greater manchester police headquarters,
manchester, 7:30 a.m. gmt
They were back in the briefing room. All the officers who had taken part in the operation were there, including some of the top brass. A full British fry-up breakfast had been laid on by the canteen, complemented by urns of tea and coffee. Terry had arranged for a local off-license to open early and had supplied everyone with enough beer and liquor to sink a battleship. It was all going on MI5’s account, and K had been happy to approve it.
K had been ecstatic when Terry had called him on a secure line from the communications van. His response when Terry had informed him about their close call had been direct and, in the circumstances, quite fitting. “You lucky bastard.”
Terry had even had the chance to talk to Amanda; he had cleared out the van for that. She had agreed to lunch with him when this current assignment was complete, and they had even discussed his retirement from MI5.
“You’ve done enough,” she said.
“I can’t disagree with that,” he replied. “After this is over, there’s one more thing I need to take care of, and then I’m done.”
She sighed. “Terry, isn’t there always going to be one more thing?”
“No,” he replied. “Anyway, this one is personal.”
“What is it? What can be that important?”
“I’ll tell you when we meet, okay? It involves what happened to your father. Well, partly.”
“Fine, we’ll discuss it later. You take care of yourself.”
“I will,” he replied. Then she was gone.
Leslie and her two techs walked into the room and a huge cheer went up. She looked drained but happy and was immediately surrounded by a number of officers who wanted to shake her hand and pat her on the back. Finally, she was able to break herself free from the crowd and get some breakfast as well as a flowerpot-sized mug of coffee. She joined Terry and Huntington at a table.
“That’s that, then,” she said. “All safe.”
“What’s next?” asked Huntington.
“Well, we have a shitload of nuclear waste to dispose of, but that doesn’t involve me. As for the C-4, that will go to a range and be detonated. Meanwhile, I have to detail the steps I took to disarm the bomb just in case anything happens to me and someone else has to take care of the next one.”
“You did a hell of a thing today, Leslie. I hope you know that,” said Terry. He held up his coffee and clinked mugs with her.
“Thanks, Terry,” she replied. “What’s next with you?”
“Back to London with these guys,” he replied, slapping Huntington on the back. “We still have one more of these things to find. If K is right, we haven’t much time to do it.”
“Jesus, good luck with that. Just out of curiosity, how did they find this one?”
“We had some equipment flown in from the States that detects gamma rays and neutrons. Then we put the detectors into helicopters. Apparently, the Yanks kindly sent us six of them, which allowed us to cover a much wider area. Luckily, the Manchester bomb wasn’t shielded well, and once we started to focus on waterways, that made life a little easier.”
“Thank Christ for the Yanks,” said Huntington, raising a cup of tea.
“Can’t disagree with that,” replied Leslie as her and Nolan raised their drinks.
“I meant to ask,” said Huntington. “Do you have kids?”
“Why? Are you asking me out, young man?” replied the bomb disposal expert cheekily.
Huntington blushed. “No, not at all. Not that I wouldn’t be honored or anything . . .” His voice trailed off as he tried to think of what to say next.
“Be careful, mate,” said Terry. “You’re digging that hole deeper.”
Leslie smiled broadly. “Just kidding, Captain. Actually, I have three. Two boys and a girl. They are currently tucked up in bed safely at home in East Sussex with their dad. Here, I’ll show you some photos.” As she reached into her pocket, Terry’s satellite phone rang. It was K. Terry got up from the table and found himself a quiet corner of the room.
“What’s up, sir?” he said, waving at a group of officers as they raised some beers in his direction.
“You need to get back here right away and bring Huntington and his team with you. And Leslie and her people.”
The smile left his face. “Why, what’s happened?”
“It’s the girls, Nolan. They’re gone.”
Terry was already striding toward Leslie and Huntington. The SAS officer looked up at the MI5 agent and frowned. Nolan tapped himself repeatedly on his head with the flat of his hand, the universal signal in the military for “on me.” This meant “stop what you are doing immediately and come to where I am.” Huntington jumped to his feet and ran over to Nolan.
“What’s up?” he asked.
K was speaking but Terry interrupted him. “One second, sir. Captain, get your guys together with Leslie and her people. We have to get back to London right now. Now, sir, you were saying?”
“As our security team was bringing them to Thames House in the armored Jags about ten minutes ago, they were ambushed on a side street. The lead vehicle was taken out with an RPG, and the terrorists shot the two security officers that were in the car with the ladies. The Jags can take small arms fire, but they’re no match for a rocket propelled grenade.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“The only reason we got a heads-up so quickly was one of the men in the vehicle with the women managed to get off a brief radio message before he was killed.”
“Fuck! Any demands or anything yet?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Please tell me you had that tracker implanted in Kristen’s arm?”
“Sorry, son. That’s what they were heading over here to get done. Kristen had wanted to talk it over with Shae first.”
“Damn, damn, damn.”
“Cars are waiting outside,” interrupted Huntington. “Ready to go when you are, boss.”
Terry started running for the main doors to the building.
“How soon can you get back here?” asked K.
“That all depends on how fast that bloody jet can fly.”