The Robert Finlay Trilogy

by Matt Johnson

  I couldn’t wait to find out. I launched myself after Kevin. As I ran, I pressed the button on my chest transmitter to call the helicopter. There was no response. The operation had suddenly turned into a complete shit-storm.

  Racing up the last flight, I called the pilot again, still no reply. Then, in my headset, I heard Kevin’s voice as he did the same. His voice was angry and loud.

  As I reached the roof, I found out why. Instead of reaching upwards into the black sky, the cable that we had secured to the roof metal-work now hung uselessly over the wall and into the darkness below. The helicopter was gone.

  Kevin tore off his respirator. ‘What the fuck’s going on, boss?’

  ‘Christ, I wish I knew,’ I yelled. ‘They must have buggered off when they heard the shots.’

  ‘That’s bollocks! They’d never have heard anything from that height.’

  Kevin was right. We’d been dumped.

  At that moment, bursting from the open stairwell door came the sound of percussion grenades exploding on the landing below us.

  ‘Where’s that bloody chopper?’ I shouted into the radio.

  ‘Who gives a shit now, how the fuck are we gonna get off this roof?’ Kevin screamed.

  ‘Only one thing for it, old son,’ I said. ‘Down that cable. Same way as we got here.’

  I sounded brave, I wasn’t.

  ‘Right, I’m outta here, I hope the cable’s long enough. See you at the bottom.’

  Before he’d even finished speaking, Kevin was over the low roof wall and attaching his descender to the cable. In a moment he was gone.

  Turning to face the stairwell door, I fired a short, three-round burst down the stairs to discourage any rapid pursuit, slammed the door and then ran to the wall and latched on to the cable myself.

  I looked down. Big mistake. In that instant, I froze again.

  The eye glass in my respirator had misted over. The heat generated by my exertions must have caused it. I couldn’t see more than a few feet. Pulling the mask down around my neck, I sat on the low wall at the edge of the roof, ready to follow Kevin, but I was suddenly unable to. A wave of nausea hit me and I reached out to grip the metal parapet with my free hand.

  I was back in another place, another time. A day when I had attended the accidental death of a young woman who had fallen from just such a place. Only seventeen, she had been enjoying a party that had spilled over onto the roof of a similar block of flats. High on spliff and vodka, she had sat on a similar wall to rest. A moment later, she had lost balance, toppled over and fallen to the concrete below. The first time I had seen her was when I arrived at the roof to secure the scene and started interviewing the party goers. I had looked over the wall to the pavement below, where the poor girl was lying dead and bleeding, an ambulance crew going through the motions around her twisted lifeless body.

  The ambulance crew had referred to the young girl as ‘FUBAR’. It was a military acronym: ‘Fucked up beyond all recognition’. Sitting on this wall, I was facing the prospect of an identical fate.

  I clenched my fists and swore under my breath. If the cable was too short and I ended up ‘FUBAR’, lying next to Kevin, then we would have done the terrorists’ job for them.

  Kevin hadn’t shown the slightest hesitation or fear at making the descent. Despite what he had said at Regent’s Park, I knew that he still thrived on excitement. Making the instant decision to go down the rope without thinking too long about the danger was typical of him. I was more considered, which was why I was still seated on the wall, hands shaking and heart racing.

  A noise behind me brought me back to reality. The SO19 men had thrown a stun grenade at the roof door as a first step to opening it. In seconds it would be followed by another and then by a firearms officer with a ballistic shield to protect the men that followed. I had about five seconds to decide.

  With heart in mouth, I jumped.

  The locking brake screamed but worked well. Even though it had been almost twenty years since I had last experienced the thrill of a controlled descent, I found myself automatically adjusting my body position so that I could control my speed with one hand, leaving the other free to carry and fire a weapon.

  As I plunged past the windows of the flats, I imagined families sitting around the television, oblivious to what was going on outside. Then the terrible premonition of the cable falling short flashed again through my mind. Once more, I imagined myself spread-eagled on the ground, blood oozing from nose and mouth. I looked up. The roof had disappeared into the darkness.

  I steeled myself. What would happen, would happen. It was now too late to worry.

  The reassuring sound of the locking brake whining down the cable continued until my feet touched the ground. I bent over and whispered a little thank you.

  Kevin was standing waiting. ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he hissed.

  I said nothing. I could feel my heart thumping, the pulse at my temple was powerful and fast. I had been very close to losing my nerve.

  Silently, we jogged away into the dark night. Working out what had gone wrong would have to wait. For now, we just had to escape.

  Chapter 50

  Grahamslaw slammed his office door. The thin walls shook with the force. He was never very good in the morning. On this particular occasion, he was livid.

  It was not yet six o’clock and around the room sat the heads of Special Branch and SO19, together with their operational team leaders.

  Tom Williams, the SB Commander, was the first to speak. ‘Look Bill, to clear the air, the fault is ours, we lost him … pure and simple. We were hoping…’

  ‘Just shut the fuck up for a moment, let me think!’ Grahamslaw drew a deep breath. The waiting policemen watched without uttering a word as he looked down at the surface of the desk and counted to twenty under his breath.

  Finally he looked up at their expectant faces. ‘Now, let me sort some things out. First, why didn’t we hit the house when all three were inside?’

  Commander Williams spoke again. ‘We had information that suggested they were on their way to plant another device, we wanted to catch them planting it.’

  ‘And exactly what do you mean by “We had information”, Tom?’

  ‘One of our observation points saw them put a suspect package in their car.’

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘Costello stayed in the car. McGlinty went back to the flat.’

  ‘So you allowed them time to split up?’

  ‘We couldn’t get the SO19 team into place in time. It seemed like the best compromise.’

  ‘And what about Hewitson? He seems to be a simple mule.’

  ‘Yes. Probably a sleeper who’s been here for years.’

  ‘And where is he?’

  ‘According to the OP, he’s still at the house in Kentish Town.’

  ‘Brilliant, just brilliant,’ Grahamslaw continued. ‘So now, having lost Costello, we can assume that there is a bomb somewhere in London, waiting to explode.’

  Grahamslaw saw the SB Commander’s face redden. ‘I’m afraid so, yes.’ The red face turned to a glare as he caught the eye of Rob Evans, the Detective Inspector in charge of the surveillance team.

  ‘Where did you lose them again?’ said Grahamslaw.

  ‘Just outside Potters Bar.’

  ‘Right, now for the other little surprise you’ve sprung on me. Who were the two gunmen on the landing when our SO19 firearms team arrived and what the hell happened to the police helicopter?’

  The SO19 Chief Inspector coughed, as if having something to say but not the confidence to say it.

  Grahamslaw was getting impatient. ‘Come on man, out with it, let’s hear what you have to say.’

  ‘Well, sir, my men believe they were Special Forces, or maybe Security Service. The accuracy with which my officer was shot … the speed of their departure and the way they abseiled down to ground level, they were professional – very professional – we think they were an assassination
team.’

  ‘How many hitmen put their victims in straitjackets before they shoot them?’

  ‘Er … yes, sir,’ coughed the Chief Inspector, his face flushing at the obvious error. ‘A snatch team, perhaps?’

  Grahamslaw sighed and took a seat. His anger was subsiding. He knew haranguing his team wasn’t going to get results.

  ‘How is the shot PC?’ he said, still stern, but in a calmer tone.

  ‘He’ll be fine. Just bruising and a bit shaken up.’

  ‘Good. Now perhaps you can tell me how these hitmen, if that’s what they were, got in without us seeing them?’

  The question was met with silence. Grahamslaw paused, his chin rested on the fingertips of his clasped hands. ‘What do you think, Tom?’

  Commander Williams spoke guardedly. ‘Who knows? If they were Secret Service a covert entry shouldn’t have presented them with too much of a problem. It’s well known that MI5 have operatives inside Special Branch. There might well have been an arrangement for someone to turn a blind eye.’

  ‘That might also explain how they got away so easily.’

  The SO19 Inspector present raised his hand.

  ‘Speak, please,’ said Grahamslaw.

  ‘They had help,’ he said.

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘You asked about the police helicopter? It was in the air above the flats. The crew saw the suspects jump off the roof on their infra-red camera. They were following them when another helicopter pulled across their path.’

  ‘Deliberately?’

  ‘Definitely. Our pilot says it was a military-type Sea King. He lost sight of it in the darkness so we’ve no idea where it went.’

  ‘And when the two men reached the ground, what happened to them, then?’

  The Chief Inspector shrugged. It hadn’t been a good night for any of them.

  ‘It makes you wonder just exactly what is going on doesn’t it?’ said Grahamslaw.

  It was Tom Williams’ turn to speak. ‘You mean, Bill, did our attempt to arrest McGlinty get in the way of an MI5 abduction?’

  The SO13 Commander paused for a moment. ‘Tom, I think there is something that we need to discuss … privately.’

  The SO19 officers and Special Branch Inspector took the hint and filed out of the office.

  Once they were alone, Grahamslaw continued. ‘Right Tom, let’s hear it. What makes you think MI5 are involved here?’

  ‘Is Mick Parratt about?’

  ‘He’s over in Ulster checking on something for me.’

  ‘Ah … OK. It’s just that I mentioned my theory to him a day or so ago. Well, it’s more a hunch than a theory.’

  ‘Come on, spit it out.’

  ‘OK, let me run this past you. Did you know that all these recent attacks have links to former Special Air Service personnel?’

  ‘How’s that then? Bridges and Skinner were soldiers but not SAS,’ Grahamslaw bluffed, keen to learn what the SB man knew.

  ‘According to my sources, both were SAS. Bridges was a Sergeant and Skinner a trooper.’

  ‘But where’s the connection to the Stoke Newington bomb attack? Neither of those men was even in the army.’

  ‘The Inspector was – the one who should have been duty officer but was late for work.’

  ‘Finlay?’ So, Grahamslaw thought, he wasn’t the only one working the SAS line of enquiry.

  ‘You know him?’ The SB Commander raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, I’ve interviewed him.’

  ‘What did he have to say?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘Hardly surprising. You can bet that he’s worked out what’s going on, though. He’s ex-SAS as well.’

  Grahamslaw slammed his pencil down on the table as he maintained his pretence at being surprised. ‘I bloody knew there was a connection. So, where does the MI5 involvement come in?’

  ‘MI5 have taken over the Castlederg enquiry. Files stolen from there contained the names of retired Security Service people, possibly SAS as well. Suppose MI5 wanted those files back before too much damage was done? What better way than to capture the one man who is using the information that those files contain.’

  ‘Well, we have McGlinty at Paddington, and, as we speak, I’ve got people out looking for Costello. Suppose we ask them?’

  ‘They won’t say ’owt. Ever heard of the ROSE office?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Well, the MI5 director that looks after that office is an old friend. I’ll speak to him. He might let me know if they have an operation working in tandem to ours.’

  ‘This is getting messier by the minute. So MI5 miss their target, and working on your theory, the bomb the remaining terrorist has been off to plant will have been targeting another former SAS man.’

  ‘Or another go at someone they missed…’

  A penny dropped. Grahamslaw sat bolt upright. ‘Where did you say you lost the tail?’

  Williams answered quickly. ‘Potters Bar.’

  ‘That’s on the A1, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, near the M25, A1 interchange.’

  Grahamslaw picked up the phone and dialled. As he waited for a response he spoke. ‘I know where the bombers were heading and I only hope we’re not too late.’

  The phone was answered. ‘Ops … good, Grahamslaw here, get on to central records. Get me Inspector Finlay’s home address and phone number, bloody urgent, and before you call me back get a bomb disposal officer and send him up to my office … and get an SO19 team. When you get Finlay’s address send them there … and hurry, man, hurry, it could be a matter of life and death.’

  Grahamslaw was breathing heavily as he replaced the receiver.

  Williams spoke again. ‘You think they’re going to have another crack at Finlay?’

  ‘Damn right I do. He lives near the A1, north of Potters Bar. I only hope we’re not too late.’

  ‘What do you want us to do about Costello and Hewitson?’

  ‘As soon as Costello appears on the radar, have him lifted. If Hewitson leaves his home then nick him too. I’m tired of pussy-footing around with this, trying to work out why this and why that. With the flat sealed, forensics will give us what we need to get them to the Old Bailey.’

  ‘We might force Costello to go into hiding.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll find him.’

  Williams stood, ready to leave.

  Grahamslaw raised his hand to stop him. ‘Before you go, Tom, what do you know about the Arab kid that survived the Iranian Embassy? You know, the one that the SAS were caught trying to take back into the building.’

  ‘Last I heard, he was rotting in prison.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s out?’

  ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. Do you think he’s involved in this?’

  ‘Not really. It’s just another line of enquiry we were looking at.’

  There was a knock at the door. It was the Bomb Disposal Officer.

  Chapter 51

  With the body armour and respirator safely stored, I opened a beer and sat down at the kitchen table. As the cold liquid hit my tongue, I felt myself start to relax for the first time in many hours.

  Our escape from Alma House had been a slow one. With no cars of our own, no late-night trains and no cash for a cab, we had been forced to use the only means of transport we had available, our legs. It was a long time since I had walked so far.

  Kevin and I split up as soon as we were clear of the Hackney area. After that, I shoved all my kit into a black bin-liner that I acquired from a rubbish bin and then headed north out of London. I used the side streets to avoid patrolling police cars and only once I reached the M25, did I allow myself the luxury of a rest.

  Good fortune lent me a hand at a set of traffic lights when I spotted a flat-back transport lorry that I knew would be heading to a depot about five miles from the cottage. I jumped on the back and enjoyed a fast, if rather chilly trip of about twenty miles that ended up with me reaching home before dawn.

/>   All that remained now was to conceal the hardware. As I ran the cleaning rod through the barrel and polished the oil from the exterior of the weapon, my thoughts returned to the landing at Alma House.

  I just couldn’t get my head round what had happened. It was a complete disaster. I wondered where the hell the SO19 boys had come from and whether their appearance had been a coincidence. Had we been set up? Who could have known we were going to be there? I was also worried about the PC I’d shot at. If I’d badly hurt or even killed him, both Kevin and I were in deep shit.

  Breaking the news to Jenny wasn’t going to be easy, either. Tough cookie though she was, she’d been relying on me. I’d hoped to get this over with quickly and now we had cocked it up.

  As soon as I’d got home, I checked the TV and radio news. There had been nothing said about a policeman being shot or about the raid. There wasn’t even mention of a terrorist being arrested. That seemed a little strange. Normally the police press bureau would be keen to get good news like that into the papers.

  I didn’t have a clue what to do next.

  The telephone disturbed my thoughts. I checked my watch. It was still before six. Who the hell would be calling me at such an early hour? I picked up the receiver slowly. If it was Jenny, I didn’t know what I’d say.

  ‘Finlay?’ The voice was deep, familiar.

  ‘Yes, who is this?’

  ‘Commander Grahamslaw. I’m relieved you’re an early riser. Stay on the phone while I get someone to speak to you.’

  My heart sank. The game was up. Grahamslaw knew it had been us at Alma House. This was probably going to be a hostage negotiator who was about to persuade me to come out without a fight. I cursed both my luck and my stupidity for hiding the weapons at the cottage. Still, it was too late now.

  ‘Inspector Finlay?’ the voice of the negotiator, I guessed.

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘We’ve met, Finlay. Northern Ireland, more years ago than I care to remember, this is Rupert Reid.’

  Rupert Reid. It was the kind of name that was difficult to forget, and Reid was the kind of man you would never forget. The biggest, burliest and hairiest bomb-disposal man the army had ever seen. What the hell was he doing on the phone?