Passenger 13

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

In the dead of night it didn’t take much over forty minutes to cut north-eastwards across the city to the wilds of Epping Forest. Ben steered off the main road onto a rough earth track that wound deep into the woods, and bumped and lurched over ruts for another mile and a half before he eventually stopped the car and killed the engine and lights. He climbed out into the moonlight that streamed down through the dark branches, and popped open the Audi’s boot. Sinclair peered out, looking ashen and more than just a little jostled about.

Ben jerked his thumb. ‘End of the line.’ He kept the CZ pointed at the agent’s head as he scrambled out, then shoved him roughly against the side of the car.

‘You know you have no chance of getting away with this, don’t you?’ the MI6 agent muttered, his eyes glued to the pistol in Ben’s hand.

‘Maybe,’ Ben said. ‘Getting away with things is your department, after all.’ Keeping the gun trained on Sinclair, he reached into the car boot. The trussed-up team leader was grunting and straining against his bonds. Ben ignored him and hauled out the shovel he’d brought from Brecon.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Sinclair said.

Ben turned to face him. ‘You don’t know me, Sinclair. You just thought you did. I hope you all enjoyed the show.’

‘We had a deal. You agreed to go away.’

‘Linzi and Bev — were they on MI6’s payroll too? By the way, I wouldn’t have touched them with yours.’

‘You’re insane, Hope.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Ben said. ‘But one thing I’m not is a fucking idiot. I never believed a word of your bullshit. I knew I could expect a little visit from your wet team the moment I got back to Brecon. I saw them even before they saw me. They left a trail like a rhinoceros.’

‘You have to believe me,’ Sinclair burst out. ‘Whoever was sent to kill you, it’s got nothing to do with us. I’ve never seen that man in my life before.’

‘That’s fine — then we don’t need him,’ Ben said. He pointed the CZ towards the open boot of the car and shot the team leader twice in the chest and once in the head. The gunshots shattered the stillness of the forest.

‘Why did you do that?’ Sinclair raged. ‘You said you’d let him live!’

‘I didn’t say for how long,’ Ben said. ‘Lie to me again and you’ll wish it had been you. Now, let’s go for a walk.’ He prodded Sinclair with the shovel.

An owl hooted somewhere among the trees as Ben marched the MI6 agent deeper into the forest.

‘You’re up Shit Creek without a paddle, Hope,’ Sinclair muttered darkly.

‘And you’re in the middle of six thousand acres of woodland,’ Ben told him. ‘That’s plenty enough room for a man to disappear. Nobody’s going to hear you cry for help, so you’d better tell me the truth this time.’

‘I’ve already told you the truth, you stupid bugger.’

‘Like the part about the bomb capable of taking down a full-size airliner that went off inside a Trislander without blowing it into dust?’

‘But that’s what happened,’ Sinclair protested. ‘You must have seen the footage of the wreckage. It was completely destroyed.’

‘Yes, it was,’ Ben said. ‘But not until a few moments after Nick Chapman had managed to crash-land it in the sea. He had time to call his daughter before he died. His call to her is the reason she was murdered.’

Sinclair stalled mid-stride and glanced back at Ben over his shoulder with a startled look that said very clearly, ‘How did you know that?’

‘I saw it happen,’ Ben replied to his unspoken question. ‘I’m sure you read the witness statement. Oscar Gillespie?’

‘That was you?’ Sinclair eyes flashed in the darkness.

‘Just one or two things I left out of it,’ Ben said. ‘For example, the fact that before she was killed, Hilary let me hear Nick’s last message to her. It doesn’t quite fit with your account, Sinclair. So I’ve decided to be generous and let you have another go in case you remember things differently this time. You can stop there.’ They were deep among the trees, a long way from the car. ‘Now, get talking or get digging.’

‘What the hell do you mean, digging?’

Ben lobbed the shovel on the ground, still pointing the pistol at Sinclair’s head. ‘What do you think I brought this along for, to make mud pies?’

‘You can’t do this.’

‘More and more people are opting for an ecological burial, Sinclair. You’d be doing your bit for the environment.’

‘If you’re going to kill me anyway, why should I talk to you?’

‘I’m not going to kill you, Sinclair. I’m just going to bury you alive and let nature take its course. Unless you tell me everything, right now.’

Sinclair swallowed hard. ‘And if I do? You’ll let me go? No tricks?’

‘That depends on how convincing you are.’

‘All right. All right. I’ll tell you. There was some truth in what I said before. Larry Moss was one of our agents. And the CIC plane did go down because of him. But …’

‘I’m listening.’

‘But I lied about Moss making explosives. It was information that he was taking with him to London, nothing else.’

‘What information?’

‘Oh, Jesus …’

‘What information?’ Ben repeated.

Sinclair swallowed hard. ‘It has to do with what happened in June. The Selfridges bombing.’

Ben frowned. ‘Moss had information about the Selfridges bombing? Information for who? You mean his terrorist girlfriend and her gang carried it out?’

‘You don’t understand. Oh, God, they’ll crucify me …’

‘I’ll do worse if you don’t explain yourself pretty damn quick,’ Ben said.

‘There was no connection between Larry Moss and Al-Badr,’ Sinclair said. It wasn’t Muslim terrorists who blew up the ground floor of Selfridges in June.’

‘Then who did?’

‘We did,’ Sinclair said.