Chapter 15
Rain hammered the wet tarmac, blown almost horizontal from a sharp easterly wind as Frank grabbed his bag from the back seat of his battered Saab. Across the other end of the car park, Frank could see the huge warehouse doors ajar and three figures moving around inside the bay area. He locked up the car and sprinted across the concrete cul de sac as the roar of a Boeing 777 engine cut through the darkness overhead, descending to the Gatwick airport strip metres away.
The cargo area lay just east of Brockley Wood on the outskirts of the vast International airport. Frank had been summoned for 1100 hours and had made good time. As he approached, he saw Carl Paterson with his unmistakable sandy hair, wearing a white trench coat wave at him, with two burly figures he assumed were p
