Deathlist (39 page)

Porter nodded at Bald. ‘Let’s get out of here, mate.’

Devereaux made for the front driver’s side of the Merc. Coles was done bleaching the Land Rover. He tossed the plastic bottles aside. Bald and Porter turned away from the boot, ignoring the muffled whimpers of Brozovic inside. In a little over an hour they would reach the pick-up point at the airfield at Clarmont. Once the handover was complete they would fly back to the safe house in London for the mission debrief and their shiny new contracts with Templar. A new start, thought Porter. A clean slate. That’s what I bloody need. He could finally bury his demons. Put all the shit with the Regiment behind him once and for all. Templar were offering him a decent salary and a chance to get back to doing what he did best. Being on the front line.

It’s what I’ve been trained for. It’s all I know.

As he turned away a distinct trilling reached his ears. The sound of a mobile phone ringing. Porter stopped in his tracks and looked towards Bald. The sound was coming from Bald’s jacket pocket.

The burner.

Bald frowned. The first thought he had was:
Who the fuck’s ringing me?
As far as he knew only one person had the number for his burner. The blonde over in Hereford. Sally Higgins. It must be her. Bald’s second thought was,
Something must be wrong with the tapes
. Why else would Sally ring out of the blue? He fished the mobile out of his pocket and glanced down at the luminous green display. Unknown number. He took a few steps away from the Merc so the other lads wouldn’t overhear. Tapped the answer button. Pressed the Nokia to his ear.

‘Sally?’ he said. ‘What is it, love? What’s wrong?’

There was a series of clicks and whirs down the end of the line. Then a male voice said, ‘John? Are you there?’

Bald stood absolutely still. Felt the blood draining from his head to his toes. Shit. It wasn’t Sally. Wasn’t even close. But it was a voice Bald recognised all the same.

Hawkridge.

How did he get this number? And what the fuck does he want?

‘Yeah,’ Bald replied numbly. ‘I’m here.’

Hawkridge sighed with relief. The sound came down the line like a shiver. ‘Jesus Christ, man. Where the hell have you been? We’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past twenty minutes.’

‘Bad reception,’ said Bald. In the corner of his eye he could see Devereaux and Coles swapping questioning looks. They were both thinking the same thing, wondering why Bald had a mobile on him. ‘We’re out in the sticks. On our way to the RV now.’

Hawkridge took a deep breath and said, ‘Listen to me, John. You’re walking into a trap.’

The words moved like a knife through Bald. He stood rooted to the spot, a chill clamping around his neck. A vicious thumping triggered between his temples. He kept the phone pressed to his ear but slid his eyes across to Porter. To Devereaux, and Coles.

Thinking,
Someone’s double-crossing me here
.

‘John? Did you hear me? For Christ’s sake, man. It’s a set-up. Get the hell out of—’

There was a sudden flash of movement. Bald saw it in the corner of his eye. He looked back across to the Merc. Saw Coles retrieving his Sig Sauer P226. Drawing the weapon level with Bald’s face. Bald still had the Nokia glued to his ear. He stood rooted to the spot and looked on helplessly as the South African tensed his index finger on the pistol trigger. Ready to send Bald over to the dark side.

Coles was halfway to depressing the trigger when Devereaux lunged at him. He was four metres away and shaping to tackle the South African to the ground before he could get a shot off. Coles spun towards Devereaux in a blur of motion and fired. Devereaux was less than two metres away when the pistol muzzle lit up. The bullet smacked into his upper chest and took him clean off his feet. Devereaux made a grunt then dropped and rolled away, collapsing face-down in the dirt next to the Merc.

Porter reacted in an instant and reached for his holstered Sig. Coles spotted the move and spun towards him. The Sig flashed and cracked. The round pinged off the Merc in a flurry of sparks. Porter dropped to his haunches and rolled two metres to his left, then brought his gun arm level with his shoulder. A month ago he was rusty. He’d lost his edge. But not now. Porter was sharp as fuck. He transitioned into a crouching firing stance and drew his gun arm level with his shoulder, pointing the Sig directly at Coles. The South African was slow. He was still turning when Porter pulled on the trigger.

The Sig kicked up in his grip. The bullet struck Coles several inches above his chest and buried itself in his right shoulder. His joint exploded in a gout of blood and tissue. Coles gave out a pained grunt before dropping backwards and landing on his back. The Sig tumbled out of his grip, clattering to the ground beside Devereaux. Coles clenched his jaws through the pain and rolled onto his side, reaching for the Sig with his one good arm. Now Bald burst forward and charged at the South African, kicking the gun away from him and following up with a brutal side-foot to the jaw. Coles groaned. In the same beat Porter scraped himself off the ground and moved forward, training his weapon on Coles. Devereaux lay two metres away. His left leg twitched a couple of times, then stopped. A pool of gleaming blood had formed beneath his body. Porter stared at Coles, rage brewing in his veins.

‘The fuck are you doing?’

Coles said nothing. Bald glowered at him. His brow was so furrowed his whole face looked like a bunch of knots in a rope. ‘Coles was flipped,’ he said. ‘It’s a trap, mate. Hawkridge was trying to warn us.’

Coles spat out blood. His eyes were bloodshot and wide. Blood continued to disgorge from his wound, gushing down his front and staining his jacket. ‘I knew the plan was blown as soon as your burner started ringing,’ he said. ‘You’re a stupid cunt, Jock. Nobody was supposed to have a phone on the op. Nobody was supposed to be in contact with us.’

Porter scowled. ‘Who the fuck are you working for?’

Coles went silent again. There was a look of fear in his eyes, but something else too. Defiance. Porter tightened his grip on the Sig and pressed the gun to Coles’s stomach, digging the cold tip between his ribs.

‘I said, Who are you working for?’

‘Piss off.’

Porter turned to Bald and nodded. ‘Get to this cunt’s wound.’

Bald didn’t need any encouragement. He tore off the South African’s jacket and ripped open his shirt. Then he found the entry wound, a ragged hole oozing dark, greasy blood. Bald jammed his left thumb into the wound right up to the knuckle joint and rooted around inside, digging into his tendons and muscle. Coles howled in agony.

‘Jesus,’ he cried. ‘Oh, Christ. Fucking hell, Jesus.’

Bald pulled his thumb out of the bullet wound. Tears were streaming down Coles’s face. Then Bald stepped back and Porter dropped to one knee beside the South African and pressed the tip of the Sig to the wound, drawing another agonised cry from the guy.

‘You’re not fucking blind,’ he said. ‘You saw what we did to those Serbian bastards. Mark my words, we’ll make sure it’s a hundred times worse for you. Now, tell us who you’re working for.’

Coles remained mute. Porter smashed the butt of the Sig into the South African’s face. Coles groaned as the pistol slammed into his mouth, shattering a few of his front teeth. He raised a hand to try and defend himself against the next blow. Porter jabbed him in the ribs, forcing Coles to involuntarily lower his arms. Then Porter clubbed him on the temple, crashing the barrel against the side of his skull.

‘Tell us what you know, and I’ll make it quick. Otherwise me and Jock will make your death real fucking slow. You’ll be begging us to double-tap you by the time we’re done torturing you.’

‘Lakes,’ Coles coughed. ‘I work for Lakes.’

Porter jolted. A cold fear clamped around his neck, percolating down his spine. He clenched his fists so hard his fingernails almost drew blood.

Coles went on, ‘Lakes got me a spot on the team. She told me to keep a close eye on you and Jock. I had orders to stop you from handing Brozovic over to the Firm.’

‘Stop us how?’ Porter demanded.

Coles clamped his eyes shut for a beat. ‘Lakes said I had to wait until we’d snatched Brozovic. Then I had to stop you before we made it to the RV, grab Brozovic and take him to the alternative RV. Lakes is waiting there. She was gonna put Brozovic on a plane before the Firm could get hold of him.’

Porter felt as if mice were fumbling around inside his bowels. ‘The mission was to take Brozovic alive. Why would Lakes want to sabotage it?’

‘They’re on the same side,’ Coles said. ‘Her and Brozovic. She supported him back in the Bosnian war, feeding him int. Helping him stay one step ahead of NATO. Lakes was working both sides. She couldn’t afford to let the Firm get to the Tiger, in case he spilled his guts and exposed her involvement.’

Bald stepped towards Coles. He made a face like he was choking on someone else’s spit. ‘Bullshit. Why would Lakes get into bed with a fucking war criminal?’

‘She’s part of a movement.’ Coles grimaced. He spoke through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. ‘Her and some of the Yanks over at the CIA. They supply the cash to the group. They’re secretive. They’ve got long arms. That’s how they recruited me. I was doing close protection work for a brother down in Johannesburg when they offered me a job.’

‘What movement?’ Porter asked.

‘They’re like the Crusaders. Right-wing. Hardcore. Even more than me. They think it’s their mission in life to defeat Islam. Protect the West.’

A thought gripped Porter just then. The kind of thought that could make an iceberg sweat. He remembered what Ninkovic had told them on the deck of the boat back in Serbia.
Brozovic has friends
, the 2i/c had said.
There were influential people who supported the Tiger from the outside.

He glared at Coles. ‘You mean to tell me this underground movement was supporting our enemies, in the middle of a bloody war?’

The South African parted his lips to reveal a bloodstained smile. ‘How else do you think Brozovic escaped the bombing that day in Zvornik? Someone warned him in advance. He had someone on the inside feeding him int. Lakes . . . she was the one who saved his arse that day.’

‘What about the Selection attack?’ Bald snarled. ‘Was she in on that too?’

‘Nah,’ said Coles. ‘That was all Brozovic. But Lakes knew he’d overstepped the mark. That the security forces wouldn’t stop until they’d hunted Brozovic down. That’s when Keppel reached out to me and put me on the team, to make sure it never got that far. And if it did, I’d take care of it.’

Porter felt his blood run cold.
Marcus Keppel. The old Regiment CO who runs Templar.

‘He’s in on it too?’

Coles swallowed blood and nodded faintly. He’d lost a shitload of blood and his skin had turned white. ‘Course he fucking is. Keppel and Lakes are tight. He’s the one who recommended you and Jock for the team. He reckoned you were so washed-up you didn’t stand a chance of locating Brozovic.’

Porter clamped his jaws shut.
Who else is in on this thing?
he wondered. He glanced quickly at Bald. Was Jock in on it? Maybe Hawkridge too.
I don’t know who to trust any more
. Then another tought jumped out at him.

‘I don’t understand. Lakes told us she needed Brozovic alive. Why bother getting us to kidnap him if she wanted him out of the way? She could’ve just given us an order to slot the bastard.’

‘She couldn’t,’ Coles said. ‘She said her orders came from the very top. She had to be seen to be following them. That’s why she needed me. To get to Brozovic after the op. It was the only way.’

The sound of the Nokia ringing interrupted Porter’s thoughts. Bald stared at the burner for a second. Then he took the call.

‘What happened?’ Hawkridge asked breathlessly.

Bald gripped the burner so tight he thought the casing might shatter. ‘Next time, how about you give us some more fucking notice.’

‘Calm down, old fruit,’ said Hawkridge. ‘We only just found out about Lakes ourselves. I tried to warn you as soon as we realised she was leading you into a trap. It’s not my fault the reception where you are is dreadful.’

‘Yeah, well,’ said Bald. ‘If you’d told us earlier then Devereaux would still be alive.’

A pause. ‘He’s dead?’

‘Coles slotted him before we could grab the fucker.’

Hawkridge clicked his tongue. ‘Pity. We knew Lakes had flipped one of the chaps on the team, but we couldn’t be sure who. What about Brozovic? Is he still alive?’

‘He’s still breathing,’ said Bald. ‘For now.’

A sigh of relief came down the line. ‘Thank God. Listen, John. You must keep Brozovic alive and get him to us. It’s vital we find out who else was part of this secret movement along with Lakes. She’ll be finished after this. Bloody finished, I tell you. We’ll crucify her.’

Hawkridge sounded enthusiastic at the prospect. No bloody wonder, thought Bald. He’ll probably be next in line for the top job at Vauxhall once Lakes is out of the picture.

‘What’s the plan?’ he said.

‘The airfield’s out of the question, now that we know Lakes was planning to make the intercept there. We’ll divert the plane and try to find an alterative RV. Until then you’re to sit tight and wait until further notice.’