CXVI The Beginning of the End (Book 1): A Gripping Murder Mystery and Suspense Thriller (CXVI BOOK 1) (34 page)

“No!”

“Where are you?” he demanded again.

“I don’t have to tell you anything. I suggest you
concentrate on finding Williams before it’s too late.”

“If I find out you’ve got Dudley, I’ll have you both
locked up.” The line went dead and Woods immediately keyed in Plant’s number.
“His phone’s switched off,” he said, keying in Dudley’s, “and he’s not
answering. Can we have a trace placed on all three?”

Barnes shook her head. “They’re blocked numbers; you
can’t track them.”

Woods groaned. “This is turning into a monumental
disaster.”

“He isn’t responding,”
Faulkner-Brown muttered as he shook his head. “His phone must be switched off.”

“Why would he switch his phone off? He told me he’d
make his way here.”

Faulkner-Brown thought for a few moments, breathing
heavily. “I think I need to get over to Guilford-Johnston’s and see what’s
happening. You’ll have to wait here, just in case Plant shows up.”

“He should have been here by now. He doesn’t make
mistakes; something’s gone wrong,” Dudley baulked. “I don’t want to be hanging
around wasting time. Do you think he’s spotted Williams and gone after him?”

“He would’ve rung me,” Faulkner-Brown insisted. “I
could really use your help right now, but if you show up they’ll arrest us
both.”

“This isn’t looking good. What if Williams has
Plant?”

Faulkner-Brown shuddered. “Then we really are in
trouble.”

Woods paced up and down the
Incident Room cursing to himself while Barnes worked away at her PC. “Have you
found anything?” he asked.

“There’s a large out-of-town shopping mall not far
from Harrogate. It’ll be really busy and the sort of place you could meet up if
you wanted to blend into the background. If I were looking for somewhere nearby
I’d choose that.”

Woods sighed and came across. He didn’t have time
for doubts now, he needed to find Plant. He peered over her shoulder at the
image on screen.

“It’s only five miles from Guilford-Johnston’s.”

Woods took out his phone and called Hooper. “Can you
get someone over to the shopping. . .?”

“Just a second,” Hooper interrupted. “My other
phone’s ringing; I need to take this.”

Woods paced around the room like an expectant father
outside a maternity ward. He listened to snippets from Hooper’s conversation,
the gist of which did not sound promising.

“Shit, are you there?” Hooper sounded panicky.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Apparently it’s chaos out at Guilford-Johnston’s. There’s
been an attack on the house and I think at least one of the protection officers
has been shot. The Armed Response Unit is on its way.”

“Christ!” Woods put his hand to his forehead. “That
might be Plant making a move. Get over there and keep me updated.” Woods ended
the call and looked around for Barnes who was speaking on her phone. He went
over and from the tone and content of her conversation gathered it was the
officer in charge of the protection team. She finished the call and looked at
him. “Guilford-Johnston’s been abducted!”

“Fuck!” he said, and in a futile attempt to hide his
frustration he placed his hands over his face. “Do we know if it was Plant?” he
finally managed to say.

She shook her head. “Three of the protection
officers have been shot. One’s in a critical condition.”

Hooper arrived at
Guilford-Johnston’s house and was allowed through the cordon. He went over to
speak with the senior protection officer, whom he did not know. “What’s the
latest?” he asked.

“We’ve looked at the house CCTV and a delivery van
arrived; the driver got out with a parcel, walked up the footpath towards the
front door and was challenged by the officer, presumably asking to see his ID.
The driver pulled out a semi-automatic pistol, shot the officer in the upper
chest, and then ran inside the house. He fired at the two other officers,
injuring them both. He grabbed Guilford-Johnston, cuffed him and marched him
out at gun-point, bungling him into the back of the van. It took less than two
minutes to abduct him. The officer at the front door is in a bad way; he’s in
surgery now.”

“What about the officer at the rear?”

“Never heard a thing, the pistol had a silencer. It
was Guilford-Johnston’s wife who raised the alarm.”

“Any trace of where the van headed?”

“It had a tracker fitted, and we’re in contact with
the delivery company who are assisting us. What did your guys see?”

Hooper held up his hands. “We were out searching for
Plant; he’d given us the slip and we missed all the action.”

The officer shook his head, but his attention was
distracted by an approaching PC. “Any news about the van?” he asked.

“Abandoned in the lay-by, about a mile away. The
original driver was found in his underwear, gagged, blindfolded, and tied up in
the back. The gunman overpowered him as he was taking a break. He took his
uniform. There was no sign of Guilford-Johnston, who was apparently dragged off
to another vehicle which must have been waiting for them.”

“Any idea what it was?” Hooper asked.

“The driver said it sounded like a diesel Transit.
Interestingly, although he couldn’t see anything, he was aware of someone else
being put into the back of the van with him, but they didn’t say anything on
the journey to where the van was abandoned, so he’d assumed they’d also been
gagged. However, when the door was reopened there was a heated conversation
between the gunman and the man who’d been in the back. Both were well-spoken
and the gunman was making threats.”

“Where’s the delivery man now?” Hooper asked.

“On the way to hospital.”

“I’ll get over there and. . .” Hooper stopped
speaking when he spotted Faulkner-Brown arriving on the scene. “Where’s Plant?”
he shouted.

Faulkner-Brown approached and shrugged his shoulders.
“What’s happened here?”

Hooper updated him.

“Can I have a look at the CCTV images?” he asked.

The senior officer agreed and they were taken into
the study and shown the footage.

“That’s Williams,” Faulkner-Brown confirmed,
pointing at the gunman.

“I’ll need to update Woody,” Hooper stated.

“This is one of the biggest cock-ups I’ve ever
seen,” Faulkner-Brown confirmed, appearing deflated. “You know Woods will be
finished as a detective after this.”

“Where’s Dudley?” Hooper responded.

“I’ve no idea. As far as I knew he was safely locked
up in your HQ.”

“Well, he isn’t any longer.”

He shook his head and looked up at the sky. “Woods’
and your priority should be finding Guilford-Johnston and Williams before it’s
too late.”

“And what’s your priority?”

 “Be sure to give my regards to Woody,” he shouted
as he walked off, shoulders down.

Woods received the update from
Hooper at around 1.30 p.m. The suspicion that Williams had abducted
Guilford-Johnston became a stark reality and Woods knew he was running out of
options. He was due to meet with Foster in half an hour, as both of them had
been summoned to the Chief Constable’s office. Someone had leaked the story to
the media, and Foster was expected to hold a press conference with Woods at around
five o’clock. Woods had a feeling it was going to be unpleasant. The press
apparently knew the police were supposedly protecting Guilford-Johnston —
suspecting him to be one of the final two victims — and would no doubt be
asking awkward questions. His plan to use Plant to draw Williams out had
backfired, and he was unsure if either Plant or Dudley were now accomplices. He
had tried again in vain to make contact with Faulkner-Brown, but the phone
number he had been given by Barnes was no longer connected to the network. The
impending cloud of doom was now his shadow and following his every move.

Faulkner-Brown arrived back at
the out-of-town shopping mall just after two o’clock and wandered around
looking for Dudley, eventually finding him milling around the lake watching the
geese feeding. “I take it he didn’t show?” he questioned.

Dudley shook his head. “His phone’s still
disconnected.”

“Williams has Guilford-Johnston, and possibly Plant.
We need to get out of the country.”

“Have we any idea where Williams may have taken
them? We can still retrieve this, and possibly discredit the police, provided
we get to Williams before he kills them.”

Faulkner-Brown, more than anyone, realised the
gravity of the situation. “I can get you out with me, but we must move now.”

“What about Plant?”

“It’s too late; he’ll have to fend for himself. That
is if he’s still alive. Are you coming with me, or staying to face the music?”

“Where are we going?”

“Hull, there’s a container ship leaving this evening.
We’ll both be on it; no questions asked.”

“Where’s it heading?”

“Who cares, as long as it’s as far away from here as
we can get.” Faulkner-Brown paused and looked down at the lake. “You know when
we started with this, I knew we’d have difficulties with Woods, but Barnes was
totally unexpected. She instigated much, if not all, of the trouble we’ve had,
and although I’ve had her thoroughly checked, I still believe she’s a
connection to Russia. She must have been assisted and heavily influenced by
them. What the hell she’s doing working for the police beggars belief.” He
scratched the side of his nose. “When we’ve had a chance to settle and regroup
I’ll organise something special for her.”

Woods returned to the Incident
Room to find Barnes, McLean and Hooper waiting for him. “Aye, it went better
than I thought it would,” McLean said.

Woods looked tired after the press conference. Nevertheless
he found a smile. “Aye, it could have been worse,” he replied, mimicking the
detective inspector.

Hooper approached with a resigned look. “I’m sorry.”

Woods sighed. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but we should’ve seen it coming; reacted
differently.”

“If you can believe them, the Intelligence Service
now say they can’t trace Plant, Dudley or Faulkner-Brown; they claim to have a
team out looking for them.”

“I bet it was Faulkner-Brown who tipped off the
press,” Hooper suggested.

“I don’t think so. He’s tried to bury the story from
day one; he’s the last person who’d go to the press.” Woods glanced over and
saw Barnes working on her PC. “Have you found anything?” he called out.

“There’s a mass of activity about the story on
social media sites right now. They’re discussing a particular webpage and
something that’s happening on it. I’m trying to load it, but there is so much
traffic, it’s taking forever… Oh, here it is.” Her expression gave an
indication of the severity of what she was witnessing. “You need to see this.
I’ve found Guilford-Johnston and Plant.”

Woods sprinted over and stared down at her screen.
“Now we are done for,” he said, reaching for his mobile.

The others came across and looked with horror at
what was being shown live.

Sunday 10
^th
June.

As Woods re-entered the Incident
Room — following his impromptu meeting with Foster and the Chief Constable —
Barnes was busy supervising one of the IT technicians. She was organising for
the webpage to be played through the large TV screen which was fixed up on the
wall. The screen had not been removed since the night of the Crimewatch
broadcast. Eventually it flickered into life, but there was a problem with the
audio, and the technician persevered, trying to rectify the situation. It was
obvious he was trying to impress Barnes, even flirting with her, but she wasn’t
interested; she was concentrating on the footage which showed Plant and
Guilford-Johnston sitting next to each another. They were securely strapped
into separate chairs. Above them, CCCXVI and CXVI had been painted on the
otherwise blank wall. Plant’s shirt had been removed, and above where he was
sitting there was a large glass demijohn fixed to a hospital drip-stand. It was
feeding a tube, the contents of which were being slowly dripped onto his right
forearm, which was blistered and severely swollen.

“They’ve tried closing down the webpage, but it
immediately reopens in a thousand new formats and diverts the existing traffic
to them,” Woods said, visibly cringing as he glanced up at the pictures. “It’s
being streamed through several websites. They can’t trace where it’s being
uploaded. The IP address is in New Zealand; obviously it’s using a proxy-server
to hide its real location. They’re talking about damage limitation.” Finally
the sound came through the TV. “What’s been said while I’ve been away?” he
asked.

McLean, who’d been making notes as he watched on his
PC, answered. “Aye, Plant’s not saying a word. He’ll be trained not to crack;
but the wee other fellow has been singing like a canary. He’s giving out all
kinds of confidential information.”

“Such as?”

“He’s confessed to authorising the murders of the
Mathewson family. You’ve had a mention, Dudley’s been implicated in your
attempted murder, and Faulkner-Brown’s been named as masterminding quite a few
dodgy dealings all around the world… and he’s even implicated the PM. He’s been
discussing secret operations in Afghanistan, Iraq and Iran. He’s like a scared
rabbit.”

“He’ll wrongly assume talking will save him from
what’s happening to Plant.”

“Aye, well it’s clear someone else is in the room
with them, but you can’t see or hear them. I’m assuming Williams is controlling
the microphone and prompting Guilford-Johnston; probably with a gun trained on
him.”

Woods cringed again as another droplet of liquid
landed on Plant’s arm. “They say it’s most likely a high concentrate of
sulphuric acid; it’ll be burning through the outer-layers of skin and on
through the sub-layer; it’ll be extremely painful. Not only that, the vapour
will cause chest tightness, difficulty breathing, fever and confusion.”

McLean shook his head. “Aye, well it’s not nice
viewing.”

Woods raised an eyebrow and looked as though he was
going to respond, but stopped as Barnes came right up to the screen and stared
— eyes wide open — at the picture. “Where’s the remote control?” she asked,
looking around the room.

“Aye, Sharron used it last,” McLean offered.

She rummaged around on West’s desk. “Got it,” she
shouted.

“What are you doing?” asked Woods.

“I’m trying to see if I can get a broader picture.
I’m interested in what that is.” She pointed to the very top right of the image.
“I think it’s the bottom corner of a small photo frame which is mostly out of
shot,” she said.

Woods turned up his nose. “As usual, Williams has
been meticulous; there’s no clue to where this is happening.”

Barnes wasn’t taking much notice of him. She pressed
the remote and managed to get a slightly larger screen-shot. Her eyes narrowed
as she concentrated on the top right. “I think I know where that is,” she said,
biting her lip.

Woods frowned. “Where?”

“I need to go,” she replied, as she ran to her
chair. She grabbed her coat and made for the door.

“Maria!” Woods shouted. But she was not listening
and did not intend stopping. She disappeared out of the door, ran across to the
staircase and raced down the stairs. When she reached the ground floor entrance
foyer she ran at the doors, banging them open, and nearly tripped over the kerb
that defined the edge of the car park. Undeterred she headed for the pool car, jumped
in and fired up the engine. She threw her coat in the back and glanced around
the vehicle. “Damn,” she said, realising she’d left her bag in the Incident
Room. Frustrated, she floored the accelerator pedal and the car screeched off.
She headed for the exit and as she swung to line up with the opening Woods
appeared in front of the car. Bang! His fists hit the bonnet when the car
shuddered to a halt centimetres away from him. As he leaned on the car he
looked straight through the windscreen. She noticed he was struggling to
breathe. He’d obviously chased after her.

“Get in!” she screamed. For a split second she
considered driving off the moment he moved out of the way, but she remained
stationary and waited for him to climb in. “Don’t ever do that to me again,”
she snapped. “I could have killed you.” She pressed her foot back down on the
accelerator pedal and the car shot out onto the main road.

“Why wouldn’t you wait for me?” asked Woods,
struggling to catch his breath and fasten the seatbelt.

“I haven’t got time for this,” she shouted as the
car built up speed. “I need to concentrate.”

“Where are we going?”

“Manchester.”

“What!”

“Albion Bedford’s office.”

“For Christ’s sake, Maria! It will take us too long;
we’ll need to get the local police over there now.”

“No we do not,” she hissed. “We want Williams alive.
Besides, I can drive really fast, and, unlike you, I’m safe.”

“Don’t tell me.”

She grinned. “Got it in one.”

“Are you sure it’s Bedford’s office?” he asked, his
eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

“When I met with him I studied the certificates on
his wall. One had an imperfection in its frame, that’s what I saw on the big
screen. Plus, his desk had been pushed back out of the way, but you could see
the impression in the carpet.” She glanced in her mirror. “Have you got your
phone?”

“Look out!” he shouted as a taxi pulled across in
front of them.

She changed down and floored the accelerator,
swerving around the obstacle, avoiding a collision. The taxi tooted with
annoyance. “Well? Have you got your phone?” she repeated calmly, as though
nothing had happened.

Woods nodded as he pressed his feet into the
footwell and pushed his body as far back into the seat as he could.

“Turn it off,” she ordered, again glancing in the
mirror.

He looked perplexed, but complied. “What if we need
backup?”

“I still have the unregistered phone and new sim, but
I doubt we’ll need them.”

“Watch the bus!” He grabbed the edge of her seat.

She veered around it. “Please stop it. I’m driving,
not you. I’d seen it.”

“We need a right at the next roundabout,” he said,
pointing at the road sign.

“We’re going left on the motorway, not right, then
off at 37 and over Woodhead.”

“That’ll take forever.”

She screeched to a stop. “Get out!”

He looked bewildered.

“You have a choice; get out, or be quiet. What’s it
going to be?”

“It’s quicker on the M62. I’m just trying to help.”

“Get out,” she barked. “On the motorway it’s harder
to know if you’re being followed. Plus, in three lanes of queueing traffic,
which there inevitably is on the M62, you don’t have the option of breaking the
speed limit. And this is the most direct route.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“Good!” she said, speeding off.

He remained silent for less than ninety seconds. “We’ll
definitely need backup when we arrive; Williams is armed,” he said as she was
heading up the slip-road.

She sighed. “Which part of be quiet are you having
difficulty with?”

“I’m thinking ahead.”

“Do you have any mace?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve left mine in my bag. We need a plan.”

“Maria, we’re not going in without armed officers.”

“Yes we are. When we arrive we’ll creep stealth-like
up to the door. Then you crash through it with all your might, making as much
noise as you can, and immediately roll down on the floor, heading for Plant
who’s at the right-hand side of the room. You can use him as a human shield.
I’ll be right behind you with the car jack and as Williams is concentrating on
you, I’ll disarm him.”

Woods rolled his eyes. “I don’t want this to be the
day that we both die.”

“I’ll sketch you a plan of the room so you’ll have
an idea of the layout and I’ll mark where I think Williams is either sitting or
standing.”

“Something about protocols,” Woods said.

“Don’t you ever break the rules?”

He laughed. “Since meeting you I’ve done nothing
else but break the rules.”

“So we break a few more and we get Williams alive.”

He didn’t reply and to her relief he remained silent.
Once they were off the motorway and heading out of Penistone along the A628 she
kept watching her mirrors. “Damn. We’ve got company,” she said.

Woods spun round to look out of the rear window.

“It’s the guys in the black Quattroporte. I thought
it was them on the motorway, but they were well back, I couldn’t be sure.
That’s the problem with motorway driving.”

“We can’t outrun them in this,” Woods observed.

“No, but we can outsmart them.” She accelerated
hard. “Wait until we’re heading down to the side of the reservoir. Then I’ll
show you how to drive.”

Woods kept watch at the rear as she sped over the
top of the moors and started the descent. “They’re keeping up with us, but
hanging back,” he updated.

“Excellent, it’s not far now. After the next few
bends there’s a gravelled parking area on the right. I’m going to swing in,
spin the car and wait out of sight up near the banking. You’ll need to climb in
the back and sit behind me. When they appear, the fun starts.”

“What are you planning?”

“We’re here!” She changed down, accelerated,
spinning the steering wheel and grabbing the handbrake. The car screeched off
the road and into the parking area. She slammed it in reverse and shot back up
towards the over-crop of mined earth, skidding to a halt. “Get in the back!”

Woods clambered ungainly over and somehow managed to
seat himself directly behind her. He watched the Maserati go past on the main
road and immediately Barnes went after it. As she got closer to the vehicle the
driver slowed, realising his prey had become his pursuer.

“Hold on!” she yelled as she got within millimetres
of the Maserati’s rear.

Woods grabbed the back of her seat to steady
himself. “What now?”

“Brace!” she cried, dropping a gear and accelerating
hard. She swerved out first, as though overtaking, and then deliberately swung
back in, clipping the rear corner of the Maserati. BANG! She gritted her teeth
and kept her foot planted firmly on the accelerator as the car ploughed on and
the Maserati swayed first to the left and then to the right. She remained in
close contact, assisting with its momentum as the rear wheel dug in and it
became airborne. She finally hit the brakes and skidded to a standstill as the
other vehicle left the road and careered through the crumbling stone wall and
down the rough terrain towards the reservoir.

Woods clambered back into the passenger seat. “We
need to ring an ambulance.”

“Do you think they’d ring if it was us? We need to
get to Albion Bedford’s undetected.” She drove on as Woods peered over the
remnants of the wall at what remained of the Maserati.

During the rest of the journey he appeared subdued
and Barnes worried the incident had unsettled him. She thought long and hard
before speaking. “They don’t give a toss about anything. They think they’re
above the law. They treat the police as though we’re a bunch of numpties. Look
at Faulkner-Brown - I bet my IQ’s quadruple his.”

Woods did not respond.

“I know we broke the rules back there, but needs
must. I’m sorry.”

He shuffled slightly around in his seat and looked
her. “Why is it that I always feel the subordinate, and that you are the one in
charge?” He sounded hurt. “Do you consider me to be a numpty?”

The question threw her; it was as unexpected as a
proposal of marriage from him. She took a moment to dissect it. “Of course not…
No…! Never…!”

He remained silent.

“I have nothing but respect for you. You’re one of
the very few men I have
ever
trusted.” She glanced across, noticing him
nonchalantly looking out of the window, as though her words had been
meaningless. “My problem is I become so focused that I steamroll on regardless.
You’re definitely the one in charge.” She glanced across again, but still it
was as though he wasn’t listening. “If you think we should do things
differently tell me what you want to change.”