The Gambit (Ben Lewis Thriller Book 2)

by David N Robinson

  The Audi was accelerating once again, closing the gap on Virenque. Without warning, the car veered sharply to the right, narrowly missing Virenque’s rear tyre. Instead, the Audi swung across the wide boulevard immediately in front of the Harrods department store, heading down a side road. It avoided hitting a crowded bus coming in the opposite direction by a hair’s breadth. Panich, trying his best to follow suit, was just a second or two too late. He had little option but to slam on his brakes in order to avoid driving straight into the bus. The Russian swore loudly, losing precious seconds until a gap in the traffic allowed him to drive off. Virenque was in no better position. He too cursed Lewis loudly having been forced almost to a stop. Finally able to execute a sharp U-turn, he twisted the throttle to maximum, accelerating rapidly through the gear changes. He overtook Panich in the taxi, intently focused on closing the gap on the Audi, now some distance ahead.

  54

  “Bloody hell, Ben. Are you trying to get us killed?”

  Olena lifts her head above the window for a moment. She can see, as well as feel, Lewis taking evasive action.

  “Keep your head down. There are two on our tail. I’m trying to lose them. Hold tight.”

  Lewis floors the accelerator, feeling the enormous power from the Sportsback’s engine kick in. He zigzags across Basil Street at speed, making his way eastwards towards Belgravia. His knowledge of the streets of Central London should give him the advantage: it is certainly likely to be better than the Russian’s. Whether it is better than the biker’s remains to be seen.

  The traffic is light as he crosses Sloane Street. He checks his mirror. The police bike is doing its best to keep up, but is still some fifty metres behind. Lewis guns the two-litre turbo diesel injection engine. The car responds by accelerating to almost eighty miles an hour. Lewis takes a left hand bend as he enters Belgrave Square. Behind him the bike has begun to gain ground once more. As he continues around the square in a clockwise direction, Lewis hears two shots ring out behind him; one bullet actually ricochets off the door panel behind him.

  “The bastard’s shooting at us. Hang on.”

  Lewis floors the accelerator again, this time taking the slip road off the roundabout to the left, in the direction of Hyde Park Corner. Stationary cars are queuing at traffic lights up ahead. So instead, he cuts across three lanes of traffic at high speed to take up a position in an empty right hand lane, just as the lights turn green. Behind him the police bike, its blue lights still flashing, finds itself caught having to weave its way in and out of the traffic in his wake. For the time being Lewis has the advantage. It is unlikely to last for long. Continuing around the huge Hyde Park Corner roundabout the Audi turns into Piccadilly. Lewis believes this to be a better option than the possibly clearer roads around Buckingham Palace. In theory it provided more options to cut in and out of side roads.

  He has a sudden idea.

  “I want you to get ready to leap out of the car, Olena.”

  “Are you bonkers? With the Russians trying to kill us both?”

  “Trust me. They won’t know where you have gone. They will continue believing that you are in the car with me – until they learn that you are not. Climb into the passenger seat and get ready to jump out. Coming up soon on the right is the Ritz Hotel. Run in there, find somewhere to sit quietly, and wait. If I’m not with you in thirty minutes, ask the night porter to organise you a taxi to take you to Luton. It’s the last thing anyone will be expecting.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to try and lead our friends astray.”

  Up ahead, adjacent to the junction with St. James’s Street, the traffic light is set at red. There are three cars sitting stationary at the junction. There is no way to manoeuvre around them. The flashing blue lights of the police bike are some distance behind him but getting nearer. Lewis has little option but to slow the car to a halt as he waits for the traffic lights to turn green.

  “Okay. Time to go. The entrance is just across the street there,” he says pointing with one hand. He remembers to turn off the interior door light so that the lamp doesn’t glow in the dark. “Be quick. If I’m late for any reason, jump into a cab, send me a text once you’re safe, and then turn off your phone. Go!”

  Too confused to argue, Olena does as Lewis orders. No sooner is she out of the car and into the shadows of the hotel, than the Audi is accelerating away, turning right across into St. James’s. The police motorbike, its lights flashing, is closing in on his tail.

  55

  “I’m having trouble keeping up,” Panich was saying over the open channel line to Virenque.

  “Don’t worry, the stupid bastard’s turned into Piccadilly. The late night traffic will slow him down.”

  “I heard a couple of shots back there. Did you hit anything?”

  There was a sigh from the Frenchman.

  “Negative.”

  “It’s never as easy as it looks.”

  “I’m still hoping to take out his tyres. I’m relying on you to provide transport away from here for them both.”

  “Okay. I’m currently just coming off Hyde Park Corner roundabout and about to head down Piccadilly.”

  “We’re less than a minute apart, then. Hold on, I may have spotted something.” The line went silent for a moment.

  “The Audi’s turning right, into St. James’s Street. I can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but I think the girl just jumped out, back at the last set of traffic lights.”

  “Say that again?” Panich asked.

  “The girl. I think I saw her get out of the car just after Green Park tube station. I was some distance away and the light wasn’t great. However, I am fairly confident it was her that I just saw make a sudden dash across the road making directly for the Ritz Hotel.”

  56

  Thus far, Lewis knows that he has been lucky. As he enters the long straight road known as Pall Mall, he senses that his luck might be about to change.

  Taking the sharp left hand corner from St. James’s Street into Pall Mall at over forty-five miles an hour, there are two police bike riders waiting in the darkness. Each is sitting astride their Metropolitan Police BMW motorbikes by the entrance to St James’s Palace, watching the passing traffic intently. Part of SO14, the Royal Protection police unit, they are waiting as the remnants of an official function at the Palace draws to a close. From out of nowhere, they see Lewis’s Audi careering towards them at high speed; they then see another police bike with its lights flashing evidently giving chase; it is all the incentive the two of them need to abandon their vigil and to take up the pursuit.

  Pall Mall is long and straight. It is perfect for a motorbike, chasing a car, to make up lost ground; the bike’s superior acceleration is the key. Lewis finds himself desperately needing a plan B. He contemplates taking the right-hand cut-through into the Mall. He rules this out, knowing that this will likely bring him into contact with yet more police, given the proximity with Buckingham Palace. Instead, travelling at close to seventy miles an hour, he slams on the brakes and turns left into St. James’s Square. With three bikes on his tail, their lights and sirens still blaring, Lewis knows that he has only a small chance of coming out of this ahead, let alone alive. He even considers turning himself in to the police but rejects that idea almost immediately. He hasn’t got the time to waste yet another twenty-four hours in even more pointless police interrogations.

  Still searching for a different game plan, he accelerates around the square and emerges on the east side. The Audi neatly ducks and dives across the late evening traffic on Lower Regent Street before continuing along the back streets towards Trafalgar Square. Looking in the mirror Lewis sees that the pursuing bikes are no longer gaining ground; all the manoeuvring and weaving is compelling them to slow down as well.

  Lewis checks his watch: it is eleven fifty-seven in t
he evening.

  An idea starts to take shape. Like a complicated entrapment manoeuvre in chess, it is one that, assuming he makes the right moves, could possibly lure his attackers into a dead-end. To make it stand a chance, he needs two things to play out simultaneously. The first is that Lewis’s knowledge of London Streets and cut-throughs might actually be better than his pursuers. This, Lewis knows, could be problematic: two out of the three of them are fully trained police officers, and thus likely to know London streets as well as, if not better than, many cab drivers. The second will simply require good timing and no small amount of luck: namely that when something is meant to happen at midnight, it actually does – and not a few minutes before or a few minutes after.

  When Lewis reaches Trafalgar Square, the noise from the pursuing bikers fills the entire area. The sound makes late night revellers turn their heads, the blue stroboscopic lights causing people to stop and stare. Firstly the Audi and then, shortly afterwards, three police motorbikes; the latter chasing the former around the southern side of Nelson’s column and thereafter racing away to the east. Lewis cuts the corner at the south-eastern end of Trafalgar Square, passing straight into the Strand. He checks his watch. Eleven fifty-eight in the evening.

  Just beyond Charing Cross Station, Lewis is handed a lucky break. A bus tries to pull out almost directly in front of him, only stopping when Lewis stands on the horn; even then he has to mount the central dividing pavement, narrowly missing two pedestrians before accelerating away. The bus does, however, succeed in slowing down the three bikers. The time is eleven fifty-nine in the evening.

  The road he wants is up ahead on the right. Accelerating, Lewis heads into Adams Street, turning right again soon after before taking another sharp left-hand turn, down Lower Robert Street. This is a one-way street – and the Audi is driving down it in the wrong direction. It is an old London cabby’s back route. In the past, it allowed traffic to cut through from Victoria Embankment next to the river Thames, to the upper levels of the Strand and vice-versa. The route passes along the rear of the Savoy Hotel, up through a small, wiggly, tunnel cut into the middle of the Adelphi Buildings towards Adams Street and the Strand. These days, city planners have made the route one-way only – and it is not the direction that Lewis is planning to take. Further, at midnight under an old bylaw, the road becomes closed until seven in the morning; a metal shutter at one end drops down, preventing traffic from using the route and disturbing the neighbourhood.

  For the entrapment to work, Lewis needs to have timed it to perfection. He swings the Audi into Lower Robert Street, heading down the dimly lit tunnel within the Adelphi Building to the lower levels below. He can only hope that there is no traffic coming in the opposite direction. If there is, his plans will be scuppered: there is absolutely no room for two cars to pass.

  57

  Olena wasted no time. Without stopping or pausing, she ran across busy Piccadilly and hurried inside the entrance to the Ritz Hotel. She barely noticed the night porter holding the door open for her as she passed inside. The hotel’s tranquil ambience hit her full on, bringing her back to the reality of where she was. A uniformed concierge stepped forward to ask if he could help. With a practiced air of sophistication and familiarity, she simply nodded at him, smiled and then walked elegantly into the interior of the hotel. Drawn by the muted sound of a grand piano being played softly, she headed toward the Rivoli Bar, hoping to find somewhere she could sit in peace for a short while. The bar was getting ready to close at midnight. Olena, checking her watch, suddenly had an idea.

  Why didn’t she take a taxi to Luton and not bother with waiting for Ben Lewis?

  That surely had to be a safer option than waiting around in the hotel’s lobby for thirty minutes for a man who might not even make it in time? Her mind made up, she turned on her heels. Moments later, she was walking out of the lobby entrance once more.

  “Can I get you a taxi, madam?” the uniformed night porter asked her.

  “Please. I’m heading to Luton Airport. Is that going to be a problem at this time of night?”

  “Almost certainly not. Not every cabbie may want the journey: outside the M25, they are not obliged to. Let me ask. I am sure I can find you one.”

  The porter approached the first cab in the small rank.

  58

  “I’ve got company. Two other police riders.”

  “I can hear their two-tones over the line. Where’re you heading?”

  “He’s taking us on a wild goose chase through the back streets. We’ve just emerged beyond Trafalgar Square, now travelling along the Strand.”

  “I think you should call it a day for the moment. You don’t want to be answering police questions when they catch up with Lewis.”

  “I was thinking the same thing myself. Any sign of the girl?”

  “I thought I would rank up at the Ritz Hotel and see if she came out looking for a cab. I am there at the moment.”

  “I like the thinking. How long have you been waiting?”

  “Less than a minute. Hang on. Well, aren’t I the lucky one tonight? Here she comes now.”

  “How many cabs ahead of you in the rank?”

  “Two. The hotel porter’s just gone to the first cab. Hang on; it looks like he’s refused her fare. He’s trying the next cab now. Come on, come on: let’s hope he refuses her as well.”

  “One more and she’s climbing into yours.”

  “Damn, the second cab is taking her. She’s getting in. I am going to have to follow.”

  “Good luck. The Audi’s just turned off down some weird side street towards the river. It’ll be a dead end. I’ve let the other two bikers follow him. I think I can see another turning ahead. I’ll dump the bike and catch up with you later.”

  59

  Lewis drives clear from the depths of the Adelphi Building just as the metal shutters clatter closed behind him. The time is exactly midnight. His descent through the narrow tunnel has brought him out right beside the River Thames, adjacent to the wide urban carriageway, Victoria Embankment.

  He is not minded to hang around to see whether some or all of the police bikes have followed him. Perhaps all three would be stuck behind the metal gates at the bottom? It is going to require a certain amount of explanation from the bogus policeman if the other two start asking questions – especially with the hunt already on for a police motorbike that went missing earlier that evening. Perhaps there wouldn’t be time for any questions – particularly if there were a few rounds still left in the Glock 17?

  Lewis’s concern is for Olena’s safety. His immediate and pressing objective has to be to make his way back to the Ritz Hotel to find her. He drives a short distance along the Embankment before turning off to the left into Temple Place right next to Temple tube station. From here it will be only a short drive up to the Strand, then along St. James’s and back to the Ritz Hotel. He reaches for his mobile phone and turns it on. It is an opportune moment to call Nemikov. Instantly his phone is switched on, however, he feels it vibrate. He has a text. It is from Olena, sent exactly one minute earlier. He pulls into the side of the road to read it briefly.

  ‘Decided not to wait. Sorry! Safely in a taxi en route to Luton A. At least the driver is not Russian! Keep safe O xx’

  Lewis curses. He tries calling her but her phone is switched off. Damn her impatience. Why couldn’t she wait? Perhaps he won’t call Nemikov, after all. Where to now, that’s his next question? Before he reaches a decision, his phone starts ringing. He looks at the number, briefly, sliding the white button on the screen across to the right in order to accept the call.

  60

  Oleg Panich knew exactly what he was going to do and how. His only uncertainty was when. Following the black taxi away from the Ritz Hotel, he hung back initially, able to keep on the other taxi’s tail without being too close. They were heading northwards, ult
imately in the direction of the M1 motorway, the traffic at midnight in the West End quite light. At Marble Arch, they joined the Edgware Road. Here the traffic was heavier because of the multitude of Asian and Middle Eastern shops along the route that remained open all night. Panich reduced his separation distance from the other taxi, confident that he would not be noticed: there were plenty of other black cabs on the road, all plying a similar route.

  It wasn’t until they were beyond Kilburn, before reaching Cricklewood, that Panich sensed the time was right. There were fewer shops and the traffic was more intermittent. There were also very few, if any, pedestrians. He checked that he still had his gun tucked in his right hand jacket pocket. Satisfied that it was time to act, he began accelerating towards the other taxi.

  Olena’s driver was completely oblivious to the threat coming from behind. As soon as he felt the impact of the other taxi ramming his own vehicle, he and the other driver applied their brakes and slowed to a halt. Both vehicles pulled into the side of the road, not far from a bus stop.

  Panich sat watching as the other driver hurried out of his cab in order to inspect the damage. The look on the man’s face was one of anger and disbelief. Panich waited a full ten seconds before getting out to join him.

  “You clumsy idiot!” the driver began remonstrating. “Look at what you’ve done to my cab. I’ve only had it six months. There’s never been a scratch on it. What were you thinking? Did you fall asleep? Have you been drinking or something?”

  Panich stood there in silence, quietly inspecting the damage. Bending down to look under the other car’s rear bumper, he pointed with his hand as he did so. The taxi driver bent down to look also. He never saw Panich’s gun swing backwards and upwards; never knew what was about to hit him. One moment he had been peering underneath the rear bumper, hands on knees, staring at what was being shown to him: the next he was lying on the roadside behind his vehicle, unconscious.