The Death Trade

‘Well, I can’t take her home to Mayfair, because gunfire at this hour in the morning would certainly disturb the neighbours.’

‘You could drop her off at the Dorchester?’

‘Get real, Giles,’ Sara told him. ‘I’m going where Sean is, so no arguments.’

‘I’ll come back to you on that,’ Dillon told him. ‘Just now, I want to try some heavy driving. I’ll leave the radio on so you can monitor.’

Sara said, ‘Are we aiming for your place?’

‘Let’s say the general direction, then I’m going to divert down to the Thames. There are some decaying warehouses on Butler’s Wharf. A couple of cobbled streets, a few alleys, and the warehouses waiting to be knocked down. With development money being in short supply these days, everything is locked up. I often do my early-morning run down there, and I know it well.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘Bottom of the hill is the big gate into the yard of an old warehouse. It’s been smashed open by someone so you could drive inside.’

‘And why would you do that?’

‘Because if someone was pursuing you at speed and you swerved into that yard, the only way the cab would have to go would be straight along the wharf. As that collapsed halfway along two years ago, they’d go straight over the end to drop forty foot into the Thames.’

‘My God,’ she said. ‘And that’s the best you have to offer? You must be crazy.’

‘That’s what everyone says, so let’s get on with it. Driving should be fun, don’t you agree? I’ve had this little beauty for years and it’s been supercharged, which gives you quite a turn of speed, so let’s do it, shall we?’

He dropped a gear, slammed his foot down, and the engine roared as he swerved out of the tail of traffic and took off. Farouk was caught napping, but only for a moment, then smiled in delight.

‘You want to play games, do you? Well, let’s see what you’ve got,’ and he pulled out of what traffic there was and roared after Dillon, leaving Abu far behind.

Belted in tightly, Sara braced herself with both hands as they swung off the High Street into a network of mean lanes and run-down houses, with lights still on in some of them, Dillon working the wheel and the brake pedal expertly, sliding on cobbles slippery in the rain.

Farouk, on his tail, was enjoying himself, because this bastard was as good as anyone he had ever raced against and that was meat and drink to him. He drove as he hadn’t driven for years, and Abu, far behind because he’d been totally caught out, was shouting loud in Farouk’s ear, demanding answers.

‘He’s broken away,’ Farouk told him. ‘We’re heading down to the Thames. It looks like he’s trying to shake me off in the warren above Butler’s Wharf. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but he’s a hell of a driver.’

‘But what would he be trying to do down there?’ Abu called.

‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ Farouk replied.

‘Well, take care. This guy is special, I told you.’

Dillon turned into Butler Walk and slowed, the narrow alley dropping steeply, just the odd streetlight still working, the warehouse below. What was left of the wharf jutted out into the river, lights sparkling on the other side, a couple of tugs moving towards the estuary, lights on.

Farouk roared in behind him, Dillon glanced sideways at Sara, who braced herself, a fierce look on her face, and nodded. He stamped hard, gunning the engine, and they plunged down, gathering momentum. At the head of the wharf was a single light, and it seemed to rush towards them.

Farouk followed, giving it everything he had, teeth bared as he shouted, ‘I’ve got you, you bastard.’

The lamp and the light were suddenly larger, but it illuminated the entrance to the warehouse on the left, the two wooden gates standing half open, and Dillon stamped on the brake pedal, jerked the handbrake, spinning the Mini around to slide in through the entrance, bouncing the gates and sliding to a halt.

Farouk, desperately trying to brake too late, hurtled along the wharf and over the edge and plunged down into the Thames. Dillon slid from behind the wheel, ran out of the yard onto the wharf, but there was only darkness down there, and he turned and went back to see how Sara was doing.

From the top of the alley, Abu had witnessed what had happened and was filled with rage. He had tried to impress on Farouk how dangerous Dillon was, but his friend wouldn’t listen. Now he was dead. There was only vengeance left, and with Allah’s blessing, Abu intended to have it. He switched off the motor, eased the handbrake, and sitting astride, freewheeled down the alley.

Dillon, returning to the yard, discovered Sara struggling with her seat belt, which had jammed because of the impact the Mini had suffered when bouncing the half-open gates aside. She’d lowered the window, and he leaned down.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I will be when I’ve cut myself out.’ She was struggling in the confined space, trying to find the flick knife in her right boot, when suddenly the Montesa swerved silently into the yard at a surprising speed.

‘Behind you, Sean,’ she cried.

The Montesa slid sideways, and as Dillon turned, Abu swung his arm in a powerful blow that had him on his knees. Abu let the bike fall, kicked Dillon in the body, turned and wrenched the Mini door open.

‘Get out, bitch,’ he said, drawing his Glock. ‘I want you to watch. My name is Abu, and mark it well.’

Dillon had raised himself to one knee, his right hand under his jacket feeling for the Walther against his back.

Abu said, ‘There is only one God and Osama is his Prophet.’

Sara found the flick knife, sprang the blade, slicing the seat belt in a second, reached out of the open door and stabbed Abu in the back of the leg, withdrew the razor-sharp blade, and stabbed at the base of his right buttock before tumbling out against him.

He howled in agony, kicking at her, discharging the Glock twice into the ground. Dillon’s hand swung up and he shot him in the centre of his forehead, hurling him back against the Mini. He slid to the ground and sat there, eyes open.

Sara said, ‘I wonder what he’s staring at?’

‘Who knows?’ Dillon said. ‘Eternity, if there is anything out there.’ He closed Abu’s eyes. ‘You’re a remarkable woman, and you saved my life.’

She lifted her hands. ‘Look at them, Sean, not even the hint of a shake. Would you say that was normal?’

‘What it indicates is that you’re a warrior of the Old Testament Sword of the Lord and Gideon variety, and thank heaven for it.’

The rain became heavy and driving, and Dillon took her hand and they ran to the shelter of a deep doorway, where Sara said, ‘It’s as if something’s trying to wash it all away, the blood, everything. What happens now? Nobody seems to be interested.’

‘They wouldn’t be,’ Dillon said. ‘Not in what’s happening in a wasteland like this, a mile away from the main road and civilization.’

He produced his silver cigarette case, put one in his mouth. Sara said, ‘Give me one.’

‘You don’t smoke.’

‘Now and then.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Come on!’

She took the one he offered, his Zippo flared, and she inhaled without coughing. ‘When did all this start?’ he demanded.

‘Afghanistan,’ she said. ‘A godsend on occasions.’

‘I can see where it would be,’ he told her. ‘So enjoy, while I speak to Roper.’

Which he did, hurrying across to another doorway and calling in, giving Roper a swift and accurate account of events.

Sara was sitting on a ledge in the corner of the doorway when he went back. ‘Teague and the disposal team will be here in half an hour. You’ll just have to hang on. Would you like another cigarette?’