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“Bet that was no problem to him,” said Reilly.
“In December of the same year, the Provisional IRA launched an assault on the RUC barracks in Ballygawley, County Tyrone. Two RUC officers were killed and the barracks was completely destroyed by the subsequent explosion. Roger Hunter received another campaign medal, to match the one he’d received for serving in the Falklands.
“Then in 1991, The Commando unit was deployed to Northern Iraq on Operation Haven at the end of the Gulf War. By that time he’d reached the rank of Corporal, but sustained a serious injury, resulting in a broken ankle. He was pensioned out of the Royal Marines, but not before he received The Distinguished Service Medal.”
Briggs glanced at the pair of them. “The list is endless. The man is a war hero.”
“With all due respect, sir,” said Gardener, “he might be a war hero, and I appreciate his family have been killed but it doesn’t give him the right to take the law into his own hands.”
“That is impressive, though,” said Reilly. “What was it he said to us when we spoke to him? He operated better on his own.” Reilly turned to Briggs. “What did he do then?”
“Went to Porton Down and studied a whole load of nasty shit in the chemical warfare department. Since he’s been with them he’s been decorated twice, and I think he was one of the team responsible for developing this HN-3 crap. I know he’s capable of doing what’s been done. I mean, to be honest there’s probably only him that could wipe this lot out with such precision.”
Gardener stood up and told Briggs what Williams had told the team before they were dragged into his office.
“Oh Jesus,” said Briggs, “so he has the unit in Harrogate and he’s there now?”
“Yes,” said Gardener, “and we’re on our way.”
Gardener turned but his partner had already disappeared. As he shot out the door after him he heard Briggs shouting something about backup and being careful and not to let the Irishman start World War Three.
Chapter Fifty-seven
Covertly scurrying through the compound, dodging in and out of vehicles, Anthony approached the main entrance. He noticed the roller shutter door and the small metal door to the side were both shut, so he had no option but to go through the front door. He didn’t think darting around was doing much to conceal him anyway. He figured Roger would be watching his every move.
With little need for a reception area – because they rarely received visitors – the four of them had decided to go basic when designing the unit. No point spending money unless you had to. Three glass panels with a door made up their entrance. Once you were through that door you entered a small lobby, with magnolia painted walls, and a waist-high wooden counter with a false computer monitor and keyboard for effect. A chair stood behind, and four more were positioned around the room, with a door leading into the warehouse.
Anthony glanced behind him. He wasn’t happy about what he was going to do. He was completely outclassed but he had little or no choice. He’d never been a violent man. Most of the kids at school had picked on him because of his brains. He couldn’t fight back because no one had taught him how, and he lacked the killer instinct.
He checked the carrier bag once more before slowly opening the front door and peering inside. The place was deathly quiet – as it used to be. If he made the faintest of noises he would telegraph where he was. But he would do that anyway because they had a CCTV camera in the corner of the room, and another above the door into the unit.
As Anthony took another step forward he heard a strange sound, one that stopped him dead in his tracks, and brought a halt to his breathing. He wondered if that lunatic was crouched behind the counter, waiting.
The high-pitched moan came again, and someone breathed in. It didn’t sound like Roger, but then it wouldn’t. He’d give nothing away.
Anthony dropped to his knees and carefully opened the bag, removing the syringe, and the pepper spray. See how he liked that combination. He crawled over to one of the chairs and placed the bag with the rope and the gag on the floor underneath it. If he completed his mission he could come back for those, and completely disable King Kong.
Who the fuck was he kidding?
Someone suddenly called out his name and Anthony nearly shit his pants. He actually ducked and tried to become part of the floor before rolling over to see who it was.
There was no one there.
The sound came again.
“Zoe?” said Anthony.
As difficult as the one-word sentence was, she replied, “Yes.”
Anthony sat up, stood up, and dashed around the side of the desk. What he saw freaked him out.
Zoe was laid on the floor beside the chair. Her hair was limp and her complexion pale. Zoe’s eyes were bigger than they should have been, as was her neck. She was taking quick, shallow breaths. She appeared dehydrated and Anthony would swear she had lost weight.
“Zoe? What the hell has he done to you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she croaked.
Despite everything that had happened and no matter how wrong they had been, or what Zoe had done on the night of the hit and run, it nearly broke Anthony’s heart to see her now.
