'There's lying to the villains, and there's lying to your own,' said Hargrove.
'And if we'd told Alice Roper that Gerald Carpenter would kill his mother if it meant his freedom, how would that have helped our present situation?' asked Mackie. 'You saw how close to the edge she is.'
'She'd be better off in the safe-house,' said Hargrove. 'Wherever it is,' he added drily.
'The further away from her husband she is, the better,' said Mackie. 'She's making him nervous. If he thinks she and the kids are out of harm's way, he's less likely to have any thoughts of pulling out.'
'And what about this guest-house?'
'She's probably right. We can screen any guests as and when they make bookings, and we can put our own people in.'
'This is one hell of a mess, isn't it?' said Hargrove.
'It was never going to be easy,' said Mackie. 'There was no way Carpenter was going to go down without a fight.'
'With Roper in the witness box and the evidence that hasn't gone up in smoke, Carpenter's going away, isn't he?'
'CPS says so.'
'And the Crown Prosecution Service has never been wrong in the past, has it?' said Hargrove, his voice loaded with sarcasm.
'Which is why your man Shepherd's in play,' said Mackie. 'How's he bearing up?'
'He's the best I've got,' said Hargrove.
'Like Roper said, he must have balls of steel. Twenty-four hours a day among some of the hardest bastards in the realm.' Mackie peered out of the window. 'I'm heading south of the river to Wimbledon,' he said. 'Can I drop you anywhere?'
It was a warm, sunny day and Hargrove wanted some fresh air. He needed thinking time too. 'Here's fine,' he said.
'Pull over, Stan,' said Mackie. The driver indicated and brought the Rover to a halt at the kerb. Mackie looked earnestly at Hargrove. 'I do appreciate what you did today, Sam,' he said.
'I know you'd have done the same,' said Hargrove. The two men shook hands and Hargrove climbed out of the car. He turned up the collar of his overcoat and started to walk westwards, his hands deep in his pockets.
Needles was on his knees by the two-tier bunk, reaching under the mattress. Dreadlocks was standing by the table. He was holding a blue toothbrush into which two razor blades had been set. They were a couple of millimetres apart so that no surgeon could repair damage done to the skin.
'What the fuck--' said Needles. Shepherd kicked the door closed behind him.
Dreadlocks raised the home-made cutter - a mistake because the weapon was designed for slashing, not stabbing. Shepherd moved quickly. He grabbed the steel Thermos flask from the sink with his right hand and stepped forward. As Dreadlocks brought down the blade, Shepherd smashed the Thermos against his hand. Dreadlocks grunted and the weapon clattered to the floor. Shepherd backhanded the Thermos into Dreadlocks's mouth. Blood and bits of tooth splattered across the wall and Dreadlocks fell back, his arms flailing. He stumbled over Needles and crashed into the bunks.
Shepherd punched him twice, right and left, a blow to each kidney, then grabbed him by the scruff of his football shirt and slammed his head against the wall. Dreadlocks sagged to the ground, on top of Needles.
Needles struggled to get to his feet. In his right hand he was holding a piece of broom handle that had been sharpened to a point. He pushed Dreadlocks away with his left hand. 'You're fucking dead meat!' he spat.
Shepherd said nothing. There was no point in talking: all that mattered was the fight. And winning it. He still had the Thermos. Needles had his left hand out, fingers splayed. He kept the sharpened stick close to his body, the point angled up. It was a killing weapon, sharp and long enough to drive up through Shepherd's ribs and into his heart, or through his eye deep into his skull. He was breathing heavily, his eyes were wide and staring, gearing himself up to attack, making small jabbing movements with the stick.
Shepherd stared into the man's eyes and not at the stick. The eyes were the key to seeing where the attack would come. The stick could be faked, a jab down and then a thrust up, but the eyes never lied, unless the man was a professional, but nothing Needles had done suggested he was anything more than a violent amateur. Shepherd unscrewed the top of the Thermos as he continued to stare at Needles. It was half full of hot water.
Needles swallowed, then his lips curled into a snarl. He took a deep breath and his eyes flicked towards Shepherd's stomach. Before Needles could stab him, Shepherd threw the hot water into his face, blinding him, then slammed the Thermos flask against his throat, not hard enough to shatter the voicebox but enough to stop him screaming.
Needles lashed out with the stick but it was a slashing motion and Shepherd easily blocked it with his left arm, pushing the weapon up into the air and exposing the big man's stomach. There were kilos of fat and massive blocks of muscle to absorb the strongest blows, Shepherd slashed his open palm across the man's neck.
Needles staggered back and his left hand went to his injured throat. His breath was coming in ragged gasps and his chest was heaving. His eyes were still filled with anger and hate and the sharpened stick was pointing at Shepherd's chest.
Shepherd was treading a dangerous line. He couldn't kill Needles - his undercover role wasn't a licence for that - but he had to injure him badly so that he'd be moved off the wing. And he had to do it with a minimum of noise. If the officers broke up the fight Shepherd would be moved to solitary and the operation would be over.
Needles stabbed at Shepherd's face with the stick but Shepherd swayed back, avoiding the blow, then lashed out with his foot and caught Needles between the legs. Needles bent forward and Shepherd punched him on the side of the chin, hard. The big man's head snapped to the side and his eyes rolled back in the sockets. He slumped on top of Dreadlocks.
Shepherd stood looking down at the two unconscious men. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Neither man was seriously damaged, certainly not enough to be taken off the wing. He went to the door and eased it open. The Jamaicans were still playing pool, giving each other high-fives after each shot.
Shepherd shut the door. He looked at his watch. Ten past four. He picked up the makeshift knife Dreadlocks had been using. The two blades had been taken from a plastic safety razor. The bristles had been shaved off the toothbrush and the plastic melted over a flame until it was soft enough to push in the two blades. It was a nasty weapon whose only purpose was to produce a wound that would never heal properly.
Needles was lying face down on top of Dreadlocks. Shepherd pulled him off. He put the toothbrush handle into Dreadlocks's right hand, then ran it across Needles's arm. Blood flowed in two parallel lines. Then he pulled up the T-shirt Needles was wearing and made two long cuts across his stomach. They spurted blood. Shepherd cut Needles again, from side to side. The wounds were in no way life-threatening but they would need careful stitching and Needles would have to remain immobile while the wounds healed. Any movement would rip the double cuts apart.
Blood dripped down on to Dreadlocks's tracksuit bottoms. If Shepherd did this right, it would look like the two men had been fighting. He doubted they would tell the authorities what had happened. No matter how badly injured they were, they were unlikely to grass. Plus there was the embarrassment factor of admitting that one man had put them both in hospital.
Shepherd undid the laces from Dreadlocks's trainers and tied them together, then used them as a tourniquet around the man's right thigh. Then he picked up the sharpened stick and put it into Needles's hand. He pulled up the right leg of the man's tracksuit bottoms then stabbed at the calf with the pointed stick in Needles's fist. It pierced the flesh and skewered the calf muscle. Blood spurted over Needles's fingers and the leg twitched. Shepherd slowly withdrew the stick. Blood pooled in the wound, then dribbled down the leg towards the trainer. It was a slow, steady flow so he hadn't ruptured any major vessels - a serious wound but not a fatal one.
Shepherd stood up. He washed his hands in the sink, then checked in the mirror for blood spots on his shirt. He look
ed down at his black Armani jeans and white Nike trainers. No blood.
Needles was groaning. His stomach glistened wetly and blood was pooling around Dreadlocks's leg.
Shepherd slipped out of the cell, leaving the door ajar. He walked slowly up the stairs, went into his own cell and lay down on his bunk. A few minutes later he heard three loud blasts on a whistle, then shouts.
Shepherd climbed off the bunk and went to the door. Prisoners all over the landing were rushing to the railings and looking down at the ones. Shepherd joined them - to have stayed in his cell while all hell was breaking out would only have drawn attention to him.
Four prison officers rushed in from the bubble carrying two metal stretchers. The prisoners on the twos and threes cheered and yelled obscenities. Rathbone came out of Needles's cell, his face pale.
Two officers went into the cell with a stretcher, and two minutes later they came out carrying Needles. He was shivering, his eyes wide open, his stomach covered in blood. The other two officers went inside with a stretcher for Dreadlocks.
More officers came on to the spur and started to usher the inmates back into their cells. 'Come on, there's nothing to see,' said one.
'What happened, boss?' asked Lee. The officers were applying dressings to the wounds on Needles's stomach.
'Nothing,' said the officer.
'We're supposed to be getting our tea,' said Lee.
'Get back in your cell or you'll be on a charge,' said the officer. 'I'm easy either way.'
Down on the ones, Dreadlocks was carried out on the second stretcher. They took him straight to the stairs and up to the twos. His leg was drenched in blood, despite the tourniquet. More prisoners were crowding against the railings, trying to get a better look. The officers were shouting for them to get back into their cells.
'Would you look at all that blood!' said Lee.
The officer put a hand on Lee's arm. 'In your cell, laddie, or you're on a charge.'
Lee backed away from the railing, complaining, but headed for his cell. Shepherd followed him. He glanced up and saw Carpenter staring down from the threes. Carpenter wasn't watching the action on the ground floor, he was gazing thoughtfully at Shepherd. Then he pushed himself away from the railing and Shepherd lost sight of him. He followed Lee into the cell and the prison officer clanged the door shut behind them.
At five o'clock the prisoners were shouting and banging on their cell doors. Tea should have been served at a quarter to but the doors had remained locked after the injured men had been carried out of the spur.
'This is a bloody liberty,' said Lee. 'We're entitled to our food.'
Shepherd lay on his bunk and stared at the ceiling.
'What do you think happened down there?' asked Lee. 'Did you see all that blood?'
'Dunno,' said Shepherd.
'Looked to me like Needles and Bunton had a set-to with shivs.'
Bunton must be Dreadlocks, Shepherd realised. He hadn't known his name. Hadn't cared.
'Thought they were tight, those two,' Lee went on.
'You never know,' said Shepherd.
Down below they heard cell doors being unlocked. Lee started banging on the door again. 'Come on, we're starving here!' he yelled.
At five thirty Rathbone unlocked it. 'What's going on?' Lee asked.
'We're doing the landings one at a time.'
'You can't,' said Lee.
Rathbone grinned. 'Jason, we can do what we like.' He gestured for Lee to go and get his meal. 'You too, Macdonald.'
'I'm not hungry,' said Shepherd.
'If you don't eat, it's got to go down on your report,' said Rathbone. 'Save me the paperwork and get your tray, will you? You can always give it to Jason.'
Shepherd climbed down and went to the ones with his flask. The doors there were already locked.
He had chosen the roast turkey option, and had it with mashed potatoes and carrots, then a raspberry yoghurt. He filled his Thermos with hot water and headed back to his cell. Lloyd-Davies was by the bubble. She waved over at him. 'Bob, I got you on the gym list for tomorrow.'
'Thanks, ma'am,' said Shepherd.
'No need to thank me, your name was next on the list,' she said.
As Shepherd walked back to his cell he realised what had happened: Needles or Bunton, possibly both, must have been on the gym list. Two birds with one stone.
Shepherd and Weston were supposedly under the supervision of Hamilton while they cleaned the twos, but he was in the bubble talking to Tony Stafford. Weston worked in silence, humming, as they moved methodically along the landing with their mops and buckets.
Shepherd heard footsteps behind him. It was Carpenter, holding a mop and bucket. He smiled at Weston. 'Give us a moment, will you, Charlie?' he said.
Weston picked up his bucket and headed to the far side of the landing.
Carpenter put down his bucket and began to mop the floor. 'What's your game, Bob?' he asked.
'It's not a game,' said Shepherd.
'That's three men you've put in hospital now,' said Carpenter. 'Are you taking on Digger, is that it?'
'I don't want to run the spur, I just want out of here.'
'And how does crippling cons achieve that?'
'Needles started it.'
'This isn't the fucking playground,' said Carpenter.
'If I hadn't given it to him, he'd have given it to me,' said Shepherd.
'You carry on this way you'll fuck it up for everyone.'
'How does me taking care of myself fuck it up for you, Gerry?'
Carpenter stopped cleaning. 'If cons start fighting each other we're going to be banged up twenty-three hours a day. That's one. We're going to have the cells turned over every day for weapons. That's two. And if the governor thinks Tony Stafford's lost control of the block, he'll be moved. That's three. Any one of those fucks up my life, and I'm not going to stand for it.'
'That'd be a threat, would it?' asked Shepherd.
'You want to fight me now, do you?' asked Carpenter.
'I don't want to fight anyone. Like I said, I just want out of here.'
Carpenter started mopping again. 'You carry on like this, they'll put you in segregation.'
'The only way they'll know what happened is if someone grasses,' said Shepherd. 'And if someone grasses, they'll have me to deal with.'
'Now you're the one making threats.'
Shepherd looked across at him. 'It's only a threat if you're planning to grass me up,' he said.
'I don't have to grass anyone up,' Carpenter sneered. 'I'm perfectly capable of taking care of business myself.'
'So I don't have a problem. I wanted out of my cell, so I had to take care of the Bosnian. Needles was planning to cut me up, so I took care of him.'
'And what next?'
Shepherd shrugged. 'Like I said, I need someone on the out to get my case sorted. One way or the other.'
Carpenter leaned on his mop. 'What if I help you get a message out? Will you stop sending inmates to hospital?'
Shepherd grinned. 'I'll be as good as gold.'
'Let me think about it.'
They heard the buzz of prisoners arriving back from the workshops. Carpenter picked up his bucket and headed for the stairs.
Shepherd smiled to himself. He'd just picked up two nuggets of gold from Carpenter. He had a vested interest in Tony Stafford running the block. And there was something in his cell that he didn't want found.
'You're going to be late for school,' said Sue Shepherd, ruffling her son's hair. 'You're always like this on a Monday.'
'This toast's burnt,' said Liam. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his backpack on the chair next to him.
'It's not burnt. It's fine.'
'It's black.'
'It's brown.'
'It tastes burnt.'
'Well, put more jam on it.' Sue looked at her wristwatch. It was a Cartier, a present from Dan. He'd given it to her as she lay in her hospital bed with newly born Liam in her arms.
; 'Just because I put jam on it doesn't mean it's not burnt,' said Liam slowly, as if she was a simpleton.
'I know that,' said Sue. 'If you don't want to eat it, leave it. I've got things to do, Liam, don't make life difficult for me. Please.'
Liam sniffed at his toast, then put it down and drank his milk.
Sue picked up her bag and a handful of bills that needed paying. 'Ready?' she asked. She looked out of the kitchen window. The grass needed cutting. Just one of a hundred jobs Dan had been promising to do. She mentally cursed her husband.
'What?' asked Liam.
Sue realised she must have spoken aloud. 'Nothing,' she said. 'Come on, let's go.'
Liam grabbed his backpack and rushed into the hallway. He stood at the front door as Sue set the burglar alarm, then opened it for her. She double-locked the door and waited for the alarm to stop bleeping.
She opened the door of her black VW Golf and Liam climbed into the back and fastened his seat-belt. The school-run was a necessary evil, the price of living in London. Sue had been pestering her husband for years to move to the countryside, but his job with the Met meant he had to be in the city. It was her own fault, she thought ruefully, as she slotted in the ignition key and started the car.
Shepherd had acceded to her demand that he quit the SAS, but she hadn't been specific enough about his replacement career. When he'd told her he'd been offered a job as a policeman she imagined him in a uniform, driving a police car, manning a desk, maybe, working shifts, but at least spending most of his time at home with her and Liam. She'd never imagined that his job as a policeman would be every bit as dangerous and demanding as his military career, and that she'd see even less of him than when he was a soldier.
'What's wrong, Mummy?' asked Liam.
'Nothing,' said Sue.
'Were you thinking about Daddy?'
Sue twisted around in her seat. 'Why do you say that?'
'You look sad.'
Sue forced a smile. 'I'm not sad,' she said. 'Ready for blast-off ?'
'All systems go!' Liam laughed.
Liam's school was half an hour's drive away and the main roads were packed with early morning traffic but, like most hard-pressed mothers, Sue knew several rat-runs to the school, weaving in and out of narrow streets. At one point she drove across a filling-station forecourt to cut out a set of traffic lights. She'd made the journey so many times that she drove on auto-pilot, her mind running through all the household tasks she had to get done before she picked up Liam.
Hard Landing Page 23
