Gray Redemption (Tom Gray #3) (18 page)

Levine eased the corpse to the
ground and retrieved both the silenced pistol and his own weapon.  He
replaced his earpiece, which had fallen out during the struggle, then took the
dead man’s comms unit and placed the receiver in his right ear.

“These two are down, the other
two are coming towards you now,” he said over the phone.

A quick search for ID produced
nothing but a small amount of money.  No driving licence or credit cards,
not even a library card to put a name to the face.  That wasn’t too
surprising, given the nature of their visit.

Leaving the dead where they’d
fallen, Levine jogged towards the road.  He slowed as he reached the trees
lining the narrow country lane and peered through the foliage, cursing the
flames from the camp for ruining his night vision.  Shadows danced before
him, and he knew he would have to break through the tree line and put it
between himself and the fire in order to see anything. 

He carefully climbed over the
rickety, wooden fence and sought cover behind the largest tree he could
find.  A glance around the thick trunk told him he was just a few yards
from the road, but there were no signs of any vehicles.  He guessed he was
too close to the camp, so he headed away from it, taking care to minimise the
sound of his footsteps. 

The van came into view thirty
yards ahead, and he could see Campbell kneeling next to it, a gun held to his
head.  He knew the other one had to be close by, and he realised just how
close when the cold, hard steel of the suppressor jabbed him in the temple.

“Move,” Baker said, holding his hand
out for Levine to surrender his weapons.  Where the man had come from,
Levine didn’t know, but he’d been a silent as a cat.  He gave up the guns
and stood, receiving a shove in the back to urge him forward. 

“Hamilton screwed up,” Baker
said into his throat mic, “but I’ve got things under control.”

“What do you mean, he screwed
up?”  Farrar asked.

“His bomb went off but there was
no-one in the caravan.  I’ve got the two men and I’ll make them take us to
the women.”

“Hamilton, talk to me. 
What the hell is going on there?”

“Hamilton’s dead,” Baker told
him, as he ushered Levine forward.  “So is Dougherty.  I’ll report
back when we’re done.”

Farrar wasn’t happy that the
mission hadn’t been wrapped up, but he accepted that it might take a little
time to break the ex-soldiers.  He told Baker to call him as soon as the
job was complete,
then
signed off comms.

When they reached the vehicles,
Campbell offered Levine an apologetic look.

“Sorry, mate.  They got the
drop on me while I was trying to slash their tyres.”

“Shut it!”  Hill hissed,
giving Campbell a kick in the ribs.

Baker told Levine to lie on the
floor and ordered Hill to cover them both while he fetched two pairs of
plasticuffs from the van.  He returned and went to work on Levine
first,
wrenching his injured shoulder and pleased to see the
signs of discomfort.  Levine clenched his teeth as the pain from his
shoulder shot through his body, but Baker wasn’t in the mood to be tender and
he gave the arm another tug for good measure.   

When both prisoners had their
hands secured behind their backs, Baker gestured for them to climb inside the
van.  Levine looked over to where Hill had Campbell by the scruff of the
neck, and he moved towards the van, hesitating in front of the open door. 
Baker moved in to give him a shove and as soon as Levine felt the hand on his
back, he made his move.

Placing one leg up onto the sill
of the van, he pushed back with all his strength, swivelling in mid air and
coming down with an outstretched leg which caught Baker on the chin.  The
strike knocked the man backwards and he fell against the bonnet of the Ford,
but managed to squeeze off a round which caught Levine in his good arm. 
The thud of the impact spun him for a second, but the adrenalin pumping through
his body held the pain at bay.  He kicked Baker’s legs from under him and
as he hit the floor, Levine threw himself on top of him.  He began using
his forehead to pummel Baker’s face, smashing the nose and sending blood
spraying into the air.

Campbell took this as his cue
and raked his heel down Hill’s shin.  While the man was stunned by the
intense pain he took a step away from him and tried to deliver a roundhouse
kick, but Hill recovered just quickly enough to deflect the blow and he kicked
out at Campbell’s groin, knocking the wind out of him.  Once he was on the
ground, Hill gave him another kick to the head,
then
went to help his team leader.

Hill grabbed Levine’s
blood-stained arm and dragged him off Baker, and the resulting scream pierced
the night.  Baker sat up groggily and climbed unsteadily to his feet, his
pistol swinging drunkenly by his side.  He gingerly felt for the damage
done to his face, and his hand came away a dark crimson in the faint
moonlight. 

With anger seeping from every
pore, Baker approached Levine and pointed the pistol at his head.

“I thought you wanted them
alive,” Hill said, having seen the look before.

Baker glanced over at Campbell
and saw him sprawled out on the ground, alive but dazed.

“We only need one,” he snarled.

Carl Levine looked into the
small hole of the suppressor and knew that death was an instant away. 
He’d always known it would come, and a bullet in the head was preferable to
other ways of meeting one’s end, such as drowning or the lingering agony of a
terminal disease, but his thoughts turned to his family.  Who would look
after them once he was gone?  How would —

The sound of the bullet echoed
through the trees and Levine flinched, but the anticipated darkness never
came.  Instead, Baker sank to his knees before collapsing forward onto his
face.  A stranger came into view, with a pistol held in a two-handed grip
and trained on Hill.

“Drop it,” the newcomer said
with a hint of an accent.  As he drew closer to pick up the Hill’s weapon,
Levine could see that he was of Asian origin, perhaps from India or
Pakistan.  Another man appeared and quickly cuffed Hill before leading him
back down the lane.

“Carl Levine, I presume.”

Levine said nothing.  While
thankful to still be alive, he was too busy wondering what the hell was going on.

“I know this is going to sound
corny,” the man standing over him said, “but come with me if you want to live.”

Levine saw two more men
appear.  One came over and knelt down next to him, placed a first-aid kit
on the ground and pulled out a bandage which he used to dress Levine’s bullet
wound.  The other went over to Campbell and helped him to his feet.

“You mind telling me who you
are, and who they are?”  Levine asked, nodding towards Baker’s corpse.

“We’re Five,” the man told
him.  “The name’s Hamad.  Hamad Farsi.”

Levine looked sceptical. 
“If you’re
Five
, who the hell are these guys?”

He winced as the medic tightened
the bandage around his wound and declared him good to go, before calling the
other man over to help carry Baker’s body.
 
They dragged it to the van and unceremoniously threw it in.

“You’ll find two more in the
field,” Levine told them as he staggered to his feet.  “Head towards the
fire, you can’t miss them.”

The two men trotted off and
Farsi gestured for Levine to follow him.  “We need to get you to a proper
doctor.”

Levine stood his ground. 
“You still haven’t told me what’s going on.  Who were those guys?”

“They work for the government,
and we believe they’re trying to eliminate everyone involved in the Tom Gray
episode last year.  Why, we don’t know.”

Levine thought it was obvious,
but he didn’t let on.  He wanted to speak to Jeff alone before he said
anything else, so he followed Farsi down the road to where two saloons were
parked.  Campbell was already in the back seat of one and he climbed in
beside his friend.

Farsi climbed into the front
passenger seat and turned to face them.

“Are your families close
by?”  He asked as the first of the emergency service vehicles roared past,
sirens wailing.

“They took off hours ago,” Levine
lied.  Until he knew exactly what was going on, he wasn’t about to drag
his family back into this.  “If we don’t get in touch with them within
four hours, they take our story to the press.”

“And just what is your
story?”  Farsi asked.

Levine and Campbell looked at
one another.  “Let’s get Carl sorted out first,” Campbell said. 
Farsi nodded and told the driver to move out.

“It’s a bit of a coincidence
that you should show up just in time,” Levine said as they drove past the
camp.  He noticed that the fire now having spread to a third caravan, and
was thankful that the girl next door had let his daughter’s indiscretion
slip.  There was no way any of them would have survived the blast or the
resulting inferno if they’d been tucked up in bed.

“It was close,” Farsi
said.  “We’re guessing your daughter sent her boyfriend a text, but it
didn’t hit our desk until an hour and a half ago.  The night shift didn’t
realise the importance, otherwise we’d have been here hours ago.”

“Is that how the others found
us?”  Campbell asked.

“We believe so,” Farsi said,
“and we’d really like to know why they want you dead.  Apart from the team
that just tried to kill you, we know there’s a contractor waiting for Simon
Baines and Len Smart to land in South Africa tomorrow evening.”

“South Africa?”  Campbell
asked.  “What the hell are they doing there?  I thought they were in
the Philippines!”

“And what do you mean by
contractor?”  Levine said. 
“A hit man?”

“At least one,” Farsi told
him.  “They’re on a cargo ship that will be arriving in Durban and we
intercepted instructions that sound very much like a kill order. 
Unfortunately we haven’t been able to establish just who will be meeting them.”

The news confirmed what Campbell
and Levine had thought all along: the government wanted rid of everyone who
knew that Tom Gray was still alive.

So why
couldn’t
Farsi
put two and two together?  Surely it was obvious that the
information they had could cause the entire government serious damage. 
The opposition, who had been ousted in the last election, were responsible for
creating the subterfuge, and the current ruling party were complicit by not
only maintaining the silence but also sending out kill squads. 

There could only be one
explanation — Farsi didn’t know that Tom was still alive.

“So why are you helping
us?”  Levine asked.  “If the government are looking to kill us,
surely MI5 would be involved in the plot.”

“You’ve been watching too many
movies,” Farsi told him.  “Our mandate is to protect the citizens of the
UK, not kill them.  If someone has committed a crime, we seek justice
through the courts.”

“Then how come you just shot
that guy?”  Campbell asked.  “You could have tried arresting him.”

“Because I knew he’d been sent
to kill you, and it was his life or yours.  Hopefully that will convince
you that we’re on your side.”

It was a compelling argument,
Levine thought.  If they were just playing good-cop-bad-cop, burning one
of their own to execute the charade was a bit extreme.  While Farsi’s
sentiment about following the proper judicial procedure was noble, Levine
wondered how the man would react when he discovered the truth.  Would he
or his superiors allow Tom Gray to announce his return to the world once they
realised how devastating it would be to the credibility of the government? 

Levine decided that while he
trusted Farsi — if only for the time being — he would keep that particular card
close to his chest.

“When you get to the next
village you’ll see a supermarket on the high street.  Our families are in
the car park at the rear.”

Campbell threw him a look, but
Levine assured him it was okay.  “There’s a loose end we need to tie up,”
he told Farsi.  “The man you shot was due to report in once he’d finished
his mission.”

“No problem,” Farsi said. 
“We’ll take care of it.”

Chapter
11

Monday
May 7th 2012

The chirping of his mobile woke
Farrar from a fitful sleep.  According to his watch he’d been asleep for
less than two hours.

“What?”  He barked into the
phone.

“It’s Hill.  The job’s
complete.”

“Where’s Baker?”  Farrar
asked.

“He’s...tidying up,” Hill told
him. 

“I’ll give him a ring,” Farrar
said, but Hill told him not to bother.  “During the takedown, Baker got
into a skirmish and his mobile was damaged.”

“Just get him to call me when
he’s got a new phone,” Farrar said, and hit the End button. 

Durban was an hour ahead of the
UK, which meant it was just after seven in the morning in Durban.  Having
woken Palmer just a few hours earlier, Farrar decided to wait until he got to
the office before contacting him again.  He’d said he wouldn’t have access
to the website until the afternoon, so there was no point in depriving the man
of any more sleep when he had an important hit to carry out.

Despite the abrupt wake-up call,
Farrar found himself looking forward to the day ahead.  He headed to the
shower and began preparing his report for the Home Secretary, which he would
deliver once Palmer confirmed his kills.

*
* *

Even though it was barely six in
the morning, Veronica Ellis found that she wasn’t the first member of the team
to make it into work.  A light from the technical team office told her
that Gerald Small had beaten her to it.