Deadline (22 page)

Andrea hit the North Circular at exactly 6.26 p.m.
and proceeded east, driving fast. No longer able to
hear what she was saying, the surveillance cars
simply had to do their best to keep up, throwing
all hopes of remaining inconspicuous out of the
window. Not that that was such a priority now
that it was obvious the kidnappers were assuming
the police were involved.

In the control room, Big Barry Freud sounded
as if he was fighting a losing battle to stay calm.
As he sat grim-faced at the wheel of his car,
conscious for the first time of the helicopter overhead,
Bolt knew how he was feeling. This was no
longer a surveillance job, it was a chase, and once
again he cursed Andrea. He knew the kidnappers
were telling her to get rid of anything which made
it possible to trace the money, and knew too that
they'd be lacing their instructions with murderous
threats to ensure her obedience. Alone in the car
with only her thoughts and fears for company, it
would have been incredibly difficult for her to say
no, but the fact remained, cold and hard, that her
actions could also be costing her any chance of
seeing Emma alive again. These guys were frighteningly
ahead of the game. They were doing
everything to make sure they got this money
while at the same time minimizing their risk of
getting caught. It would be a simple matter to put
a knife through Emma's heart when they'd
finished with her, just like they'd done to
Andrea's cleaner. Bolt cursed himself, too, for
going through with this charade. They should
have gone the negotiation route from the start,
laid their cards on the table, used trained people
to get her back, instead of trying to come up with
a sexy, headline-grabbing success story that was
in danger of falling apart only minutes after it had
started.

For twenty-four minutes Andrea drove along
the North Circular. Traffic was busy but moving
both ways, and though she continued to weave
between lanes, there was never any danger that
they were going to lose her. At 6.50, she turned on
to the A10 going south, taking advantage of the
lighter traffic to speed up.

'I can't understand why she's not trying to get
rid of the trackers in the ransom money,' said Mo
as they accelerated after her. 'They've obviously
told her to remove anything that could trace them,
and she seems to be cooperating.'

'Maybe she hasn't had a chance to look for them
while she's driving,' answered Bolt.

'Or maybe she's only pretending to cooperate,'
suggested Turner.

Bolt shook his head. 'No, she's definitely doing
what they're telling her.' He took a deep breath.
'They're planning something,' he added quietly.
'God knows what. But they're planning
something.'

Ten minutes later, Andrea turned again, this
time into Lordship Lane, heading east into
Tottenham. Then a strange thing happened. She
slowed right down, managing barely fifteen miles
per hour in the nearside lane. By this time Bolt
and Mo were only twenty yards behind her.

'Car one to control,' said Bolt as he stared
straight ahead.

Barry came back in the earpiece. 'Control
receiving. What is it, car one?'

'Target driving very slowly. Now down to
approximately fifteen miles an hour. Still looks to
be on the phone. What do you want us to do?
Over.'

'Stay behind her, car one. Just stay behind her.
Important thing is not to lose her. Over.'

'Don't worry, there's no chance of that. We're
more likely to crash into the back of her. Over.'

They were coming up to the junction with
Tottenham High Road. Andrea slowed down still
further and the lights went red.

Bolt stared out of the windscreen. To his right
were Tina and Kris Obanje in the Toyota, while
one of the motorbike outriders was flanking them.
He couldn't see the helicopter any more but knew
it wouldn't be far away. There was no way Andrea
was going to get out of their sight, so he couldn't
see how the kidnappers would be able to pull off
getting hold of the money without being spotted.
Yet these guys were pros. So far they hadn't made
a single slip-up. They had something up their
sleeves. He was sure of it.

The lights seemed to stay red for a long time.
Bolt desperately wanted to get out of the car, walk
up to Andrea's Mercedes and ask her what the
hell she thought she was doing, but he knew it
would do no good. If they aborted the ransom
drop now, their hopes of getting Emma back alive
would diminish still further. They simply had to
follow her.

He tried to second-guess the kidnappers.
Clearly they suspected something was up. They'd
originally tried to get Andrea to outrun the police,
but had now changed tack, getting her to slow
right down. Why? They were waiting for something.
But what?

And then it hit him. 'Shit.'

Mo turned to him. 'What?'

'Are Tottenham playing today?'

The lights ahead went green, and the cars
started pulling away.

'I'm not sure. I haven't had the time to check.
You don't think—'

'Christ, they are,' said Turner, leaning forward
between the front seats. 'Five fifteen kick-off.'

Bolt smacked the steering wheel. 'So they'll be
finishing up about now. I bet the final whistle's
just gone. It makes perfect sense.'

Before he had a chance to say another word,
Barry's voice came over the airwaves, his tone
frantic, his words immediately confirming Bolt's
suspicions.

'Control to all cars, we have a situation. Football
fans beginning to exit White Hart Lane on to
Tottenham High Road in large numbers due north
of target. This could be possible location for
ransom exchange.'

Bolt felt a shot of adrenalin go through him.
Possible location? It was damn near inevitable.

'Give me current target location.'

'Car one to control, she's turning left into
Tottenham High Road, and she's accelerating
fast.'

'Keep her in sight!' Barry howled. 'All cars,
keep her and the money in sight! Over.'

But Andrea wasn't stopping for anyone. She
weaved between the two lanes, driving like crazy,
even though the traffic was slowing in front of her
as, up ahead, a wave of close to forty thousand
white-shirted football fans poured on to the street.

Bolt cursed loudly as they tried to keep pace,
squeezing between two cars in a manoeuvre that
smacked both wing mirrors out of position, and
accelerating through the gap. Andrea's initial
burst of pace had put thirty yards between them.
No more than a hundred and sixty yards in front
of them mounted police were in the road, stopping
the traffic as the road became a sea of white.
Already fans were crowding the pavements,
coming towards them on both sides of the road,
their raucous shouts filling the air.

Andrea suddenly pulled up on the kerb and
stopped. A second later she was out of the car, the
phone no longer to her ear. She ran round to the
passenger door, pulled out the holdall, heaved it
over her shoulder and started walking as fast as
she could manage under its weight.

Bolt's earpiece was suddenly filled with every
surveillance car and bike trying to talk.

'Car three to all cars, she's on the move. What
do you want us to do? Over.'

'Bike one to control, I'm ten yards behind her
vehicle. I have the eyeball. Do you want me to
intercept? Over.'

'Control to bike one, does she have the bag?
Over.'

'Yes, she has it. Over.'

'Shit. The money trackers say the damn thing's
still in the car. The stupid bitch has removed them
too. Control to all vehicles, follow on foot. Now.
Do not lose her. Or the bag. Go! Go! Go!'

Bolt, Mo and Turner were out of the car like a
shot, leaving it in the middle of the road as they
ran to where Andrea was already being swallowed
up by the advancing crowd. Bike one was
ahead of them, pulling off his helmet as he ran,
but Bolt was faster, overtaking him and dodging
through the fans, his gaze fixed firmly on the back
of Andrea's head.

Only fifteen yards and closing.

The explosion came out of nowhere, followed
by a flash of very bright light somewhere in the
crowd up ahead. Bolt shut his eyes and covered
his head instinctively, but the moment he opened
them again there was a second blast, coming from
roughly the same direction. Panicked shouts
broke out and there was a sudden surge of people
barging and shoving into him as they attempted
to get away from the explosion's source. He was
knocked backwards and had to fight to keep his
balance as he struggled through them, looking
round frantically for Andrea but unable to see her
among the mass of humanity blocking his view.

And then he was choking and his eyes began to
water. It felt like someone had squirted ammonia
in his face before dumping a load more down his
throat. Tear gas. The bastards had let off tear gas
grenades. The panic suddenly grew vastly worse
as people began to experience its noxious effects,
most of them doubtless fearing that this was some
kind of terrorist attack. Bolt was battered like a
ship in a storm as he tried to hold his ground amid
the choking stampede, eyes squinting against the
pain, his shirt pulled up to cover the lower half of
his face.

Then a large empty space opened up in front of
him. A handful of members of the public were on
the ground, one with a cut on his head. Right in
the middle, barely ten yards away, was Andrea.
She was kneeling on the pavement, hands
clutching her face. There was no sign of the
holdall. Sirens were starting up now, and
mounted police were galloping towards the scene,
but they were still too far away to be of any immediate
help.

Eyes still streaming, Bolt tried to focus on the
backs of the fleeing people, his eyes scanning
wildly in all directions. He saw Mo and Turner
only a few yards away, standing close together.
Mo's face was in his hands, while Turner had a
handkerchief to his and was also looking around
desperately.

And then he caught a glimpse of the holdall,
slung over the shoulder of a guy in a black baseball
cap. He was rounding the corner into an
adjacent street, moving fast as he was carried
along by the fleeing crowd, already disappearing
from sight.

Still choking, Bolt leaned into the mike and spoke
rapidly. 'Suspect fleeing with bag into . . .' He
looked for a street sign, couldn't see one. 'Into one
of the streets off the high road, heading due west.'

'Control to all units,' shouted Barry through
the earpiece. 'Do not lose that bag! We are trying
to get CCTV up and running.'

'There he is,' spluttered Bolt, still swallowing
acrid-tasting gas as he pointed.

Turner had already spotted him and was
pushing through the crowds of supporters in his
direction, followed by Kris Obanje and Tina Boyd.
It was Turner who was moving the fastest, as if
being cooped up in Andrea's place had given him
a huge new reservoir of energy, as well as a point
to prove. He wasn't the biggest or strongest of
guys but he ploughed through the mob, shoving
people aside as he ate up the distance between
himself and the holdall.

'Mo,' yelled Bolt, 'stay with Andrea!'

Before his colleague could reply, Bolt was past
him and joining the chase, his eyes beginning to
sting less as the fresher air hit them.

It was fifteen seconds since the first explosion,
and already the gas was dissipating, and its effects
wearing off on those who'd been affected. Now
most of the crowd were coming to a halt as their
more voyeuristic tendencies took over, creating a
dense wall which acted as a perfect cover for the
fleeing suspect. 'Police! Out the way!' Bolt
screamed as loudly as he could as he charged into
them, no longer seeing the point in trying to keep
a low profile. Being football fans, they weren't in
a desperate hurry to be cooperative, but Bolt was
a big man, and one who knew that if he lost the
guy with the holdall then he'd almost certainly
lose the daughter he'd never known, so today he
wasn't stopping for anyone. If he'd had a gun, he
would have waved it, even fired off a couple of
shots in the air and risked the sack.

Still yelling, he pushed right through them,
ignoring the outraged cries and the insults,
catching up with Tina and Obanje and passing
them. Turner was ten yards further ahead, at a
point in the street where the crowd was beginning
to thin. Ten more yards separated him from the
man with the holdall. Turner was running, the
suspect walking quickly. In a few seconds he'd be
on him, and that would be it because Bolt and the
rest of them were only seconds behind.

And then there was a blurred movement in the
corner of Bolt's eye. It was so quick that it took
him a second to register the man in black cap and
sunglasses and brand-new Tottenham shirt as he
ran headlong into Turner from the side. Bolt
caught a glint of metal as the man's hand shot out
once, making contact, and then he was dancing
past him and running for the other side of the
road, in the opposite direction to the man with the
holdall. Turner stopped running and seemed to
stumble, his hand reaching to where the man had
hit him, and then he fell to one knee, while fans
milled about him, wearing vaguely curious
expressions.

Bolt stopped when he reached him, putting a
hand on his shoulder. 'Matt, you all right?'

Through the earpiece, Barry demanded to
know what was going on. It was only then that
Bolt saw the growing bloodstain on his
colleague's shirt.

'Shit!'

Turner looked up, his eyes wide and fearful, his
expression almost childlike. 'I think I've been
stabbed, boss,' was all he said, and then he put a
hand out to steady himself and lay down on his
side, almost as if he was about to go to sleep.

'Officer down!' yelled Bolt into the mike.
'Stabbed by second suspect. We need urgent
medical help immediately.'