‘We’re about to step over the threshold, boss.’
‘Do it. I’ll square it.’
I closed down. I retrieved our two brand-new keys from my jacket pocket and gingerly tried the Chubb first. Slowly…It took. It unlocked. Click.
I made sure my pistol was within easy reach. Second. The Yale. I turned it in the lock. Click. The flat door swung slowly open. Bang-Bang pointed her weapon down the hall. I glanced up to look for any motion sensors. Nothing.
I took the two sets of disposable shoe-covers from my other pocket and handed a pair to Bang-Bang. She laughed at the absurdity and put them on over her trainers. I took one more look and listen before venturing across the threshold. We stepped inside. I shut the front door behind us and we walked down the hall, into the sitting room.
‘What we looking for babe?’ said Bang-Bang sotto voce.
‘Indicators. Trophies. Clothing fragments, that kind of thing. And all his shoes. Take photos of his shoes. If there’s a pair of Reebok DMX Ride Cruisers in here we’re on a winner.’
‘Alright. Do the Met have Trevor’s prints and DNA and stuff? On file and that?’
‘They sure do hun. Not just that, when they processed him they even mapped him from all angles with a digital camera. To build a 3D picture of him. They do it to all terror suspects.’
She tapped my arm as she walked past me. ‘Even you babe?’
I had nothing to say to that.
I walked carefully into the living room. The television was on, but the sound was off. I took out my BlackBerry and started snapping. Anything. Magazines. Kids’ toys on the carpet. Books. Quran and Hadith. DVDs. There were lots of DVDs. I could read the titles of some. Anwar al-Awlaki, Hussein Yee…
And one DVD read “Unmasking Jack The Ripper”. And another reading “By Royal Decree”. Right next to them was a stack of fliers in glorious blue-and-black, their favourite colours. They read “Prostitution and Gambling, the source of Local Ills”.
I took more shots. Like when you saw one ant and then saw lots more, I began to notice more Ripper stuff. Shit. Something Lennie had said started to clang in my head. “By what he thinks he should be doing…”
Bang-Bang was in the kitchen, carefully opening cupboards. She called softly. ‘Riz honey…’
‘What babe?’
‘What offence are we committing if the warrant didn’t go through?’
‘Domestic Burglary as defined by the Theft Act 1968. Higher culpability if we’re carrying weapons, but on the other hand, lesser harm if we don’t take anything.’
‘OK…’
I looked down at the low wooden table in front of the television. There were five mobile phone handsets arrayed in a neat line. Unusual. More shots. Snap. Flash on. No, that didn’t work, it would obscure it. I fiddled with the settings to try and turn the flash off.
Bang-Bang came back in as I was standing in the middle of the sitting room, taking in the blandness of it. She handed me a sticker. ‘Found some in the cutlery drawer. Don’t worry, I took this one off the top of the pile, I didn’t move anything.’
I looked at the sticker. It read “Sharia Zone! EMQ 74:2 Arise and Warn…”’. There was a logo of a bottle with a red line through it then; ‘“And fear Allaah; verily Allaah is severe in punishment. EMQ 59:7”.
‘Fuck, these are the original stickers with the full quote. I’ll call it in.’
Bang-Bang nodded. ‘Cool. I’ll get started on their PC. Where d’you think it –’And that’s when a key started rattling in the front door.
We scrambled to the other side of the partition wall where there was a small curtain covering an awning. We shrank back into the awning. I covered Bang-Bang with my arm. She was pointing her pistol into the centre of the living room and her eyes were jerking all over the place.
The keys rattled in the front door again and it slapped open against the wall. I could hear a woman’s voice, progressing down the hall, talking in Arabic. We looked at each other. Bang-Bang sliced a finger across her throat inquiringly. I shook my head. We froze as the woman’s voice got louder and louder. She was in the sitting room, not four feet from us. My brain raced frantically as I held Bang-Bang back with one arm. This must be his wife. She’d come back to fetch something and was obviously jabbering away on her mobile. Who’d been responsible for triggering her away and keeping an eye on her? Why I ought to… it was Greg Rich, the useless prick. Great. And now were trapped in their flat, our only options to shoot or punch our way out.
I glanced at Bang-Bang. She was motionless, her pistol held straight out. Her eyes were black with hatred. I stayed as still as a shop window mannequin. The jabbering grew nearer. Scrapings. Was the wife picking something up from the table? The voice receded back down the hall. The door opened and slammed. Silence.
We waited, holding our breath. Silence. I slumped in relief and looked round the curtain. One of the phones was missing from the table. OK, I thought to myself, this recce was definitely over for now. I patted Bang-Bang on the shoulder and we left in an exact reverse rewind of the way we’d come in, quietly shutting the front door and softly creeping away along the balcony and down the staircase.
We leant on the housing block wall by the bins. I searched for my fags and realised I didn’t have any. I went to the shop on Globe Road, fuming, and returned with cigarettes and a Coke. I lit a fag and passed it across.
Bang-Bang took a very long drag on that cigarette. ‘Can I have a swig of that? Cheers.’ She took a pull on the Coke can and placed it down on the concrete. She looked around. I could tell she was still in kill everything mode. I rubbed her shoulder. ‘We’re out of it.’
She looked at me. ‘Yeah, subhanallah. I thought my heart was going to come out of my mouth when she walked right in.’
‘Were you going to shoot her?’
‘Damn right I was! Bloody hell, how many ways out of a situation like that are there?’
‘Not many. OK, first thing we do is talk to Lennie about who fucked up and why.’
‘We know who fucked up, bhai.’
‘Yeah.’
We were silent for a bit and watched the estate square’s comings and goings. Bang-Bang stretched her arms and worked the kinks out. She puffed on the cigarette. She squinted in the smoke. ‘You know, a batshit theory occurred to me last night.’
‘And what’s that, palomino?’
‘OK, humour me. Zodiac. What this is, is a British Zodiac. Y’know, an Intel op. To lock the neighbourhood down. It would explain the hacking and why so many people seem to be in on it.’
‘Now that is batshit.’
‘Yeah. OK, maybe I’m going mad.’
I poked her arm. ‘What d’you mean, “going”?’
She laughed and hit me. I nudged her back.
‘It is, but… oh heck, Riz. This is gonna sound horrible, but…’ She stopped.
‘What?’
She shook her head and gazed at the pavement. ‘What if it’s Lennie? Or his useless office manager? Y’know, Greg Rich?’
‘Oh come on babe. Why d’you think that?’
‘Well… whoever it is, they’ve had the drop on us at every turn. They’ve obviously got inside info. Fuck it; I don’t know what to think anymore.’ She put her head on my shoulder and sighed. ‘Sucks, doesn’t it?’
‘Yep. Babe – don’t let it get to you.’
She looked up at me. ‘Honestly, I’m trying really hard not to.’
We were silent for a while and then she bit her lip and started silently giggling. I rolled my eyes. I’d seen this before.
‘OK Holly, share the joke.’
‘Well… actually, I’ve got a confession to make. Our mutual useless officer manager friend Greg Rich?’
‘Yeah, what about him?’
‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he was really annoyed last time we were in the office, couldn’t get his PC to work?’
‘Yeah, I saw.’
‘It’s because I took the ball out of his mouse.�
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We both dissolved in helpless laughter. And then I stopped as shadows fell over us. While we’d been chatting away, a local gang had surrounded us. At least seven, hooded. The nearest to me had a sharpened screwdriver in his hand. The one nearest Bang-Bang was holding a baseball bat.
Bang-Bang started laughing again, and stood straight, coming away from leaning on the wall. I took the cue and stood up straight too. The nearest with the screwdriver spoke. ‘Why are you in Globe Massive Ends, akhi?’
He spoke in the squeaky local youth dialect. Jafaican, we used to call it. I could feel my pistol pressing into my side in its in-the-belt holster, but I knew I wouldn’t need it right now. I walked two steps towards him and spread my arms, and nodded at the screwdriver. ‘What ya gonna do with that then blood, mend us to death?’
That got them. Two of his acolytes started giggling and he turned to glare at them. Too late. Bang-Bang pushed her denim jacket back to reveal the holstered CZ85. She drew the pistol and cocked the hammer. She laid the pistol downwards, against her thigh, and gazed blankly at the kid holding the screwdriver. And then she spoke, in that low, lazy drawl.
‘Someone said something discouraging to me once. Towns were destroyed. Children… were orphaned.’ She fixed the screwdriver kid with that walleyed stare and the most terrifying smile. ‘Now. There are fifteen rounds in this pistol’s mag, and…’ she did a quick head count; ‘seven of you. That’s two rounds per yoot, and one spare for anyone still twitching.’
I spoke up. ‘And she will. Within six seconds. We’ve timed her.’
The screwdriver got put away. The bat clattered to the ground. Bang-Bang dipped an ironic bow and walked away to cover the corner. I waited one beat and spoke. ‘OK guys, gather round. Akhi. Leave the tools out of it.’
I waited. If you showed fear you were dead. But we weren’t scared. They were scared now. We’d showed them the power of the unknown. They gathered round, shuffling in slowly. I handed out some cigarettes. ‘Talk to me about what’s been going on round here.’
The nearest one spoke. ‘Well, there’s a murderer scaring the neighbourhood to death.’ He nodded towards one of the ubiquitous yellow police placards, sitting at the corner of the road screaming murder. ‘Then there’s those pricks calling themselves Muslim Patrol. Islam4UK, innit. You know?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah. Course. I used to be part of that lot myself, when you were in nappies mate. No offence.’
He shrugged. ‘None taken. So you seen them ‘bowt?’
‘Nah. Not today. How about Trevor?’
They all laughed. One pointed up in the direction of his flat. ‘You mean the Cockney Arab?’
Bang-Bang called back over her shoulder. ‘Islam4UK are daft but not that daft love – if word has got round about mad Pakis with pistols, they’ll be staying well away.’
I couldn’t resist a dig. ‘Yeah, never mind the mad Paki bird that put one of them through a shop window on Brick Lane in broad daylight.’
She grinned back at me.
I looked at the oldest kid. ‘Listen up akhi. Keep an eye out in the manor for anything. We’ll be around. Come and find us if you do.’ I dug out my wallet and handed out a few twenties. ‘You’re on retainer.’
The gang left on their new mission. I thought about it then started walking. In the meantime, my mind had been spinning away and the anger had returned. That fuckwit. That absolute fucktard Greg Rich. I battened it down, for now. Except I hadn’t. I walked away whirring with rage, back to the hire car. Bang-Bang followed, whistling and holstering her pistol.
And all the way to the car, like the red eyes of vengeful animals in a mythical forest, the now ever-present stickers taunted me. Arise and Warn. EDL Sniper. They were everywhere you looked now. It was coming.
I left the car parked on the police station’s emergency bay, at a crazy angle, and marched in, past a surprised desk sergeant, swiping the doors open and up the stairs two at a time. Third floor. Card swiped, and in. I barged into the enquiry office, straight into the noise of phones and radios and right up to a staff meeting around the big TV. Behind me, Bang-Bang had sidled in through the slammed-open doors and was watching with interest.
There ahead of me, in the informal meeting, was Lennie, Lynne, and DS Greg Rich. Voices were raised. I headed for the knot of people. DS Rich registered my approach and turned from the bollocking Lennie was giving him. He held up a hand and started declaiming as I walked straight in to the huddle. I didn’t wait for him to finish. I cocked an arm ready to deliver a haymaker. Lennie interrupted and tried to get between us, Rich’s head swung left and that was the moment I'd been waiting for. Two lines curve from the ear to the jaw and intersect where the jawbone hangs below the skull. And that's where my right fist hit. I was actually aiming for a point in mid-air several feet behind that. Rich went down like a Thunderbirds puppet that had tried to walk through a door, knocking the office shredder over and collapsing in a heap among the white shred sacks, stuff tumbling on him.
Bang-Bang whooped and giggled. She punched Lennie’s arm. ‘I love my hubby. He doesn’t mess about.’ But I only half-heard. I was still furious. I pointed down at Greg Rich. ‘When he comes round, tell him to try and press charges, and to explain to the Home Secretary how his slack drills nearly killed this whole operation. We nearly had another Cynthia Jarrett incident on our hands, for Chrissake.’
Lennie held his arms up. ‘Nothing to see here, team. Nothing to see, here…’
Lynne grabbed Bang-Bang by the arm and hustled her away to something interesting. I decided to pull rank before any of us did any more damage. ‘DCI Lennie George! Sir. I respectfully ask if you could you please get rid of that man. Off the enquiry. Preferably to Harlow nick.’
Lennie was chuckling as he hustled the support staff away. I flexed my hand. Already starting to hurt and swell up. Great. Bruised and bloody knuckles. One had split. Lennie took me to one side. ‘Riz. You’re so wound up you’ll hit the ceiling fan in a minute. Do yourself a favour and fuck off sharpish. I’ll deal with this. See you outside.’
‘Thanks Len. Sorry.’
He shook his head. ‘Better than telly, you are.’
Bang-Bang and Lynne suddenly came bustling back out into the main room with a printout. ‘Look! BT just sent this over. Customer billing for that IP address I fixed. And get this – it’s the same estate as where Trevor lives.’
I took a quick look at the printout and the address. Christ. So it was. The office got really busy. An admin guy brought over the electoral, births and deaths register for that address. The electoral register showed a Mr and Mrs Miah, late thirties. The only birth register was a boy, Yaqub. Born 1999. So maybe 14. This had to be him. ‘OK. Ask Lennie if he can sort the warrant. Start the car. And wait for me. I’m going to get something from the fire station. Let’s go.’
Bang-Bang tagged after me. ‘Can we bring my chainsaw?’
‘No!’
43.
I looked down from the balcony of 72-96 Harpley Square. All was quiet below us, save some janglings from the MOT station over the road, and Slooky mooching along between the parked cars.
We were on the third floor balcony outside flat 80. I readied the sledgehammer I’d borrowed from the fire station next door to the nick. Three sets of plasticuffs hung from my belt, ready to go, and a search warrant was folded in my back pocket. I cast my eye over the net-curtained windows. OK, lounge on the right, corridor dead ahead, kitchen to the left. We’d gained entry through the communal security door by simply waiting till someone came out, and in English fashion, holding the door open for us. We’d breezed in and up the stairs, and now here we were, getting ready to bust into a flat in the very same estate as Trevor’s.
Bang-Bang stood three feet from me, her Taser held skywards. She was grinning a slack, sick grin. I knew that grin. It meant kill. I caught her eye. I spoke quietly. ‘Remember what we talked about. I go right and secure the lounge. You go left and secure the computer and anything else.’
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She nodded, still grinning. I started the countdown as I ran forward. ‘Three, two –’ On ‘one’ I slammed the sledgehammer into the door just below the lock and booted the shattered wood inwards. ‘GO!’
I ran in and right as wood flew, into the lounge, dropping the sledgehammer as I ran. It fell onto a small desk in the hall and brought everything down with it. I drew my pistol and skidded into the front room and swept the barrel over a sea of pale, shocked faces. ‘Freeze! MOD!’
Chaos. Panic. There was a Bengali-looking man and woman. The woman had started to scream. The man had started to shout. And a teenaged boy, who was as still as death and dressed in the style of al-Muj. Yes, this had to be him. Yaqub. I had to grip the situation quickly. ‘Stay! The fuck! Down!’ That got them. People sank back into their seats. My pistol stayed trained on Yaqub, who looked sick with fear.
Bang-Bang walked into the lounge. ‘Hello babe. PC was off. Nothing there. But there’s a massive al-Muhajiroun banner on his wall and I found this under his bed.’ She slung a holdall into the centre of the room. I looked in. It was crammed full of used twenty-pound notes. Stacks of them. Like, tens of thousands of pounds of stacks of them.
Then Bang-Bang grabbed Yaqub by his hair and hauled him down the hall out onto the balcony. She was talking to him as she dragged him and he grabbed at various bits of furniture. ‘Oh you’ll talk alright, chico. You’ll talk.’
I followed her out onto the balcony, away from the wails of the family. On the way out I threw down the search warrant, and it fell like a falling leaf onto the table. I called back over my shoulder. ‘Read the other side. You can apply for compensation for damage.’
Outside Bang-Bang had put her Taser pistol into aim and stepped back. Yaqub slumped. He started to say something but Bang-Bang shook her head. ‘No. Nononono. Shut up you little Khawarij twat. I’ve been dying to do this since they gave me it –’
Locked and Loaded: A Riz Sabir Thriller Omnibus Page 52
