Motive Read online

  Though Paul didn’t have much in the way of a moral compass, it was pointing in the right direction this time. Ryan was glad it was, otherwise Paul might not have told him about the sale until it was too late. Now he had an opportunity, but he couldn’t appear too eager.

  “What time will it be?” Ryan asked. “Not another early morning, please. I barely got four hours last night.”

  “It’ll be in the afternoon, but you’re going in early,” Paul told him. “We always send someone ahead to make sure the buyers don’t come mob-handed and that the police don’t show up when there’s a shit-load of cash and guns on the table. That’s gonna be your job.”

  It just gets better and better, Ryan thought.

  “You’re gonna have to show me where it is,” Ryan said. “I need to check it out and pick the best place for an OP.” He saw Paul’s look and explained that OP stood for observation post.

  “Let’s go take a look,” Paul said.

  Ryan forced himself to relax and enjoy the ride, despite Paul’s choice of music. It took over an hour to reach their destination, during which Paul gave Ryan a rundown of the things he’d like to do to the terrorists. Ryan openly agreed with all of them, while all the time noting the passing road signs so that he could retrace the route.

  The exchange was going to take place at an abandoned farm. A half-mile dirt road led up to the dilapidated house, and beyond it were two outbuildings. One was a Dutch barn, with no walls.

  Paul parked around the back of the house, next to the other building. They got out and Ryan followed him inside. It looked like it might once have been a milking shed, though Ryan was no expert.

  “We’ll be doing the transaction in here,” Paul said.

  Ryan scanned the interior, but it was outside where his interest lay. “Let’s take a look at the perimeter,” he said. He walked back to the entrance and looked around. The ground straight ahead gently sloped upwards, the rise topped with a small cluster of trees. It would be the perfect place to take photos of anyone coming or going. The problem was, if Brigshaw was to put someone in place, it wouldn’t do for Ryan to be lying right next to them in case Paul came to get him afterwards. Ryan identified two more spots where someone with a telephoto lens could get decent shots of the players, then turned to Paul.

  “I’m gonna have a wander, see the best place to lie up.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Paul said.

  Ryan scrambled over the remnants of a stone wall and walked up the hill. When he got to the trees, he noticed several chocolate bar wrappers at the base of an old oak. This was obviously where Marsh’s lookout kept an eye on proceedings. It was a good spot, with a clear view all the way down to the main road and beyond. What he was really looking for, though, was the best place to observe the entrance to the shed.

  Ryan walked along the crest of the ridge and identified two places where one of Brigshaw’s men could dig in and monitor the exchange, then walked back down to the car. Paul was resting against the bonnet, checking his phone.

  “Found somewhere?”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said, pointing up at the trees. “That’s where you normally spot from, right?”

  Paul nodded.

  “Thought so. Whoever was there left a ton of rubbish. They should clean up afterwards.”

  “You can do that on Thursday,” Paul told him. “The meet’s at four, so I want you here by twelve at the latest. Make sure your phone’s fully charged.”

  “Will do.”

  They got back in the car and Paul drove them back into Manchester,. He dropped Ryan off at his flat and leaned out of the car window.

  “I’ll be out of town on business for the next couple of days, but Terry will drive you up on Thursday morning and drop you off on the main road. I’ll pick you up again once they’ve gone.”

  “No worries. Need me for anything else in the meantime?”

  “Terry or Phil will be round to pick you up tomorrow at eight. There’s still plenty of idiots who think Marsh is a soft touch,” Paul smiled. “You can put them straight.”

  Paul drove away, and Ryan went into his flat and changed into his running gear. He hit the buttons on his Walkman as he left the building, then jogged over the railway bridge and into the next residential road.

  “I’ve got something,” he said as soon as Brigshaw picked up. “Marsh is going to be selling a stack of assault rifles to a Jihadist group.”

  “When?”

  “Three days from now. I’ve been assigned a lookout role.” Ryan gave Brigshaw the location of the farm and the time of the meet. He described the entrance to the old cow shed and where best to place a photographer.

  “You don’t think this could be a trap?” Brigshaw asked. “They’ve been cagey up to now, but suddenly they let you in on something this big.”

  It did seem a big leap now that Ryan thought about it. But then, they had to let him in on the important aspects of the operation at some point. Marsh wouldn’t pay him so much just to have him crack a few heads now and again. Besides, Paul’s demeanour when discussing the buyers seemed genuine.

  “I’m sure it’s the real thing,” Ryan said, “and we’re only talking about monitoring the deal and identifying the people involved. With a powerful enough lens, your man could be a mile away and no one would know he was there.”

  “Okay, I’ll put that in place, but I’m still concerned with their sudden switch in mood. I want you to meet Marcus at the usual place later today and pick up some gear. We’ll be able to keep tabs on you, just in case this is another one of their tests.”

  The call ended, and Ryan switched the Walkman to a Billy Idol album and upped his pace.

  * * *

  Paul drove three miles to Phil’s flat, a bachelor pad on the outskirts of town. He knocked on the door.

  Terry opened it. “He’s in the bog.”

  Paul walked in and sat on the sofa. The living room consisted of the couch, a coffee table and a wall-mounted 60-inch television. Wires led from it to a Sky box and a PlayStation.

  He heard the toilet flush and Phil emerged from the bathroom, doing up his jeans. “You all set?” Paul asked.

  “Ready when you are.”

  Terry grabbed a holdall and both men followed Paul down to his car. Terry called shotgun and sat up front, leaving Phil the back seat.

  “I bet you anything he’s clean,” Terry said as they headed to the farm.

  “A hundred quid says he’s not,” Paul said. It was money he’d be happy to lose. This was about proving once and for all that Ryan wasn’t an undercover police officer. If that was the case, Paul would never be happier parting with his cash.

  But if he was a copper…

  “I think he’s kosher,” Phil said from the back.

  “You were the first one to say he was bent,” Terry laughed. “What made you change your mind? He giving you one?”

  “We’ve all seen him in action,” Phil said, ignoring the dig. “He can’t be plod.”

  “Well, we’ll soon find out.”

  When they reached the road that led to the farm, Paul and Terry got out of the car. Paul opened the boot and took out his own holdall, plus a folding camp bed, a folding chair and a sleeping bag, then he and Terry set off.

  “Don’t dent my motor,” Paul shouted over his shoulder.

  Phil got into the driver’s seat and revved the engine hard, grinning like a maniac as he disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  “Pillock!”

  Paul had decided to set up surveillance in the old house. It had a good view of the road from the top floor, and from the other rooms they could see out over the surrounding countryside.

  They went in the back way, where a window was broken. The place had been gutted. In the kitchen, only the ancient cabinets remained, the appliances all long gone. The other rooms on the ground floor were all empty, too. They climbed the stairs, each one creaking under their weight. Paul checked each of the rooms in case someone had decided to make it their home, but like
the ground floor, it was clear.

  He put his gear down in the front bedroom, then made up the camp bed. He and Terry would take turns sleeping while the other kept watch out of the windows.

  “How long do you think it’ll be before someone shows?” Terry asked. “If they do show.”

  “It’ll be hours yet. Ryan has to call it in, then they’ll get someone to do the surveillance, then they have to drive here. I’d say it’ll be nine o’clock at least.”

  It would be dark by that time, but Paul was prepared. He’d purchased two pairs of Pulsar Edge Gs night-vision goggles and had a dozen spare lithium batteries for them.

  “What if they wait until the last minute?”

  “Then we wait, too,” Paul said. “I don’t think that’ll happen, though. They’ll want someone in place as soon as possible so that they’ll have plenty of time to dig in. They won’t leave it ’til Thursday morning.”

  He hoped not, at least. The onset of summer had brought the first decent sunshine of the year, and the forecast was for more of the same for the next few days. Paul didn’t want to waste two of them sitting in an abandoned farmhouse.

  Paul began emptying his holdall. He had a carrier bag full of sandwiches, chocolate bars and fruit, bottles of water, bags to crap into, hand sanitizer and three rolls of toilet paper. He hadn’t bothered with toiletries as he knew there would be no running water in the house, and two days without washing or brushing his teeth was no real hardship.

  He munched on a cheese salad sandwich as he walked the upper floor, checking the view from every window. They would have to keep on the move, going from room to room to make sure Ryan’s friends didn’t slip past them.

  Prove me wrong, Paul whispered to himself as he stared out over the fields to the left of the house. The ground here gently sloped downhill and offered no view of the entrance to the cowshed, so it was unlikely anyone would set up camp there. He would concentrate his efforts on the other three sides of the house.

  When he returned to the front bedroom, Terry was on his phone, a cheap Pay-As-You-Go that hadn’t been registered. Paul had insisted that they leave their own phones at home, in case they were being monitored by the police.

  “Don’t waste the battery,” Paul told him. “We’re gonna need that if someone shows.”

  Terry reluctantly put his phone away. “I’m bored shitless already.”

  “We’ve only been here ten minutes.”

  “Yeah, and we’re gonna waste another two days, because no one’s coming. Ryan’s sound, I’m telling you.”

  “We’ll see,” Paul said. “You check the back and the right, I’ll stay here.” He could tell Terry’s heart wasn’t really in it, which was why he’d assigned him the rooms less likely to yield results.

  Paul unfolded the chair and positioned it a few feet from the window. He had a good field of view, but it would be almost impossible for anyone to see him from the outside.

  All they could do now was wait.

  * * *

  It was seven in the evening when Ryan slipped the gym bag off his shoulder and pushed through the glass doors of the fast food restaurant. He ordered a cheeseburger from a self-service terminal and stood in line waiting for his order to be made up. A couple of minutes later, he took his purchase to a window seat and put his bag on the floor. The man sitting next to him had an identical holdall. Ryan looked out the window at the passing pedestrians who were enjoying the pleasant evening, but none of them seemed to be paying him any attention.

  “Don’t worry, you’re clear,” Marcus Hayes said. He dipped a couple of fries in a tiny cup of ketchup and popped them in his mouth.

  “I know.” Ryan had performed several counter-surveillance manoeuvres on his way to the meeting. It had taken him thirty minutes to be sure he wasn’t being tailed, but it was always time well spent. “What have you got for me?”

  “Trainers and a polo shirt, exactly like the ones you already own. There’s a tracker in the sole of the right shoe, and in the collar of the shirt is a panic button. It works like a glow stick. Just bend it in the middle and it’ll start transmitting.”

  “Why the sudden need for a panic button?” Ryan asked.

  “The old man’s just playing it safe,” Hayes told him. “This deal came out of the blue, and he’s not comfortable with it.”

  “Why not? It’s what he brought me in for, isn’t it?”

  Hayes swallowed a mouthful of burger. “It’s the rapid escalation that worries him. All you’ve done so far is debt collection and that trip to Albania—which he still thinks was a dummy run, by the way—and now they want you in on a weapons sale to jihadists.”

  “Albania was the real thing,” Ryan said. “The van was in pieces. You think we went all that way to get it serviced?”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just telling you how the old man feels.”

  “Well, tell him from me that everything’s fine. If it makes him feel better, he can have a few ARVs on stand by and nick the lot of them once the deal is done.” Ryan looked down at his food. “I don’t like the idea of those people getting their hands on weapons.”

  “We can’t pull them in on Thursday without compromising you, so we’ll just have to keep an eye on the buyers and take them down at a more opportune moment. What bothers the old man is that this is a departure from Marsh’s MO. He’s never dealt with terrorists before, which makes the boss nervous.”

  “And he never dealt cocaine until he sold his first kilo,” Ryan pointed out. “Besides, that’s what the boss brought me in for, isn’t it? To find out who’s putting weapons in the hands of Al-Qaeda?”

  “I guess so,” Hayes conceded. He popped the last morsel into his mouth and wiped his fingers on a tissue. “Take care, Ryan. I mean it.”

  Hayes got up and took Ryan’s gym bag with him.

  Ryan watched him leave, then finished his own food and picked up the bag containing his tracking gear. As he walked through the town centre, he wondered if Brigshaw’s concern was justified. Sure, the news about the weapons sale had come out of the blue, but then that had always been the case. Ryan never knew what the next day was going to bring. He would just wake up to a knock on the door or a phone call and be told what to do. This was nothing out of the ordinary. Also, Paul’s reaction that morning struck him as genuine. The man was usually unflappable, but the idea of selling arms to Islamic jihadists had riled him.

  Brigshaw was just being overcautious, Ryan decided. His background was clean and he followed Marsh’s orders to the letter. There was simply no reason for anyone to suspect him of being MI5.

  Still, Brigshaw was the one with the years of experience in these matters, so he would wear the items Hayes had given him.

  It couldn’t hurt to have a little protection.

  Chapter 23

  “This is the Vodafone voicemail service for…”

  Scott Davison ended the call without bothering with a message. He’d already left two in the last hour, but Kelly hadn’t got back to him.

  It was unlike her. She usually picked up within a couple of rings.

  He suspected she was probably in a final meeting with her client, ensuring they were happy with the advertising campaign she’d created and handing over any documentation they might need. That was it. It had to be. He was worrying for nothing.

  Scott stuck a pod in the coffee machine and waited for it to brew, then took it through to the living room and opened a browser on his phone. There wasn’t much of interest in the news, so he put the phone down and sat back with his hands behind his head.

  Since arriving back from London the previous day, Scott had done nothing but think about Kelly. Tonight would be their last one together before she headed off for her next assignment on Friday. He hoped the advertising agency would send her to Australia. That would be perfect. He’d give her a few weeks to get settled in and find a place to live, then tie up his own affairs in France and jet out to join her.

  If she was told to stay in L
ondon, that would be a different matter. He’d told her a long-distance relationship would be fine, seeing each other at weekends, but it wasn’t what he really wanted. For one, he hated the idea of setting foot in England again. Secondly, two nights with Kelly just wasn’t enough. Even now, when she was just a few miles away, he missed her.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had girls before, but they had been one-night stands. He’d had no desire to revisit any of them. Kelly was different. She wasn’t just a twenty-something with zero career prospects, she was a driven woman with a plan. Her energy was addictive, contagious. He’d slept with better-looking women, but none had aroused him as Kelly did.

  The phone rang, startling him. He picked it up and saw Kelly’s name on the screen.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hey. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, I was in a meeting.”

  “No problem. I just wondered what you wanted to do tonight.”

  “I was hoping you’d suggest a quiet night in at your place,” she said.

  Scott smiled. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say. I’ll get some food in. Shall we say, six o’clock?”

  “Sounds perfect. See you then.”

  It was the briefest of chats, but his heart was soaring. Just hearing her voice was the tonic he needed.

  Scott warned himself not to mention the idea of her giving up work to be supported by him. Not tonight. In the coming months he might slip it into the conversation, but this evening he didn’t want to say anything to scare her off.

  He put on his shoes and jacket at the front door. The walking stick was leaning against the wall, a reminder of how far he’d come in the last twelve months. He hadn’t used it for a while, but for some reason he hadn’t got rid of it.

  Scott left it where it was and walked out to the car. His gait wasn’t perfect, but it would improve over time. He drove into town and parked near the outdoor market. They always had a great variety of fresh foods, but all Scott could think about was what he was going to get for dessert.