Nash ignored the forced bravado. “You’re not responsible for the sins of your father.”
“Perhaps not. But I will be responsible for stopping him.”
“You don’t have to be here.”
Paul locked him with a steadfast glare. “Yes, I do.”
Not wanting to argue, Nash gave him a friendly punch on the arm, then moved towards Eva, who stood over white buckets, stirring the contents with a broom handle while wearing a respirator, hazard gear and goggles.
“How goes the chemical mixing?”
Eva removed the respirator and wiped her hands on a rag. “Fine. And by fine, I mean I passed out twice and I’m pretty sure I’ll be blind by forty, but it’s done.”
Nash placed his hand on her arm. “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah, just being dramatic.” She gave him a soft smile and then hoisted her thumb at the buckets she’d been mixing. “This is some serious shit you boys managed to get. You didn’t pick all of it up at Homebase, I know that much. Care to share how you happened to get your hands on it?”
Nash raised an eyebrow. “I got the habit from Hawk, actually. He’s like an extreme Boy Scout, be prepared and all that. I had the gold stashed away for an emergency, though this wasn’t on the list of possibilities I had at the time. Most of the chemicals are actually pretty widely available. Industrial cleaning, pool maintenance—hell, bread manufacturing. You just need to know the recipe.”
“Uh, not everything is freely available.”
Nash held a finger in agreement. “The fentanyl, Hawk had to, ah, acquire from a less than reputable associate—you’re right, that’s not something you can buy over the counter at Boots.” Nash noted Eva’s incredulity. “The guns and weaponry were all contingency stuff accumulated over years, all of it before I chose the non-violent path. Then one day it was too late to hand it back, so I kind of left it. I never actually thought I’d need it. You know me, I always try to keep out of trouble.”
Eva nudged him. “The only problem is, you’re very, very bad at it.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t I know it.”
Nash moved on to check on Bishop. With his crutches propped against the chair next to him, he was busying himself loading clips and carrying out an inventory of weaponry, noting details on a clipboard as he went.
Seeing Nash approach, he said, “I want to do more. I feel completely superfluous here.”
“You should be resting, not racing around preparing for an attack. You only just escaped hospital.”
“I’d still prefer to be out in the field when this thing happens than stuck half a mile away from the action.” Bishop’s expression softened. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
Bishop pointed to Nash’s wrist and lowered his voice. “You traded your vintage Rolex for a phone call. You’re churning through your gold reserves paying for all this. You’re using yourself as bait for a man who has demonstrated repeatedly that lives mean nothing if they stand in the way of what he wants.” He leaned back. “You’re not planning on surviving this, are you?” Receiving no answer, he went on. “I’ve been on what I thought were one-way missions before. There’s always another way. We’re all here to keep one another safe, Mason. That includes you.”
Nash thought it was the first time Bishop had ever used his first name. “I want to survive this.”
“I can’t help thinking there’s a missing ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”
“But it has to end here. No matter the cost.”
Bishop folded his arms. “Well, then let’s make sure we prevail.”
“Let’s.”
Once everyone had finished their tasks, Nash called them to the centre of the room where the impromptu map of the village was laid out. He went through the plan again, calling on each of them to advise what occurred next. Each of them would play a critical role in the success of the plan.
After completing the second run-through, Bishop pointed to a side street with his crutch. “I think this is a better funnel point. Huckleberry Lane gives them Bryerland Road to sidestep into and regroup. That could be seconds we don’t want to give them. Ermin Court siphons them into a dead-end straight away. It’ll remove any possibility of retreat and make them panic.”
“They’re going to be hardened mercenaries,” Eva observed. “They’re not likely to panic quickly.”
Nash gave Hawk a sideways glance. “Oh, we’ll panic them.”
“We sure we can evacuate the village in time?” Sophia asked.
“The immediate town’s population is only eighty-seven,” Nash replied. “By our estimations it could be evacuated in less than an hour. Half of them will probably be at the pub anyway.”
Sophia acknowledged the response but appeared far from convinced. She was the least onboard with their plan. Nash thought it was because she hadn’t seen what every member of the team was capable of. He had, and he had enough faith for them both.
They ran through the plan another two times, each member adding their own ideas, which only strengthened the overall plan. They were as ready as they were going to be.
Calling for a break, they all sat or munched on stale sandwiches. It was past dinner time, but Nash were too hyped for food now. They were all on edge, but focused. Nash was certain he’d never worked with a better set of individuals.
At her improvised desk, Harry was immersed in whatever was on the screen. She’d hacked into traffic cameras controlled by Highways England, the government company charged with running England’s motorways, and overlaid a facial recognition program to flag Cavendish in a car. Nash guessed her focus indicated something had happened.
“Positive ID?”
Harry squinted at the screen, clicking on various things. “Not exactly.”
“Well then?” Nash was confused.
“See these gits?” Harry pointed to the screen, where a set of three black Land Rovers sped down the M40.
“I can see the cars but not the drivers.”
