Private London - James Patterson [78]
‘So we’re not dealing with one of the mainstream outfits?’
Del Rio shook his head.
‘Which is good, right?’ asked Lucy, speaking for the first time.
I looked at her and forced a half-smile, remembering what had happened when freelancers operating out of their area of expertise had kidnapped the girl and her mother before, and lied.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s good.’
Maybe it was. Maybe there was still time.
I turned back to the monitor and scrolled through the data. ‘Mary Angela’s husband lives out of the city.’
‘Where?’
‘Moor Park. West of London – a small estate between Northwood and Rickmansworth. One of the richest concentrations of real estate in the country.’ The translation game clearly paid more than I would have guessed. ‘They don’t know we’re onto them yet. But they must be figuring it’s a matter of time so I suggest we take the house in Moor Park.’
‘What about the delegation building?’ asked Sam.
‘I don’t see it. Like Del Rio says, this is most likely a freelance op. I’ll call Brad Dexter, though, get a team of boys to stake it out. Check anyone leaving.’
I snatched up the keys up from the table. ‘If he’s not in Moor Park we’ll come back and go in. They don’t have immunity, remember. Not from the law and definitely not from us.’
‘Hang on, sir,’ said Lucy.
‘What?’
‘It’s been on the news. Westway is closed and the North Circular is jammed solid because of it. Traffic heading west is at a standstill out there.’
‘That’s okay, Lucy,’ said Sam. ‘We weren’t going to drive anyway. We’re in a bit of a hurry.’
His face was as impassive as those on the big stone statues you see on Easter Island, but I could hear the amusement in his voice.
Bastard.
Chapter 101
I SAID BEFORE that London is a beautiful city.
And it is. But it’s designed to be viewed from the ground, looking up at the gloriously eclectic mix of Georgian architecture and futuristic high-rise buildings. As it was now, though, it was looking more like a scene from Blade Runner as the helicopter banked and headed west.
Private has its own helicopter pad on the roof of its building. Civilians weren’t supposed to have them in the metropolis. Al-Fayed had notoriously tried for years to get one on the roof of Harrods and had failed. But we were under contract to the police and the military and had special dispensation.
Sam Riddel held a full pilot’s licence, enabling him to fly a number of aircraft including the one we were in. He looked across at me and grinned.
I was assuming that he wouldn’t be able to read my expression. I had blacked my face, as had Suzy and Del Rio behind me. Like them, I was also wearing black military fatigues. It was dark now and the cloud cover ahead thankfully blocked the light of a full moon.
I had decided that a small team was the best option. Stealth rather than a show of force. Get it wrong and we could pay the price. Or Harlan Shapiro would pay the price. And that was not an option. Lucy had come with us to retrieve the rope and Hannah had been left behind at the offices. A couple of security guards with her in case she decided to switch sides again.
I ignored Sam’s taunting grin and kept my gaze fixed ahead. Below me the traffic was as snarled as Lucy had said it would be. Above us the chopper’s rotor blade thwopped and spun, but the ride was incredibly smooth. Thankfully there was very little wind.
In very little time we had made the twenty-six mile journey and were flying over Moor Park.
Normally a helicopter flying over a residential area might have caused some interest. But a huge military base, much of it underground, was half a mile away. HMS Warrior where Western Allied Fleet Command was based. The command centre for the Falklands War and also home to the USAF which had a base there. Helicopters in the air thereabouts were a very common occurrence.
As we flew over the target house I pointed the thermal-image device I was holding at it and put the lens to my eyes. The house went the familiar murky green you get through night-vision goggles, but little dots of colour appeared. Glowing red