the runway. He was sure he had seen cars there and that meant a speedier exit. At times during his sprint he had felt exposed and almost felt the sniper’s cross hairs on his head, but having reached the safety of the surrounding hedges and no shot hitting home he felt some relief.
Airport security was raised to top level terrorist alert and every gate entrance and exit was guarded by armed men and women.
Once on the runway the three cars drove to likely locations, but not to the control tower as there was a unit there already, which came as a shock to Cobb as he rounded the hedge to face two armed police with MP5 submachine guns, held at waist level, standing in front of a neon striped Land Rover.
A moving streak of pure instinct Cobb side dived to the ground as the faster of the two men facing him presented the MP5, set at two to three round burst, at waist level and pulled at the trigger. As the ten millimetre rounds, wasp like, buzzed over his body, missing him by a couple of centimetres, he aimed and fired the PSS. His first shot, fired in mid fall shot the shooting man through the groin; its upward trajectory sent it through his testicles in a burning, agonizing sweep upwards through his lower bowel and lodged it in his buttock. The second closely followed shot, aimed better from a firm position on the floor, punched through the second man’s eye in a diagonal across the brain cutting communication and disabling him ready for death by bleeding. Both men strangely hit the ground together.
Cobb, rapidly on his feet, stepped over, took away all weapons, ripped radio mikes from the uniforms, and took the dying man’s utility belt, as he did this he mused on the fact that the body armour had covered none of the points he’d aimed for. He was about to leave when a thought struck him. He stepped back to the first man, curled up in a foetal ball of agony. Cobb ejected the empty clip, slid in the full one from his pocket and pressed the short barrel to the back of the wounded policeman’s neck.
“You’ll be paraplegic, not dead, unless you tell me your call sign now.”
“X Ray Delta three.” The man breathed out through gritted teeth.
“Good man.” He removed the wig and the duffle coat, put on the man’s chequered peaked cap and donned a black nylon rain coat from boot. He strapped the belt on over it. It was sparse, but it made him less noticeable, at least from a quick look or a distance.
Holding his groin the policeman felt the sticky hotness of blood on his hand. He heard the engine of the Land Rover start, there was a rush of air and metal as it passed near his head and then it faded to the distance. He began dragging himself along the ground to the entrance of the control tower where he knew there would be armed security, locked inside, but the door was glass and one look at him would get him help and set alarm bells ringing.
Cobb drove along quickly following signs for the Cargo area. He called in on the radio declaring a sighting of himself near the terminal sending the searching units that way.
Driving straight across the cargo area he saw an exit, not blocked, but guarded. He rolled up, PSS pistol on his lap, knowing that the height of the window gave him perfect advantage.
The two policemen guarding the cargo area exit to Larkins Road saw what they thought was a colleague approaching. The Land Rover drew up and both men stood aside waiting to speak to the driver. It was too late that they saw the unknown face in the adjacent car window and were just too late to raise weapons and fire as two deadly silent 7.62 millimetre rounds killed each man stone dead with a shot each to the heart.
Cobb accelerated onto Larkins Road and was a rapidly moving blur on Perimeter Road, unstopped because of the vehicle, along with his use of lights and siren, and unrecognisable because of his speed. He was at the Gatwick exit to the London Road when the felled officer crawled into the view of a colleague behind the locked door of the control tower entrance and by then he was weak through blood loss and pain. His wounded form and the subsequent discovery of his dead colleague alerted them to the stolen vehicle and calls to the cargo exit guards unanswered led them to understand the mode and direction of Cobb’s escape.
In the stolen police car he listened to the calls coming and going and the extent of their search, waiting to hear of the downed men, but it wasn’t until he was hammering a groove up the London Road, siren blaring, lights painting a blue streak, that he heard anything on the radio and then it was a bit of a shock; followed by his harsh laugh.
“You listen to me Cobb, you murdering bastard it’s shoot to kill as far as you’re concerned, but my god we’ll make it last so you run… We’ll be on you in a minute…'
Cobb flicked the radio off. The first thought that entered his head was to dump the vehicle.
It took the police ten minutes to get a chopper to the scene and by then Cobb had entered Horley. He parked up in a street near the station, driving onto an empty driveway and under its covered car port. He took the black nylon gun bag out of the boot, put the MP5 and some ammunition in, along with the contents of his own bag, the assassin’s bag of tricks, and walked quickly, but calmly to the railway station. He had a bare five minute wait for a train and DIC, unaware of his near police uniform look, desperately scouring the CCTV around Gatwick, missed him.
He then took a short trip as far as Merstham, detrained and following enemy evasion tactics decided to head some distance on foot. He headed for the sound of the motorway and finding the M25 disappeared into the shrubbery around its edge. He began following the M25 knowing that it would lead him closer to central London.
The police helicopters searched a grid of ever increasing circles yet in spite of thermal imaging equipment they weren’t successful as Cobb had gone beyond the outer circle of their search and not every hot body image amongst trees, near the motorway or not, could be investigated.
Chapter 60
London Euston Tower
12 Noon
April 18th
Jack Fulton watched the midday news in the screen banked room. It was a horror story of failure and foolishness.
The BBC news was awash with bodies and massed armed security. The Manchester Arndale bomb alert, news of the morning, and the subsequent alert at Manchester Airport was eclipsed by the Gatwick high security alert, which, with the added drama of the shootings, was the main story. In addition footage of police at Hamilton Race track removing the body of the truck driver, grisly scenes of the covered body removed from the refrigerated van in Inverness and police divers bobbing near a boat on the Moray Firth as a crane pulled a taxi, bleeding seawater, up and around to land were only eclipsed by the sight of the wrecked traffic police Volvo pursuit car buried nose down and police struggling to lift a bagged body up the wet muddy sides of Beech Bottom Dyke.
When it came to Glasgow Buchanon bus station there were pictures of blood on the floor and interviews with witnesses. The news reader turned to screen.
“These suspects are leaving in their wake a trail of bodies. Security services have accounted for two of the five hunted men whose aim and objective is as yet unknown. We are expecting a statement from Tarquin Robinson Home Office Minister, within the next ten minutes, we’ll bring you that live when it begins.”
Fulton was pulled from his entranced viewing of the news by the ring of his phone. Shadz, Jaz and Tony had finally landed, after obvious delays, at Gatwick. Jack told them to get to Euston and report to him in his office.
Chapter 61
London MI6 Offices
12 Noon
April 18th
“We have very little information at the moment regarding the intentions of the possible terrorists and their intended targets. Needless to say we are very concerned about the number of deaths related to their entry into the
