Flynn nodded. “What about the police stopping him?”
“Too risky,” said Carson. “It’s going to be hard enough for the SOG team to take Nick down.”
“Piece of piss, pardon the French,” said Barry disdainfully.
Carson had had enough of the rhetoric and bullshit. “Be very clear and warn your guys that Nick Geller was one of our best. Make no mistake, this will not be a piece of piss, a walk in the park or any other fucking cliché you want to spout out.”
Barry nodded halfheartedly, more a ‘whatever’ than a ‘yes’.
“Barry, do you know our biggest problem in Defense at the moment?”
“Your boy just tried to kill the President?”
Carson ignored the cheap and rather pathetic shot. “Who is the guy we’d send to track and deal with Nick Geller, when he is the guy we’d send after himself?”
Barry struggled to understand what Carson had just said.
“He’s saying that Nick is the guy that can catch Nick,” explained Flynn succinctly. “Don’t be so cocky, Barry, you’ll just look all the more of an ass when he hands it to you.”
“I’ve got the route,” announced the analyst, breaking up the machismo display.
Frankie and Carson were first to move to the screen, keen to see if their thoughts were correct. It was what they had predicted. Flynn walked over and saw the same. Turner looked at the screen and saw a route that circled around on itself a number of times before dropping off the screen.
“He was lost?” asked Turner.
“Do you know how many CCTV cameras there are in France?” asked Carson.
“Millions?”
Carson shook his head. “In the UK, God yes, literally millions. In France, maybe a hundred thousand, probably less.” He turned back to the analyst. “Can you show the placement of CCTV cameras on that map of Paris?”
The cameras appeared almost in sync with Nick’s route around and around the French capital.
Barry reluctantly joined the group, and instantly saw what the others had noticed. “Shit, he wanted us to track him.”
Carson and Frankie nodded in unison. “In all the time I’ve known Nick, he’s taken the fastest and most direct route to anywhere,” Frankie said ruefully. “Even when we’re going places he’s never been to, he checks it out and knows the route in advance.”
“And that’s exactly why your input is critical to this investigation,” said Turner, almost congratulating himself for Frankie being there, despite having nothing whatsoever to do with her involvement.
They all looked back at the screen as the little Renault Clio continued its journey towards Auxerre and its imminent interception by the SOG team. Carson checked his watch. It was midnight.
“I’m going to call it a night,” he said, much to everyone’s astonishment. “It’s been a long day!”
“We’re about to catch him!” said Turner, perplexed.
“Let me know when you do. Frankie do you need a lift?”
Frankie nodded.
Chapter 23
The C130 landed just after 7:30 a.m. local time in Auxerre and taxied to a cleared area of the apron as requested. The team of flight mechanics dragged the MH-6 Little Bird attack chopper out onto the apron and set about preparing it for takeoff. Meanwhile, the two Range Rovers wasted no time. Their five liter supercharged engines kicked into life and propelled eight of the SOG team out into the early morning sunshine. Their communications screens synched seamlessly with the satellites overhead. Their target was twenty miles to their north.
They raced off. Their job was to get around and behind the target vehicle and in place, ready to take it down. With their arrival, the motorway was being shut down. The police, following a signal from NCTC, had begun to block all entrance ramps to the southbound carriageway and had a rolling speed block in place, well out of sight, behind the target. As the SOG team got in place, the traffic around the target would have thinned, allowing them a clear run to capture him and minimize civilian casualties.
With the helicopter up and in the air, the ‘go’ was given. The two Range Rovers stationed at an overpass had just watched the target speed past. The traffic around him was almost nonexistent. With the ‘go’ signal, both drivers accelerated hard and joined the motorway, gaining fast on the small Clio. By the time the first Range Rover drew level, the helicopter was hovering off to the left with its mini gun and rocket pods hanging menacingly underneath.
The road ahead was clear and from behind the target, the driver of the second vehicle gave the order to move.
The first vehicle accelerated sharply, cut in front of the Clio and slammed on the brakes. The second Range Rover closed to within an inch of the Clio’s rear bumper and matched the braking. Even if Nick had wanted to escape into the next lane, it was impossible, the Clio had become as one with the Range Rovers. The three vehicles connected and the Clio drew to a stop wedged solidly between the two SUVs, each of which weighed three times the tiny Clio.
Even before they had drawn to a compete stop, the passenger doors of both Range Rovers were open and six of the SOG team members, dressed in full tactical assault suits with bio-hazard protection, rushed to take down the target.
Turner watched the images the SOG team’s head-mounted cameras beamed back to them. Barry stood smiling as the CIA team performed the maneuver perfectly. Stopping a moving car at 80 mph was no mean feat. Stopping it as well as the SOG team had just done was remarkable.
“Looks like he’s given up,” announced Barry. They could just make out the driver sitting still, keeping his hands visible on the steering wheel.
Turner nodded; it was looking very good. He turned around to look at Flynn, who stood shaking his head slowly.
“I know it’s tough,” said Turner. “He was one of yours.”
Flynn shook his head even more and sighed. They just don’t get it.
“Here we go!” shouted Barry, as the SOG team member reached for the Clio’s door handle.
Nick grabbed his 9mm Berretta the instant the door opened, causing immediate panic amongst the intruders.
“Don’t shoot!” screamed the yawner, dropping the tray with a selection of breads and pastries on the floor. Shoeless, who had graduated to just being shirtless, having heeded Nick’s advice, dropped a small pot of coffee as Yawner fell back into him.
“Putain!” he shouted as the hot coffee burned into his naked chest.
“You know… you should wear a shirt,” advised Nick, smiling and lowering the pistol.
“You were right about your car,” said Yawner, bending down to pick up the pastries and breads. “It’s on TV right now.”
Nick followed them through to the living room to the television set, where the news helicopter filmed the action from afar. They could clearly see the two Range Rovers wedge the small Clio and bring it to a stop before the SOG team approached the car.
“Who’s in there?” asked Nick.
“Not sure,” Yawner said. “Amir arranged it.”
“Any chance of any comeback?” Nick asked.
“Absolutely none.”
A range of expletives exploded in NCTC when the youth was pulled from the car. When the SOG team had him prone on the ground, they searched the car but a close-up of his face showed him to be eighteen at most.
Flynn grabbed his jacket. “Guys, do you get it now?”
Turner snapped. “What, Flynn? Do we get what now?!”