Deadly Straits (Tom Dugan 1)

by McDermott, R. E.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Security Service (MI5) HQ

  Thames House, London

  “I’m fine, Tom,” Anna repeated.

  The IPS terminal had exploded just before her car passed it, wreaking havoc and bringing traffic to an immediate halt. Caught accelerating into the melee, her driver had rear-ended a taxi despite his best efforts. Double black eyes from the exploding air bag left her with a racoonish look, prompting Dugan’s unwanted solicitude. She’d insisted on returning to HQ, and the paramedics hadn’t argued, having had more serious injuries to attend.

  Destruction of the terminal halted efforts to stop the trucks. The police were searching, but she knew they’d find an abandoned truck and cold trail.

  “Harry, where’s Lou?” she asked. “He and Ward should be here by now.”

  “He called. They stopped by New Scotland Yard. Didn’t say why. I’ll give him a call.” He was raising his phone when Lou walked in with Ward.

  “Christ,” Ward said. “Anna, are you—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Welcome to the Elephant Man Club,” Dugan said, earning a glare from Anna.

  Dugan ignored the glare and turned to Ward. “So, Jesse. Did the police have something?”

  Ward glanced at Lou.

  “Metro arrested Alex Kairouz at Heathrow with $12 million in cash and negotiables,” Lou said. “He confessed to engineering the attacks. Says he panicked at your arrest and decided to escape.”

  “Bullshit. How can anyone believ—”

  Lou held up a hand. “There’s more. He also confessed to killing Sutton and setting the firebombs in the office to cover it. Metro confirmed Sutton’s death.” Lou paused. “And he named you as coconspirator, Tom.”

  “Braun coerced him. He’s trying to save Cassie. Who can blame him when we screwed up by the numbers? Did you tell that to Scotland Yard?”

  “I did,” Lou said. “But his story’s tight. Says he ordered Braun to grab Cassie for fear Mrs. Farnsworth wouldn’t play along. He speculates Braun didn’t bring her to the plane because he had an observer who saw the police and warned him off. Rubbish, but credible.”

  “We need to talk to him,” Dugan said.

  “We did, Tom,” Ward said. “When he learned we’d lost Cassie, he said, ‘It’s always been up to me—tell Thomas I’m sorry,’ and asked to return to his cell.”

  “Christ on a crutch. Am I under arrest, Jesse?”

  “Of course,” Ward said, nodding toward Reyes, “you’re in Panamanian custody. And Agent Chesterton was most creative in explaining to the Financial Crimes folks at New Scotland Yard both the arcane aspects of international law that allowed you to be in Panamanian custody on British soil and just how they should go about requesting transfer of custody.”

  Lou Chesterton smiled. “I also assured our law-enforcement colleagues we’re keeping close tabs on you and that you had information that is key to our operation. How much time that buys us, I don’t know.”

  Dugan shot Lou a grateful look.

  “All right, let’s get cracking,” Anna said. “Parallel objectives—thwart the attacks and find Braun and Cassie. Tom, you’re our ship expert. Thoughts?”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Coutts check the off-site backups, but I’m sure they’re compromised. That leaves my week-old position report and some educated guessing.

  “Braun’s departure,” he continued, “suggests imminent attacks, say within two days. If I exclude Panama and Malacca and draw circles around other choke points with a radius equal to two days’ steaming time, we have probable attack-ship envelopes. With the old report, I’ll try to weed out tankers that can’t possibly have reached these areas.”

  Anna nodded. “A short list, like before.”

  “More like a ‘much-longer-than-I-want list.’ Working with week-old data will complicate things.” He sighed. “But I don’t have a clue what else to do.”

  Anna nodded. “Get started straightaway. Tell Harry what you need. This will be our ops center. The IT people will have us up and running within the hour. Braun’s escape was improvised, and he’s probably reassessing. We’ll keep pressure on. I released his photo, along with Farley’s and Cassie’s, to the media. Moving will be difficult.

  “He’ll be close,” she went on. “We’ll check rentals and utility hookups in a fifty-mile radius and cross those against known aliases and family and associates for Farley and Sutton.”

  Anna saw skepticism. Ward voiced it.

  “That’s a big area, Anna. There must be a thousand possibilities.”

  She sighed. “Several thousand. We best get started.”

  17 Saxon Way

  Gravesend, Kent

  Braun opened the pantry. “Bloody fuck all.”

  “Here either,” Farley said, standing in front of the open refrigerator.

  Braun cursed Sutton as an incompetent fool. First the balls-up about renting the safe house and now this. How difficult could it be to lay in food and supplies? He now understood Sutton’s sudden insistence on sabotaging Kairouz’s computers via phone link. He’d put off stocking the safe house and intended to do it while Braun and Farley were in the office. He must have been sweating bullets while he sabotaged the computers, rushing to finish so he could get away and stock the place before they arrived. He died before he had the chance, and now Braun regretted not killing the fool slowly.

  Braun sighed. “I’ll go to the market we passed. But let’s check the news first. Assuming that bloody idiot actually got the cable connected.”

  They moved to the living room and turned on the television.

  “…Alexander Kairouz was taken into custody at Heathrow.”

  Braun smiled.

  “Kairouz’s daughter is missing, abductors thought to be Karl Braun and Ian Farley, whose photos are shown here along with the girl’s. Anyone seeing…”

  “Bloody hell,” Farley said as Braun’s smile faded.

  “We’ll adapt,” Braun said. “You stay here. I’ll disguise myself and go. But first, let’s take care of the girl.”

  ***

  Cassie lay in her silver cocoon on the bedroom floor as they transformed the big closet, taping film to the walls and ceiling and spreading it on the floor, covering that with a rug. Finally they lined the door and hung a film curtain inside, a barrier when the door opened.

  Farley carried Cassie in, and Braun squatted on the closet floor beside her as Farley unwrapped the girl. A bloody implant. He fingered her scar. It was deep, but he could get it. No need to rush. They’d be here a while. If she became a great liability, he’d have his fun and slit her throat. He ripped the tape off her mouth and rose, leaving her bound and unconscious.

  “I’m going to get ready. Stay in the bedroom and call me if she wakes.”

  “There ain’t a telly in the bedroom. I’ll hear her fine in the living room.”

  “So might the neighbors, you bloody fool,” Braun said.

  “Oh, all right, but at least let me watch the porn on your laptop.”

  ***

  “Just at the best part,” muttered Farley as Cassie whimpered.

  “Wher… where am I?” she asked as he pushed through the silver curtain.

  “In the bosom of your new family.”

  She lowered her voice. “I have to pee.”

  “Go ahead,” he whispered back, laughing as he left.

  He exited the closet to come face-to-face with a stranger, and his hand flew to his shoulder holster.

  “It’s me, you idiot.”

  Farley stared. Black hair, not blond. Gray at the temples with a salt-and-pepper mustache. Oral inserts made Braun’s face fuller.

  “Bloody magic.”

  “I’ll bask in your admiration later, Farley. Is she awake?”

  “Yeah.” He smirked. “Said she had to piss. I told her go ahead.”

  “Brilliant. Did you tell her you’d clean it up? She’ll be in there several days. Get a pot from the kitchen and a toilet roll from the b
athroom.”

  Chastened, Farley started off as Braun entered the closet.

  “Who are you?” Cassie asked.

  “Call me ‘Uncle Karl.’”

  “Please. I have to go to the bathroom really, really bad.”

  Braun fished out a pocketknife to slice her restraints. He helped her stand as Farley entered and set the pot and toilet paper in the corner.

  “I can’t use that,” Cassie whined.

  Braun twisted her arm.

  “You’re hurting me. OK, I’ll do it,” she said, staggering to the pot.

  “Go on,” Braun said as she hesitated.

  “No. You both leave.”

  Braun suppressed his anger and motioned for Farley to follow him.

  “Goin’ soft, are we?” Farley asked outside.

  “Slapping a retard with a full bladder is ill-advised, Farley. I’ll attend to her before I go.”

  “I’ll do it, guv.” Farley rubbed his groin. “I need some fun.”

  “Forget it, Farley. If you’re randy, have a wank.”

  “But you said—”

  “I lied. Live with it.”

  Farley’s nostrils flared. Braun mollified him. He needed Farley. For now.

  “Look, Farley, she wasn’t part of your original deal. I went along later because your interest terrified Kairouz, but the wogs will pay a fortune for a blond virgin. We’ll split it. And if she gets too hot to move, we’ll both have a go, then kill her. Fair enough?”

  Farley nodded, and Braun beat on the closet door.

  “Get a bloody move on, princess. Sixty seconds.”

  ***

  Cassie swayed as she rose on stiff legs. She steadied herself on the wall, shifting a strip of film. She watched, terrified, as it curled down from the ceiling in a growing triangle. They’d hurt her again even though it was an accident. She pushed at the tape, smoothing it as far up as she could reach. It looked OK, then the unattached corner resumed its slow crawl downward.

  She jumped at the pounding on the door, then calmed herself. A proper young lady did not go flibbertigibbet at setbacks. A young lady rose above difficulties. She slipped out of one shoe, grasped it by the toe, and squatted to explode upward, stretching to push the errant corner in place with the shoe heel. She was slipping back into the shoe as the door opened.

  ***

  Braun pushed her down.

  “Tape wrists and ankles again, Farley, wrists in front,” Braun said, nodding as Farley complied.

  “That’s good. Now stand her up and hold her from behind. And pay attention, Farley. You might learn something.”

  Braun got in her face. “You did a very bad thing, Cassie.”

  She shook her head, wide-eyed. How did he know?

  “You defied me, Cassie. Told me to leave. Now I must punish you.”

  She was trembling. Farley chuckled.

  “Now Farley,” Braun said, “with market value a factor, avoid knuckle damage. Use a flatty.” He slapped her with his open hand, snapping her head to the side. He went on, ignoring her sobs. “An alternative is the backhand flatty, but it requires care. Jewelry that might leave scars should be removed and nails well trimmed.” He pocketed a ring and wiggled manicured fingers.

  “The backhand flatty is delivered thus.”

  He snapped Cassie’s head to the opposite side, then pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her face from side to side.

  “Observe, Farley. Only soft-tissue damage. Painful but fast healing. The only scars are mental. The most useful sort.

  “Now Cassie,” Braun said, “do you understand you must never be bad again?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “I… I wo… won’t b… be ba… bad.”

  “Good, Cassie. But”—he feigned regret—”I’m not sure you’re sincere.” He slapped her again, twice to each side of her face, and signaled Farley to drop her.

  “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Leave her in the dark and stay in the bedroom.”

  Security Service (MI5) HQ

  Thames House, London

  “How’s it coming?” Ward asked, passing Dugan a cup of coffee.

  “Just peachy. Too many prospects already.”

  Dugan sighed and looked around. Reyes sat nearby, sipping coffee and watching. Technicians manned terminals. Harry was on the phone with London Metro’s Specialist Fire Arms Command, also known as CO19, the hostage rescue unit. Anna and Lou sat, heads together, in the corner.

  His phone rang, and Dugan saw Gillian Farnsworth’s number on the caller ID. He considered letting it go to voice mail again. He answered on the fifth ring.

  “Mr. Dugan. At last. What news?”

  “Ahh, there have been… setbacks.”

  “Setbacks?”

  “We lost her signal. We… we’ve lost her.”

  Anna hurried over and motioned Dugan to put the call on speaker.

  Gillian’s voice exploded into the room. “… failed to keep me informed, and those fools with whom you’re associated lost Cassie as well. This on top of the lies about Mr. Kairouz in the media—”

  “Gillian, this is Anna Walsh. Where are you?”

  “On my way to New Scotland Yard. I am—”

  “Gillian, I think—”

  “I bloody well don’t care what you think. I’ve had quite enough of you all. After I speak with the police, I’m going to the media. With everything in the open, Braun may see there’s no advantage in—”

  “Gillian, stop behaving like a bloody twit. Your anger’s justified, but don’t be rash. Come here to Thames House. See what we’re doing. Then go to the media if you wish.”

  “Very well. Daniel is driving me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll have you met in the lobby.”

  “See that you do.” The speaker hummed with a dial tone.

  “Anna, you can’t be serious?” Ward said.

  “Hopefully she’ll understand,” Anna said. “But if not, we’ll have to detain her.”

  ***

  “I’m here, Ms. Walsh. Just what am I to see?” Gillian Farnsworth asked.

  “The resources we’re devoting to Cassie’s recovery. Suggestions are appreciated.”

  “Really? After you ignored my suggestion to move Cassie out of harm’s way?”

  Anna’s response was cut off by a loud beeping.

  “Hit on the implant!” a technician screamed.

  Anna rushed to his side.

  “East. In Kent,” he continued. “Yes, North Kent. Let’s zero in.”

  The screen refreshed with agonizing slowness.

  “There. Gravesend. Now the address… damn… lost it.”

  Anna turned. “Sarah. Filter rentals and hookups. Gravesend only. John. Search on Sutton and Farley with Gravesend as primary filter.”

  “Over a hundred recent hookups,” Sarah said quickly.

  “Damn. Still too many,” Anna said as John hooted.

  “Bingo. An obit, two years ago.” He read, “’Margaret Sutton. Survived by son, Joel Sutton, of London, and sister, Mary Lampkin, seventy-eight, of Gravesend, Kent.”

  “Address?”

  “Checking… got it,” John said. “Seventeen Saxon Way, Gravesend. Taxes current. But National Health shows her widowed and resident at a nursing home with senile dementia.”

  “But planning a recovery,” Sarah added. “A new cable hookup at that address was paid for by Joel Sutton.”

  “Brilliant,” Anna said. “Nearest police station?”

  Sarah pulled up a map. “There. The North Kent Station.”

  “Helipad?” Anna asked.

  “No,” Sarah said. “But there’s a car park.”

  “Lou,” Anna said. “Ring North Kent Police to cordon off their car park. They should expect a landing in fifteen minutes.”

  “On it,” Lou said.

  “Harry. Ring the CO19 lads with the site. Request a chopper for us as well.”

&nb
sp; Anna turned back to the technicians. “Sarah, send the—”

  “Maps and photos to your phone. Done,” Sarah said. “I sent it to the CO19 lads as well.”

  Anna nodded thanks and turned. “All right, people, let’s get to the roof.”

  They raced out the door. As they rushed down the hall, Anna turned to speak to Ward and stopped in her tracks.

  “Gillian, what are you doing?”

  “Following you, obviously.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “Now you listen—”

  “I’m sorry, but this isn’t negotiable, and I’ve no time for argument. You’re staying here.”

  Anna turned and called to a young man walking down the hall. He hurried over.

  “Wentworth,” Anna said, “escort Mrs. Farnsworth back to the command center and place her in Sarah’s care. Tell Sarah Mrs. Farnsworth is to stay there until she hears otherwise from me.”

  The young agent nodded as Anna turned back to Mrs. Farnsworth.

  “Gillian, the command center will be in touch with us at all times, so you’ll know what’s going on. That’s the best I can do,” Anna said, then turned and led the team away.

  Gillian stood enraged, watching their backs. They’d bungled things and now had the cheek to suggest she wait patiently to be “informed,” as if they hadn’t bungled that as well. Sod that.

  “Ma’am? Mrs. Farnsworth?”

  Gillian roused and stared at the young man.

  “Please come with me,” he said, taking her arm.

  Gillian saw a door marked Women nearby. She faked a stumble, then bent slightly at the waist and clutched her midsection.

  “Ma’am? What’s wrong?” Wentworth asked.

  “All the… stress and exci… excitement…” Gillian gasped, moving toward the toilet. “I… I’m ill.”

  Wentworth allowed Gillian to lead him through the door and stood uncomfortably in the center of the women’s restroom as Gillian stumbled into a stall and let the door swing shut behind her. She made horrible retching sounds.

  “Ma’am? Are you all right?” Wentworth asked.

  “I… I… think you better get… get help. Ge… get… Sarah. Ple… please hurry.”

  Wentworth raced to the door of the toilet and looked out at the closed door of the command center, down the corridor. He looked about for help, but it was lunch hour, and the hallway was deserted. He called Sarah’s name several times, then reached for his cell phone just as another strangled cry came from the stall. The command center was only fifty feet away. He pocketed his phone and raced for the door.