Nine Lives

by Tom Barber

  ‘There’s a lot of security,’ he added quietly. ‘I might be stopped and questioned.’ He lowered his voice further, almost whispering. ‘If I don’t come back before nine, go on without me. Understand?’

  She nodded.

  ‘OK.’

  It seemed they were the only letters she could muster. However, the next moment, she proved him wrong.

  ‘I love you, Dominick.’

  He winced at the use of his name. The hall was so quiet, every exchange was echoing, hanging in the air. Clenching his jaw, he forced a smile. ‘I love you, too,’ he said quietly. ‘Now, wait here. I’ll be right back.’

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then started walking towards the lifts to his right, a hundred yards away. He felt the young woman’s gaze on his back. Stupid bitch, he thought. He’d made it all this way, and she’d blurted his name out almost alongside the airport security guards.

  Walking around the side of the lift, he moved forward and stepped into an empty cart. The whole system was made of transparent glass, so he could still see her standing there across the hall, watching him. He tensed, for a moment, she seemed about to wave.

  Don’t do it, you bitch. Don’t draw attention.

  However, she decided against it and smiled wanly at him instead. He smiled back as the lift moved down slowly.

  The moment he lost sight of her, the smile vanished.

  The lift arrived at the lower floor. Arrivals. The metal doors opened, and Farha moved out swiftly. He looked around the hall as he walked across the polished floor. And to his left, he saw what he’d come for. A man was sitting in a chair against the wall fifty yards away, reading a newspaper. Faris. Dominick didn’t know the guy well; he’d been taken on by Henry just before all the shit hit the fan in New York. If the situation was different, Farha would have been more cautious around him, he’d have had to be considering that he didn’t know the guy and there was a seven-figure bounty against his name from the New York cartel. But he didn’t have a choice. At this point, he was completely dependent on the man sat by the wall. So he approached him warily.

  Faris sensed he was being watched and he looked up, his eyes locking onto Dominick’s. The seated man was similar in height and build, but he had piercing green eyes that were currently impaling Farha like two spikes as he approached. As he walked over, Dominick tried to gauge the seated man’s mood and demeanour. He stood before him.

  ‘It’s been a while,’ he said, cautious.

  Without a word, Faris rose, not bothering to respond. Folding the newspaper and leaving it on the seat behind him, he walked towards the exit. He didn’t ask Dominick to follow him.

  He didn’t need to.

  Moving past the security stationed near the doors, the two men strode outside into the crisp English winter evening. A black Mercedes with tinted windows was waiting by the kerb. Faris moved to the near rear door, and opened it and stood to one side, not looking at Dominick, seemingly bored. Farha took the hint, moving forward he climbed inside. The car was empty, save for the driver. Faris sat in the seat beside him, pulling the door shut.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he told the driver, the first words he’d spoken since they’d met.

  The driver released the handbrake and the car moved away from the kerb, gathering speed and heading off into the London night.

  TWELVE

  Inside his office at 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister watched a television screen in silence. Beside him, his wife and Rogers stood equally silent as they observed the latest news updates from the chaotic events of the day. Behind them, the curtains to the room were still open. The evening had arrived quickly, only darkness was now visible through the windows, the silver circular disk of the moon glowing in the sky. The PM had received a call from Director Cobb a few minutes ago. He’d told him of the capture of Number Eight, which was good news. Apparently the ARU task force had been forced to defuse a bomb left at a shopping centre in Angel and then intercept a second device, which had been packed inside a stolen ambulance left outside the stadium. Cobb had said they’d appropriated an alarming amount of C4 plastic explosive. As he watched the news report, the Prime Minister licked his lips. The evening’s events had already been horrific. If those two bombs had gone off, the casualties would have been catastrophic.

  He pulled his attention back to the television. The female reporter was just about to deliver an update from outside the Emirates. Behind her, the PM could see countless emergency services still hard at work. They were going to be there all night.

  ‘It has been a chaotic evening here, Fiona,’ the lady said. ‘We have just been informed of a recent shocking development. A second attack has been foiled in the last few minutes by police officers. We're told a man dressed as a paramedic parked a stolen ambulance in the midst of the remaining crowd here, most of them walking wounded and their supporters from the earlier attack. I have been informed the vehicle contained enough explosives to increase the death toll significantly. Apparently, the suspect was planning to detonate the device from a safe vantage point, by calling a mobile phone attached to the device, inside the ambulance. It was only the swift intervention of the counter-terrorist officers that prevented a further tragedy of unimaginable consequences. And unbelievably, this is following eye-witness reports of a third package left unattended in a shopping centre in Angel, which officers were forced to defuse. The suspect was detained and has been taken to a police station for questioning. It is clear that these attacks have been carefully planned and co-ordinated. Let us just pray that there aren’t more to follow this evening. Back to you in the studio.’

  Rogers took the remote and muted the television as the Prime Minister watched the shot cut back to the newsreader in the newsroom. ‘She’s right,’ Rogers said. ‘It was all carefully co-ordinated. I think we may have severely underestimated these people.’

  The Prime Minister said nothing, his wife spoke instead.

  ‘So there are four of them left,’ she said. ‘Do we have anything on them, Pete? Any leads?’

  Rogers shook his head. ‘Not much. The ambulance bomber is our lifeline though. As Director Cobb said, they took him alive. Right now he’s our strongest bet. So far, he’s clearly the most intelligent member of the group that we’ve encountered. He might know something we can use.’

  The Prime Minister glanced at him.

  ‘Find out,’ he said, quietly.

  Rogers nodded.

  The PM continued. ‘Now was it my imagination or did Director Cobb say the man was using C4 explosive?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘For goodness sake, that’s military stuff. Where the hell did they get this kind of equipment?’

  There was a pause. ‘Have you thought about cancelling the celebrations tonight, sir?’ Rogers asked.

  The Prime Minister nodded. ‘I considered it. But I’ve decided no. I’m not going to let terrorists dictate the way we live. We have good men out there all over the city, searching as we speak. They’ll track them down.’

  There was a brief silence in the room. Even if they disagreed, it was his decision to make.

  ‘I’ve had an idea,’ his wife said suddenly. ‘Why not release the photographs of the last four men to the press? It might drum up some leads.’

  ‘Or cause a lot of problems,’ the Prime Minister said. ‘At the moment, the public think that this is probably it. They have no idea that there are four more of these lunatics out there.’

  ‘The operation isn’t a secret anymore, David,’ she continued. ‘We need to use every resource.’

  Silence. The Prime Minister thought about it. He looked at Rogers.

  ‘Pete, what do you think?’

  He shrugged. ‘I think we’re running out of options, sir. These four could be anywhere. And if celebrations are still going ahead, there are going to be thousands of people all over the city in a couple of hours. We can’t waste any more time.’

  There was a pause. Then the Prime Minister nodded.

&nbs
p; ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Good idea, Jen. Let’s do it.’

  Back at the ARU, it was a case of keep focused for the task force. They all knew the night was young and that four of the suspects were still on the loose. They could get a call at any moment. As the intelligence team worked away next door with Cobb and Agent Crawford, all the ground team could do was sit and wait. Most of them were gathered in the briefing room, talking and drinking cups of coffee as they sat around by the noticeboards, making the most of a moment’s rest. Someone had grabbed a marker pen and drawn a big X over five of the suspects’ faces, leaving four to go. Number One, Four, Six and Nine.

  Across the room, Archer was standing alone by the drinks stand, pouring himself a cup of tea. Someone entered to his left, he turned. It was Special Agent Rivers, the other DEA operative aside from Crawford. Archer wasn’t sure why the American agency had joined this operation, Cobb hadn’t yet explained it. And the truth was, he didn’t want to know. Archer didn’t know much about their operations and practices, but he had seen the late-night reports and documentaries on their gruesome and very much ongoing war with the drug cartels. That was a world far from here, and the young policeman wanted to keep it that way.

  The American approached the stand, grabbing a cup and pouring himself some coffee. Archer offered his hand, introducing himself. ‘Archer.’

  The American shook it. ‘Rivers,’ he replied.

  Archer studied the DEA agent as he sipped his tea. He seemed calm and composed, no unnecessary speech or movement. His quiet and contained demeanour screamed ex-military. Deciding to give him space, Archer turned and walked to the window behind him, looking out at the frosty night. In the car park he saw a figure sitting alone on a bench. He looked closer.

  It was Chalky. From this distance, Archer could see a cigarette burning out between his fingers as he stared straight ahead, lost in thought. Archer sipped his tea, his eyes not moving from his friend. He was concerned.

  ‘I’ve seen that look before,’ came a voice. Rivers had walked up, standing beside the blond officer, watching Chalky. Archer nodded.

  ‘So which part of the military were you?’ he asked, eager to change the subject.

  The guy smiled. ‘SEAL Team Six.’

  ‘No shit? You were the guys who took down…’

  He didn’t need to say the name. The whole world knew about Seal Team Six’s assault on Osama Bin Laden in Pakistan the year before. They’d stormed the compound where he’d been hiding out by helicopter in the middle of the night, finding him upstairs and shooting the world’s most wanted man dead.

  ‘My Dad’s a cop in New York,’ Archer continued. ‘Apparently a load of people went down to Ground Zero. There were thousands of them. They had a party.’

  Rivers didn’t react, or respond.

  ‘So were you there, that night?’ Archer asked, interested.

  Rivers nodded.

  ‘I was there.’

  The young policeman went to speak further, but he saw the expression on the American’s face and held his tongue. The other man also seemed about to speak, but Agent Crawford suddenly appeared by the door motioning for his fellow agent to join him. Rivers threw his coffee in the bin, the cup still three-quarters full, and turned to the door.

  ‘What was it like?’ Archer asked, before he left. ‘The operation. Being there.’

  Rivers paused.

  ‘Disappointing,’ he said.

  Turning, he walked away.

  The driver of the black Mercedes was doing a good job. The needle on the speedometer had been tucked just under eighty the entire journey. They were making good time. In the back, there was no need for the passengers to talk in Arabic. The driver worked for Henry. He knew what would happen if he opened his mouth to anyone about what he heard. Any employee was made well aware of the drug lord’s short fuse and favoured method of execution. And this particular driver didn’t fancy a visit to the bottom of the sea any time soon, seventy pounds of concrete moulded to his feet.

  ‘It’s been a while,’ Dominick ventured.

  Faris looked at him with disdain. ‘Meeting inside the terminal was one of the dumbest things you’ve ever done. Are you trying to get captured? There were cops everywhere.’

  ‘I had to drop someone off,’ Dominick replied, defensively.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Just some bitch. No one important’

  Silence. Faris shook his head and shot his cuff, checking the time. ‘We’ll be in the air within the hour. Your uncle’s waiting for you in Paris.’

  Dominick paled, he felt acid in his stomach. ‘He came all this way?’

  ‘Don’t be flattered. He had business to attend to. You were just an added bonus.’

  Faris suddenly opened the compartment separating their seat. Reaching inside, he pulled out a black pistol. He drew back the top-slide, checking the chamber. Dominick saw the gleam of a bullet in the pipe, the weapon loaded. Satisfied, Faris slotted it back into a holster on his hip. He’d had to leave the gun in the car before entering the Terminal, but pulling it back out in front of Dominick had sent a message. Don’t even think about trying to escape.

  ‘So what does he want?’ Dominick asked, trying to hide his concern as Faris leaned back in his seat.

  The green-eyed cartel lieutenant turned and smiled.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Outside the Armed Response Unit’s headquarters, Crawford led Rivers through the main exit and into the parking lot. He looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. There was a young dark-haired officer across the car park sitting on the bench, but he was out of earshot and looked completely out of it anyway.

  ‘Farha’s getting on the jet,’ he told Rivers. ‘He’ll be in Paris before eleven o’clock, French time.’ He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Taking one out, he pulled a lighter and sparked it. Rivers frowned.

  ‘I thought you were trying to quit?’

  Crawford looked at him. ‘Pick your battles, right?’

  Rivers answered his original statement. ‘OK, this is good. So let’s get in there and tell Cobb.’

  Crawford shook his head, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs.

  ‘I can’t. Not yet.’

  ‘What? Why the hell not?’

  ‘Faber got killed because I got careless. I never should have put him that close to the compound. Now he’s at the bottom of the ocean, and all because I got too eager.’

  ‘Yeah, but this just feels wrong, sir. We can’t withhold information from these people. We’re on the same team.’

  ‘Look, I don’t like it either. But Farha’s not going anywhere. He’ll be getting on the jet any moment. Floyd and Brody are waiting for him at the airfield. If we tell the Brits what we know, they’ll never let Farha get to Paris. Henry’ll get spooked, the jet will stay in the UK and the whole deal will be blown.’ He took another long pull on the smoke and looked closer at Rivers. They had developed a good working relationship over the past few months, but Crawford still called the shots. He was the one in charge of the operation.

  ‘Listen, Ben. You joined this detail eleven months ago. But I’ve been working to take down this asshole for nearly two years. Tonight is the night I can do it. We get footage of the trade, that’s all the closure we could ever need. This is a career-defining case for all of us, that includes you. Faber also got killed for it. So I want to go for the jugular, document this deal and then move in and take his ass down. Remember, we’ve got enough on this asshole to not just put him away, but convict members of two other major cartels who operate with him, including the Albanians. That’s millions and millions of dollars. Once we move in, the Brits can have Farha. He’s basically in custody where he is already. Best case scenario, Henry kills him. Worst case, he leaves him alive and the Brits lock him up and throw away the key.’

  Rivers frowned. He could see Crawford’s points, but his conscience was uneasy.

  ‘Right now, I trust five people,’ Crawford said, drawing on t
he Marlboro. ‘You, me and our three other guys. This asshole runs one of the biggest drug cartels in the Middle East. He’s linked with terrorism. He killed one of my men. And the evidence we have doesn’t just implicate him, it takes down associates of his. This is a huge deal, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Think about it, Rivers, this case could go down in history.’

  Rivers looked down, thinking hard. He nodded slowly. ‘OK. I agree. But you need to tell Cobb, sir. We’re in his house. If he finds out you’re holding stuff from him, that could end any future co-operation from British intelligence with the DEA. He didn’t have to include us here, you know that. He could have put you on the next plane back to Paris after you arrived. He needs to be told.’

  Crawford thought for a moment. He shrugged.

  ‘OK. I’ll talk to Cobb.’

  ‘About what?’ came a voice. They turned.

  Shapira had appeared from the entrance silently. She was standing ten feet behind them, her arms folded, her attractive eyes narrowed.

  ‘Nothing. Just double-checking some facts,’ said Crawford. He nodded to Rivers, flicking away the cigarette, Crawford turned and together the two men moved back inside.

  Shapira stayed where she was, her head turning as she watched them pass.

  At the front desk to the Heathrow Marriott Hotel, the concierge tapped away at a computer as she finished checking in an elderly couple booked in for one night. Dressed in a smart red work suit and white shirt, she had a golden name-plate clipped to the pocket of her red jacket. Her name was Sally. ‘Where are you off to in the morning?’ she asked politely as she typed on the computer on the desk before her. The lady smiled.

  ‘San Francisco,’ she said excitedly.

  ‘How nice,’ Sally said. ‘I wish I was going with you.’

  She passed over their room key, pointing them towards the lifts. The man took the key, thanking her, and picking up their luggage the two of them shuffled off. Watching them go, Sally picked up a small bottle of water sitting just under the desk before her and unscrewed the cap, sneaking a cold sip. Across the foyer, a television was mounted on the wall. It had only recently been installed. She didn’t know whose idea it had been to put it there, but it was a gift from heaven for the employees who drew the short straw and worked nights. One thing was for sure, it made the shifts go a hell of a lot quicker. Taking advantage of the momentary lull in guests, Sally watched the screen.