The Fall Read online

  ‘The smart money’s on what, I’m afraid,’ Eric said. ‘Within a few hours they’ll have missed me back at the Obidin compound and someone will be out looking for me. My bags are packed, I’m driving to Moscow and getting on the first flight back to the good ol’ USA. I’m happy to be out of this, to be honest with you. I haven’t seen my girls in near two years.’

  ‘Can’t I come with you?’ James asked.

  ‘There’s only one road out of town. It’s lightly trafficked and the police are searching everyone. If they shine a torch in my car and see you in that state, we’re both as good as dead.’

  ‘I thought you were helping me,’ James said, as he got the horrible feeling that he was back on his own.

  ‘You’re not my problem, kid,’ Eric shrugged. ‘I pulled you out and patched you up because I wanted to hear what you had to say. Your people have caused us a lot of trouble. I’ve done you a favour, but it’s up to your MI5 chums to get you out of here. You Brits have that big jet-engine contract with Obidin. There might only be one road out of Aero City, but there are more than a dozen runways in town.’

  ‘I guess,’ James said.

  ‘We won’t be needing this apartment. You can stay here as long as you like. Keep drinking strong coffee and moving around. There’s enough tinned food to last a month and there’s fresh clothes in all sizes in the wardrobe. Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep. I know you’re coming round a bit now, but you could still lapse into a coma.’

  Eric grabbed his overcoat from the bedpost. ‘I’m taking the phone, so you’d better make that call.’

  James blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision before dialling the CHERUB campus emergency number.

  A man with a brummy accent answered. ‘Unicorn Tyre Repair.’

  ‘This is agent twelve-o-three,’ James said. ‘Can you put me through to Ewart Asker?’

  The man sounded elated. ‘James, is that you? We’ve got a grade one missing agent alert out on you. Are you OK?’

  ‘Snot and blood all over the joint,’ James said dryly. ‘But I seem to be alive.’

  11. GLOOM

  Lauren decided that she felt like being alone and went back to her room. She was sprawled over her bed with the football results coming out of her TV when her mobile rang. She guessed it was Bethany, who was playing in a basketball tournament off campus. She’d been ringing between matches to see if there had been any news.

  ‘Yep,’ Lauren answered, as she flipped her phone open.

  ‘The emergency desk just got a call,’ Zara said happily. ‘It sounds like he’s been badly beaten up, but he’s alive.’

  ‘Oh thank god.’ Lauren leapt off her bed as tears welled up in her eyes. ‘That’s so brilliant. Where’s he been?’

  ‘I don’t have full details yet, but he’s in Aero City and Ewart is on his way to pick him up.’

  ‘Can I speak to James later?’

  ‘Maybe … Ewart has a satellite phone with him, so we can probably sort something out. But they’re not completely out of the woods. The police are searching every car that leaves Aero City, so they’re planning to smuggle him out via a small airstrip.’

  ‘But he’ll be OK?’

  ‘You can never be one hundred per cent, but we know he’s alive and he’s being looked after.’

  ‘I feel like a massive weight got lifted off,’ Lauren grinned.

  ‘Great,’ Zara said. ‘Now I’ve got some phone calls to make. Can I rely on you to tell Kerry and anyone else who might be worried?’

  ‘No problem,’ Lauren said cheerfully. ‘I’ll go right now.’

  She snapped her phone shut and ran out into the corridor. ‘Rat!’ she screamed as she banged on his door, which was near the lifts at the far end of the eighth floor. ‘I got a call. He’s OK.’

  Rat emerged and chased Lauren downstairs to the sixth floor, where Kerry and most of James’ mates lived.

  ‘Kerry, Kerry, Kerry,’ Lauren yelled as she ran on to the sixth floor and almost splattered James’ mate Bruce against the wall.

  ‘They found him?’ Bruce grinned.

  ‘Beaten up, but sounds like he’s OK,’ Rat explained, as Lauren charged into Kerry’s room.

  She was surprised to find the room was empty, then noticed that the bathroom door was locked.

  ‘He’s all right,’ Lauren yelled, as she pounded on the door.

  Kerry unbolted the door and pulled Lauren into a tight hug.

  ‘I don’t think I could have handled it if he’d been killed,’ Kerry sniffled.

  Lauren wiped a tear from her face. ‘What’s the betting that we’ll both be back to yelling at him in a week’s time?’ *

  A Nissan Almera pulled up at a striped barrier. It was close to midnight and Aero City’s power had failed for the second night running; but the corrugated metal hangar in front of the car was surrounded by security lights that were powered by a generator inside the airfield.

  Ewart wound down the driver’s side window and spoke to the security guard in bad Russian. ‘I’m Mr Newman. They’re expecting me.’

  The guard looked disinterested as he pressed the button to raise the gate. The front of the hangar was painted with the words Hilton Aerospace in three-metre-high letters. Ewart looked over on to the rear seat.

  ‘Don’t fall asleep back there,’ he said.

  The clogged sinuses inside James’ broken nose were giving him the worst headache of his life and the clean shirt and tracksuit pants he’d taken from the CIA safe house were sticking to the partly formed scabs on his skin. He peeked out from under a blanket and spoke sourly. ‘I know; I’m not an idiot.’

  As they drove up to the hangar, a shaft of light appeared between its giant doors, wide enough for Ewart to drive through. A huge man in an overall with a Hilton Aerospace logo on it shook Ewart’s hand as he stepped out.

  ‘Thanks for helping out at such short notice, Mr Edwards,’ Ewart said.

  ‘No problem – and call me Craig,’ the man smiled, as Ewart stared at the faded skull and crossbones tattoo on the back of Craig’s hand. ‘Always happy to help a fellow Brit out of a tight spot. That’s my missus, Irene, by the way.’

  Irene wore an identical overall to her husband as she rolled a shabby wheelchair up to the rear of the car and opened the door beside James.

  ‘I can walk OK,’ James said, as he sat up.

  The woman shook her head, before speaking with a London accent. ‘The jet is coming in to land on runway two. It’s over a kilometre along the taxiway, you’re all beat up and it’s an ice rink out there.’

  ‘So what’s our escape plan?’ James asked, as he lowered his aching body into the chair.

  Craig explained. ‘We wheel you out to the edge of the runway as the plane comes in. You and Ewart climb aboard the second it stops moving, the pilot does a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, powers up and she’ll be back in the air within three minutes of touchdown.’

  ‘What about the flight plan?’ James asked. ‘Won’t Obidin’s people know the jet is coming?’

  ‘We’ve logged a flight plan for a Hilton Aerospace cargo plane to land at our regular airfield across town, but the pilot will divert here at the last minute. We’ve had cops sniffing around and searching our containers over there all day. We used to use this airfield when a big jet came in to have its engines serviced, but Obidin lost that contract and it’s all done in Britain now.’

  ‘And the outgoing flight?’ Ewart asked. ‘I assume we’re not gonna get shot down by a couple of MiGs.’

  Craig shook his head. ‘The pilot will stay away from controlled airspace. If air traffic control does pick us up for any reason, she’ll just claim that our office forgot to file the flight plan. That’s no biggie: private jets and the smaller Russian airlines use that excuse all the time.’

  ‘What’s the latest on the arrival time for our jet?’ Ewart asked, as Irene grabbed the blanket out of the car and wrapped it over James like a shawl.

  Craig looked at his watc
h. ‘There’s enough time for a brew, I reckon. Then you’d better head out towards the runway.’

  The hangar was mainly used by British mechanics doing repairs on airliner engines, and the walls were adorned with page three girls and football posters. James felt a touch homesick as he dunked fruit shortcakes in his mug of tea. By the time he’d drunk half, he could hear the distant roar of his ride home.

  ‘Better get our skates on.’ Ewart said, as he grabbed a small briefcase and laid it across James’ lap.

  James shook the Edwards’ hands and thanked them for their help, before Ewart wheeled him towards the gap in the hangar doors. They stepped into the night air and a gentle drizzle dusted James’ face as he spotted the flashing wing lights of a corporate jet amidst the stars.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ Ewart spat, as he looked towards the gate.

  James snapped his head around and spotted a Japanese pickup truck with blue lights on the top. ‘It’s not my week,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You reckon that guard tipped them off?’

  He didn’t get an answer because Ewart had run back inside the hangar. He re-emerged with Craig and Irene, as James popped the catches of the briefcase on his lap.

  ‘I could try holding them off,’ Craig said uncertainly.

  Ewart shook his head. ‘We’ve got an eight-seat jet, you two will have to come with us.’

  ‘We live here,’ Irene protested. ‘We haven’t got our passports or anything.’

  ‘If me and James get away, they’ll arrest, torture and quite possibly kill you,’ Ewart explained bluntly. ‘Start wheeling James towards the runway, I’ll deal with these guys.’

  The security barrier went up as Ewart opened the briefcase. He pulled out a Glock 9mm automatic pistol and a stun gun.

  Craig looked at Ewart. ‘You want help? I was SBS1 before I was MI5.’

  Ewart smiled as he handed Craig the Glock and a spare ammunition clip. ‘Navy man, eh? That’s nice to hear. I’ll go for the subtle approach. If things mess up, start shooting, head for the plane and don’t worry about me.’

  Irene snorted involuntarily, close to tears.

  ‘We’ll be OK, love,’ Craig said firmly. ‘You start pushing James. We’ll be half a minute behind.’

  As Irene began the tricky task of wheeling the chair across the icy taxiway, James tried to reassure her. ‘Your husband’s ex-SBS and Ewart has done similar training. Street cops will be totally outclassed.’

  Irene shook her head as the wheelchair gathered momentum. ‘I knew he was in the Navy, but I only found out that he had links with MI5 when Ewart turned up on our doorstep at lunchtime. Now I’m wheeling a fugitive towards a runway and Craig’s waving a gun around …’

  1 SBS – Special Boat Service, a British special forces unit similar to US Navy SEALs.

  James smiled. ‘Not what you expected when you got out of bed this morning.’

  ‘Too bloody right. So how come you’re all tangled up in this mess? Doesn’t look like you’re even shaving yet.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Irene, but my brain’s not up to spinning a lie and it’s better for both of us if I don’t tell the truth.’

  As the jet skimmed the chain-link fence at the airfield’s perimeter, Ewart strode confidently towards the pickup. He spoke to the driver in his dreadful Russian. ‘Good evening officers, is there a problem?’

  ‘I think there is,’ the driver smiled, pointing up towards the jet. ‘I’ve never seen a flight come down here at this time of night before and my friend on the gate says he’s never seen you either.’

  Ewart heard a second police car pulling up at the barrier as he tried to reassure the two policemen. ‘Hilton Aerospace. It’s our regular cargo flight.’

  ‘No flight plan, no runway lights,’ the cop said, raising a single eyebrow to show that he didn’t believe a word. ‘Maybe I’m Clint Eastwood and you’re the Easter bunny.’

  ‘Evening, boys!’ Craig boomed, surprising Ewart and the cops as he grabbed the door handle on the passenger side of the pickup. He ripped the door open and punched the cop out with his massive fist before dragging him into the snow.

  Ewart realised that Craig had made a smart move: they had to take out the cops in the first vehicle before they were outnumbered. As the driver reached for his holster, Ewart pulled the stun gun and gave him fifty thousand volts. He dragged him out on to the tarmac and gave him a right- hander before snatching the cop’s gun from its holster.

  ‘Back it up,’ Craig shouted.

  Ewart was surprised to find himself taking rather than giving orders, but Craig clearly knew his stuff. Ewart jumped into the driver’s seat, belted up, put the gearbox into reverse and sped backwards towards the second police car as it came through the barrier. It was one of the little Russian jobs and the back end of the pickup reared up over its bonnet, severing the windscreen pillars and concertinaing the roof.

  Ewart crunched the pickup back into first gear, but the rear wheels were off the ground and it wouldn’t budge from its position mounted on top of the little car. This was a pain: they could have used it to drive up the taxiway. He jumped out of the cab as he was deafened by the passing jet. The pilot had to apply full reverse thrust to slow her craft before it ran out of icy runway.

  As aircraft tyres squealed, Ewart peered into the little cop car with the pickup driver’s pistol in his hands. The sudden reverse had taken the two men inside by surprise and their seatbelts had kept them pinned in position as the rear end of the pickup crushed them. It wasn’t something you’d want to look at twice.

  Ewart looked around for Craig and spotted him smacking the guard’s head against the Plexiglas inside the security booth.

  ‘Plane’s on the ground, Craig,’ Ewart shouted. ‘Let’s move.’

  It was six hundred metres to the runway and the icy ground made it difficult to achieve anything faster than a brisk walk. Up ahead, the co-pilot opened up the small passenger jet and dropped a set of steps as Irene wheeled James alongside.

  ‘Do you need a carry?’ the co-pilot asked James, as Irene took off the blanket and helped him to his feet.

  James shook his head as he stumbled forward and grabbed the railing at the edge of the steps. ‘We’ve got two more coming,’ he said.

  The co-pilot looked surprised. ‘You were supposed be ready and waiting.’

  ‘The police turned up,’ Irene explained anxiously. ‘My husband and his companion should be here any second.’

  As soon as James was inside the cramped jet, he collapsed into the leather chair nearest the door and gasped for breath. The cockpit door was open and the pilot nodded from her position in front of a line of dials and computer screens.

  ‘Hey,’ James said, smiling with relief.

  ‘What’s the delay, kid?’

  ‘Two more coming,’ James said. He thought about adding hopefully, but didn’t.

  The runway was pitch black and he was alarmed to see two more sets of headlamps coming up the narrow road towards the security barrier.

  Irene stood out on the tarmac, shouting her head off. ‘Craig, where are you?’

  The pilot craned her neck to look backwards out of the cockpit, before shouting to the co-pilot. ‘We’ve got snow and ice building up on the wing. De-icing is on, but if we don’t get off the ground in a minute or two, someone will have to climb up there and give it a scrape.’

  As James watched the police cars turning through the security barrier, Irene finally heard a shout over the idling jet engines.

  ‘It’s Craig,’ Irene shouted. ‘They’re coming.’

  But the headlights were coming faster.

  ‘Get inside and pull up the steps,’ the pilot shouted. ‘I’m turning ready for take-off.’

  The co-pilot practically shoved Irene up the steps. ‘You can’t leave my husband,’ she begged.

  James watched anxiously as the co-pilot grabbed the handrail to raise the steps a few centimetres, so that the pilot could turn the aircraft without them scraping along th
e ground. A deafening blast of air came through the door as the pilot gave a tiny boost to the right engine, enabling the aircraft to swing a hundred and eighty degrees.

  The headlamps looked even bigger when James stared out the opposite side of the aircraft, but he still couldn’t see Ewart or Craig.

  ‘We’re going,’ the pilot shouted, as she started flicking switches and pressing buttons.

  ‘You can’t leave them here,’ Irene shrieked.

  ‘They’ve got a gun,’ the co-pilot said firmly. ‘That gives them a chance of getting away. We’ve got three thousand litres of fuel in the wings and an auxiliary tank in the cargo bay. If one bullet hits us we’ll go up like a bomb.’

  As if to emphasise the point, the muzzle of an automatic weapon sparked just outside the aircraft. It hit one of the cars, making it veer off-course. Then something thunked against a carbon fibre panel, almost directly beneath James’ seat. After an anxious second, he saw Ewart scrambling to his feet after a dramatic skid under the belly of the aircraft. Ewart grabbed the rail at the bottom of the steps and lunged inside.

  ‘Where’s my Craig?’ Irene screamed. A second blast of automatic gun fire sounded from somewhere behind the aircraft.

  ‘Pull the steps up,’ the pilot ordered. ‘Now.’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ Irene shouted as Ewart scrambled down the aisle and collapsed into a seat at the back.

  ‘I was alongside him till a few seconds ago,’ Ewart called. ‘I slid under, Craig ran around behind the tail.’

  The co-pilot leaned out of the doorway and sighted Craig, lying on the runway just a couple of metres behind the tail. The big man had slipped on the ice, crunched his knee and was struggling to get up.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ the pilot shouted as the co-pilot jumped down the steps.

  James could see the pilot’s hands on the throttles, ready to take off the second she pushed them forward. Outside, the nearest car was less than two hundred metres away.

  James leaned forward and peered through the door to try and see what was going on. Craig was hopping towards the aircraft with one arm around the co-pilot’s back. He was tall enough to grab the railings near the top of the stairs. He pulled up his injured legs and swung himself into the aircraft. The co-pilot tripped over Craig as he came inside and sprawled across the cabin.