‘You don’t think Stratton knows that? The way he sees it, he spends most of his adult life doing exactly this kind of work for our side and when he needs help all his supposed colleagues can do is hunt him down so that they can kill him like a dog.’
‘Well, maybe he should’ve asked,’ Hobart said. Then he immediately regretted the pointless comment. Hobart had had every intention of putting Leka and Ardian away for the murder one day. But then, Stratton wasn’t to know that. ‘Anyhow, no one’s gonna kill him – if we can help it.’
‘Stratton’s not planning on spending the rest of his life in a cell, I can tell you that much about him. He’s playing for keeps on this one. He owes Josh everything and the kid’s gonna collect, one way or another.’
‘Whose side are you on, Seaton? Maybe you should tell me now because you’re no good to me if you’re on his.’
‘We both know you’ve got me over a barrel, Hobart. Don’t worry. If it comes down to it, I’ll take my thirty pieces of silver,’ Seaton said, hating the words as soon as they’d left his lips. But what he’d said was true and there was no point in denying it even to himself. He’d done more than most would have done for Stratton – too much, in fact. Maybe Stratton was in this hole because of what Seaton had done to help him but the guy would have found another way to get even if Seaton had baulked. He would have discovered the truth somehow and come back. That was who he was. And now that Josh was at stake this was more than just another mission. Stratton had more incentive than he’d ever had in his life and he was going to see it through.
Seaton looked out of the window. It was still light, the sun dropping ahead of them. Half an hour later the plane crossed the California state line and the stewardess announced that they would shortly be landing at Meadows Field.
Hendrickson was on the tarmac when the Falcon came to a stop. He told the FBI driver to close on the aircraft as the door opened and the gangway unfolded to the ground.
Hobart was first out and didn’t waste a second getting into the car, Seaton climbing into the back beside him.
‘An HRT unit is on its way to Twin Oaks,’ Hendrickson said as he got in beside the driver and the car pulled away. ‘They’ll wait for us short of the mine if we don’t catch up with them before that,’ he continued, glancing over his shoulder at Seaton, wondering who he was and hoping that someone would introduce him.
‘The cops?’ Hendrickson asked.
‘Standing by to put in roadblocks if we need ’em. They have the vehicle description and are looking for an English guy approximately thirty-five years old.’
‘Where’s the bird?’ Hobart asked.
‘Should be in the area any time.’
‘I want it way on the edge of the area. The chopper’s job is pursuit in case he makes a break for it.’
‘The pilot’s been briefed, sir,’ Hendrickson said as he pulled out his notebook and turned on a reading light above him. ‘Some other reports that came in during the last hour. Alan’s Chemicals, where Stratton bought his nitric acid. They think they’re missing several bottles of mercury metal and a two-gallon can of latex solution.’
Hobart looked at Seaton. ‘What’s he need latex for?’
Seaton shrugged. ‘Beats me.’
Hendrickson looked between Seaton and Hobart, sensing something odd there between them. ‘I collated all industrial-related robberies over the last forty-eight hours in a radius of two hundred miles,’ Hendrickson continued. ‘We got a twelve-ton digger taken from a building site in Rosedale this morning, a bunch of power tools last night from a warehouse in Mojave, but that was by a couple of guys. A model store in Simi Valley reported a hundred receivers and batteries taken last night—’
‘What kind of receivers?’ Seaton interrupted.
Hendrickson checked his notes. ‘Hightech ultra-featherlight four-channel FM forty-megahertz aircraft receivers.’
‘You got any ECM?’ Seaton asked.
‘ECM?’ queried Hendrickson.
‘Electronic countermeasures,’ Seaton explained. ‘To block transmissions.’
‘No,’ Hendrickson said, looking between the two men.
‘You might want to think about pulling some in,’ Seaton said.
Hendrickson made a note.
‘How long before we get to this place?’ Hobart asked as the car sped out of the airport.
‘We burn gas, we can make it in fifteen minutes,’ Hendrickson said confidently.
‘You know those funny little flashing lights we sometimes use to let people know we’re in a hurry?’ Hobart asked. ‘Well, turn the fucking things on.’
Hendrickson obeyed instantly, kicking himself for forgetting it.
30
As soon as the daylight had begun to fade, Stratton had rolled up the blueprints, put them back into the pick-up’s cab and gone into the mine to collect the rest of the charges and carry them to the truck. As he secured the load under the tarpaulin and tied the last slip knot he stopped dead as a faint sound dropped out of the slight breeze above. A second later it was gone.
He climbed down, stepped out of the barn and scanned the night sky. It was filled with stars that seemed unusually bright.
As he stood holding his breath, his senses tingling, the sound came again, as brief and faint as before but unmistakable to his experienced ear.
Stratton stepped further into the open and looked up again, panning slowly around. But he could see nothing to confirm that what he’d heard was almost certainly a distant helicopter. Then it came again, a little louder this time, the faint throb produced by rotors cutting through the air.
He stood still for almost a minute, waiting for it again. But the air was empty now except for the breeze gently toying with the treetops.
If it was a coincidence it didn’t matter – a rule of survival in the intelligence business was that there was no such thing. The fact was that Stratton had been in the same location for too long.
He hurried into the mine and down the shaft, knowing what he had to do. He’d been considering his contingency plans since his arrival. Some fulminate remained in the glass bowl and he placed it in the centre of the cavern, grabbed up the reel of explosive cord, tied a knot in the end and carefully placed it in the detonator compound. The remaining RDX was in a corner in a bin liner and he carried it over and lowered it gently on top of the bowl. Then he picked up the gas bottle, leaned it against the RDX and moved the glowing petrol lights alongside it. He picked up the reel and headed slowly back up the shaft, unreeling the cord as he went, ensuring that it remained slack but without any kinks or loops that might negate its function.
When Stratton reached the truck he hung the reel over the driver’s wing mirror, climbed into the cab and turned the key in the ignition. But the beast of an engine kicked over once and then died.
‘Great,’ Stratton muttered as he turned the starter again and stamped on the accelerator. But the truck appeared to have chosen this moment to retire. The smell of petrol wafted from the engine compartment and he cursed himself for flooding it.
He sat back, took a calming breath, left the pedals alone and eased the ignition key around in its slot. ‘Come on, old girl,’ he said as the starter motor turned over several times without the engine catching. As he let go of the key to give the starter motor another rest the engine suddenly boomed into life, spluttering as a couple of the pistons failed to ignite at first. A gentle pressure on the accelerator increased the revs and as the truck shook with the unbalanced rhythm the idle cylinders suddenly kicked in. The roar grew healthier by the second.
‘Attagirl,’ Stratton said as he played the accelerator to warm the engine. Then he eased it into reverse and backed out of the barn. He straightened the truck up as the nose faced the track that he could just about make out by the gap through the trees. Keeping his lights off, he eased it into drive and powered slowly forward, his hand out through the window as he unwound the cord. He kept the line slack, being careful not to pull the end out of the charge, and it seemed to take an age to reach the gate. As he closed on it Stratton took his foot off the accelerator
