Ultimatum

Forty-one

18.41

Bolt and Tina watched the interview with Jetmir Brozi unfold through the one-way mirror that looked into the interview room.

It didn’t make for riveting viewing.

On one side of the table sat the two officers from CTC, a man and a woman in power suits, who’d only finished taking Bolt’s statement ten minutes earlier. They’d come across as competent and businesslike, and were treating the situation with the urgency it needed. Alongside them was Ridic, the Albanian translator. At the opposite end sat Brozi wearing a defiant, slightly bored expression. He had his own translator next to him, who was there to pass messages from his lawyer, a bald-headed Englishman with a moustache and an expensive suit who looked like he charged more by the hour than Bolt and Tina earned together in a day, and who was several feet back from the table, with his legs crossed and a notebook on his lap.

Brozi was adopting the professional criminal’s method of dealing with police interviews and answering every question with a heavily accented ‘No comment’. Bolt often wondered why criminals persisted with this line of defence. It might save them the effort of having to think up lies, or contradicting themselves, but it invariably made them look guilty in the eyes of a jury when the transcripts of the interviews were read out in court.

Bolt would have liked to be the one leading the interview but, to be fair, it didn’t look like it would have done much good anyway. Brozi was sticking to his routine, clearly unfazed by the scale of the charges facing him, or the prospect of spending the next ten years in prison. His arrogance was frustrating, but the interviewing officers were continuing regardless in the hope that he might weaken, or his lawyer might talk some sense into him.

It wasn’t working.

Bolt shook his head in frustration. ‘He’s not going to talk.’

Tina sighed. ‘So where does that leave us? Brozi won’t talk. Fox won’t talk. And we’re running low on time.’

‘I’ve got an informant out in the field, who I saw this morning. He has a connection to someone who’s been of interest to us for some time. He told me that he was providing security for a meeting today.’

Tina raised an eyebrow. ‘You never told me about this. Is that why you were so interested when I told you about the message on Brozi’s PC?’

‘Only the core members of the team know the guy exists. I shouldn’t even be discussing him with you.’

‘Come on, Mike. I’ve helped you today. I know we had a lucky escape, but don’t shut me out. We make a good team. You know that.’

She was right and, even after what had happened earlier with Brozi, it still felt good to Bolt to be working with Tina again.

He gave her a brief rundown of what Jones had been doing, without divulging his ID or any details that might help her put a name to him. ‘I gave him two GPS units this morning and I got Nikki to switch them on three quarters of an hour ago. Last time I spoke to her they were both still together.’

‘So why don’t we get surveillance units on to them?’

‘On what grounds? I don’t know who the units are with, and I won’t know until I get hold of the informant, but he’s not answering his phone. I called HQ and the commander told me to hold back until we know more. There’s not much else we can do.’

He took a gulp of freezing cold coffee and pulled a face.

‘Want another one?’ asked Tina, pointing to his cup.

‘Please,’ he said, aching for something stronger.

As she left the room, Bolt stared back through the mirror to where Brozi was answering ‘No comment’ to yet another question. It was at times like this, he thought, that even something as extreme as torture would be justified. It wouldn’t take long. A man like Brozi would break in minutes. Bolt had seen his kind before, full of bravado when faced with police officers forced to abide by stringent rules, but a coward at heart. It upset him that he could even countenance a thought like this, but he was exhausted and frustrated.

His mobile rang, and he checked the caller ID. It was a landline he didn’t recognize, but he picked up anyway, more in hope than expectation.

Jones’s voice came on the line, tense and breathless. ‘There’s a Stinger missile in circulation. Cain’s got it.’

Bolt took an instinctive breath. The shock was immense but he knew he had to stay calm. ‘Where is he now?’

‘I don’t know. He left us about twenty minutes ago, but I left a GPS in the front of his car, and another on the box with the Stinger in it. So you should be able to track it.’

‘How come you waited so long to call?’

‘It would take too long to explain now.’

‘Christ … Whereabouts are you?’

‘In a pub in Stoke Newington, not far from home.’

‘Do you have any idea how he’s planning to use it?’

‘No, but I can give you the make and registration of the car Cain’s driving, in case the GPS batteries run out.’

Bolt pulled a notebook and pen from his back pocket. There were a hundred other questions he wanted to ask Jones but there was no time for any of them. He needed to get off the phone and find that missile.

‘OK. Stay where you are. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.’

‘I need protection, Mike. If Cain finds out I talked to you, I’m a dead man.’

‘Don’t worry, there’s no way we’re going to be going public with this. By the time things start to happen, I’ll have pulled you out and sorted protection. I’ve got to go.’

He ended the call, and immediately called Nikki Donohoe back at the office. She picked up on the second ring.

‘Where are the GPS units right now?’ he asked her.

There was a short pause while she checked. ‘They’ve split up. One’s just passed through the Elephant and Castle roundabout and is heading north on St George’s Road towards Lambeth and Westminster Bridge.’

‘Jesus. Towards Parliament?’

‘In that direction, yes.’

‘What about the other?’

‘It’s in Bermondsey. On a place called Gowland Street, just off Tower Bridge Road. And it appears to be stationary. It looks from Google Earth like there’s a set of lock-up garages running parallel to the street, and it’s in one of them. I’m just checking but I don’t think the area’s covered by CCTV.’

Bolt’s heart was racing. Finally they were in the game, but the problem was, he had no idea which of the two GPS units was with the Stinger.

‘Get on to HQ straight away, Nikki, and tell them the exact locations of the two units. One of them, and I don’t know which one it is, is stuck to a box containing a Stinger missile. We need to scramble arrest teams and ARV units. I don’t care what it takes. We’ve got to get hold of this thing and take it out of circulation. I’ll call the commander.’

‘I’m on it,’ she said with the calm tone he’d learned to expect from her.

‘What’s up?’ asked Tina, coming back into the room with the coffees.

‘Leave the coffee, we’re out of here,’ said Bolt, checking the location of Gowland Street on his phone. ‘I’ll tell you about it in the car.’