Chris Ryan - Who Dares Wins

But the moment when that was to happen, Sam thought – the planes’ engines roaring in his ears as the unit boarded their aircraft – seemed a very, very long way off. Mac’s sudden admission had been a shock; Sam didn’t know whether he felt better or worse.

They sat in the belly of the Hercules, four to a bench, facing each other. For now their rucksacks and helmets were on the floor in front of them, but when the time came to make the jump, that would change. Around them a loadie checked the plane’s apparatus and made it ready for flight. Sam sat opposite Mac. The two of them did their best not to catch each other’s eye, but it was difficult and every time it happened, Sam felt a little surge in his stomach. It wasn’t the usual pre-HALO butterflies. It was something else.

It was deafeningly loud in there, but Craven managed to make his voice heard above the noise. ‘Nothing like a nice quiet evening in,’ he shouted. A light-hearted comment, but delivered in a deadpan way. Craven clearly didn’t expect a response; nor did he get one.

At that moment the tailgate of the Hercules closed and the lights of the airfield disappeared from sight. A sudden lurch as the aircraft juddered into motion. Any minute now and they would be airborne.

And then?

Sam kept his breathing steady as he prepared for the ordeal ahead of him.

The telephone on Gabriel Bland’s desk rang three times before he picked it up.

‘Bland,’ he answered it shortly but not impolitely.

‘It’s me, sir. Toby. I’ve brought Nicola Ledbury in. Interview room three. Would you like me to start asking questions?’

‘Ah…’ Bland made a pretence of considering the suggestion. ‘Perhaps I’ll come down and lend a hand,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’

He replaced the phone on its cradle and left the room with a swiftness that belied his advancing years. He took the lift to the basement of the building and stepped briskly along a corridor until he found the room in question. It was sparse and unfurnished. Just a table and a two chairs. Toby was sitting in one of them, and opposite him a woman. She was pretty, with blonde hair and a long, smooth neck. But she looked frightened.

They always looked frightened.

Toby stood up the moment Bland walked into the room, immediately offering him his chair. ‘Thank you, Toby,’ he murmured before sitting down and smiling impassively at the woman in front of him. ‘Detective Inspecter Ledbury,’ he said calmly. ‘How kind of you to come and see us.’

The woman’s frightened eyes flickered up towards Toby and her lips grew a little thinner.

Bland feigned concern. ‘I do hope Toby wasn’t brusque with you.’

‘He was bloody brusque,’ she replied hotly. ‘I’m a police officer, you know…’

Gabriel Bland continued as if she hadn’t even spoken. ‘I wonder, Miss Ledbury, if I might just ask you a few questions.’ He paused briefly, waiting for a response that was not forthcoming, before continuing. ‘Two nights ago, you requested a billing address for a mobile phone number belonging to a Miss Clare Corbett. Am I right?’

The woman’s expression changed. Wariness. ‘Should I have a solicitor here?’ she asked.

Bland raised an eyebrow. ‘Toby,’ he said, quite calmly, ‘be so good as to lock the door, would you?’

Toby did as he was told; the woman shuffled uncomfortably in her seat.

‘Shall I repeat the question, Miss Ledbury? Or would you just like to answer it now?’

The woman hesitated, but only briefly. ‘It’s common practice,’ she said uncertainly. ‘An easy way to find someone. I’ve done it a lot. Hundreds of times.’

Bland nodded. ‘I’m sure you’re a very conscientious officer, Miss Ledbury.’ His voice sounded a lot less encouraging than his words. ‘I’m not much interested in the hundreds of times. I’m interested in this time.’

Silence.

‘I want my solicitor.’

Bland suppressed a sudden surge of frustration. ‘Miss Ledbury,’ he intoned, ‘you’re not at Paddington Green now.’ He stared at her. Gabriel Bland knew that not many people could withstand that stare. Nicola Ledbury was no exception.

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I asked for the billing address.’

‘I see. Would you care to tell me why?’

The woman glanced at the floor. ‘It was a favour,’ she said. ‘For a friend.’

Instantly the atmosphere in the room grew tense. Bland’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Which friend?’ He pronounced each word slowly and forcefully.

She closed her eyes. ‘His name is Sam Redman.’

‘I see. And what can you tell me about Sam Redman?’

‘He’s…’

‘Yes, Miss Ledbury.’

‘He’s military. SAS.’ She looked up at him, eyes appealing. ‘It was just a favour.’

But Bland no longer appeared interested in her. He did his best to look unmoved, but in truth a sinister knot had just tied its way round his stomach.

Bland got to his feet. ‘Keep her here,’ he instructed Toby. ‘Have somebody watch her. No phone calls. Then I think you and I need to pay Miss Corbett another visit.’

Ten minutes later Bland, Toby and a third man – an Asian by the name of Amir – were in a black cab. At least, it looked like a black cab, but the driver, an employee of the Firm, wouldn’t be stopping to pick up any fares. When, half an hour later, they parked in the quiet residential street in Acton where Clare Corbett lived, the driver pulled out a newspaper and started to read: the perfect image of a cabbie on his break. Bland and Toby approached the front door, while Amir headed round the back alleyway to the rear of the house. Bland looked at his watch: 10 p.m. He stretched out a gloved hand and rang the intercom.

They waited. A crackling noise came over the loudspeaker. Someone had picked it up, but they were declining to speak.

‘Please open the door, Miss Corbett,’ Bland replied. ‘Immediately.’

A pause. He spoke again. ‘We have somebody at the back entrance, Miss Corbett. I suggest you cooperate.’ Beside him, he was aware of Toby handling his firearm.

A buzz from the door. Toby went in first. Bland followed closely.

Clare Corbett stood framed in the entrance to her flat. Her face was white and Bland noticed her hand trembling. ‘May we come in?’ he asked.

‘Do I have much choice?’ she asked weakly.

He looked her in the eye. ‘We all have choices, Miss Corbett.’ She stepped aside and allowed them to enter. ‘I’m hoping that you’ve been making the right ones.’

In the kitchen, Bland indicated to the terrified woman that she should sit down. He remained standing, as did Toby Brookes who hovered threateningly by the kitchen door, making no attempt to hide his firearm.

‘I had hoped,’ he said smoothly, ‘not to have to burden you with our presence again, Miss Corbett.’

‘Yeah,’ she replied, avoiding his eye. ‘Me too.’

Bland sniffed. He waited a moment, then took the direct approach. ‘Tell me everything you know about Sam Redman.’

He watched her carefully, looking for the signs. ‘I’ve never heard of him,’ she said, but he could immediately tell she was lying. The lack of eye contact. The way she stiffly touched her hand to her right ear.

A thick silence fell on the room. The woman’s face began to redden. He looked over at Brookes and nodded shortly. Brookes didn’t hesitate. He stepped over to where she was sitting and, with his free hand, grabbed a clump of her hair, twisting it tight so that she gasped with the sudden pain of it. With his other hand he pressed the butt of his firearm deeply into the soft flesh of her cheek. She looked faintly ridiculous, her eyes wide and short breaths of fear escaping from the O of her mouth. Ridiculous, but terrified.