The Hostage s-1

by Duncan Falconer

  ‘I need you to go up to his flat,’ he said as he peeled the camouflage jacket off her shoulders. ‘You have to get him out of the apartment. I need at least fifteen minutes inside. Okay?’

  She looked distracted as she took off the jacket and handed it to him.

  Stratton wondered where she’d gone. ‘Aggy?’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ she said.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘How to get him out of his apartment.’

  ‘Do it while you’re walking there,’ he said, folding the jacket up neatly.

  She frowned. He was such a bastard if people didn’t do what he said right when he said it. She wondered why on earth she had looked forward to being with him. If her romantic side had not sidetracked her she might have remembered what a demanding sod he was to work with. On the other hand, a RIRA arms shipment and a Brit mole uncovered constituted a fairly big deal as operations went. If her senses were anything to go by there was even more to it than Stratton was letting on. Calm as he was, there was something about the way he had acted when she told him Lawton had met Chief Munro’s wife, and the way he had talked on the phone to whomever. He also looked more tired than she’d ever seen him, and it was not a tiredness from lack of sleep. Something deeper.

  ‘Get going,’ he said. She was about to step off when he took her arm lightly and looked into her eyes. ‘Aggy. Be careful . . . Be as natural as you can. Okay?’

  There was an intense sincerity in his words. She was touched, but at the same time it unnerved her. He would not have warned her like that if it weren’t dangerous. She nodded.

  ‘I shouldn’t tell you this,’ he added, ‘because I don’t want it to distract you, but I have to. Things have changed for Lawton.Yesterday he was a mole, just a spy.Today he’s something far more sinister. Whatever he was like before, he isn’t the same person. He can’t be. I’m saying he could be dangerous . . . Be careful.’

  She nodded again and walked away, out of the alley and back along the street towards the apartment block.

  Stratton watched her go. He could see her slender prettiness even in the near darkness and his heart ached a little, fearful for her.

  Chapter 23

  Hank strapped the SMG under the yellow coat and took a few seconds to practise grabbing it and bringing it up on aim. Neither of the Irishmen had a pistol, or even a spare magazine for the SMG. The young man sat limply on the floor, propped against the pole, his head hooded and hands and feet tied up as Hank’s had been. The other man was stuffed in a corner hidden under a tarpaulin and some ropes. He was still breathing faintly when Hank covered him, but if the guy ever did come out of it he would probably have brain damage. The image of himself beating the men kept flitting into Hank’s head, the brutality of it. He had never done anything remotely like that before in his life although he had imagined pounding a man to death on more than one occasion, such as the time Kathryn came home upset because a bunch of hooligans had harassed her outside a mall while she was loading her shopping into the car. Helen and Janet had been with her and Kathryn thought the thugs were going to rob her, or worse. For hours after Hank’s mind fed on the images of him finding the guys and beating them to a pulp. This day on the boat he had lived out what could have been just another of his daydreams: a persecuted individual, outnumbered, unarmed, his life threatened. But he had beaten one guy to death and the other as good as. Hank wondered if perhaps the daydreams had actually been a preparation for this day. He found a chocolate bar in a pocket of the coat, unwrapped it and bit into it greedily.

  He readied his weapon and opened the door carefully as he munched. The corridor was clear of life in both directions. One end was a metal watertight door that looked like an entrance to the engine room.The other end of the corridor appeared more promising: a flight of stairs went up into light.

  Hank remained in the room and closed the door again to take a moment to think it through once more as he stuffed the rest of the chocolate into his mouth. He was growing confident and having second thoughts about his options. It might just be the adrenalin, but he was feeling a lot better physically than he had been earlier. His plans of action were becoming grander. Freedom was obviously the primary aim, but he wondered if there was more to be gained from this escape attempt. There didn’t appear to be many people on board. Judging by the size of the boat he figured there was no more than a dozen crewmembers. Hell, a super tanker, ten times the size, had just over two dozen men. And since the boat was alongside it was more than likely some had gone ashore. No one had been along the corridor for ages. It was an opportunity he should at least explore. It might just be possible to take over the boat by himself. He could always go back to the original plan at any time and leap overboard.

  That made up his mind. The first thing he needed to do was a recce. He would take a look around and assess the ship’s manpower and location. Based on what he found he’d decide whether or not to have a go at securing the boat or to slip over the side.

  He checked the weapon once again, made sure the safety-catch was off, firmed his grip and pulled it out so that the strap was taut. He opened the door, checked up and down, and stepped out into the corridor, pulling the weapon in close to his body and keeping it central so he could swiftly turn and engage targets front or rear. He reminded himself, on engaging the enemy, to keep his bursts to three shot maximum if possible. Distract, destroy was the principal - first round in the chest to distract, then in the head to destroy.

  He moved his feet easily along the corridor careful not to cross them over as he was taught and maintain his balance, like a boxer, ready for anything. He came to the bottom of the stairs and looked up to the first landing, where a corridor crossed port and starboard and then continued up to another deck. The corridor was brightly lit, electric lights, not natural, and there was still no sign of life. Hank could feel a cool breeze coming down the steps, a strong indication the deck led to the outside. It was fresh with a chill to it and felt good.

  Hank placed a foot on the first rung. He was committed. The feeling that whatever was about to happen would change the course of his life for ever suddenly washed over him. He took another step, aimed the barrel at the doorway above, and moved carefully up.

  Bill Lawton zipped up his holdall, which looked as if very little more could have been squeezed into it, lifted it off the bed, and placed it near the front door. He selected a jacket from several hanging on coat hooks, his favourite black leather one, and pulled it on. He went to his sideboard, opened a drawer, took out his passport and buried it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He checked the contents of his wallet - almost a hundred pounds and two credit cards - and put it in his pocket alongside his passport. He looked around the apartment to see if there was anything else he needed. He was suddenly gloomy at the thought he was seeing it for the last time. It had been his London home for more than four years and held a lot of memories, some of them exceptional. A few very beautiful women had graced it . . .

  This was the end of London for him. If he survived, perhaps he could come back one day, twenty or thirty years from now. Who was he kidding? he asked himself. He could never return if he wanted to be sure of staying free. RIRA might give up after a while, but if the Brits decided to go after him there would never be a time, if he lived to be a hundred and fifty, when he could relax and think it was over.

  He suddenly thought of Henri, in a cell somewhere no doubt, never to sit in a café again and sip a glass of wine, or walk along the banks of the Seine on a perfect evening. Bill’s chances of getting away were fair as long as he had an early drop on both the IRA and the Brits. He would leave the flat just as it was. Once out of the country he would call the police and tell them where to find the virus. The flat would soon be filled with people from every imaginable department of military intelligence. Dozens upon dozens of them would troop through this room before it was over. Every single item would be inspected and taken apart, every minutia of his life pored over. Everyone he ever knew or
met that there was a record of would be scrutinised. Every number he ever called from his home or mobile phone would be run through a computer, every recorded purchase logged.

  On a table was a picture of his mother and father, his natural parents, a gift from Father Kinsella a few weeks after that first meeting in the cemetery all those years ago. At the time he was overcome with appreciation at the gesture as Kinsella knew he would be. Kinsella never told him how he came by it. Only in recent years, when things began to look jaded to Bill, did he start to doubt the authenticity of the picture. He wondered if MI5 knew about that part of his life, his true beginnings. It was probably in a file somewhere. The picture would be a clue otherwise. Bill picked it up and looked at it, as he had a hundred times. There was something in the woman’s eyes. Perhaps they were Bill’s. He wanted then to be. He took the picture out of the frame and put it in his pocket.

  His eyes then fell with finality on the vial of liquid on the coffee table. It stood alone, simple and unadorned, innocent and attractive, yet capable of wiping out all of humanity if allowed. He wondered what kind of mind could think of creating something like that.

  The knock on the door was like a cannon going off in Bill’s head. He stared at it in disbelief. Perhaps Kinsella had come back to escort him on this, his greatest triumph. Or perhaps it was his own people, MI5. Bringing a bottle of deadly virus into the country was perhaps too ambitious for RIRA and it had been traced to Bill. His heart pounded in his chest.

  Bill went to the window and looked down on to the street. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no unfamiliar vehicles, no one visible. The knock came again. Bill couldn’t ignore it. If it was Kinsella or MI5 he wasn’t going anywhere else. His plans to escape evaporated.

  Instinctively, as a precaution, he put his holdall behind the bathroom door and went to the coffee table and picked up the virus carefully. He opened a cupboard, put the vial in the back between some blankets, made sure it was safe and closed the door. The knock came again. He closed Kinsella’s briefcase, put it down beside the empty hatbox, went to the front door, and opened it.

  Aggy stood there, framed by the doorway, looking as though she was trying to hide some embarrassment behind her slight smile. His heart fluttered as it always did on seeing her. No memory of her image was equal to the sight of her in the flesh.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, unable to hide his confusion.

  ‘I should’ve called,’ she said. ‘I was with a friend just up the road and decided to pop round. I know you said you had to go out but I took a chance . . . Is this a bad time?’

  ‘No. Just got back actually. He didn’t want to go to dinner in the end . . . I was just about to call you.’ Under normal circumstances he would have been more than just delighted to see her. He would have dragged her in and be ripping her clothes off within seconds of closing the door. All he could think of now was how to get out of inviting her inside. What he would have given for a surprise visit from Melissa any other time. She no doubt wanted to stay the night or she wouldn’t be here. It was what they both originally expected to do that night. What a cruel world this was. He would have to let her in, but just for a minute. He did not have the heart to turn her away and never see her again. Perhaps that’s what this was. Providence had intervened to allow him one more look at her, one more embrace, before it was all to end. He stepped back from the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  She remained outside on the landing as if the threshold to his flat was a landmine. ‘Would you like to go for a walk?’ she said. ‘It’s a nice night. Maybe we could go to the pub . . . I fancy a walk.’

  There was something different about her. He could sense it. Something was on her mind. Why didn’t she want to come in? It suited him perfectly, but it disappointed him at the same time.

  ‘Sure,’ he said smiling. ‘Let’s go.’

  Then he suddenly considered the wisdom of leaving the ‘stuff’ in his apartment. Then again he was going to walk away from it in a very short while anyhow. He stepped through the door and closed it behind him, ensuring it was locked. He winked at her as he went ahead and led the way downstairs. Both their smiles disappeared as he turned his back on her.

  On the landing, across from Bill’s apartment, a grey fire door with ‘ROOF EXIT’ written on it was wedged slightly open by an empty cigarette packet. Someone in the darkness behind it was looking through the narrow gap. The door slowly opened and Brennan stepped on to the landing and looked down the stairwell that zigzagged to the ground floor.

  He regarded Bill’s front door. His brief had been to stay with the bio, but something about the woman’s arrival tweaked his curiosity. They’d left empty handed so the bio was safe enough in the apartment. He made his way down the stairs.

  Bill and Aggy walked out of the apartment block and up the street. Bill placed his hands in his pockets as they walked along together in silence. Aggy was aware of her awkwardness when Bill opened his door and hoped he’d put it down to shyness. She was warming to the show, trying to act natural, as Stratton had told her to, but it was a different kind of undercover work than she was trained for. The dets for the most part observed, listened, photographed, recorded and followed.They mingled but never adopted false identities or attempted to penetrate society.That was unjustifiably dangerous, difficult, and arguably unnecessary. But Aggy was now mingling with the enemy, only because of her unique circumstances perhaps, but nevertheless.There was something exciting about it. On the other hand, it felt unreal because it was Bill. He was, essentially, still her lover. In many ways she didn’t know this man beside her, but she didn’t feel as if Bill had cheated her. He’d never used her to gain intelligence. He knew or could find out more about the operations she was involved in than she. And she still believed him when he said he had fallen for her.

  She put her arm through his. Even though Stratton had warned her Bill was now dangerous she felt sad for him. She looked at him and he glanced at her. They both smiled and walked on.

  Brennan looked out of the apartment entrance to see Bill and Aggy walking up the street arm in arm. He waited until they were a good distance on before walking out of the building, crossing the street and following them.

  Stratton remained around the corner in the alleyway where Aggy had left him. He checked his watch. Sumners would be getting agitated. If Lawton was in his apartment, Aggy might find it difficult to get him out of it, especially if he had the virus. What was his plan if she didn’t show? He would have little choice but to go to the apartment himself and take it from there.

  He decided to give Aggy another five minutes. Then she appeared with Lawton.

  ‘Ata girl,’ he said to himself as he watched them cross the street and continue out of sight towards Wandsworth Road.

  Eager though he was, he forced himself to wait a moment and give them time to get some distance from the apartment. When he stepped out of the alleyway he quickly ducked back into it. A figure was walking up the road in the same direction as Aggy and Lawton. The person was the other side of the road and Stratton couldn’t make out any features. He could see it was a man with a limp but not much more. Stratton waited for the figure to move on before leaving the alley, crossing the road and heading for Lawton’s apartment block.

  As he turned the corner he checked Aggy, Lawton, and the other figure were still walking away. Then he entered Lawton’s building and jogged up the stairs. When he got to the top floor he was a little out of breath, a reminder he had not been working out much lately because of all that had been happening. A month ago a couple flights of stairs would have been nothing. He needed to start putting the miles in again, just one more reason he wanted to see the back of this operation.

  He stopped on the landing and paused a moment to survey the scene and listen. There were four doors on this top floor: three apartments and a grey door marked ‘ROOF EXIT’. He walked over and opened the grey door. A flight of stairs led up to another door. He quickly went up the steps and tried the handl
e. It opened on to the roof. That would be useful if anyone came.

  He returned to Lawton’s door and took the small leather case from his pocket and unzipped it. Inside were several finely crafted tools that could easily be mistaken for a dentist’s travel set, each in its own little sleeve. He examined the lock. It was a Yale dead bolt with a fixed collar and several years old. The older the better. He selected a tension spring, a slender piece of flat metal bent at one end, and inserted the short end into the keyhole, bending the other end to apply pressure to the tumblers. He decided to rake the six tumblers first. If that didn’t work he would have to choose a fine pick and push each individual tumbler up until they all cleared the revolver. He slid the rake in, teeth upwards, and pulled it out swiftly while maintaining the spring pressure. He repeated the action without a result. He then raked it back and forth swiftly and suddenly the lock turned under the pressure from the spring and the door opened.

  Stratton moved inside and closed the door behind him. He replaced the tools in the case and put it back in his pocket.

  Lawton had left the light on. That meant Stratton had to be careful moving around or he would be seen from the street. First rule of searching was to stand and look, divide the room up into quadrants and furnishings and search each section in turn with his eyes before moving from the door. He looked in the bathroom beside the front door and noticed the holdall. He checked it. It was full of clothes. He closed it and took another look at the room. On the floor was a hatbox that fitted Aggy’s description. Beside it was a small briefcase. He’d seen enough and it was time to physically search.

  Keeping low he moved to the case, put it on the coffee table and opened it. He noted the two halves filled with sponge one of which had a bottle-shaped cut-out. If he had had any doubts about Lawton’s involvement with the bio this quickly eliminated them. He checked the hatbox. In it was a polystyrene mould that had a similar sized cut-out in the centre. The most cynical intelligence expert would have to concede this was damning evidence. The briefcase obviously didn’t come with the box since there wasn’t enough room in it with the polystyrene, therefore it was quite likely intended to supersede the hatbox as a carriage for the bio. But where was the bio? There was no time to search the entire flat before Aggy and Lawton returned. If he knew for certain the bio was in the building he could close the operation there and then, take care of Lawton, and leave the rest up to a search team. But the bio could be anywhere, hidden outside in a garden or in a car. And so the op would have to go on until they could pin it down. He couldn’t afford to be caught in the apartment or leave any sign he’d been there.