‘ British Airways flight to Paris, now boarding at Gate 21,’ came the Tannoy announcement.
It was a possibility. The Russian folded his newspaper and joined the quickly formed queue.
As he handed over his boarding card, that other niggle, the one he could not quite pinpoint came to him in a sickening lurch. It had been the moment in the transport cafe when he had warned off Jacky Lee’s friend.
‘ Stop — get back!’ he had warned.
No problem in that, except for one thing. In the heat of the battle he had reverted for a split second to his mother tongue. He had uttered the words in Russian.
‘ Thank you,’ he said politely, taking back the boarding card minus the stub from the steward.
He cursed inwardly. Slips like that could become fatal ones.
It would never happen again.
Danny glanced up from the work on her desk and blinked. Her mouth fell open, stunned. For a fleeting moment, she hardly recognised Henry.
For a start, his hair had been trimmed very closely to his skull. Maybe a ‘number two’, at the very least a ‘number three’ cut. He was unshaven and the stubble was probably three days old. His eyes looked tired and a little sunken. Lots of late nights, possibly. He was slimmer and trimmer than he had ever been. The paunch had all but gone and his upper chest and shoulders were broader and firmer, like he’d been pumping iron. With a light tan, too. His leather-look reefer jacket was slung casually over his shoulder, he was wearing a pale blue pique polo shirt and twin-pleated Chinos in slate with black, plain-fronted Doc Martens completing the effect.
Danny gulped in admiration. He looked dynamite and she experienced a little thrill of pleasure deep down.
‘ The spy who came in from the cold,’ she gasped.
‘ Danny,’ he nodded with a boy-like grin, ‘how’s it going?’
‘ Ultra-busy as usual.’
‘ I’m just on my way home. Thought I’d pop in on the way.’
She allowed her eyes to traverse him from head to toe. ‘You look good,’ she said hoarsely, approvingly.
‘ You too. Slim.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘ Hey, Henry, how the hell are you?’ a detective called from across the office.
Henry gave a short wave. ‘Good.’ His eyes returned to Danny. ‘Time for a brew? Chat?’
‘ How about some animal-like sex?’ she wanted to ask, but restrained her thoughts. ‘Yeah, definitely.’ She grabbed her PR and followed Henry up the stairs to the dining room, her eyes at his butt-level. She could not help but noticing that it looked tight, good enough to sink her teeth into.
Two planes taxied in tandem out to the runway. The Paris flight, followed by the Lisbon one. They were in the air within a minute of each other, only a few miles separating them as they cut south through British airspace.
The Russian relaxed, prepared himself for a quick in-flight snack. He had now carried out his internal debrief on the Lee killing and put his mistake behind him. There was no point in dwelling on it. It was doubtful whether there would be any consequence from it. He adjusted his mind to the next task and beyond that to what would definitely be a holiday.
In the plane a few miles behind, the figure of Billy Crane was also relaxed. He too had considered the last few days of his life and was pretty pleased about the way it had panned out. He was sure his stay in Lancashire had gone unreported to the cops and he was not particularly worried that he would be caught for the killings. He was confident of Don Smith’s abilities to plug holes wherever necessary. Crane was now mulling over Colin Hodge’s proposition, wondering how — or if — he was going to progress it or not.
If things checked out, the probable answer would be yes.
That said, the timescale was very tight. According to Hodge, the next such collection was only three weeks away. To pull it all together and execute it in twenty-one days would be a real tester. Things would have to move very quickly indeed.
Of course, fifty million pounds — if that was to be believed — was a very effective motivator.
He smiled at the stewardess when she offered him a drink. He caught a glint in her eye and he thought that maybe the stopover in Lisbon could be very interesting.
‘ The story was that you were drafted on to some hush-hush HQ project, that you couldn’t be contacted directly and anything for you should be channelled through FB’s office,’ Danny explained. She felt absolutely wonderful to be sitting so close to Henry, their knees touching under the table. She had missed him so much it physically hurt her; she wanted him so much, that hurt too. Yet she was acutely aware of her last encounter with a married man that had ended very messily indeed.
‘ Yeah, I know,’ Henry said. He sounded distracted, but brought himself back on line. ‘Truth is, I’ve been working undercover. I can’t tell you the details, but it ended somewhat shit-shaped, to say the least.’
‘ So you’re back then, are you?’ Danny tried to keep the hope out of her voice.
‘ No, not exactly. Just a few days’ break, then I go back U/C.’ He ran a hand down his tired face, then interlocked his fingers in front of him. Danny touched the back of his hand with the tip of her forefinger. A tingle shimmied down her spine.
‘ You look tired.’
Again, Henry’s mind had wandered. Danny could see he wasn’t concentrating totally on her. It miffed her a little. Then his eyes focused. ‘Danny,’ he said with a click of his tongue, ‘can I bounce something off you — you being a close friend?’
A close friend! ‘Yes, sure.’
‘ Me and Kate parted on acrimonious terms. She was dead against me going back to Crime Squad work…’ He then related his sorry tale of woe. Danny listened intently and offered advice from her perspective, much against what she was really feeling. What she wanted to say was, ‘Ditch the bitch and hop into my sack.’ She didn’t, hid her disappointment and tried to give Henry some options. It was obvious he did not see Danny as a possible; he was too deeply in love with Kate and very distraught by his marital predicament.
‘ I just seem to cock it up all the time,’ he whined. ‘If it’s not my pants coming off, it’s work. I’m such a selfish bastard. Sometimes I think I should jack the job in, buy a newsagent’s or an off-licence, or something and live over the business, then I’d be really tied down.’
‘ Bad idea. If nothing else, you’re too good a cop for that, Henry.’
The two planes remained in tandem until the Paris flight veered east, whilst the Lisbon flight continued to fly almost due south. No one on either of the flights knew anyone on the other flight and although the two planes were never near to a collision, the two men, Crane and the Russian, were soon to be on a personal collision course which would end in bloody violence.
‘ Danny?’ A Detective Constable literally swung into the canteen on the upright door jamb, looking very excited. ‘ Got a good ‘un. Three bodies in a vehicle inspection pit — and they didn’t get into it willingly. Can you turn out and cover the scene? Like I said, looks a cracker.’
‘ Be right there.’ She looked at Henry, desperate to kiss him.
‘ Duty calls.’
‘ Want me to come?’
‘ Nah, I’m a big girl now. You go home and take my advice — give Kate an old-fashioned night of passion, OK? It works wonders, the orgasm. It does with me, anyway…’
Chapter Eight
The flattening of the rank structure in the police service, together with the philosophy (some say misguided) of pushing more and more responsibility downwards, means that quite often the most senior rank available to attend serious incidents is a Sergeant. As Danny alighted from the CID car, she was aware that the eyes of all the Constables were on her because she was top banana at the scene. The situation did not faze her. Firstly because she had a lot of years’ experience behind her and could bullshit her way through anything; secondly because sooner or later the job would be taken away from her as higher-ranking detectives started to crawl out of the woodwork and the SIO team leaped into action.