‘ Will do, Danny.’
Ten minutes later Danny was tucking into a large tuna salad in the dining room, a mug of tea and several slices of white, unhealthy bread. It tasted wonderful. She found she was famished. She rounded off the meal by indulging in an Eccles cake which seemed to add a centimetre to her waistline as she digested it.
Her pager bleeped: The message read, Phone Comms. She reached for the phone. ‘DS Furness. I was paged.’
‘ Danny.’ It was the Comms Room Sergeant. ‘Just got a message via Control Room for Manchester Airport. They’ve had to redirect a holiday charter flight from Tenerife into Blackpool Airport because of an incident on the runway at Manchester. Apparently a plane’s landed without wheels and the runway’s going to be blocked for an hour or two. They’re redirecting incoming flights all over the place.’
Danny waited. Very interesting, she thought. But what the hell was it to do with her?
‘ Two of the passengers have been causing a disturbance and have been restrained by the crew. They want the cops to be there when it lands. I’ve got a couple of uniformed PCs on their way, but no supervision. The Patrol Sergeant’s busy and so is the Inspector.’
And I’m not? Danny thought.
‘ I wondered if you’d nip across, It’s a bit different, isn’t it — aviation law and all that?’ he sounded hopeful.
‘ When is the plane due in?’
‘ About ten minutes.’
‘ OK, I’ll have a look.’ She hung up, checked her watch and made a few mental calculations. She could go to the airport on the way up to the hospital to see the knife-attack victim. Though she had to admit it was a fairly interesting and unusual occurrence and she was curious, she doubted if there would be anything for the CID. A couple of drunks on a plane, a bit of air rage — the trend of the moment… but so what?
Blackpool Airport is not very big. A few holiday companies use it as a starting point for package tours to Spain, but its main real source of revenue is from business flights to other UK destinations, in particular the Isle of Man. Having a jet the size of a 767 land presented no problem, fortunately. The airport controllers and emergency services could easily hand such a flight.
Danny and the two Constables watched the plane descend, painfully slowly it appeared; suddenly it grew large and was there, touching down perfectly, the merest hint of a screech of tyres and a puff of dust, then it was taxiing to the terminal building where the police van was parked. Motorised steps were driven to the front and rear doors which were heaved open.
Together with a Customs Officer and a member of the airport staff, Danny and the two PCs trotted up the front steps to be met by the Chief Stewardess.
Danny flashed her badge and warrant card, introduced herself, and found it impossible not to notice the woman’s shiner of a left eye, grazes on her face and cut lip. She succinctly explained to Danny what had transpired; in total, six assaults and drunk and disorderly conduct.
She led Danny into the plane where Spencer and Cheryl were still handcuffed and pinned to the floor by cabin crew. It was a situation which had caused safety concerns during landing, but handcuffed and held down they had remained.
‘ The man is called…’ the stewardess began.
Danny cut in with a snort and a chuckle. ‘I know them both,’ she said. ‘They are two local characters, well known to us.’ She did not use the term ‘toe-rags’ to describe them, even though it was more appropriate. ‘You’ve brought them home, saved them a trip from Manchester.’
Both Spencer and Cheryl were regular customers for the police on the Fylde coast. They were prolific thieves, mainly shoplifters, but Spencer also had burglary and robbery convictions. Both were known drug-users and were drawing dole.
‘ Hi, Spence, hi, Cheryl,’ Danny said, bending down to their eye level.
Neither looked particularly pleased to see her.
How they had financed their holiday was a question Danny was already posing to herself and it was one she would soon be asking. She was also relishing the prospect of searching them and their luggage very thoroughly indeed. She was certain she would find illegal substances on them. Probably for their own use, but even so, importing controlled drugs carried very heavy penalties.
Danny’s day was brightening up.
Twenty minutes later the police van was pulling up at Blackpool Central Custody Office. Danny’s car was behind and the holidaymakers’ suitcases were in the boot.
Spencer remained as obnoxious and violent in police custody as he had been in the plane. The result was he was quickly, forcibly searched and dragged screaming, kicking and shouting down the corridor and heaved into a cell.
Cheryl was more compliant. She had calmed down and looked extremely nervous as she was processed. Danny noticed her hands were shaking when she signed her name to her rights.
Danny strip-searched her in an interview room and found nothing other than an undernourished girl. Once Cheryl was dressed again, Danny herded her back into the Custody Office, aware she was now running late with her other, more important job. Danny was impatient to get to the hospital to see Mickey Mouse’s victim. Spencer and Cheryl’s stupidity was a job uniform could deal with quite capably.
However, there was still the possibility of smuggled drugs. Danny opened Cheryl’s suitcase and started to list the property. When most of it had been taken out and logged, Danny felt carefully around the interior of the case. She almost immediately noticed a split and a bulge in the inner lining.
Feeling her own heartbeat quicken, she glanced up a Cheryl, and saw terror smeared across her face. Slowly and carefully, Danny extracted a brown paper parcel from the lining. She rolled it open and pulled out a long clear plastic bag from within, secured by sticky tape. In the bag was a white, powdery substance.
Cheryl said, ‘Oh fuck, I’m dead,’ and fainted.
Chapter Two
The Russian hated airports. They were too sophisticated these days. Too many cameras, hidden or otherwise. Too many two-way mirrors and one-way windows, making it impossible to determine if you were being watched, your movement recorded and the details subsequently passed to the appropriate authorities and possibly used against you at some future time.
He often had to use airports, but spent as little time in them as possible. He always arrived at the latest possible moment before take-off and always tried to use some subtle disguise, even if it was only the way he walked or the language or dialect he spoke. The Russian could converse fluently in six languages and get by to a greater or lesser degree in four others. Being a pro active kind of person, his best foreign language was English which he could speak in a variety of accents — American, Australian, South African and several British dialects.
Much of his work took him across Europe these days and he gladly travelled by road or rail, savouring the way boundaries had been all but flattened. Nowadays he could move virtually unchallenged and unobserved from country to country. A perfect scenario for someone like him.
For this particular job, he had travelled west across Europe by train; a fairly circuitous route from Moscow to Paris, then up to Caen in Normandy. From there he collected a hire car which had been pre-booked for him and drove to Ouistreham where he boarded the ferry Normandie to take him across to Portsmouth, England.
That Sunday afternoon, the same day on which Spencer and Cheryl had been arrested, the Russian had spent the six-and-a-half-hour crossing inside a reserved cabin, sleeping to the gentle roll of the Channel, eating sandwiches and drinking Coke bought pre-boarding from a shop in Ouistreham.
Even on a ferry he was cautious. He always booked a cabin and got into it as soon as he boarded, only leaving it when the boat docked.
However, that afternoon, curiosity got the better of the Russian. He had never sailed into Portsmouth before
