Captives

ONE HUNDRED AND THREE

'How much further?'

DI Frank Gregson looked at his watch then at the pilot, who adjusted his microphone before speaking.

'Another twenty or thirty miles,' the pilot told him.

Gregson muttered something under his breath and looked out of the side window, watching the cars on the motorway below speeding along. The journey had seemed to take an eternity, although he realised they had been in the air less than forty-five minutes. Already the outskirts of London were appearing below them; the areas of greenery they had passed over when first leaving Whitely were now giving way to more densely populated conurbations.

The steady drone of the rotor blades continued and the maddening sensation of little or no speed only served to exacerbate the policeman's impatience. Again he checked his watch.

He'd called through to New Scotland Yard within minutes of leaving Whitely, to tell them that Scott was loose and probably back in the capital. He had also said that the man was possibly armed and extremely dangerous. Gregson had asked for armed squads to aid in the hunt for the fugitive. The radio had been conspicuously quiet, apart from the pilot picking up flying instructions. Despite Gregson's insistence that someone get back to him with a progress report, nothing had disturbed the airwaves yet.

He glanced at the radio and thought about calling again.

Had Scott been caught yet?

Had he been cornered?

Gregson wondered if he might even have been shot?

But no information had been forthcoming. No pieces of knowledge for him. Christ, he felt helpless.

'Tango Zebra, come in.'

The metallic voice over the radio seemed to startle Gregson.

The pilot flicked a switch on his control panel.

'Tango Zebra, I hear you, over,' he said.

'I want to speak to Detective Inspector Gregson,' the voice said.

Gregson tapped his microphone and the pilot nodded.

'Gregson here. What have you got?' he said.

'James Scott has been sighted in two places.'

'Where? How long ago?'

'He killed two men at a restaurant called Les Gourmet about an hour ago. The men are believed to be Terry Morton and Joe Perry.'

'What do you mean, believed to be?' Gregson snapped.

'After he killed them he set fire to the place. The bodies were quite badly burned. He also wrecked and burned the place where he used to work, a clip joint called "Loveshow". Both places, as you probably know, were owned by Ray Plummer. Morton and Perry worked for Plummer. It seems like Scott's on a little crusade.'

'When was he last seen?' the DI demanded.

'About forty minutes ago. He's driving a stolen Rover Sterling which belonged to one of the men he killed.'

Gregson chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment.

'Tango Zebra, can you hear me?' the voice said, insistently.

'Don't try to take Scott alive, do you understand?' the DI said.

Silence from the other end.

'Did you hear what I said? Don't try to take him alive. Is that understood?'

'Understood.'

The Lynx was descending now, the shapes and outlines of the buildings below becoming more discernible.

if you see Scott,' he said, 'Shoot to kill. Over and out.' He switched off his microphone.

The pilot looked across at him, saw the expression on his face and decided to say nothing.

Below them Gregson could see the Thames, winding through the city like a dirty ribbon.

It wouldn't be long now.