Manhunter by Chris Ryan (the false prince series .TXT) 📗

some of them are spies. He sacked a bunch of guys on his team six months ago.’

Mallet said, ‘As you know, Seguma has gone to great lengths to keep this meeting secret. That means keeping his BG team out of the loop as well. The smart money is on him going to this thing alone.’

‘They won’t want to meet with the Russians alone, John.’

‘I agree. It’s possible that Lang might have one or two of his heavies with him,’ Mallet conceded. ‘Minders. Dumb muscle he can trust. But we’re talking about one or two guys. He won’t have any more than that.’

‘And if he does?’

‘You’ll have to stay fluid. React to any unexpected threats. Staying flexible comes with the territory, especially when you’re fighting gangsters.’

‘I’m beginning to realise that.’

They talked through the courier plan for a solid thirty minutes. Webb broke out the laptop and brought up the exterior of the apartment complex on Google Street View, pointing out the various entry and exit points, the position of the team in the vehicle. Bowman studied the original architectural drawings for Lang’s apartment, making sure he’d committed it to memory. Then they switched their focus to the situation around the building: roadworks, tourist hot spots, likely traffic jams, rush-hour times, parking zones. From time to time, Mallet asked Bowman if he had any questions. There was no negativity, no judgement. The rest of the team had spent the past seven days pulling the op together. They knew the whole thing backwards. As the newcomer, Bowman was having to absorb every aspect of it at lightning speed.

‘What about our kit?’ he asked.

Mallet leaned back, giving the floor to Loader. ‘Tiny will explain. That’s his area of expertise. Along with lessons in how to repulse women, of course.’

Loader gave him a look and stabbed a finger at the southern edge of the principality.

‘A local UKN will RV with us at the heliport here,’ he said. ‘He’ll drive us to the car park beneath the football stadium. We’ll collect our kit, then drive straight to the target location.’

‘Are we packing heat?’ asked Bowman.

‘Pistols. One for you, one for Patrick. But you shouldn’t need them.’

Mallet said, ‘We need to discuss rules of engagement.’

He leaned forward and looked Bowman hard in the eye.

‘Let me be very clear. Your weapons are to be used as a last resort only,’ he said. ‘If you’re danger close, if rounds are coming in, you may engage. But don’t go plugging anyone if you can help it. The clean-up would be a nightmare, it’s the last thing we need. And do not engage the cops under any circumstances.’

‘I know the drill,’ Bowman said. ‘I’ve gone through all this stuff before in the Wing.’

‘It’ll stand a repeat,’ Mallet growled. ‘We’re not in the business of making trouble with the cops. If you’re arrested, don’t kick up a fuss. Keep your mouth buttoned and sit tight. Don’t make up some cock-and-bull story. It’ll only encourage the police to get curious, and we don’t want that. Six won’t like it, either. As soon as you’re captured, the balloon will go up and someone from the Embassy in Paris will come down. You’ll receive full legal representation. The Whitehall folk will do their usual string-pulling behind the scenes. You’ll be back on a flight to London before you know it.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

‘It’s a routine hard arrest,’ Loader said. ‘We do this kind of stuff all the time in the Cell.’

‘There’s no such thing as routine, Tiny. Not in the Regiment.’

‘It’s hardly Rorke’s Drift, is it? We’ll be back home and on the beers a few hours from now.’ He gave Bowman a cheeky nudge and a wink. ‘Me and you can hit the town together. Check out the talent.’

‘You won’t see much,’ Mallet said. ‘Tiny clears out the bars faster than a bomb threat.’

‘That’s not true,’ Loader protested. ‘I ain’t the tallest, but I’ve got a way with the ladies.’

‘Aye, I suppose you have. It’s called scaring them shitless.’

Bowman shared a laugh with Mallet. Even Webb permitted his lips to form a smile. Casey stared at them with a look of dismay.

‘Let’s crack on,’ Mallet said. ‘There’s still plenty of ground to cover.’

Casey took over the briefing. She handed Bowman a piece of paper with a list of phone numbers and a map detailing various pick-up locations. The numbers belonged to individuals the team could contact in the event of an emergency. There was a guy with a small boat in the Fontvieille district, she said. A doctor across the border in Nice. A pair of retired spooks living in a town forty miles to the west, in Trigolins.

They discussed escape plans and rat runs. Emergency pick-up procedures. Locations in the area, safe places where they could hide out for a day or two. Worst-case scenario stuff. Bowman tried to memorise every detail, but he struggled to focus. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. His tired body craved another hit of opiates. Something to keep him wired. He was sweating badly under his shirt. He took a pull of bottled water, tried to refocus.

There was time for one last general run-through around the conference table. Everyone talked through their specific roles, making sure that there were no grey areas, no loose ends. Then the pilot announced they would shortly be making their final approach to Côte d’Azur, and Webb and Loader quickly gathered up their belongings and carried the bags back to the aft compartment. Casey cleared the papers from the table and hurried over to the office to feed them into the shredder.

While they were busy, Bowman levered himself up from his seat and quietly slinked off to the toilet.

The cabin shuddered as he moved down the aisle. Bowman almost lost his balance, recovered as the jet began pitching and plunging through the air. On the speaker, the pilot explained they were going through a patch of turbulence. Bowman ignored the request to stay seated and staggered