Terminal (Major Crimes Unit Book 4) Read online

  Without waiting for Mandy to keep up, Sarah headed across the cracked forecourt and positioned herself in front of the petrol station’s shuttered entrance. She used her key on the floor-level padlock and then stepped back. “Well,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Mandy, “be a gentleman.”

  He raised an eyebrow back at her. “That would require you to be a lady.”

  “Good point. Together, then?”

  Mandy nodded.

  They grabbed the shutter and lifted it, a little too fast because it crashed noisily into its storage roller beneath the awning. It caused them both to wince. Sarah looked around but saw no witnesses.

  The shutter had been covering a large glass window with faded posters and an aluminium-framed door, to which Sarah also had a key. She unlocked it and ushered Mandy inside what had once been a small convenience store. It was empty aside from a couple of dust-covered shelving racks and the remains of an old service desk.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Sarah. Why have you brought me here?”

  “You need to see it for yourself, trust me. Come on.”

  She slipped behind the service desk and entered a small stockroom beyond. Last time she had been here, rotting cardboard and other refuse had covered the floor, but someone had cleaned up since then.

  Made it a home.

  There was a metal staircase at the back of the room. Sarah started up it and bid Mandy to follow. At the top, a short landing led to a chipped wooden door. By now they had made enough noise to announce their presence, so Sarah identified herself before proceeding further. She knocked on the door three times and exclaimed, “Bradley. Palu. Breslow.”

  The password was something only three people in the entire MCU knew. Three names they each had on their conscience. Victims of past failures.

  Locks unbolted on the other side of the door.

  Mandy stood close to Sarah, his unblinking eyes fixed ahead. Sarah knew she was being cloak-and-dagger, but it was necessary. He needed to see it for himself or he wouldn’t believe it.

  The door opened and a Ruger GP100 with a walnut grip was aimed at Sarah’s face. She didn’t flinch.

  Mandy was the first to talk, although he began with a kittenish yelp. “Wh-What the hell? Is…? Is that…?”

  Standing in the open doorway, Howard beamed. A thick brown beard obscured his heroic square jaw, and his hair was three times longer than Sarah had ever seen it, but he was the same old guy who had beaten her ass seven years ago before recruiting her into the MCU. “I’ve missed you, too, Mandy,” he said, and lowered the Ruger. His mangled left hand – earned by taking a shotgun blast meant for Sarah – went into his jeans pocket. Sarah often noticed him doing it, an insecurity about the fact he only had a thumb, forefinger, and half of a middle finger.

  Mandy grabbed the railing at the top of the stairs to keep from falling. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

  Sarah took Mandy by the arm and led him through the door. “Take a seat inside and we’ll explain everything.”

  Without another word, Mandy collapsed onto an old cream three-seater that took up the middle of the flat’s cosy lounge. He stared at Howard as if he were a ghost, which, in his mind, was probably a near-accurate way of thinking about it. “Can I get a glass of water, please?”

  “Sure thing.” Howard disappeared into the flat’s small kitchenette and returned with a pint glass. He handed it to Mandy and waited for him to take a sip. “I’m sorry, Mandy. I wish you’d been in on this from the beginning, but I – we – didn’t think that…” He folded his arms and appeared to grasp for the right words. “We didn’t want to drag anybody else out onto the ice with us.” He looked at Sarah. “I assume something changed?”

  Sarah nodded. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

  Mandy put the pint glass down on the threadbare green carpet beside his feet. He rubbed at his eyes as if he wanted to check he wasn’t dreaming. “What is going on? You faked your own death, Howard? Why?”

  “Because there was a hit out on me.” He let the statement hang there for a while but continued when no one else spoke. “In the last year, there have been two attempts on my life. The first was a midnight break-in at my house. Two guys, hired muscle from Eastern Europe, broke in, but I defended myself long enough to make it into my garage and lock the door. I pulled the main breaker on the fuse box, which set off the house alarm. They had no option but to leave.”

  Mandy nodded. “I remember. You reported it as an attempted burglary.”

  Howard rubbed his thighs through his jeans, and then sat down on the sofa beside Mandy. “I didn’t know it was an attempted hit until a few weeks later, when a clunky old Nissan Pathfinder mowed me down at a zebra crossing. In the split second before it hit me, I saw the driver. One of the guys from the break-in.” He twisted and pulled up his shirt, showing a thick scar that was only two-thirds done healing. “Three broken ribs, ruptured spleen, and a shattered elbow. It was touch and go from what I hear, but I pulled through.”

  “Barely,” Sarah added.

  Mandy shook his head. “No, Howard. You didn’t pull through. You died.”

  Sarah frowned. “Open your eyes, Mandy.”

  Howard patted Mandy on the back, compassion in his chocolatey brown eyes. “Someone wanted me dead, so I decided the safest thing to do was let them think I was.”

  The talking was clearly taking great effort – Howard’s body still needed time to heal – so Sarah took over for him. “Mattock and I were at the hospital when Howard seized on the table.” She tried not to picture it too vividly; tried not to smell the chlorine on the floors or hear the beeping equipment. “He nearly died, but six hours later, he woke up. Mattock and I were there, and that’s when we made a plan to fake Howard’s death.”

  “To keep me alive,” said Howard.

  Mandy stuttered. “B-But how long can you keep this up? And who would want to kill you? I mean, aside from a couple hundred terrorists?”

  Howard and Sarah glanced at one another, but only Howard gave an answer. “MCU Director Thomas Gellar.”

  Mandy leapt up off the sofa. “You’re insane. You’re accusing the head of the MCU” – he turned to Sarah, “and your ex-husband – of trying to arrange an assassination? What’s your evidence?”

  Sarah looked at Howard and cleared her throat. “May I?”

  Howard shrugged. “Be my guest.”

  Sarah went over to the large window at the end of the living room. The curtains were drawn, and the only light inside the room came from a pair of table lamps on either side of the sofa. She pulled back the curtains and revealed a wooden board covering the glass. As well as keeping anyone from seeing inside, the board also made a makeshift workspace. Howard had pinned various documents and photographs all over it, several featuring Thomas. Some featured Maxim Ivanov. A few pictured them both together.

  After faking his death, Howard hired a freelance journalist – an old friend of the family – to document Thomas’s movements, which evidently involved clandestine meetings with Russian crime figures and corrupt politicians. The journalist had also unearthed documents linking Thomas to Al-Sharir, revealing the aid he had provided the terrorist when entering the UK several years ago. Sarah’s boss, and ex-husband, had been working a split agenda ever since he’d emerged from the dead. Now they were playing him at his own game. Soon it would be Howard’s turn to emerge from the dead, and then they would bring Thomas to justice.

  “Thomas is in Maxim Ivanov’s back pocket,” said Howard after asking Mandy to sit back down. “I have wiretaps, money exchanges, and a whole lot more to back up my claims. The only thing lacking is catching him red-handed. That final nail in the coffin would allow me to reveal myself and put him away for good.”

  “We’ve been biding our time,” said Sarah. “Making sure we have as much as possible.”

  Mandy leant forward, hands on his knees as if he were going to be sick. “How did you pull this off?”

  “With help,” said Howard. “
Mattock took care of the death certificate, and paid off enough people to make it stick. Meanwhile, Sarah has been taking care of Thomas, tipping me off about his movements and wiretapping his phone every time he switches it for a new one.”

  “I did that today, in fact,” said Sarah. “At lunch. It’s getting too easy, to be honest.”

  Modern-day bugs were a marvel of engineering, little larger than a sim card. She had put one inside the back plate of Thomas’s phone at dinner while he had been flagging down the waitress.

  Howard chuckled. His new rough-and-tough exterior made him as much a stranger as a trusted friend. It put heat in Sarah’s cheeks. “Thomas covered his tracks about as well as you would expect,” she said, “but he has a blind spot when it comes to me.”

  “Sarah’s given me enough entry points into Thomas’s life to document his every move,” said Howard. “He’s finished. He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison after we take him down.”

  A twinge of sadness surprised Sarah. She could never forgive Thomas for the things he’d done – least of all trying to kill Howard – but she knew there was a part of him that had always wanted to do the right thing. The young officer she had fallen in love with in the dust fields of Afghanistan had been a good man with heroic dreams of saving lives and improving the world. Somewhere along the line, his pure intentions had been corrupted. It made her angry and sad. Mostly angry.

  “This all started with Al-Sharir,” said Sarah. “He captured Thomas in Afghanistan, when he was close to death. Friendly fire struck the bus Thomas was riding on, and Al-Sharir got to him first. He nursed him back to health and made him sympathetic towards anti-Western ideals. The problem was, Al-Sharir couldn’t just trust Thomas and release him back to his old life, so he sent him to Russia first, where his associate, Maxim Ivanov, took care of him. Maxim was high up in the Bratva crime syndicate, but he was already planning for bigger things. When he eventually split off to form his own criminal empire, he promised Thomas power and influence, but only if he worked for him. By that point, Thomas had nothing left but dreams of freedom, so he agreed to everything. Before Maxim freed Thomas, he put him to work in Russia and the Ukraine, dirtying his hands with extortion, sex trafficking, and murder.”

  Mandy groaned. “Making Thomas guilty enough that he could never turn on Maxim or try to go straight.”

  “Exactly. Maxim has enough dirt on Thomas to send him away for a dozen lifetimes. He has no choice but to do Maxim’s bidding.”

  “Jesus.” Mandy put his face into his giant hands and shuddered. “Thomas isn’t my favourite guy, but I didn’t expect this.”

  Sarah leant up against the wall and put her hands in her pockets. “Thomas’s big mistake was trying to help a bunch of local freedom fighters escape on an unmarked bus through the desert. If we hadn’t fired on that bus and left him dying in the sand, Al-Sharir would never have found him. None of this would ever have happened.” She laughed bitterly. “Fuck. He and I would probably be raising kids in Florida right now, just like we planned. I wish that made a difference.”

  Howard knew Sarah well enough to take over and give her emotions a rest. “At first, we wanted to help extradite Thomas from the situation he was in, but as we investigated, we realised he’s too far gone. He’s been helping Maxim bribe politicians, extort local businesses, and sell state secrets. He’s not just a criminal any more, he’s an enemy of the state. That’s why, when I started investigating the Russian crime syndicate growing on our shores, he tried to take me out.”

  Mandy thought for a moment before nodding knowingly. “And after your death, Sarah picked up the operation, knowing Thomas could never bring himself to kill her.”

  Sarah nodded. “Thomas’s whole life is a lie, but I think his love for me is still real.”

  “What about your love for him?” Mandy asked. “I see how much this hurts you.”

  Once again, Sarah laughed bitterly. She pointed to the thick scars on her face. “I left my warm-and-fuzzies in the desert. Now all I want is for Thomas to face justice. There’s no other choice. He and Maxim have even got their hooks into someone in the Home Office. Novaya Sila is the biggest threat to the United Kingdom there is right now, trust me.”

  “I do,” said Mandy. “I just wish you had both trusted me. I would have helped, even if I’m only a driver.”

  Sarah turned on him. “Hey, you are not just a driver, Mandy. You’re our friend, and a vital member of the team. In fact, along with Jessica and Mattock, you’re one of only a few people I trust in this world. We didn’t tell you to keep you safe. Thomas has a blind spot when it comes to me, and Mattock could survive a nuclear war, but you would have been vulnerable. Mandy, please believe me.”

  He shook his head and exhaled, his large forearms resting on his knees. “So what’s next?”

  Sarah pulled her hands out of her pockets and pushed herself away from the wall. “We find Oliver Simpson, and we keep Thomas in the dark until he makes a mistake. The MCU belongs to us, Mandy. We built it with our blood and our sacrifice. It’s time to take it back.”

  Howard held up his mangled left hand. “We’ve all given a part of ourselves to the MCU. Are we really going to let anybody ruin what we’ve built?”

  Mandy shook his head. “No damn way. I’m with you. Same as always. One hundred per cent.”

  “We never doubted it,” said Howard.

  “Not for a second,” Sarah added, a great weight off her chest.

  Your days are numbered, Thomas. We’re all coming for you.

  Chapter Six

  Oliver was within half a mile of his home when he realised there was no way he was going to make it. Police cars sped down the roads. Suspicious strangers lingered on every corner. If he stepped foot near his house, he would be arrested. With a level of grief that threatened to liquefy him, it dawned on him that he would likely never again step foot inside the house where he had grown up. The safety of his bedroom would forever be a memory, replaced by the realities of a cell.

  Oliver exited the bus at the next stop but left his phone on the seat. It was only a matter of time before the police used it to trace his whereabouts. Not having a screen on his person, or a portal to the Internet, left him anxious. He felt alone, which was absurd, seeing as he spent most of his time on the Internet by himself.

  In reality, he had always been alone.

  After exiting the bus, Oliver had no idea where to go, so for a while, he just wandered around aimlessly. Then, due to what must have been a subconscious decision, he found himself back on a bus and heading to Watford. He needed to witness what he had done. Maybe then it would finally be real enough to accept.

  The only reason he hadn’t turned himself in already was because he was afraid. He was a kid with leukaemia, desperate to hold on to every last second of life. Once he gave in, it was over.

  He still remembered his sister letting go. She’d been afraid too.

  Things were better when Millie was alive. Back then, his parents hadn’t worn false smiles or drunk too much alcohol. The world had been less frightening because Oliver hadn’t been alone. He’d had a sister.

  Millie’s last wish had been to go on a plane to Disney. His mum and dad had booked the holiday without hesitation, but the cancer took Millie two months before it was even time to pack. After the funeral, Oliver’s parents disappeared, replaced by two robots who only pretended to care. Their ‘love-yous’ increased and their hugs doubled, but they were empty gestures, worth nothing.

  Why did you have to die, Millie? Things were so much better when you were here.

  You left me alone.

  And now look what I’ve done.

  The journey to Watford was going to take an hour, so Oliver used the time to sit peacefully and enjoy the thrum of the engine and the warmth of the seat. He watched people come and go at the various stops, trying not to become saddened by what he saw. Teenagers in love. People with bags full of exciting purchases. Old people smiling to themselves in silence. The m
any stages of life, that Oliver always assumed would apply to him someday, were all on display – but forever unattainable. He was going to spend the rest of his life with nothing but prison bars and shower beatings to look forward to.

  Maybe even worse.

  I’ll never make it in prison. I can’t go there.

  I won’t.

  Sarah flinched and moved away from the document board when her phone rang in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at Howard with a finger on her lips to quiet him. “It’s Jessica. Nobody talk.” She answered the call and put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Jess, what do you have?”

  “We just traced a phone call to the Simpson residence. It came from a payphone in Watford.”

  “In Watford?” Sarah frowned. “Do we know if it was Oliver who made the call?”

  “We didn’t get audio, only a location, but I had an agent visit Mrs Simpson to enquire about it and she said it was a telemarketer. A little too much of a coincidence, I’d say.”

  Sarah huffed. “She’s protecting her son. Oliver’s in Watford, then. Why? Does he want to see his handiwork up close?”

  “Killers often return to the scene of the crime. Maybe he’s gone there to revel in the destruction he caused.”

  Sarah considered the theory but ended up shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t have the answers yet, but I’m certain this kid didn’t set out to hurt anybody. Perhaps the whole thing was an accident.”

  Jessica grunted. “He accidentally killed nearly eight hundred people? Don’t think that’s going to fly in court, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not saying he’s innocent, only that there’s more to this than we realise. Can you send me the location the call was made from? Mandy and I will head there now.”

  “Will do. I already have a team in the area, but you’ve met Oliver Simpson personally. You know what he looks like. Find this kid before somebody else does, okay? Alive is better than dead.”

  “Who else knows about the call?”

  “Nobody, except the Charlie Team leader and his men. I didn’t put anything out over the radio, just like you asked, but I don’t exactly understand why. Is there a reason you don’t want to involve anybody else on this, because it’s kind of an all-guns-blazing situation? The more boots we have on the ground, the better.”