‘Teams Alpha One and Two, take positions. You go on my command.’
Langton could see out through the one-way glass onto the boat deck, to where five SWAT team officers crawled on their bellies with their weapons, while the man dressed in the Arab outfit cavorted with two girls on a sofa and the others played in the Jacuzzi. Deans beckoned Langton over to him and a close-up picture of the boat appeared on the largest screen.
‘As soon as you recognize him, I’ll give the command to go.’
Langton had faced many frightening situations in his career, even being close to death when he was stabbed in the stomach. But now he felt unbelievably tense as he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He was conscious that others in the room might notice but then realized that everyone was focused on the screen as the boat drew up alongside the jetty. The man piloting the boat was Mexican-looking, as was the other man on the deck. Langton was thankful this was the case as he recalled Deans saying there were only three people on board.
A tall white man appeared on the deck of the target boat, at least six feet four, wearing a turtleneck sweater, jeans and a baseball cap. On the night-vision camera his clothing seemed all black apart from his white trainers,
‘Yes or no?’ Deans asked Langton as the camera zoomed into the man’s face.
Langton stepped nearer to the screen but frustratingly the peak of the man’s cap was pulled low, almost touching his nose. The camera started to zoom in even closer but the man jumped from the boat onto the jetty and started to walk towards the house.
‘I need an answer, Langton,’ Deans said, as the camera zoomed in and out to refocus on the suspect.
‘It could be him,’ Langton replied.
Deans glared at him. ‘Could be is not fucking good enough. I can’t risk him getting inside the house.’
‘Well get the fucking camera to focus on his face,’ Langton retorted. He suddenly found his mind flashing back to the murder team office in London, to the moment Fitzpatrick had fooled him by posing as an FBI agent and then calmly walked out of the station. The walk, it was the walk – slightly hunched shoulders, head down and an arrogant swagger, but pigeon-toed. Langton concentrated hard as the man took another step towards the house, and in that instant he knew it was Fitzpatrick.
‘Yes, it’s him,’ Langton said confidently as he turned and looked at Deans.
‘Go go go!’ Deans shouted down his mike.
Langton’s attention was suddenly drawn to another screen to the right of Deans.
The ear-piercing boom of an exploding thunder flash made the FBI boat rock and at the same time a smoke bomb ignited between Fitzpatrick and the villa. But Langton was focused on what he could see on the other screen, where the young boy was at the villa’s patio doors and opening them. Langton instinctively knew he was going out to greet his father. No one else in the control room had noticed as their attention was fixed on the main screen and Fitzpatrick. Like a man possessed, Langton ran from the control room, onto the deck and jumped down onto the jetty. The SWAT team were already in front of him and darkness turned to day as floodlights from the FBI boat lit up the garden. He could see Fitzpatrick on the grass verge; he was frozen to the spot. The cloud from the smoke bomb was being carried by the breeze towards the dealer and towered over him like an enormous foaming wave. SWAT team agents were screaming, ‘Armed FBI, get down on the ground!’
‘THE BOY’S IN THE LINE OF FIRE!’ Langton screamed at the top of his voice, running as fast as he could.
Fitzpatrick suddenly pulled a gun from his rear pocket, but before he could even raise it the sound of rapid gunfire filled the air. Langton could only watch as the power of the bullets physically lifted Fitzpatrick off the ground and sprays of blood spurted from the entry wounds glistening in the floodlights.
Everyone stopped in their tracks, as smoke covered most of the area where Fitzpatrick lay, apart from his feet, which weren’t moving. Warily, the SWAT agents inched forward, their guns trained on the dealer, but Langton knew he was dead. Concerned only for the safety of the son, he sped past the agents. On reaching Fitzpatrick’s body he could see through the smoke that the young boy was motionless and partially lying over the top of his father. Langton turned and looked back towards the jetty, where the two Mexican men had been apprehended and Deans was walking towards him.
‘You were so fucking interested in Fitzpatrick you didn’t see the boy. He’s dead because of your trigger happy attitude!’ Langton shouted.
‘We have a job to do, Langton,’ Deans roared, striding forward. ‘Fitzpatrick endangered the boy’s life when he pulled a gun and you nearly compromised the whole operation.’
On hearing the sound of someone sobbing, Langton turned and found that the boy, covered in blood, was now kneeling on the grass. He had thought at first that the boy had been shot but he could see there were no holes in his white T-shirt and slowly it dawned on him it was Fitzpatrick’s blood.
The boy stared at Langton, terrified, wiping the tears from his eyes.
‘Langton? You’re Langton?’ he said. Gone was the American accent, his high-pitched voice was impeccably English.
Langton nodded, putting out his hand to help the boy up. The boy raised his right hand and pointed his father’s gun at Langton’s chest, his voice turning into a shriek.
‘You did this to my father, you killed him like you did my mother!’
Langton looked at the boy and realized that his eyes had changed from terror to total hatred. He braced himself, waiting for the bullet to enter his body.
‘Put the gun down, son,’ Deans said. Langton could see that all the SWAT team had their weapons pointed at the boy. The boy ignored them and with a trembling hand kept the gun aimed at Langton.
‘Don’t force my men to shoot you, son. Just put the gun down,’ Deans said coldly.
Langton stepped closer to the boy to block off their line of fire and shouted at Deans to get his men to back off. He presumed that if the boy was going to shoot him, he would have done it by now, but more than anything he didn’t want to see an innocent child killed for his father’s sins.
‘What’s your name?’ Langton asked as he slowly knelt down in front of him.
Deans, clearly furious at Langton’s actions but unwilling to exacerbate the situation, ushered his men to step back and lower their weapons. The boy’s lower lip trembled, his whole body shaking as Langton asked him again.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Jonathan.’
‘Listen to me, Jonathan: I swear to you that I didn’t kill your mother.’
The boy was shaking even harder, trying unsuccessfully to control himself, but still dangerous because as terrified as he was he still held the gun in his hand.
‘My father said you did, you were chasing her and caused the car crash that killed her. She died because of you.’
Langton knew that the truth was very different; yes, someone had tampered with the brakes on the car, but, although never proved, it was thought to have been Fitzpatrick, so he could take his son from her.
Keeping his voice steady he held the boy’s attention. ‘It was men who were looking for your father, they were drug dealers who he owed money to, and they rammed your mother’s car off the road.’
‘That’s a lie, my father wasn’t a drug dealer!’ Jonathan shrieked, and the gun waved from side to side.
Langton raised his voice, firmly and steadily, maintaining direct eye contact with the boy.
‘Look around you, Jonathan; all this wealth, the boats and planes, continually moving from place to place.’
Langton paused and he could see that Jonathan’s gun hand was now beginning to drop a little as he was thinking about what Langton was saying. ‘Look over there, to the boat your father came in – that’s cocaine and a drug called fentanyl the FBI are unloading.’