Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  Clive had called MI5 quickly after the news had reached him, taking a considerable risk himself. Once his identity had been confirmed, since they were the ones who had first made contact, they were ready to listen to what he had to say. They took what he said seriously, and by that time the true nature of the foreign team's operation in the UK was becoming known. Agents had been sent to the paper's offices, as security, and were keeping watch over the remaining team members. As of yet, nothing had been heard from them regarding Emma. MI5 had no idea where she was being held. The white van used in the kidnapping had been found five miles from the scene, empty. It was being tested for clues, but that would not help them locate her now. CCTV at the place where the vehicle switch was made was not facing in that direction. It was one of just a few blank spots in the city's camera network, something only an intelligence service would know. They were good at what they did.

  It was feared that they would not be able to save the hostage. If the Africans were now fleeing, it was highly likely that they would kill her before they left. MI5 would be able to catch those responsible, since they now knew where they were all heading, but only to bring them to justice. To find her now would be like looking for a needle in a haystack unless the two prisoners started talking, or even knew where she was.

  Nothing was said to Clive and his team, as they sat in silence for a while, the office effectively in lockdown.

  Emma had arrived blindfolded at the place where she was being held, so she had no idea where she was. Stripped to her underwear, thinking she was about to be raped, she had pleaded with them not to hurt her. In fact, she'd just been handcuffed, and they'd taken the precaution of removing her clothes to make sure she wasn't wired. She was then left alone for a long time in relative darkness. She sat there, deep in her thoughts, unsure of what was happening or why on earth she was being held. No one had said anything to her. Emma had no idea if anyone was going to come for her; she had never felt as alone, or vulnerable.

  Getting the order to kill her, the two agents looked at each other for a long moment, a game of rock paper scissors deciding who had to do the task. The butcher of the two lost and straightaway he started to fit a silencer to his handgun. Like any athlete or sportsman, he focused on his task, professional and swift. They could all take apart and then reassemble a weapon, in total darkness, in less than sixty seconds.

  He stood up from the table in the kitchen and told the other guy to start packing up, as they would be leaving straight away. He walked down the corridor. The more slender agent heard the two shots fired quickly, and footsteps rushing back towards the kitchen. He was shocked to see a short Chinese man standing there before him pointing a silenced weapon straight at him. Immediately two shots were fired, killing the African agent instantly. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  Emma heard what sounded like movement, and the apparent sound of someone falling to the floor. Then the second thump as another body was falling. The door to her room opened, and she could hear someone coming over towards her slowly. Whoever it was, barely made a sound, apart from the noise from the wooden floorboards. She could hear the sound of a blade opening. Her heart stopped. For a moment there was nothing, then her hands were grabbed and twisted, so that the blade could cut the cords keeping her hands tied behind her back. Her clothes were thrown at her; it made her jump. Every sense was now coming alive. She had no idea what was about to happen. After what seemed like ages, she slowly lowered her blindfold, to see that she was alone. She looked around, but no one was watching her. She quickly pulled on her clothes and rubbed her wrists; there were red marks from the cords but no blood. She stepped out into the hallway, only then letting out any noise, a scream at the sight of a dead body, two exit wounds visible from the back of his skull, the body lying face down, a pool of blood covering the floor around him. She turned and made it out of the front door. Still, no one was around. Getting out to the road, she ran. Faster and for longer than she had done in years. To nowhere in particular, but anywhere was good. She was struggling to understand what was happening to her, what had happened. Who had saved her, and where were they now? Finally coming to a stop, she walked into the front entrance of a large hotel chain, only now beginning to feel safe, and asked to make a phone call.

  It was the following morning when the government was informed of the African involvement in the ongoing operation. Those who had been involved in the energy deal, as well as the space program, were called together for an emergency session.

  “Having told us the latest, what are we to read from their involvement in all this?” someone said, looking to the unofficial chairman of the meeting, the primary political connection between them and MI5.

  “I think their intentions are entirely hostile. Both Nigeria and South Africa have today issued withdrawal instructions to the majority of their embassy staff. Certainly, both the ambassadors have left already. The official word is that it's the ongoing nuclear disaster and, as a natural precaution, while backing us to come through, they need to think about the safety of their personnel as well. They pointed out that we did the same in Japan after the incident there a few years' back.”

  “And what's the unofficial line?”

  “They are pulling out because we're onto them. They think that something we might be about to find out would warrant them all being outside of the UK.”

  “Are they after the plans for the power station? Is that what it is?”

  “I guess that has to be their target.”

  “How in the world did they get wind of that?”

  “Sir, with all due respect, only about a week ago, we had no idea that they even had a joint intelligence service capable of this level of espionage.”

  “Can we be sure that they haven't already got anything from us, since they are already starting to leave?”

  “It is still safe and secure, sir.”

  There was muted agreement around the six-person table that this was indeed still the case. Included within those six was a thirty-six-year-old woman. At twenty-nine, she had had the same level of ranking as people who'd worked their whole lives. A real high flier. Fluent in twelve languages, at the last count. She was born to a German father and Irish American mother but was raised in the UK. Travelling extensively, her father in the oil industry, she'd had the best of everything. Put through the most expensive private schools around, and she had graduated two years ahead of her age group, with top marks. Oxford followed, with her doctorate taken at Cambridge in International Criminal Law, she was one of the elite students of her generation. She walked into a highly paid job in an international giant, spending four years travelling, with six-month slots in Latin America, Africa, India and Russia, before being based for the last two years in Beijing, China. It was while in China that she was recruited into the Chinese Secret Service. Within months of that, she was back in the UK, head-hunted for a military intelligence post, and six years later, was where she was today. One of just six people in that government meeting, and third in rank within the Chinese Secret Service.

  Her worth to them was priceless. She'd already negotiated her fee for bringing them news on the power plant blueprints; cheap at five hundred million pounds. She was as smart as she was attractive. And she always put both those qualities to good use, wherever possible.

  The eight remaining members of the African secret service team currently operating in the UK had gathered just one mile from the hospital. The absence of the other four members of their team, who just had not shown up, spoke volumes. They were now all walking on thin ice. Their final meeting had only been confirmed through an alternative channel, the last resort, but used when it was clear that two, and then the other two agents, had stopped responding. Neither of those two teams had anything significant to give up under interrogation. They were lost to them now, casualties of war. It was noticeable how their chief just carried on, disregarding the fact that some of their colleagues were in trouble. It told them a lot about the man under which they were
working. They didn't like what they were learning but had known others like him in the past. That sort tended to be the ones who got the most done.

  The chief had the plans for the hospital open in front of them and was saying:

  “This room here is our target area. We think it has minimal protection if any. We will gain access from a venting outlet here,” and he pointed to a mark on the map, which seemed to be in the same corridor as their target location. “From here, it's just a short distance to this point. When we get outside the door, we need to block all communications coming from the room, before taking it. They can't be allowed to report that we are there. Two of you will then watch the corridor, but if we want to get in and out without getting noticed, we are going to have to get this spot on. If we get trapped in there, I don't see that we have any way out.”

  He looked at each of his team members, four of them were men, three were women. Each had been on such operations before, and each one had killed someone. There was not a look of fear on their faces, but he could sense there was a growing awareness that they might not make it out again on this one. So much could go wrong, but with such a large hospital, maybe they could stand their ground until a deal could be reached.

  The chief knew no deal ever would be. Their presence in the UK was deniable, and no one in Africa would admit to having secret agents there. He wasn't going to let them capture him. If bullets were flying, he'd make sure he caught one. It might even be from his own gun. He'd have that chat with all of them too, at some point, and if the situation arose. While there was still a slight chance, slim as it was, that they would pull it off, he would keep it to himself.

  The growing darkness used as cover, the eight-person team made their way to the edge of the car park, before running at speed for the back doors.

  That dash was spotted by the watching SAS team, though they were a long way away, and unable to do anything but call in.

  “We have seven, no eight, tangos approaching green four,” the SAS coded message for targets running towards the rear doors of the hospital. “All call signs, standby, standby, standby. They are now climbing onto the roof. Standby, standby, go go go.”

  The command was heard by all of the SAS teams at the hospital, and they each took up their positions. Three more guys rushed through the main doors, weapons ready, to the shock and terror of the people present. Visiting time was over, which meant far fewer people were around. The guard locked the doors, the other SAS man joined the three who had just entered, and they raced to take their position.

  On the roof, the eight people made their way to the primary ventilation outlet and using electric screwdrivers, quickly opened the hatch, dropping silently in through the roof. They lowered their bags last, the chief then coming down himself. There was a bit of piping to navigate through before they would be able to drop down into the corridor. Each made their way along smoothly, a stealth operation. Getting to the final hatch, they opened it outward, the door swinging soundlessly into the corridor below as the first agent jumped down, crouching as he hit the floor, looking left and right to check who was around. There was not a sound, as the second and then third agent cleared the hatch. The bags were passed down before the rest of them made their way through.

  Outside, the hospital was surrounded. Inside, the teams waited in position, a line of sight always on the corridor outside John's room, from multiple angles. They certainly had the upper hand. Against eight, with the element of surprise, they knew these intruders didn't stand a chance. Still, they waited though. The orders were being repeated, over and over:

  “Stand your ground, maintain position and shoot to kill.”

  Meanwhile, the eight-person team were unloading their bags. Weapons were ready, and the device that would disable all communications was set up. It was placed at the door, and then they fired it. The burst killed connections straight away in the room, as the lights flickered momentarily then went out. Within seconds, the eight had burst through the door. Shots fired taking down the four people there who turned to see what was happening, their last vision being the killers entering the room. The silenced weapons made only a little sound. All the bodies were moved away and piled in the corner. Two agents stood guard at the door, an excellent line of sight down the corridor. They hoped it would remain as quiet as it was.

  The chief looked at the desk of monitors and screens. The central display showed a video feed of a person lying asleep in bed, monitors and wires visible, though it was not possible to tell if they were still attached to the patient or not. He tapped the screen in delight.

  “We have him. Let's get to work.”

  A measuring device was set up, to take accurate recordings from the room. They then marked a spot on the wall, clearing two of the screens from the right-hand end of the table in front of them. One of the team then got onto the table, was passed a small electric drill and got to work on the wall. It was the type of tool used to install spy technology, therefore silent by nature. The wall, they guessed, was between fifteen and twenty centimetres, though they assumed that, as it was a non-supporting internal wall, it was not substantial. Still, it would take them longer than if they had a regular, power drill. That would be too noisy, of course. The longer it all took, the more significant the risk.

  The SAS teams were getting nervous now, knowing that their targets had been in the building long enough to have reached them, and yet there was no sign. No one had reported anything. The silence was sickening. What was happening? Where were they?

  In the darkness on the roof, a lone figure made his way across the asphalt. Silently he clung to the shadows, reaching the ventilation funnel unnoticed. He descended, out of sight from any potential watching eyes.

  In the control room, they were partway through most of the wall. The middle had indeed been a cavity. The wall was maybe just six centimetres thick on either half, and they were working on the final side. After five minutes they broke through, the drill coming free as the force of cutting through brick finished. Its operator pulled it back, and a camera was pushed into and through the new hole. On a small portable screen, it showed a bed below them, on the edge of the room to their right. Someone was visible there asleep, the sheets wrapped around the raised body. Still, there was silence. Nothing alarming was happening. Alongside the camera, a dart gun was now pushed. It was highly lethal, the poison getting into the bloodstream within seconds, its victim left with no chance. Taking one final check on the position, the operator loaded the dart into the weapon and pushed it into place.

  “We are ready,” he told the chief, who was standing next to him watching the monitor, processing everything.

  “Go ahead,” he said, quietly. The dart was fired, aimed at the leg and hitting the mark. The sheets that were wrapped around would do nothing to stop the needle from connecting with the skin. At that moment, with all eyes on the monitor, the agent heard the thump, thump, thump of a high calibre weapon fired with a silencer. He felt the blood from the chief splash his face before himself taking a bullet to the leg. Each person of the eight-strong team dropped to the floor, the chief having been shot in the head, the rest having been shot in both legs. All currently incapacitated. The room was now silent.

  The shooter then pulled a bag from his pocket and dropped a load of identification onto the table. Names, ranks, serial numbers. Passports. Everything to tell those who would find them precisely who they all were. Creeping out, he released a smoke grenade and climbed back up the ventilation shaft. As he was clambering back onto the roof, the smoke alarms were already going off.

  On hearing the alarms, the SAS team in the central security room for the hospital were told it was coming from the back corridor.

  “The control room!” they shouted through the earpieces. “They're in the control room!”

  Twenty minutes later they had secured the area, and the alarm was switched off. SAS soldiers stood over the four bodies of the surveillance team, dumped in the corner like trash. Seven wounded men and women
had been taken away under heavy armed guard, and the eighth guy was dead from a bullet wound to the head. The documents were collected and passed on along with the prisoners. It was a real intelligence coup. A high ranking spy killed and seven experienced agents down. Wounded but very much alive.

  It was unclear as yet what had happened. No other weapon was found, and certainly not the one that had grounded them all, nor any sign of who had done it.

  The hole in the wall was discovered.

  “Find out where that hole leads to, will you!” one man ordered. Two men, fully armed, headed off.

  Neither of the two SAS men watching the back door saw anyone else come or go. They missed the Chinese secret service agent exit the roof, disappearing once again into the shadows, climbing back down the way he had sneaked onto the roof, and away into the night.

  23

  That same day, Lorna had gone to look for Alison, leaving the doctor once again with John. It would give her some time for fresh air and fresh conversation. She was finding that she was tending to go around the same circles with John. Lorna felt in constant need to steer the conversation in specific directions, usually to avoid other more complicated things. She just didn't trust herself with those subject areas.

  Now alone with Alison, the evening light starting to fade slowly, she could talk freely. She could let off steam, anger and frustration she was feeling, as could Alison. Both found themselves in very stressful, awkward positions. It was such a stretch from the usual job, which itself was demanding, that it made those times look like a vacation compared to the hours they were putting in at the moment. Alison too was feeling tired beyond compare. They walked for a few minutes, not saying anything, just having a safe, quiet place to process their thoughts. If something came up that they needed to mention, they could tell each other. There was no need to keep a guard up here, and no one was watching, they wouldn't be giving the game away by a careless word or phrase. It was their time to walk, talk, to be normal again. It wouldn't last for long, but they'd take as much time as they could, and would savour every moment, not knowing when the next chance would come. Getting to the edge of a line of trees that ran alongside the southern border of the hospital's grounds, they paused and finally started to talk.