Dead Halt

Chapter Eleven

Stephen Tanner was one of the most experienced officers in the Air Police. He was a former RAF helicopter pilot who had joined the Metropolitan Police at the end of the Falklands War. In contrast, Bruce Falconer was a rookie who had graduated from the police college only a month before. He was a quiet, soft-spoken youth whose self-assuredness had impressed his superiors and they had decided to put him with Tanner to help toughen up his character. Now, two weeks later, Falconer was already more assertive and Tanner was beginning to warm to his new partner …

“Hey, isn’t that Stamford Bridge down there?” Tanner said with a wicked grin, pointing to the football stadium in the distance as the helicopter approached Albert Bridge.

“Very funny,” Falconer retorted.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot,” Tanner said, the grin widening. “You’ve got tickets for the match this afternoon, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, and much good they’ll do me now.”

“Don’t worry, kid, it won’t be the last time your day off will be canceled at such short notice,” Tanner said, easing the stick to the left, arcing the helicopter in a graceful one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.

“You’re all heart–” Falconer trailed off and grabbed the binoculars.

“What is it?” Tanner asked, his face suddenly serious.

“I thought I saw something down there,” Falconer replied without lowering the binoculars.

“Where?”

“In that deserted warehouse over there,” Falconer replied, pointing it out.

“I’ll take her in for a closer look,” Tanner said, banking the helicopter away sharply to the left. “What did you see?”

“I don’t know. I thought I saw a movement through one of those broken windows.” Falconer cursed angrily and lowered the binoculars as the helicopter descended toward the warehouse. “I’m sorry, I should have been concentrating more carefully on the surroundings.”

“Forget it. You say you thought you saw something, that’s good enough for me. We’ll get the place checked out.”

“I’m going to look pretty stupid if it turns out to have been nothing.”

“You’re going to look a lot more stupid if we don’t report it and it turns out to have been that IRA cell.” Tanner indicated the radio. “Call it in, kid.”

Falconer nodded and reached for the radio.

Fiona lay on the lead swimmer delivery vehicle as it powered its way silently through the cold, murky water toward the barge. Mullen, who was carrying the hermetically sealed container, kept close behind her. They were guided by the powerful lights built into the nose of the SDVs and by the directional beacon detector which was set on the same wavelength as the homing device attached to the hull of the barge.

When they reached the barge, moored in the center of the river, she tethered her SDV to the anchor chain and switched off the light. Then, keeping close to the hull, she removed an optical fiber periscope from her belt and pushed its tip out of the water. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings. She focused on Vauxhall Bridge, which was two hundred yards away from the barge. The Merry Dancer was due to turn at the bridge before heading back toward Tower Bridge. The boat was now only a few hundred yards from the bridge. It would begin to turn within the next minute. She slipped the periscope back into its protective sheath then took the transmitter from the pouch on her belt and extended its short aerial. She released the protective cap covering the detonator and pressed the button.

Whitlock was the first person on board the Merry Dancer to react to the explosion. Grabbing Scoby by the arm he shoved him roughly to the floor.

“Lie down,” Sabrina shouted to the bewildered guests. “And keep your heads down.” Then, unholstering her Beretta, she ran, doubled-over, to the window. She could see the source of the explosion. Smoke billowed into the sky as the remains of the blue transit van burned fiercely less than fifty yards away from the bridge.

Whitlock hurried across to where she was crouched and followed her gaze. His radio suddenly crackled into life. “Whitlock here. Over.”

“C.W., get everybody off the boat now!” Eastman yelled. “Use the police launch on your starboard side. Do it now!”

Sabrina hurried across to the stairs and began ushering the terrified guests up onto the deck.

“Sabrina’s already moving them out as quickly as possible. What’s going on out there?”

“All I know at the moment is that two figures have been spotted aboard a barge a couple of hundred yards away from the bridge. And it looks as if one of them’s assembling what could be a rocket launcher. I’ve already instructed the chopper pilot and two police launches to close in on the barge. Hopefully it’ll distract them long enough for you to evacuate the Merry Dancer.”

“Understood. Call Fabio, tell him to get over there as well. He’s no use to us hovering over the boat.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

Whitlock clipped the radio back onto his belt then hurried up the stairs and onto the deck where Sabrina was busy helping the last of the women onto the launch. The men had yet to be transferred. Whitlock looked anxiously behind him. He still couldn’t see beyond the police launch which was protecting the boat’s exposed flank. And he knew time was running out fast …

“For God’s sake, hurry up!” Fiona snarled at Mullen.

“Almost finished,” Mullen retorted as he attached the tail section to the high-explosive round.

Fiona had unwrapped the two Ingram MAC II machine-pistols as soon as they had boarded the barge and she held one in each hand, waiting for the police helicopter to come within range. Mullen slotted the round into the barrel of the RPG-7 launcher and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

“Can you get in a clear shot?” she asked, glancing at Mullen.

Mullen squinted through the sights. “No, but if I take out the police launch in front of the boat, the force of the blast should be enough to take out the Merry Dancer as well. These are high-explosive rounds, remember?”

“Then do it,” she snapped.

The helicopter buzzed low over the barge. Forced to duck, Mullen tried to concentrate again on the target. Fiona fired a burst upward as it wheeled away. When the helicopter dived low again Fiona opened fire with both machine-pistols but could make no impression on the bullet-proof fuselage. Again Mullen had to take evasive action. Cursing loudly, he lined up the retreating helicopter in the sights of the launcher, then squeezed the trigger. The stabilizing fins snapped open the moment the missile left the barrel, giving it a slow roll as it homed in on its target. The warhead automatically armed itself after five meters and the helicopter was still trying desperately to turn out of the path of the grenade when it struck the side of the fuselage. The helicopter partially disintegrated in a hail of searing debris that rained down onto the water. The twisted remains of the fuselage spiraled grotesquely downward into the river, sinking within seconds in a bubbling hiss of molten metal.

Mullen punched the air triumphantly then reached for the second grenade, screwed the tail onto the missile, then slotted it into the breech. Fiona looked around as two police launches were closing in on them fast.

Suddenly the unmarked helicopter wheeled away from the Merry Dancer and arced in front of the barge, forcing Mullen to jerk his finger off the trigger. For a second his anger got the better of him and he lined up the helicopter in his sights. But he quickly checked himself. He only had one round left. He had to use it on the boat. As the helicopter came back into range, Fiona sprayed it with both machine-pistols. The clips ran out and she hurriedly replaced them with fresh ones but before she could shoot, a burst of machine-gun fire raked the barge. She flung herself to the floor as the bullets peppered the side of the boat. Fiona watched in horror as a bullet caught Mullen in the arm and the launcher slid from his hands, disappearing into the water. Mullen looked around at her, his expression a mixture of pain and disbelief. She immediately strapped on her self-breathing apparatus again and slipped the mask back over her face.

Mullen stumbled over to where his kit lay, crying out in agony as he tried to use his injured arm to pick it up. He turned to Fiona for help and his eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of the Ingram levelled at his chest. “What are you doing?” he stammered.

“You’re no use to me anymore,” she replied contemptuously.

“Fiona … please,” he said desperately. “It’s only a flesh wound. 1 can manage. I won’t hold you up. We can still get Scoby.”

“I don’t need you for the next stage of the operation.”

“You don’t know that until you’ve opened the envelope.”

“I don’t need to open it. I’ve known the details of all three operations from the start. The envelopes were only for your benefit. I’d have killed you irrespective of what happened here today.”

Mullen met her eyes. There was no recognition. No remorse. Only disdain. What a fool he’d been …

She fired. The bullet ripped across his chest, knocking him back against the side of the barge. He dropped to his knees, the disbelief still mirrored in his eyes, then toppled face forward onto the tarpaulin in front of him. She fired another burst at the approaching helicopter then discarded the machine-pistol and disappeared into the water. Police divers,who were already closing in on the barge, immediately made for the spot where she’d disappeared.

“She just gunned him down in cold blood,” Graham said, still fanning the water with the Uzi he had withdrawn from Scotland Yard that morning.

Paluzzi didn’t reply.

Graham looked at Paluzzi and realized something was wrong. He was sweating and his face was twisted in pain. “Fabio, what is it?”

“He’s not the only one she shot,” Paluzzi hissed through clenched teeth.

“Where are you hit?” Graham asked anxiously.

“My side. It feels like the bullet’s smashed through my rib cage. Christ, it hurts.” Paluzzi looked at Graham. “I’m going to try and put down on that abandoned wharf further down river. I don’t know if I’ll make it though. I’ll take the chopper down close to the water so you can bail out. OK?”

“Like hell I will,” Graham retorted sharply. “We’re both going to make it to the docks.”

Paluzzi shook his head and lowered the helicopter toward the water. “OK, jump.”

“Quit wasting time and get the hell over to those docks,” Graham snapped.

Suddenly Paluzzi reached over and unbuckled Graham’s safety belt. Graham was still fumbling with the belt when Paluzzi tilted the helicopter sharply to the side. Losing his grip, Graham tumbled headlong through the open doorway and into the water.

Paluzzi levelled out the helicopter and headed toward the abandoned docks. He knew there were other areas closer where he could try and put down, but if the helicopter were to crash it might endanger innocent people. No, he had to keep to the river and make for the docks. He gritted his teeth as the pain seared through his body with every move he made. The sweat stung his eyes but he made no attempt to wipe it away. He needed both hands for the controls.

He felt himself slipping over the abyss of consciousness. The control panel blurred in front of him and he squeezed his eyes closed then opened them again. They were in focus again. Keep your mind active. He thought about Claudine. And Dario. Stay awake for them. If he pulled through this he’d take more notice of what Claudine had to say in future. That was a promise. He knew she wanted to go back to Italy. They could go. He’d take the post with the NOCS. But he had to stay awake. The dials blurred again. He blinked rapidly. This time they remained blurred. His hand slipped off the stick and the helicopter swiveled sharply to one side before he managed to regain control of it. The pads skimmed across the water. He couldn’t move his hands. They felt like lead. He wouldn’t make the docks. He was going to crash …

Graham was picked up by a police launch. He refused any medical attention but did accept a blanket which he threw around his shoulders. The water had been freezing. He was glad of the warmth. He remained on deck as the launch sped after the retreating helicopter. They lost sight of the helicopter as it disappeared around a bend in the river. Seconds later there was an ear-splitting explosion and they watched in horror as plumes of thick, black smoke spiraled hundreds of feet up into the sky. But it was only when the launch negotiated the bend that the full extent of the carnage became apparent. The helicopter had plowed into a mobile crane on the wharf where Paluzzi had hoped to put down. The helicopter had exploded on impact, and the twisted remains of the tail section now lay on the other side of the wharf. The fuselage was already a blackened shell as the flames continued to lick around it.

Graham sank slowly onto the bench behind him and buried his face in his hands. The captain put a consoling hand on Graham’s shoulder. Nobody could have survived that.

“Sir!” the look-out shouted to the captain from his vantage point above the bridge. “There’s someone in the water.”

Graham discarded the blanket and hurried over to the railing.

“My God, he’s right,” the captain said in disbelief, staring at the motionless figure floating in the water thirty yards away from the boat’s starboard bow.

Graham dived into the water before the captain had a chance to stop him. He swam with powerful strokes to where Paluzzi was floating, his head lolling on the front of his life jacket. He gently lifted Paluzzi’s head. Blood was streaming down his face from a gash under his hairline.

The police launch came alongside the two men and willing hands reached down to pull Paluzzi out of the water. He was already stretched out on the deck when Graham scrambled back onto the launch. A blanket was immediately thrown around Graham’s shoulders again.

“Is he alive?” Graham asked anxiously, standing over the inert figure.

“Yes, but he’s lost consciousness and his pulse is very weak,” the medic replied.

“He must have bailed out at the last possible moment,” the captain said, staring at Paluzzi.

“Yeah,” Graham agreed. “He could have put down earlier but he specifically made for that abandoned pier knowing that if he did pass out before he reached it there would be no risk of any innocent casualties.”

“And that’s obviously why he dumped you in the river first,” the captain said.

Graham nodded. “Where are we headed?”

“Cadogan Pier. I’ve already radioed ahead for an ambulance. He’ll be taken straight to Guy’s Hospital.”

The medic stood up. “His weak pulse is only to be expected due to the amount of blood he’s lost. The head wound’s my main concern. It’s a deep laceration. He’ll certainly need a brain scan once he reaches the hospital.”

“What about the bullet wound?” Graham asked.

“The bullet passed straight through him. It’s my guess he’s probably broken a couple of ribs as well, judging by the angle of the bullet. I can’t be sure, you understand, not without the proper equipment.” The medic indicated Graham’s wet clothes. “I suggest you change out of those. You’ll have pneumonia before you know it. There are clothes below. I’ll get one of the crew to show you.”

Graham looked at Paluzzi once more then followed the man down the hatchway.

Fiona had already adjusted the directional beacon detector before she went over the side of the barge. So, while the police divers scanned the area around the barge with powerful underwater lights, she had already made good her escape on the swimmer delivery vehicle. Her destination was a row of houseboats further down river. She had never intended to return to the warehouse. She knew the authorities could have stumbled on to the car while they were away. It would have been too risky.

She used the detector to home in on the beacon secured to the side of the houseboat belonging to a couple who, according to the directive, had been on holiday for the past ten days. They weren’t expected back for another week. She tethered the SDV to the anchor chain then unloaded the oxygen cylinders and flippers into the water before clambering onto the deck. It didn’t matter if she was seen. In the unlikely event of someone raising the alarm, she would be long gone before the authorities arrived.

She discarded the mask over the side then hurried down the stairs and used a duplicate key to get into the main cabin. Stripping off her wetsuit she went, as instructed, to the built-in cupboard. A holdall had been placed there, containing a pair of jeans, a sweater and a pair of moccasins. She dressed quickly, stuffed the wetsuit into the holdall and carried the bag down the gangplank to the shore. She walked to the nearest tube station where she boarded a train for Finsbury Park.

Graham got to his feet when he saw Whitlock hurrying down the hospital corridor toward him.

“I got here as fast as I could,” Whitlock said breathlessly. “How is he?”

“He’s going to be OK,” Graham replied, patting Whitlock’s arm reassuringly.

“What did the doctor say?”

“The bullet entered his side and exited through his back. Amazingly, there’s no real damage other than a couple of cracked ribs. And he needed twenty-two stitches for the gash on his head.”

“But no brain damage?”

“No.”

“Thank God for that,” Whitlock said with a relieved sigh. “So have you been in to see him yet?”

“No, not yet. He’s still under sedation. The nurse said she’d call me when he came around.”

Whitlock sat down on the bench and dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. “I’ve been on the phone to Sergei for the last forty minutes. That’s why I’m so late. He’s been taking some heavy flak since the news broke over there, and not only from the Secretary-General. He’s also had a call from the White House. The man himself.”

“You’d think Scoby was already worm bait judging by the reaction,” Graham snorted.

“Most of this is down to Tillman. He’s been on the phone ever since they got back to the hotel. And he’s not being very complimentary about UNACO.”

“What do you expect?” Graham retorted, his lips curled in disgust. “He’s been on our case from the start. But what can you expect from a lackey? He’s kissing butt wherever he can to keep on Scoby’s good side. He knows Scoby’s on the up. And he’ll do anything to stick with him.”

“The remains of the chopper have been found in the Thames,” Whitlock said. “But still no sign of Tanner and Falconer.”

“The missile scored a direct hit on the cockpit,” Graham said grimly. “There’s no chance they survived that.”

“I still don’t understand why she killed Mullen,” Whitlock said, scratching his head.

“All I know is that she must have pumped a good twelve rounds into him before she went over the side,” Graham replied. “But what got me was how cool she was. She just turned the Skorpion on him and gunned him down. Hell, he didn’t stand a chance.”

The door opposite swung open and a nurse emerged into the corridor. She smiled at Graham. “Mr. Paluzzi’s just regained consciousness. You can go in now if you like. But not for long. He’s still very weak.”

“Can we both go in?” Whitlock asked.

“Yes. Is either of you called C.W.?” she asked.

“Yes, I am,” Whitlock replied in surprise. “Why?”

“He’s been asking for you ever since he came round. I’ll be back in a few minutes to give him another sedative.”

Whitlock waited until the nurse had left then pushed open the door and peered into the ward.

“It’s not contagious,” Paluzzi said in a croaky voice. His face was pale and his eyes were still glazed from the effects of the anesthetic. He managed a weak smile when Graham entered the room behind Whitlock. “Hey, Mike, how you doing?”

“Better than you by the looks of it,” Graham replied, pulling up a chair and sitting down. “How you feeling, buddy?”

“How do I look?”

“Like a stiff,” Graham replied with a grin.

“Then you know how I feel.” Paluzzi looked at Whitlock. “Did Gallagher get away?”

Whitlock nodded. “Yes.”

“And what about Scoby?” Paluzzi asked.

“He’s fine,” Whitlock replied. “He asked me to send you his best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“What can I say?” Paluzzi retorted facetiously.

“Say it in Italian,” Graham said disdainfully. “That way you won’t offend any of the nurses.”

“That’s enough, you two,” Whitlock said with a reprimanding scowl.

“Where’s Sabrina?” Paluzzi asked.

“She’s at the hotel. Somebody has to keep an eye on the senator,” Whitlock told him. “But she did say she’d be along to see you sometime before we go over to the ambassador’s house tonight.”

“Does Claudine know I’m here?”

Whitlock shook his head. “I thought it best to talk to you first about that. Do you want me to call her?”

“I would rather do it myself,” Paluzzi replied. “If I know Claudine, she won’t take it well. But if I can reassure her personally that I’ll be OK, it’ll help to soften the blow.”

“If she wants to fly out, tell her to book the flight and UNACO will reimburse her for the ticket.”

“I’ll tell her, thanks,” Paluzzi replied.

The door opened and the nurse entered the room.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you’ll have to leave now. You can come back again during visiting hours.”

“Of course,” Whitlock replied.

“C.W., wait,” Paluzzi said. He looked across at the nurse. “Could you give us another couple of minutes, please? It’s very important.”

“The doctor was very insistent that you get as much rest as possible,” the nurse replied.

“Please, it’s very important,” Paluzzi pleaded weakly.

“OK. Two minutes. But then I’m coming back to give you another sedative.”

Paluzzi waited until the nurse had gone before looking up at Graham. “Mike, I need to talk to C.W.”

“Sure thing,” Graham replied, getting to his feet.

“Wait a minute, Mike,” Whitlock said, putting a restraining hand lightly on Graham’s arm. He turned back to Paluzzi. “You’re going back to Italy, aren’t you? It’s OK to talk in front of Mike, he’ll find out about it soon enough.”

“Yes,” Paluzzi said softly. “How did you know?”

“I’ve known since you first mentioned it to me,” Whitlock replied with a smile. “You’d have been crazy to have turned it down. And obviously what happened earlier this afternoon has made the decision that much easier for you.”

“Hey, could somebody tell me what this is all about?” Graham cut in before Paluzzi could reply.

“You remember my boss at the NOCS, Brigadier Michele Pesco?” Paluzzi asked Graham.

“I heard about him but I never actually met him,” Graham replied. “He was one of the reasons why you left the NOCS to come over to us.”

“That’s right,” Paluzzi agreed. “Well, he was relieved of his command two days ago. The Joint Chiefs-of-Staff offered the job to me. It’s something I’d always wanted ever since I joined the NOCS. And much as I want to stay with UNACO, I know the chance may never come again.”

“C.W.’s right, you’d have been crazy to turn it down,” Graham said. “Have you told Claudine yet?”

“She doesn’t even know I’ve been offered the position. I’ll tell her when I see her. I know she’ll be thrilled. She’s never really settled in New York.”

“He made the right decision,” Graham said once they were in the corridor.

“I know.”

“Who’ll be sent out to replace him?”

“Nobody’s being sent out,” Whitlock replied.

“Give us a break, C.W.,” Graham shot back. “We were stretched as it was even before Fabio was injured. How do you expect Sabrina and me to carry the workload by ourselves?”

“I never said Fabio wasn’t being replaced,” Whitlock corrected him. “What I did say was that nobody’s being sent over to replace him.”

Graham stopped in his tracks and eyed Whitlock suspiciously. “You?”

“It was the obvious solution. I cleared it with Sergei before I came over here.”

“Does Sabrina know?”

“Not yet. But then it’s not for me to tell her. That’s your job as head of Strike Force Three.”

“What are you talking about, C.W.? You’re still the senior man around here.”

“I’m still the Deputy Director of UNACO, but you call the shots in your team. And I’m now part of your team.”

“You mean I now have rank over you in the field?” Graham said with obvious delight.

“As long as I’m a part of your team, yes.” Whitlock paused at the entrance and wagged a finger of warning at him. “But don’t push it or I’ll have your arse the moment we get back to New York.”

Yeah, you probably would, Graham thought to himself as he hurried after Whitlock, who was already making his way back to the car.

When Fiona left the safe house for the last time she was wearing a plain black skirt, a baggy red sweater and the familiar black trilby which was tugged down firmly over her spiky blonde hair. She took the tube to Heathrow Airport and was told that the Belfast flight was scheduled to leave on time. After checking in she bought a copy of the Independent then went through to the cafeteria and treated herself to a coffee and a sandwich. She found a seat by the window then opened her overnight bag and withdrew the envelope containing the third plan for the assassination of Scoby: the letter “C” was inscribed on its cover. She didn’t bother opening it. Instead she put it down on the table then turned her attention to the front page of the Independent.

She was on her second coffee when her flight was announced over the loudspeaker. She picked up her overnight bag and made her way to the departure lounge, leaving the unopened envelope on the table.

The envelope was discovered by a cleaner after the flight had taken off. She handed it in to her supervisor who opened it, hoping to discover an address so he could forward it on to the owner. He looked inside. It was obviously some prank: it was empty. He tossed the envelope into the bin at the side of his desk and went back to his paperwork.