The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) (36 page)

“Most of them look in their late teens. They’re all wearing white tracksuits.” He paused and Craig knew something worse was coming. “They’re manacled to the walls all around the room and the ones at the doors have explosives strapped to their chests. One of the guards has a manual trigger.”

Damn! The detonator wasn’t dependent on the mobile network so they couldn’t block it; the group had thought of everything.

“Is his finger on it?”

“No. It’s not a dead man’s switch.”

Not quite everything then. It was good news; the bomb wouldn’t detonate if the guard was dropped. Still, his money was on the guards not wanting to kill themselves anyway. Warton’s next words said that he was wrong. The sect’s warped ideology went all the way down the ranks.

“We’ve got audio close enough to hear. Until now they’d been praying in English but the guards have just started some sort of Latin chant. They’re making the kids join in.”

“Patch it through. I want Liam to hear.”

Liam listened intently for a moment, his face grim, then he confirmed Craig’s worst fear.

“It’s the Latin prayer of absolution. I think they’re preparing them for death.”

The guards weren’t hired guns, they were zealous followers. And they weren’t waiting for orders; even if the hierarchy didn’t contact them the disciples already knew what they had to do. Kill all the sinners and then kill themselves. They were going to mow the hostages down then detonate the explosives. They only had minutes to save a score of lives.

Taking a life never got easy and if it did then you were in the wrong job. It should make you feel sick every time, make your pulse race, your face flush; you should feel the sweat trickling and then flooding down your back. Each shot should take a second but feel like it was taking an hour and afterwards you should pray to make peace with your God. Craig could feel it all now, the same as if he was pressing the trigger himself, but easy or not it had to be done so he gave the order quietly down the line.

Then they listened. Listened to the yells of “armed police” followed by nine loud cracks. Liam thought he could hear the guards hit the ground and they both heard the screams of the kids, then everything grew muffled until finally Warton’s voice came through again.

“The guards are dead. We’re in through the windows and the hostages are safe.”

Craig nodded. John and Des would catalogue the forensics and tie it all up with a bow. Now they just had the leaders to round up. It sounded easier than it was.

“Good work, Lou. Check that the place is empty then get them to hospital and checked over. Notify their folks they’re OK but hold everyone; they need to be interviewed. And be careful, some of them might be Stockholmed.”

“What about the leaders?”

“If we’re right we’re looking at their Alamo now. I’ll let you know.”

He handed Liam the radio and listened as he gave some round up instructions, then he nodded him to get Davy back on the line.

“Any sign of anyone leaving the country?”

Davy sucked air through his teeth and they knew it was bad news. “Carlton’s gone, chief. He caught a flight to Zurich through Heathrow last night.”

He was cut short by Craig’s swearing.

“Damn, damn, damn! That’s my fault for not moving quick enough.”

Liam disagreed. “You couldn’t have stopped him. Davy only caught him on camera this morning and by then he’d already gone. They must have known they were taking a risk buying the paper so they cleared him out immediately.”

Craig wasn’t appeased. He barked down the line, “What about Rustin?” This time Davy breathed normally.

“As far as I know she’s still here.”

Liam nodded. “Maybe she’s Murray’s favourite.”

“Or maybe he knew her cover was blown so she was dispensable. Carlton’s probably joining a cell we know nothing about yet.” He realised Davy was still on the line. “OK, thanks, Davy. Armed Response freed the factory hostages but the three guards are dead. I’d like to avoid the same happening here if possible. Send me some armed uniforms but tell them to approach with sirens off.”

He cut the call and gazed straight ahead as Liam stared at him quizzically.

“You really think that they’re coming out alive?”

Craig went to shrug then shook his head instead. “I think they’re probably already dead, although I hope not. I want the locations of the other cells.”

Liam shook his head slowly, but not in disagreement. Craig was surprised by his next words.

“If they’ve killed themselves they’re going to hell. Suicide’s a sin.”

“As opposed to the murder of countless people?”

“In their warped minds, yes. They thought they were murdering for God, old style biblical justice, saving their souls stuff. But I don’t remember it allowing suicide in any scripture I ever read.”

Craig gave a small smile. “What’s that Shakespeare line? The Devil can cite scripture for his purpose. I imagine he can twist it to suit himself as well.” He gave a shrug. “Who knows, maybe I’m wrong and they’ll give themselves up with a smile.” He climbed out of the Audi as two liveried patrol cars drove silently into the grounds. “We’ll soon find out.”

As they approached the priest’s house the first thing they encountered was the incumbent parish priest unconscious in the vestibule. He was hypothermic but at least they hadn’t killed him, but then he hadn’t been on the sect’s sinners list.

Craig inched down one side of the house’s Edwardian inner hall, pressing his back against its glazed green tiles. Liam mirrored him on the other wall with two armed officers close behind. As they reached each room they kicked open the door, checking first one side and then the other with their Glocks steady in their hands. It took less than a minute and led them all to the same spot, standing outside the door at the end of the passage knowing that one of three scenarios lay behind. A shootout, surrender or suicide, and there was a long tradition of people killing themselves for their beliefs. Any one of the three was fine with Liam; he just wanted the cell wiped out.

With a sharp nod the detectives kicked the door simultaneously, Craig twisting to one side, Liam to the other so that their lines of fire covered the whole room. It wasn’t necessary; Craig’s gut had called it right. There, slumped across the humble priest’s desk and dressed in a plain black cassock lay Frank Murray, pastor of the Church, with an empty whisky glass in his hand. Theodora Rustin sat beside him, her head back and eyes open, reclining in a small armchair. In one of her hands hung a small glass, its contents half spilt onto the floor, the other rested on the desk, almost touching the Bishop’s own.

Liam checked their pulses but it was redundant; their stomachs would hold poison, they’d seen its effects before. Craig stared coldly at the scene for a few seconds, then he turned on his heel and walked briskly back down the hall.

Chapter
Sixteen

The C.C.U. Press Room. Thursday 2
nd
April.

No-one noticed the single cold smile as Craig rose to his feet in front of the media, amongst the half-smiles of interest and the fuller ones of genuine acclaim. There was pleasure at a crime solved and a ring of fanatics broken, then more pleasure for the journalists at the thought of their headlines for the week: ‘Cult Cracked’, ‘Sect Shattered’, or some other alliterative crap.

All the great and good were there to take credit for the squad’s success, from church representatives, local MLAs and Cameron Lawton, through to Sean Flanagan and a host of A.C.C.s. But Craig was blind to everything except the lights blanking out the crowd’s faces, and deaf to all sound but the cameras’ clicks as he stood. What eyes he could make out held expressions that ranged from Terry Harrison’s grudging acknowledgement of a case solved to Nicky’s smile for a job well done. If he’d thought about it he would have wondered why Harrison was there at all; Limavady was his stamping ground so how come he was back at the C.C.U.? It was a question for another day and one he was too nervous to think about now; globally from a hatred of the limelight but specifically from his fear of giving the journos one wrong word to twist.

If he hadn’t been he would have noticed the man’s icy smile. A smile that didn’t reach up to his eyes but down, down to a much darker place; a smile that said you missed me, you missed me Craig and I was there right under your nose. More than that, it was the confident smile of a leader who’d made sure that no-one had even known his name to reveal.

But as the detective moved forward to the microphone the sect’s leader wasn’t entirely safe, because Craig knew that somewhere out there was an international ringmaster and he would never let it go. In fact he’d already begun the search, with Davy chasing the sect’s hierarchy with Interpol as a dry run for his PhD. They’d finally found a topic for his thesis that would satisfy both the force and the analyst’s love of all things covert; the use of technology in international criminal pursuits. He could cut his teeth on Interpol then it would be on to MI6, the CIA, Mossad and who knew where else. If the smiling man could have read Craig’s mind his arrogant smile might have been erased.

****

Laganside Courts. Wednesday 15
th
April.

They’d sat through four long days of Joanne Greer smirking and whispering to her barrister, like teenagers with a secret that only they knew. She hadn’t changed one iota since the day she’d been led from the dock to prison two years before; still the same sneering arrogance, still the same sense of entitlement. Craig marvelled at how her attitude had endured despite the penal system and wondered how many years it would take to break it down. He wasn’t optimistic; arrogance was like waste that would never biodegrade.

The way the defence was hammering at their case the long shot that Greer would win her appeal was looking shorter every day so, as the judge signalled an adjournment, Craig slipped speedily from the court in search of coffee and respite. He found both in the Waterfront Hall café and watched through its high windows as Yemi dodged the Oxford Street traffic on his way to join him. Two minutes of drinking and shaking their heads passed before either of them spoke. It was Yemi who finally broke the gloom; he adopted a hopeful tone that didn’t gel with his frown.

“It’s not over yet.”

Craig gave a cynical grunt.

“Let’s face it, it’s not looking brilliant. What gets me most is the way Greer keeps smirking. She’s got something up her sleeve, I know it.”

The Met officer added more sugar to his drink. “The only thing they have is that Ershov might have entrapped her and the tape disputes that.”

Craig gazed through the window, wishing he could see the river from where they were. It always chilled him out. He knew the main reason that he thought they were losing was Joanne Greer’s permanent Cheshire Cat grin; the jury had given no sign of what they were thinking and the force’s barristers were still gung ho. But there was something else as well and he’d just worked out what it was.

“OK, she’s trying to psych us out and it’s working. But I’ve just worked out the other reason I’m pessimistic.”

Yemi looked at him questioningly.

“The contract killers. I think if the appeal fails Greer’s going to give them up in exchange for a shorter stretch. With time served she could be out on licence right away.”

The D.C.I. shook his head. “Surely she wouldn’t be that stupid? By admitting she knows their details she’s basically saying that she knew about the assassination plans.”

Craig shook his head. “Not necessarily. She could say that Ershov’s successor gave her the information.”

Yemi laughed loudly, showing his sparkling white teeth. “What? Out of the goodness of his heart?”

Craig shrugged, unwilling to be cheered. “The Met would have to prove otherwise, and do you really think they’d bother if it meant getting their hands on a pair of assassins wanted all over Europe? Greer’s small fry compared to them. Wait and see. When the verdict comes in either Greer will go free on appeal or she’ll be looking for a deal.”

Yemi whistled slowly, before conceding that it was possible. “That pair will ice her if she gives them up. She might as well paint a target on her back.”

“Greer won’t think so. She thinks she’s invincible.”

****

Natalie and John’s house. Saturday 18
th
April, 1 a.m.

A party was the last thing that Craig was interested in but he knew it was his last chance to stop Lucia heading for Syria and the only thing that would stop his mother giving him grief for years. So he’d plastered on a polite smile for an hour and then got plastered over the following two, as he watched Katy and Natalie introduce his sister to every eligible man in Belfast in a last ditch attempt to keep her at home.

By one a.m. it looked as if they’d failed. Annette had gone home tired, Jake and Davy had disappeared hours before and Craig was just about to find Katy and slip away when he felt a hand insinuate itself into his and pull him firmly onto the dancefloor. He was just about to say ‘let’s leave, pet’ when he glanced down and saw that the woman holding his hand had black hair. As she wound her arms around his neck he stepped back, glancing around hastily to see if Katy was close enough to see. Sofia Emiliani was undeterred. As she reached her arms up again Craig planted them firmly by her sides.

“I don’t want to dance, thank you.”

She wasn’t listening; instead she slipped beneath his arm and placed his hand provocatively on her waist. He went to walk away, but not before Katy had approached, eager to pass on some news. She stopped halfway when she saw where his hand was, then turned and rushed away quickly though the crowd. Craig detached the psychiatrist unambiguously and set off in pursuit, followed by a glare that would have melted stone. By the time he caught up with Katy she was in a bedroom searching for her coat. He stood in front of her.

“It’s not what you think.”

She didn’t look up, just renewed her search more vigorously.

Craig reached for her hand but she pulled away, so he reached again, this time for her shoulders. He gripped them firmly, turning her round so she could see his face.

“It wasn’t what you thought. She was coming onto me.”

Katy twisted, trying to free herself, but he wasn’t letting go. His words grew firmer.

“I’m not interested in her. Not at all.”

She glared up at him, unconvinced. “Why? What’s wrong with you? Every other man drools when she walks past.”

He could see tears glistening dangerously in her eyes and he knew he had to make things crystal clear, so he slid his arms round her waist and pulled her towards him; kissing her until finally she relaxed and kissed him back. He pulled her gently onto the bed and kissed her more deeply, oblivious to the door opening and closing and people’s muttered apologies. When they finally fell back laughing it was one-thirty and Craig was vaguely aware that they had an audience. A round of applause told him instantly who it was; Liam. Danni was standing beside him, giggling into her hand.

“Well, here’s me thinking you were mature and now we find you snogging like teenagers on top of a pile of coats! This’ll take some living down, boss, I can tell you; but it’s nothing compared to what’s just happened outside.”

Danni stopped giggling for a moment to nod solemnly, then she glanced at Craig and began laughing again.

Craig straightened his jacket and helped Katy off the bed. “Why? What’s happened?”

Liam tried not to look pleased but failed badly. “It’s been kicking off for the last half hour. Some bloke arrived and started a fight with Jake––”

Danni cut in. “It was Aaron. You’ve met him before.”

Liam gazed into space, trying to recall. “Oh, aye. At the pub one night. Anyway, that’s not the best of it – your kid sister’s only gone and waltzed off with Ken! They disappeared outside half an hour ago and never came back.”

Katy nodded furiously. “That’s what I was coming to tell you.”

Liam shook his head slowly, in an attempt at gravitas. “When Carmen finds out there’ll be hell to pay.”

Danni thumped him on the arm. “You told me that she’d dumped him.”

“That won’t stop her kicking off. Mark my words.”

Craig nodded in agreement. Technically Ken was a free man, although whether Carmen would remember that she’d said so was another thing. He thought about the Lucia/Ken match for a moment and smiled. It made sense; Ken was definitely Lucia’s type looks wise, he was also well-travelled so maybe his tales of the Middle East would be enough to quell her wanderlust. Either way Katy’s idea of a match-making party might just have worked. Craig squeezed her hand and she looked mollified, but Liam hadn’t finished yet.

“Here, I saw the black widow coming onto you, boss. You did well to escape there, but you know damn fine that she’ll be back.”

Craig felt Katy free her hand and he quickly retrieved it as Liam puffed out his chest and adopted his best man of the world tone.

“She tried it on with me of course, but I was busy drinking.” He noticed a glint in Danni’s eye and added a hasty caveat. “Not that I ever would, of course.”

The glint deepened. “You’d better not, Liam Cullen, or…” She curled her hands into fists.

Craig laughed. “Are those for him or her?”

“Both of them, but Liam will get it first.”

Liam hugged his petite wife. “She’s no competition for you, love.” His next words were a mistake. “Besides, I saw Andy trailing after her a minute ago.”

Danni wriggled free. “And what if he hadn’t been? Eh? What then?”

It was Craig’s cue to find somewhere more romantic than a pile of coats.

****

Laganside Courts. April 22
th
. The Verdict.

“Is the jury agreed upon a verdict?”

The jury foreman rose in his seat and coughed hesitantly before answering yes.

“Is it the verdict of you all?”

The foreman glanced at the paper in his hand, as if the words might have changed since they’d left the jury room one minute before. He nodded, reassured. “It is.”

The judge waved the clerk to bring her the note. She read it quickly then passed it back for him to announce. Craig stared straight ahead and he knew Yemi was doing the same in the seat behind. He heard the two words “appeal rejected” then he exhaled loudly and glanced across the courtroom at Joanne Greer. Her face confirmed his worse fear. Instead of dismay or anger at losing her case the sly smile that had haunted them for weeks was still there. He would love to have said it was just bravado but he knew that something far murkier was at play.

Craig sensed someone taking the seat beside him and gazing anxiously at his face, but who it was he couldn’t have said. His attention was focused on Greer and the smiles of her legal team, then at her barrister crossing to the prosecution table and beckoning their lead advocate to join him outside. As they left Craig noticed the victims’ relatives smiling happily because they naively believed that Greer would be serving the remainder of her term. He only wished that he could believe it too.

Annette and Yemi had taken the seats beside him and eventually the court cleared, apart from the three detectives, the legal teams and an almost laughing Joanne Greer. Ten minutes later Craig’s worst fears came true. The legal teams shook hands and muttered that Greer’s sentence would be commuted to time served, once she’d fulfilled her side of the bargain and the necessary papers were all signed. As she left with the officer to return to prison Joanne Greer paused and gave them a little wave. Craig fought the urge to throw up, turning to Annette instead.

“All your hard work, Annette, and she’s still going to get out. I’m sorry.”

She patted his arm comfortingly. “It’s not done yet, sir. And remember that the original conviction was upheld. You and Yemi were vindicated.”