“I’m intrigued. Can we at least stop and get something to eat?”
“Why not? What’s the worst that can happen? I’ve never felt safer than around you. I meant to ask Mack, back there, in the forest…”
“Best you don’t my friend. Let’s just agree that it never happened.”
“Your call. It seemed that you knew exactly what you were doing, very professional. You tracked my brother down, that takes some doing. Takes balls of steel. You know he intended to kill you once you arrived?”
“Of course. I’ve made a career out of being shot at. It’s what gets me out of bed in the morning. Anyway, we have the documents, I have something of value and you are alive. I’d call that a success. Wouldn’t you?”
“In a way. I was once told that if you grab a shark by the tail, then you’d better have a plan to deal with his teeth.”
“Tiger.”
“Sorry?”
“It was a tiger. It was in a Tom Clancy novel and it’s very true.”
“My brother is the tiger. He won’t forget you, he won’t forgive you. Once he’s done what he plans to do, then he’ll come after you. This year, maybe next.”
“Do you think he’s in that plane with Maria?”
“Most likely. You know he won’t rest until you are dead? Either it’s him or you.”
“Good. Then I have an option. We’ll be fine. I guess for now I’m along for the ride, nothing else to do, and as far as work are concerned I’m touring Europe, finding myself.”
“Makes a change from Afghanistan?”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s written on the lines on your face. Any man who sleeps with his hand on a weapon has a story to tell.”
“Perhaps. Read my autobiography when I finally settle down. It’s called He dared.”
“OK, then I will. How many chapters?”
“So far I’ve written the acknowledgements.”
“Do I get a mention?”
“Perhaps. For now, what’s the plan?”
“We fly to London, meet up with a few people and between us work out what Alex has in mind. Whatever it is, it will involve money – that, and harming people along the way. When he left the club, he had a look in his eyes that I last saw when I was a kid.”
“He harmed you?”
“No, he was wiping my mother’s blood from his hands. Told me that they were dangerous people, that he was protecting me. I eventually came to believe him. When I was old enough to know the truth it was almost too late. But I had a chance to change paths. It involved a long journey, Mack, but as they say the long game is the one to win.”
“And now?”
“And now, the final chapter is beginning. The story is set in stone. I know his plans. Well, almost all of them. And that makes me vulnerable but also equally valuable to the British government, probably my own too. I need to be able to walk through any city in the world and know that I am not being watched. There is only one way I can do that. And that’s where you come in.”
“Sounds like a long story.” McCall was genuinely interested to hear it too. “And their blood shall be on their own heads.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s a quote from the bible. One of the few I remember, carry it about in the back of my mind.”
“I’m ashamed to say that I only know one. ‘He destroyed all living things that were on the face of the ground,’ Genesis.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes, unless we stop him. And that journey starts there.” He pointed to a helicopter. “Come on, let’s dump this old thing and head to London.”
He pulled into a small airfield, drove beyond the barrier, parked the BMW and left the key in the ignition.
“Free to a good home?” McCall was sure someone would make use of it. “As long as they don’t go on holiday to Bucharest! Should we check the boot for bodies, drugs and guns?”
McCall was joking.
“Good idea,” said his new associate. He lifted the boot and was relieved to see a spare wheel and a jack.
“Let’s go, Mack. I’ve got people I need to speak to and some of them still don’t trust me.”
The silver Augusta 109 lifted off the ground, turned to the left and gained height, its Turbomeca engine soon propelling it northwards at one hundred and seventy miles an hour. They would cruise just below ten thousand feet and with luck have enough fuel in the tank to get them to London.
“Sit back and relax, gentlemen. We’ve got a fair journey ahead and no cabin service, but there are drinks, sandwiches and snacks in the back. I aim to have you in the city before too long.”
McCall enjoyed feeling the torque beneath him, the rotation of the blades above him and the static buzz from the headphones. It felt like he was home, albeit whose home he had no idea. He chose not to ask. He’d been in situations far worse.
He sat back and closed his eyes. God knows where he was going next. More importantly, God himself knew what Mike Steel would say.
He looked across at the blond with miss-matched eyes. He was already asleep, mouth slightly ajar, head slumped into the seat, jammed against the window, as beneath them Germany slowly became Belgium.
The light aircraft was wheeled up quickly. A light payload and a full tank meant it got up to speed quickly and was soon cruising towards Britain.
Maria Anghel was an experienced pilot, and importantly, her passenger trusted her with his life. The feeling was mutual. Her bank account had just grown too, by more than she had ever earned. She set a course for Kent, on the south coast of England and would soon join the criss-cross pattern of aircraft, light and heavy that plied their trade across the channel. Beneath her the ships, small boats and ferries, above the long-haul aircraft heading further afield.
Her headphones hissed. “It’s good to see you again, Maria.”
She raised a thumb. “You too. It’s been a while. I thought you had forgotten me.”
He smiled and rested his hand on her thigh, despite knowing that he was barking up the wrong tree.
“Never. I never forget my friends and never forget my enemies. So how long before we land?”
“A while yet. Close your eyes. Nothing to do now. The weather ahead is OK, a few patches of cloud, so it may get a bit bumpy as we approach England. I’m landing at Rochester Airport, it’s a small place about forty minutes from London. It’s discreet. Perhaps you can send a message to be collected?”
It was a sensible idea. So sensible he had done it hours ago.
Sleep was the next sensible plan. He also rested his weary head against the door, a jacket folded to create a pillow. Sleep was what he needed. And it came quickly.
It seemed all roads led to London.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
In London, nightshift workers went about their business. Security staff patrolled their given locations, cleaners cleaned, maintenance workers repaired, airports prepared for the onslaught and milkmen arrived, stocking their vehicles for delivery. Meanwhile, everyone else slept, oblivious to the world that existed in their slumber.
To the south east of the capital a small aircraft was approaching the runway at Rochester Airport. It was a rare landing at night, illegal and bound to attract the wrath of the local residents. The pilot had said it was discreet, what she meant was completely illegal.
A landing at night, with limited vision and lighting. To some, it was suicide.
She landed proficiently and as quietly as she could, taxiing, dropping off her passenger, who travelled light. She was skilled at using grass airfields, a skill learned over many years of covert flying. Hence the price she charged and the price people willingly paid.
She waved. He waved. He was already running across the unlit outer margins of the airfield.
She checked her instruments, looked out at the night sky and watched the breath from her passenger fill the space around him. There was a light frost, the longer grass surrounding the manicured runway was rigid, spider webs glistened. The
air was quiet, distant traffic on a motorway, somewhere.
Her cockpit was warmer, her fuel gauge was one the low side of half. But she needed to leave, and quickly. If she was found it would mean the end to her business.
Within ten minutes she had landed, said goodbye and left, heading back across the channel to a friendly location that would provide fuel and a bed for the night, probably in the back of her cherished aircraft.
Her passenger shrugged off the cold. Jogged five hundred metres through a parking area for light aircraft and climbed the fence as if he were on the run. He hit the inner fencing, gaining a foothold and rolling skilfully over the top of the angled wire, catching his shin on the wire. He had escaped from far worse. He would heal.
The airport was closed for business, so he needed to avoid any further attention. He chose a spot as near to the emergency gate but out of sight of the nearby Holiday Inn. The last thing he wanted was to be seen by a late-night smoker or an amorous couple, up against the window, abandoned and careless.
The locals would say a plane had landed during the night. But they had no proof. Its sole passenger was already gone. CCTV would indeed show an aircraft arriving and a passenger leaving. But that was all. No markers, no clear facial imagery. No trace.
Alex Stefanescu, the Jackdaw, was back in Britain. And only his closest people knew.
He was heading to see a small team, one that was linked to other teams and those in turn to others. He had created a pyramid system that rivalled direct-sales companies across the world – each cell was connected by one person only, and each had no idea who was in charge. A honeycomb of criminality.
They heard rumours, and some members of the cells purported to be its absolute leader, the frontrunner and iconic talisman of the Seventh Wave. Each now had the familiar blue tattoo, except one. His was black, created by infusing the molten rubber from a prison shoe, many years before. And that rode roughly over any deceitful stories. He was the leader. Everyone else followed.
He laid down in the back seat of the old car, could smell the damp carpets, hear the tyres thrumming across the concrete road beneath. He needed to stop running. For years now he had either been incarcerated or on the run. The time was right. He had money; he had the trappings of a highly organised, much-followed leader. What he didn’t have was the space and freedom in which to enjoy the wealth he had accrued. The time was right indeed.
The old grey Nissan Primera drove past the entrance to the considerably older fireworks factory, parked up in a layby, and waited. Waited for the few cars out at that time to pass by. Then it sped back along the road and turned left, switched onto side lights and slowly navigated its way along the rutted track, never braking, reached the outbuildings, then parked. The driver used a small torch to light the path and held the door open.
Alex walked in and saw Constantin standing in the hallway. He came out of the dim light and held out his arms.
“Salut prietene vechi.” Hello old friend.
“Salut.” They embraced, each hugging the other harder until Constantin yielded.
“Good journey?” The older man asked.
“It was compact and personal. The airport facilities were limited, no time for duty free, and it is the first time I have had to jump over a fence after arriving into a foreign country.” He laughed, causing the growing group of men in the hallway to join in. They were captivated by his persona. A smiling façade that barely covered the sociopath that lay beneath the weather-beaten, stress-laden skin.
“Coffee? Something to eat?”
“Yes, that would be good. You have made the place so homely.” Alex had not lost his sense of humour.
“You told me to be discreet.” Constantin almost bristled at the comment.
“Relax, brother, you have done well. I asked for somewhere remote but near enough to strike out. And you have done well. How are the men doing?”
“They are learning quickly, but their test is yet to come. That starts tomorrow. They need better food.”
“Yes, of course. Send them out to get what they need. Cash only. And our guests? How are they finding the hospitality?” Alex smiled – his eyes narrow.
“I think the word the girl used was inhospitable.”
“It can be arranged.”
Constantin stared back.
“Oh! You said inhospitable, not in hospital!”
He laughed again, slapping Constantin across the back.
“Come brother, lighten up. I am here now. Shall we eat? Then I will go and introduce myself.” He lowered himself onto an old chair, its red PVC cushion torn at the sides, a leg slightly rickety.
“Tell me more about the last few days.”
Alex ate with the men, listened to their stories of the British banks that they had targeted. A small group openly conveyed their delight as they recounted the story about how they had almost beheaded the police officer on his motorbike. Alex clapped his hands together warmly.
“I love your passion for work. Do you know what Confucius once said?”
Many did not know who he was, let alone what he had once said.
“Then I will tell you. He said, ‘Find a job you love – and you will never work a day in your life.’ Isn’t that so true of here, and now?”
They all murmured, clapped and nodded enthusiastically. They had no other option. Many of them had never met this man, but his reputation preceded him.
Alex finished his food, wiped the corners of his mouth and stood. Everyone stood too. He ushered them back down. “Please, I am not God, nor his son, but I am probably in third place. No?” He had a serious face.
One young man cheered – the rest backed away as if the very noise was enough to render him dead, at the hands of an expert killer.
Alex looked at him through coal-black eyes.
“You cheer because I am number three?”
The man hesitated, swallowing audibly. “No, sir. I cheer because I am proud to serve with a man who is only two steps behind God.”
Silence.
Alex stared at him as if he was something noxious on the sole of his shoe. Then slowly a smile developed, then laughter.
“You, boy, will go a long way in my organisation. A long way indeed.”
Constantin edged up to his leader’s ear and whispered.
“Oh, I hear you disposed of the British woman earlier on. Well done. I hope she has gone?”
“Yes, sir. We watched her sink.”
“Good, then you have nothing to fear from me. Constantin, show me to our guests please, then we must sleep. And bring me an apple, I have not had fresh fruit in weeks. And a knife. And your phone.”
“Did you hear that?” O’Shea was leaning to her side, further than she had done for days. She was cold, and damp, her skin was raw where the urine had pooled against her. Her stomach growled – like a wildcat in a forest.
“Yes. Someone new has arrived.” Thomas hissed his reply. He was also covered in an old and wet blanket that did little to maintain a healthy body temperature. “Who do you think it is?”
“I have no idea. But I know we need to leave here soon. If necessary I will go and bring help.”
“No. Do not leave me. They will be like pack dogs if they find you have left. They will beat me, torture me and humiliate me.”
“More than they already have. Look at you.” O’Shea moved her head towards the table that he lay on, careful not show how far she had stretched the duct tape. “And anyway, don’t you like that sort of thing?”
Thomas could barely open his eyes. The blood had dried into a crust, sealing the right eye completely, blurring the left. He could taste the dried fluid when he parted his lips, which were raw, the nerve endings singing a song of torment and pain.
“Shh. They are coming.” O’Shea laid still, waiting. Barely breathing.
Two men walked in. She knew that much by their footfall.
The lights were switched on. Dazzling. Thomas tried unsuccessfully to pretend he was asleep.
“No. There is no shower. But I bathed them earlier. Washed her hair.”
“No shower? That explains why you all stink then. We need to do something about that if I am to stay here more than a night. But I have to agree, her hair is beautiful.” He held the clear bag up to the light, displaying large pieces of it as if he were holding a trophy aloft. He smiled at O’Shea as he emerged from the glaring light that surrounded him, an aura, a silhouette, as dark as his eyes.
Alex stepped into the light, and for the first time became real.
Now she couldn’t breathe. Fear. Anxiety. Sheer terror. But somehow she needed to show strength.
“Did he use product on you Madame? Bring out your natural highlights?” He mockingly showed her the bag.
O’Shea did nothing. Did not engage him in eye contact, but kept her eyes open.
‘So, that’s what you look like, you evil piece of shit. Get me off this table and I will break every bone in your face.’
“It’s been a long time, Carrie. I know we have never met, and yet, somehow it feels as if I have known you all of my life.” He inhaled sharply, then exhaled, slowly before smiling. He was in control and it aroused him, as did the sight of her lying there – even with a totally shaved head. She was still attractive. Yet part of him pitied her, wanted to let her go.
His inner voice began to recover his thought processes.
‘No, you must not do that, Alex. She is your ace. Without her it will be so much harder.’
He then spun sixty degrees, looking at Thomas.
He peeled the apple and ran the skin over Thomas’ lips. Despite the pain, he snapped at the peel and savoured its sweetness. The skin cracked around his mouth and a fresh stream of red ran down his cheek, across his neck and onto the table.
“Awake now I see.”
He walked around the table and lifted the soiled blanket from O’Shea. “So we meet at last. You look different to how I imagine. Naked for a start. Pretty, in a girl in a cheap motel kind of way. Talking of hotels, I hope you have enjoyed the facilities? That you will go online and give us a glowing review, five stars at least…” He grinned, eating the apple off the tip of the knife.
Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3) Page 36