SIXTEEN
At the same moment as the two cars exploded, the seatbelt signs on a Boeing 747 aeroplane which had just finished taxiing on a Heathrow runway clicked off with a ding. In the next moment, passengers undid their seatbelts and rose, stepping out into the aisles, stretching, opening the overhead lockers to retrieve their hand luggage and getting ready to disembark.
It was the earliest flight to arrive from Washington, the 4:50 am direct from Dulles to London Heathrow. They had made good time, the flight five hours and forty minutes in total, the trans-Atlantic wind behind them shaving another forty minutes off the flight. Most of the people on board were businessmen and women or families returning from holidays, lots of suits and briefcases, sunburnt skin and noisy tired kids. Up ahead, the aisles started to clear as the passengers began to disembark, the airline staff standing to one side formally, smiling and thanking everyone for flying with them as they filed past
A small man dressed in a black sweater and blue jeans with scarring across his face and neck ignored the flight staff as he passed them, moving off the plane and heading swiftly down to the immigration hall. They had landed at Terminal Five, the newest Terminal at Heathrow. The man was carrying a small holdall as luggage, no suitcase to collect. He didn't even really need the bag, but he figured travelling with nothing could attract unwanted attention, and as he had murdered someone in the last seven hours he didn't fancy any unnecessary scrutiny from airport security.
After a few moments of walking along the clean corridors, he moved down several escalators and arrived at the passport check hall. All EU members were being directed one way, everyone else to the left, and he headed in the direction of the EU queue. The man had the best fake passport money could buy, and his dark features backed up the Spanish passport's credentials.
When it was his turn he moved forward and passed over his documents to the man at the desk. The guy looked at his photograph, then back at him, and the small man noticed his surprise as he saw his scars.
‘Purpose of visit?’
‘Visiting friends.’
He could see his scars were attracting the man’s attention.
'Boiling water. When I was a child,' the small man said, in as good a Spanish accent as he could muster. He said it with a smile and a look that said I've had to explain this many times before, but I'll do it again for you. It had actually been from a phosphorous grenade that had gone off right by his ear, but he figured it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to tell the official that.
After a few moments pause and another quick glance at the scars, the guy stamped the man's passport, handing it back with a nod.
'Enjoy your visit. Next,' he called, looking at the next person in the queue.
The small man took his passport and moved on towards the Arrivals Hall.
He walked through Customs under the Nothing to Declare banner, seeing the one-way mirrored glass and feeling eyes upon him from people behind. Then he walked through a set of double doors and arrived in the Arrivals Hall. It was pretty busy, lots of people milling about, sunlight streaming in through the long windows. He scanned the building, looking left and right, searching for a familiar face. Soon, he found it, a big man leaning against the far wall by the long glass windows, his superior officer, Spider. He was wearing a sweater, but had the sleeves pushed up, and Bug saw the spider-web tattoos covering each of his forearms. He walked over to the second-in-command of the Black Panthers. Spider saw him coming, and kicked off the wall. The two men shook hands as other passengers and travellers moved past them towards the exits.
'Any trouble?' Spider, asked in Albanian, his voice low, looking down at the smaller man.
'None, sir.'
'The target?'
'Gone. He suffered.'
Spider nodded. 'Good.' His smiled faded. 'Crow and Grub failed. They're both dead.'
The smaller man turned and looked out the window. 'Shit.'
'Yes. But it's OK. We'll handle it.'
Bug looked around. 'Where's Bird?'
'He won't be here for another few hours. He's flying in from Connecticut.'
There was a pause. Then they both turned and walked across the hall to the exit and the taxi rank. They saw a queue was forming down the pavement to their left, an airport worker ushering people into line, but Spider ignored them and raised his arm to hail a passing taxi. He got lucky with the second one that passed, and the black vehicle pulled up. Both men stepped inside, pulling the doors shut behind them. Spider gave the driver directions, the man nodding as Spider told him where to go, and the vehicle moved off, headed into the centre of London.
Back at the hospice, two fire engines had arrived. A team of firemen were holding the big hose and dousing the two cars, the water spraying over the blackened shells of the vehicles, the flames pretty much extinguished. The cars had been totalled by the explosions, both now just charred skeletons, hundreds of thousands of pounds gone in a second, along with the kid who’d tried to steal the Mercedes. Back inside the hospice, nurses were quickly checking on each patient. Fortunately, the bulk of the rooms were past the security door the other side of the building so none of them had been affected by the explosion.
By the front entrance, Archer took a good look at the smoking wreckage, then walked down the path towards Agent Jackson, who was standing watching the fire-team work, Archer’s boots crunching on the smashed glass of the entrance windows as he walked.
'Thank God for thieves,' Archer said to him. 'Never thought I'd hear myself say that.'
'They followed us here,' Jackson replied. 'They must have put the devices under the cars when we were inside.'
Archer nodded, and looked around the car park, sensing Jackson’s tension beside him. A small crowd had gathered outside the gates, much as it had back at the ARU's headquarters after the gunfight, but he looked at the tall office buildings around them, every window a possible threat point.
Behind the two men, Cobb reappeared, Chalky, Porter and Fox alongside him, the four men walking outside to join the other two by the entrance. None of them had noticed the receptionist glare at them as they passed her desk. They hadn’t exactly added to the calming atmosphere of the hospice since they’d arrived.
'Mason and Spitz are on their way with two cars,' Cobb told Archer and Jackson, putting his mobile phone into his pocket. 'We go straight back to headquarters.'
He turned to Jackson.
‘From there, you can either stay with us or head back to the Embassy.’
‘I’m staying,’ he said, nodding his head at the four task force officers. ‘Truth be told, I’m liking this armed escort more and more.’
Cobb nodded. ‘OK.’
'What about Fletcher?' Archer asked.
'What about him?' Chalky said.
'They'll know he's here by now, Chalk,' Archer said, turning to him. 'He'll be one of the top names on their list.'
'So? The man said he's ready to die.'
'So why don’t you go in there and do him yourself?' Archer said, his irritation rising
'Relax you two,' Cobb said. 'It's OK. There are two armed officers from an ARV on their way down already. Fletcher is staying. He's too sick to move. But they'll be guarding the desk and his door 'til this is over.'
The group of men nodded, and they all looked back across the parking lot at the smoking ruins of the two cars.
Cobb saw the destroyed shell of his Mercedes.
‘Thank God for thieves,’ he muttered under his breath.
At the command post across town, the leader of the Panthers was in a foul mood. He rose and kicked his chair across the room, letting out a long stream of expletives in Albanian. It had all started so well. Worm had tailed the group to the hospice, then moved around the building and saw which room they entered. He got a glimpse of the man in the bed before they closed the curtains, and there was no mistaking who it was. Corporal Simon Fletcher, the missing man from the list, the last piece of the puzzle. Once the curtains were drawn and his view obstructed, Worm had moved back into the quiet parking lot and taking advantage of no one being around, had quickly placed the two devices under each car. Both charges were hooked up to the ignition, and would detonate once they received a current. Worm had taken up surveillance in a coffee shop across the street, waiting for the men to leave and to watch Cobb and Jackson die.
But then some lowlife kid had car-jacked the Mercedes and blown himself and the two vehicles up, saving Cobb, Jackson and their four-man escort. Worm had slipped away down the street immediately, calling his commanding officer and letting him know what had happened.
The big soldier was furious.
Three times these two men had cheated death today. But rather than make him desperate, their run of luck made the man even more determined to kill them. He realised that without these setbacks, this would all be too easy. Their revenge was systematic but not sweet. He would have to earn the deaths of Cobb and Jackson.
He would have to get it done himself.
Taking deep breaths and getting a grip on his fiery temper, he walked across the room and scooped up the chair, bringing it back to the table and sat down. Anger wouldn't achieve anything here. He needed to think clearly with a level head. Feeling his white-hot rage start to evaporate like mist, he leaned back in his chair and looked at the selection of weapons lying on the floor across the dark safe-house. Two of the Kalashnikovs were gone, but they still had five left, as well as all the silenced MP5s, Dragunov, bazooka and thousands of rounds of ammunition.
Looking at the guns, he started to form a plan of attack. They had gone to visit Fletcher, so clearly they had put two and two together and realised what this was about. Cobb and the American would most likely head back to the ARU police station. They’d been taken by surprise before, but now would be on their guard and would figure they could foil another attempt. After reconnaissance, Worm had told him that there were armed officers stationed at the entrance of the building, just inside in the reception area. If either Cobb or Jackson left, they would go to a safe-house or into hiding somewhere. The Panthers had a number of options. It depended on which choice the two men took.
He started running different scenarios through his mind, different plans of attack. Spider and Bug were on their way here, and together with their commanding officer and Worm, the quartet would get this done once and for all.
No mistakes this time.
Both Cobb and Jackson would be dead before midnight.