Melissa’s words raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Someone had seen the logistical problems of removing caesium from the hospital, just like I had. And they’d realised it would be easier to take the stuff if it was already outside the vault. But when they’d joined the pieces of the puzzle, they’d come up with a subtly different solution. One that could be even more effective. And in a case like this, effective equates to lethal.
“Where’s the helicopter got to?” I said.
“Half way back to base by now, I should think,” Melissa said. “Why?”
“Well, I know you’re desperate to get your hands back on the caesium as quickly as possible. But here’s a thought. Are you sure you want to stop the van right away? Why not follow it? See where they’re taking the stuff. That way, maybe we could scoop up whoever they’re planning to hand it off to, as well.”
“That’s risky,” she said, after a moment. “I don’t like the idea of that stuff on the loose for any longer than it needs to be. But I guess you’re right. Jones is already whistling up another hazmat crew. I’ll have him get the chopper back, and see if he can get hold of any more of our people, pronto.”
Melissa picked up her phone and was half way through giving Jones his instructions when we reached a roundabout. It came sooner than I’d expected, because it was the last point on the route the MI5 agent had reported. He’d called in a right turn. Melissa was driving much faster now, and she had to hit the brakes hard as we came to our exit. Because the road was blocked. By a car, slewed sideways across the carriageway. A silver Vauxhall. The driver’s side was completely caved in. Both windows were smashed, and two male figures lay slumped in the front seats.
Melissa swerved and came to a stop behind the remains of the car. She glanced back at the agents. Then looked forward, along the road. It was completely empty. There was no sign of the vehicle that had caused the accident. And no sign of the white Mercedes van.
Chapter Thirteen
There are times when improvisation is your only option. There are times where you have to just cross your fingers and ride your luck. But nine times out of ten - as my father used to say - you can’t beat having the right tools for the job. And in this case, Melissa and her people had the right tools. A GPS transponder concealed in the truck carrying the caesium, and a helicopter to track its signal.
We drove for three more miles, then left the car next to a wrecked phone box and covered another hundred yards on foot. It was dark. None of the streetlights were working, and we had to move slowly to avoid tripping on the cracked and cratered road surface. The weather wasn’t extreme enough in that part of Croydon to account for the damage, so I put it down to abuse from the trucks that used to serve the abandoned freight depots we passed on both sides.
The eight agents who’d been following the decoy truck were waiting for us, weapons drawn, bodies tense, pressed up close to the eight foot wall at the far end of the street. No sound reached us from the other side, but we knew we were in the right place. The MI5 technicians had supplied the co-ordinates they’d derived from the van’s transponder signal, and the helicopter pilot circling high overhead had visually confirmed it was still there. The four occupants were still with it, but there was no sign of anyone else in the surrounding buildings. That meant there was a good chance we’d found them before they’d rendezvoused with their contacts. Now we just had to find a way into the compound without giving them the chance to raise an alarm. And without damaging the caesium containers.
Melissa told four of the agents to prepare their Kevlar blankets for spreading over the glass shards embedded on top of the wall. Then she dispatched the other four to the far side of the compound, to mop up anyone who tried to escape. “Squirters,” she called them.
It took the first agent three minutes to report he was in position. The next two confirmed within another thirty seconds. That just left one more to call in, and Melissa was starting to get a little jumpy when the helicopter pilot cut across him.
“Hold, hold, hold,” the pilot said, on the radio. “Movement.”
Everyone froze.
“Two suspects,” he said. “Breaking away from the van. Heading for the rear wall. No, ignore that. For the main building. They’re going inside. I’m switching to heat-sensing. OK. They’re still moving. Slower now, though. Looks like they’re starting a room by room search of the place.”
“Where are the other two?” Melissa said.
“No change,” he said. “Holding position at the van.”
“OK,” she said. “Change of plan. This is what we’re going to do.”
The agents huddled for a moment while Melissa ran through her new instructions, then one pair moved away towards the heavy double gate set into the wall forty feet away. They looked back, checking their colleagues were ready, then one of them banged twice on the wood.
“Movement,” the pilot said. “One suspect. Leaving the van. Approaching the gate.”
“The two in the building?” Melissa said.
“No change,” he said. “Looks like they’re continuing to search. OK, the first suspect’s reaching the gate... now.”
“Who is it?” a man’s voice said from inside the compound.
“Who do you think?” the agent who’d knocked said. “Open the gate.”
“Where have you been? You’re late.”
“Took longer to get here. It’s all kicked off at the hospital, apparently. Had to make sure we weren’t followed. Now let’s get this over with. Open the gate, or I’m out of here and you’ll be the one holding the baby when the police turn up.”
I heard a rustling sound as the stiff Kevlar blankets were eased into place, behind me. There was a pause, followed by an angry squeak as the gate was jerked back a couple of inches. Then the nearest agent raised a square, yellow and grey handgun and fired through the gap.
“Suspect one down,” the pilot said, and I turned just in time to see the other pair of agents disappear over the wall.
“Suspect two down,” he said, a second later. “Compound clear.”
Melissa and I hurried to the gate, and I saw a man lying in our path on the far side, twitching slightly, still attached by the neck to the agent’s gun with a pair of transparent wires. Melissa glanced at him, then hurried towards the van where the other pair of agents was waiting. They were standing over another man’s body. This guy was wearing similar overalls, but he was completely inert. It looked like they’d taken care of him the old-fashioned way.
“Have you looked inside?” Melissa said.
One of the agents nodded.
“And?” she said.
“They’re all there,” he said. “Four canisters, battened down, safe and sound.”
Melissa let out a long, slow, sigh of relief, but I have a less trusting nature. I felt compelled to look for myself. The rear cargo doors were standing open, and the space inside was dominated by eight pairs of metal arms. They were bolted to the floor via heavy duty rubber shock-absorbers, twelve inches from the van’s reinforced sides, and each pair met in the centre, three feet above the armoured floor. The jaws at the top of the four outer sets were empty, but the others were clamped around shiny metal canisters. They looked identical to the ones I’d seen being wheeled through the hospital garden, except for the coloured discs that had been attached to the seam where the lids met the bodies. They were radiation indicators. And all four were green.