Bad Soldier: Danny Black Thriller 4 (52 page)

Two dirty, tired, grizzled Regiment men. A scared Muslim kid in tow. Danny knew they looked like an unusual trio as they entered the restaurant, which stank of grease and bad coffee. He didn’t care. He told the spotty teenage waitress that they needed a seat by a power socket. They were led to one with bad grace. They asked for the Wi-Fi code and ordered black coffee. Danny and Spud watched as the kid plugged in his laptop, using Danny’s lead.

‘It will take a couple of minutes to power up,’ he said.

Danny nodded. He looked around. There were four other parties in here. All of them were eyeing the kid with barely concealed mistrust. On the far wall a TV was on. BBC News. The sound was down, but that didn’t matter to Danny. He recognised the aerial shots of Sandringham House and grounds. Stills of the church, and of Yellow Seven and the other royals. Danny thought he caught a glimpse of Tony standing there behind them.

The footage cut to Westminster Abbey. Crowds. A high police presence. A part of his mind wondered what had been happening there. But he was too focussed on other things to care deeply.

‘It’s on,’ Joe said.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, opening up windows that displayed lines of impenetrable code. Then, after thirty seconds, a map appeared. Joe tapped on the screen, and Danny examined it.

There were pins placed in the map, many of them, at approximately five-millimetre intervals. They described a journey. It started in London. Moved along the roads Danny knew so well to Hereford. From Hereford it moved north-east, to Birmingham.

From Birmingham, the trail disappeared. But then there were more pins on the north Norfolk coast. Joe pointed at the gap between the two. ‘He must have removed the battery from his phone between here and here,’ he said.

‘How long was he in Birmingham?’

Joe hovered over the pins. ‘About two hours,’ he said. ‘On the morning of the twenty-third.’

‘Can you give me an address?’

Joe swallowed hard. He typed a few more lines of code. Cross-referenced a GPS location. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can.’

‘Danny,’ Spud said quietly. He glanced towards the counter at the front of the restaurant. The spotty waitress was on the phone. She had one hand over the mouthpiece, as though talking secretly. She was looking at the three of them, and occasionally glancing towards the TV screen.

Danny pulled out a twenty-pound note and left it on the table. ‘Pack up,’ he said.

The kid blinked at him, then shut down the lid on his computer and quickly stuffed it into his rucksack. By that time Danny and Spud were already on their feet. They strode to the exit, Joe scurrying behind them. The waitress slammed her phone down, guilt written all over her face.

Back at the vehicle, they took their usual seats. Danny turned to Joe. ‘The address,’ he said. ‘Give it to me.’

‘Milton Road,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you the number.’

That didn’t matter. For Danny Black, it was information enough.

Ray Hammond’s landline was ringing, and so was his mobile. He ignored them both and stared at the member of Regiment support staff standing nervously at the other side of his desk.

‘What?’ he snapped.

‘They’ve been sweeping the ground at Sandringham. They found a box of ammo in the bushes near the strike area. They came from the Regiment armoury. We’ve just checked it. There are several items missing. Two assault rifles, two handguns, sights, radio equipment, ammo—’

‘Yeah, I get the fucking picture,’ Hammond spat. ‘Did you call Danny Black and Spud Glover in?’

‘We tried to, boss.’

‘What do you mean, you tried to?’

‘They’re not at home. We called, sent people round . . .’

Hammond covered his eyes with his hands. ‘Find him,’ he said.

‘Boss, he’s gone AWOL.’

‘Don’t give me fucking excuses!’ Hammond roared. 

The guy swallowed hard. ‘We’ve had a report of two men answering their description in a Little Chef about eighty miles from Sandringham,’ he stuttered. ‘But I don’t think it can be them. They had a Middle Eastern kid with them. I mean, surely he’s not—’

‘Just find him!’ Hammond shouted. ‘Just find Danny Black!’

Night had fallen.

Milton Road was an unpleasant street on the northern edge of Birmingham. Houses along one side. Lock-ups along the other. There were no Christmas lights here. It wasn’t that kind of area.

The mist had stuck around all day. Now the temperature had dropped and the fog seemed to freeze against everything. The windows. The tarmac. The metal of Danny and Spud’s weapons.

The car was parked at the top of the street. Danny, Spud and Joe were standing on the opposite side of the road, next to a lock-up whose grey garage door was fastened with a huge padlock.

‘You can stay,’ Danny said. ‘We’ll find a place for you.’

Joe shook his head. ‘I want to disappear. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve been learning how to be invisible.’

Danny inclined his head. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of notes, which he handed over to Joe. The kid looked hesitant. ‘Take it,’ Danny said. ‘Find somewhere warm to stay. You ever need me, get a message to RAF Credenhill. Can you remember that?’

‘RAF Credenhill.’ He took the money and gave Danny a grateful look.

‘If you’re going to go,’ Danny said, ‘it’s best you go now.’

Joe glanced up the road. ‘Are you going to kill them?’ he asked.

Danny sniffed. ‘What’s your real name, Joe?’

‘Yusuf,’ the kid said.

Danny nodded. ‘It’s best you go now, Yusuf,’ he said.

The kid stuffed the money into his trousers and stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He nodded at Danny and Spud, then turned his back on them and walked away into the freezing mist.

Danny and Spud watched until his grey silhouette disappeared.

‘Good kid, that,’ Spud said. Then, as they both turned to look the other way: ‘Ready?’

Danny looked down at himself. He was filthy. Covered in blood, sweat and mud. He removed his Sig from its holster, cocked the weapon and then made it safe. When he looked back at Spud, he saw that his mate had done the same. ‘Ready,’ he said.

They walked calmly and silently down the street. They heard music coming from one of the houses. Distinctively Arabic. They passed that house, and three others, before stopping.

They were outside house number nine. It looked just like all the others. With one small difference. Just to the side of the front door was a pram. Danny recognised it. Recognised the multicoloured toy tied to the handle that he had bought for his daughter just six days ago.

In the front window was hung a thick net curtain. Behind that curtain was the silhouette of a woman holding a child. She was pacing the room, swaying from side to side, clearly trying to comfort the baby.

Spud turned to Danny. ‘Shall we go get them?’ he said.

Danny nodded. He flicked off the safety catch of his weapon. Then he and Spud advanced towards the house.