by A P Bateman
“Yes. He felt it was unwise.”
“He maybe had a point.”
“Lomu did what King asked, but he was doing it between assignments and returned to London. I believe they did not part amicably on account of the girl.”
“Right,” she sighed. “What was Alex doing next? Or at least when you lost contact with him,” she asked quietly.
Ramsay looked up as Dave Lomu stepped out into the sunlight carrying three cups of coffee. He placed the two in his right hand on the table and reached the one in his left across the table to Caroline.
“That’ll put hairs on your chest,” he said. “Good and strong, and there’s a couple of sugars in there, too. Help you get over the shock.”
Caroline smiled and sipped some of the coffee, her first caffeine hit in weeks taking the edge off. “I’m not, though,” she said. “Shocked, that is.” She shook her head. “This was always going to happen. He was out. We both were. And then he goes on a damned fool’s mission to get Rashid back. Well, here’s the heads up; Rashid was playing games against two mafia factions. He’s most likely already dead. Which means Alex probably is, too.” She turned away, tearful and flushed red with anger. “Why did you and Mereweather ever have to come down here and ask him to do another job? He’s now gone after Rashid because he feels guilty that he turned the assignment down. Then, you offered him just the training element and Rashid went in his place. He could have probably stepped away from it, had it just been Rashid’s mission. Shit happens. Lord knows we’ve lost enough friends along the way.” She paused. “But you asked him to train those guys up for the task. Alex would have felt he had let Rashid down.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ramsay.
She turned to Lomu. “I understand you and Alex fell out about this girl?”
The big man shrugged. “It wasn’t a falling out, as such. And she ain’t no girl. Not from what I saw of her. I’d say she knows a thing or two about the world.”
“Oh…”
“I just thought we’d gone in for one reason, to find Rashid and his team, and came out with baggage that could only expand the parameters of the operation.” He paused. “I saw it enough in the Afghan. We’d go in after a target and the next thing, some Rupert has us shepherding women and children to a better life and good men get killed along the way. And guess what? The women and children didn’t want to go, the officer knew less than he thought he did about hearts and minds, and the innocent women and children were more than likely executed by the Taliban to save face and send a message back to the allied forces. Mission creep. I couldn’t see that taking the women would do anything for Rashid,” he said. “When I got back, I told Neil, but he seemed to think that her insight into Romanovitch’s organisation wouldn’t be a bad thing for King to have at his disposal. My bad, I suppose. So, I’m here to help.”
“Well, not so much to help,” Ramsay shrugged. “But I thought we’d come and tell you in person.”
“Tell me what?”
“That he’s missing, of course,” he frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“So, MI5 are writing him off?”
Ramsay shrugged. “He knew it was a deniable operation when he agreed.”
Caroline nodded. “I see.”
“I really am sorry.”
“So, you say.”
“If there’s anything I can do?”
Caroline sipped a mouthful of coffee, then put the cup down measuredly. “Yes, well, there is just one thing.”
“Name it.”
“You take all your heartfelt apologies and you shove them right up your own arse.” She paused, glaring at him. “I’ll need tickets and some operating capital.”
“But…”
“Shut up, I’m talking!” she snapped. “When these lips are moving, pin your ears back and do some listening, Neil! How dare you come down here and give me such terrible news and offer me insincere platitudes! Now, as I was saying, tickets and expenses. You can drive me back with you. And then you can call in sick. Call it stress. That seems to be all the rage. I don’t care what you say but make it believable because you’re taking a leave of absence and you will not be coming back until this is resolved.” She paused, swallowing hard and drying her eyes with the back of her hands. “Or at least, confirmed.” She turned to Big Dave and said, “And that goes for you, too. I’ll need a safe pair of hands and some back up, and Alex trusted… trusts you.”
Big Dave shrugged. “Works for me. Like I said, I’m here to help. I thought he was operating well off his remit, but I can now see why he did it. He’s a sucker for helping people, sure, but that young woman would also have a year’s worth of knowledge surrounding Romanovitch and his organisation. So, I’m in.”
“Now, look here…” Ramsay started.
“Neil, don’t. Just listen to me. You are coming along with us. You are going to help me find out what has happened.”
“But there are only three of us!”
Caroline shrugged. “Well, if you hadn’t offered him such a ridiculous mission, then it wouldn’t have come to this.” She paused, glaring at him. “And coming all the way down to Cornwall to tell him that Rashid was off the radar was a calculated move on your part. MI5 were washing their hands of the entire situation. What was the man we all know, and that I love going to do with that? This is the guy who got himself arrested as a terrorist just to find out the location of a secret prison! A man who doesn’t know when his limits have been reached, just because he’s still alive! There is always fight in him, always the desire to win. You knew that when you delivered the news. You knew he would be Rashid’s best chance without MI5 having to do a bloody thing!”
“She’s got a point,” Big Dave commented.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Ramsay stood up, shaking his head. He trudged towards the car, then turned and stared at them, his gaze switching between Caroline and Dave Lomu. “This is bloody madness!”
“Go pack your bag, sugar lips, the car ain’t leaving without you,” said Big Dave, leaning back in the wooden garden chair, cradling his cup of coffee.
“Lomu?” Ramsay stared at him.
“That’s mister Lomu, to you.” He paused. “Broad’s got a point. You’ve made a mess, so you’d better get cleaning it up.”
“We’ll need his data logging. I presume he had activated his phone?” Caroline asked.
“Of course,” Ramsay replied tersely. “His movements and locations have been recorded, right up to the moment the signal was lost.”
“Have you tried to override?”
“Yes, but there’s nothing, which would indicate the phone has been destroyed.”
“And did he make reports via text to his cloud facility?”
Ramsay nodded. “The salient facts. King was never the best at that. He didn’t like a trail that he could be accountable for later.”
“No. Makes you wonder why, doesn’t it?” she said sardonically. “Okay, let’s do this. We’ll take up where Alex left off. If we move fast, we may at least stand a chance of getting him back alive.”
“Bloody hell!” Ramsay kicked the gravel at his feet. “We can’t do this! It bloody well can’t be done!”
Caroline stood up and stepped closer to him. “Then, you should have thought about that when you came to see him. I blame you, Neil. You should have thought about our new life here before you laid on what it meant for Rashid if Alex did not step up. You used him, and you’ve thrown us both under the bus in the process.”
31
Goldie had been taken away and brought back almost an hour later. He had been beaten, but this time he looked to have been broken. He had been thrown to the floor and shackled once more by his wrist. The Runt had taken out his pistol, aimed at the back of the man’s head and smiled at Rashid and Mac as he pulled the trigger.
The hammer fell on an empty chamber and The Runt had laughed at both men before leaving the room, with Shrek patting him on the back, laughing enthusiastically.
Goldie was sobbing q
uietly. All men break eventually. Given the right amount of time and the severity of their conditions. Rashid turned his attention back to the mangled bullet. He had no idea how long it had been since Philosopher had been killed, no clue whether it was night or day, or when they had last been fed. But he had used the time well, and had removed almost all of the copper, and although his fingers were raw and his fingernails were broken down to nubs, he kept going, while Mac spoke softly to his comrade, telling him to hang in there and to think about slotting the two bastards when they got the opportunity. He looked over at Rashid, watching him work on the bullet. Rashid had caught him watching a few times before, but the Scotsman had not said anything. Rashid figured he had known how low Goldie had ebbed. There was no use getting the man’s hopes up only to have them dashed, which could finish any resolve altogether.
Rashid cringed, his last effort removing his thumbnail completely. He gritted his teeth together, looked at the bloody mess, but forgot about the pain when he saw the copper had separated. He smiled, wasting no time in trying to fold it, using the edge of the hard metal handcuff to press it against the stone cobbled floor.
32
They had flown into Tirana, hired a car at the Hertz desk and had driven southeast, stopping only for some dry filled rolls and bottled water at a service station. Big Dave was driving while Ramsay was seated in the backseat using a dongle to get online on his laptop and study the cloud King had uploaded the last of his reports to. Ramsay had read out the GPS coordinates of the farmhouse and Caroline had punched them into the satnav.
“Put these into your phone,” he said, then read out the GPS coordinates of The Eagle’s Nest. “King was heading there with Alaina.”
Caroline scowled. “What about this pilot, Leroy Wilkinson?”
“They call him Flymo,” said Ramsay. “On account that he…”
“Hovers so low, yeah, I get it,” she said humourlessly.
“He sent a message to his cloud, or the cloud the team were using. Only Rashid performed the updates, but Flymo added to it when the team disappeared. He uploaded the report that King and Alaina had disappeared. He hasn’t added anything since. I imagine he’ll be thinking about bailing.”
“Better get there before he does, then,” Big Dave commented, putting some extra weight on the accelerator. The Audi surged forward. They were hovering around the ton. Big Dave filled the seat, his hands making the steering wheel look small. “Another three miles and we take a mountain road. Looks small and twisty.”
“They usually are,” said Caroline distractedly.
“What’s the plan when we get there?” Big Dave asked.
Caroline shrugged. “Hope for the best?”
Big Dave laughed. “Seems to be the mantra of this unit…”
33
Flymo had bugged out. He had been torn between buzzing over the mountainside fortress and searching for King, but he knew the operation was finished. King’s text had unnerved him, and he knew that the man had been sent as a last resort. He had flown low to the ground, living up to his namesake. He decided to set things in motion for his withdrawal, and that meant his withdrawal from life as he knew it. There was a great deal of money left in the safe. King had burned his way through it, given him a substantial amount for the delivery to the bonded warehouse. What was left would set him up for the rest of his days. There was a lot of money that had been damaged in the heat, but there was still a fortune. He’d set some aside for the men’s families, and he would retire someplace hot. But first, he had to torch the farmhouse and the helicopter and anything else with his fingerprints and DNA on it.
The helicopter would be easy, but dramatic. He would have to rig a fuse to make sure he was far enough away, and he would need to be in the car and driving away, because the fire and smoke would be vast. He worried that he would not get down the mountain road and to the main road in time before the fire services and police got wind of it and he would meet them on the mountain road. And yet, he would have to be sure the fuse would work, as he wasn’t going to risk returning to relight it.
Flymo had started to fill two sports bags with the money. A mix of euros, leks, US dollars and kunas. He discarded any damaged ones as they would be more trouble than they were worth, and he still had more than enough. As he zipped one of the bags up, he looked over at the helicopter and the work he had done to it. King must have been insane to think they could use something like this and get away with it. The alterations were simply too great, and he had flown as close to the ground as a tired snake to avoid being seen. He started on the other bag. He was glad to be done with this folly and was looking forward to slipping into a quiet life.
He froze when he heard the vehicle on the gravel yard, cursed leaving his pistol in the farmhouse with his things. He was a pilot, not an agent. And now he was the last man standing. He zipped the bag, then dropped them both behind the fuel drums and crept across the barn to peer through the gaps in the boards. He watched the white Audi turn a lazy circle and stop outside the farmhouse. He looked around for a weapon and picked up a large wrench. Back with his eye at the gap in the boards, he watched the woman get out of the driver’s seat. She was of medium height, slim and athletic looking. She casually put her mousey blonde hair up under a black baseball cap and studied the windows of the farmhouse. He shuffled along and paused at a couple of planks that were more warped, to take in a better view. This time a man of about five-ten and slim build getting out of the passenger seat. He wore casual clothes, but they didn’t seem to suit him. Like he’d be more at home in a suit, shirt, and tie.
Flymo looked at the wrench in his hand. He had come too far for his clean getaway to be thwarted. He had no idea that the two people he spied upon were with MI5, and he wasn’t going to wait to be discovered, his run money put at risk. He gripped the wrench tightly and made his way out of the gap that King had made in the side of the barn. He pushed out through, the wrench leading the way. As he ducked his head, he was aware of a shadow. An eclipse.
“All right, sunshine?”
Flymo looked up into the face of a man with skin as black as coal, shoulders as wide as a doorway and towering six-foot-four. He grabbed the wrench from him as if it were a pencil in a child’s hand and caught hold of him by the shoulders. He tore him through the gap, pulling two more planks out with him, and kept hold of him as he dragged, pushed, and pulled him down the side of the barn and into the bright sunlight of the yard.
“Look what I found,” Big Dave bellowed. He propelled Flymo in front of him, no real lightweight himself, he took off and landed a few feet further forward, stumbling to remain on his feet.
“What the hell?” Flymo protested.
“Leroy Wilkinson?” Ramsay asked, already knowing the answer.
“Where’s King?” Caroline asked urgently, not waiting for the man to answer.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Caroline Darby. I’m with MI5.”
“Well, technically…”
“Shut up Neil!” Caroline snapped.
“Christ, he only went missing yesterday…” Flymo looked at them, bemused.
“But it was a broken arrow scenario. He sent an emergency text and we think he destroyed his phone, which meant imminent capture. Alex is my partner. Fiancé, even. So, I have a vested interest, hence the fast reaction.” She pointed to Ramsay. “He’s with MI5, officially at least.”
“I got a text,” Flymo said lamely. “I suppose it was generic when I think about it now. I was waiting for his call. To see if he needed me. He took Alaina with him, by car. He didn’t want to give himself away. The Albanian’s wised up to us hitting them using the chopper. They shot at us last time, hit the fuselage trying to hit the rotor base. King felt that they would have taken measures by now, got some hardware to take us out of the sky. I was there as back-up and exfil, if needed.”
“I got the same text,” said Ramsay. “That’s why we’re here. As Caroline said, it was a broken arrow scenario. A last communiqué
.”
“Jesus, it’s good to have friends like you.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know what we can do,” he said, thinking about at least two million pounds in various currencies sitting on the barn floor.
“You fly the bird, we’ll do the rest,” said Big Dave. “What weapons have you got here?”
Flymo shrugged. “There’s an assault rifle, a few pistols, some ammo for each.”
“That’ll do.” Big Dave looked at his watch. He had recently bought himself an oversized Casio G-Shock to better suit his thick wrist and dinnerplate hands, and it looked like a small wall clock. “Get the pre-flight checks done, we’re going in.” He paused. “Where are the weapons?”
“In the house,” Flymo said. He had been caught off guard, had made plans for his future. But the team had become his friends, and he thought about the man who had come out here to go in alone and get them out. He decided his plans could keep. “I’ll get things sorted.” He turned and walked back to the barn.
“Dave…” Caroline said quietly. “Go with him, while I get the weapons.”
“Everything all right, Caroline?” asked Ramsay.
“That guy was the only one left from Rashid’s team, and twenty-four hours ago, he makes it out when Alex gets compromised? You earn trust, and he’s a long way off that yet.”
34
His hands and fingers were ruined. A bloody mess of cuts and tears and broken nails. Through sheer dogged determination, Rashid had managed to fold the copper into something resembling a lock pick. He had hidden it when The Runt had entered and thrown three bottles of water and three flat breads onto the floor between them. Thankfully, he had not taken one of them with him and all three men were almost shaking with relief.
Goldie was sitting against the wall with his legs outstretched. He had said nothing since he had broken down, and he had a faraway stare in his eyes. Mac was doing his best to keep chatting, but the tough little Scotsman was on his last reserves. Another beating or two and they would beg for a bullet. Rashid would not allow that to happen. He had worked on his handcuff for almost an hour, the copper too soft for its purpose, but a ratchet had finally given, and the cuff had expanded a notch. A relief not only in terms of hope but giving a little respite to his wrist which had rubbed raw. He had to reshape the pick, but if he could get some more movement and hold the pick steady, then the ratchet would lift, and the lock would open. However, if he had to do it one turn of the cog at a time, then so be it.