Price to Pay, A

by Simms, Chris

  The man in the baseball cap clicked his fingers at his colleague. ‘We need the M60, westbound, now!’

  The car pulled out. Immediately in front of them were blue motorway signs.

  ‘We’re on our way. Rendezvous is a Holiday Inn somewhere near Woodford.’ He scanned the map across his knees. ‘OK, I see it. Just stay with her, we’ll be there soon.’ By the small white square marked hotel was a large expanse. Dissecting it were two dotted channels in the shape of a cross. The words by it read, Woodford Aerodrome. Private airfield. He immediately hit another speed dial number. ‘We have a target. It’s happening.’

  ‘Where is the target?’

  ‘By a private airfield. I think she’s about to flee. What I can’t work out is why she’s trying to meet a female police detective first.’

  ‘How certain are you she’s connected?’

  ‘Very. She’s just taken out a member of the CTU who went to question her. I need a decision.’

  ‘Secure the target. Take her alive.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Be in contact. There is a safe house within thirty minutes of Manchester.’

  ‘The observation post by Orion House is unmanned. We left everything in there.’

  ‘That will be taken care of.’

  ‘What about sideliners?’

  ‘What sideliners?’

  ‘This female detective the target is meeting. She may obstruct us.’

  ‘Remove her.’

  Iona reached the roundabout where the turning for the Eastern Link Road branched off. Manchester Airport was probably a mile away; a Virgin plane was hanging in the sky above. Its wheels were down and the thing was low enough for her to see into the housing of its landing gear. Stowaways sometimes hide in there, she thought. Clinging to a ledge, suffocated or frozen within minutes of leaving Nigeria or Liberia or wherever it was they were trying to escape from. Tiny, illegal cargos. How many dropped from the planes to fall, unnoticed, into the desert or sea?

  The Holiday Inn came into view. The roof of the low building was almost level with the raised link road. Iona peered down into the car park as she took the slip road. There were only about a dozen cars there. She didn’t spot Nina’s Range Rover until she was at the very end of the slip road. There it was, parked right at the back, as far from the motel as it could possibly be. The woman really was nervous. Iona spotted her then. Smoking, as usual, her gaze fixed on the traffic up on the road above.

  Of course, Iona realized. She’s expecting me to be in something small and red. Iona went to signal left. Her fingers recoiled from the indicator as if the lever carried an electric charge. Nina Dubianko was wearing a cream-coloured parka. It had a fur-lined hood. The exact same coat from the CCTV of Teah Rice’s suicide.

  She let the Renault roll past the entrance and her hand clamped back on the wheel. Another forty metres of road then a sign. Deliveries only. A single lane led behind the main building. Iona risked another glance over her shoulder. It was the same coat. The one worn by the mystery woman on the motorway flyover. The corner of the building cut off her view.

  ‘Eli, what’s happening?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s by her car chain-smoking. Watching the traffic passing by. She keeps checking her watch.’

  ‘Any sign of the female detective, Khan? I think she’s in an olive-green Renault Scenic. She’s certainly not in a red Micra.’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Where exactly are you?’

  ‘To the left of the main entrance. We’re facing towards the building, parked alongside a black Mercedes. I’m watching in the rear-view mirror.’

  ‘Very well. Stay where you are. We’re ten minutes away. Be ready to acquire the target as soon as we arrive.’

  ‘No problem. She’s parked at the far end. There’s no one here to see.’

  Iona drew to a stop in the loading bay and tried the rear entrance. Locked. She jogged to the corner and looked round it. A swathe of gravel ran along the side of the building to the next corner. A border of grass beside it, sloping up to a row of conifers at the top. She crawled up the shallow incline, head turned in the direction of the car park. As she got higher, the sound of traffic from the road grew louder. She made it to the small trees just before the end of the car park came into view. Perfect. She crawled between two of the narrow trunks. A chalky cluster of dry dog faeces lay next to the right-hand one. Once she’d squeezed through, the trees formed a barrier between her and the expanse of asphalt. She started forward. Nina was there, a phone held to her ear. Iona’s mobile went off. Shit! She lay flat, the phone digging into her stomach, its sound muffled. Five rings and then the answerphone kicked in. As soon as it did, she lifted her chest and took it out. Unknown number. She watched Nina as she spoke for a few more moments, then hang up and light a new cigarette.

  Iona went to her messages. New one, received today at three forty-three p.m.

  ‘Detective Khan? It is me, Nina Dubianko. Can you please pick up?’ A pause. ‘I am here, at the Holiday Inn. You are late. I am parked at the end of the car park. It is easy to see me. I will wait for seven more minutes.’

  The woman sounded more than stressed. She was freaking out. Iona called the office. Surprise, surprise, on asking for Roebuck, she was put through to Euan. ‘It’s me, Iona.’

  ‘Iona? The signal is atrocious, you’re hardly—’

  ‘I’m whispering. Listen, Euan; send a unit to the address of a Nina Dubianko. She was on the list of Heslin’s clients recovered from his offices. I think Detective Everington may be at her address. He could be injured.’

  ‘Martin’s at the address of—’

  ‘Listen! I am watching the Holiday Inn car park on the Manchester Airport Eastern Links Road. I need back-up. Nina Dubianko is here. She is the woman from the Teah Rice footage. I believe she knows the whereabouts of Madison Fisher and Chloe Shilling. She could well have recruited Jade Cummings. Got that?’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Iona.’

  ‘You must get this message to Roebuck.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’ll keep visual contact with Dubianko. Hurry!’

  At exactly three fifty-five, Nina Dubianko slung her half-smoked cigarette to the ground. After studying the surrounding car park with great care, she opened the door to her Range Rover and got in.

  As the man sitting in the passenger seat of a blue Volvo parked to the side of the Holiday Inn’s main entrance lifted his phone, Iona was crawling backwards to the gap in the trees. She raised herself to a crouch, shouldered her way through and raced down the grassy slope. When she reached the bottom her phone began to ring. She ignored the call, concentrating on retrieving her car keys instead.

  Seconds later, as she turned right back on to the Links Road, her phone rang again. ‘Euan, she’s on the move!’

  ‘Roebuck just called you, why didn’t you pick up?’

  ‘I couldn’t. I was returning to my vehicle.’

  ‘Stay on the line.’ He spoke away from the phone. ‘Sir? She’s here.’

  A second later, her boss’s voice filled the car. ‘Iona? What’s happening?’

  ‘She’s on the move, sir.’

  ‘State your position.’

  ‘Heading away from Manchester Airport. We’re almost back at the roundabout at the end of the East Links Road. Sir, has anyone got hold of Martin Everington?’

  ‘Iona, you sure she’s the one from that CCTV footage?’

  ‘Yes. Fisher and Shilling absconded from their care home because a female fed them the story of a well-paid job overseas.’

  ‘Don’t worry about details. I need to know, is she alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How close are you?’

  ‘One car behind. We are now at that roundabout. She’s indicating right.’

  ‘Back-up is minutes away. Just stay with her, Iona. Gavin, progress?’ A faint voice responded, too indistinct for Iona to make out actual words. ‘Iona? An armed unit is only a few minutes off. What’s happeni
ng now?’

  ‘We’ve reached another mini-roundabout. It’s now all fields, sir. We’re heading east on the A5149. She’s accelerating – no, she’s slowing, now. She’s indicating. Sir, it’s some kind of airfield, I think. I can see one of those windsocks behind the hedge. There’s a control tower. Is it a private airfield? I can see several small planes lined up by a runway. She’s driving towards the only building. The terminal, it must be. She’s stopped. I think she’s making a call.’

  ‘Keep your distance; they’re almost with you.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘That is an order, Iona. Support just got to Nina Dubianko’s property.’

  ‘Is Martin there?’

  ‘Iona, he’s dead.’

  She felt cool air on the roof of her mouth. Her lips were open.

  ‘Iona? It’s likely the woman shot him. Do not approach her. Is that understood?’

  The man with the baseball cap was hunched over the map, speaking calmly into his phone. ‘There’s a roundabout. The turn-off for the Eastern Links Road is off that. Do you mean that one?’

  ‘No, do not take that turn. Go straight over. I repeat, straight over. You get to another roundabout. Take the first left off that one.’

  ‘On to the A5149?’

  ‘Yes. Two hundred metres is a right turn. It’s for a private airfield.’

  ‘Woodford Aerodrome?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s in the main car park. A green Renault Scenic followed her in. It’s now parked on the far side.’

  ‘That’s the detective. Where are you?’

  ‘Out on the road.’

  ‘What’s the target doing?’

  ‘She’s in her car. Possibly talking on the – no, she’s moving. She’s approaching the security building. She is now going to the side of it. There’s an entry point for getting airside in the fence there: a barrier with metal panelling below it. The security guy has gone round to her window. They’re talking. Discussing something. He’s now walking away from the vehicle, going back to his hut. He’s raising the barrier! The barrier is – the detective. She’s out of her car.’

  ‘Repeat.’

  ‘She’s out of her car. She’s running. She’s running in the direction of the Range Rover!’

  Iona’s vision bumped and jarred each time a foot struck the hard tarmac. She was aware of her keys bouncing about in her pocket. It set up a weird rhythm in her head, the thud of her trainers and the metallic chinking. When she’d seen the barrier starting to go up, she’d known she couldn’t stay in the Renault.

  She’d run almost fifty metres and had yet to breathe. When her words came, they exploded out of her. ‘Lower that barrier! Lower the barrier!’

  The man in the security booth looked through the window, the whites of his eyes clearly visible. Iona was holding her badge in front as she closed the remaining distance. ‘Police! Lower it!’

  The far end of the barrier had lifted by about five feet. Now the hum of the motor cut and the thick metal pole stopped moving. The end of it quivered briefly. Iona also came to a halt. She was about twenty metres to the right of the Range Rover and about four metres away from the perimeter fence. Coils of razor wire looped along its top. At the base of the fence was a yellow container. Black letters on the lid said, rock salt.

  For a second, no one moved. Then the door of the Range Rover swung open and Nina climbed out. She had a gun in one hand, a mobile phone in the other. ‘Get here!’ she shrieked at Iona.

  Raising her hands, Iona stepped back. ‘Nina, just stop. Please, just—’

  ‘Here!’ She beckoned jerkily with the barrel. The security guard peeped from the doorway of his booth. The gun swung in his direction. ‘Back!’

  Iona was judging distances. She could take cover behind the plastic container at the base of the fence. What would that buy her? Twenty seconds before Nina walked over and forced her back to her feet. Where was the back-up? Roebuck had said a few minutes. They must be close. The airfield seemed eerily deserted.

  ‘Now! You come here!’

  Nina’s face was frightening. Her eyes had darkened to black and her lips were stretched tight against her teeth. Iona suddenly knew they were false. Too perfect. The woman took a few quick steps closer. ‘Now!’

  Hands still raised, Iona edged forward.

  ‘Quick, quick!’ Nina was now walking backwards, retreating to the rear of the vehicle. ‘Quick!’ She put her phone in her pocket and released the catch of the Range Rover’s boot. ‘In! Get in!’

  Iona shuffled closer. What was the woman doing? She wants me to get in there? Is she taking me hostage? Nina’s eyes slid to the airfield. Iona risked a quick glance, too. Not all the planes were parked up. One stood slightly apart.

  Nina was gesturing once more with the gun. ‘You get in.’

  Iona skirted round the vehicle, keeping as far back from it as she could. With each little step, her view into the boot increased. A trainer. Two trainers. Legs. Someone is under the blankets. Now she could see the person’s head. Iona stopped. It was Chloe Shilling. She’s got Chloe Shilling in there. Iona turned to Nina. ‘Where’s her friend, you bitch?’

  ‘Get in!’ Nina’s words cut the air like a car alarm.

  ‘There is no way—’

  The gun clicked as the safety came off. Nina stepped closer. Iona’s vision was taken over by the small black circle pointing at her face.

  A phone warbled. Gun still on Iona, Nina scrabbled for her handset. ‘I’m here.’ She nodded eagerly. ‘At the barrier! Can you not see me?’ She looked towards the runway. ‘I am just fifty metres away.’

  Iona stole another glance at the airfield. The plane – some kind of small jet – had now moved to the end of the runway. A light at the tip of its wing winked. It was parked in a loading area. Everything suddenly clicked and Iona felt her stomach writhe, like a snake had pushed into it from her intestines.

  ‘Yes, she’s with me! They both are. The black girl, too. You cannot see me? Why can you not …?’ Nina’s face suddenly crumpled. Her eyes went to the plane once more. She whispered, ‘You said you would be. You said … you said … but …’ She coughed and her voice was hard once more. ‘OK, I am coming now.’ The phone was lowered. ‘Get in the car.’

  As Iona moved forward, the motor controlling the barrier started again. Iona looked fearfully to her side. But the heavy metal pole was sinking down, not rising up. The rim of the metal skirt slotted into a runner in the tarmac. Nina let out an animal snarl.

  Cars. Iona could now hear car engines. Two vehicles shot into view, undersides rasping as they took the speed bump at the car park entrance without slowing. Iona could see two figures in each vehicle but it wasn’t the armed response unit.

  The vehicles skidded to a halt ten metres away. Front corners almost touching, they formed a V shape. Doors opened. The people slid out behind them. Iona could see each held a gun. But they weren’t wearing anything with the word police on and neither were they identifying themselves. They watched in silence.

  Iona looked at Nina. Her lips were twisted tight, lower jaw moving rapidly up and down.

  ‘Put the weapon at your feet.’ The words had come from the one wearing a baseball cap. He had the trace of an accent. North American? Nina’s mouth was still working.

  Out on the airfield a slow whine started up, rapidly gaining in strength.

  ‘No.’ Nina’s voice was small, desolate. ‘No.’

  The two men at the outer edge of the V suddenly broke left and right. They ran at a half-crouch, weapons directed at Nina. She loosed off a shot. Neither man slowed. Hand shaking, she fired again. The other two were now out, racing straight at the Range Rover with their weapons raised. ‘Put it down! Put it down!’

  Instead, Nina whirled about and ran for the barrier. From the edge of her vision, Iona could see the security guy. He was lumbering towards the main building, cheeks puffing out. The two outer men had altered direction and were now closing in. A pincer movement. Beyond
them all the tone of the plane’s engines lifted. It started moving away with surprising speed.

  ‘Wait!’ Nina wailed, now within metres of the chest-high barrier. Her phone was flung aside as she jumped at it. Her chest connected with the upper edge and she scrabbled for a second with one arm. For a second, Iona thought she might haul herself over. But her grip slipped and she fell back.

  The other two men were about to pass Iona. She stepped out into the path of the one wearing a baseball cap. The leader. ‘Who the hell are—’

  He hardly checked his step. The hand holding the gun went down. The other came up. Iona just had time to see something in his grip. Olive-green, same as the Renault. Two stubby arms at the top. Almost like a catapault with no rubber band. He thrust it at her shoulder. She felt herself fly backwards into the side of the vehicle. Then she bounced off and crashed to the floor. Mini tornadoes of agony bounced up and down her limbs, crashing into each other and ricocheting off in other directions. She could feel her back arching, teeth clamped together. Breath hissed from between her molars. I’ve been tasered.

  When she opened her eyes seconds later, she could see Nina. Her back was pressed against the barrier, gun switching from side-to-side. Her eyes were mad. A strand of hair had come loose and it swung across her face like a pendulum. All four men were closing rapidly. The threat of her weapon seemed to make no difference. They were relentless. In the background, the jet’s engines were roaring. Iona could feel tiny vibrations in the ground.

  The men were within four metres of Nina when she let out another animal moan and stuck the barrel in her mouth. The weapon cracked and her blonde hair parted as the top part of her skull jumped up into the air. As she slid down the expanse of metal, the plane rose up behind it, now birdlike in size and getting smaller.

  The men descended on her like hyenas. The quilted parka was yanked open and searched. The mobile phone went into the jacket of the leader. Then they were marching back, weapons vanishing from sight. They stopped at the Range Rover and pulled open the doors. She heard the sounds of them rooting about inside the vehicle. One of them spoke.

  ‘Female in the back. Unconscious.’

  Iona could only move her eyes. She looked at her hand beside her face. Each finger was curled in, nails buried deep into the skin of her palms.