Meltdown (15 page)

The black limo pulled away from its parking space.

'Stand by! Stand by! That's the Merc mobile.'

Fergus could barely hear what was going on amid
the noise of the crowd after the penalty. It was
deafening. Everyone was standing, yelling and
clapping, delighted that their team had scored
another goal. He fought his way along the row of
seats past the cheering supporters.

As he reached the end, he looked up towards the
box and cursed. Kubara was making a move
earlier than he'd anticipated. He paused to check that
he could be heard over the noise of the crowd.

'Fergus foxtrot. Danny, you still have?'

'Danny has. Stop! Stop! Stop! That's the Merc static outside
exit gate. Engine still running . . . He's on his mobile.'

'Roger that! If they leave now, there is no way I can get to
you! Take them! Danny confirm!'

'Roger that!'

'Good! Deveraux, we need an air assist to take over from
Danny with your team on board. We need to stick with the
target at all costs – they could be going anywhere in Europe!
Deveraux acknowledge!'

Deveraux was already on the phone to Dudley.
'Range, anywhere in Europe. And big enough to
take my team and' – she almost spat out the last
words – 'Watts and the boy.'

Fergus was still waiting.

'Deveraux acknowledge!'

'Dudley is arranging transport now.'

Fergus was still battling his way through the
crowd, desperate to reach Danny so that they could
take the Mercedes together. They would follow
until Deveraux and her team were airborne and
could pick them up.

'Roger that. We can't take Kubara yet. Not until we know
where the DMP is back in the UK. We must co-ordinate both
attacks or one side could warn off the other.'

Deveraux angrily hissed back her reply.

'I
know
that.'

She could see that Kubara was talking to his
bodyguard. He was speaking very quietly – too quietly
for the microphone in the TV set to pick up
what was being said. As the bodyguard made his
way back towards the rear of the box, the twins
caught a glimpse of the Makarov semi-automatic
pistol he was wearing beneath his jacket. They
glanced at each other fearfully.

Kubara turned to them and smiled. 'You boys are
OK, yes? You look forward to your trip?'

The twins said nothing and Kubara issued
another stark warning. 'Remember, I need only
one of you. If either of you attempts to run or call
for help, I will kill one twin and do whatever else
is necessary so that I can leave safely.' He glared at
them. 'You understand that I am speaking the
truth?'

Without waiting for an answer, he went out of the
box and into the corridor, heading for the exit.

As they walked down the carpeted corridor,
followed by the bodyguard, they heard another
huge roar of delight erupting from the Nou
Camp.

Kubara shook his head. 'A tragedy to miss such a
match.'

Danny had the trigger.

'Stand by! Stand by! That's the twins and Kubara and body-guard
getting into the Merc. Wait . . . wait . . . That's now
mobile towards the main. Deveraux, I'm gonna need some
help around here. The tracker working?'

Danny's mobile was being tracked by Spanish
intelligence and Deveraux's monitor would pinpoint
Danny's position to within ten square
metres.

'We have you. Just keep with the target.'

'Roger that. That's at the main and turning right, towards
the roundabout.'

Danny made the right turn and fell into the traffic,
two cars back.

'Target at the roundabout. Pass first option . . . pass second
option . . . pass third. He's turning back!'

Fergus had finally made it out of the stadium and
was heading towards Deveraux's office.

'That's anti-surveillance! Don't go with him!'

Danny took the third option and the Merc drove
all the way around the circle of flowers and back in
the direction it had come. But not for long.

'That's the Merc unsighted.'

As soon as the Merc driver was out of sight of
the roundabout, he cut across the oncoming traffic
and headed back the way he had come. Drivers
hit their horns, jammed on their brakes, swore
and shook their fists as he swerved his way through
the traffic.

'Merc still unsighted. I'm checking.'

Danny spun the Corsa round the roundabout, looking
down all the exit roads for the Mercedes.

'Danny has a possible. First option.'

He took the first turn and pushed forward
through the traffic, trying to make out the black
shape in the distance.

Inside the Merc, the atmosphere was calmer,
for Kubara at least, as the air con gently blew
out cooling air. The bodyguard was in the front
passenger seat and Kubara was in the back, sitting
between the twins, his arms around them like
the kindly uncle Will had imagined. He pulled
them close. 'Don't worry about the driving,' he said.
'He's just making sure none of your friends are
following.'

The twins looked at each other but said nothing.
It seemed that the Bosnian knew everything.

Kubara turned to Teddy. 'Now, I want you to
make some phone calls to your people in England.
Let me find your phone for you.' He reached into
his jacket pocket and brought out a mobile.

Teddy took it wordlessly and looked at Kubara
for further instructions.

'Good boy. Call your people. Tell them we need a
new consignment of Meltdown prepared. They will
begin now, tonight; get your scientists to work
together – I know they don't normally work like
that—'

Teddy interrupted. He'd been desperately trying
to think of anything that might stop Kubara, or even
hold up his plan. 'But our security is here in
Barcelona, with the coaches. There's no one in the
UK to protect the process and—'

'Enough!
No more excuses. I cannot afford a delay
in supplies while you are organizing the new
factory. We will let them know about transportation
to Europe. Just get them making it. I want full
production now.'

Teddy looked at his brother. Every order that
Kubara gave them seemed one more step closer to
their elimination. It was obvious that he was only
going to keep them alive for as long as he needed
them.

And Kubara's next words confirmed that every
member of the operation was marked down for
elimination once he had everything he wanted:
'You will give the names of the two chemists you
use, and where they live.'

'Danny has! Danny has! That's the Merc now heading out of
the city. Don't know the name of the road but heading west.'

Deveraux look down at the tracking monitor.

'We have you.'

Lee was still unconscious in his private hospital
bed. His mouth was covered with an oxygen
mask, a drip fed into his arm and there was a
constant blip from the heart-monitor. There
had been complications: the knife had sliced into
one of his kidneys and the blood loss during
the long wait for emergency treatment had been
severe.

Phil stood looking down at him. He didn't know
what to say. There were things he wanted to say, but
emotions never came easily to him. Not that Lee
would have heard a word he said.

So Phil talked about work. 'We'll find the DMP,
mate – don't worry. We'll find it and get them
all.'

He leaned down and whispered in Lee's ear,
'Albie's dead.' Phil smiled; he knew Lee would be
pleased. 'Blew himself up on Melt.'

Phil's mobile started to vibrate in his jacket. He
pulled it out and recognized the number; it was
Predator operations.

Mr Monotone was back. 'He's on the move, heading
north out of the city.'

'OK.'

Phil closed down the mobile and whispered to
Lee, 'Gotta go, mate. The doctors say you're stable
now. They reckon you'll be running about in a
couple of months. See you soon.'

Back in his car Phil hit the radio pressel. He spoke
urgently; this was the first time that Freddie had
driven out of Greater Manchester.

'That's Phil mobile. Where is he?'

The operator still spoke in the same flat
voice, sounding about as exciting as the speaking
clock.

'Still heading north on the A56, towards Prestwick and the
M60.'

In the Mini, Freddie saw the sign for the M60; it was
ten miles away. He was driving a lot faster than
usual. He'd been seriously spooked by the call he'd
taken from Teddy. He'd sounded strange. More
than strange; scared. And the orders he gave were
like no others before.

Freddie didn't like it, working together with the
other scientist and in the same place as last time. It
was all wrong; they never operated that way. He
hadn't even met the other guy. But he couldn't
refuse. If he didn't turn up, someone would come
looking for him; the threat was always there. He
couldn't run. Not this time.

Earlier in the day Freddie had seen the story in
the newspaper about Meltdown. Maybe the twins
had seen it too, and were panicking almost as much
as he was. He didn't care about riots on the streets,
or terrorists, or anything else. This had to be the last
one; he'd get himself a little bonus by slipping a few
packs of Meltdown into his pockets. Then he was
out of there, a long way away.

He pushed his foot down on the accelerator, his
greed a lot stronger than his common sense, which
was telling him to turn the car round and drive in
the other direction.

Mr Monotone came back on the net to Phil, who
was now clear of the city.

'Target is at the motorway now . . . Wait . . . Wait . . . He's
not taking it. That's the target still heading north on the A56
towards Bury.'

Phil hit the pressel.

'Roger that'

The Predator circled high above the target, cutting
through the night sky.

Forty thousand feet below, Phil followed the A56
as the operator came back with another fix on their
target.

'That's through Whitfield, still towards Bury.'

Phil remained calm and professional, but with a
growing feeling of optimism. This had to be the
break they'd been waiting for. Maybe at last he'd
have some good news to report to Fergus before the
night was out.

As Phil reached Whitfield, Mr Monotone came
back on the net.

'He's turning right . . . right. Off the A56, just halfway from
the motorway to Bury. Wait . . .'

Phil slowed down in case he passed the turning
Freddie had taken.

'The target has gone into the old airfield on the other side
of Hollins village. It's now an industrial estate. He's going into
one of the hangars. Wait . . . now unsighted.'

Phil had clocked the sign giving notice of Hollins
village.

'Which hangar? Which hangar?'

He was shouting as he turned right off the A56 for
Hollins.

Mr Monotone remained calm.

'Do you have NVGs?'

'Of course I've got them!'

'OK, I'll splash the hangar for you. Splashing now!'

Hollins village had come and gone and Phil
followed the signs for the industrial estate. The high
wire fence was still there, and so were the gates –
though they were permanently open these days,
one of them hanging off a single hinge at a strange
angle. Phil pulled his car off the road just before the
gates and turned off the lights.

He got out, went to the boot and pulled his NVGs
from the ready bag. Even before he put them on he
could see the semicircular outlines of the old
hangars as well as the other buildings. He put on
the ski-goggle-style NVGs. Instead of clear plastic
in the lenses there was black glass. They made Phil
look like a giant wasp.

Fitting the goggles over his face, he switched
them on and heard the gentle hum of the power
pack sparking up. Soon the world turned a hazy
green colour and Phil saw a beam of bright white
light burning its way down from the night clouds
and spreading out over one of the hangars on the
far side of the old runway. Like a jet of water hitting
concrete, the laser beam broke up and splashed outwards
from the top of the hangar.

Phil got back into the car, still with the goggles
on.

'Got it. You can turn off the laser.'

Within a couple of seconds, the beam disappeared
back up into the clouds. Headlights still off,
Phil drove towards the gates. He also hit the
cut-out switch beneath the dashboard so that there
would be no brake or reversing lights to give him
away.

He drove into the airfield, using the NVGs and
keeping to his side of the runway, well away from
the target hangar – he didn't want to be pinged
by anyone on stag outside. He parked up behind
a brick building, took off the goggles and picked
up his MP5 from under the rubber mat in the
passenger's footwell before getting out of
the car.

He checked that his Sig was firmly in its holster
and started towards the hangar. Then he stopped.
The hangar doors were opening, and Phil heard the
sound of a heavy engine. He looked back towards
the gates and saw a huge truck approaching.

The 4x4 screamed out of the city towards the airport
to meet up with their transport.

Fergus glanced at Deveraux, who was sitting in
front of him, as his mobile rang again.

It was Phil. When he spoke, his voice was calm
but Fergus could plainly hear the contained excitement.

'I think we're on to something. Could be a while,
but stand by.'

'Keep me informed,' said Fergus. It was all he
needed to say. Phil had only one objective: to locate
and destroy the DMP; there was no need to waste
time discussing the details.

Deveraux turned round to look at Fergus. 'Well?'

'Looks like we're making progress back in
the UK.'

She nodded. As always, she was focused on her
own side of the operation, but she was mindful of
Dudley's warning that her mission could not, and
would not, take priority over his.

Kubara's black Mercedes was now heading north,
deeper into the Catalan heartland, and Danny was
edging the Corsa closer in the darkness. All the
Merc driver would see was headlights in his rearview
mirror.

As soon as Teddy had made the calls Kubara had
requested, the bodyguard had taken the twins'
mobiles, ripped out the sim cards and batteries, and
dropped the phones and parts out of the window,
one after the other. No one was going to use the
phones' signals to get a fix on them.

But Danny was still following.

'No change. Ninety, one hundred Ks an hour, still heading
north.'

Fergus had taken over the net as Deveraux spoke
on her mobile to her team members at the airport.

'Roger that. Soon as we're airborne, we'll pick you up.'

'Need to be quick about it. That's the Merc turning left off
the main into darkness. I can't follow. Get a fix on me! Get a
fix!'

Danny slowed the Corsa as he saw the Merc's
headlights puncture the inky darkness to his left.
He wanted Fergus to know exactly where the turning
was. The mobile tracking would fix and confirm
that.

'Approaching the turning . . . Stand by . . . Now!'

Danny continued a little way down the road, then
pulled onto the verge and switched off the Corsa's
engine.

'Danny's foxtrot. I'll use the mobile.'

He grabbed the handycam, got out and ran, as the
Merc's lights disappeared into darkness about 1K
away.

Thorn bushes snagged at his jeans as he sprinted
over the dusty, undulating ground, holding the
handycam tightly. His mouth was dry and sweat
seeped from every pore; he ran as hard as he could.
Getting to the target was all that mattered.

He was no more than 200 metres away when he
heard the electronic whine. He knew immediately
what it was: a helicopter's rotor blades had started
to turn and were getting quicker as the engines
revved up.

Danny closed in on the target, powered up the
handycam, attached it to the phone and started
recording, using the powerful lens to make out the
details of the scene in front of him.

The Sikorsky S-92 helicopter stood waiting, its
huge rotor blades now at full speed. They were
cutting an enormous circle through the air and
pushing out a tremendous downdraught, throwing
dust into the air. Further away were the shapes of
derelict farm buildings and a tanker, which had
obviously been brought in to refuel the helicopter.

The S-92 was only for the seriously wealthy, the
Bill Gateses of the world, or rulers of oil-rich Arab
nations – or the top drug dealers like Enver Kubara.

The aircraft had been developed from Sikorsky's
S-70, US Army Black Hawk and US Navy Seahawk
helicopters. Its twin engines delivered massive
power and a flying range of over 600 nautical miles.

There were military and air-sea rescue versions of
the S-92, but it was the civilian version that stood
waiting for take-off. The aircraft raised helicopter
in-flight luxury to a different level. There was
room for no fewer than nineteen passengers to be
comfortably seated in leather, airliner-style seats
and there was a thick, shag pile carpet on the
floor – which meant that conversation could be
held at normal levels; there was even a fully stocked
bar.

Teddy and Will knew and cared nothing about
any of that as they were ordered out of the
Mercedes and bundled across the open ground,
crouching low and running towards the side door.

As he watched from the perimeter, Danny was
already on his mobile to Fergus. 'They're going
airborne.'

Teddy was first up the steps, followed quickly by
Will. They looked around the cabin. It was almost
like entering one of their own luxury coaches. But
the luxurious surroundings were not what made
them gasp with shock as they stepped inside.
Someone was sitting at the back of the aircraft.

It was Storm.

Kubara followed Teddy and Will and pushed
them down into their seats. Teddy looked at Storm,
then back at the Bosnian, and for once in his life he
tried to do the decent thing.

'There's no need to take her; she knows nothing.
She can't help you. Please, leave her here!'

Kubara simply ignored Teddy's plea. The bodyguard
climbed into the heli and pulled the door
shut. His boss was already instructing the pilot to
proceed with the take-off.

In a thunderous roar of sheer power, the helicopter
lifted into the night sky, and far below Danny
watched as it flew off towards the sea. Quickly he
ran back to his Corsa to make his report.

Inside the Sikorsky Teddy turned back to look at
Storm.

'I'm sorry, Storm,' he told her. 'I'm so, so sorry'