the elevators.
The politician waited for him to catch up and then pressed a button that showed a below-ground level designation, and the doors closed.
‘I’ve heard you’re quite a good marksman,’ he said.
Dan shrugged. ‘I’m not bad. I’ve been lucky.’
Porchester snorted. ‘You shouldn’t be so humble,’ he said. ‘I’ve read the unofficial transcripts of your exploits, remember?’
The elevator eased to a standstill, and then Porchester led the way along a brightly-lit passageway.
Dan frowned and tried to get his bearings. ‘I didn’t know Portcullis House had a basement this big,’ he said.
Porchester chuckled. ‘This passageway runs under Bridge Street,’ he said. ‘It leads straight under the Palace of Westminster. Saves one getting rained on before facing the television cameras at Prime Minister’s Question Time.’
He stopped as they reached a closed steel door, pulled out his security card and swiped it across the panel to the right of the doorframe. He waited for the lock to click open, and then pushed against the door.
‘Let’s see what you’re like on a range,’ he said.
As Porchester flicked switches on a panel to the right of the open door, Dan’s eyes widened.
He’d heard the rumours, but he’d never imagined the Palace of Westminster housed such a state-of-the-art rifle range as was illuminated in front of him.
He decided at once that whatever happened, he’d let Porchester win. Despite his competitive nature, Dan realised he’d have to play to the man’s ego if he was going to fathom how he fit into the theft of the radioactive isotope and why he’d deliberately sabotaged Dan’s mission.
He followed the politician across the concrete floor towards a locked cabinet, their footsteps muted by the soundproofed walls.
‘The worst-kept secret in the Palace of Westminster,’ said Porchester. ‘They finished constructing it in 1916.’ He pointed to a brass plaque on the wall. ‘It was opened by Prince Albert. Seems everyone thought it was a much better arrangement than holding competitions at Bisley.’
Dan lifted his chin and looked up at the wooden roll call of competition winners that had been mounted on the wall. Porchester’s name appeared twice in the past ten years, but not in the last annual round.
‘I haven’t had much time to practise lately,’ explained the politician. ‘But I’m hoping I’ll do better this year.’
He swiped his security card against the panel on the cabinet, and Dan heard the faint click of the lock mechanism. Porchester swung the door open, reached inside, and handed Dan a set of ear defenders.
Dan looped them around his neck and took the gun that Porchester handed to him.
‘Sig Sauer, isn’t it?’ the politician said.
‘I thought only .22 rifles were used down here?’
Porchester smiled. ‘That’s for the newcomers – and the media.’ He pulled out a second gun. ‘I’ll use the same. Keeps it fair, isn’t that right?’
‘I think you’ll be fine,’ said Dan.
‘Come on then,’ said Porchester and pointed back past the door. ‘Range One has better light. Let’s use that.’
Dan looked around the room as they made their way towards the range. The facility didn’t appear to get much use, and he wondered how much money had been wasted on it.
‘Does no-one else come down here?’ he asked.
‘Sometimes,’ said Porchester. ‘It’s just what with the attempted ousting six weeks ago, the Prime Minister’s made it clear he wants his ministers in the office at all times. It plays havoc with one’s social life.’
Dan cleared his throat. ‘Well, hopefully you’ll all get some more free time soon,’ he said.
‘Here we are.’ Porchester stopped next to a partitioned booth at the far end of the room and put his gun on the shelf that separated them from the range.
He took a cardboard target from a rack on the wall next to him, slotted it into place, and flicked a switch. The target fluttered as the wire pulled it back towards the far wall.
‘Twenty-five metres only, I’m afraid,’ said Porchester. ‘There’s limited space for anything else under here.’
‘No problem. Give me a chance to sight the gun,’ said Dan.
‘Off you go, then.’
Dan wiggled the ear defenders into place, cricked his neck, and then checked the gun and lifted it in a familiar two-handed grip. His feet slightly apart, he waited a few seconds to settle his breathing and fired.
He squinted at the target and then frowned.
He lowered the gun, adjusted the sight on the barrel, and then raised it once more and fired three rounds in quick succession.
‘Oh, bravo,’ said Porchester.
Dan emptied the magazine, before he reached out and flicked the switch to return the target.
Apart from the errant first shot, all of the rounds had found their mark, the last three a tidy grouping that overlapped each other.
He unclipped the target, replaced it with a fresh one, and flicked the switch. He placed the now empty gun on the shelf and stepped aside.
‘Good luck, sir.’
Porchester chuckled. ‘I think I’m going to need it, Taylor.’
Dan watched patiently, his hands clasped behind his back as Porchester took aim, and then fired his gun in quick two-shot bursts until the clip was empty.
‘Excellent, sir,’ said Dan as the politician waited for the target to return on its static wire. ‘I can see why your name is on the roll of honour.’
He wasn’t being sarcastic; all of Porchester’s shots had found their mark, a tidy six-bullet grouping that clipped the bullseye of the target card was visible from several metres away.
Porchester reached up and changed over the target card for a new one, then turned to Dan.
‘So – what did you want to talk to me about?’
‘I’ve been looking through the findings so far,’ said Dan. ‘There’s something that doesn’t make sense to me.’
‘Care to elaborate?’
‘The people who stole the isotope. They went to so much trouble to plan the theft, even infiltrating the project team months ago,’ Dan said, shaking his head. ‘For them to go and make a mistake, to not have a contingency plan in place in case there was a leak – it doesn’t seem right, does it?’
‘It does seem careless of them.’
‘I’m also wondering how they obtained so much detail about a supposed secret government project,’ said Dan. ‘It’s almost as if someone was passing information to them.’
He watched the Deputy Prime Minister, waiting for the man to bluster, to make some far-fetched theories, or sugges
t Dan pursue another path of enquiry.
Instead, Porchester picked up Dan’s gun, replaced the empty clip with a new one, and held it out to him.
When Dan reached for it, his fingers wrapping around the proffered hand grip, Porchester didn’t let go.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?’
‘I think you know why I’m here,’ snapped Dan. ‘You’ve been keeping an eye on my activities for a long time, haven’t you?’
‘You’re known for having a plain disregard for authority,’ said Porchester and shrugged. ‘It’s perfectly natural for me to take an interest in all your missions.’
‘There’s taking an interest and then there’s using that information to your advantage, isn’t there?’ said Dan.
Porchester’s eyes hardened. ‘What do you mean?’ he said, his voice giving nothing away.
‘Why the fuck did you compromise my mission in Eastern Europe?’
CHAPTER 42
Porchester held up his hand. ‘Before you go any further, Taylor, let me show you something.’
Dan’s thumb ran across the trigger guard of his gun as the politician put down his weapon and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He relaxed as the man pulled out a mobile phone, swiped his forefinger across its surface, and then turned it so Dan could see the screen.
On it, a bright red banner ran across the bottom.
Breaking news!
A video played on a repeating loop.
Dan felt his jaw drop as he watched.
The news channel showed a biohazard team taping off a run-down apartment block, and then the camera panned out to show residents being herded through showers similar to those he’d seen when the warehouse had been discovered.
Stolen isotope located. Second suspect found dead. Residents evacuated.
Dan’s head jerked up, and he stared at Porchester. ‘I don’t understand.’ His mind raced. ‘When did this happen? How did the police find him so quickly?’
Porchester checked his wristwatch and then picked up his gun once more. ‘I believe the police received an anonymous tip-off half an hour ago,’ he said, before he stared at Dan. ‘A few moments before the press received the same message.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘It’s quite simple,’ said Porchester, his gaze flickering over the screen. ‘This isotope was stolen nearly a week ago. Yet the Prime Minister has done nothing, nothing, to warn the general public. He hasn’t attended any briefing sessions. He hasn’t even bothered to contact you.’ He sneered. ‘All he’s done is continue his grand tour of Europe, grovelling to its leaders to let the UK have more control of its own destiny. It sends a clear message that he doesn’t care about the people that elected him to lead them. He isn’t fit to lead them. I am.’
‘What?’
‘Let me make you a proposition,’ said Porchester, holding his finger up to silence Dan. ‘You’re good at what you do. I can arrange it so that you’ll never have to worry about money again.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Work for me,’ said Porchester. He jutted his chin at the news feed. ‘After this, the Prime Minister’s reputation will be damaged beyond repair.’ He chuckled. ‘Allowing a government project to proceed in secret? Knowing that a radioactive isotope had been stolen – and not telling the public? Endangering their lives while criminals spread radiation around the country at will?’
‘Wait a minute.’ Dan pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to keep up with the direction the conversation had taken. ‘You organised the theft of the isotope?’
Porchester jiggled the gun between his hands and played with the hem of his rolled-up shirtsleeves, his eyes darting left and right.
Dan concentrated on keeping his breathing calm.
The politician hadn’t denied the accusation, but instead had veered off into unknown territory, and Dan was at a loss to keep up or guess where the conversation was going. The man was visibly sweating now and bordering on incoherence.
‘Hugh,’ he said, his voice calm. ‘What’s going on?’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Porchester snapped.
‘I’m trying to,’ said Dan. ‘Did you organise the theft of the isotope?’
‘Don’t be preposterous!’
Dan took a step back and raised his hands. ‘Sorry, but I’m a bit confused,’ he said. ‘What’s the problem with the PM? Why isn’t he fit to lead the country? Isn’t he in Europe right now, trying to negotiate better legal and trading terms within the EU for the United Kingdom?’
Porchester clutched the gun in his right hand and wiped the back of his left hand across his brow. He ignored Dan’s questions.
‘When the public find out what’s happened, they’ll crucify him,’ he crowed. ‘He hasn’t made a public appearance in over a week. They’ll be looking for someone to lead them. Someone with integrity and a better understanding of what it takes to run this country. They’re going to need a new leader, Dan.’
Dan narrowed his eyes. ‘What, you?’
Porchester nodded. ‘And I’ll need a new man to head up the EPG. Not David Ludlow. Someone I can trust.’ He checked his watch and put his phone in his pocket. ‘Join me, Dan. I’ll be forwarding a motion to the Party in an hour.’
‘You did have something to do with the theft,’ Dan exclaimed. ‘Why the hell would you do that?’
Porchester blinked at him. ‘It doesn’t matter, Taylor.’ His hand began to steady, and Dan kept a wary eye on the weapon in the man’s grasp. ‘Join me, Dan.’
‘Fuck off. I’m not working for a madman,’ Dan snarled. ‘Do you realise how many lives you’ve put at risk with your little stunt? Just so you can fuel your own selfish ambitions?’
Porchester shrugged. ‘I thought you might say as much. That’s why the investigating team being sent to that apartment block where the suspect’s body has been located will find traces of your DNA.’
‘What?’
‘Call it an insurance policy,’ said Porchester, a gleam in his eye. ‘We had a feeling your self-righteousness might be a problem. So, you see, you might want to reconsider your answer. Because, right now, you’re looking at a very long prison sentence with no chance of a court appeal. The evidence is simply too compelling.’
‘Fuck. Off.’
Porchester stepped back and then raised his gun until it was level with Dan’s chest and smirked. ‘Such a shame. Two lives down already, Taylor.’ His hand began to shake, and he pressed the gun against Dan’s t-shirt. ‘I don’t think you’ll get a third chance.’
Dan took a step back, buying himself some time to work out how to get the weapon off Porchester. ‘You did set me up?’ He was incredulous. ‘Wait – you said “a third chance”. You organised the nurse at the hospital as well?’
‘You just won’t die, will you?’ said Porchester. ‘I needed you out of the way, Taylor. Ludlow and Frazer had disappeared. You were the only threat left to deal with. You have an uncanny knack for turning up when you’re least expected.’
‘But the nurse – she was Russian. What the hell have the Russians got to do with this?’
A muscle under Porchester’s eye twitched. ‘Absolutely nothing,’ he said, his gaze shifting to the left and then back. ‘She was merely doing a job for me.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Dan. His memory flashed back to his conversation with George Heatherington. ‘You’re helping them?’
Despite wanting to leap forward and throttle the man who stood in front of him, Dan’s mind worked, calculating the odds.
If he rushed forward, he’d be dead before he got the chance to take a second step. If he tried to duck and run, Porchester would simply keep pulling the trigger until the clip was empty.
There was no point checking the weapon he held in his hand; the clip would either be empty, or filled with blanks. And Porchester was too clever a marksman to not have checked the safety on his own gun.
Instead, he walked forward a
nd closed the space between them, ignoring the gun that pressed once more into his chest, and used his height to try and intimidate the other man.
‘Have you ever shot someone, Hugh?’ he said, his voice calm, despite the adrenalin that filled his veins. ‘Ever pulled the trigger when you’re looking someone in the eyes?’
Porchester took another step back and blinked. ‘Stay where you are.’
‘What? Or you’ll shoot?’ Dan forced a laugh, hiding his fear. ‘I don’t think you’ve got the balls,’ he spat and edged closer to the politician. ‘And I’m dying to know what arrangement you’ve got going with the Russians. What is it? You get the top job if you buy their gas cheap?’
He kept his movements slow, precise, looking for an opening, anything that would give him a way to disarm Porchester without actually harming him, if possible.
Somehow, he had to have proof that the man in front of him had almost single-handedly exposed the country to a nuclear threat.
A door slammed in the background, beyond the realm of the rifle range.
The noise echoed through the bowels of the building, closely followed by the sound of running feet along the passageway from the stairs, drawing closer.
There was only one thing Dan knew of that could create such a racket.
Military-issued boots.
Porchester must have somehow raised the alarm when he was using his phone, and Dan was running out of time.
He resisted the urge to turn his head and instead caught the moment Porchester’s eyes flickered towards the locked door to the range.
Dan rushed forwards, his left arm smacking the inside of the politician’s hand that held the gun. The motion caused the gun to arch away from his chest, away from danger.
He followed it up with a quick, sharp slap with his right hand directed at the man’s left ear, sending him tumbling towards the floor in shock.
The weapon discharged, the report deafening within the enclosed space.
Startled, Porchester struggled to regain his balance.
Dan aimed a kick to his stomach, and the gun flew from his hand, skidding across the floor.
‘Right, you bastard,’ Dan muttered. ‘Let’s have some answers.’
Three Lives Down (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 18