Hunter Killer (50 page)

Danny was halfway across Vauxhall Bridge when the phone clipped to his bike lit up. It was a message from Ripley.

It said:
Target leaving.

That meant Harrison Maddox had been the first to move.

Twenty-five

19.42hrs

Danny’s mouth was dry as he took up position opposite the MI6 building again. He texted Ripley:
Don’t lose him.

Thoughts flickered through his mind.
Had the CIA man been the one to take his bait? Had the Yanks been working with Abu Ra’id, persuading him to foment whatever bloodshed he could in London, to keep the wavering Brits on side in the war on terror?

He had to rely on Ripley tailing the Yank to the very best of his abilities, and reporting back on his movements asap.

Danny turned his attention back to the MI6 building. As a full moon rose behind the blocky architecture, two middle-aged men climbed into separate limos at 19.45hrs and 19.51hrs precisely. Lined faces, expensive suits. Like Buckingham in 20 years’ time. But
not
Buckingham.

At 19.55, a second text came through. It was Barker.
VA leaving.

Keep on her
, Danny texted back.

The old suspicions started multiplying in his mind.
The Muslim husband. The lost six months in Saudi. Could Victoria Atkinson really be a sleeper at the very heart of security services?

It would seem not. Three minutes later another text came through from Barker.
Heading south over Lambeth Bridge.
The opposite direction from central London.

Two minutes after that, his phone vibrated. Ripley.
WW debussing at Canadian Embassy. Looks like a cocktail party.

Keep eyes on
, he texted back. But mentally he struck Maddox off his list before returning his attention to the MI6 building.

Ten minutes passed. The rush-hour traffic on the Albert Embankment started to thin out a little. At 20.20hrs, a message came through from Barker.
VA entered house near Old Kent Road. Family home? Young girl met her at the door. Daughter?

Victoria Atkinson was home for the evening. Tucking the kids up in bed. It kind of figured.

Piers Chamberlain was the third to leave. Danny received a text from Hancock at 20.28hrs to say as much.

Don’t lose him
, he texted back as Chamberlain’s face swam in front of his eyes.
The royal links. The unfavoured boyfriend who’d died in the first bombing. The right-wing sympathies and the strange conversation they’d had with him in the cafe.

Three targets were on the move. Only Buckingham was left. Danny’s pulse was racing. He felt as if the traffic was driving past in slow motion. Headlamps seemed to blur in his vision. He found that he was not even remotely surprised when a text message came through from Hancock which read:
PC in Mayfair. MILF in a dressing gown opened the door to him. Dirty bastard.

So Piers Chamberlain was getting his end away.

Which meant he wasn’t travelling to Edgware.

Nor was Victoria Atkinson.

Nor was Harrison Maddox.

Buckingham appeared at 20.32hrs.

He was alone, a shoulder bag made of soft brown leather slung in front of him. He had two hands over it, as if it contained something special. He stood at the entrance to the MI6 building for a moment, an expression on his face that Danny found difficult to fathom. He looked around, as though checking that nobody was watching. Then he stepped forwards to the edge of the pavement. He looked right, into the line of the traffic, and raised the forefinger of his right hand. Forty-five seconds later, a black cab pulled over in front of him. It had an advert for cheap calls to Africa on the side. Buckingham leaned in to speak to the driver, then he opened the rear door and climbed inside.

Danny followed.

It took every ounce of his self-restraint to keep a covert distance. When the cab turned right over Vauxhall Bridge towards the centre of town, he felt his pulse quickening as the vehicle remained out of sight for the 20 seconds it took to catch up. And when it ran a yellow light up towards Victoria, he cursed under his helmet as the subsequent red light forced him to wait for a full minute and a half. Impossible to run it: there was a police car over his right shoulder, so even when the light turned green he had to keep himself well within the speed limit.

No sign of Buckingham’s cab. Danny swore again. Streets fed left and right off the main road. He had no way of knowing if the cab had turned into one of them. And yet he knew, instinctively, that Buckingham’s path would lead up past Victoria and towards Hyde Park Corner, just as Danny’s had done earlier. On Ripley’s bike he was able to weave through the traffic. Sure enough, as he approached the station he saw the cab up ahead.
Nigeria, 1p a minute.
He manoeuvred up to within 20 metres. The cab continued north-west.

A message came through from Ripley as he was passing the Park Lane Hotel again.
What’s ur status?
He ignored it. All his attention was on the cab up ahead. And the scheming, duplicitous, treacherous piece of shit inside it. Of
course
it was Buckingham who had taken his bait. Of
course
it was Buckingham who was heading to the location where he’d left the phone he sent the message from. Buckingham had been involved in this from the beginning. He’d brought Danny and Spud on board because he thought he could control them. And because he knew they’d get done whatever job he gave them. Danny felt sickened at the thought of Buckingham being in league with Abu Ra’id. The cleric’s voice replayed itself in his mind as Marble Arch came into view up ahead.
Everything I have done, I have done with the full knowledge of this person. They have their reasons for wanting the streets of London to be filled with terror.
What was Buckingham’s reason? To create a monster, then catch him so he could reap the rewards and the praise?

Edgware Road. The cab overtook a bus and slipped out of sight for a moment. Danny swerved out and a car behind him honked its horn angrily. He accelerated past the bus. Green lights ahead. The taxi passed under the Westway. Danny stuck to him. The taxi travelled another 50 metres. It suddenly indicated left before pulling over.

Danny didn’t stop. He just continued past the taxi as Buckingham climbed out of the back and paid the driver. He hooked a left into a dark side street and killed the engine on the Yamaha. He ripped off the helmet and hung it from the handlebars. Then he turned and ran back up to the corner of the side street and Edgware Road.

He could see Buckingham approaching. Distance: 30 metres. The little shit looked shifty. He was still clutching his leather shoulder bag. He looked like he was hurrying.

Distance, 20 metres. Danny stayed on that corner, his head down. He didn’t want Buckingham to recognise him before he’d made his move. He found himself clutching his knuckles, almost on instinct. He concentrated on the bag. What was in there?

A weapon?

Ten metres. Buckingham seemed to be talking to himself, his lips moving quickly but silently. A couple of kids cycled past on the pavement. Two red buses slid by in quick succession.

Five metres.

Danny raised his head.

‘Going somewhere nice?’ he said.

Buckingham stopped.

At first he looked behind him. It was as if he hadn’t even seen Danny. Or if he had, he’d looked straight through him.

In the distance was the sound of a siren.

Another red bus trundled past.

Buckingham looked forwards again. His eyes fell finally on Danny. They widened.

‘You,’ he breathed. Then he swallowed hard.

‘Not dead enough for you?’ Danny asked.

He stepped forwards. Buckingham staggered back, bumping into a couple who were walking arm in arm along the street. The man looked like he was going to say something, but Danny gave him a fierce look and the couple hurried on.

Danny stepped up towards Buckingham and grabbed him by one arm. ‘Let’s have a little chat,’ he said.

He could almost hear the clockwork in Buckingham’s brain. ‘Bloody good to see you, old sport,’ Buckingham said, his tongue tripping over the words. ‘We all thought you’d  been . . .’

‘Conveniently blown up?’ Danny suggested.

He dragged Buckingham down the side street.

‘You should have let us know you were okay. We could have . . .’

‘Sent in another drone to finish us off?’

‘Of . . . of course not . . . arranged some sort of . . . help.’

Danny stopped in the shadow of a parked van, manhandled Buckingham so that he was facing him, then kneed him hard in the bollocks. Buckingham groaned as he bent double. Danny raised his knee again, sharply cracking it under Buckingham’s chin. Buckingham fell back on to his arse. He was still clutching his leather shoulder bag.

Danny crouched down so they were face to face. ‘Let’s talk,’ he hissed.

A flash of anger entered Buckingham’s eyes. ‘You’ve gone too far . . .’

‘Too far?’ Danny spat the words with contempt. ‘I haven’t gone
nearly
far enough. How many people were
you
willing to kill, Buckingham? You and your buddy Abu Ra’id?’

Buckingham stared at him, speechless.

‘What did you promise him, you piece of shit? Immunity? Money?’

‘What the . . .’

‘How did you feel when you saw the e-mail, Buckingham? How many alarm bells went off in your head when you thought he was still alive and not dismembered in the Yemeni
fucking
desert with me and Spud.’

Danny’s temperature was rising. He felt the anger taking him over. Controlling him. Before he knew what had happened, he’d dealt a cracking blow to Buckingham’s pretty-boy cheek. Buckingham fell to his side, a huge welt immediately appearing on the side of his face. Still clutching his shoulder bag, he tried to scramble away, but Danny was already on him. He dragged him up to his feet again, then thrust him up against the side of the van. The jolt made the van’s alarm start to blare loudly. Danny hardly heard it. He was too intent on doing Buckingham harm.

‘We’re going to go somewhere quiet,’ he shouted over the alarm, ‘and you’re going to tell me absolutely . . . fucking . . .
everything
!’

‘You’re insane,’ Buckingham hissed from between swollen, bleeding lips. ‘You’ve lost your mind, Black.’

‘What were you going to say to Abu Ra’id when you finally caught up with him?’

‘You’ll bloody well pay for this – I
don’t
know what you’re talking about.’

‘Bullshit,’ Danny growled. ‘You’re the only one who’s responded to the e-mail.’

‘
What
e-mail?’

On an impulse, Danny grabbed the leather shoulder bag from Buckingham’s arms. It was bulky. Heavier than an ordinary handgun. ‘What were you going to do, Buckingham? Finish him off yourself?’ He ripped the shoulder bag open.

But he didn’t find a weapon. He found a bottle. Champagne.

‘What the fuck . . .’

Danny stared at the champagne. Then he looked at Buckingham.

‘You’re supposed to be
dead
,’ Buckingham snapped. ‘Why
wouldn’t
I go round and offer my condolences?’ He tried to straighten his tie – a ridiculous attempt to make himself look presentable, given the mashed-up state of his features. ‘She’s too bloody good for an oik like you anyway.’

Danny blinked. It took a couple of seconds for him to twig what Buckingham was on about.

‘Clara?’ he whispered incredulously. He looked again at the bottle of champagne. ‘You were going to try it on with
Clara?
’

Buckingham’s bloodied face grew redder. ‘Well why the bloody hell not?’

A terrible pause.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Danny said. ‘You were working with Abu Ra’id all along.
You
were behind the bombings.’

‘
What?
’

‘You heard me. Abu Ra’id knew about Hammerstone. I heard it from his own lips.’ He reached out one hand and grabbed Buckingham by the throat. ‘And since you’re the most treacherous little cunt I’ve ever met . . .’

‘
It must have been one of the others
,’ Buckingham said in a strangled voice. ‘
Maddox . . . the Americans . . . they’re always sticking their nose in . . .
’

Danny shook his head slowly. He’d heard Buckingham’s pathetic attempts to shift the blame one time too many.

‘
What about Chamberlain?
The man’s got more skeletons in his closet than . . .’

Danny squeezed harder. Buckingham’s voice petered out as he gasped for breath.

‘
Victoria
,’ he said, high-pitched, desperate. He started babbling, words tumbling out of his mouth. ‘
It’s all an act, you know. She pretends to be all mumsy and scatty, all that family stuff, but she’s ruthless.
’