Payback (33 page)

‘
It’s done. Exactly as I promised. We have six Scud ballistic missiles. And a Maz-543 mobile launcher. An experienced launch crew. And of course the chartered ship.’

‘
The warheads. You’re confident?’

‘
I’ve told you many times, no. No! I’m not confident. The old Soviet weaponisation was always the weak point. Getting the right concentrates of filler powder, the right dispersal and scatter...We never tested enough. That was the problem. But with what I learned from Blacher...Maybe we will succeed.’

Barton
smiled to himself. ‘When will they be in position?’

The
ship will be off Cyprus tonight, the missiles available for gyroscopic launch almost immediately. To follow your instructions.’

‘
And those instructions are clear? Crystal clear?’

‘
Absolutely.’

‘
Good. You’ve done well, Andrei. There’s another £100,000 for you when this first phase is completed satisfactorily.’

Rybinski
was pleased with the praise, but not the additional bonus. After a lifetime being stifled by the Soviet Union, all that now motivated him was big money, to ensure the last fifth of his life at least was worth living. He had a lot to crowd in to so little time. As for that extra £100,000, alongside Barton’s prospective billions it was nothing like enough. A couple of million pounds would be more like it. Enough to make this his last risky adventure. He certainly wanted nothing more to do with the Moscow gangsters through whom he had negotiated to buy the military weapons. Two million. That was what he wanted. Barton had no option but to agree. The Englishman no longer scared him. Not one bit.

‘
No,’ he said, his voice firm.

‘
What do you mean, no?’

‘
I mean it’s not enough. Two million—pounds. I want two million. Or everything’s off...’

There
was a long silence on the line, as his heart pounded. For a while, he feared the connection had been lost, and that perhaps Barton had never even heard his threat. His confidence now evaporating, he prayed this had happened, not daring to speak and ask if he was still there.

Finally,
however, Barton broke the silence. ‘You are a gambler, Andrei. This is something I did not know about you,’ he said, evenly. ‘Me too. I also gamble. And I accept your wager. If this goes exactly to plan, I will give you your two million. But if it fails, I will not
have
the money to pay you anything. Making you very dangerous to me...while you live. You have just bet your life, my friend. Let us both hope it is a long and prosperous one.’

The
line went dead, leaving Rybinski white-faced and afraid.

*

‘What’s the news on Lydia?’ Tom asked.

Neil
Penny had met him as arranged at Belize Airport, and was thrown at seeing Madeleine with him. Barton, he knew for sure, was not expecting her. ‘Nothing. Our helicopter pilot thought the man we sent in looking for her may still be alive though. Apparently his radio briefly came to life a day or so ago. But then nothing again.’

‘
No ransom demands?’

‘
No word at all. The police have teams out searching. And we’ve also put a crack squad in there. The best people available. They’re sure to find her, Lady Barton,’ he said, turning to Madeleine, still worried about her showing up unannounced. ‘I hadn’t realised you were flying out.’

‘
Neither does my husband. I thought I’d surprise him.’

Penny
and Tom caught each other’s eyes, recognising the understatement.

‘
How are arrangements going for the Alliance meeting?’ Tom asked, as they walked to the helicopter, a porter following with a luggage trolley. He saw that Penny was surprised at the question. ‘It’s OK. James’s finally briefed me up on everything out here.’

Penny
still looked unsure, but replied, ‘They arrive the day after tomorrow. Just for one night, thank goodness. The arrangements are going just fine, as far as I can tell. Not my patch really. But I have heard some yelling over the firework technicians arriving late. That apart, all seems to be going to plan.’

Fifteen
minutes later, the pilot helped them in for the short flight to San Ignacio. Tom sat next to the Englishman, chatting to him as well as he could above the noise. The sea around the Cays sparkled its incredible blue as they took off, but soon they had left the coast behind heading inland south-west.

The
flight was uneventful, hot and soporific, the sun beating mercilessly down on the goldfish-bowl cockpit, when the pilot suddenly became excited. ‘Listen!’ he called out.

Over
the tinny speaker came a voice they all recognised. An English, frightened voice. ‘Come in! Come in! Anyone. Please! This is Lydia Barton. Lydia Barton. Anyone. Please!’

‘
I read you,’ the pilot said, his cool professional voice contrasting with her obvious panic. ‘Confirm please. You are Lydia Barton?’

‘
Yes. Yes! Who is this?’

Tom
burst into a huge smile. ‘Can I?’

The
pilot handed him the spare headset. ‘Go ahead.’

‘
Lydie, it’s me. Tom! This is tremendous. How are you?
Where
are you?’

‘
Tom...thank God.’ She was crying now in relief. ‘I’m in the rain forest somewhere. Being kept here by a native. Someone Daddy’s been using for experiments. It’s all too horrible.’

‘
Are you safe? Has he hurt you?’

‘
No. The opposite, in fact. He saved my life. But I’m afraid of what he’s planning. Some ritual revenge. And I have to be quick. He’s away hunting, but could be anywhere, nearby.’

The
pilot cut in now. ‘What about an American called Bolitho? He was sent looking for the native and never returned.’

‘
This must be his radio. I think he’s dead. There’s a body. The native butchered him.’

This
silenced them as they all attempted to come to terms with what she had said—and its possible implications for herself. At last the pilot continued, keeping his professional tone in tact. ‘When you left the Jeep, how long did you walk?’

‘
A little over a day.’

‘
That helps a lot. And can you light a fire, or somehow use the radio again when it’s safe to signal to me? I’m the helicopter pilot who dropped the man we sent in to find the native.’

‘
Better than that. I have a flare gun. But we’re still in deep forest. And even if the thing penetrated the canopy up there, you’d never find anywhere to land. But listen, I’m pretty sure that later today he’s going to head back with me towards San Ignacio. For this revenge of his. Payback, he calls it. It sounds crazy, I know, but he seems to think he can just walk back into the ranch, and get to Dad.’

‘
He got to you easily enough,’ Tom warned. ‘It sounds like it would be a mistake to underestimate this man.’

‘
You’re right.’ She of all people realised that. If he set his mind on doing something, he had to be taken seriously. ‘Look. I have to get off this thing. My best guess is that we’ll head out later for the pine forests. And then travel the road at night. I’ll either radio you or use the flare and hope to hell he doesn’t know what’s happening. But then—come running. Fast! Got that?’

‘
We’ll be there for you,’ Tom promised. ‘Meantime, take care. Fire that flare in his face if you get scared. Anything. But just keep safe. For me. You hear?’

‘
I’ve missed you. Missed
us
.’

‘
Me too.’ Then there was just static. Hissing. She had gone.

Maddie
put her hand on Tom’s shoulder. That last brief intimacy between them had spoken volumes, and explained so much that had not added up. And now she knew who Lydia’s mystery man was. It would certainly take a little getting used to, but she was pleased for them. When she left James, she was going to need both to help her get through the divorce and the fight over the estate—Lydia’s estate and heritage every bit as much as her own...

*

It had been like taking candy from a baby.

By
feigning a tummy upset and disappearing to the privacy of nearby bushes, Lydia had kept the pilot regularly updated on their long trek back towards the road. Then as soon as she and Banto broke into light forest, the pilot told her to stop risking the radio calls. He had picked them up on the thermal imager, and in turn radioed to another three of Barton’s best men their exact location and ETA at the road.

When
it happened, she had been glad Banto was taken completely by surprise in the ambush, knowing her father would have given them instructions to kill him if necessary. As it was, they were still unnecessarily brutal, handcuffing and leg-ironing him. Tom and Dr Penny had raced to her from the people carrier. She and Tom embraced, hugging each other, not needing to talk, taking comfort from their touch and closeness. Penny left them alone, watching what was obviously much more than a display of close friendship. The men had been about to throw away Banto’s weapons when Penny stopped them, deciding to take back the arrow-tips and the container of poison. It would, he thought, be interesting to analyse the stuff sometime back in his lab. Nature’s own biological weapons might have much to teach him.

The
plan had been for Penny to check Lydia over for any immediate medical attention that may be necessary. Then the three were to fly back to the ranch in the helicopter which had now put down near by. She had, however, flatly refused to leave without Banto, fearing the mercenaries might still kill or further mistreat him. So instead, they all travelled back together in the Unimog, Penny asking her endless questions and Tom just holding her hand, massively relieved to have her safely back.

Lydia,
although pleased to be with Tom again, was feeling oddly equivocal about her rescue. And especially her part in Banto’s capture. It was something she badly needed to resolve. On one hand she had been genuinely afraid in the jungle: of its obvious dangers, and for most of the time of the native himself. He had been like a Martian to her. At no time had she ever felt she knew what he was thinking. Her interpersonal skills and social antennae, things that made her who she was—all of these had suddenly ceased to function. It had been a totally disorienting experience. On the other hand, despite her early fears, he had in fact protected, and never once abused her.

She
turned round and caught Banto for once staring at her. Her mind played over half-remembered ‘primitive man’ references—from Rousseau to Maslow, and she smiled back benevolently—still unconsciously patronising him. But he simply went on staring a second longer, before averting his black eyes to the window.

*

The phrase ‘operations room’ still conjures up Second World War film images of low-ceilinged underground bunkers with naked lightbulbs hanging over a huge table map littered with miniature battleships and planes. Of baggy-eyed servicemen wearing Bakelite earphones, and trim-waisted, uniformed girls with BBC accents parading before some lantern-jawed supremo barking Churchillian orders.

Things
have changed.

Peregrine
Mitchell’s ops centre was little more than a suitably equipped meeting room on the fourth floor of the Stalinesque Ministry of Defence building off Whitehall. The only concessions to cinematographic convention were the four twenty-four-hour wall clocks, labelled GMT, Belize, Washington and Jerusalem. Twelve communications officers were designated to work eight-hour shifts in teams of three, but all had to take their sleep and rest time for the duration of the mission on call in the building. There were sleeping quarters in the honeycomb of subterranean rooms and tunnels that runs the length of Westminster and Whitehall. Their desktop comms equipment linked them to the SAS and SBS headquarters, GCHQ, and via its secure network of geo-stationary Inmarsats to the Chiefs of Police in Belize and Lisbon, the RAF secondees at Belize Airport, to ‘watchers’ from MI5’s A4 Section—chosen above MI6 people for their local knowledge from colonial days—the two SAS and SBS operational commanders, and Washington. At the press of a button, Mitchell could patch himself in to whoever he needed to talk to, with the additional facility of conference calls. The line of command was clear to everyone. Mitchell was effectively a commander-in-chief, and once the respective Police Chiefs signed over control to him for the short period of the attacks, the strategic decisions were his alone, with tactical responses those of the field commanders.

Patching
in Hereford, the SAS major and the watchers in Belize, Mitchell asked for a sit-rep from the field. It was now the eve of the Alliance meeting. The day before the two raids.

It
was the SAS man who led. ‘A4 reported the Nigerian, Italian, Burmese, New York and Russian parties arriving at BZE over the last two hours. Three of the groups have now arrived here at the ranch by helicopter, the other two in transit. All are people we expected. A private jet has flown in the Colombian group direct to the strip here, with the Mexicans
en
route
. ETA fifty minutes.’