Gray Salvation (27 page)

‘
Ostanovit’ sdelku! Ostanovit’ sdelku
!
’

Richard Notley had no idea what they were chanting, but he’d managed to get to the front of the throng and was pressed up against the security barriers, jiggling his home-made placard along with the rest of the protestors.

As he’d expected, some of them had tried to engage him in conversation, but he’d made a few hand signs and pointed to his ears, indicating that he was deaf. That had been received with a few shrugs and pats on the back, and he was accepted as one of the crowd.

Since then it had been a tense hour, watching the security being stepped up as the time for the dignitaries to arrive approached. Initially, there had been just four policemen watching the crowd, but that number had been joined by six suited security men, and though Notley was unable to determine if they were armed, he had to assume they were.

Half a dozen business leaders had already arrived, with three more limousines queued up to disgorge their passengers. The security detail had gone from passive to alert since the first of the guests had walked up the stairs to the hotel, and Notley was concerned that he wouldn’t have a chance to get close enough to his target to manage an effective strike.

The nearest guard was about three yards to Notley’s left, and when he turned away, Notley lowered his placard so that it covered his waist, then dug into his pocket and eased out the small bolt cutters he’d brought along. His earlier reconnaissance of the scene had shown that the security gates were fastened together with plastic ties, and he’d managed to position himself right in front of one of the joins. The two barriers were connected at the top and bottom, and Notley bent down and quickly snipped the lower one. When he stood up again, no-one seemed to have taken any notice of his actions, but his pulse still raced along.

Another vehicle pulled up at the bottom of the stairs. The hotel doorman performed his duty and revealed an elderly man and woman, who climbed out before the limo gracefully made way for the next in the queue. Notley had no idea what car his target was going to be travelling in, so it was a case of waiting until he recognised the health secretary, Oliver King.

When he saw him, he would only have seconds to strike.

He didn’t have long to wait.

The next car stopped in the customary spot and when the door was opened, King emerged and smiled at the gallery of press photographers gathered near the top of the stairs. He took a couple of steps, and then Notley’s plan began to fall apart.

He used the bolt cutters to snip the last remaining tie holding the barriers together just as the entire security team seemed to tense up and begin scanning the crowd. One set of eyes seemed to rest on him, and he began to panic, imagining that somehow they’d discovered his plan at the last minute.

The health secretary was forced back into his car by two security agents and the driver told to go.

This can’t be happening!

Notley kicked the barrier aside and ran towards the nearest agent, who thrust an arm inside his jacket. Notley knew he must be going for a gun, and he threw the placard towards him. As the agent put a hand out to prevent it from hitting his head, Notley ran past and rammed him with his shoulder, knocking the man off his feet.

King’s car was just a couple of yards away; time slowed as Notley’s fingers danced over the buttons of the phone in his pocket with practised ease. One to wake it up, one to select the contacts list, one to highlight the top entry, and the last one to make the call.

He was running only a yard from the car when the device secured around his abdomen received the signal, level with the rear door. He could see King’s face, a mask of confusion, and Notley felt a pang of sadness at not being able to confront the man face-to-face, to explain his actions, but the time for regret was long gone.

As the bomb around his waist exploded, Notley’s last thought was an image of Marian’s face.

She was smiling.

Zhabin began to feel the pressure as he emerged from the side street onto a busier road.

He’d no idea who was following him, but was certain it wasn’t the police or security services. They would have approached with weapons drawn rather than concoct a feeble story about recognising him.

He’d have time to figure that out later. For now, getting out of the area was the only thing on his mind. He glanced back and saw that the man was still behind him, and this time he was carrying something. He was also on the phone, and Zhabin guessed he was calling in his position.

Traffic was too heavy to try to commandeer a car, but the perfect conveyance was fast approaching: a motorcycle courier. Zhabin raised his pistol when the bike was ten yards away and squeezed the trigger. The bike slewed to the left and the rider was thrown off, landing in a heap on the pavement. A few people immediately ran over to tend to the injured rider, giving Zhabin the opportunity to mount the vehicle and roar away.

He would clear the immediate area and dump the bike, then call Dimitri to pick him up and take him back to the apartment, where he could hide out for a couple of days. Dimitri could arrange a new disguise, and Zhabin had a contact in Argentina who could provide him with a new passport. All he needed to do was to change his appearance, email a photograph of his new likeness to Buenos Aires and the document would be couriered over within a few days. As Bessonov was the one that had brought him to England, it was in both of their interests that he get out of the country as soon as possible.

But that only worked if he could escape this part of town, and his pursuer was still chasing him, barely ten yards away now as Zhabin righted the motorcycle.

He raised his pistol, aimed at the man’s chest, and fired. But balancing the bike had made him send the round wide. The slide of the handgun locked open, indicating an empty magazine.

No time to reload. He dropped the weapon and gunned the bike. The stranger made one last effort to stop him by throwing what looked like a stick at him, but it bounced short and off target.

Zhabin popped the clutch.

Time to go
.

Gray saw the sniper take down the biker and climb onto his machine. If he didn’t stop the man now, the authorities might arrive too late. The police were no doubt on their way, but because of Harvey’s request for a silent approach, there was no telling if they were ten seconds out or ten minutes.

Gray sprinted for all he was worth and was gaining ground fast, but not quick enough. All he could do was throw his makeshift weapon and hope to hit the rider, but before he could bring his arm back he found himself staring down the barrel of the sniper’s pistol. He was caught out in the open, with nothing to hide behind and nowhere to run. The shooter was within spitting distance and unlikely to miss.

Gray braced for the impact and saw the man’s arm pull left as the gun fired, the bullet somehow flying wide. The sniper looked at his empty weapon for a split second and let it drop.

Now.

He threw the tube as hard as he could, but it slipped out of his wet hand at the last second, and instead of flying towards the sniper’s head he saw it bounce near the front of the machine as the bike sped forward.

It turned out to be a better throw than he ever could have hoped for.

The tube skidded into the front wheel and became lodged between the spokes, and when it came up against the front forks, the wheel stopped dead. The rest of the bike, however, carried on, and the sniper was thrown over the handlebars, doing a somersault before smashing face first into the back of a stationary bus.

Gray was on him in seconds and found the man unconscious but breathing, blood flowing freely from his nose. Gray put him in the recovery position before calling Ellis with his location.

She arrived less than a minute later, with the first of the armed police cars close behind.

‘Is he dead?’ Ellis asked.

‘He’ll live. I called an ambulance just after I got off the phone with you.’

The incident had brought traffic to a stop, and the police officers administered first aid while they waited for the paramedics to turn up.

One of the officers asked Gray for a statement, and he accepted a seat in the back of a police car while recounting the events from his sighting of the sniper at the taxi rank.

‘Veronica Ellis will be able to fill you in on the rest of it,’ Gray said when he’d finished with his account. He got out of the car and walked over to Ellis, who was standing a few feet from the still unconscious sniper, rain soaking her through.

‘You need to get yourself home and dry off,’ he said.

Ellis shook her head. ‘I’m not letting this one out of my sight.’

Gray looked around and saw at least twenty officers on the scene.

‘I think the police have got this covered.’ he said, stealing a glance at his watch and seeing that he had about three hours before he had to check in for his flight to Florida. He took Ellis’s arm and led her back to the car, then got in behind the wheel. ‘I’ll drop Andrew off at the hospital.’ To Harvey he said, ‘I’m sure you’ll want some time alone with Sarah. Sorry I won’t be able to pop in and see her, but please give her my regards.’

Harvey nodded, his smile thanking Gray for his understanding.

‘After that –’ he turned to Ellis – ‘I’ll drop you home and get a taxi.’

‘Where are you staying tonight? With Sonny and Len?’

Gray managed a smile of his own. ‘I’m going home to see my girl.’

Chapter 30

3 February 2016

Veronica Ellis turned into Marsham Street and was fortunate enough to find a parking space right outside the Home Office building. Her sadness at attending her official termination meeting was tempered by the thought that she would never have to visit this ugly building ever again.

The late winter morning had blessed her with an almost clear sky, though the temperature was still closer to zero than she would have liked.

After passing through layers of security, she was escorted to John Maynard’s office and told to take a seat in the waiting room. Ellis knew it would be at least five minutes before she was seen, a favourite trick of the home secretary. Why he insisted on keeping people waiting was beyond her, but she suspected it had something to do with the size of his penis.

She was still smiling inwardly at the thought when the door to the office opened and John Maynard gestured for her to enter.

Ellis couldn’t help sneaking a glance at his crotch as she walked past him.

She wasn’t surprised to see that the home secretary wasn’t alone, but she’d expected the head of HR and perhaps a lawyer or two, not Alexander Parrish.

‘Take a seat, Veronica.’ Parrish smiled at her from behind the home secretary’s desk.

‘Thank you, Prime Minister.’

Maynard stood off to Ellis’s right, hands in his pockets and hatred plastered all over his face.

‘Quite a couple of weeks we’ve had,’ Parrish said, leaning back in the chair. ‘From the reports I’ve read, it seems a lot of the credit has to go to you and your department.’

‘My team did an outstanding job under very challenging circumstances,’ Ellis agreed. ‘I’m just glad the trade deal was able to go ahead as planned.’

‘Indeed. President Milenko and I had a very long chat afterwards, and he wanted me to convey his gratitude.’

‘It’s what my team do,’ Ellis said, before correcting herself: ‘I mean, it’s what
they
do.’

Parrish sat upright and, after glancing at Maynard, he clasped his hands in front of him on the secretary’s desk. ‘That’s what I brought you here to discuss,’ he said. ‘Thanks to your tenacity, we were able to establish the link between Zhabin, Bessonov and Moscow. I’ve spoken to Demidov and spelled out what we know about his involvement. While he flat-out denies it, he’s agreed to pull his troops back from Tagrilistan to enable peace talks to continue.’

Ellis tilted her head in acknowledgement, betraying no hint of a smile.

‘When I spoke with President Milenko,’ the PM continued, ‘in addition to conveying his gratitude, he also told me that, although he may disagree with your methods, your actions saved his life and have brought about the hope of a peaceful resolution to the conflict in Tagrilistan.’

Ellis remained impassive, figuring there was more to come.

‘In addition,’ Parrish continued, ‘he thinks it would be counterproductive of me to relieve you of your post. He thinks your people skills could do with a little polishing, but believes you are the right person for the job. Given the fact that the incidents last week have generated a lot of headlines worldwide, I also think we need you to continue the good work.’

You mean, tossing me aside would be bad PR
, Ellis thought, but held her tongue. If she really were to be reinstated on the spot, then it wouldn’t do to antagonise her paymasters any more than she had already done.

‘This doesn’t mean you’re completely off the hook,’ Maynard said, joining the conversation. ‘You blatantly disregarded orders, and that will stay on your record. I’m just waiting for you to screw up one more time and I’ll be all over you like stink on shit.’

‘Eloquently put,’ Parrish said, turning serious. ‘But I have to echo John’s sentiments. We can’t have you playing the Girl Scout any more. You’ll be under enormous scrutiny, and if you stray from protocols one more time, I’ll be forced to take action.’

‘Understood, Prime Minister,’ Ellis said. ‘You mentioned the link to Moscow. I’ve been out of the loop for a few days . . .’

‘Zhabin broke,’ Maynard said. ‘We told him we were in the process of extraditing him to Venezuela for one of the assassinations, and he’d obviously heard about prison conditions there. In exchange for a British prison cell, he gave us his bank accounts and we tracked the money back to Demidov.’

That was indeed good news, but Demidov wasn’t the Russian who concerned her. ‘What about Bessonov? Please tell me you managed to pin something on him.’

‘Forensics found enough blood matches in the basement to link him to at least a dozen murders over the last couple of years,’ Maynard said. ‘We also matched Thompson’s blood and his DNA on the bloodstained suit, so he’ll be going down for that, too. His reign is over.’

Ellis wanted to consider it a victory, but given the hell Harvey, Thomson and Farsi had been through, it would be a hollow one at best.

‘I’d better get back to the office,’ she said. ‘I have a feeling there’s a lot to catch up on.’

Ellis rose and shook the PM’s hand, and – despite her loathing for him – Maynard’s, too.

‘Oliver King also asked me to thank you,’ Parrish said. ‘Without your timely intervention, he would have been caught out in the open and I’d be looking for a new health secretary.’

‘Thank God for reinforced cars, eh?’ Ellis smiled. ‘How long before I can get my access back?’

‘Your security card is waiting on reception at Thames House,’ Maynard said. ‘All other privileges have already been restored.’

Ellis smiled at the home secretary, knowing it was killing him to give her a second chance.

‘Thanks, John. I look forward to working with you again.’

With the lie delivered, Veronica Ellis left for the short drive back to her office.