Payback Read online

  And after Fergus’s capture Danny, with Elena’s assistance, had talked Eddie into helping them in their attempt to rescue his grandfather. Eddie had reluctantly agreed; he couldn’t bear the thought of losing his exclusive – or of the two teenagers walking into unknown and terrible danger.

  So he’d helped, against his better judgement. ‘I’m a coward,’ he told them. ‘If it starts to go wrong you won’t see my arse for dust.’

  Eddie had played a massive part in the rescue; if it hadn’t been for him they would never have got away. But it was the last thing he ever did. Danny had watched helplessly as one of George Fincham’s team put two bullets into the back of his head.

  Danny was thinking of Eddie as he waited at the ERV. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about him recently. He dreamed about him often – always the same dream, a nightmare in full colour.

  Eddie is running from the gunman and Danny is running towards him, trying to save him but knowing it’s hopeless, getting closer and closer as the pistol slowly rises in the gunman’s hand.

  He hears Eddie shout, ‘Danny, help me! Please, help me!’

  And just as Danny reaches out to grab Eddie and pull him away, the pistol roars, and with his eyes wide in horror and staring accusingly at Danny, the reporter sinks slowly to the ground.

  The dream never changed and Danny didn’t think he would ever get over the guilt he felt for Eddie’s death.

  ‘You deal with it,’ his grandfather had told him many times. ‘You have to – you just deal with it.’

  But Danny wasn’t like his grandfather, and after six months he still wasn’t dealing with it.

  The ERV was about a kilometre from the house. Fergus and Danny had gone searching for a suitable place soon after moving in. A copse of scrubby trees and bushes stood at the top of a rise in a succession of stony fields. Many years earlier there might have been rows of olives – a few withered survivors were dotted here and there, but mostly the landscape was barren and bare.

  From one side of the copse there was a good view down towards the town; on the other the fields slipped away to a dried-up river bed. On the far side there were more trees and bushes and then a quiet road offering an alternative escape route. Good reasons for choosing the spot as the ERV. The middle of the copse was dense and here it was possible to remain unseen while watching for anyone approaching from any direction: another plus point – and the fact that no one ever appeared to go there made it even more appealing.

  Once Fergus had settled on the copse as the ERV they had spent the next two nights bringing in and concealing escape kits. Tinned food and bottled water had been stashed in day sacks, which were in turn placed in heavy-duty black plastic bags. Fresh clothes and a wad of cash were put into another black sack and the whole lot was buried just below the surface of the dry earth. The freshly dug soil was covered with leaf litter and a couple of fallen branches and the exact location marked with a large and distinct stone carried in from the field. By the time they finished it looked as though no one had been there for years.

  After the drama outside the house Danny had virtually sprinted all the way to the ERV without once looking back. He arrived breathless but not panicking. They had talked about this eventuality many times and Danny knew what was expected of him.

  He stayed calm, reckoning his grandfather must be OK. Danny was pretty certain that the fishing line he’d seen hanging from the shutter had led to some sort of explosive device, but there had been no explosion.

  What he couldn’t work out was how Fergus had known the device was there. But there was plenty to do while he thought about it. Quickly he removed the branches and leaf litter, and using his bare hands he dug into the loose soil and uncovered the black plastic bags. He took everything from the bags and then filled in the hole and replaced the leaves and branches so that the area once again looked undisturbed.

  And then he sat down to wait. Six hours – that was the agreed time. He would wait for Fergus for six hours, not a second less. Danny might have moaned about his grandfather’s endless lectures, but now they were back in a conflict situation he was determined to follow orders and stick to SOPs.

  So he waited and watched, and the thoughts of Eddie Moyes began to return.

  7

  A Boeing 747 came lumbering down through the low cloud, engines whining and screaming as it made its approach to London’s Heathrow Airport.

  Marcie Deveraux was waiting by the fire escape on the third floor of Terminal Three’s short-stay car park. The noise of the next arriving jumbo began to build and Deveraux turned and saw the brake lights of a Volvo estate flash on as the driver realized he wasn’t going to make the turn down the ramp without scratching his expensive paintwork. Brake lights switched to reversing lights. The vehicle pulled back, gears crunched and then the Volvo shot forward down the ramp. Deveraux had remained out of sight, but it wasn’t to save the driver’s blushes. She didn’t want to be seen by anyone. She punched in a number on her Xda and put it to her ear. The call was answered quickly. ‘All clear,’ she said.

  Less than a minute later a dark green Chrysler Voyager with a tinted windscreen and blacked-out windows came gliding down from the floor above. This driver knew what he was doing. The MPV stopped and a side door slid back as Deveraux stepped out from the shadows. She got in and closed the door, and as soon as she was seated the vehicle pulled smoothly away and headed down the ramps.

  Dudley was in the seat next to Deveraux, still bundled up in his overcoat, despite the fact that the heating inside the vehicle seemed to be going at full blast.

  ‘I can’t pretend to be particularly impressed with Fincham’s team,’ said Dudley. ‘Missed Watts again, I hear – it’s getting to be a habit.’

  ‘The team is good, sir,’ replied Deveraux, ‘but so is Watts.’

  The vehicle cleared the car park and Dudley stared out of the window. ‘And I was under the impression he was just a middle-aged man with a limp.’ He turned to Deveraux. ‘Where are they now?’

  Deveraux took a deep breath. ‘We don’t know, sir.’

  Dudley sighed. ‘Why does that not surprise me either?’

  ‘The hit should have taken place three hours ago, sir. When there were no reports of an incident, the team went back to check it out. The house was deserted but the vehicle was still there.’

  ‘Obviously. As you keep stressing, the man is good – he wouldn’t be stupid enough to use the vehicle again. And what are your plans now?’

  ‘Fincham is seething, sir. He’s told the team leader that if she doesn’t want to find herself working as a traffic warden she needs to complete the job within three days.’

  ‘I said your plans, Marcie. Tell me what you want to do.’

  The vehicle braked suddenly as the traffic ahead snarled to a standstill. Dudley leaned forward to see what was causing the hold-up. There didn’t appear to be any obvious problem, although in the distance a police siren began to sound.

  ‘Well?’ said Dudley, turning to look at Deveraux.

  ‘I want to get to them first. And I have a way. I want to bring them back to finish this. I’ll find out who else knows about Fincham’s corruption and I’ll get Fincham and his fifteen million.’

  Dudley stared at Deveraux for a long moment before he spoke again. ‘Our fifteen million, Marcie.’

  ‘Our fifteen million, sir.’

  Dudley glanced out through the window again and spoke softly. ‘You’re a very ambitious young woman, Marcie. I admire that, and the ruthless streak; both necessary qualities in one aiming for the top.’

  Deveraux smiled. ‘Does that mean I get the go-ahead, sir?’

  The smile was not returned as Dudley replied. ‘I will give you this chance to conclude matters. But remember this, Marcie: I can be ruthless too. Extremely ruthless.’

  The car phone began to sound. As the shaven-headed driver lifted it from the hands-free cradle and put it to his left ear, Deveraux noticed that half the ear was missing. It didn�
�t seem to affect his hearing: he listened for a short while without speaking and then ended the call. With the phone still in his hand, he reached for the switch on the car radio. ‘I think you’ll want to hear this, sir.’

  The radio was tuned to Five Live, but the football commentator’s voice held no trace of the usual excitement associated with a Premiership match coming direct from Stamford Bridge. His quavering tones betrayed a mixture of bewilderment and fear as he tried to describe to the listeners the horrific scenes he was witnessing. ‘The players from both teams are standing in the centre circle. Hundreds of supporters are pouring onto the pitch – they’re desperately trying to escape the wreckage of the stand away to my right. Police and marshals are in the stand, but—’

  He broke off for a moment as another voice was heard shouting, but the words were muffled and unclear amid the panic and confusion. Then the commentator came back. ‘I’m going to have to hand you back to the studio. The police have ordered us to clear the stadium immediately in case there’s a second explosion.’

  8

  Danny saw the figure approaching long before he knew exactly who it was, but he soon recognized his grandfather’s distinctive limp. Then, when Fergus was still more than a hundred metres away, he held out both arms on either side of his body. He kept walking, arms outstretched in a crucifix position to make it absolutely clear to Danny that it was him.

  When Fergus walked into the copse his eyes quickly took in the day sacks lying ready and the fact that the site had been restored to its original state. He nodded, satisfied that Danny had carried out his orders. ‘Any problems?’

  ‘No. What about you?’

  Fergus reached into a deep inside pocket of the canvas jacket he was wearing and brought out the plastic Tupperware box. ‘No problems – and I brought along the little present they left us.’ He opened the box so that Danny could peer inside. ‘Semtex. And don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe now.’

  Danny had been waiting four hours to ask his next question. ‘How did you know it was there? I’ve been trying to work it out – I just don’t see it.’

  ‘The slats in the garage door,’ said Fergus, carefully looking out from the hide in every direction. ‘When I pull down the door at night I slam it really hard so that the slats close tightly on each other. That’s my tell-tale.’

  ‘But the door was down to the ground, just like it always is.’

  ‘No, not like it always is, Danny,’ said Fergus. ‘Our visitors couldn’t make any noise when they were leaving. They couldn’t slam the door down, so there was no way the slats could be tightly closed. I spotted that as soon as I looked at the door, that’s how I knew there was something wrong.’

  Danny shook his head. ‘If you hadn’t seen it—’

  ‘I did, Danny, that’s all that matters. But it means we’re finished here. I stuck around to see if anyone came back when the device didn’t go off.’

  ‘Did they?’ asked Danny.

  His grandfather nodded. ‘Three of them. Did a walk past a couple of hours ago. They didn’t see me but I got a perfect view of them. Our friends the builders.’

  ‘Paul and Benny?’

  Fergus went to one of the day sacks and pushed the box of Semtex inside. ‘I must be losing it – I should have spotted them. They were with the woman who killed Eddie. It means that bastard Fincham’s found us.’

  Danny’s heart sank as the prospect of one day returning to Britain seemed further away than ever. And then an even more terrifying thought struck him. ‘What about Elena?’ he almost shouted, expecting his grandfather to come back at him with an earful about concentrating on their own problems. He didn’t.

  ‘Just because Fincham’s found us, it doesn’t mean that Elena’s in danger. As far as we know, he’s not aware of her involvement. But we should let her know what’s happened, just in case we can’t make contact for a while. You can go online to her as soon as it’s safe.’

  Fergus delved into a day sack and took out some tins. ‘First we eat and get some rest. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.’

  9

  Elena didn’t bother thinking up a coded screen name; she was too shocked to find Danny waiting there when she logged onto MSN.

  She almost hadn’t bothered. A couple of the other girls at Foxcroft were watching a DVD down in the TV room and she’d been tempted to give MSN a miss for once. But at the last moment she decided that if she missed checking in once, it would be far easier to do it a second and then a third time. It was better to stick to her usual routine, and anyway, the girls were only watching a chick flick – the stories were always the same and she’d catch up quickly enough.

  Even so, she was a few minutes late logging on. And there he was. Elena speedily typed in her first message.

  E says: (8:04:27 pm)

  wots rong. wots happend. u ok???????????

  D says: (8:04:43 pm)

  don’t panic, all ok

  E says: (8:05:02 pm)

  but uv never come online like this. somefing must b rong

  D says: (8:05:13 pm)

  its ok. honest, anyway, i wanted to surprise u

  E says: (8:05:19 pm)

  u have!!! but y???

  D says: (8:05:26 pm)

  coz im here!!!!!!!!!!!

  E says: (8:05:36 pm)

  wot du mean here?

  D says: (8:05:48 pm)

  i mean HERE. back. very close 2 u

  Elena stared at the screen, hardly able to believe what she was reading.

  E says: (8:06:09 pm)

  ur joking, rite?

  D says: (8:06:23 pm)

  its no joke, im here. couldn’t let u no b4, 2 dangerous. can u get out now and I will tell u all

  E says: (8:06:35 pm)

  course I can. where r u? this is amazing!!!!!!

  D says: (8:06:57 pm)

  about 5 minutes away. meet u in 10. u no the alley two streets behind Foxcroft, one with dead end? meet at end, its quiet. go out back gate an be careful, don’t b seen E says: (8:07:10 pm)

  i wont. going now. CANT WAIT ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

  Elena logged off and powered down her computer. As she got up from her chair and rushed to her wardrobe to get a jacket, she saw herself reflected in the mirror on the back of the door. She was smiling, grinning all over her face.

  Marcie Deveraux sat in the driver’s seat of a blue Nissan Almera. The vehicle was parked in the street behind Foxcroft, about thirty metres from the building. She had a clear view of the back gate; she would easily be able to trigger Elena as she headed off for her secret meeting.

  In one hand Deveraux held her Xda; in the other was the small hard pen for tapping out messages on the screen. She logged off from MSN. She too was smiling, impressed at her ability to chat online like a teenager. She had been monitoring Danny and Elena’s online chats for months; tonight she had played the role of Danny to perfection. Security Service technical experts had hacked into Danny’s Hotmail account, allowing Deveraux to log onto MSN as Danny. She had logged on early, so that if the real Danny had attempted to contact Elena he would simply have got a message saying there were problems with the server.

  Deveraux put the Xda into the glove compartment and then felt for the Sig 9mm semi-automatic secured under her seat. She pulled out the pistol and checked there was a round in the chamber, ready to be fired. It felt comfortable in her hand.

  She had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. As she tucked it under her baseball cap she saw Elena emerge from the back gate and walk quickly away. She slipped the pistol into a pocket of her bomber jacket, got out of the vehicle and closed the door with hardly a sound. She pulled the baseball cap down over her eyes and turned to follow Elena.

  Deveraux had told Dudley that she was going to bring her mission to an end. Tonight was the beginning of the end.

  Stamford Bridge looked like a war zone. Dudley had the collar of his overcoat pulled up around his neck to ward off the evening chill as he checked the signal on the secure mobi
le he held. Hastily erected arc lights illuminated the immediate area of the explosion – the stadium floodlights had been switched off to frustrate the prying television news helicopters. But as Dudley stepped amongst the shattered remains of plastic seating he looked up and watched a police helicopter swooping low to chase away another heli packed with newsmen and -women.

  Ambulances had long since taken away the dead and wounded. Those closest had been killed or maimed by the impact of the explosion itself; others by the lethal shards of moulded plastic which had flown through the air like high velocity bullets as the explosive detonated and shattered the seats. Four of the dead were not victims of the blast itself; they had been trampled underfoot as panicking supporters tried to escape the ground.

  Blue police lights on top of vehicles parked on the pitch flashed around the eerily quiet stadium, catching and then losing white-overalled, plastic-booted forensic officers as they picked flesh and clothing from the killing area and then placed their gruesome finds in evidence bags. Dudley watched them at work, the intermittent, flickering blue light making them look like characters in an old silent movie.

  Dudley had no need of the information the forensic team would eventually discover about the explosives used in the attack: he had learned all he needed to know from watching the club’s CCTV.

  A teenage boy had taken his seat just before kick-off. He was wearing a black parka, unlike many of the home supporters around him, who wore their bright blue replica Chelsea shirts. The boy didn’t look at the pitch or read the match programme, but kept glancing up at the nearest CCTV camera. And he was smiling.

  He was lost for a few moments when the crowd stood up to cheer and chant and applaud as the teams ran out onto the pitch. After everyone around him re-took their seats he was still smiling, and as the whistle for the kick-off sounded he stood up. With his right hand he grabbed the cord held in his left, and pulled.