The Hostage (42 page)

As she opened her bedroom door to leave, the phone rang again. The first person she thought of was Bill. She hadn’t called him and was about to leave having completely forgotten to. But then it might be Stratton again. She picked it up.

‘Hello,’ Bill Lawton said.

‘Hi. I was just about to call you,’ she said, screwing up her eyes and hating herself for being such a lying coward.

‘Melissa. I’ve got to go somewhere,’ he said. ‘Would you believe my boss just flew into town. Remember I’d told him I’d come back to London because my mother was sick? He called and wants to see me, to go to dinner if I’ve got the time. I could hardly say no. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s okay,’ she said, relieved. She wouldn’t tell him she couldn’t make it either.

‘I’ve got to run,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

‘I might be out later,’ she said quickly in case he did call or come around to the house. ‘I’ll probably go and see some old friends.’ At least that wasn’t a lie.

‘Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Don’t forget I’m heading back to the obvious early tomorrow,’ she reminded him.

‘Oh, right. How could I forget that? I’ll call you when I can then.’

‘Okay. Bye.’ She was about to put down the phone when he called out her name quickly.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Melissa . . . I just want you to know . . . well, I want you to know that I’ve gone and fallen in love with you.’

Aggy couldn’t say anything, but she wished he hadn’t said it.

‘I don’t care if that scares you. Strangely enough it didn’t scare me to say it . . . I’ve gotta go. Have a great night.’

The phone went dead in her hand. She tossed it on to the bed.This was not the time to think about it. Fortunately she had enough to distract her for now. She had to get to King’s Lynn.

She double-checked she had money and ID. Then suddenly something occurred to her: what if Bill was on the same operation? There was something odd about the way he had cancelled the evening, something in his voice, what he had said.

She closed her bedroom door and walked down the stairs. There was no point coming up with a new excuse for her mother. She’d let her continue to think she was out with Bill for the evening, and if the op went on for days she would have to wing it. Life was not this complicated a few weeks ago.

Kathryn listened to the announcement that the train would soon be arriving in King’s Cross, London, where it would terminate. The carriage had almost filled up at Cambridge and she had had to put the hatbox on her lap to allow someone to sit beside her.

As the train slowed to a crawl and the platform appeared alongside the window she decided to avoid the press of the crowd and wait until most of the people had got off. It came to a complete stop with a jerk, and a gush of compressed air announced the opening of the doors. The passengers streamed out and when the carriage was almost empty Kathryn stood up with her hatbox and left her seat.

She was not the last person to alight from the carriage. Brennan climbed out of his seat after she stepped through the door and watched her walk down the platform. He felt a twinge in his leg where the bullet had grazed the bone and he flexed it a couple of times to loosen it up before stepping through to the next carriage. He kept Kathryn in his sights as he limped along the aisle, keeping slightly behind her.

The mass of passengers moved ahead of her, slowed by the funnel effect at the end of the platform. Kathryn noted she was on platform 9 and took her time so as not to catch them up. Her nerves started to increase again as the next phase of her ‘mission’ grew closer and she went over it in her head. None of it had been difficult so far but she kept dreading something might go wrong, be it her fault or anyone else’s. What if this next person didn’t turn up, for instance? What was she supposed to do with the box? She did have that emergency number. She told herself not to think about any of that unless it happened. There was no need to add to the stress she was already under.

As she stepped outside the platform she followed her instructions precisely and turned to the right, walked a few paces so that she was out of the flow of human traffic, and stopped.

She looked at almost every man that came into view even though for the most part she saw only the backs of their heads since more were leaving the platform than entering it. She hoped to find a pair of eyes looking at her. Then her peripheral vision picked up movement on her right, a lone man crossing the road, heading directly towards her.

 

At that precise moment Aggy walked out of the alleyway that connected the main station to the entrance to platforms 9, 10 and 11. She slowed as she saw Bill walking directly across her front at an angle that would put him on a collision course with her if she continued towards the platform entrance. She stopped, not wanting to meet him, even though it appeared they might well have the same destination. This was too much of a coincidence otherwise.

Someone walked out of the alleyway behind her and bumped her in the back without offering an apology. Aggy flashed him a look and might have snapped a remark about his bad manners. Instead she stepped aside to allow the flow of passengers from the alleyway and watched Bill. She started to move off, slowly, giving him time to get ahead and for her to decide whether to catch him up. She had to keep with the possibility he was not on the op and it might therefore be wiser to leave him be. After his parting comment on the phone it would all be a bit strained anyway. Then he stopped to talk to a woman standing outside the station. Aggy stopped. If he turned to look in her direction, despite the people moving between them, he would see her. She should have turned around and walked back into the alleyway, but remained where she was.

 

‘Was the Hoste Arms crowded?’ Bill asked Kathryn.

Kathryn felt awkward. Not being given anything to reply suddenly seemed odd. She held out the box to him, eager to be rid of it anyway. ‘I think this is for you,’ she said, feeling as if she ought to say something. He took it from her.

‘Walk with me, will you?’ he said, and turned to indicate a direction away from the platform entrance, back the way he had just come.

 

Aggy watched them walk in front of her. Thankfully, Bill didn’t see her.

The woman was pretty and quite sophisticated. It suddenly struck Aggy there was something vaguely familiar about the woman. She couldn’t begin to think where, but she was certain she had seen her before. Aggy had only been inside the Lisburn HQ briefly a couple of times on errands for the det. It was possible she’d seen her there, a passing in a corridor perhaps, but she could not recollect. Bill hadn’t kissed her on meeting, which was a clue the relationship was a professional one since Bill kissed just about every woman he met on the cheek whenever he said hello or goodbye. He kissed Aggy’s mother the first time they met and when she blushed he apologised in his charming way, explaining it was a habit he’d picked up in Europe. Apart from a brief exchange of words and the hatbox, Bill and the woman didn’t speak as they walked away.

Aggy watched until they were out of sight and then continued on her way to platform 9.The one thing niggling her was that Bill’s boss was a he.

She entered the platform and walked down to the far end and stepped into the last carriage.

 

The Chinook circled the Sandringham estate once to identify the landing point before starting on its descent glide path over the dense conifer woods to an open, manicured green. To one side of the touchdown point, near the trees, was a collection of civilian vehicles.

The rear ramp of the helicopter was already opening as it landed. Singen was first out of the side door and hurried over to the vehicles to talk with several gentlemen waiting to greet him. After a brief exchange Singen looked back at his men coming down the ramp carrying their equipment boxes. ‘The two vans,’ he shouted as the rotors started to wind down. The men shuffled their equipment to the vans and started loading them, the three Americans equally energetic and helping where they could. ‘We’re moving straight out,’ Singen added.

Stratton stepped from the helicopter carrying one end of a large box, an operative on the other, and put it down outside a van, whereupon it was immediately hauled inside.

‘Stratton,’ Singen called out as he walked over to him.

‘That’s your vehicle there,’ he said indicating a plain white four-door. ‘Keys are in it. Superintendent,’ he called out to the group of gentlemen. A man in a black suit left them and briskly came over.

‘This is Superintendent Allison,’ Singen said. ‘He’s up to speed on the boat, Hank and the bio.’

Stratton shook the man’s hand and faced Singen again. ‘I’ll head off and do a recce and check on the det people. Let me know as soon as you’ve found a mounting area.’

‘Will do,’ Singen said, checking on the vans.

Stratton faced the superintendent. ‘Where exactly is the boat?’ he asked him getting out his map.

‘I’ve got a map already marked out for you,’ the police officer said as he took it from his pocket and opened it out on the bonnet of the car. ‘The boat’s tied up alongside the town quay. Do you know this area at all?’

‘No.’

‘This is exactly where the boat is.’ The Superintendent indicated a mark circled on the River Ouze that ran north/south along the west side of the town.

‘We’re going to need a noose around the boat, at least four hundred metres radius,’ Stratton said. We need to be able to close down the entire area in a second if the situation requires. That’s every road, alleyway, back door, wall, fence, sewer. Airtight.’

‘I understand,’ the officer said confidently.

‘And they’ll need to be armed,’ Stratton added.

‘The armoury’s being emptied as we speak.’

Stratton nodded, taking a moment to study the map and make sure he’d covered all his immediate needs. ‘Good to have you aboard, sir,’ Stratton finally said to the superintendent as he folded the map.

The police officer was suddenly flushed with pride, ready to fly to the moon if this lot asked him to. ‘Anything you need, just ask,’ he said.

Stratton looked around. Everyone was wearing black assault gear under civilian coats, except for him and the three Americans. ‘Lieutenant Stewart,’ he called out. Stewart was helping load a box into one of the vans and looked up to see it was Stratton calling him. Stewart walked over to him.

‘What’s your first name?’ Stratton asked.

‘Tom.’

‘Tom. Get your two guys into black and tooled up. You come with me. We’re gonna do a recce of the boat,’ Stratton said as he grabbed his bag and put it on the back seat of the car.

Tough as Stewart was, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat jazzed at being invited to accompany Stratton on the initial recce. Not only was it a compliment, it communicated that he and his boys were every bit a part of the team. It was becoming obvious Stratton had a way with soldiers.

‘Superintendent. Do you have a card?’ Stratton asked. The Superintendent reached into his pocket and found one. Stratton checked it. ‘I can get you on this mobile number?’ he asked.

‘Any time.’

Stratton climbed into the car. Stewart returned from instructing his men and climbed in beside him. Stratton handed him his own map that he had folded to show the area. ‘We’re there,’ he indicated. ‘Sandringham House.’

‘Yeah. Place looks great. Wish I’d brought my camera.’

‘We can probably wangle a discount on the tour later. I want to get on to this road, the A149. We’ll take it down to this roundabout here. Knight’s Hill. Then find our way to here, where the boat is. You all set?’

‘Yep.’

‘Tooled?’

Stewart opened his coat to reveal a regular cannon: a black, long-barrelled, 20-round 45 Magnum semi-automatic with dewdrop nose recoil stabiliser tightly secured in a quick-release shoulder holster. ‘Fucking Yanks,’ Stratton said, shaking his head with a smirk. ‘Don’t fire that thing at the boat or you’ll sink it.’

‘Just let me know,’ Stewart said, grinning for the first time since arriving in England. Stratton started the car and drove across the green on to a road that led to one of the huge ornate gates. Behind him the vans were already starting their engines as the last operative climbed in.

 

Twenty minutes later, Stratton and Stewart were standing on the cobbled stone quay, with the old customs house at their backs as they looked towards the southern end of the quay where the
Alpha Star
was moored. Stratton took a small, flat radio from his pocket, stuck a wireless earpiece inside his ear and clipped a microphone to his sweatshirt, hiding it under his jacket. ‘Let’s see who we’ve got with us.’

He turned on the radio, set the channel to 4, and put it inside his breast pocket. He faced Stewart and looked at him as if he was talking to him. ‘All stations, this is Stratton. Who’ve we got?’

There was the familiar sound of the secure communications system kicking in, his words being scrambled, then a voice unscrambling back to him. ‘Hello, Stratton. This is Ed, ’ere.’

‘Good to hear you, Ed,’ Stratton said. ‘Where are you?’

‘South of target, three fishing boats. I’m on one of ’em.’

‘What have we got?’

Ed was sitting back on the deck of the deserted fishing boat, hidden from view with a pair of binoculars pressed up against his eyes. ‘It’s a good possible,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen one face I think I recognise. Sean McKennen?’

‘Of the Warrenpoint McKennens,’ Stratton replied.

‘That’s right. He was out on deck just for a moment. ’Ad something bulky under ’is coat. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was an SMG.’

‘Any movement on or off the boat?’

‘Not since I got ’ere ’bout twenty minutes ago, but the boat ’ad been alongside a while, I think.’