Final Traitor (Alex Reeve) by Andy McDermott

Author:Andy McDermott [McDermott, Andy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2024-07-10T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

As Chief of the Special Intelligence Service, Aubrey Ryford-Croft received round-the-clock protection. He was a potential target for terrorists, hostile foreign powers and even criminals. The secrets he knew could bring down governments, whether Britain’s or others. His various drivers were MI6 officers with special forces backgrounds. He also had at least two officers from the Metropolitan Police’s Protection Command close by. Outside SIS headquarters, his guardians could reach him within thirty seconds wherever he was. The same applied to his wife, a measure against kidnappers.

Maxwell knew where their current bodyguards were. SC9 had full access to Protection Command’s database. Ryford-Croft, it seemed, disliked the ‘intrusion’ of having officers inside his home. But compromise was necessary for the sake of security. So one Protection Command officer was stationed inside the house on the ground floor. Another was in a car on the street outside. There were also several cameras watching the house and its gardens. Nobody could reach it without being seen.

Maxwell, though, wasn’t bothered about being seen. Ryford-Croft lived in a quiet, wealthy suburb of London. The nearest police station was five minutes away even at high speed on clear roads.

He wouldn’t need nearly that long for his mission.

His car was parked around a corner from Ryford-Croft’s house. The vehicle was a silver Volkswagen Golf. A common and unremarkable model, this was registered to the cover identity of an Operative. Assuming the police didn’t visit her first, it would be reported stolen in the morning. Maxwell wore latex gloves and brand-new clothing to minimise forensic traces. To be safe, the car would later be set alight on derelict land. No physical evidence would link him to what was about to happen.

The same would be true of the driver now approaching in another ‘stolen’ car. It slowed as it reached him, window down. Mark Stone was at the wheel. ‘We set, guv?’ he asked.

Maxwell’s reply was brief. ‘Go.’

Stone nodded and drove on, turning the corner.

The Protection Command officer on exterior duty tonight was called Steve Beattie. A fifteen-year veteran of the Met, his stint bodyguarding the MI6 head was . . . unenjoyable. Ryford-Croft was not an easy man to work for, or like. A running joke was that he’d prefer his protectors stay in the garden like dogs. His wife was all right, he supposed, but still a snob. The men and women protecting them were regarded almost as servants.

Still, only a few more weeks and he would be rotated onto a new duty. Hopefully someone who appreciated what Protection Command did for them. He took a bite from a sandwich, surveying the silent street—

Headlights in the mirrors. A car was coming around a corner behind him.

Beattie was immediately on alert. It was after two in the morning. All the houses nearby were dark, their residents not the types to go nightclubbing. He subtly shifted position to bring his hand closer to his firearm.

The car pulled up behind him. Alertness advanced to warning. He took hold of his holstered gun’s grip, ready to draw it.

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