After tying her up again he had left her alone, but parted with a warning that he would be back for more later, and return he did, but only to release her left hand so that she could eat a meagre lunch. He knew this would increase her anxiety, and it appeared to work.

  Leaving her for a couple of hours longer, he settled down to watch one of his favourite DVDs to get himself in the mood, but he was interrupted by the sound of the cars leaving in a hurry. He would have to dispose of the coach himself, but that wasn't a problem. That can be done that later this evening, he thought. It was simply a case of driving it to the outskirts of the town two miles away and leaving it running. Some local piss-head would have it away in a matter of minutes, and no doubt it would be burnt out by the morning.

  Once they were gone he concentrated again on the movie. After years of practice he could bring himself close to climax again and again without going over the edge, and he was almost delirious as he climbed the stairs for the final explosive moment.

  As squad leader it was Frost who would make the ultimate decision, and there just wasn't time to hold a Chinese parliament and get the opinions of the other three. They could try to make a noise and coax him downstairs again, but that would put him on his guard, and an x-ray on edge was not conducive to a good day. On the other hand, if they forced an entry while he was upstairs he would have time to arm himself and either kill the hostage or kill one of his men, neither of which options he could accept.

  Peering through the kitchen window he saw a mobile phone on the counter, and it gave him an idea, which he shared with the team.

  He took off his respirator and put his ear to the glass in the back door. From the other end of the house he heard the muffled shouts, which wasn't good for the hostage but it should keep the x-ray occupied for a few moments. The door was old, paint flaking all around the frame, so he was very gentle when he tried the handle. At first he thought it was locked, but when he applied a little pressure it gave with a creak.

  Heart in his mouth, he was aware that the shouting had stopped. His hand went to the trigger guard of the MP5SD, ready to rush, but a moment later the verbal abuse started up again, much to his relief.

  Removing one of his gloves, he crept into the kitchen and closed the door, then picked up the phone, flicking through the menu to the Sounds option. He selected Ringtones, then chose the current tune and put it back on the counter top near the sink before retreating to a position behind the kitchen door.

  A moment later he heard the sound of footsteps as the target rushed down the stairs and burst into the room, grabbing the phone. He had his back to Frost, so he couldn't see the look of confusion, but when he pounced he saw the surprise on the x-ray's face.

  “Down on the floor! Now!”

  Flynn spun round and stared in amazement at the soldier pointing the silenced weapon at him.

  His first thought was that he was truly fucked.

  His second was that it was the rag-head’s fault.

  His third thought was to grab for the knife in the sink, and it was the last thought he ever had.

  The first bullet smashed through his temple and pierced the brain as it continued its journey. By the time it hit the far side of the skull it had lost so much momentum that it wasn't capable of breaking through the other side, so it just bounced around like a fly in a jar, shredding the brain even more.

  The second bullet, fired less than a second later, wasn't necessary, but training dictated a double-tap and that's what the x-ray got.

  The other three members of the team burst in as he shouted his warning but Flynn was on the floor before they got through the door, so they hurdled over him and raced through the kitchen door.

  “X-ray one down,” Frost reported, his voice just a little taut after his first kill.

  The squad cleared the house room by room, ending up in the master bedroom, where they found Sally still tied to the bed, tears running down her face. They didn't know if they were tears of fear or joy, but as with most traumatic situations they knew they would continue for some time. They untied her and gently wrapped her in the bed sheet before escorting her down the stairs and into the front room, seating her on the sofa.

  “House clear, x-ray one down, hostage safe,” Frost said over the comm link, his voice steadier now that the burst of adrenalin had been spent. "She has a few injuries but nothing life-threatening. I'm more concerned about her mental state."

  Chapter 23

  Twelve miles from their destination, it might as well have been twelve thousand miles, because if he spent another minute in Barry's company, Carl Levine was sure he would kill him. The last three hours had been an absolute nightmare, and he'd lost count of the number of times he's said "That's classified". Still, Barry was relentless, desperate for a first-hand account of a battle - or even a minor skirmish - for his book.

  Eventually Levine had caved in, and told him about the time he and three others had parachuted into Taliban territory in Afghanistan. They had marched forty miles in two nights carrying 100lbs of kit each, then attacked an enemy stronghold, killing over a hundred and fifty men and rescuing a British soldier before carrying him the forty miles back to the pick-up point.

  Barry was lapping it up, but the others in the back could barely contain themselves. They knew for a fact that Carl had never been to Afghanistan, and that no self-respecting squad leader would ever take three men on such a suicidal operation. Even when Paul Bennett started ribbing Levine about his exploits, Barry just thought it was friendly regimental banter.

  Their destination was a holiday cottage two miles from Gray's stronghold. As with the narrow boat and the minibus, it had been paid for on a credit card belonging to one of their non-military friends, so it was unlikely that it would be traced back to any of them. Their friend had been given the cash plus a little extra for his trouble, along with a family holiday that would end at the weekend, giving him the perfect reason for not informing the authorities about the purchases.

  They planned to stop off in the nearby town to stock up on beer and snacks, and the local takeaways would be providing the catering that evening, but when they reached a point roughly a mile from the cottage, the minibus negotiated a bend and they found themselves confronted with a police roadblock a hundred yards ahead. The officers looked to be concentrating on cars coming from the opposite direction, but they couldn't take any chances.

  “Heads up,” Levine said, and everyone craned to see what the problem was. Having identified the danger, the men in the back averted their gaze, not so much that they aroused suspicion, but enough to make identification a little harder. They had discussed the possibility of being stopped on the way and had decided that it wouldn't be the end of the world; they would go along quietly. All they had to do was hold out until seven-thirty that evening, and after all the interrogation training they had been through, being questioned by plod didn't even come close to scary.

  “Just chill, Barry, and act normally,” Levine said.

  There were two police cars creating a chicane, with officers at either end allowing traffic to flow first in one direction, then the other. They followed the line of traffic as it crept towards the officer on point duty, Levine silently praying that they be allowed to pass unhindered.

  It wasn't to be.

  The armed officer raised his hand just as Barry was about to follow the car in front through the gap, then he signalled to his colleague at the other end of the roadblock to allow his stream of traffic to start moving.

  “What do we do now?” Barry asked through clenched teeth, his gaze fixed ahead and his hands gripping the steering wheel in the ten-to-two position.

  “First,” Levine said as jovially as possible, “we drop the ventriloquist act. If you notice, they are only checking the cars coming from the other direction.”

  Barry seemed to relax slightly as he saw that Levine was correct, but he was still ill at ease.

  “What if they recognise us?”

  “Why would they recognise you, Barry? Have you had your face plastered all over the front pages this week?”

  “No, but I mean, the rest of you...and how can you be so cool, like?”

  “We've been in tighter spots than this,” Levine said, trying to keep a smile on his face despite the temptation to throw Barry through the windscreen. “It's only a cop, for fuck's sake. It's not like the Sussex branch of Al-Qaeda just swarmed into view.”

  The quip helped him loosen up a little, but he was still gripping the wheel tightly and staring at the officer, who was facing the other direction.

  “Just a couple more minutes and we'll be through,” Levine said softly, doing his best to relax the driver, but Barry was having none of it. When the policeman turned to see how much traffic he was holding, he caught sight of Barry and knew instantly that something was amiss.

  With a quick word into his radio, he approached the minibus, his right hand on the grip of the Heckler and Koch MP5 he was carrying, forefinger extended along the side of the trigger guard.

  “Barry, chill, for fuck's sake,” Levine urged. “Just answer his questions and we'll be on our way.”

  The officer gestured for Barry to wind down the window and he peered inside, taking in the scene.

  “Is this your vehicle, Sir?” Constable Stuart Fisher asked.

  “Yes, officer,” Barry said, and Levine could hear the tension in his voice. The policeman also sensed it, and the alarm bells started ringing.

  “Turn the engine off and step out of the vehicle, please,” he said, and Barry turned to look at Levine, his eyes imploring him to do something. Carl simply nodded his head. “Go on, then. Do as the officer says.”

  Barry climbed out gingerly and Levine knew the game was up when the driver raised his hands above his head in surrender.

  The cop told Barry to assume the position up against the side of the bus and he reached in and took the keys from the ignition, then told Levine to step down and move around the front of the vehicle, all the time keeping a watchful eye on him.

  Another officer trotted up, having been summoned earlier, and he covered the two men while Fisher opened the back door and told everyone to get out. He stood back as they did so and immediately recognised three of the faces as they exited the vehicle.

  “Lie face down on the ground and spread your arms and legs,” he shouted, all the time covering them with his weapon.

  “Hotel Sierra, this is Tango Foxtrot Two-Five.”

  “Go ahead, Two-Five.”

  “I believe we have the eight suspects we're looking for in connection with the Tom Gray kidnappings.”

  “Roger that, please hold.”

  The other officer ordered Barry and Levine to the rear of the vehicle and instructed them to lie down next to their friends, then radioed the officers at the other end of the roadblock to bring up their handcuffs and some plasticuffs, temporary plastic binds used when no cuffs were available. Barry moaned at having to lie on the wet tarmac with the rain bouncing down all around him, but he got little sympathy.

  Fisher read each of them their rights and all acknowledged him, except for Barry.

  “I'm not one of them,” he pleaded. “I'm just the driver. They hired me to bring them here.”

  “He's telling the truth,” Levine said, glad of the opportunity to be rid of him, but Fisher was having none of it.

  “Two-Five, be advised, we have no available units at this time. You are requested to escort them to the command centre outside the old Sussex Renaissance Potteries building on the B3387.”

  The officer recognised that as the location of the old pottery factory in which Tom Gray was holed up, and it wasn't very far away. The only problem was how to transport them. Two other armed officers ran over and they began securing their suspects, and he used this time to come up with a plan of action.

  His decision was to load them back into the minibus, and he climbed into the driver's seat while one of his colleagues sat in the back to keep an eye on the prisoners.

  “Isn't this against health and safety regulations?” Paul Bennett asked whimsically. “Shouldn't we have seatbelts or something?”

  “Shut it,” the officer in the back chided. “No talking.”

  Ideally Fisher would have kept the prisoners separated so that they couldn't formulate a defence against any upcoming charges, but without the manpower it was impossible. Besides, he thought, they had been hiding out together for a while now, which meant they had already had more than enough opportunity to get their stories straight. Couple that with the short journey time and he didn't think it would make much of a difference.

  Thankfully, none of them felt like talking, and they arrived at the outer perimeter within six minutes. Having radioed ahead, they were waved through the checkpoint and drove the last few hundred yards to the command vehicle, where they found Evan Davies waiting for them.

  “Just leave them in the vehicle,” he told Fisher as he climbed out. “Someone will be here shortly to pick them up.”

  “Can you arrange transport to take us back to the roadblock?” the officer asked.

  “No need. These guys will be transferred to another vehicle soon, then you can take the minibus back.”

  Davies looked through the windows and put names to faces for all of the passengers apart from Barry.

  “Who's that?” he asked Fisher.

  “Claims to be just the driver.”

  “Let him go,” Davies said.

  “Sir?”

  “Release him,” Davies said, emphasising each syllable.

  “But Sir, he might be an accomplice. Shouldn't we at least – “

  “We have our orders,” the Superintendent broke in. “Someone will be along in thirty minutes to collect the eight suspects. It's out of our hands now.”

  “Do you want me to go down to the station with them? I am the arresting officer, after all.”

  “I doubt they'll be going anywhere near a police station,” Davies told him. “The orders came from the very top, so we just do as we're told. Get the driver out and stick him in the command vehicle for now. You can take him with you when you leave.”

  Fisher did as instructed, but with a sense of betrayal: This was the biggest arrest of his career, and no-one would hear about it. It probably wouldn't even be a factor when he came up for promotion and that really pissed him off, and in turn he was a little aggressive as he dragged Barry from the back of the minibus.

  Levine wasn't impressed with his manner. “Take it easy,” he said. “The guy's done nothing wrong. Wrong place at the wrong time, that's all.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Fisher snarled. “You should be more concerned about your own safety.”

  Levine snorted. "I think we can handle a couple of hours in a police cell."

  “You should be so lucky,” Fisher said as he slammed the door closed.

  “What's he talking about?” Levine asked.

  “No idea,” the officer in the back of the van said. “Just keep quiet.”

  * * *

  Harvey had watched the whole affair at the farm house on the video link provided by the helicopter and heard every word through his comms unit. When the confirmation came in that Sally was alive he was relieved beyond measure, and called the emergency services, just to be on the safe side.

  “Ambulance on its way,” Harvey confirmed. “I'm coming in.”

  He gunned his motor which resulted in him fishtailing around on the wet grass. He soon realised that slowly was going to be the quickest way out of the field, but once on the open road he floored the accelerator and was outside the farmhouse in no time.

  Blythe was waiting at the back door by the time he arrived, having jogged in from the LUP. Harvey took off his comms gear and handed it back. “Thanks.”

  “Keep it,” Blythe said. “You have comms to the police manning the roadblocks, and you can guide us in if they find anything. Meanwhile, we'll head back to our vehicles and wait to hear from you.”

  “What about Gray? Is that assignment over?”

  “It is for us. We would be unlikely to get the orders to take him down at this late stage, and the more pressing need is to find these terrorists. It's better to stay here, in the centre of the search area, so that we can deploy in any direction at a moment's notice.”

  “That's good to hear,” Harvey said. “Nice take down, by the way. Was there no way of taking him alive, though?”

  “I don't second guess the squad leaders. If x-ray one had complied he'd still be with us, but he made his choice, and we don't take any chances. At least he got a warning shout, and that is not something we do every day.”

  Which is why they had built up such a fearsome reputation, Harvey thought.

  He remembered the Balcombe Street siege in December 1975. Four suspected members of a Provisional Irish Republican Army Active Service Unit were chased through London after shooting at a Mayfair restaurant. This led to a six-day standoff in a block of flats, during which the four suspects held a married couple hostage. Negotiations were going nowhere, so knowing the suspects were following the events on the news, the authorities leaked information that the SAS had turned up to end the siege. They promptly freed the hostages and surrendered.

  “I'll go and speak to Sally, see if she can give us a clue as to what Mansour is planning."

  He found her sitting on the couch, the bed sheet wrapped tightly around her, rocking gently back and forth.

  The marks on her face looked superficial, but the real damage would be the psychological scars. She would get all the help she needed from the service, that was for sure, and eventually she would forget this episode, or at least learn to live with it. For now, though, he wanted her to recollect as much as possible.

 

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