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“And just as bright,” said the Hawk. “In fact, William could have a genuine rival, and by 2020, the Met might even be ready to appoint its first black commissioner.”
“Well, at least that would be better than its first woman commissioner.”
The Hawk was about to comment when the radio crackled back into life.
“The subject’s on the move,” said William.
* * *
The same hug, the
same slow walk back down the path; the only difference was that when he stepped out onto the pavement this time, he turned left, not right.
“Stand by first. He’s heading toward Bolton Gardens. Stand by,” repeated William.
“Contact, contact,” said a voice over the radio. “Target is getting into a taxi that doesn’t have its light on. Off, off. Heading west on Brompton Road.”
“Contact—I have the eye,” said Danny.
“Stay with him,” said William, “but only for about another mile. I’ve got an unmarked car just behind you ready to take over.”
“Understood,” said Danny, who kept his distance, but never let the target out of his sight. “Subject’s moved into the outside lane,” he reported a few moments later. “Could be turning right.”
“Or carrying straight on,” said William. “In which case we might find out where he lives.”
“I’d rather find out where he works,” said Lamont. “But I don’t expect we’ll get that lucky.”
“Drop back, Danny,” was William’s next command, “and let the patrol car take over. But stand by, as I may need you again later.”
It amused William that his four unmarked cars were all five-year-old Austin Allegros, in standard colors but with souped-up engines that could do 120 miles per hour if required. No one gave them a second glance as they proceeded down the middle lane of the Great West Road, never exceeding 40 miles per hour.
“Target has reached the Courage roundabout. Looks like he might be heading for the M4.”
“Where do taxis usually end up after they hit the M4?” asked William rhetorically.
“The airport,” said Danny.
“That’s all we need.”
“It’s definitely looking like the motorway,” said the driver of the patrol car, “because he’s running out of turnoffs.”
“Peel off at the Hammersmith flyover and let Danny take over. Another cab will be less conspicuous on the motorway, especially if Rashidi’s heading for the airport. But, Danny, if his cab stays in the outside lane, let another car take over, while you slip off the motorway at the Heathrow exit and then return to the Yard.”
“Will do, sarge.”
“Target’s moved back into the middle lane and is slowing,” said Danny. “I think you’re right, sarge. It has to be Heathrow.”
“Damn,” said William. “I haven’t got enough back-up to cover all three terminals.”
“It’s terminal one, domestic.”
“Keep your distance,” said William. “Paul, be ready to follow him into the terminal.”
“On the edge of my seat, sarge.”
A short period of silence followed, while William paced around the room, fearing that if this became a weekly exercise, he’d wear out his shoes before they worked out where the subject was going.
“He’s getting out of the taxi and heading for departures,” said Danny. “Paul’s tailing him.”
