‘That was lucky.’ Aaron’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’d best pay her a visit.’
‘I’d expect no less.’ Elliott stood and waved a dismissive hand at Sean’s body, his lip curling as flies began to gather around the dead man. ‘Deal with this mess before you leave.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
London
* * *
‘Morning, Char – ready to do battle?’
Charlotte scowled into her coffee at the sound of Neil Hodges’ voice carrying across the office to where she sat, then fixed a bright smile and turned as he drew closer.
‘All set,’ she said, handing him a manila folder and a printout of that morning’s agenda.
‘Good-o.’ He placed his briefcase on the carpet and cleared his throat. ‘Toskins in yet?’
‘On his way.’ She reached out and pointed to the diary entries in his hand. ‘The meeting with the PM was brought forward to seven o’clock this morning, and your briefing with the Minister has been postponed until three this afternoon.’
‘Oh, bollocks.’ His face fell. ‘I was hoping to follow up with him about our chat with Robert Nivens last night. Wonder why he didn’t ask me to attend the meeting with the PM?’
Charlotte bit back the first retort that entered her head, and instead pasted a sympathetic smile to her lips. ‘No idea, I’m afraid. I think it was very last-minute, Neil. Nothing personal.’
His jaw tightened. ‘Even so, Char…’
Hodges picked up his briefcase and wandered across to his desk as his phone began to ring, and she turned back to her computer screen.
Opening a window beside the spreadsheet she was compiling, she ran her gaze over the headlines, but saw nothing new from last night’s reports.
Jeffrey’s death had already dropped below other stories, relegated to a minor headline several fonts smaller in size from the main reports now demanding the reader’s attention.
She let out a shaking sigh, then closed the news site.
Everyone else in the office was talking about his health, the office gossips wondering aloud whether anyone had known he’d had heart complaints in the past, or if he had made any mention of health issues in passing.
There was no-one she could ask about the documents he had sent to her prior to his death, not yet. Part of her ached to find out if he had sent anything else, to someone else.
Had he split up his research in an attempt to keep his knowledge safe?
And why had Hodges and Toskins been summoned to the Foreign Secretary’s office late last night without anything appearing in their diaries?
She bit her lip.
What were the two men trying to hide?
Was it something to do with Jeffrey?
Hodges finished his call and wandered back to her. ‘Everything all right, Char? You seem a bit quiet this morning.’
‘Fine, Neil.’ She saved the spreadsheet, then closed the screen and returned to her emails. ‘Was there anything urgent you needed doing this morning?’
‘I suppose not. Not now, anyway.’
He sighed, brow furrowing.
Charlotte shrugged – the man had a way of milking sympathy for the slightest reason and she wasn’t in the mood to react to his insecurities.
‘Great, well then I’m going to head upstairs,’ she said, placing her bag in her desk drawer and locking it. ‘I’ve got an admin meeting to attend.’
Picking up her mobile phone, she hurried from the office and into the corridor teeming with civil servants and hangers-on and crossed to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Whitehall Place.
A steady drizzle peppered the glass as a diplomatic car dislodged a pair of men in dark suits onto the street, the driver pulling away from the kerb as soon as they had been greeted by a Whitehall Place acolyte armed with a large umbrella.
As they hurried under the portico to the building, Charlotte turned away and thumbed through her recent calls list.
She bit her lip.
Something wasn’t right.
She could sense it.
Emails next. A quick scroll through the new messages provided no new information and she was reluctant to put anything in writing about Jeffrey’s unscheduled trip to the Turkish-Syrian border.
Who were the three men he had described in his notes?
Were they British, or local people who had provided him with help during his time in Turkey?
As for Toskins’ summons to the Prime Minister’s office that morning, why so early?
The PM had a reputation for keeping long hours but there had been no announcements since.
Nothing to suggest there was anything wrong.
Her thumb hovered over an email she’d been copied into from the Foreign Office – Jeffrey’s department. It was dated two weeks ago from Robert Nivens, the Foreign Secretary himself.
The message was short, to the point, and requested that Toskins provide a copy of a recent agreement that he had struck with the leader of a small country on the fringes of sub-Saharan Africa. Nivens had been approached by a human rights organisation raising concerns about the deal, citing fears that the weapons sold by the British government would be used against civil rights campaigners protesting the current incumbent’s policies and past atrocities.
The request had caused some consternation within the Department for International Trade, and Charlotte recalled the heated argument between Toskins and Hodges before the door to the Minister’s office had flown open and Hodges stalked past her desk without a backward glance, his jaw clenched.
Nothing more had been said since, and she hadn’t been copied into any further correspondence in the matter.
Charlotte glanced up at the sound of Toskins’ name, a wave of guilt sweeping through her.
She relaxed a little when she saw the two men she’d seen getting out of the car conversing beneath a framed photograph of the Palace of Westminster, their expressions harried.
Resigning herself to the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to find out more about Jeffrey and his supposed health issues by reading tabloid news apps or departmental emails, she flicked the screen to sleep and wandered over.
‘Can I help you, gentlemen? I’m with the Minister’s office.’
The older man gave a tight smile. ‘Gerald Knox. We’ve got an urgent appointment with the Minister about Jeffrey Dukes.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Miles swiped his security pass before lowering his face to a retinal scanner beside the reinforced steel door, and tried to batten down the rising panic in his chest.
Since Knox had returned from his meeting with Edward Toskins and reported that the Minister was unable to shed any light on the stolen missiles – or confirm whether the theft was a one-off or simply the latest in a string of similar raids on arms shipments – the whole Section had mobilised in an effort to trace what else might have been taken.
And find out where it was going.
The door lock clicked, and Miles pushed his way into a box-like chamber whereupon he placed his mobile phone, car key fob and wallet into a numbered locker. He swiped his pass across a panel below the locker and it swung shut.
He would retrieve his belongings upon leaving the central operations room, not before.
Turning to a set of glass doors, he paused while they swished open and then walked into a darkened room with no windows.
The only light source came from tiny spotlights in the ceiling and from the glow of the computer monitors his small team sat in front of.
Miles paced the ops centre floor, crossing to the wall beyond the desks, and stood in front of a bank of screens displaying composite images from different satellites across Eastern Europe.
His three key analysts worked with their heads bowed as they typed new commands into their computers, the images on the screens flickering and changing in real-time as new information was downloaded and processed in seconds.
A database calculated complex algorithms, cross-referenced plac
es and names and intercepted phone calls and encrypted messages from Section agents on the ground, all of whom were deciphering reports of potential sightings or discarding information designed to confuse and delay the hunt for the missing drone command centre.
Miles turned to face his colleagues and ran his eyes over the discarded coffee cups and takeaway cartons littering the desks beside them.
They had been working non-stop now for over twelve hours, but wouldn't take a break – not until they found their target.
He wandered over to a spare desk beside them and sank into a chair with a sigh.
‘Okay, so we can’t access satellite data or intercepted communications on mobile networks without alerting MI6 and GCHQ thanks to the Prime Minister’s instructions to Knox, so what are we left with?’
‘We've got access to local police and military databases throughout Eastern Europe,’ said Jason. ‘We also have access to their communications, along with mobile phone comms and CCTV cameras in major residential areas. Basically, everything we would normally get from our colleagues, except we can’t.’
‘Okay, let's start in Belarus,’ said Miles. ‘We know from the information that Marie has given us what the approximate dimensions of the command centre are. What else?’
‘That’s been confirmed with the information that we've acquired from RAF Waddington,’ said Greg. ‘They've given us a good idea of what to look for because it's often how they transport their own command centres.’
‘Have we got anything to get us started?’
Jason tapped his screen. ‘We have. Again Marie was able to identify the airfield they flew from when she was with Eva and Nathan. From there, we've got movement twenty-four hours ago.’
‘Anything since?’
A silence descended while the analysts returned to their screens, and Miles slapped his hand on the desk.
‘Anybody? Any ideas? Where has it gone?’ said Miles. ‘Come on, this is urgent. They may well be re-arming in the next two days if we can’t confirm which shipment of arms is their next target. If they killed two people, they did it for a reason and they’re not going to stop now.’
‘I think I've got something,’ Emily said. She tapped the screen in front of her, then hit a button and the panels on the wall flickered and changed once more. ‘Here.’
Miles watched as the satellite’s powerful lens zoomed in to a small town west of Minsk in Belarus. ‘Where is this?’
‘This footage is from CCTV cameras in Kobryn. It’s on the border with Poland,’ she said, using her mouse to draw a circle around a narrow road leading between the two countries. ‘It stood out for me because it’s off the main route away from the highways that you'd normally see intercontinental freight using.’
Pushing back his chair as she started the playback on the recording, he watched as a truck slowed to negotiate a crossroads, its brake lights flaring.
Moments later, it roared out the other side of the small town and into the darkness beyond the last CCTV camera.
‘When was this?’
‘Half past eleven last night.’
A pale coloured shipping container was on the trailer the truck towed, its surface displaying the name of a food company.
‘Have you traced this company name?’ said Miles.
‘It doesn’t exist,’ said Emily. ‘There isn’t a single company registered in Europe with that name.’
‘What if he’s just someone moving house?’ said Greg, turning his pen between his fingers.
‘He didn’t stop at any of the usual truck stops,’ said Emily. ‘He’s been stopping to refuel. I’ve traced his route since he left Poland. And he's keeping to himself. He's refuelling at small town petrol stations and going out of his way to avoid other drivers. This is a screen capture from the last time he refilled – it’s at Târgoviște in Romania. I’ve already contacted one of our in-country agents and she confirms that he paid cash. I’ve lost sight of him since then.’
Jason sighed. ‘So we haven’t even got financial data to trace who he is.’
‘Emily, zoom out from that view, and let’s have a look at potential routes beyond Târgoviște to known risk areas. Include everything on our watch lists,’ said Miles, rolling up his shirt sleeves. ‘Greg – run the data on historical intercepts from the last three months. That way, the other intelligence services will think we’re auditing the systems or doing a purge of data from the databases as a housekeeping exercise.’
The analyst at the end of the row of desks raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think they’ll fall for it?’
‘Have you got a better suggestion?’
‘Onto it.’
Miles pushed back his chair and bit back his frustration.
His team were tired, working as fast as they could, and were among some of the best data analysts in the country.
And yet the clock was ticking, and if the plan Knox was devising failed, then the drone and its last remaining Hellfire missile could be used anywhere, against anyone.
The consequences could be catastrophic.
‘Miles – take a look at this.’
He turned at Greg’s voice. ‘Have you found it?’
In response, Greg pointed at the bank of screens as a new image blinked onto the wall in front of him.
‘No, but this is a report that’s just come in from the fire department in Atârnati, north of Bucharest. They’re responding to a call from a resident about a truck that’s on fire under a concrete bridge beneath the main highway.’
‘Can you translate it?’
‘I can do better – I’m patching into a camera on top of a nearby radio station. Here we go.’
Miles rested a hand on top of Greg’s computer screen as he peered at the grainy image, at the smoke billowing from an off-white shipping container atop a trailer.
The truck’s cab was consumed by flames quickly spreading along the length of the trailer, and as he narrowed his eyes he could make out a gaping hole in the side of the shipping container.
‘Fuck,’ he managed eventually.
‘What do you want us to do, Miles?’ said Emily.
He drummed his fingers on the top of the monitor for a moment longer, and then snatched up his security pass and ran for the glass doors.
‘I think I’d better tell Knox.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Slovakia
* * *
Eva placed another log on the fire, closing the cast iron door as a spark popped and hit the glass.
‘That got cold fast,’ said Nathan as she joined him on the sofa and handed her bottle of beer.
‘It will for another couple of weeks,’ said Decker. The older assassin sat on the floor with his back to the other sofa as he gazed into the fire’s glow. ‘Best time of year to visit if you need to relax.’
Eva couldn’t disagree with him as she cast her gaze out through the windows while the sun began to set – the journey out of Belarus and through the southern edge of Poland had been fraught with tension and disagreements.
Sitting on a concrete plinth on the edge of one of the burned-out aircraft hangars, Nathan had logged into an encrypted server and contacted the Section, suggesting he and Eva make their way to Poland while awaiting further orders.
Decker had been keen as well, arguing that they were on hand and available.
Knox was having none of it.
‘You’re all persona non grata in Poland after your last mission,’ he growled. ‘You cross the border, and we might not be able to get you back. It’s bad enough you chose to cut through there to get to Belarus.’
After that, they received an encrypted message from Miles with instructions to head south west to Slovakia instead and to wait for further orders once they were there.
The guesthouse on the fringes of Brastilava had been a welcome sight, given both its proximity to several roads leading away from the city, and its position.
Set back from the road along a winding path leading to lovingly tended gardens and
a lake, the location provided ample views in all directions – perfect for maintaining a lookout for any unwanted attention or threats.
Eva turned away from the view and wandered over to the sofa.
‘How did you know about this place, Decker?’ she said, as Nathan worked at his laptop. ‘Friend of yours?’
‘From way back.’
‘Handy.’ She took a sip of beer. ‘All right – what are your thoughts on why we’re here, and why Knox didn’t want us to go after the command centre?’
Nathan’s fingers paused above the keyboard. ‘Like Knox said – we’re still wanted in Poland.’
Decker chuckled. ‘Hasn’t stopped him sending us places before, has it?’
‘True,’ said Eva. ‘What do you think, then?’
‘I reckon the shit’s hit the fan.’ Decker wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and placed his empty beer bottle on the stone hearth.
‘What makes you say that?’ said Nathan.
‘The way the order came to leave the airfield, and the radio silence since. Something’s got them spooked.’
Eva checked her watch. ‘What time were they supposed to call us?’
‘Five minutes ago,’ said Nathan. He frowned at his laptop screen. ‘Plenty of signal here, and the encryption programme’s working fine…’
Eva yawned, the effect of a Slovakian stew followed by plum rolls and then relaxing in front of a fire proving too much. ‘I can’t believe how much food we just ate.’
Decker grinned. ‘Wait until you see breakfast.’
She groaned, then sat upright as Nathan’s laptop emitted a high-pitched ping.
‘Here we go.’ He crossed the living area to a square dining table in the corner away from the window and began talking before he’d settled on one of the chairs. ‘Everything all right?’
‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ replied Miles. ‘Everyone else there?’
Eva pulled out a chair next to Nathan and waited for Decker to join them, although he took the chair behind the laptop screen to avoid being seen, then leaned forward and folded her arms.
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