Fit For Purpose, Julian Parrott [most recommended books txt] 📗

On the street in front of the cottage, the Russian with the camera bag reacted to the sound of suppressed gun shots. He appeared to hesitate for a moment before he pulled the Skorpion sub-machine gun out of the bag and made a move towards the cottage. Before his first foot fall, he was brought down by a single head shot from the MI5 sniper from the upper floor of a cottage on the other side of the street.

The two Russian agents observing the events from the field behind the cottage knew the mission had gone pear shaped. They retreated under cover of the field to their car only to be apprehended by the waiting MI5 snatch team. The Russians, outflanked and outgunned, surrendered meekly.

Kamenev, in one of the Audis that accompanied the redhead, knew from his team’s radio chatter and hearing the gunfire that the simple assassination mission had gone seriously wrong. He radioed the drivers of both Q5s to get out of the village as quickly as possible. The first FSB driver was a good one. He immediately put his big Q5 in reverse and accelerated, executing a textbook J turn. He slammed the car into first gear and headed out of town. Kamenev’s Audi followed close behind. A police BMW and an MI5 Range Rover formed a roadblock on the Audis’ egress road. Kamenev radioed the first driver to ram the roadblock. The driver gunned the motor as he approached the security services’ vehicles. He accelerated, aiming his SUV for the front noses of the blockading vehicles. The Audi crumpled into the Range Rover before cartwheeling over the Rover’s bonnet and landing on its roof. The police BMW had been pushed perpendicularly into the curb and Kamenev’s driver swerved up on to the right-side pavement clipping the police car and forcing enough room between the BMW and a cottage’s hedge to speed past. The Russian driver floored it. Kamenev lay across the rear seat fearing British bullets entering the back of the Audi. None came and the driver accelerated out of the village and on to a larger B road. Traffic speed cameras flashed as the car sped past.

On the video screen at Thames House, the DD stood as she watched in real time as the Q5 made its escape.

“I want eyes on that car,” she ordered. “Get a chopper in the air. I want chase vehicles and roadblocks. I want that bastard.”

Kamenev’s driver followed an emergency contingency plan. Before MI5 eyes had caught them, the Audi had been swapped for a small, silver Ford Focus. Kamenev lay across the Focus’ rear seat while the driver headed for London. Kamenev quickly radioed one of his most trusted men still at the embassy to make arrangements. His secure mobile began to light up with messages from the embassy as well as from Moscow. He ignored them all. He was going rogue. He could imagine that communiqués were already being prepared disavowing any recognition of Kamenev’s mission. He knew that Ditchling’s failure well and truly meant not just the ignominious end to this career but probably arrest, deportation and execution. As his car sped north towards London on the M25, Kamenev imagined that Moscow’s plans for his own fatal accident would already be on the President’s desk awaiting approval. His disappointment, frustration and anger were distilled into only one thought: revenge upon Tom Price.

Chapter Twenty

Shropshire Union Canal, February 3rd

Tom woke to the sound of a tractor mowing on the other side of the towpath’s hedgerow. He checked his watch; it was seven a.m. Jack looked up expectantly from the foot of the bed. Tom had moored outside of the little Cheshire village of Wrenbury after a long trip the day before. He had tied up against the towpath on a lovely treelined spot where he and Jack had enjoyed a glorious sunset from the Periwinkle’s bow. Tom was back on very familiar territory.

Tom and Jack went through the regular morning. routine on the canal boat before Tom headed into Wrenbury to shop and resupply the Periwinkle with some essentials. He put Jack on her lead and popped in his air pods. He found one of the playlists Nia had created and hit play. Norah Jones’ Come Away With Me started and Tom smiled. Although they had talked the night before, Tom was excited by the prospect of seeing and holding her again. His step into the village was light.

Back from the short shopping trip, Tom took the Periwinkle down the canal under Wrenbury’s electrically powered swing bridge and then on his way to the village of Marbury just a short two-hour journey to the west. The canal meandered lazily through postcard-like Cheshire countryside. Tom had traversed this stretch of the canal numerous times over the last five years. He had enjoyed almost every trip through all kinds of weather but, on what was a beautiful late winter day, Tom was feeling a level of contentment that he had never really experienced. He steered the narrowboat reflexively, his thoughts very much on Nia.

Nia was on the 10.10 a.m. from London Euston. She would be in Crewe before noon and had already arranged a taxi from the station to her lunch date with Tom at the White Swan in the tiny Cheshire village of Marbury. She, too, was excited. She tried to read but found herself reading and re-reading the same page repeatedly. Her thoughts were very much on Tom. She was looking forward to a few days with him, Jack and the Periwinkle. Nia had become enamoured with her time on the canals and had specifically asked Tom for a trip back towards Llangollen to again experience the majesty of the countryside combined with the canal builders’ art.

Nia stretched out in the first-class seat and watched the countryside pass by at express speed. It wasn’t fast enough as she was anxious to be with the man