Danielle Ramsay - Vanishing Point

‘She managed to give us something … wrote it down.’

‘Just fucking tell me!’ shouted Brady as he swung the car round the bend in the road.

‘Her handwriting’s shaky but there’s no mistaking who she’s saying did this to her.’

Brady felt his stomach knot. He clenched the wheel. He couldn’t get rid of the image of Nick carrying Simone Henderson’s brutally mutilated, unconscious body, wrapped in a black bin liner into the toilets.

‘Macmillan. Ronnie Macmillan.’

Brady aggressively pushed his foot to the floor, ignoring the speedometer.

‘Fucking bastard!’ hissed Brady.

‘Adamson knows, sir. He’s on this now,’ informed Conrad. ‘He’s put out an all-unit alert on Macmillan.’

‘Fuck him. Does he know that Harvey and Kodovesky are tailing Ronnie Macmillan?’ demanded Brady.

‘No … not yet. That’s why I’m ringing you, sir,’ answered Conrad. ‘I do know they’ve got a warrant out for his arrest and that Adamson’s on his way to Macmillan’s club to get him. But obviously, he’s not there.’

‘Get in your car and help me before that snivelling bastard takes over. I need you to intercept those bloody bastards who are trying to stop me following their boss.’

‘What’s going on, sir?’

‘I’ve got two fucking black Mercedes filled with eight ex-militia types determined to stop me following a Russian limousine that I reckon is going to take me somewhere interesting.’

‘Where are you heading?’

‘Along the coast, past Cullercoats heading towards Whitley Bay. After that, who knows!’

‘Right, sir. On my way now,’ quickly answered Conrad.

‘And not a word to Adamson or Gates. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Conrad said. He was already running for his car.

‘Fuck!’ cursed Brady as he swung the Granada around another bend, wheels screeching.

He looked in his rear mirror and breathed out. He had momentarily lost sight of the two Mercs.

He disconnected the call.

He then put his foot down, forcing the speedometer up to 80mph.

He flicked a glance at his rear view mirror again and cursed. The first Mercedes was speeding round the bend in pursuit of him.

‘Fuck!’ muttered Brady again as he stepped on the accelerator.

He sped down the road. Up ahead a group of drunken men staggered across the tarmac, oblivious to the oncoming car.

‘Get out the way!’ shouted Brady as he slammed on his brakes.

The Granada skidded erratically before coming to a halt.

Brady thumped his horn in frustration.

‘Get out the bloody way!’ he screamed.

One of the men gave Brady the finger while others jeered obscenities.

Brady could see the Mercedes coming up from behind.

He had no choice. He was going to lose the limousine if he didn’t do something.

He kicked the car into first and swung it to the left. Mounting the pavement, he drove past the group of men refusing to move.

He quickly looked in his rear mirror. The Mercedes that had caught up followed Brady’s move, swinging off the road onto the pavement.

‘Come on, Conrad! Where the fuck are you?’ panicked Brady as he threw the car back onto the road.

Ahead of him, he could barely make out the tail lights of the limousine as it continued along the coast.

Suddenly he heard cars slamming their brakes and then furious beeping and shouting.

Conrad, thought Brady. It had to be. The station was less than a minute away by car. All he had to do was drive down one of the roads leading off the Promenade to block them.

He looked in his rear view mirror and right enough, there was Conrad’s silver Saab obstructing the Promenade road. Relief flooded through him, relief that Conrad had stopped the two cars. But it was quickly replaced by cold dread as Brady saw six of the eight men get out the two cars and make a move towards Conrad.

Brady had no choice but to leave Conrad to deal with the situation alone. He put his foot to the floor, pushing up to 70mph, hoping to God that the roads were clear. He focused on his target: the limousine which was now within sight.

Brady already knew where the Ambassador was heading. The lighthouse.

His phone buzzed again.

Brady answered it, easing off the gas.

‘Yeah?’ agitatedly answered Brady.

‘We lost Ronnie Macmillan, Jack,’ came the answer.

‘Fuck it, Tom!’ shouted Brady. ‘What did I tell you? Don’t fucking lose them! ’

‘They got away from us at the traffic lights in Whitley Bay. We’re blocked in!’

‘Save it for someone who gives a damn! Right now I’ve got bigger problems thanks to you.’

‘Come on, Jack! You can’t blame us.’

‘Get yourselves over to the lighthouse asap.’

‘Yeah, will do as soon as these bastard lights change.’

‘I don’t care how you do it, just get there. Alright? Same applies to Kenny and Daniels,’ ordered Brady.

‘Sure,’ answered Harvey.

‘And whatever you do, do not let Adamson or Gates know where you’re going. Understand?’

Before Harvey had a chance to say anything, Brady had already cut the line.

He watched as the limousine passed Whitley Bay cemetery on the left and the crazy golf course on the right. It suddenly indicated and then turned right, straight onto the road leading to St Mary’s Lighthouse.

Chapter Forty-Four

Brady waited until the limousine disappeared from view, following the road round to the second car park that directly faced St Mary’s lighthouse. He cut his lights as he pulled in and let the Granada idle slowly into the first car park. The area was deserted. But he knew something was about to happen in the further car park hidden from public view. He tried to get the Granada as close as he could to the bend ahead so that he could make a quick getaway if necessary.

He cut the engine as adrenalin coursed through him. He had no choice but to leave the Granada and follow on foot.

Sticking to the grass verge he stealthily made his way towards the bend in the road. As he turned he saw three vehicles parked up about forty feet away from him: a black Mercedes van, Ronnie Macmillan’s Jag and the Ambassador’s limousine. Crouching down from view, he made his way to the public toilets for cover, ignoring the painful spasms in his thigh.

His breathing was shallow and fast. He tried to steady his nerves for fear they would hear him. There was only one thing going through his head: his brother.

What would he do if Nick was there? And crucially, how long did he have before backup arrived? Would there be time for Nick to disappear?

Steeling himself, he looked out from behind the brick wall of the toilet block.

He watched as the Ambassador got out of his car and walked over to the Jag accompanied by his driver. Brady watched as the rear door opened and the Ambassador climbed in and joined Ronnie Macmillan in the back. The Ambassador’s driver stood on watch beside the rear of the Jag, constantly surveying the area for any unexpected trouble.

Brady deeply breathed in as he realised Rubenfeld had been right all along.

He quickly looked around for Visa and Delta. They were talking with someone.

His heart was pounding. He felt physically sick when he realised who it had to be. The darkness made it difficult for see, but he was certain it was him. There was no mistaking it: it was his brother, Nick, who was talking to them.

Trying to control the terror that consumed him, Brady dragged his eyes away and looked over at the Mercedes van. Two men were sitting in the front watching. But it was too dark and too far away for him to be sure that they were the Dabkunas brothers.

Brady couldn’t believe it.

Ronnie Macmillan and the Dabkunas brothers were working together which meant … He thought about Simone.