The SIS officer peered over the roof’s edge again. The two fugitives were out of sight. He cursed.
The bullet-pocked door below opened. ‘Where are they?’ asked his partner, voice stifled as he held his cracked nose.
‘On the roof, but I’ve lost them. They must be heading for the terminal.’
The other man held up a phone. ‘Staite just gave new orders: withdraw and let the police handle them.’
‘What? Aren’t they a security risk? If they talk to the police first—’
‘Our priority now’s to secure the laptop and all the other stuff in that bag, and get them to Vauxhall Cross, pronto.’
The first officer climbed back down. Abandoning the pursuit seemed the wrong decision, but orders were orders. ‘Have you got them?’
The other man nodded. ‘The woodentop’s bringing them.’ He looked back towards the plane. The policeman — ‘woodentop’ being derogatory slang for uniformed officers — was approaching with the fugitives’ bag in one hand, the other pressed to his bleeding mouth. ‘Everything on the list we were given is there. External hard drives, SD cards, some phones — and the laptop.’
‘Their call. Okay, bring that to our car,’ he told the cop. ‘We’ve been told to leave catching them to your esteemed colleagues.’
‘Hopefully they won’t balls it up,’ griped the broken-nosed man as they started the long walk through the airport.
Eddie clanked down the metal stairs to ground level. The vehicle he had pointed out was parked nearby. ‘Okay, let’s roll!’
‘Really not sure this is a good idea,’ said Nina. Before them was an airport tug, a Schopf heavy-duty tractor capable of hauling even super-jumbo aircraft like the double-deck Airbus A380 with ease. The squat, broad machine’s wheels were as tall as a man, almost sixty tons of ballast ensuring they remained firmly planted on the concrete no matter how massive its load. ‘They’ll be able to catch up with us by walking!’
‘They’re only slow when they’re pulling planes around. They’re like tanks — once they get going, they’re bloody hard to stop.’ He opened the cab door. The controls were reassuringly simple, the tug’s transmission fully automatic. ‘Okay, get in.’
Nina hurried around to the wide cab’s far side. Despite the amount of space, there was only one other seat, a simple fold-down bench. ‘Oh, comfy.’
‘Only the best for my wife,’ Eddie said with a grin as he pushed the starter. The tug’s massive diesel engine shuddered from its sleep, exhausts spouting dark plumes of smoke. There was a chunky gear selector on the console; he pushed it into drive. ‘All right, straightforward enough — like driving a bus.’
‘When did you drive a bus?’
‘I learned how to drive pretty much everything in the SAS. The bit on my driving licence where it says what I’m qualified for has almost every letter in the alphabet! All right, hold on.’
He depressed the accelerator. The engine thrummed, the tug straining as if simply standing still had flat-spotted its tyres before reluctantly moving off.
Nina regarded the speedometer dubiously. ‘Okay, it only goes up to forty, and we’re doing… five.’
‘Give it time! Where’s the way out?’
They emerged from behind the jetway — to see two police Land Rovers approaching fast along a taxiway. ‘Not that way,’ she said in alarm.
Eddie turned away from them, picking up speed as he headed north. Beyond the vast concrete expanse surrounding Heathrow’s main terminal complex he saw distant buildings, outside the airport’s perimeter. ‘We can crash through the fence over there,’ he said. ‘But…’
‘But?’ asked his wife.
The unwelcome answer came as an airliner screamed in to land on a runway ahead, smoke erupting from its wheels as it whipped past. ‘Oh,’ said Nina. ‘Right.’
‘We can make it,’ he said, more optimistic than certain. ‘We just have to cross the runway when there isn’t a plane coming.’
‘Uh-huh. And isn’t Heathrow one of the world’s busiest airports?’
‘Nah, I don’t think it’s even in the top five any more.’
‘Oh, so I guess all we’ll have to dodge is tumbleweed!’
The tug cleared the terminal complex, open ground spreading out around them. The speedo had now reached twenty, so they were at least outpacing anyone on foot, but the two police Discovery SUVs were gaining on them fast. Beyond the runway, a wide stretch of old tarmac ran all the way to the perimeter fence. ‘We can get out there,’ Eddie said, pointing at a car park past the high barrier.
‘And then what? Drive this thing into the centre of London?’
‘I think the bus’d be a bit less conspicuous.’
‘I doubt these guys’ll let us buy a ticket!’ The police vehicles peeled apart, overtaking on each side of the Schopf.
Eddie glanced into the mirrors to see which was closer, then threw the wheel hard to the left. The tug’s four-wheel steering veered it around with surprising sharpness. The driver of the nearest Discovery tried to turn away, but too late—
The tractor sideswiped it. The Land Rover was not a lightweight vehicle, but against sixty tons of metal it may as well have been a paper cup. The SUV was swatted aside, nearly rolling over before lurching to a halt — with one wheel hanging off its axle.
Eddie checked the mirror again, seeing the Discovery’s stunned occupants sit up, then turned back towards the runway. ‘You okay?’
The collision had barely shaken the tug, but Nina saw something that would make much more of an impact. ‘Yeah, but — de plane, boss, de plane!’ Another airliner was already on final approach.
He looked across to the second Discovery, which had moved well clear. Unlike the vast majority of British police officers, those on duty at airports were routinely armed — and the passenger had lowered his window, bringing up an MP5 sub-machine gun—
‘Nina, down!’ Eddie yelled. She threw herself to the cab floor as he swung the tug away from the police vehicle. Gunfire cracked across the concrete, rounds spanging against the tractor’s flank. The cop was aiming for the tyres, not the driver, but the Yorkshireman was sure that would change the moment he realised his bullets were about as effective against the inches-thick rubber as a drawing pin.
They reached the runway. The speedo passed thirty, but the asphalt was wide, the plane still thundering towards them—
The pilot saw the vehicles crossing his path and yanked back the controls, slamming the throttles to maximum power in an emergency abort. The Boeing 787’s nose tipped upwards, but the aircraft had not yet pulled out of its descent, on a direct course for the lumbering Schopf…
Its landing gear wavered just a few feet above the runway — then rose again as the plane finally climbed.
It shot over the tug and the Discovery, huge twin engines thundering at full force—
The jet blast hit both vehicles. It was powerful enough to make even the tractor skid sideways — but its effect on the Land Rover had the force of a tornado. The Discovery was blown off the ground, bowling over in mid-air and crashing back down on its side. It skidded into the grass, kicking up a great spray of wet soil before thumping to a stop in a drainage ditch. Both cops crawled dizzily from the battered wreck.
The tug cleared the runway, Eddie aiming it down the stretch of old tarmac towards the fence. Thirty-five miles per hour — hardly a breathtaking speed, but with so much weight behind it the juggernaut was now almost unstoppable.
He braced himself, Nina doing the same—
The tug punched through the fence, shredding chain-link and ripping concrete posts from the ground. The impact smashed the windscreen. Eddie stamped on the brake as they careered towards the ranks of high-end cars parked ahead — but now the same inertia that had helped them escape the airport was working against them, the heavy tractor ploughing onwards even as smoke belched from its screaming tyres—