Nine Lives (26 page)

‘Here we are,’ he said, applying the handbrake.

He turned, noticing a grin on Shapira’s face.

‘What are you smiling about?’

‘Just looking forward to the game,’ she replied. ‘Let’s go.’

FORTY THREE

The first thing Nikki did was rush straight to Director Cobb’s office.

She barged in without knocking and immediately told him what she’d found. He’d listened closely, then jumped up from behind his desk and ran through to the Ops room to Nikki's computer to see for himself.

Right now Nikki was frantically trying to pull any files on Shapira, but there was nothing. No one anywhere seemed to have any idea who she was.

At that moment, Cobb’s mobile phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he saw it was Mac.

‘Mac, are you on speaker-phone?’

‘No, sir.’

‘I need you to apprehend Agent Shapira right now!’

There was a pause.

‘She’s not here, sir. She’s gone.’

‘What? Gone where?’

‘She said her people had needed her at Stamford Bridge. The football stadium. Fox is driving her down there.’

Cobb swore.

‘Get on the phone to Fox right now. Order him to make the arrest. Get over there as fast as you can.’

‘What’s this all about, sir?’

Nikki turned to Cobb, having realised the connection. ‘Oh my God.’

He looked at her, the phone to his ear.

‘She’s Dominick Farha’s cousin.’

At the stadium, it was ten minutes until kick off. Scores of wreaths and tributes had been laid outside the ground, including many Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspur shirts with messages and tributes written on the front. They were gathered by the gates like a sort of shrine.

Shapira ignored them as she moved with Fox towards the entrance. Armed security and police were everywhere. At the entrance, one of them stepped forward, seeing that the ARU officer was armed.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘Ryan Fox. I’m with the ARU,’ he said, pulling a badge from a sleeve on his uniform. ‘This is Agent Shapira. She’s with Mossad.’

The man turned his attention to her. She’d already pulled her badge and ID and passed them over, cool and calm. The forgery was perfect. He examined them both for a moment, then passed them back, satisfied.

‘OK, so what can I do for you?’ he asked.

Fox turned to Shapira, letting her take over.

‘Some of my team are already inside,’ she said. ‘We think there might be a security issue.’

‘Not likely,’ the guy said stubbornly. ‘And whatever it may be, it’s not your issue. Our team will handle it.’

‘We can stand here wasting time, or you can listen to me and we can go fix the problem,’ she said. Her phone rang in her pocket. She grabbed it and saw it was Henry’s private line. Thinking on the spot, she showed them the ringing phone. ‘See? They’re calling me right now. You can come with me and see for yourself.’

The guard thought for a moment.

‘OK. Fine,’ he said. ‘But both of you, weapons stay here. You can collect them on the way out.’

Fox nodded. He checked the safety on his MP5 and un-looped the strap from his shoulder. He passed it over, along with the Glock 17 pistol from its holster by his hip. The guard took the guns and put them in a security hut behind him. Shapira pulled her Sig Sauer pistol and passed it over.

The guard nodded. ‘OK. So let’s go.’

Together, the three of them moved into the ground. There was still a large crowd outside the stadium itself as fans bought match-day programmes and drinks before taking their seats in the stands.

As they moved forward, Fox felt the phone on his tac vest vibrate as it rang. He pulled it out. It was probably Mac, calling him back to the Wharf.

He answered it. ‘Mac?’

He heard murmuring at the other end but he could barely hear him over the crowd. He turned, putting his finger in his other ear.

‘Speak up, Sarge. I can’t hear you,’ Fox shouted.

‘Fox, take Shapira into custody!’

Fox frowned. ‘What? Why?’

‘She’s Dominick Farha’s cousin!’

Fox froze.

He felt the hackles on his neck rise.

‘Don’t let her out of your sight. We’re on our way!’

Mac’s voice disappeared. The next moment, Fox spun around.

But Shapira was gone.

He scanned the area around him, but she was nowhere to be seen.

She’d vanished into the crowd.

FORTY FOUR

The Sunday afternoon lack of traffic meant the ARU police car moved at break-neck speed through the streets. Stamford Bridge to Canary Wharf was approximately nine miles; behind the wheel, Deakins had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the city roads, and he was putting all that information to good use. The streets flashed past; they were almost there, making fast time.

When they’d received the call from Cobb outside One Canada Square the officers had hit a problem. They only had one car. Fox had taken one of them with Shapira, Porter the other to take Archer back to the Unit’s HQ. They didn’t have time to arrange other transportation, so only four of them could go.

Deakins was behind the wheel, Mac in the front seat beside him. Behind, Chalky was on the right, Rivers to his left. Mac realised that the American had spent a lot of time with the woman over the last twenty-four hours. He figured he might have some ideas as to where she could be.

He checked his watch again.
1:26pm.

‘Floor it, Deaks,’ he ordered.

The officer behind the wheel nodded, and pushed his foot down, the vehicle speeding on towards the stadium.

Inside the stadium, Mia was now on a lower level.

She’d been waiting for the two policemen to turn their backs. All she needed was a split-second. They’d given her an opportunity and in a heartbeat, she’d taken her chance and gone. She knew they’d call in her sudden disappearance via radio and alert other members of the security upstairs.

She needed to get on the lower level before they did.

And she had. Upstairs, it sounded as if the players were now walking out onto the pitch. There was thunderous noise above her as the fans cheered their arrival. The place rumbled as if they were on a fault line and it was an earthquake.

The white corridor she was currently striding down was empty; all the security were watching the crowd or the players on the pitch.

Not down here.

But just at that moment, a guard appeared from around the corner ahead of her. He frowned when he saw Mia walking towards him and moved forward, confronting her.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

She didn’t respond, bearing down on him.

Then suddenly, she lunged her body forward. Her hands were up, going for his throat. She grabbed his neck either side and with a violent wrench she broke it with terrifying speed, as if it was a dry twig, killing him in an instant.

Once he flopped to the floor, she grabbed his body by the ankles, and pulled it around the corner. As she did so, she saw that she’d arrived where she needed to be.

Ahead of her was a vending machine, Coca Cola printed on the front, white letters over a red background. Dumping the guy’s body beside it, she leaned back and double-checked both sides of the corridor again.

She was alone.

She pulled something from the rear waistband of her suit trousers, hidden by her jacket. It was a small electronic tool. A screwdriver. She reached up and pushing the tool into a slot in the corner of the front panel of the vending machine, she pulled the small trigger.

The tool whined and it started spinning the first screw on the drinks machine, drawing it out.

Across the city, Porter pulled to a halt outside the Unit’s headquarters. Archer was beside him, wincing in pain. On their way back, Mac had called Porter’s phone, ordering him to get over to Stamford Bridge as quickly as he could. He hadn’t been specific, he’d just said there was some situation with Shapira and for Porter to get down there as soon as possible.

Archer looked out of the window and saw that they were outside the ARU car park, twenty five yards from the building.

‘I’ve got to get over there, Arch,’ Porter said. ‘Don’t want to piss Mac off.’

Archer nodded, pushing open his door with a grimace.

‘Thanks for the lift. I’ll see you shortly,’ he said through his teeth.

‘Alright, mate. Take care. Get someone inside to take a look at that ankle.’

Archer nodded as he climbed out awkwardly and slammed the door behind him. He found he could put the slightest pressure on his foot, but not much.

He hopped and hobbled into the car park like an old man as he heard Porter speed off behind him.

Suddenly, he realised something and swore. He’d left his MP5 on the back seat of the car. The Unit had a strict policy on the care and protection of their weapons; he was going to be in deep shit with Mac when he found out.

Cursing his carelessness, Archer limped into the car park and started hobbling slowly towards the entrance twenty five yards away

The place was quiet save for a solitary figure standing to the left of the doors.

Looking closer, Archer saw it was the DEA agent, Crawford, smoking a cigarette.

Archer gritted his teeth and continued on towards him.

The police car containing the three ARU officers and Rivers screeched to a halt on Fulham Broadway. They saw the other Unit vehicle, parked there on the kerb.

Climbing out, the four men ran towards the entrance gates. Even from here they could hear a voice on a microphone inside the stadium, calling for a minute’s silence to remember the lives lost at the Emirates last night. They saw Fox approaching them from inside the ground, a cluster of guards with him.

Mac and his three companions were let into the ground without delay, their weapons still in hand. He strode towards Fox who had arrived by a small boxed room by the gate.

The guard inside passed him over his weapons.

‘Where is she?’ Mac asked.

‘She was out here, Sarge. I turned my back to talk to you and when I looked back, she was gone.’

Mac kept his voice low as a sudden silence had fallen inside the stadium. He turned to the men around him. Including the stadium security, there were nine of them.

‘Find her!’
he said urgently, in a hushed voice.

The men nodded.

The nine of them split up, and they ran into the bowels of the stadium.

Back in the car park at the ARU, Archer was struggling to make it to the doors.

His ankle was causing him agony. He could put hardly any pressure on it at all and he was severely pissed off. This would put him out of action for the next couple of months and it had all happened because of his carelessness. With him out of action, some other guy could come in and momentarily take his spot.

Gritting his teeth, he looked up and saw that by the doors, Crawford had noticed the young police officer’s struggle to get across to the entrance.

Flicking away the cigarette, the American started walking forward to help him.

On the lower level of the stadium, Mia finished with the last screw on the front of the vending machine. Placing the electric screwdriver to one side, she grabbed the panel and pulled.

The front of the machine lifted away.

Inside the rectangular metal box, there were no cans of drinks.

There were two large canisters instead, each containing glowing amber liquid.

Black lettering was printed vertically down each cylinder.

VX Nerve Gas

It was the most lethal nerve agent ever synthesised, five hundred times more toxic than cyanide. Once inhaled, the gas shut down an enzyme in the body that controlled muscle and nerve function. A person would shudder and fit so hard they either bit off their own tongue or swallowed it. Their back would break from the muscle spasms.

And they’d die, their skin melting, blood pouring from every orifice.

She smiled and looked inside the transparent casing of each cylinder. The liquid was oily, golden in colour. Seemingly innocent enough. But these two canisters of liquid would kill every person in the stadium with ease once it was airborne. And scores more unlucky enough to be outside on the street would die from the fallout.

The weapon had been sitting in Henry’s private aircraft hangar for almost a year, an unwanted gift from an associate who’d requested a large haul of meth and who couldn’t front up the cash. Beside the canisters was tucked a silenced pistol, a Heckler and Koch USP. Mia smiled. Her father knew any weapon she had would be confiscated at the gate; he’d even thought to include a silencer.

She reached forward, taking the weapon and racking the slide, loading a round in the chamber and flicking off the safety catch.

With her bare hands, she was dangerous.

Now, she’d be close to unstoppable.

Returning her attention to the nerve gas, she set to work arming the device. She would detonate the gas via a remote trigger. The switch for the detonation was also tucked inside. She’d make her way out of the ground and push it from a safe distance.

Suddenly, she realised the stadium upstairs had gone quiet.

A minute’s silence,
she thought.

The whole place was as silent as a church in prayer.

But not for long,
she thought, with a grin.

In the sunny car park across the city, Archer was glad to see the American approaching. Even only light hopping was jarring savage pain up into his body from the ankle. He’d need help before he got any further. The DEA agent was fifteen yards away and closing.

As he approached, something over the man’s shoulder caught Archer’s attention. Another figure had entered the car park. Archer didn’t recognise him, but he was walking fast, approaching Crawford from behind.

The guy was dressed in a suit and sunglasses; there was something about him that seemed familiar.

And then, all of a sudden, the guy’s face rang a bell, even behind the shades.

Archer froze.

He realised who it was.

For a split-second, he wondered if he was delirious from the pain.

But he blinked and realised what he was seeing was real.

Dominick Farha was walking straight towards Special Agent Crawford.