Dance With the Enemy (26 page)

The roads had been busy initially as they fought their way through the Paris commuter traffic, but as they drove further north the motorway became quieter and they reached the town of Dunkirk not far short of nine o’clock in the evening.

‘Are we going to go straight there?’ Grainger asked. ‘Or shall we rest up first?’

Resting was certainly a welcoming option. They were both tired, having had little sleep over the last forty-eight hours. The pasta Logan had eaten in the afternoon had all but been digested. It would certainly be nice to eat and sleep.

But they were here now. So close.

‘No, we should get this done,’ Logan said. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for resting afterwards.’

‘We could grab a motel room again. Just sleep for a few hours. Go out in the early hours like yesterday. We’d be a lot fresher that way.’

He had to admit, it was a tempting offer. Plus, he knew
exactly
what they would end up doing if they did go to a hotel. But he didn’t want to be swayed on this.

‘No. Not this time,’ he said, trying his best not to let the lingering thoughts of the night before cloud his judgement. ‘Every second counts now. Selim has Modena to himself now and God only knows what he could do to him in those few hours.’

Logan looked over and noticed that Grainger’s cheeks had turned red. She was clearly embarrassed at having put her own needs and desires first, despite the grave situation.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Let’s find out where this place is then.’

They pulled in to a petrol station. They were the only customers there. While Logan filled up the tank, Grainger got directions to the street they were looking for from the cashier. ‘It’s only a mile or two from here,’ Grainger said, returning to the car. ‘We’re more or less on the right road, just a couple of turns.’

Logan felt his stomach moving, the first signs of butterflies for what lay ahead. They were nearly there now.

This time he had to make it count.

They continued on their way through the centre of the town to their destination. Much ravaged during the Second World War, Dunkirk’s centre was nonetheless a place full of historic architecture. It had a number of attractions, not least its wide beaches and pleasant promenades. But at its heart was industry; it had one of the largest and busiest ports in France. As with many places with a traditionally industrial heritage, parts of it had, in more modern times, fallen into dereliction. A few minutes later, it was in one of those parts that they found the address they were looking for.

It was a residential street consisting of a row of rundown terraced houses, built one next to the other, but of all different shapes and sizes. The terraces ranged from two to four storeys high and up to four houses wide. Number fifty-seven was towards the far end of the street. There were no houses on the opposite side of the street here, and only a few more houses beyond it before residences gave way to what appeared to be derelict wasteland.

The building they were looking for was a simple two-storey structure. There were four steps up to the front door, which was at the same level as those of the neighbouring houses, the street descending away to its right. Curtains were drawn in all three of the windows at the front of the house. An orange glow showed that lights were on in the downstairs front room and in one of the rooms upstairs.

‘Looks like someone’s home,’ Logan said.

‘Yeah, though there’s no sign of the truck that they took off in.’

‘Let’s drive round, see if there’s a back way in. Maybe the van is around there somewhere.’

There was a narrow back lane behind the properties, running the full length of the road. Each of the houses had a fence or wall
backing onto it. To the other side of the lane there seemed to be more wasteland, though in the darkness it was hard to tell how far into the distance it went.

Number fifty-seven had a simple wire fence and gate enclosing its unkempt yard. And through the fence, Logan could clearly see a van parked up inside. The same van in which Selim had escaped from the farmhouse.

Logan felt his heart skip a beat.

‘They’re here,’ he said, stating the obvious, feeling both relieved and nervous.

‘There’s no-one else parked on this lane; it’s too narrow,’ Grainger said. ‘Let’s park back on the street, where we’re less obvious. If they make a run for it, they’ll hardly be making a quick getaway in that thing. And it doesn’t matter which way they go in the van, they’ve got to come back to the front street.’

‘Okay. Let’s get round to the front so we can dump the car.’

There were only a few other cars on the street. A number of the properties appeared to be empty and, judging by the size and condition of the buildings, Logan guessed even those that weren’t empty probably had occupants who couldn’t afford a car. They parked twenty yards down from the house, away from the other cars, so that there was nothing to obstruct them either in front or behind should they need to move on quickly.

‘Isn’t it a bit strange that they’d bring him here?’ Grainger said. ‘To a street full of other houses? Lots of witnesses around, which means they have to be careful, not just about being seen but about noise as well.’

‘It’s a good tactic. They’re banking on people thinking that, assuming that they’d go somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. To stay hidden, you’re better off going where you’re least expected, even if it’s right under the noses of those who are looking for you.’

This he knew from experience. He’d once trailed around Eastern Europe for almost a month, following numerous false leads while looking for a man who had got away from him. In the end, it turned out the guy had been holed up the entire time in another apartment in the same block where he lived, and where Logan had first encountered him.

He also knew that being in a port town like Dunkirk gave
Selim options for getting out of France. It would be far easier to move on by boat than it would be to try to leave France by car or plane. And from Dunkirk, Selim could move easily into eastern Europe and beyond, or even trail around France, Portugal and down into Africa.

‘In a way I’m glad it
is
here rather than in the middle of nowhere,’ Grainger said. ‘They’d have to at least be conscious of the noise they’re making.’

Logan understood what she meant, but he wasn’t sure that would stop Selim doing whatever the hell he wanted to do to Modena. This wasn’t exactly middle-class suburbia and Logan wasn’t sure that noisy neighbours really got people’s juices flowing around here.

‘How are we going to get inside?’ Grainger asked.

‘It doesn’t look like security is going to be a hindrance,’ Logan said.

‘So how about we just knock on the door?’

Logan scoffed, ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No.’

‘And
then
what? Wait for them to shoot us down?’

Grainger looked offended. ‘I could pretend to be a lost motorist or something. There’s more chance of them opening the door to a lone lady than to you. Plus, Selim knows you. Me coming to their door will still raise their suspicions, but at least it should draw their attention away. You go around and in the back way. Hopefully unopposed.’

‘You’re going to use yourself as human bait?’

‘I wasn’t planning to, no. Just keep them talking for a few seconds, that’s all.’

Logan still looked unsure.

‘Are you happy with that?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, fine,’ he said without conviction. He didn’t like that she was putting herself in harm’s way, but he knew that the plan was as sound as any he could come up with. As long as they timed it right, he’d be in the house and on to whoever was inside before there was any chance of Grainger getting hurt.

‘I’ll just ask them for some directions, then leave,’ she said. ‘So try to be quick.’

‘I will. I’ll get out of the car here. You should park up right
outside their house. It’ll help with your story. Wait till I get round the back. I’ll call you when I’m ready. No need to answer the phone – I’ll just let it ring a couple of times.’

‘Okay. Good luck.’

‘You too,’ he said. ‘This’ll all be over in a few minutes.
Then
we get to a hotel.’

‘Can’t wait,’ she said, giving him a smile.

He opened the door and was almost out when she said, ‘Oh, and Logan? What will you to do him? Selim? I mean, are you going to kill him?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Logan said. ‘That’s entirely up to him.’

He just hoped Selim would give him no choice.

There was no easy way to do this. Logan knew that both the stakes and the risks were sky high. They could quite easily be walking into a literal death trap. With only two of them, they couldn’t go for an-all-guns-blazing armed siege. He knew that the safest course of action was to call in for support: Evans, the FBI, the French police, whoever. But that was never going to happen. This was his moment. Logan was determined to rescue Modena and finish off Selim here and now, not with the help of a tactical response team.

It had to be expected that Selim and his men would be on edge. A knock on the front door was going to send them into a mild panic. They would surely reach for their weapons. Maybe they would even answer the door by pushing a gun into Grainger’s face. Whatever happened, Logan was going in after them.

When he reached the back yard, he swung open the wire gate just enough for him to creep in, entered and then shut it behind him. The yard was in almost complete darkness, the only illumination coming from the crescent moon. There were no streetlights on the lane and none of the lights in the back of the house were on.

Moving cautiously in the dim light, Logan crept past the van and over towards the back door of the house. It was a bog-standard wooden door with one Yale lock and one deadbolt lock. He was hoping it was unlocked, but if it wasn’t, he was sure he could simply crash through it.

As he took out his phone, he could feel the anticipation building. A wave of goose pimples washed over him as the adrenaline
began to surge, readying him for what was to come. He dialled Grainger’s number to send the signal, then stood listening for the response. He heard the faint noise of a car door closing. A few seconds later he heard Grainger knocking at the front door of the house.

Immediately, there were voices inside. Debating. Arguing. They were definitely panicked. The voices got louder and lights came on at the back of the house. Logan jumped a yard to the left, away from the door, out of the way of the window. The voices died down, but he could still hear movement coming from the other side of the door.

Seconds later, the back door suddenly opened and a man came rushing out, heading over to the van. Logan felt himself jerk in surprise. But the man, in his haste, hadn’t spotted Logan.

The man was tall and skinny. Logan didn’t recognise him. He was opening the van door when Logan, moving almost without a sound, rushed him from behind. With one swipe, he smashed the butt of his gun against the side of the man’s head. Logan winced at the cracking sound as metal made contact with the man’s skull. The man was out cold before he’d even known Logan was there. He did his best to catch the man in mid-air as he plummeted towards the ground, not wanting the fall to make too much sound.

Logan rested the limp body down, then turned and walked quickly toward the open back door, approaching it from the side so as to stay out of sight. He reached the door and peered his head around. The doorway opened into a corridor. It ran the full the length of the poky house, all the way to the front door which was still shut. There was no sign of anyone in the hallway. Logan wondered whether Grainger was still there, on the other side of the door, or whether she’d already retreated to the car.

His question was answered when he heard another knock. Then more voices, coming from one of the downstairs rooms, but quieter now. A man came out of the front room, facing away from Logan. He had a handgun in his right hand, which he was holding behind his back. He walked up to the door and looked through the spy hole. It seemed like he was debating whether to open the door or not.

In the end, he didn’t.

But as he turned back around, his eyes met Logan’s. A look
of confusion was still etched on his face when Logan’s bullet hit him square between the eyes. He fell to the ground, body slumping half inside the doorway of the room he’d just come from.

That was it. There was no element of surprise now. Now it was just a straight-out fight.

From the voices he’d just heard, Logan knew there was at least one more man in the front room. He moved forward, cautiously, gun held out at the ready.

‘Armed police! Come out now! Hands above your head!’

Nothing. He crept further forward.

‘We’ve got this place surrounded. There’s nowhere for you to go.’

Still nothing. It had been worth a shot, Logan thought.

He heard footsteps coming from the room, then the sound of glass smashing.

‘Shit! Logan!’ Grainger shouted from the other side of the front door.

Someone must have been trying to escape through the front window. Logan rushed forward, past the wooden staircase on his left, running into the front room without even hesitating. It was a potentially suicidal move but he did it without even thinking – an instinctive reaction to hearing Grainger’s panicked voice.

But in his haste, Logan hadn’t anticipated the threat from the staircase on the other side of the hall. As he reached the room, in time to see a pair of legs disappear out of the smashed window, there was a chorus of gunfire from both within and outside the house. Chips of wood and plaster filled the air as several rounds hit the wall and door frame next to Logan. Realising that the shots must have come from someone on the stairs, he flung himself to the ground, rolling into the front room for safety.

He heard more shots coming from outside. Then Grainger’s voice, loud and clear: ‘Stay down or the next one is in your balls!’

Whom did she have? Was it Selim? If so then it was game over, but Logan half hoped that wasn’t the case. Selim was
his
to take down.

He heard the unseen attacker coming down the stairs. Another two rounds were fired into the room, but they didn’t come close to Logan, who was pressed up against the wall adjacent to the doorway and, for now, under cover.

He kept his cool – didn’t fire in haste, like he had done yesterday. He checked his gun, made sure it was ready to go.

It was only then that he spotted the forlorn figure in the corner of the room.

Modena.

He was lying on the floor, hands cuffed to a radiator. Gaffer tape around his face secured a rag that was stuffed in his mouth.

His chest was moving. He was alive.

‘Frank, you’re going to get through this,’ Logan said. ‘Just hang in there.’

Another gunshot came from out in the street, followed by a long moan.

Grainger obviously kept true to her word
, Logan thought with a wry smile.

But soon it was Logan who was screaming when he heard the front door opening. He moved over, peering out of the bay window to see Grainger walking in through the now open door.

‘Angela! No! Get down!’

She responded just as the first shots were fired at her, flinging herself to cascade down the front steps.

Logan rushed back to the doorway of the front room and fired two shots towards the staircase, aiming at an enemy he could hear but not see, hoping that it would at least halt the progress of the attacker. It was an instinctive action, born of selflessness, trying to save Grainger with complete disregard for his own position.

But it was a rushed move. This wasn’t a situation he was used to dealing with. On his own, it was all about him and them. With a partner, he had two people to protect. And that could be a big hindrance. In his rush to protect Grainger, he’d made a big mistake. As he moved out into the hall, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He turned to the left and found himself staring down the muzzle of an AK-47 assault rifle.

Standing behind, holding the weapon, was Youssef Selim.