‘God, you fool,’ whispered Ballatyne, just as the gunman braced himself and shot the officer, who was flung over backwards by the force of the bullet.
The shooter stepped forward, shaking his head, while his companion paused only to lash out at the other officer with his pistol, knocking him unconscious. He then hurled another grenade along the corridor before stepping smartly with his colleague inside an open doorway to wait for the blast.
‘This is unreal,’ said Ballatyne. ‘Didn’t they see the cameras?’
‘Far from it.’ Paynter tapped the keys again, and the scene showed the two men passing beneath another camera. This time the shorter of the two looked up and grinned, then winked before calmly shooting out the lens. ‘They knew they were being filmed all right. They just didn’t care.’
Ballatyne walked over to the door and back, puffing his cheeks in frustration. ‘I know why, too: because they’ll be gone and out of the country before we can get a lead on them. Can we have prints of these two?’
Paynter nodded. ‘Already done.’ He turned to the support officer, who handed him a stack of still photos. ‘These are already going out to all units and ports.’
‘Too bloody late!’ Ballatyne muttered with unaccustomed venom. ‘Harry?’
‘Like McCreath said, it’s Ganic and Zubac,’ he replied. ‘He reckoned they’d come for him. He wasn’t wrong.’
THIRTY-FIVE
‘Right. Next question: how did they find him?’ Ballatyne was suddenly calm again, working logically through the situation and assessing what had happened. . and how.
Paynter was already ahead of him. ‘Is the prisoner still here?’
‘McCreath? Yes, downstairs. Why?’
‘If they located him inside a building like this, they either had someone on the inside or he’s carrying a tracking device.’
‘He claims he chose the place on impulse,’ said Ballatyne. ‘They wouldn’t have had time to set up an insider.’
‘Then it’s a device. I already checked his personal effects in the property box, and they’re clean. We’ll have to do a body search.’
‘Bloody Nora,’ Ballatyne murmured. ‘You can wear the rubber gloves, then. Come on.’ He signalled to the support officer to lead them downstairs to where McCreath was being held. In spite of his close shave with death, the staff sergeant looked remarkably calm, as if the sudden burst of action had regenerated him and settled his nerves.
Paynter asked him to stand up, then examined his clothing, checking the collar and cuffs of his shirt and moving down to his shoes, which he’d been allowed to keep but without the laces.
‘If he’s carrying any kind of tracker,’ Paynter explained as he worked, ‘it will be located in the shoes, the belt or the thicker parts of his clothing. There’s no belt, which is the easiest place to put it, so that narrows it down. Can you remove your shoes and trousers, please?’
McCreath did so. Paynter checked the shoes first, placing them to one side. Then he studied the trousers, working through the front, pockets and waistline. When he reached the turn-ups, he grunted and took out a slim knife. Slitting open the turn-up on the right leg, he removed a lightweight brown resin biscuit, no bigger than a mobile phone SIM card.
‘Neat,’ he commented. ‘GSM tracker. Not one of ours, but nice.’ He held it up for the others to see, turning it over to reveal a small silver disc embedded in one side. ‘Battery. Probably lasts a hundred hours, with a range of fifty metres or so.’ He handed it to Ballatyne. ‘If they knew which building he was in, all they’d have to do was get close to an outside wall with the monitor and wait for a signal. Once inside, though, they’d still need directions to find out which floor he was on.’ He took a small device from his pocket. It had an array of buttons and a tiny aerial. He switched it on and one of the lights lit up.
‘If it’s so simple,’ Ballatyne growled, ‘why didn’t you use your little toy in the first place?’
Paynter gave him a patient look and said, ‘I like to keep my hand in. Like reading a map book instead of a satnav, technology doesn’t always provide the answers.’
‘Smart arse.’ Ballatyne looked at McCreath, who was pulling his trousers back on. ‘Did you know about this?’
McCreath gave him a look of contempt. ‘What, you think I’m suicidal? I wanted to get away from the bastards, not have them jumping all over me. They must have got at my clothes and planted that thing when I was asleep in the hotel.’
Harry caught Ballatyne’s eye. ‘We need to find out more. Do you have time?’
‘Why not?’ He nodded to Paynter, who waved a hand and left, while Harry signalled for McCreath to take a seat and pulled up a chair opposite.
‘Tell me who you met, give me descriptions, names — even nicknames — and anything else you can think of.’
McCreath nodded. ‘I’ll try, but there’s not much to tell. Tom Deakin was first. He must be mid-forties, hard-looking, not easy to talk to. But he’s the boss; seems to make all the decisions. I found him pushy, to be honest. Impatient and edgy, as if he was living on his nerves.’
‘Who else?’
‘A Yank. I didn’t get his name, although I heard Deakin call him “Turp”. Forty-ish, skinny but looks as hard as nails. Calm, though, unlike Deakin. Ex-US airborne.’
‘He told you that?’
‘No. He’s got a One-oh-One Airborne tat on his wrist; an eagle’s head and banner. I saw it once when he scratched his arm. I’ve seen them before. From the way he talked, I got the impression he’s the admin guy.’
Harry made a note. ‘How’s that?’
‘He talked about the money. . how they’d get it to me, the transfer through bank accounts offshore, how I’d need to choose passwords and where I’d want the deposits made. I mean, I handle my own financial stuff, like insurance and bank accounts, but he was using a whole different language, like an expert. He was “Turp” and Deakin was “Deak”. They seemed pretty tight.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Apart from the nut-jobs who stormed this place, you mean? I met them at the hotel Deakin kept me in near Brussels — a four-star block near the ring road. They never said much, and they weren’t there all the time. They’d turn up without warning, then disappear again. But it was like they were letting me know they were watching me all the same. They said there was another guy around when they weren’t going to be there, but I never saw him.’
‘Names?’
‘Ganic and Zubac. Don’t know their first names — we never got that friendly. They’re Bosnians. . ex-military or militia, I’m not sure. Zubac’s the boss; he’s the smaller one, but not by much. Ganic is scary and doesn’t care who knows it. There’s not a lot goes on behind the face, if you know what I mean. I’ve seen guys like him before: dead on the inside. Wouldn’t surprise me if they’ve buried a few where they come from.’
Harry didn’t bother asking him where the hotel was; he was sure Ballatyne already had that covered. Besides, he was sure that the Protectory would have had it cleaned, checked and sanitized of anything incriminating.