She laughed and twirled, ‘After I die and not before... after I die and not before. After I die, and not... Mishy, got that map?’
Mishy unfolded the map and tapped at it. ‘Yep. This is where we’re at... and this is where we're going.’
Fuzz patted her shoulder. ‘It's all crap Mish, just keep the comms working.’
‘Huah.’ The handset squalled on Mishy’s shoulder. She placed it to her good ear and listened in. ‘OK. MOD for you, Riz.’ She handed the headset to me.
I thanked her and listened to the updates and various gripes. Apparently they were now listing us as a sniper hunt and a Ripper hunt, “to reassure the local population”. I felt an involuntary laugh bubbling up and I just about kept it under control. And we were cleared to go.
Bang-Bang came to my side and listened on one of the earpieces. Just then a thought occurred to me. ‘Babe. If we’re also a Ripper hunt… did your program come up with anything on lair locations?’
She thumped my arm. ‘Hah! Never thought of that. Lemme see…’ She retrieved her tablet from her bag and fired up a viewer. She tapped, swiped. ‘So if we load up where the victims were found, where the predicted ambush sites are, and –’
She showed me the map view. ‘Look where we are.’
Godamn. Smack-bang between all the ambush sites and the crime scenes was a dim, red dome on the map. And it sat dead ahead of us.
I called out. ‘Gang – we might be in Ripper lair territory. Keep an eye out for any place he might shack up. There’s quite a few abandoned buildings round here.’
Fuzz nodded and called out to the line. ‘You heard the man. We’re about to go into harm’s way, people! Again!’
They cheered. Fuzz grinned. ‘OK we’ve done the Combat Appreciation so I’ll spare you. Put simply there's an EDL sniper armed with an L86 in the blocks around here. He may have spotters, we don't know. There may well also be a serial killer, in his lair. Our task is to run them down, and smoke them out. Hooah?’
‘Hooah!’
‘Then let’s go. We’ll clear it block by block.’ She turned and started handing out white flowers and hairgrips. ‘Girls. Pin these in your hair. That way we can see each other on our scopes.’
So that was it. It was that simple. I should have known. Mishy pinned a flower in her hair. Then she checked her headset and nodded. ‘OK move out. Check receivers. All on channel two.’
‘Check.’
It suddenly occurred to me that those white flowers would also make it easier for the sniper to scope in on them. Hell, maybe they didn’t care.
We started walking again, slowly, a loose skirmish line up Cambridge Heath Road, past a knot of kids on bikes and some people at the pharmacy. To our right was a brightly-lit all-night store. To our left, the long expanse of Sovereign House. A black, gloomy park lurked beyond. A darkened, boarded-up pub sagged sadly. Mist hovered in the air and in halos around the streetlights. I shivered. My earpiece beeped. ‘Holly going left towards Three Colts Lane.’
‘Copy.’ The girls further up waved. The line was being spaced thinly. ‘Riz do you see us?’
‘I see you. All the way to Bethnal Green Road.’
‘OK.’
Calamity started singing in my earpiece. She was singing some Cockney pub rock thing, something by Chas and Dave. The pub.
I glanced behind me. Clear. And then looked back again. I stopped cold. The pub. It sat there, almost sagging in the streetlights, sucking in illumination. All its doors were plasterboarded, all its windows were covered in that mesh. I hit the radio. ‘Wait one. We’ve just gone past that pub.’
‘What about it?’
‘Hold the line. Stop. I dunno.’
I jogged back to look at the side entrance. My earpiece warbled. ‘Holly for Riz. You OK?’
I hit the pressel. ‘Course. There’s just something about… come back and meet us at this abandoned pub, babe. I don’t think we should turn our backs on this place.’
The pub loomed above us, on the corner of Buckhurst Street. It was the only building on the street with no lighting. It sucked in the light like a black hole. Plywood boards over the windows and the door. Black as pitch. The girls gathered around me in the light of the traffic and the store across the road. Roadrunner walked up with Bullet on leash. She quietly slipped the leash. No one said a word as Bullet padded to the boarded-up door.
And stopped. Raised his haunches, and growled. I brought my P88 out of its holster. I called quietly. ‘OK glove up people. There might be forensics in there.’
There was muttering as Fuzz threw sets of disposable gloves around. Bang-Bang tapped my shoulder as she ran past. ‘Going in through the back.’ She racked the slide on her pistol and disappeared round the left-hand side of the building. Roadrunner called back. ‘Want me to send Bullet in first? He’s keen.’
I shook my head. ‘No. Could be evidence in there. He can stand guard outside while we go in.’
Roadrunner nodded. ‘Good enough.’
My earpiece bleeped. ‘Ello darling! I’m at the back, fire exit. Can’t see nothing. Want me to bust in?’
‘No! No… wait a sec Holly.’
A kid walked across from the shop and regarded us for a moment. ‘You 5-0?’
I looked down at him. ‘Nope. We’re al-Qaeda.’
‘Wow. Cool.’
Calamity dropped the hessian sacking from her rifle and looked at him. He backed away. The crowd round the shop looked on. Roadrunner called to Bullet. ‘Bullet. Sit. Watch.’
Bullet panted happily. We went forward. I tested the door handle. Obviously locked. The girls looked at me.
I smiled at them. I reached over my head for the door frame, felt about a bit. And found a key. There was muffled laughter. ‘Squatters don’t change’, I muttered to myself.
Calamity put her rifle into the shoulder as I slowly placed the key in the lock and turned it. The door opened inwards to darkness, and to the right, a faint green glow. The power was still on. One faint spotlight shone on a dusty floor and a tatty bar. And an even dustier, tattier fridge, in the middle of the floor.
There were two sharp metallic raps from the other side of the building. ‘Holly coming in!’
‘Clear.’
Bang-Bang scraped the rear fire exit open and walked in, stopped and whistled to herself. ‘Hoooooo-ahhh, welcome to the serial killer den.’
She hit a hanging mobile with her hand and it swung in the dim, dusty air.
Calamity laughed. ‘See anything you like?’
Then she stopped laughing and pointed at the fridge. ‘Guys. That fridge. The running light’s still on.’
Calamity edged forward and cracked the fridge door open with the flash hider on the barrel of her rifle. It eased open slowly and we all stepped back a pace, almost subconsciously.
The fridge interior threw a dim light into the building. We could see… shapes. Bowls. Calamity was nearest and she was very still. She cocked her head. She looked interested.
Bang-Bang placed a hand on her shoulder and also peeked in. ‘Er…’
I called out. ‘What can you see doll?’
She looked back and shook her head very slowly from side to side. ‘It’s not good, love. Meat. And eyes.’
I began backing away. I called out softly. ‘OK. Ladies… let’s all back out the way we came in. This is a crime scene. I’ll call Lennie.’
I looked back the way I’d come and saw a pair of expensive-looking leather gloves, placed on a chair. Bang-Bang followed my gaze. I cleared my throat. ‘This place is where he feels safe. I reckon we really have rattled him.’
‘Crime scene, huh?’ said Calamity.
‘Yeah. Just look around. Trophies, and I reckon there’s fingerprints all over this place.’
We gathered back outside. I realised my phone’s battery had gone flat at some point and I swore. Now I needed somewhere to recharge it. I didn’t have a charger on me. Bang-Bang rang Lennie for me and explained what we’d found. She hung up. ‘OK. C
rime Scene Examiners are on their way.’
46.
DAWN OF DAY TEN
ZERO DAY
Night bit in outside the pub. We’d brought the two wagons up to the square by the pub and we’d established a rota of sleep, three hours on, three hours off. There were sleeping bags and army camp beds in the back of the vehicles and we took turns trying to get some shut-eye, covered by our snipers. Bang-Bang had the presence of mind in the early hours to go back to my flat and scoop up a change of clothes for us.
The small hours marched in, in their small steps. Exhausted as we were, I was still keyed up and by 5am I was in that strange not-asleep netherworld you got into on operations. Hyperalert.
I walked the perimeter. The gardens were locked-down, dead. The housing estates loomed above us, silent. Bang-Bang had gone out to check on the last two ambush sites. Nothing. She came back with this dispiriting news, and then went to the mini-market across the road. She returned with Red Bulls and samosas. There was a mist across the park. Dawn was breaking. She sat next to me and wriggled to get some shared warmth. ‘Hey hun. Now we wait.’
I cracked the can and took a swig. ‘Yeah. You know Trevor and Islam4UK are having a little demo in the park today?’
She nodded. ‘Acha. That they are. We gonna keep eyes on?’
‘That we are.’
Bang-Bang’s phone rang. She answered it and handed it me. Lennie. ‘Riz. Scenes of Crime tell me they’re getting dozens of dabs from inside the pub. We’re just waiting on that stuff from the fridge.’
‘How long?’
‘Twelve hours, maybe a bit longer. This is working, Riz. He’s gone over to chaotic. Pressured. Slipping up. You saw the gloves?’
I had. Lennie carried on. ‘We’ve now got DNA, and I’ve just been told we even got a footprint in the blood at the pool. Trainer make is, guess what, a Reebok DMX Ride Cruiser. Pricey. Trevor was jailed for inciting terrorism overseas, so as far as I know we’ll still have his dabs and DNA on file. We’re racing to get everything sent over and matched now.’
‘Good work Lennie. And good luck.’
9am. The girls lined up on the rear wall of the pub and stayed out of the way as the forensics people did their business inside. As the morning grew warmer, the pub slowly became a scene wrapped in tape and blue sheets.
Fuzz nodded at the kerfuffle. ‘How quickly can they match that stuff?’
‘Well Trevor’s on file, and they know what to look for, so… pretty quickly I hope. Watch this space.’
We checked our weapons out of sight of the main road. Good enough. Now that the gloves were off, we were pretty sanguine about small arms in plain view as we knew the actual rules – it wasn’t classed as Offensive Force unless you pointed them at someone. Or shot them.
Maryam limped into view, legbrace squeaking. She was dragging Daisy, Calamity’s daughter, who was obliviously looking at a Peppa Pig colouring book. Maryam stopped, dropped a duffle sack to the ground and let go Daisy’s hand. ‘Priyaaaaaa! Why have I got your kid?’ There was a cheer from the gang sitting on the wall. Roadrunner called out. ‘Morning, Forrest.’
Maryam sucked her teeth in irritation and pulled an AK out of the bag on the ground. It had a Confederate flag taped to the stock. ‘Shut it. This sticker’s on my gat ‘cause I’m feeling racist and pissed off. Show me the EDL crackers.’
The gang whooped. Roadrunner ambled over and pulled another AK out of the bag and checked it over. She squinted down the sights. ‘Hungarian. Alright, that’ll do for me.’
Calamity was humming to herself as Daisy ran to her side and showed her the colouring-in. They hugged. ‘Full of piss and vinegar, that Maryam kid’ said Calamity. Before her, on the ground, was her own rifle. She picked it up and checked the breech. Snap-snap. It gleamed with heavy gun grease. It was an ancient FN FAL with worn wooden furniture and… I had to ask.
‘Whoah Priya, what is that scope? Who gave you that, Patrick Moore?’
She’d attached a telescope the size of a small fire extinguisher to it. ‘Yeah. The gun’s twice as old as me but the scope’s a beauty. Springfield Armoury 10 times-power. And it’s bloody heavy.’
I nodded in appreciation. ‘What rounds you loading?’
‘7.62 NATO saboted Light Armour Penetrator. Reach out and touch someone. Gonna get me some more ears today, I reckon.’ She grinned.
I felt a clutch at my leg. Daisy was showing me the colouring-in. Peppa Pig and friends were now in psychedelic colours. ‘My mum says you lot reckon Peppa Pig is haram.’
‘Only to eat, doll. It’s just a pig.’
‘OK!’ said Daisy and skipped away to something more interesting.
By 11am the girls were bored and Bang-Bang climbed up on the low wall and did a version of the Jungle Nights in Harlem Charleston for them as Calamity’s iPod played the tune. You couldn’t beat a bit of Chris Barber. A crowd of shopping mums and people passing by grew to watch the crazy Paki bird do the Twenties swing thing. They placed Daisy up on the wall to dance with her. Bang-Bang flung some imaginary bead necklace in wild abandon and tapped out those akimbo steps with her white go-go boots. Daisy was watching like an eager tiger cub. Bang-Bang looked down at her.
‘OK Daisy – watch. Tap, tap. Got it?’
‘Yeah. Think so.’
‘Tap, tap and spin. You got it. And then, fling those pearls!’
Daisy giggled and began following the moves, shadowing Bang-Bang. Applause followed from our lot.
At 11.01am three silver BMW police cars swept into the square. These, I knew, were the last armed response vehicles left in East London. They all had car boots and safes full of weapons. Each had a crew of three – the driver, the radio operator and an observer/navigator. All were armed. So that was nine more guns on the line.
The doors popped on the lead ARV and a big old Sergeant eased out. His passenger got out to cover him and us with his G36c carbine. Then the rear passenger also disembarked carrying an MP5. Straightaway the Sergeant called ‘Rizwan Sabir, KTS please.’
Mishy had started to draw her pistol. I waved her down. ‘That’s me.’
‘Hello fella. I’m here to tell you that most of our lot handed in their tickets last September, and three crews have refused to come down from Leman Street because –’ he nodded at Bang-Bang; ‘They don’t want to get shot by your other half.’
The Blackeyes burst out laughing. Bang-Bang spread her arms and shouted back from the low wall. ‘Well thanks a lot! Why don’t you blame global warming on me as well! And Crippen! I did it! It’s a fair cop!’
She turned and stepped away along the wall.
The Sergeant shrugged. ‘That’s as may be. I’m also here to tell you that I’m here in charge of three ARVs and we’re fully armed up. I’ve been told you, Holly, and someone called Sergeant Farzana Shaheen are in the command chain.’
‘That’s right. That’s Sergeant Shaheen over there.’ I pointed her out and she waved.
Before us in the park, the children’s day care centre had opened and parents began to file in with their babies and toddlers. Bang-Bang didn’t like this development and went to organise an overwatch by the centre’s wall, just in case. Calamity scanned the tenement blocks over the way, licking her lips nervously. But there was no threat.
Our little gang of youths came by on their undersized bicycles and nicked some fags off the girls. I conferred with their leadership. They hadn’t seen anything so I told them to stay away for now, head south. Away from the sniper. That kept them diverted for five minutes and I rang the Colonel from Fuzz’s phone. The phone secured, the green icon lit, and I heard it ringing softly. He answered.
‘Morning Riz. I don’t need to remind you that today is the Home Secretary’s zero day. She’s going into party conference this afternoon and she wants results.’
‘Yeah. Today is also the EDL sniper’s deadline day. Short of asking her to maybe come down here and help, I don’t know what to add, Boss.’
‘How’s Holly’s pl
an working?’
‘Narrowing it down. I still think Trevor’s the one though.’
‘So do I. Stick to him like glue. Good luck young man.’
‘Cheers. I’ll ring this afternoon.’
I stood and watched and tried to figure it out. They were a rapt audience, watching their leaders’ every move for guidance. OK, so my wife was their Joe Pesci, their Amy, their dangerous star.... Fuzz was the crazy sky pilot... Calamity was ... I had no idea. The killer momma. I tried to picture a unit beholden to three Sergeant Barnes. I failed in that mental image and gave up. Not long now to the little demo in the park.
And now Maryam the limping school truant was here. And Mishy, twitchy little Mishy Ditta who was deaf in one ear from firing an RPG indoors and killing a bunch of fascists. Little Mishy, trying and failing to work her radio, who’d turned the tide of the battle at Green Lane Mosque.
Heck, we all moaned about them but they were some of the best small-unit commanders they had. With the scars to prove it. Slowly, the square became like some strange Brigade HQ. Various vans and command vehicles drew in. There were now so many of our various vans, police vehicles and emergency services, that the word round the estate was that we were a film crew. Every now and then, a knot of onlookers would gather, obviously hoping to catch sight of someone famous. They waited in vain.
At one point there was even a car full of Press TV, that strange Iranian bunch, who we sent away to Maryam and company. Maryam and co didn’t disappoint, they spent the whole interview doing really slow Mexican accents. We laughed from the sidelines as the real stuff got cabled in and the generators were set up.
The clock was ticking. A big one, above me in the command van. I spent a good hour rooting around and begging for a BlackBerry charger among the various vehicles. I finally found one and plugged my phone in like a drowning man. I sat down and watched the phone back up with all the aggrieved texts, emails and voicemails from the last few hours. Well, fuck ‘em. We were running it on the ground now.
Mishy came into the cab and pointed out no-one had been fed for twelve hours. Between us we got on the phones and rousted the local Dominos. Pizzas for everybody. To this location. While I waited for the pizzas, I sat and tapped through the screens and radio feeds. Above me, the big white clock ticked.
Locked and Loaded: A Riz Sabir Thriller Omnibus Page 54
