Nine Lives

by Tom Barber

  ‘Who the hell is she?’ asked Fox, as the concierge hit a button.

  The tape continued. The frame just included the front entrance, so they watched the man and woman walk through the doors. They saw him hail a taxi. Then open the door, helping his companion inside. He climbed in after her, pulling the door shut, and the vehicle moved away. ‘Shit,’ said Fox. ‘So where the hell did they go?’

  Archer grabbed a piece of paper and a pen resting on the desk and scribbled down the licence plate of the taxi cab. He left the room, grabbing the mobile phone from its sleeve on his tac vest. The other three were still fixated by the shot on the screen. ‘Rewind and run it again,’ requested Fox. ‘There’s got to be something here we can use’. The concierge pressed a button, and the tape wound back, everything happening in reverse. The moment Farha and the girl disappeared out of the shot, she hit Play. Once again, the pair walked into the shot from the lift. They stopped momentarily as Farha turned his attention to the television screen.

  ‘Wait.’

  Fox and Chalky looked down. The concierge was frowning.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Chalky.

  She was peering hard at the screen, leaning forward.

  ‘The way that girl was walking.’

  ‘What about it?’ asked Fox.

  ‘Didn’t seem right. Looked strange.’

  ‘Of course it did,’ Fox replied. ‘She’s pregnant.’

  The receptionist thought for a moment.

  ‘Actually, no. I don’t think she is.’

  Fox and Chalky stared at her, confused. ‘What makes you say that?’ Chalky asked.

  The concierge rewound the tape and hit Play again. They watched the shot for the third time. This time, however, no one paid any attention to Farha. The three of them were looking at the girl. ‘Look at that,’ said the concierge, pointing. ‘A pregnant woman doesn’t walk like that. See how rigid she is?’

  The men looked closer.

  She was right. The girl looked like she was straining, struggling with the weight on her stomach.

  It looked wrong somehow.

  ‘Looks almost…robotic or something,’ said Fox.

  ‘Like she’s weighed down,’ the receptionist added.

  ‘But with what?’ asked Chalky.

  Upstairs, Porter and Mac were rummaging through Farha’s hotel room, searching desperately for any clues or evidence that could give them an idea as to where the hell he went. So far, they’d found some clippings of wire, a small set of pliers, a needle and spool of thread. Porter looked at Mac, then at the items they’d tossed on the bed. He felt uneasy. Given the known interests of the man who’d been staying here, all these items were pointing to something sinister.

  ‘I don’t like the look of this, Sarge,’ Porter said, uncomfortable. Mac shook his head, looking at the pliers and clippings of wire.

  ‘Neither do I.’

  At that moment, the earpiece in each man’s ear crackled. ‘Mac, its Fox. I’m downstairs in the security room, looking at the CCTV. We found Farha. He left in a taxi about an hour ago.’

  ‘Good. Where’d he go?’

  ‘Arch is checking on that. There was something else, Sarge. He had a woman with him. Young girl, looked like she was pregnant. Lady down here thinks otherwise. We reckon the bump might be concealing something.’

  Mac and Porter looked at each other, then at the surface of the bed.

  The pliers.

  The needle and thread.

  The wire.

  Just then, Archer’s voice came up over the radio.

  ‘Cab company said the driver dropped them off at Heathrow forty minutes ago. Terminal Five.’

  Mac and Porter stared at each other for half a second.

  Then the two men ran for the door.

  Upstairs, Rivers and Shapira were walking the other floors. It was highly unlikely that they were going to just bump into Farha, but it gave them something to do other than just stand and wait in the lobby. They were on the top floor. Together, they’d walked all the way down from the far end to the lifts, but hadn’t encountered a soul.

  Turning the corner, Rivers suddenly bumped into someone heading in the other direction. Stepping back, he looked at the guy. He was Middle Eastern, but that was where the similarities with Farha finished. He had a shaved head and glasses, no lacquered hair and three piece suit. He hadn’t been committing a crime, he’d just been coming from the stairwell.

  ‘Sorry, man,’ apologised Rivers.

  The guy nodded and moved off down the corridor without a word.

  Just then, a radio that Cobb had given Rivers crackled in his hand. It was the sergeant of the task force, McGuire. He was ordering everyone to the lobby. It sounded urgent. Rivers and Shapira looked at each other, then ran for the stairs. As he moved down each flight, the American found himself thinking about the guy he had bumped into on the top floor.

  Goddamn, that guy looked familiar.

  He shook the thought from his head.

  He was just getting paranoid.

  Inside Terminal Five, the girl in the green dress was starting to shake with fear. Dominick hadn’t returned. Her back was in agony from the mass of lethal weight sewn into the front of the dress. But that was nothing compared to the weight on her conscience. What had once seemed like such a romantic and committed gesture was now turning into a fully-formed nightmare. She suddenly felt very alone. Everything inside her wanted to walk out of the building and run away. Or curl up into a ball and just hope it would all disappear.

  But her feet wouldn’t move.

  He’ll come back, she told herself as she trembled.

  He has to.

  Scared and alone, she looked up at the clock, trying not to cry.

  8:54 pm.

  Six minutes to go.

  FOURTEEN

  Four minutes later, the three black 4x4 Fords chewed up the airport ramp at breakneck speed and pulled to a halt as close as they could get outside Terminal Five, the wheels screeching as the rubber chomped down hard on the tarmac. Travellers standing nearby were shocked by this sudden arrival, they were even more taken back when ten armed officers piled out of the doors, each cradling a sub-machine gun. Together, the ARU team sprinted for the entrance, Rivers and Shapira jumping out of the third car and following close behind. There was armed airport security stationed by the doors who’d seen this sudden and ominous arrival. Fox ran ahead and started talking fast, explaining the situation to them. The two men he spoke to listened intently, then together both sets of security swept into the Departures hall.

  Inside the building, the young woman was shaking. Her whole body was icy cold, yet sweat was gathering on her forehead as if she had a fever. She was a hundred and fifty yards inside the building, standing alongside a restaurant packed with customers. She looked up at the neon sign above her. Carluccio’s, it said, in bright blue neon. She dropped her gaze to all the people inside. There must have been close to fifty of them at least, most of them smiling and having a good time, killing time before their flights.

  Turning, she swallowed and checked the clock.

  8:59 pm.

  One minute.

  By the entrance doors, Mac turned to Deakins. ‘Take Team Two downstairs to Arrivals. Go!’

  Without a word, six of the men ran to the lifts. As Mac shifted his attention back to First Team, a man with a radio and three armed airport police ran over, they’d seen the task force arrive from across the hall. Mac moved forward to meet them. He recognised the man holding the radio. His name was Richards, Head of Security for Terminal Five. Mac knew that he would have been fully briefed of the situation with the nine suspects, given his role. Neither man bothered with greetings, they didn’t have time.

  ‘We’ve tracked the leader of the terrorist cell to this building,’ Mac said. ‘We think he’s still here.’

  It took a moment for this to register. Oh shit, his face said. Mac continued, not wasting a second.

  ‘He’s Number Nine on the list.
Also, he’s with a young woman. She appears pregnant, but we think the bump is concealing explosives of some kind. Tell your men.’

  Richards nodded without a word, turning to a group of his gathered team of security. Mac swivelled to brief his own men, but they’d already moved off into the hall.

  Searching for Dominick Farha and the woman in the green dress.

  Her back turned, the girl was as yet unaware of the commotion by the doors and the arrival of the task force. But suddenly, she heard the echo of boots running across the hall. Turning, she saw a squad of armed policemen dispersing, scanning the Terminal desperately, some of them talking hurriedly into radios. Her blood ran cold.

  They knew.

  It was only a matter of time before one of them saw her. She looked up at the clock.

  9:00 pm.

  It was her departure time.

  Her hand moved to her pocket. Stammering, she started reciting something Dominick had told her to memorise. He’d assured her that they’d be saying it together, hand-in-hand, as they prepared to move on to the next life.

  Standing alone, her lips moving almost imperceptibly, she whispered her way through the paragraph as she desperately tried not to throw up.

  Fifty yards away Archer was by a check-in booth, frantically scanning the crowd. He cursed. Nothing. He couldn’t see either of them anywhere. Around him, people standing in queues for the check-in desks were clearly un-nerved by the sudden arrival and focused activity of the policemen around the giant hall. Given the day’s events, they were understandably on edge. Archer looked down the left side of the building, all the way to the wall. Shit. Nothing. He turned, and looked down the other way.

  He saw the woman.

  She had her hands hidden in the folds of her emerald-green dress.

  She was staring straight ahead, and her lips were moving as she muttered something to herself.

  His blood turned cold.

  And he started to run.

  The young girl was almost through the passage in her memory. Tears were brimming in her half-open eyes distorting her view, the hall swimming like crystal in front of her. A commotion to her right broke her concentration, stopping her just short of the closing prayer.

  To her right, she saw a policeman rushing towards her. He was young, with blond hair and a kind, handsome face. But not at this moment. He pulled to a halt forty yards away, and lifted a machine-gun jammed into his shoulder, the other end pointed at her head, shouting at her.

  ‘Police! Put your hands up! Put them up!’ he bellowed.

  She looked straight at him, petrified. Obeying, she lifted her trembling hands from the folds of her dress. Around her, people started to run and scream in terror.

  There was a switch in her hand.

  It was connected to a black wire that disappeared into the folds of her gown.

  Archer aimed his crosshairs on the girl’s chin and shouted at her again, as he saw the wire and detonator.

  ‘Drop it!’

  She stared at him, helpless, like a doe in headlights. He saw big brown eyes, the colour of hazelnuts. Tears welled and spilled from them down her cheeks.

  For a split second, Archer hesitated.

  ‘Look at me!’ he ordered. ‘LOOK AT ME! You don’t need to do this. You don’t need to die here!’

  Her chin quivered.

  ‘Don’t do this!’ he shouted again, aiming his foresight on her forehead.

  She looked at him for one last time.

  ‘He never came back,’ she said, tears in her eyes.

  She closed them.

  ‘No!’ shouted Archer, clenching his finger on the trigger of the MP5.

  But suddenly, there was a gunshot from another weapon. The girl’s head snapped back as she took a nine-millimetre bullet in the forehead. People around the Terminal screamed as the gunshot echoed around the giant building. The bullet exited the back of her skull and slammed into the bar of the restaurant, shattering bottles from the impact. The girl was dead before she hit the floor. Blood and brains from the wound had spattered all over the pristine white linoleum floor behind her, like someone had tripped in the restaurant and dropped a platter of food.

  Turning, Archer saw Mac, his weapon aimed rock-steady at the girl, the air filled with the smell of cordite from the gunshot. Porter and Chalky ran forward as other officers stayed back, keeping any civilians from getting close. They needn’t have bothered, the Terminal was almost completely empty by now. Kneeling by the dead girl, Chalky eased the detonator from her hand, whilst Porter checked for a pulse.

  ‘She’s dead,’ he confirmed.

  Chalky pulled a set of pliers from his tactical vest and made a small incision in the front of her gown. He peered inside, and turned back to Mac immediately. ‘We’re going to need bomb disposal, Sarge. Again.’

  Archer was still standing, motionless. From his position, he could see the girl’s face beside Porter’s knee. The bullet had taken her in the middle of the forehead. The front of her head and face was completely intact, save for the small dark hole ringed with maroon. He saw her big brown eyes staring up at the ceiling.

  And watched as a final tear fell from her right eye, and slid down her cheek to the white floor.

  The EOD arrived quickly. They set to work dismantling the device as airport security kept every civilian outside the building, as far back as they could get them from the blast radius. The ARU task force and police were also told to exit momentarily, as the device was still unsecure. But the defusing was straight-forward, there were no trips, no collapsible circuits. The guy in the blast-suit turned to his team-mate standing across the hall and gave the thumbs up. ‘We’re good,’ he said, muffled from the inside of his helmet. The message was passed on, and the various ARU officers and airport police moved back into the building.

  It was safe.

  Archer had walked back inside and was standing alone, fifty yards from the dead girl. He was watching the bomb team remove each brick of C4 from a white dress hidden under the green gown, stowing them carefully.

  Fox approached him. He’d noticed Archer staring at the dead girl from across the hall. Looking over, he saw himself that someone had laid a blanket over the woman’s face.

  ‘You OK, Arch?’ Fox asked as he arrived next to him.

  Silence.

  ‘I couldn’t kill her, Fox,’ Archer said quietly, staring at her body.

  ‘Doesn’t matter, mate. She’s dead. No one got hurt.’

  ‘Yeah. No thanks to me.’ Archer cursed, shaking his head. ‘Shit, I’m an idiot, Fox. I looked into her eyes. She was scared. Confused. No idea what she was doing. And it made me hesitate. And it almost got everyone in this building killed.’

  ‘But you were the one who spotted her. If you hadn’t, we might all be dead now.’

  Archer didn’t respond.

  He was thinking hard.

  ‘You know, maybe I don’t belong here,’ he said quietly.

  The sandy-haired officer turned. ‘What?’

  ‘In this unit. She was seconds from killing us all, and I hesitated. I couldn't shoot her. What use is that? Suppose everyone was right, maybe I am too young for this. Maybe I don’t belong here.’

  Fox sighed, shaking his head.

  ‘Before I joined this detail, I was part of an armed response vehicle,’ he said. ‘Rode in that car for four years. We were arresting drug-dealers, confiscating weapons, real front-line stuff. I thought I’d seen everything, you know?’

  He paused and jabbed a finger at the dead girl.

  ‘But this isn’t normal, Arch. None of what’s happened today is. You can train all you want, but nothing prepares you to do something like that,’ he said. ‘You know why you hesitated?’

  Archer looked at him.

  ‘Because it meant something to you. As it should. Cobb, Mac, they tell you to take responsibility for every shot fired. But that also means for every life you take.’

  The pair of them looked at the girl, and Fox shook his head.


  ‘And that's the difference between people like us, and people like them.’

  ‘Tell you what, I owe you one, Mac,’ said Richards as he watched the EOD team work. The two men were standing together in the middle of the Terminal, eighty yards from Archer and Fox. ‘We had no bloody idea she was here. Or who the hell she was.’

  An armed airport policeman was standing near the bomb team talking in lowered tones with the lead disposal guy. Turning, the officer approached Mac and Richards. ‘How're we doing, Parsons?’ asked Richards as the man got closer. Parsons nodded.

  ‘Last of the explosives been stowed, sir. There’s an ambulance outside. I’ll tell them to come in and collect the body.’

  ‘How’s the crowd?’

  Parsons shook his head. ‘An old man fainted, some sort of heart condition apparently, and some kids are going to have nightmares for a while. But other than that, everyone’s ok.’

  With that, Parsons turned and departed. On the way, he passed Porter who was moving swiftly towards Mac. ‘Sarge?’ he asked.

  Mac turned.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I need to talk to you for a moment. Alone.’

  Mac took the hint and walked away from the airport security with Porter.

  ‘I just spoke to Director Cobb about Dominick Farha,’ Porter continued, in a lowered voice. ‘He said that the DEA know where he is.’

  Mac’s eyes widened. ‘So tell them to send the info. Let’s go get him.’

  ‘Cobb said we had to hold back.’ He paused. ‘Apparently, Farha got out of the country on a private jet. He’s on his way to Paris as we speak. There’s a DEA team waiting to tail him when he gets there. Cobb said that there’s a drug trade happening at the airfield where Farha will land. He’ll be there, along with his uncle, some big cartel guy from the Middle East. Agent Crawford wants to get that on camera, then move in and take them both.’

  Mac looked at him in disbelief. He saw Rivers approaching and confronted him before he could arrive.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ he asked the American, accusingly. ‘We speed over to the hotel. All that effort, but you knew he wasn’t there?’