Renegade, page 14
‘Let’s get this bastard,’ Barton said, picking up a little more pace. Haan followed suit and they crossed the road. Sirens still hung in the air.
Haan looked over her shoulder again. A car, blue lights flashing, was poking out of the street she and Barton had just come from. The same car?
The passenger door opened. An angry-looking Gendarme stepped out, hand on the gun on his hip.
‘Hey!’ he shouted over to Haan and Barton, before ducking back into the car which suddenly shot forward, engine growling.
‘Run!’ Haan said.
She did. Barton didn’t. At least not to start with. Instead, he pulled out his gun and fired off three shots. Thunk, thunk, smash. All three hit home somewhere on the car. Tyres screeched and there was an almighty crash. Haan looked back to see the car wrapped around a lamp post. She grit her teeth in anger.
Up ahead, Wheeler was now running.
Another police car came careening around a corner and sped right past Wheeler, heading for Haan. What was she supposed to do now? She was ten yards ahead of Barton already, she had to take action. She whipped out her gun, fired warning shots at the car. The vehicle swerved viciously, only narrowly missing startled pedestrians scuttling for cover.
The car rocked to a stop and two policemen jumped out. Haan fired two more shots to send them scurrying.
Ahead, Wheeler was approaching a roundabout. As Haan and Barton followed, they were steadily moving further and further away from their van at the other end of the town. What the hell was the game plan from here? Wheeler or freedom?
Thankfully that tough call was made a lot easier a few seconds later when the high revs of a fast-approaching vehicle caught Haan’s attention. She looked over. To the left of the roundabout. Saw a van, speeding along. Their van.
Wheeler noticed it. There was nothing he could do to avoid the collision as the van raced head-on for him. But at least he had seen it, otherwise he would have been obliterated. Instead, he dived to the side. The van caught a flailing leg which sent him spinning into the dirt verge. More screeching tyres as Klein pounded the brakes and the van skidded to a halt, smacking into a wire fence at the side of the park.
Haan was onto Wheeler within seconds. Grimacing in pain he was clutching his leg as he tried to pull himself to safety.
Klein jumped from the van. He slid open the side door then grasped Wheeler by the ankles. Wheeler bucked and shouted in anger and pain. So Haan booted him in the gut, after which Barton helped Klein haul him into the van. They all jumped in. Haan last. As she grasped the sliding door, Klein was already reversing back onto the road.
Another police car was approaching in the distance, but it was too little, too late.
Not for the Gendarmes already on the scene, though, hunkered down behind their police car. An officer jumped up, gun in hand.
Haan was pulling up her own weapon when a shot boomed right in her ear. The bullet clunked into the police car, sending the Gendarme bouncing back out of sight.
‘Idiot!’ Haan screamed at Barton, her ear ringing and stabbing in pain as he reached forward and grabbed the door to slide it shut.
He said nothing. Just gave her a snide smile as he sat back onto the bench on the opposite side. Klein put the van into first, slammed his foot down on the accelerator and they shot away.
They’d got Wheeler, and Haan was sure they’d get away from Frichebois well before the Gendarmerie gathered enough resources to hunt them down.
Job done.
But at what cost?
25
Ryker ran. But he didn’t go far. Only far enough to ensure he was clear of the emergency services that were closing in on the garage. He’d heard the first sirens only seconds after getting moving. He figured Akkan’s remaining gang members wouldn’t fancy sticking around to meet the police either, and would scarper rather than pull out all the stops to capture Ryker. He was safe, for now.
He ducked into the entranceway of an abandoned brick warehouse. He was out of breath, his head pounding, a combination of the toil of fighting, hauling Akkan around, and his abrupt escape. He felt frustrated. For all the action, he’d come away from the scene with nothing. Akkan, his main lead in figuring out what had happened with Parker and Yedlin, was dead, and the police would be all over the garage premises. The police. Ryker was on the same side as the police, as MI5. Wasn’t he? So why wasn’t he on the phone with Winter to help get him access to what was now a crime scene? Was it the messy end to Ryker’s visit to the garage that was holding him back?
No. There was something more than that. The suspicion that someone in MI5 or the JIA wasn’t playing ball. The fact that he was sure he was under surveillance. The two mystery guests at the hospital last time he’d been to see Moreno – spooks, no doubt. Ryker was missing something in this picture, and he wouldn’t get the answers by walking away.
Clenching his jaw, he looked down to his arm. There was a three-inch slash in his jacket, and blood was seeping through the fabric from the cut underneath. Not particularly debilitating, but it was painful, and he didn’t like the idea of his blood dripping all over and leaving a trail. Especially not with what he had in mind for his next move.
He took the jacket off to inspect the wound. Not too deep, and actually the blood was already coagulating. Yes, there were patches of red on his clothes, but he couldn’t do much about that now. And the wound would most likely need stitches... but that could wait.
Head down through the rain, Ryker circled back around. He was two streets away from the garage when the unusually high number of pedestrians became apparent. Curious bystanders, passers-by, who’d been alerted initially by the police sirens and, no doubt, social media. It was the same in any city in modern times. As soon as a major incident took place, camera phones were pointed and images and videos uploaded to the internet – way before police reports or news broadcasts.
At least the number of gawkers on the usually near-deserted streets meant that Ryker’s approach back toward the garage was less obvious. He turned off to head down the street immediately before the lane that led to the garage. The office building he’d broken into the previous night was on his left. He’d entered on the other side before, through a little-used back exit. The front of the building had a grander entrance, with a wide staircase and columned canopy.
Not that it was any less run-down from this side. As before, his first impression was that this building was unoccupied, given the weeds sprouting along the bottom edge of the brickwork, the murky and dilapidated windows, and the lack of any kind of corporate logos or insignia anywhere. Oh, and the padlock on the solid wood doors.
Not a problem. Ryker was soon through the poor security and standing inside a dusty foyer that at one time would have been light and airy, with a polished stone floor and central staircase with wrought-iron banisters. Now the foyer was dank, dark and grotty-looking. But not abandoned. For one, there were noticeable bootprints in the dust.
Curious.
Ryker crept through the space, alert for any movement or sound. He headed up the stairs and found his way back to the computer storage room he’d been in earlier, overlooking the garage.
He crouched down at the window and peeped outside. Four police cars. A police van. Three ambulances. Police tape cordoned off the whole end of the alley. On the other side of the tape were well over a dozen bystanders, mostly youngsters. All but two of them had their phones held aloft.
Ryker checked his watch. A little over twenty minutes since he’d made his escape. This crime scene was still in its infancy as far as the police’s work was concerned. The dead bodies certainly wouldn’t have been removed yet, though Ryker wondered about the injured men; the goons he’d tackled, and Emre Tufan. Were they still inside, receiving medical attention? Had any of them been taken away already by the police? It wasn’t unthinkable that the other gang members had taken the wounded with them, if they’d had time – or simply put them out of their misery. Better than them landing in the police’s hands where they’d be nothing more than a risk to their crew’s freedom.
Ryker watched with interest for the next thirty minutes. Two trolleys were wheeled out in that time. With the bodies covered, Ryker had no clue who was on them. He knew for sure that the kid from the workbench and Akkan were dead, but had the gang indeed killed their own in an attempt to keep themselves safe?
What Ryker didn’t see was anyone being dragged from there alive. But ten minutes later he saw something else that was interesting.
A plain hatchback turned up and parked outside the police tape. Phones all around pointed to it as a man and a woman stepped out. Equally plain-looking as their car, the woman was slight and dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, the man tall and lanky, in cords and an open-neck shirt. They had a brief conversation with one of the uniforms at the tape. No ID was shown, though soon there was a wave of activity as three, then four, then six uniformed officers gathered together, passed beyond the police tape and slowly but assuredly pushed the onlookers further and further back. All the way until they were out of sight to Ryker, likely to the far end of the lane.
Ryker could take a good guess at what he was witnessing. The new arrivals had authority. Enough authority to get the uniforms to do what they asked. And what they wanted was to get rid of prying eyes. They didn’t want the public getting full wind of what had happened here.
Ryker watched the man and woman for the next few minutes. The woman mingled among the police officers. The man mostly stood with his phone plastered to his ear. After a short while they recongregated. The man nodded then glanced over to the building Ryker was in. Ryker inched his head back to blend into the gloom behind him, but the man was soon looking away again.
Then another car arrived. Unmarked, and similarly plain. Two men got out of this one. Casually dressed. They joined the man and the woman and the four disappeared into the garage.
Ryker knew exactly who the four were. Not detectives, but spooks. The way they moved, the way they looked at the world around them. MI5 most likely.
How had they got the call to come here so quickly? And why? Their presence only added to Ryker’s already growing suspicions. He was still mulling it over when noise from the corridor behind grabbed his attention.
A distinctive noise. Footsteps.
26
The sense of déjà vu wasn’t lost on Ryker. The last time he’d been in this building he’d also heard a noise. Somewhere below. That time the sound had been indistinct, and ultimately he’d thought little of it. This time the sound was closer, and although not loud, he was sure it was the shuffling of feet. Like someone trying to walk very quietly to mask their presence.
Ryker darted to the door, moving across the room in absolute silence. He peeked out into the corridor, just enough to get a glimpse.
Nothing.
Yet he was sure of what he’d heard. He glanced up and down. All the other doors in the corridor remained closed.
What the hell?
Ryker looked back. Was it worth hanging around to spy on the garage longer? The most obvious answer was yes. In particular, Ryker wanted to know why the spooks were here, and what the end result of their presence would be. Would they be taking the survivors – Tufan? – with them? Had they already started an interrogation inside?
Another sound. Down below now.
No, Ryker wasn’t hanging around waiting. He wanted to figure out what was going on.
As stealthily as he could, he headed back along the corridor. At every doorway, he stopped and pulled against the wall, and peeked through the glass to the room beyond. No sign of anyone.
He came to the final door before the stairwell, which, just like the storage room he’d been in, had a solid wood door, no glass. The door was closed. Was it worth a look? Or should he just keep going and down the stairs...
A quick look.
Ryker grasped the handle and pulled down, then painstakingly slowly pushed the door open. Not a creak or strain to be heard from his movement. He stuck his head into the gap.
The room was empty.
He sighed, then stepped back out into the corridor, and made his way down the stairs, checking each floor as he went. He reached the ground floor without any further indication of company.
So who had he heard? And why were they sneaking about? Had they already scarpered, knowing that Ryker had been alerted?
The exit was right in front of him. Time to go?
He froze. Something was stopping him.
He turned and headed beyond the stairs. A door there led into a downstairs corridor he’d not been through before. As he glanced into the first three rooms, his previous thoughts about the building’s continued use were confirmed: all were in various states of occupation. Yes, the fixtures and fittings were basic at best, decrepit at worst, but two of the rooms had computer terminals set up – in one of them the hard-drive tower hummed away. There were lever arch files, papers arranged in piles on desks. Boxes. A lot of boxes.
No people though.
Ryker moved back into the room with the humming computer. He glanced briefly over the paperwork arranged neatly on the desk. Invoices. Consignment notes. He moved to a pile of stacked and sealed cardboard boxes, each one three feet square. He read over the labels. Addressees, couriers, senders. Ryker took it all in. Took pictures too – all the while listening out for noise that would suggest someone else still lurking in the building.
It was absolutely clear that whoever was using this space was linked directly to the building next door, and that the deliveries were for businesses linked to Akkan. Ryker had already done a great deal of research into the man’s enterprises, many of which were incorporated overseas. Akkan himself had few official dealings with these companies, keeping them at arm’s length, but a common naming convention united the businesses Akkan controlled: the initials KLL. The company name for the deliveries here was Karadeniz Logistics Limited. Karadeniz was the Turkish word for the Black Sea, by which Akkan’s family originated.
So this building, these deliveries, were related to Akkan, but what was he receiving? The names of some of the suppliers indicated they were selling motor parts, and there was nothing particularly exciting about that. But not all of it was so obvious, the nature of the ordered items on some of the paperwork obscured by coded names and numbered stock items.
More interesting to Ryker than the fact that Akkan’s businesses were being run from this building, was who he was doing business with. Ryker was about to move on when a label caught his eye. An unfamiliar company name. Ltd, its designation, except this wasn’t a UK Ltd company – its address was Tel-Aviv.
Was this the link to Yedlin?
A scratching sound just outside the room. Ryker spun on his heel, hunched down, ready for an attacker to burst through the door.
No one there.
Ryker waited, breath held. He was becoming increasingly annoyed. Was someone toying with him?
He could do one of two things. Continue to creep around – somewhat aimlessly really. Or burst out and finally come face to face with whoever else was here.
He opted for the latter.
Staying low, Ryker sped for the door and raced out into the corridor. Looked left, then right. That’s where he was. Five yards away. And the man was ready and waiting, gun held up, pointed at Ryker.
Ryker didn’t panic. He straightened up. Shook his head in disgust. Judging by the frown on his face, the man he was facing felt the same way.
‘You?’ Kaspovich exclaimed.
27
‘What are you doing here?’ Kaspovich seemed more angry than surprised that he was face to face with Ryker.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ryker shot back. ‘And are you going to put that thing away?’ He indicated the gun.
Kaspovich hesitated. He lowered the gun, but only a little. He glanced to Ryker’s arm. The cut sleeve, stained red.
‘So we’ve got you to thank for this mess,’ Kaspovich remarked. ‘I shouldn’t be too surprised really.’
But was he surprised? What about the eyes that had been on him the last few days, Ryker thought. Was it all Kaspovich? All MI5? It made some sense. But was it Akkan or him who was under surveillance?
Kaspovich continued, ‘A dozen police officers out there would be delighted to know I’ve just stumbled upon the man who’s killed three people today.’
That was telling. Not just the threat, but the fact there were just three dead. So the goons and Tufan were either in police custody, or they’d escaped.
‘A dozen police officers,’ Ryker said. ‘Plus four of your fellow agents that I counted.’
Kaspovich looked a little perturbed.
‘So tell me, just how did you get to be here?’
‘The problem is, Ryker, I’m not inclined to disclose anything to you anymore. From what I’ve been told, your assistance on the Parker investigation has been pulled.’
‘Is that right?’
‘You know how it is.’
‘Actually I’m not so sure I do.’
Ryker’s brain was tumbling. Winter hadn’t said anything about Ryker being pulled from the investigation. Was this because of Yedlin? Something else?
Both men went silent. Ryker became more uncomfortable by the second, particularly with Kaspovich still holding that gun.
‘Why are you in this building?’ Ryker pointed outside. ‘The action was all out there.’
And was it Kaspovich he’d heard snooping, or someone else altogether?
‘One of the policemen said they thought they saw someone in here. Obviously anyone in here could be a potential eyewitness.’
‘Then why is it you in here, and not one of the police officers?’
No answer.
‘I didn’t see you approach the others outside when they arrived. So where did you come from?’
Kaspovich’s eyes narrowed but still, he said nothing.
