The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

He jogged along the sandy road to the Toyotas as the fighters continued their circle. The driver and passenger of the leading vehicle were hanging out of the open doors washed in blood. Inside the back were various boxes that had been opened to reveal pistols, magazines and ammunition. The ground was littered with more of the same. A wooden crate lay open with packets of plastic explosives. He inspected the other two vehicles to find similar items. Grenades, mortars, pistols, rifles, bullets. But no heroin. It was all in the back of the Ford which seemed to prove it was the target booty for the gang. He looked in the cabs, front and back. Everything was soaked in blood. He checked under seats looking for concealed compartments. He pulled off any panel that looked like it might be capable of hiding a specially sealed, ominous looking container designed to carry hazardous material. Nothing.

In the open passenger door of the trailing Toyota he noticed a shoulder bag on the floor, its flap open and the contents spilled out. He might’ve moved on had he not caught sight of a British passport lying amongst the trash. He opened it. The name was different but he instantly recognised the face. The jets screamed overhead. They’d seen the vehicles.

Gunnymede checked the dead driver. Not Saleem. He hurried to the other vehicles to check all the bodies. Taz was amongst them but none of the others was the English-born terrorist. He faced the countryside in the direction he’d seen the man run. It had to have been Saleem. Somewhere out there was the Daesh commander. If he had survival instincts, he’d still be running and Gunnymede suspected Saleem wasn’t short of any.

Gunnymede went back to the shoulder bag. There were various currencies including British pounds. A phone which suggested Saleem probably didn’t have one on him. There were pens and paper and a well-worn map of London. Did Saleem have the WMD with him? He’d been running for his life. He would’ve taken his satchel if he’d had the time to grab anything. But maybe the WMD was more important. He remembered what Saleem had said about the UK task being simplicity itself, without WMD or explosives.

‘Saleem was the cargo,’ Gunnymede realised. That’s what Lamardi was giving to Jervis.

Inside the backs of two of the Toyotas were bicycles. Useful if they broke down. Gunnymede lifted one onto the ground. It would do nicely. He looked to find the jets again. They were still circling.

He dumped his rifle, shouldered Saleem’s bag and cycled away. He reached the Ford and as he caught sight of the heroin he slowed to a stop. He moved the bicycle backwards until he was able to see all of the heroin in the back of the vehicle. There certainly was a great deal of it.

He climbed off the bike and picked up a block of the sugary substance. He went to the side of the road to examine the terrain once again, even though he knew it well enough by then. He was hoping it might offer hope of providing a hiding place for the stuff. But there wasn't. And even if there had been, there was far too much of it to move and conceal against the elements in the time that he probably had, bearing in mind the aircraft and the likelihood of imminent visitors.

It was a missed opportunity for sure.

He climbed back onto the bicycle and pedalled on down the road.

Chapter 18

Gunnymede entered the Heathrow arrivals hall carrying Saleem’s shoulder bag. He stopped to one side and ran his eye along the waiting people as other arriving passengers walked through the exit from the customs and baggage hall and past him. He wasn’t surprised to find Aristotle staring at him from the back of the hall. The tall Greek made his way over as Gunnymede headed towards him.

‘I didn’t know you were so competent in battle,’ Aristotle said. ‘I watched the satellite display. Impressive.’

‘Fish in a barrel.’

They walked outside to a waiting car.

‘We traced the MINs of the four Russians you ran into,’ Aristotle said. ‘They were members of a cartel from Kiev.’

‘They were there for the heroin.’

‘Did you find a weapon?’

‘Nothing. Did you see the one who escaped the ambush?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you place a track?’

‘We were focused on you.’

Gunnymede held out Saleem’s shoulder bag. ‘This belonged to him.’

Aristotle looked inside the bag, took out the passport and opened it.

‘Lamardi was giving us Saleem,’ Gunnymede said.

Aristotle nodded as he thought about it. He climbed into the car. Gunnymede got in beside him and it pulled away.

‘He still has to make his way to London,’ Aristotle said.

‘My money’s on him getting here.’

They sat back in thought.

‘Where are we going?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘Jervis wants a personal debrief.

‘Will Harlow be there?’

‘No.’

‘What’s the relationship between those two?’

‘Jervis is technically superior to Harlow. But Harlow doesn’t work directly for him.’

‘Are they close?’

Aristotle stifled a chuckle. ‘It’s safe to say they don’t like each other.’

‘Why?’

‘The same reason I don’t like you. One of us is a snake in the grass.’

It was getting dark by the time Gunnymede left his debriefing in Legoland. As he headed along the pavement overlooking the Thames he pulled out his phone and made a call.

Bethan was at her desk in Scotland Yard staring at a sheet of paper with a picture of Megan on the top half, the bottom dedicated to Milo Krilov and a short summary on him.

Her mobile rang. She answered it. ‘Hello?’

‘Bethan?’

She smiled. ‘Devon. Are you back?’

‘I am.’

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ She tried not to sound as hopeful as she suddenly felt.

‘I’m sorry about the other night,’ he said.

‘We were