Less than three minutes later they were outside the hotel. Turpowicz turned to Deakin and muttered, ‘Christ, Deak, what did you just sign us up to? You promised Charlie Chan back there that we’d bring him Tan within five days? We don’t even know where she is!’
Deakin looked unconcerned as he walked back to their car. ‘Then we’d better find her, hadn’t we? You heard him: they’re interested and they’ll pay big bucks. That’s good enough for me. This would be the biggest sale we’ll ever make.’
‘That’s if we get her to the church on time. But how? She’s out there in the frigging wind! So far there’s been no sign of her, none of the usual flags going up when someone cuts and runs. All your guy in London can give us is her service details and some useless crap about home, but there’s no substance.’ He shook his head and got in the passenger seat. ‘If we don’t deliver on time, that guy back there will cut our balls off. Nobody gives away a case full of money that easily, especially the Chinese.’
Deakin shrugged and switched on his mobile, checking for messages. There were two texts. The first was news from Ganic, and made him curse aloud. They had lost another one. While the Bosnians were busy dealing with Barrow, another target had had a change of heart. He’d slipped away from the hotel outside Brussels where they had installed him and was heading for the UK. They had missed him by minutes but had picked up his trail and were asking for instructions.
‘What’s up?’ said Turpowicz.
Deakin ignored him, and was already composing a reply. There was no point in trying to persuade the target to come back; it was too late for that. But he’d met Deakin and could identify Turpowicz and the Bosnians. To prevent him talking, there could only be one outcome. He sent a terse text back to Zubac. Cancel the contract. The Bosnians would know what to do. He finally looked at Turpowicz. ‘Another one down. McCreath’s done a runner from the hotel. They think he’s heading for London.’
‘I thought we’d him won over to the idea.’
‘Me, too. He must have had a change of heart.’ He gave an almost buoyant smile. ‘Never mind, there’s plenty more where he came from. Get hold of Nicholls and Paulton and get them to focus harder on Tan’s trail. She could make up for all of the losses so far. Someone must have an idea of where she is.’
The American took out his phone ready to make the call, then said, ‘What about the guy who found Barrow? If he’s so hot he might lead us right to her.’
Deakin nodded. ‘Maybe he will. I don’t care what we have to do, but this one’s not getting away from us, you hear?’ Deakin checked the second text message and grinned. ‘Well, speak of the devil. Our man’s name is Tate. . and he’s a bloody warrant officer in the British army. How about that?’ He switched off the phone and dropped it in his pocket, then turned the ignition, suddenly energized by the news. ‘You were right, Turp; all we have to do is find Tate and see where he goes next. And when he leads us to Tan, we’ll have her and we can get him out of our hair. Permanently.’
TWENTY-NINE
It was seven the following morning when Harry’s bedside phone rang. He rolled over and took the call, wincing at stiff muscles after the journey back from Germany. It was Ballatyne and he sounded hyped.
‘Some news,’ the MI6 man said. ‘We might have a serious lead on Deakin and his crew. Staff Sergeant Gerry McCreath just walked into a south London police station and asked for protection. He says his life is in danger.’
‘I think I know the feeling.’
‘He had a meeting with Deakin and an American in Belgium. They pitched him a deal to provide a ton of information on the latest trial versions of NATO operational networks and communications in return for cash — a lot of it. He agreed in principle, and was told to stay low and given an open-ended account at a hotel outside the city. They said they’d call him with details of the next stage and make a first payment. Can you believe it? “Agreed in principle”. These people amaze me. They think selling secrets is like signing up to a bloody mortgage.’
‘What made him run?’
‘He heard about Pike. Seems they trained together, although he hadn’t seen him for a while. McCreath had been away from his home base playing Action Man stuff with the Air Assault Brigade. He got wounded and decided he’d had enough of being chucked out of helicopters and being shot at, so he went on the run to sort himself out. He got a lead from a mate about the Protectory, and next thing he knows is, he’s been approached by Deakin and offered a way out.’
‘Deakin wouldn’t have told him about Pike, though.’
‘No. He says he heard about it from the same friend. He started to get worried that he might end up in a ditch somewhere, so he ducked out and headed back to England by train and boat.’
‘Why south London?’
‘He used to live in the Brixton area. Probably figured he could go to ground and get lost.’
It was no surprise to Harry. Most runners headed for the familiar by instinct, looking for comfort in any place where they felt safe. They usually didn’t realize that it was the worst thing they could have done until a knock sounded on the door.
‘He claims he saw a face in the crowd on the way over,’ Ballatyne continued. ‘A man named Zubac — a Bosnian. He travels with a man called Ganic. McCreath says they’re enforcers for the Protectory, ex-militia or military, he reckons, and highly nasty. Sounds as if they’re the men who killed Pike and Barrow. If they’re that close behind McCreath, they’ve only got one thing in mind. I’ve cleared your entry down at Brixton. The sooner we question him the better.’
Harry swung out of bed. ‘I’m on my way.’
THIRTY
Milan Zubac was studying a small electronic box on his lap, eyes on a set of coloured lights numbered Level 1 to 5. He was slowly turning a dial on its side. When the level 5 light glowed red he nodded to his friend and former Bosnian army colleague, Zlatco Ganic, who was behind the wheel of their car, an anonymous Vauxhall Corsa.
‘He is here. Time to go.’
Ganic took a last drag of a Marlboro and flicked it out of the window, where it bounced in a shower of sparks before dropping through a drain cover. From where they were sitting, they could see the rear gates of a large building, and through the bars, the colourful flash of police vehicles. It was barely nine in the morning and everything seemed quiet apart from an irregular flow of police cars entering or leaving the compound behind the gates. But they had no illusions; this was a busy station and things would change dramatically the moment they got inside. Once they began, there was no going back.
Ganic gave a wry smile and uncoiled his heavy, six-foot frame ready to get out of the car. ‘This time,’ he said with exaggerated courtesy, ‘I think you should go first, my friend. It is only fair.’
Zubac shrugged and reached for a heavy rucksack between his feet. ‘OK by me,’ he said. ‘You can play the tail of the dog if you like.’ He opened the bag and took out two 9mm Ruger SR9 handguns and half a dozen black cylindrical objects each with two pull rings and a safety lever. American-made M84 stun grenades or ‘flash-bangs’, they held a mix of magnesium and ammonium, and were designed to distract and disorientate anyone in an enclosed space. He passed Ganic one Ruger with a seventeen-shot magazine and a spare, along with three stun grenades, then slung the bag with the remaining handgun and grenades over his shoulder. If they had to use all seventeen shots plus spares, then they were in trouble. But he didn’t plan on that happening. You won in these situations by always going prepared.
They climbed out and checked the street in both directions. Police activity this close to the station was likely to be heavy, and although the car was done with and they wouldn’t be coming back to it, there was no future in being stopped by a policeman or traffic warden for parking in a restricted area before they even began the next stage of their plan. When Zubac was satisfied, he nodded to Ganic and the two men walked along the street and turned in at the barred gates.