by Matt Johnson
This job was one he’d been expecting, one he’d been told was in the offing some weeks previously. A laptop and manuscript needing to be recovered and the bearer terminated. It was just a question of where and when.
The street was quiet. Not surprising, he thought, considering the rural location. Earlier in the evening, the rain had forced him to raise the car window. The first few heavy, yet infrequent spots had lasted several minutes before giving way to a deluge that now crashed down on the car like an angry monster demanding entry. Rain and dark cloud would give him an additional edge – ensuring he wasn’t seen or heard when the time came.
The rain was bouncing off the tarmac. Trees in the small gardens and along the street groaned in the wind and leaves in their thousands gave up their tenuous grip, covering the pavements in a soggy brown carpet.
Grady scowled. Cathy was right, of course. He could cope on his own. The female target was small in stature and easily bundled into the boot of his car. He would manage, as he always did.
Any passing cars were few and far between and it had now been nearly an hour since he had seen another human being – an old man walking his dog. With the arrival of the rain, the village had become quiet, the residents safe and cosy in their homes.
As the car windscreen started to mist over, he returned the mobile phone to one jacket pocket and from another pulled a handkerchief, which he used to slowly stroke the moisture from the glass surface. He was careful to avoid any attention-drawing movement. He disliked being in so public a place, but to fully cover the approach road, it was essential.
Improved vision secured, he flexed his fists and stretched his fingers, keeping the blood flowing and hands warm. Eyes still fixed on the street, he then reached for a small leather holdall beneath the passenger seat of the car. Opening it gently he felt the cold steel of a small semi-automatic Beretta Model 70. The Model 70 was a small calibre and not normally one he would have chosen, but the instructions had been quite clear: it was to be used and then returned to the officer who had sanctioned the operation. Grady didn’t argue the point; at close range the weapon could be just as deadly as something larger.
Earlier, as he’d watched, vapour had begun to flow from the boiler exhaust in the wall of the target house: an internal thermostat must have reacted to the drop in temperature triggered by the rain. A few minutes later a light had come on in the hallway. For a fleeting moment he’d foreseen complications; it looked like someone might already be home. But no movement followed. The curtains remained open; rooms stayed dark. The hall light was on a timer, he concluded – to create the illusion someone was in.
He was looking for a BMW 5 series. The female, in her forties with blonde hair, would be smartly dressed and on her way home from some kind of event. She was the only occupier of the house and was reported to be unaccompanied.
Lights now appeared further along the street. He dropped a half-finished cigarette into the ashtray. As the car pulled up near to him he could see the rain in the headlights. He nodded as he recognised the familiar shape of a BMW.
The car pulled up outside the house and began to reverse into a parking space. He couldn’t make out the driver but, from the number of attempts being made to get into the space, it appeared they were clearly struggling with the difficulty the rain was causing.
Finally, the car was parallel to the verge. The engine stopped and a few moments later, a folded umbrella edged over the top of the driver’s door. It sprung open as a figure emerged. He saw dark clothes, trousers, a raincoat flapping in the wind, and then a briefcase. The head and upper body were obscured by the umbrella. It was impossible to be certain if the figure was female but it looked probable. Watching as the door to the car closed, he silently stepped out into the darkness.
The figure walked quickly across the footway and up the short path to the door of the house. He was now just a few yards behind. As the umbrella was placed carefully to one side, he could now see it was a woman, petite with fairly long blonde hair. It was the target. She seemed to be searching through her pockets for her door keys.
He approached, moving silently along the path behind her. Swapping the Beretta into his right hand, he pulled a small silencer from his left pocket and quickly attached it to the barrel. There was an almost inaudible click as it snapped into place. Rain trickled down the back of his neck. It was cold and uncomfortable, but it hid the sound of his feet on the path. He raised the gun.
The woman was distracted. He knew why. She couldn’t get her key into the door lock. He had superglued it before settling down in the car to wait. Delayed entry to the house; long enough to make the kill.
A small key fell from the woman’s wet hand. As it dropped to the ground, she bent over, seemingly desperate to retrieve it quickly.
Just as Grady fired.
The .22 calibre round ricocheted off the stone door surround at one side of the target’s head, sparks flying off into the darkness. He cursed. The woman turned and looked up towards him, their eyes meeting as she saw the gun. She looked petrified; raised her empty hand towards him, the fingertips trembling. As he pulled the trigger for the second time she mouthed a word. He didn’t hear it, the rain masked the sound, and this time he didn’t miss. Two bullets struck home, just above her left eye. She crumpled and rolled heavily against the door.
He stood astride her for a moment. She lay on her side, eyes now closed, body curled up as if asleep, a trickle of blood running from her nose onto the wet porch area. Even though she displayed no sign of life, he aimed at her temple and squeezed the trigger again. Her head jerked slightly as the bullet entered her skull.
Before picking up the briefcase, he checked the path and street. All quiet. Satisfied he was safe, he scanned the ground carefully and recovered the spent cases ejected by the Beretta.
The lights of another car appeared further long the lane. He paused, staying still, gun in one hand, briefcase in the other, as he waited for it to pass by. But it looked like the driver was slowing down.
‘Come on … come on.’ Grady breathed heavily from the exertion as he waited impatiently for the call to connect.
‘What is it?’ Howard was abrupt and angry, even though he would know Grady calling on a secure line could only mean something important.
‘I hit a problem.’
‘The target didn’t turn up?’
‘Oh, she turned up alright. Trouble was, just as I was about to put her in the boot of my car, she had a visitor.’
‘What happened?’
‘I had to take him out. No choice. Young bloke – not her type I wouldn’t have thought – came up the drive.’
‘You sure you had no choice?’ Howard asked, anxiously.
‘He clocked me. These things can happen when you don’t have a look-out to work with.’
‘OK, OK, point made. Where are you? Can you clean up the scene?’
‘Don’t worry, that’s all taken care of. I’m well away from there now. I’ve done the best I can. I slung him back in his car and dumped it a couple of miles up the road in a lay-by.’
‘A couple of miles away? How did you get back?’
‘A long, wet run. Nothing I haven’t done before.’
‘So, this lad who saw you will be found there, eventually?’
‘That’s the plan. He had a baseball bat in his car so I laid him out as if he’d been in a fight and come off worse.’
‘Good … good.’ Howard seemed to be thinking as he spoke, weighing up options, making decisions. ‘And what about the target?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got her. I’ll bury her where you said.’
‘Long drive, Grady. You’d best be on your way.’
‘Roger that. You didn’t want me for Belgium then?’
‘Cathy can take care of it.’
‘Without an oppo?’
‘Drop it, Grady. You’ve made your point. I accept I should have sent both of you on this job.’
‘And what about the two cops?’
&
nbsp; Howard hesitated before replying. ‘Leave it with me. Circumstances have changed, I need to give the issue some more thought.’
With the call ended, Grady flicked the windscreen wipers back on, lit a cigarette and pulled out onto the road. Like Howard said, it was going to be a long drive.
Chapter 1
London, late 2002
‘Chasing suspect…’
I moved as quickly as I could. It was definitely Nina’s voice on the radio, and it sounded like she was after our target.
The house had appeared empty. The SO19 firearms officers had declared it clear and we had moved in to start a more thorough search. We were looking for paperwork, documents – anything that might lead us further into the world of the trafficking gang we were investigating.
I was in the kitchen and had just unearthed some interesting passport-sized photographs of young women. Nina’s voice was shrill, excited.
She was on the first floor checking the bedrooms so I headed that way. Just as I turned towards the hallway and stairs, I caught a sudden movement out of the corner of my eye. A figure falling from the flat roof extension into the rear garden: dark clothing, moving quickly.
‘Garden … garden. Male … dark jacket.’ It was Nina’s voice again.
I reached the door to the back garden in time to see one of the German Shepherd dogs from the firearms support team launch headlong towards a man desperately trying to climb a fence. I heard screams of pain and guessed what had happened even before I saw it with my own eyes.
As I jogged across the garden I found the dog firmly locked onto the left calf muscle of Nina’s fleeing suspect, who was trying to shake himself free of the animal’s grip. His efforts were pointless and time was against him. On both sides of the fence I could see armour-clad cops closing in.
Nina appeared behind me. ‘They got him?’ she panted.
‘Looks like it … at least the dog has. The Ninjas will have him cuffed in a tick.’
‘Excellent. Good job we decided to use them. Bastard dropped out of the loft hatch and climbed through the window.’
Nina moved to push past me further into the garden.
‘I wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘Wait till they’ve got the dog back on its lead.’
‘Ah … OK. Can I leave it with you? I left Matt upstairs on his own.’
I nodded, and Nina headed back to the first floor.
I watched her go. She moved smoothly, like an athlete. I had no doubt that, even with a head start, she would probably have caught our suspect without any help. I’d now known Nina Brasov for nearly a year. We were no longer Sergeant and Inspector, any conscious reference to rank was long since jettisoned. Matt was a Detective Inspector, a DI, the same as me. But to Nina, we were just Matt and Finlay. Two parts of the ‘Three Degrees’, as she called our team.
One of the SO19 lads – the Ninjas – gave me a thumbs-up as they lifted the injured suspect from the fence, checked the bite wound to his leg and slipped a set of ridged cuffs over his wrists. Satisfied the coast was clear, I walked over to them. The man Nina had described raised his head and turned towards me.
‘Hello, Costas,’ I said, smiling.
Costas Ioannidis curled his lip and snarled.
I ignored him and turned to the two dog handlers. ‘Good effort, lads.’
Then, as our prisoner was led from the garden, I heard Nina call from an open window behind me.
‘Was it him?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I shouted. ‘In the flesh.’
‘Come upstairs, Finlay. We all need a good laugh, and you’ll never believe what Matt has found.’
The first thing to hit me as I climbed the stairs was the smell. Stale ammonia. I was still puzzling as to the cause when I heard a squawk from behind one of the bedroom doors.
For a moment, I wondered what on earth they had discovered. Then, as I walked in, it became clear. The room was full of cages. Wall to wall parrots. African greys, to be exact.
Matt had counted them. There were eleven, he announced.
Nina produced a can of Easy-Start spray and shoved it towards my face. ‘Have a sniff, Finlay.’ She laughed at my puzzled expression. ‘It contains ether. The junkies go into pet shops; one distracts the owner while another sprays the bird. Poor mister parrot keels over, which makes it easy to nick.’
‘Seriously?’ I asked.
‘Damn right. These fetch over a grand a piece. Costas is the fence, he deals in stolen birds.’
It was my turn to laugh. ‘So, what are we going to do with them?’
Matt interrupted as he brushed past me, heading towards the stairs. ‘Nothing. Leave ’em where they are. I’ve already called the local CID. They’ve got loads to put to Mr Ioannidis. They knew someone was at it locally … it looks like we’ve found out who.’
Chapter 2
An hour later, with the arrest paperwork complete, we had handed Costas over to the local CID and were heading back to our office at New Scotland Yard. We’d wanted to talk to him about his alleged involvement with prostitution, but the evidence of his dealing in stolen goods had now taken priority. Our questions would have to wait.
I had the result of an important interview to think about, although Nina and Matt seemed more interested in talking about their discovery in Costas’s upstairs bedroom. We’d been travelling for several miles before Nina noticed I wasn’t joining in the conversation.
‘Have you absolutely no idea if you passed the selection board, Finlay?’ she asked as she swung the car into the offside lane and raced towards the junction. The traffic signal was just changing to amber and, as was typical of her style of driving, Nina was determined to beat the lights. We made it, just.
‘None at all,’ I said, as I started to breathe again. ‘I even had a sneaky look through the boss’s correspondence tray yesterday. There was nothing; no clue.’
Matt leaned over my shoulder from the back seat. ‘It went well though, I heard. And it can’t have done you any harm that you just completed the Hostage Negotiator course. Most people who do that training are earmarked for promotion.’
‘True enough, but there aren’t many spots for Chief Inspectors this year, and my time at Combat Stress won’t have helped. So, to be honest, I’m not too hopeful.’
‘It was a shame they held the board so close to you coming back to work,’ said Nina. ‘If there’d been a decent gap…’
‘What’s done is done,’ I snapped, instantly regretting my lack of patience. Nina was being sympathetic, and I wasn’t showing much appreciation.
‘So, will they let you stay in the department as a DCI, or will you have to go back to being a wooden-top?’ she asked calmly, having either not noticed or politely chosen to ignore my rudeness.
‘I don’t know that, either.’
‘Jenny will be pleased … if you pass, I mean. Especially now you’ve an extra mouth to feed.’
I shrugged. Nina was right. The extra pay would help, especially as there was no chance Jenny would be going back to work any time soon. She was enjoying being a new mother again, and our daughter Becky loved having a little sister.
Nina interrupted my thoughts. ‘Well, you’ve done your courses now. So, technically speaking you’re a proper DI. And, if you don’t mind me saying, you’re not a bad one, either. I’ve worked with a lot worse, believe me.’ She jabbed a thumb towards the rear seat and laughed.
‘Bugger off, Nina,’ said Matt, feigning anger. ‘Fancy a job writing parking tickets do you?’
I didn’t respond, but I appreciated Nina’s words. It had been a tough year; one that I was glad was behind me. For now, all my thoughts were concerned with the result of the promotion board and what the implications would be if I had managed to scrape through.
I was certainly the oldest and, possibly, the least apprehensive of the applicants who assembled in the foyer of the interview rooms on the day of the selection board. The thought even crossed my mind that I’d been nominated so the Met couldn’t be accused of ex
cluding older officers. I saw a lot of female candidates, at least as many as the men, which didn’t come as too much of a surprise given the effort the Met was making to put right its poor record on equal opportunities. We were all in best bib ‘n’ tucker – smart suits or full uniform, depending upon our current role. I’d felt quietly confident at that point, even as I’d walked through the door to the final interview room.
But now that I was due to see our new Superintendent to hear the result, I didn’t really share Matt and Nina’s faith in me. My lack of operational experience as an Inspector had generated quite a few questions from the three senior officers on the selection board. And I was asked the inevitable question – a tough one to answer: Did I think that spending several years guarding the Royal Family and just one year as a Detective Inspector was sufficient to prepare me for the demanding role of a Chief Inspector?
I had given as good an answer as I could, but it was clear to me that the question was posed to expose my Achilles heel. I’d done well on my CID courses, but I knew as well as the board did that I’d only been fast-tracked onto them due to my unusual situation. My interviewers didn’t mention the six-week absence I’d taken to be treated for stress. But they knew about it – it was on my file – and I wasn’t so naive as to think it wouldn’t figure in their deliberations.
Our new Superintendent, Ron Cutts, was waiting as we arrived back at the office. He waved me over and, as I stepped into his office, he shut the door behind me and invited me to sit. My stomach felt hollow. Long in the tooth and with a long history of selection systems and examinations behind me, yet I still felt nervous.
He got straight to the point. ‘How do you think the board went?’
I shrugged and screwed up my face a little. I was about to speak when he raised a hand to silence me.
‘Sorry … not a lot of point in beating about the bush. That was a pointless question.’
‘Not good news, then?’ I asked.
‘Not for you, no. I’ll admit to some relief you’ll be staying with us for a while longer, though.’
