Nine Lives (13 page)
Across the city, Dominick Farha checked his watch from inside the bathroom of his hotel room.
It was time to go.
Looking in the mirror one last time, he adjusted his tie and smoothed back his dark hair. Satisfied, he opened the door moving back into the room and found the young woman standing there, waiting for him.
He looked down and examined her appearance.
She was wearing a voluminous green dress he’d bought her from some high-street store. The design was such that it completely concealed the second white dress hidden underneath which contained close to thirty five pounds of explosives, all packed over her stomach.
To an onlooker, she looked just like a young woman expecting her first child.
To him, she looked like his ticket out of here.
Satisfied, he gave her an approving nod and smile then looked around the room, checking for anything he didn’t want to leave behind. There was nothing important, just a set of pliers and some clippings of wire. He felt a shiver of excitement.
This is it
.
He turned to her. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ she replied. She was trying to hide it, but he could see that she was scared.
Moving to the door, Farha opened it and let the girl out of the room first. He switched off the light, and pulled the door shut behind him as he followed.
Outside in the corridor, he turned to her.
‘Wait here for a moment,’ he said. She nodded as he approached the room next door. He knocked twice. After a pause, a young man opened it. Dominick turned to the girl, holding up his hand.
Two minutes
, his fingers said. She nodded nervously and he stepped into the other hotel room, closing the door.
This room also had the curtains drawn and lights dimmed. The young man had been sitting on the bed watching the television. Farha suddenly realised the guy had shaved his head since he’d last seen him.
The other man noticed him looking.
‘Don’t want to get recognised,’ he said in his American accent.
Dominick nodded. ‘Good thinking. I just wanted to tell you we’re leaving.’
‘You sure he’s going to welcome you back?’ the other man said. ‘You made a big mistake, Dom.’
‘After today? He has to. I’ll be a hero. He’ll throw me a party,’ Dominick replied. He said it confidently enough, but neither of them was sure he meant it. ‘I just wanted to double-check everything with you before I go.’
The younger man nodded.
‘American Airlines Flight 427’ he recited. ‘Non-stop from New York JFK. Lands Runway Six at 9:20 pm.’
Farha smiled. ‘Good. I double-checked. It runs like clockwork. Just make sure you don't miss.’
The younger man grinned; reaching down, he tapped something resting behind the bed. A dark rectangular case.
‘I won’t.’
There was a brief pause; then the two men hugged each other. Dominick was surprised to feel sad that he was saying goodbye to the young man. He liked him; they went back a long way. When all the shit had hit the fan, he’d made a phone-call asking for the kid’s help, expecting a rebuttal. However, he’d sweetened the deal, and consequently the guy had instantly said
yes
. Unlike some of the others, Dominick knew that this man would get his shit done tonight. He was reliable and loyal.
He hoped he’d make it out afterwards too.
‘Good luck,’ Farha told him, as they stood back. ‘I’ll see you across the water. Remember, the moment after you fire, get the hell out of here. Literally, the second after. The cops will be coming. Get outside and don’t stop running.’
The young man nodded. ‘Same to you. And watch your back, Dom. You know they’re all still after you.’
Nodding, Farha turned.
Walking to the door, he pulled it open and departed.
Together again, Dominick and his female companion rode the lift down to the ground floor. After a few moments, it arrived with a
ding
.
Stepping out, the pair moved past other guests as they made their way into the lobby. As they walked across the marble floor and into the reception area, Dominick glanced to his right and saw a television mounted on the wall. The news. It was still covering the disaster at the stadium.
But there was a new headline, and it stopped him in his tracks.
Breaking News: Two further attacks at shopping centre and stadium foiled by police. Suspected bomber arrested.
Dominick froze, and cursed under his breath, long and hard.
He stood still, thinking as he stared at the screen.
How the hell did he fail?
And twice?
He was one of my best guys!
He felt the woman beside him slide her hand into his which brought him back to the moment. Finally ripping his attention from the television, he gathered his composure and led his companion towards the exit.
Moving outside, he hailed a cab. As the taxi pulled up, he opened the door and helped the young woman inside, climbing in after her.
‘Where to, mate?’ asked the driver, loudly.
Dominick forced a smile.
‘Heathrow. Terminal Five,’ he replied.
‘I don’t believe this. Mossad had eyes on this lot as well?’
As he spoke, Cobb moved behind his desk and sat down in the chair. The task force had just returned, Fox and Porter taking the ambulance bomber through to the holding cells to be processed. Mac had stowed his weapon, then been called to Cobb’s office. He was standing beside the DEA agent, Crawford and another dark-haired man he didn’t recognise. He guessed he was their field agent who was going to attach to the task force. Mac liked the look of him already. He seemed solid and calm.
There was another person standing to the right of the room. Shapira, the Mossad agent. She had insisted on returning to the Unit’s HQ with the ground team in order to speak with Director Cobb. Mac normally would have told her where to get off but given her assistance in taking down the bomber, he’d reluctantly said
yes
. He didn’t know much about her agency, save that they were Israeli and specialised in covert operations taking place outside their borders.
‘How long have you been on the group?’ Cobb asked her.
‘Around eight months,’ she said.
Crawford turned to her.
‘You’re on British soil, in case you didn’t notice. You normally take an interest in foreign terrorist plots?’
She gave him an icy look. ‘Is that supposed to be ironic, Captain America? Terrorism is terrorism. It doesn’t matter what country it’s in. Dominick Farha is a priority target of ours.’
‘And you didn’t feel like sharing your intel?’ Cobb asked.
‘We knew of your operation to apprehend the cell, which is why we held back. We thought the British police could handle it and save us the trouble of getting involved.’
She paused.
‘Clearly, we were wrong.’
Mac snapped his head round towards her, irritated.
‘One more comment like that and I’ll put you on the next plane back to Israel myself.’
Cobb pinched his brow, trying to think through all the confusion and different agendas.
‘Well thank you for assisting my team. It’s much appreciated,’ he said cordially. ‘But we can handle the rest of the operation ourselves.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she said.
Cobb’s expression hardened.
‘I wasn’t asking a question.’
Shapira jabbed a finger angrily towards Crawford and Rivers.
‘So the DEA stay and Mossad doesn't? Should I get on the phone and tell that to my boss?’ she threatened. ‘After what I did for you at the stadium? And especially given what my agency has done for you in the past.’
Cobb knew where this was going. After the London transport bombings in the summer of 2005, MI5 and Mossad had started working together extensively. In fact, the Israeli group had been the first foreign agency to step forward and offer help in the counter-offensive.
Shapira was right. To discard her, especially after the help she’d given in the capture of the terrorist could cause a lot of problems.
And Cobb had more than enough of them tonight.
He shook his head. ‘Fine. I don’t have time to argue about this. Partner up with Agent Rivers here. You can join him and attach to the field team. And I mean
attach;
no rogue nonsense. You try anything off the straight and narrow, I’ll join Sergeant McGuire in putting you on the next plane home. And I don’t give a shit what you tell your boss. Are we clear?’
Mac saw her nod slowly, her eyes narrowed. Cobb rose from behind the desk and walked to the door.
‘Gather the boys,’ he told Mac, as he pulled the glass door open and moved into the Operations area.
Exiting the room, Mac walked over to the Briefing Room and stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistling. There was a rustling and the nine other task force members appeared, moving into Operations.
Cobb had taken up a position in the centre, standing in the middle of his tech team. He turned and addressed the room.
‘Listen up,’ he called.
A silence had already fallen. The intelligence group leaned away from their computers for the first time in hours.
‘The shit just hit the fan people. We've had three attempted bombings in the past two hours. One of them succeeded. Over a hundred and fifty people are already dead. We can't change that.
But we can change what happens next
,’ he emphasised, raising his voice. ‘It's situations like these which is why this Unit was assembled. Five of the nine suspects are down. Four are left. They’re out there right now somewhere in the city. And we need to find them.’
He turned to the tech workers on his left.
‘Nikki’s team, I want you working closely with GCHQ. These guys must be using phones or email, I want them found and tracked. You’ll be operating with me and Agent Crawford, from the DEA,’ he said, pointing to the American.
He turned to the task force.
‘Mac’s team, you’ve already been acquainted with Agent Shapira here. She’ll be joining you on the ground along with Agent Rivers, also joining us from the DEA. Great work so far tonight. Keep it up, lads.’
The men glanced over at the two new arrivals as Cobb turned back to the room. ‘Questions?’
Silence.
‘Then let’s go to work.’
Heathrow’s Terminal Five was the latest jewel in the crown for the city’s well-known travel network. Opened in 2008, the building was foot-by-foot the largest free-standing structure in the United Kingdom, processing over thirty five million passengers a year. The Departures and Arrivals halls were stacked on top of each other on two separate floors, conjoining to form a giant hall thirteen thousand feet long and a hundred and thirty feet tall. It made a pleasant change from the usual beaten-up and tired airports people were used to passing through around the world. The interior of the building was immaculately clean and maintained, symbolising London’s position at the cutting edge of world-wide travel and technology.
Outside the Terminal, a constant stream of vehicles were pulling up the ramp and stopping by a long kerb in front of the glass structure. Drivers stepped out, helping passengers unload their luggage which was then stacked on metal trollies. Taxi fares were paid and trollies were pushed forward as people made their way out of the cold night and towards the entrance to the giant hall.
As the large hand on the clock ticked to 8pm, one particular taxi came into view up the winding ramp. It moved into an empty bay and came to a halt by the kerb; the rear door opened and Dominick Farha stepped out.
The driver had climbed out to open the other rear passenger door, helping the obviously pregnant young woman out of the vehicle. She was unaccustomed to the unfamiliar weight weighing her down and stumbled as she got out of the taxi.
However, the driver steadied her and after Dominick paid the fare, the two of them moved towards the entrance of the Terminal.
As they walked, Dominick suddenly felt a jolt of concern. He spotted a couple of armed officers stationed near the doors to the entrance, each of them hard-faced and alert. Dominick could see them carefully watching each person as they entered the doors between them.
Ten feet from the white interior of the building, he felt one of the men staring at him. Staying calm, Dominick kept walking, holding a steady pace. Suddenly, the entrance to the building seemed a lot further away. Each step felt like ten, his heart pounding in his chest like a bass drum.
However, after a few moments he risked a glance and saw that the policeman was looking beyond them, his attention moved elsewhere.
Looking straight ahead and hiding his intense relief, Dominick led the young woman into the building.
Neither of them had been inside Terminal Five before and Farha noticed that the Departures floor felt as if someone had stacked huge concert halls side by side. There was a kind of muted echo that remained suspended in the air as the large building absorbed the sounds from the people inside and diluted them.
He saw long queues of people standing before desks, ready to check-in and get rid of their cumbersome luggage. Elsewhere, other travellers were standing before self-check-in machines, punching in numbers. Armed security had also been stationed in the building, incrementally positioned against the wall to the pair’s right, their backs to the glass as they scanned the crowd, their hands resting on sub-machine guns slung across each of their torsos.
None of them, however, seemed to be looking at Dominick or his female companion.
Taking a breath, the leader of the terrorist cell glanced up. There was a black electronic board mounted on a pillar beside them. It was showing a list of pretty much every major city in the world in yellow text, alongside the plane number and departure time for each flight. He wasn’t interested in the flights, though.
He was interested in the time.
Satisfied, he turned to his companion, talking quietly. ‘Ready?’
She nodded.
‘Tell me again, when is your departure?’
‘9pm,’ she said quickly, her voice shaky.
She was nervous, which was only going to get worse.
Time to
leave
, Dominick thought as he looked down and smiled reassuringly at her.
‘I have to go and get something from downstairs,’ he told her. ‘I need you to wait here.’
She looked up at him like a child, totally trusting.
‘OK.’
‘There’s a lot of security,’ he added quietly. ‘I might be stopped and questioned.’ He lowered his voice further, almost whispering. ‘If I don’t come back before nine, go on without me. Understand?’
She nodded.
‘OK.’
It seemed they were the only letters she could muster.
However, the next moment she proved him wrong.
‘I love you, Dominick.’
He winced at the use of his name. The hall was so quiet, every exchange was echoing, hanging in the air.
Clenching his jaw, he forced a smile.
‘I love you, too,’ he said quietly. ‘Now, wait here. I’ll be right back.’
He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then started walking towards the lifts to his right, a hundred yards away. He felt the young woman’s gaze on his back.
Stupid bitch
, he thought. He’d made it all this way, and she’d blurted his name out almost alongside the airport security guards.
Walking around the side of the lift, he moved forward and stepped into an empty cart. The whole system was made of transparent glass, so he could still see her standing there across the hall, watching him.
He tensed; for a moment, she seemed about to wave.
Don’t do it bitch.
Don’t draw attention
.
However, she decided against it and smiled wanly at him instead.
He smiled back as the lift moved down slowly.
The moment he lost sight of her, the smile vanished.
A few moments later the lift arrived at the lower floor, Arrivals. The metal doors opened, and Dominick moved out swiftly. He looked around the hall as he walked across the polished floor and to his left, immediately saw what he was looking for.
A man was sitting in a chair against the wall thirty yards away, reading a newspaper.
Faris;
an ally of sorts, the man Dominick had contacted about setting up a meeting with his uncle
.
Dominick didn’t know the guy well; he’d been taken on by Henry just before all the shit hit the fan in New York. If the situation was different, Farha would have been more cautious around him; he’d have had to be considering that he didn’t know the guy and there was a seven-figure bounty against his name from the New York cartel. But he didn’t have a choice. At this point, he was completely dependent on the man sitting by the wall, so he approached him warily.
Faris sensed he was being watched and he looked up, his eyes locking onto Dominick’s. The seated man was similar in height and build, but he had piercing green eyes that were currently impaling Farha like two spikes.
As he walked over, Dominick tried to gauge the seated man’s mood and demeanour. He stood before him.
Without a word, Faris rose. Folding the newspaper and leaving it on the seat behind him, he walked towards the exit. He didn’t ask Dominick to follow him.
He didn’t need to.
Moving past the security stationed near the doors, the two men strode outside into the crisp English winter evening.
A black Mercedes with tinted windows was waiting by the kerb. Faris moved to the near rear door, and opened it and stood to one side, not looking at Dominick, seemingly bored. Farha took the hint, moving forward he climbed inside. The car was empty, save for the driver.
Faris sat in the seat beside him, pulling the door shut.
‘Let’s go,’ he told the driver, the first words he’d spoken since they’d met.
The driver released the handbrake and the car moved away from the kerb, gathering speed and heading off into the London night.
