‘Tchah! And I had an epic Twitter rant lined up,’ Eddie replied.
‘I’m so glad I’ll be spared it. Now, you have forty-four hours and fifty-nine minutes to reach Heathrow, so get moving.’ The line went silent.
Eddie lowered the phone. ‘He just gave us a deadline to get to London with this lot,’ he told the others, indicating their electronics. ‘A tight one, so we need to get started.’ He crouched to pick up the laptop.
‘Ah-ah,’ said Hapen. Everyone froze as he raised his rifle. ‘It is worth a lot of money, yes? Then I will take your suggestion – and take it. Give it to me.’
Eddie sighed. ‘All right, all right. Here.’
He stood – and tossed the computer at him.
Hapen, surprised, fumbled to catch it with his free hand. Before he could recover, Eddie punched him hard in the face. The mercenary stumbled backwards against the bus – where a second punch from Fortune dropped him to the ground, out cold.
‘Thanks,’ said Eddie.
‘No problem, my friend,’ Fortune replied, giving the unconscious man a disdainful look. ‘No man with a haircut so bad should be allowed to walk the streets.’
Nina retrieved the laptop. ‘Okay, so now what?’
Eddie glanced at the boat before regarding the bullet-damaged machine again. ‘We do what Brice said.’
‘You’re going to cave in?’ said Lydia.
Rivero was equally unhappy. ‘We won’t just be giving up everything we filmed, man. This guy won’t let you walk away once you hand it over.’
‘I know,’ the Yorkshireman told them. He took Hapen’s rifle. ‘So we need some leverage.’
‘I don’t think they’ll let you take that on the plane,’ said Paris.
‘Wasn’t what I had in mind.’
‘So what do you have in mind?’ Nina asked. She could tell that an idea had come to him.
He grinned. ‘We’ll give him exactly what he’s expecting.’
30
England
Grey clouds hung over London’s Heathrow airport as the airliner rolled towards Terminal 3. Nina and Eddie’s moods were no brighter. Their journey from the edge of the Congolese jungle to Butembo, then flying on to Entebbe in Uganda before taking a commercial flight to England, had left them with very little time before Brice’s deadline. They were exhausted from the better part of two days’ travel on top of their escape from Zhakana . . . but now, at their final destination, tiredness was not an option. They had to be ready for whatever awaited them.
‘Think Brice’ll be there?’ Nina asked, watching the gate draw closer.
Eddie shook his head. ‘Officially, he’s not with MI6 any more. He’ll have sent someone to get us.’
‘These Removal Men you told me about?’
‘Dunno. They’re a bit . . . unsubtle. I’m hoping he wants to keep a low profile.’ The airliner turned to line up with one of the jet bridges.
Some of the passengers were already rising in anticipation of the stop, but an announcement over the PA caught them by surprise. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain. I must ask everyone to remain seated, as officers of the British Transport Police are waiting to board when we reach our gate. Can passengers Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase please make themselves known to the cabin crew?’
The couple exchanged worried looks. ‘So much for arriving incognito,’ Nina muttered. ‘Should we keep quiet?’
‘No point,’ said Eddie. ‘They know which seats we’re in.’ He raised a hand. ‘Yeah, here we are. Any chance of a last drink?’
The flight attendants regarded them with curious concern, but nobody moved towards them. The plane stopped, engines powering down. Even after the captain’s order, a couple of impatient fliers still started to get up, until they were firmly told to return to their seats. The forward hatch opened, a female attendant speaking to someone outside before stepping back.
Three men entered: a burly uniformed police officer, and two in cheap, anonymous grey suits. ‘Don’t know if they’re Increment, but they’re probably spooks,’ Eddie whispered to his wife. ‘They’ve got shoulder holsters.’
‘What do we do?’
‘Try to get off the plane before anyone starts shooting.’ He slid out the bag containing the expedition’s electronics from under the seat in front and extracted the laptop.
‘You think we’ve got a chance?’
‘Dunno. I’ll just do what I always do – try summat and see what happens!’
The new arrivals approached. ‘Nina Wilde, Eddie Chase?’ said the cop.
‘That’s us,’ Nina said brightly. ‘Is there a problem, officer?’
‘Just come with us, please.’
The first man behind him saw the laptop. ‘He’s got it,’ he told his companion, before demanding: ‘Where’s everything else?’
‘In the bag,’ Nina told him.
‘Give everything to us first.’ Behind him, the second suited man’s hand slipped inside his jacket.
‘Okay.’ Nina moved into the aisle, making room for her husband to stand and pull the bag on to his seat before following her. ‘Here,’ Eddie told the cop as he held up the computer. ‘By the way, I know you’re just doing your job, so sorry.’
The officer regarded him questioningly. ‘About wh—’
Eddie slammed the palm of his free hand against the laptop’s rear – and drove the slim edge of its metal case hard into the cop’s face.
Teeth snapped, the policeman stumbling backwards. Before he could recover, Eddie charged into him, driving him into the first agent. Both men fell, the bigger man collapsing on top of the MI6 officer.
The other agent snatched out his gun—
Eddie leapt up, using an armrest like a starting block to propel himself over the fallen men and tackle him to the floor. The laptop skidded under a row of seats. The Yorkshireman glanced after it, then drove an elbow hard into the SIS man’s stomach before delivering a pair of fearsome punches to his face. ‘Nina!’
She was already moving. The first MI6 man had managed to draw his gun; she kicked it from his hand and jumped over him and the cop.
Eddie grabbed the other agent’s Glock 17 and raced for the exit. The cabin crew retreated in fear. Nina followed, vaulting over the broken-nosed man on the floor—
He snatched at her as she passed – and caught her ankle.
Nina tripped. She struggled to break free, but his hold only tightened. He dragged her towards him—
She saw something beneath a seat and grabbed it.
The agent pulled harder – only to lurch back as if taking another punch when she thrust a life jacket into his face and pulled the tab. The bright yellow vest inflated with a bang of compressed gas, wedging itself in the aisle. Nina kicked free and scrambled after Eddie.
They rushed through the hatch and ran up the connecting bridge. ‘Outside!’ Eddie shouted.
He crashed through an emergency exit at its top to find himself on a flight of metal stairs to the concrete. Nina was about to descend when he blocked her. ‘No, go up!’ he said, slamming the door.
She climbed on to the safety railing – glimpsing movement through the door’s small window. ‘Gun!’ she warned, seeing the first MI6 man racing up the metal tunnel—
Eddie threw himself sideways as three bullet holes burst open in the door. He blind-fired two rounds from his purloined gun back through it. They did the job, no more shots coming. He jumped up after Nina, seeing that the agent had dived to the floor.
He joined her on the roof. The great concrete expanse of Heathrow stretched out around them, the tails of dozens of parked airliners rising like shark fins. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ he said, realising they were at the very end of one of the long jetways. ‘Why do our flights always have to stop so bloody far from the terminal?’ They ran for the main building.
 
; ‘Why didn’t we go down the stairs?’
‘’Cause we’d never get out of here on foot.’ He made a running jump over a set of boxy air-conditioning ducts running the jetway’s length, Nina clambering over more awkwardly. A shout as the SIS man started to climb up behind them and called to his companions. He raised his gun—
Eddie fired first. The bullet hit the roof just in front of the man’s face. He hurriedly dropped back down.
The Yorkshireman returned his attention to what lay ahead – and below. As he’d told Nina, escaping the airport on foot would be impossible. Heathrow had hundreds of police and security personnel, and they would be surrounded long before even reaching the perimeter fence. They needed an alternative . . .
He spotted one. ‘That’s our way out,’ he told Nina, pointing at a vehicle.
She was not impressed. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘It’s that or nick a jet, and the last time I flew anything it crashed into the United Nations!’ He spotted stairs descending from another emergency exit. ‘Down there.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to get inside the terminal and try to sneak out amongst the passengers?’
‘Every cop in Heathrow’ll have our pictures. The only way we’re getting out of the airport is by breaking out. And nothing’ll stop us once that’s moving.’
‘It’s the getting it moving part I’m worried about!’ she objected.
The SIS officer peered over the roof’s edge again. The two fugitives were out of sight. He cursed.
The bullet-pocked door below opened. ‘Where are they?’ asked his partner, voice stifled as he held his cracked nose.
‘On the roof, but I’ve lost them. They must be heading for the terminal.’
The other man held up a phone. ‘Staite just gave new orders: withdraw and let the police handle them.’
‘What? Aren’t they a security risk? If they talk to the police first—’
‘Our priority now’s to secure the laptop and all the other stuff in that bag, and get them to Vauxhall Cross, pronto.’
The first officer climbed back down. Abandoning the pursuit seemed the wrong decision, but orders were orders. ‘Have you got them?’
The other man nodded. ‘The woodentop’s bringing them.’ He looked back towards the plane. The policeman – ‘woodentop’ being derogatory slang for uniformed officers – was approaching with the fugitives’ bag in one hand, the other pressed to his bleeding mouth. ‘Everything on the list we were given is there. External hard drives, SD cards, some phones – and the laptop.’
‘Their call. Okay, bring that to our car,’ he told the cop. ‘We’ve been told to leave catching them to your esteemed colleagues.’
‘Hopefully they won’t balls it up,’ griped the broken-nosed man as they started the long walk through the airport.
Eddie clanked down the metal stairs to ground level. The vehicle he had pointed out was parked nearby. ‘Okay, let’s roll!’
‘Really not sure this is a good idea,’ said Nina. Before them was an airport tug, a Schopf heavy-duty tractor capable of hauling even super-jumbo aircraft like the double-deck Airbus A380 with ease. The squat, broad machine’s wheels were as tall as a man, almost sixty tons of ballast ensuring they remained firmly planted on the concrete no matter how massive its load. ‘They’ll be able to catch up with us by walking!’
‘They’re only slow when they’re pulling planes around. They’re like tanks – once they get going, they’re bloody hard to stop.’ He opened the cab door. The controls were reassuringly simple, the tug’s transmission fully automatic. ‘Okay, get in.’
Nina hurried around to the wide cab’s far side. Despite the amount of space, there was only one other seat, a simple fold-down bench. ‘Oh, comfy.’
‘Only the best for my wife,’ Eddie said with a grin as he pushed the starter. The tug’s massive diesel engine shuddered from its sleep, exhausts spouting dark plumes of smoke. There was a chunky gear selector on the console; he pushed it into drive. ‘All right, straightforward enough – like driving a bus.’
‘When did you drive a bus?’
‘I learned how to drive pretty much everything in the SAS. The bit on my driving licence where it says what I’m qualified for has almost every letter in the alphabet! All right, hold on.’
He depressed the accelerator. The engine thrummed, the tug straining as if simply standing still had flat-spotted its tyres before reluctantly moving off.
Nina regarded the speedometer dubiously. ‘Okay, it only goes up to forty, and we’re doing . . . five.’
‘Give it time! Where’s the way out?’
They emerged from behind the jetway – to see two police Land Rovers approaching fast along a taxiway. ‘Not that way,’ she said in alarm.
Eddie turned away from them, picking up speed as he headed north. Beyond the vast concrete expanse surrounding Heathrow’s main terminal complex he saw distant buildings, outside the airport’s perimeter. ‘We can crash through the fence over there,’ he said. ‘But . . .’
‘But?’ asked his wife.
The unwelcome answer came as an airliner screamed in to land on a runway ahead, smoke erupting from its wheels as it whipped past. ‘Oh,’ said Nina. ‘Right.’
‘We can make it,’ he said, more optimistic than certain. ‘We just have to cross the runway when there isn’t a plane coming.’
‘Uh-huh. And isn’t Heathrow one of the world’s busiest airports?’
‘Nah, I don’t think it’s even in the top five any more.’
‘Oh, so I guess all we’ll have to dodge is tumbleweed!’
The tug cleared the terminal complex, open ground spreading out around them. The speedo had now reached twenty, so they were at least outpacing anyone on foot, but the two police Discovery SUVs were gaining on them fast. Beyond the runway, a wide stretch of old tarmac ran all the way to the perimeter fence. ‘We can get out there,’ Eddie said, pointing at a car park past the high barrier.
‘And then what? Drive this thing into the centre of London?’
‘I think the bus’d be a bit less conspicuous.’
‘I doubt these guys’ll let us buy a ticket!’ The police vehicles peeled apart, overtaking on each side of the Schopf.
Eddie glanced into the mirrors to see which was closer, then threw the wheel hard to the left. The tug’s four-wheel steering veered it around with surprising sharpness. The driver of the nearest Discovery tried to turn away, but too late—
The tractor sideswiped it. The Land Rover was not a lightweight vehicle, but against sixty tons of metal it may as well have been a paper cup. The SUV was swatted aside, nearly rolling over before lurching to a halt – with one wheel hanging off its axle.
Eddie checked the mirror again, seeing the Discovery’s stunned occupants sit up, then turned back towards the runway. ‘You okay?’
The collision had barely shaken the tug, but Nina saw something that would make much more of an impact. ‘Yeah, but – de plane, boss, de plane!’ Another airliner was already on final approach.
He looked across to the second Discovery, which had moved well clear. Unlike the vast majority of British police officers, those on duty at airports were routinely armed – and the passenger had lowered his window, bringing up an MP5 sub-machine gun—
‘Nina, down!’ Eddie yelled. She threw herself to the cab floor as he swung the tug away from the police vehicle. Gunfire cracked across the concrete, rounds spanging against the tractor’s flank. The cop was aiming for the tyres, not the driver, but the Yorkshireman was sure that would change the moment he realised his bullets were about as effective against the inches-thick rubber as a drawing pin.
They reached the runway. The speedo passed thirty, but the asphalt was wide, the plane still thundering towards them—
The pilot saw the vehicles crossing his path and yanked back the controls
, slamming the throttles to maximum power in an emergency abort. The Boeing 787’s nose tipped upwards, but the aircraft had not yet pulled out of its descent, on a direct course for the lumbering Schopf . . .
Its landing gear wavered just a few feet above the runway – then rose again as the plane finally climbed.
It shot over the tug and the Discovery, huge twin engines thundering at full force—
The jet blast hit both vehicles. It was powerful enough to make even the tractor skid sideways – but its effect on the Land Rover had the force of a tornado. The Discovery was blown off the ground, bowling over in mid-air and crashing back down on its side. It skidded into the grass, kicking up a great spray of wet soil before thumping to a stop in a drainage ditch. Both cops crawled dizzily from the battered wreck.
The tug cleared the runway, Eddie aiming it down the stretch of old tarmac towards the fence. Thirty-five miles per hour – hardly a breathtaking speed, but with so much weight behind it the juggernaut was now almost unstoppable.
He braced himself, Nina doing the same—
The tug punched through the fence, shredding chain-link and ripping concrete posts from the ground. The impact smashed the windscreen. Eddie stamped on the brake as they careered towards the ranks of high-end cars parked ahead – but now the same inertia that had helped them escape the airport was working against them, the heavy tractor ploughing onwards even as smoke belched from its screaming tyres—
A Mercedes S-class was the first car to be pulverised, mashed into an equally expensive BMW in a chaotic melding of German engineering. Eddie tried to steer away from the other vehicles, but the tug skidded on, carving a destructive swathe through Jaguars, Range Rovers, Audis, Lexuses and Bentleys before the sheer weight of crumpled metal finally dragged it to a standstill.
Relieved, he pushed himself upright. Nina sat up and shook off broken glass. ‘There’ll be a lot of pissed-off company directors when they get back from their flights,’ she said, surveying the wreckage.
‘Serves ’em right for not taking public transport,’ Eddie replied. They clambered out. ‘There’s a road over there.’ He indicated a set of exit barriers.