Honour Bound (32 page)

"Roger
that," Harvey acknowledged, then looked across at Leach.
"Now for the quickest ever cargo flight."

Leach
nodded, thinking more of the burning car below and the damage it could do to
the helicopter if it exploded rather than the distance they had to carry the
truck. Harvey had already turned his attention to the screen, so missed Leach's
nod and sick expression.

The
noise from the twin turbines deepened as the helicopter lifted the stricken
truck from the road, its gearbox hanging from the underside like a broken limb.
Thick black smoke pouring from the trail car swirled around the rising truck
like an enraged demon, only to be beaten into submission by the huge rotors.
Harvey manoeuvred the giant machine over the trailer of the lorry parked on the
inside lane at the western side of the road works. As the swing of the dangling
truck steadied, he lowered it gently onto the bed of the trailer. He blasted an
unintelligible curse as the truck's nearside wheels slipped off the edge. The
sudden shift in weight caused the helicopter to lurch alarmingly. Leach grabbed
the edge of his seat and glanced across at Harvey, a look of consternation
hanging on his face.

Harvey,
blissfully unaware of his colleagues discomfort increased the turbine power.
After gaining a few feet of height, he edged the huge machine and its ponderous
load gently to the right. On the second attempt, he managed to settle the
armoured truck on the centre of the trailer. The assault team released the
harness and Leach withdrew the winch.

"That's
us done for now," Harvey said. He increased the power and began retracing
their approach route.

Leach
looked at him. "Let's hope everything else goes all right,"

Feeling
his stomach settle down a little now they were in level flight, he craned his
head to look out of the bulbous glass window on his side of the cockpit. The
assault team, or what remained of them, for several were inert on the ground,
were busy lashing a black plastic sheet over the armoured truck.  As he
watched, a cloud of black smoke erupted from the exhaust of the articulated lorry
and it began to move forward. At the same time, the rear of the trail car rose
into the air with a ball of red and orange flame flashing out in all
directions. The car, with its nearside ripped open like tin can by the blade of
the earthmover, continued to scribe a slow motion circle in the air, flames
erupting from the ruptured petrol tank followed its progress like the fiery
tail of a comet. The car crashed down on its fire weakened roof that flattened
against the unyielding road surface in a silent tangle of twisted metal. The
charred and blackened remains of one of the crew hung out of the blazing
upturned car, its arms extended but bent in from the elbows towards its torso
as if beckoning for a final embrace.

Leach
spent a few moments controlling the contents of his stomach before breathing a
sigh of relief as the grisly sight disappeared from view beneath a veil of
smoke. He turned to Harvey, his voice faltering slightly as his mind replayed
the gory scene he had just witnessed.

"
The truck's
moving," he said, "let's get back and
refuel. Our next rendezvous is in ninety minutes."

Harvey
nodded and banked the machine to the right, setting a course for the
Holflight
depot.

Norton
watched the body of the gunman on the warehouse floor for several seconds, not
really expecting any movement but just to be sure before he put the Sig back in
its holster. He jumped down from the ladder and retrieved his jacket and
shotgun. He put the jacket on and looked at the large hole in the ceiling that
the body had made. He had wanted to go up to the roof. It was obvious their
target was the convoy and he wanted to know if it was still there and whether
or not he could assist. It was impossible now; the upper staircase that hadn’t
look very strong to start with, had collapsed completely and was hanging out of
the freshly made hole as if defying gravity. There was nothing, at least that
he could see, holding it in place to prevent it crashing to the floor.

A
heavy lorry thundered along the road outside. A rotten beam groaned with the
vibration. Moments later, gravity exerted its authority and the beam cracked
and gave way. The staircase, along with a large section of the ceiling
collapsed into a splintered, barely recognizable heap on the floor.

Norton
looked at the feet of the sniper, the only part now visible under the pile of
wreckage. He wondered how much blood money the man had accepted to kill
innocent people from this distance, what would it be, half a mile, maybe even
more. Close up, the man had been scared, not his sort of fight, it had shown in
his voice when he had called for his friend. This long distance killer was
scared shitless when he died.
A fitting epitaph.

He
knew there was no more to be achieved by staying in the warehouse, so he zipped
up his jacket and climbed out of the window. He drove the Ford away from the
forecourt of the derelict warehouse and headed towards the M4. A minute or so
later, guided by a pall of smoke, he entered the motorway by driving the wrong
way along the hard shoulder of the slip road. The carnage unfolded as he
rounded the bend. He stopped the car by a road roller and got out, drawing the
Sig as he did so.

He
looked around the area. Hundreds of spent cartridge cases and many discarded
magazines littered the road and the trailers of two
lorries
.
The sun sparkled on the shiny brass cases as though trying to brighten up the
area that had been host to such recent death and destruction. He spent the next
few minutes checking each body for vital signs. It was useless, for there were
no survivors here.

He
stood by the side of the lead police car, the air heavy with the smell of blood
from the bodies sprawled inside. Further along the motorway the occupants of
the cars that had stalled on the approach to the killing ground were starting
to realise the danger had passed. More and more of their number were appearing
from the safety of their vehicles to stare at the slaughter before them, the
less shocked were now on mobile phones, some calling the emergency services,
others taking photographs.

He
knew now why Holmes had needed a helicopter. A thick pool of oil and a few
metal fragments were the only indications that an armoured truck had been a
part of the convoy. Why hadn't he put it together before, so much for the idea
of searching the embankments for a likely escape
route.
What better way to avoid the traffic than to be above it. He shook his head.
Maybe he should have left it to the police as Sarah had suggested, or at least
allowed another operator to take over as soon as the whole thing became
personal. Would that have made any difference? He wondered. Whatever the
answer, it was too late for these people today. He had made mistakes and people
had died, he would have to find a way to live with that.

He
took the phone from his pocket and walked back to the car. He was about to make
his call for assistance when he heard the first sirens wailing in the distance.
Putting the phone back in his pocket, he sat on the bonnet and waited.

-56-

The
articulated lorry carrying the tarpaulin covered bullion truck, and the open
backed cone carrier were already at the rendezvous point, a disused quarry
about eight miles from the motorway, when the helicopter flew over. The six
surviving members of the assault team, now dressed uniformly in dark blue
overalls, got out of the van and stood around the trailer waiting for the winch
to be lowered.         

Leach
looked down at the group gathered below as Harvey banked the helicopter, the
wash from the rotors blowing away the loose grit and soil like the beginnings
of a sand storm. The ground crew had finished the refuelling in plenty of time
to make the rendezvous but the take off had been delayed for fifteen minutes
while a faulty oil pressure gauge had been changed. He could imagine the
feelings of the men down below and whispered a silent apology.

Harvey
manoeuvred the helicopter into a central position over the trailer using the
camera to help see through the cloud of dust. As before the winch snaked into view
on the monitor and minutes later, on receipt of a radio message from Peter
Greaves, he increased the power and lifted the truck, still covered with the
plastic sheet, clear of the trailer. After a few minor adjustments to the power
settings he set a course due south.

Just
as soon as they were flying straight and level, Harvey let out a burst of
laughter so loud and contagious that Leach could not help but join in. His
fears from earlier in the day had subsided now the end of the operation was in
sight. The dangerous part was over, all they had to do was dump the truck and
its contents and fly back to the depot.

Harvey
slapped his thigh and let out a "Yee-Hah" so piercing that Leach had
to turn down the intercom volume.

"Give
me that lovely cash," he bellowed. "I can taste the wine and women
already."

"I'm
going to buy a brothel," Leach shouted, infectious excitement increasing
the pitch of his voice, "I'm
gonna
enjoy the
stock taking and have a whale of a time."

Both
men were still laughing like demented hyenas, and trading 'I'm
gonna
buy,' stories, when their destination came into view.

"There,"
Leach said, controlling his laughter, "down there on the left."

Harvey
looked out of the window at a sprawling country mansion set in four hundred
acres of woodland shaped like a horseshoe. Between the rear of the house and
the inner loop of the trees was a lake. Its surface, rippled by a light breeze,
was painful to look at due to the myriad of reflections from the strong
sunlight. On the other side of the house a half mile long 'S' shaped drive led
from a narrow country road, through a thick screen of mature trees and bushes,
and ended in a large circle in front of the main doors. He could see two cars
parked there, one was the Daimler that belonged to Peter Holmes, the other an
Aston Martin he didn't recognize.

Harvey
looked across at Leach, a huge smile creasing his face. "Okay," he
said, "get ready with the winch release."

Leach
nodded. "Ready when you are. Just say when."

Harvey
guided the helicopter over the centre of the lake and held it steady. He looked
again at Leach, the smile still there. "When," he said.

Leach
pressed the winch release on the control panel at the side of his seat. A loud
crack sounded over the continual thumping of the rotors as four explosive bolts
in the winch head detonated. The helicopter rose suddenly as the winch
separated from its anchor point and the truck began its descent to the lake.
Harvey held the big machine steady, hovering two hundred feet above the water,
both men watched as the truck covered the final yards of its journey.

The
centre of the lake erupted into a green and white frenzy as though a depth
charge had exploded. Spray as thick and billowing as smoke rocketed skyward as
the surface was punctured by thirteen tons of steel and gold. The truck
disappeared immediately, leaving the lake boiling and seething like the surface
of a witch’s cauldron.   

Harvey
circled the lake once more. The only evidence of their visit came from a few
bubbles breaking on the surface as air escaped from the truck. Feeling pleased
with himself and his immediate future he set a new course to head back to the
depot.

Reginald
Langdon and Peter Holmes watched the final stage of the assault phase from the
rear patio of Langdon Manor. From there they had an unobstructed view over the
acres of freshly cut lawns of the waterspout generated as the armoured truck
crashed through the sparkling surface of the lake. They watched the scene before
them in silence. As the surface calmed itself after the massive intrusion only
then did the two men face each other and shake
hands.                     

Langdon
smiled to himself as Holmes waved like an overgrown child at the helicopter as
it thumped across the lake and house, gradually gaining
height.       

"Shall
we go back inside Peter?" Langdon suggested, "I think a little
celebration is in order."

"Yes,
there's nothing else to see out here. A long cool drink would go down nicely
just now." With a sideways glance at Langdon, he added, "Then perhaps
we can talk about money."

"Of
course," Langdon replied. His thoughts had not been far away from that
subject for most of the day. "Any time is a good time to talk about
money," he said. "But first, that drink."

They
passed through the doorway into the cool dimness of the dining room. Two of
Holmes' bodyguards sat at the far end of a large table as though expecting to
be fed.

"Do
you want to bring your other two men in," Langdon said
,
"to help us celebrate?"

"No.
They'll be fine keeping watch on the cars. Maybe your man could take a drink
out to them and keep them topped up?"

"Of
course, I'll arrange that." He pressed a button on a small panel recessed
into the edge of the dining table then motioned Holmes to take a seat. "As
soon as we have our drinks, we'll get down to business."

We
certainly will, Holmes said to himself. "I shall need to make a phone call
shortly," he said to Langdon. "I'm making a rather large investment
and now that is as good as in the bank,” he pointed towards the lake, “I intend
to authorize it today rather than wait about any longer. You don't mind of
course?"

"No,
of course not,
be
my guest. There's a phone in here,
or if you want privacy there's one in the study across the hall."

Holmes
tapped his pocket. "It's alright I've brought my own, it's pre-programmed.
I have a terrible memory for numbers."

"As you wish."

With
Langdon watching his back, Holmes stood and walked onto the patio closely
followed by O'Connell.