‘Stand by,’ Tony told Perez. Ten metres, the distance shrinking by the second.
Baxter and his two other men, Spence and Ware, stood inside the van, poised at the rear doors. The windows were covered with a tinted film to prevent onlookers from seeing in; the view outside was darkened, but still clear enough to reveal Syed approaching.
‘Set?’ Baxter asked. Both men nodded. One slowly pushed down the door handle, releasing the catch.
Baxter hefted the stubby stun baton in his right hand, thumb poised on its trigger.
‘Ready . . .’ said Tony.
Five metres. Four—
‘Go!’
Perez thumbed the button on the radio-control unit in his pocket.
The detonators he had thrown into the doorway exploded one after another, cracking like gunfire. The woman screamed, the stallholder leaping away in fright and knocking his merchandise to the ground.
People spun in shock and fear at the noise. Terrorists, the army, criminals – any of them could send stray bullets into the crowd. Where was the shooter?
For a moment, all eyes were looking in the same direction.
Including Syed’s.
He was two metres from the van when the device went off, whirling to find the source of the – gunfire? No, the sound wasn’t right. Just fireworks—
It took his mind only a fraction of a second to reach that conclusion, but by then it was too late.
The van’s rear doors swept open. The first two men jumped out to flank him. Baxter, a step behind, pressed the stun baton against the back of his neck. A harsh buzz – and over a million volts flooded through Syed’s body.
The cell leader slumped as if his bones had liquefied, eyes rolled up into his head. Ware and Spence caught him, swinging his nerveless body around and hauling it into the van. Baxter was already back inside; Perez followed, slamming the doors behind him.
Lak set the Mercedes moving as the last detonator fired. The entire procedure had taken a fraction under seven seconds. A few people on the street were left vaguely aware that something had happened behind the van – but in the confusion, all attention on the sound of shots, nobody could remember what the man who had been there just moments before even looked like.
The van turned down a side street and sped away.
3
A Game of Leapfrog
‘
We got him!’
Adam could tell from the excitement in Holly Jo’s voice that Syed’s capture had gone exactly to plan. Baxter’s team would now be bringing their prisoner to the operations centre.
That was his destination too. But first . . .
‘I’m still being tailed,’ he said, ostensibly into his phone. He had used the device’s glass screen as an impromptu mirror, seeing Khattak, Marwat and Umar about thirty metres behind. ‘How soon can Kyle get eyes on me?’ While his accent was now clearly American, it was still strongly tinged with Toradze’s Georgian tones.
‘About four minutes. The drone’s still over the capture point.’
Another quick glance at the screen, as if checking an app. Khattak gestured to one side. Umar angled away, heading for an alley. Marwat split off in the other direction. Ah, the idiot boy is not so stupid after all! Rudimentary spycraft; Khattak was sending the two other men to cover the parallel streets. If Adam changed direction, there would be someone ready to pick up his trail.
‘Adam, we need you here fast,’ said Tony. ‘The longer this takes, the more chance Syed will suspect something happened to him.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He pretended to end a call, taking one final look at the dark reflection before pocketing the phone. Khattak was closing, and judging from his determined expression he had decided that his doubts were justified. ‘Holly Jo, I need an evasion route.’ He increased his pace.
‘Okay, hold on . . .’ Seconds ticked by as Holly Jo brought up the satellite photo and overlaid his position, the tracker implanted in his body giving his position to the metre. ‘Okay. Running parallel on your right is a main road. On the left everything’s a bit more, I dunno, slummy. The streets are narrower and more crooked.’
‘I’m going left. Give me directions once I’m round the corner.’ He reached an intersection. The buildings to the left were smaller and lower, jumbled beneath a web of electricity cables. A sidelong glance back at Khattak as he rounded the corner. His pursuer was now talking on his own phone, no doubt warning Marwat that their target was coming his way. Another call would follow to Umar, telling him