Silent Weapon

by Andy McNab

  The passage ran the entire length of the shops, so it had an entrance at both ends. Sean casually got up and sauntered the length of the units, then wheeled about at the far end to get to the other gate. As he did so, he saw Wolston taking the place he had just vacated on the bench.

  He tapped the code into the far gate and pushed it open. Inside was the familiar smell of all the other towers: cool concrete and other substances. On one side, the back entrances to the shops. On the other, the storerooms that were also part of the businesses. Up ahead he saw Mitra’s silhouette approaching from the other direction. They met outside the third door from Mitra’s end. It was solid and wooden, fireproof, secured with a chain and a powerful-looking padlock.

  ‘Can you get in?’ Sean asked casually, still looking up and down the passage.

  ‘The bigger they come, the easier they fall. But first things first. That’s Ravi, sweeping for sensors.’

  There was only static and a very faint voice which immediately died away. The tower was doing its signal-blocking thing. Mitra tapped a cigarette packet open and pulled out the foil wrapper. He folded it in two and then in two again, to give it some rigidity, and slid it into the thin crack between door and frame. Slowly he worked his way all the way round, from ground to top corner to other top corner to ground again, then last of all along the floor.

  ‘Didn’t feel anything. OK, let’s do it.’

  He hunched over the padlock as his pick and rake worked inside it. His eyes were half closed as he visualized the tumblers inside from the feel transmitted back through the rake’s metal shaft, probing and clicking them open one by one.

  The padlock fell open. Sean caught it before it fell off the chain onto the floor. Immediately Mitra was at work on the door’s fitted lock, the one beneath the handle.

  ‘Christ, I can see why they used a padlock. My baby nephew could get through this …’

  It clicked open in seconds.

  ‘OK, here goes nothing.’

  They looked at each other, and Mitra slowly took hold of the handle.

  ‘Count of three. One, two …’

  He twisted the handle and pulled.

  They were all outside in the square again, a safe distance apart, not obviously hanging together, looking in different directions like they were posing on the cover of an indie album.

  But the silence in the earpiece made Sean start to wonder if the signal was still being blocked somehow.

  He wanted to kick the nearest concrete wall, hard. Maybe punch it. Do something to cause himself pain and take his mind off the disappointment. He had been so geared up that they might be about to crack this thing.

  Finally Dave spoke. ‘A drug farm.’

  ‘Stone cold, not used for months,’ Sean confirmed. ‘Maybe longer.’

  His nose had told him the truth as soon as the door opened, a few seconds before the evidence of his own eyes. Quite apart from what it did to your brain, the distinct, sickly smell of weed was a key reason why he had never got into it beyond the obligatory experimental joints as a kid. The ammonium nitrate that the detectors had correctly reported came from some split-open, mouldering fertilizer bags. It was nothing to do with any bomb factory.

  ‘Roger.’ Dave said it heavily. ‘This does not repeat not get shared with your Killaz friends. We will report it to the Met … once the operation is over. Joe to return to OP. Ravi and Sean to move on to the next tip-off location. This has put us off schedule …’

  None of them looked at each other as they returned to business as usual. Sean stretched a couple of times to get his body back into the rhythm of moving, and headed off with Mitra to the next of Kieran’s possibles.

  He checked his watch. Fifteen hundred hours. He had been doing this since they bugged Zara’s flat at ten hundred. He had been up since oh six hundred, and Dave’s patrol schedule went up to twenty hundred, or later if necessary. At least five more hours of slogging around in thirty-degree heat.

  Shit, he could murder a cup of tea.

  Sean was the last back into the OP, a bit after twenty-one thirty, when the absolute last dregs of sunlight had disappeared from the sky. He could hear the sound of Mitra drenching himself in a cold shower. He pushed the door closed and propped his back against it, closing his eyes for a moment. Only a moment. His feet were killing him and he was as shagged out as it’s possible to be, but he was still on duty.

  Wolston had the long-awaited cuppa ready to thrust into his hands. A cold beer or several would have been better for this time of the evening – they had bought a crate from the offy as part of their cover story – but Dave had told them that the operation would be dry until they pulled out.

  ‘So how was it for you?’ Sean asked between the two mouthfuls it took to drain the mug.

  ‘Ste Mann has returned home and gone out again; still no sign of Zara or Emma.’

  Wolston stood aside so that Sean could see for himself. Dave was sitting at the kitchen table, where two of the laptops showed almost identical views – the hallway and living room of two different flats built to the same design. In one of them, the Manns’ living room, a laptop was open on the table. Its screen was a white blur, but the outline of the image prompted Sean to lean forward, squinting to make it out …

  Wolston pulled a face. ‘We learned the hard way that Ste likes to relax after work with a good dose of online porn.’

  ‘Unfortunately, what we could see was all legal,’ Dave said. ‘Live humans, over sixteen. Otherwise we’d have cause to pick him up and go through his online presence with a fine-tooth comb.’

  ‘But he’s obviously not expecting Zara back,’ Wolston added, ‘because if you thought your kid sister was coming home, you wouldn’t leave porn up on your screen, would you?’

  ‘So the day’s been a bust,’ Sean said flatly. The desire to hit something was back. Life put on hold for twenty-four wasted hours. No weapons factory. No leads of any kind. Bright’s killers still out there.

  Dave shrugged. ‘We’ve done the best we could with the int we had, and it’s not over. You can grab a shower if you like, but after that you and Ravi are taking over with flat surveillance. We’re going square-eyed here. I’ll send out for a takeaway.’

  ‘Anything but a fucking Indian.’ Mitra had emerged from the bathroom, cool and refreshed with a towel around his waist. ‘I can’t stand curry.’

  ‘As long as it’s dead, I’ll eat it,’ Sean said. ‘And if we get to sit down, that’ll do me just fine.’ He was already peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt as he pushed Mitra aside on his way to the bathroom. ‘This is going to be good— Oh, fucking hell – what is it now?’

  His phone was buzzing. So far that day, apart from false explosive alerts, it had all been texts from his mum. The last one was an update on the show she had finally picked. Mamma Mia! Afterwards she was getting together with some girlfriends in Soho …

  This wasn’t his mum. It took a moment for the message to sink into his tired, overheated brain.

  From Kieran.

  emmas in affys.

  He read it out loud.

  ‘Translation?’ Dave said after a moment.

  ‘Affy’s is the chippy, and Emma’s in there now.’

  Sean said it half a second ahead of the realization of what it meant for him, personally. His tired body wanted to groan, but his mind tingled with a fresh zap of energy. They were back in the game.

  Dave showed no pity.

  ‘Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Get down there now.’

  Chapter 19

  Thursday 3 August, 22:00 BST

  At least they’d let him stick his head in some cold water and change his shirt.

  It was evening, but West Square was still hot. No more direct sunlight, just acres of sun-warmed concrete giving up its heat, which made the square even more humid after dark.

  But the Brits love any weather when it isn’t actually raining, and people were coming out to play, hang, chat. Sean took a quick look around for Kieran or a
ny of the Killaz but couldn’t see them. Probably lurking in shadows somewhere. What was more important was he had acquired his target. The whole front of the Aphrodite Fish and Chip Bar, aka Affy’s, was one big window – so he could see the customers waiting for their orders, and he could see her. She was just paying.

  ‘Get down there, engage, establish if she’s Girl X.’ Those had been Dave’s orders.

  Take it one bit at a time, Sean thought. She’s a girl – check.

  Emma had blonde, shoulder-length hair, T-shirt, tight jeans moulded round a fantastic bum. He stepped up his pace, timing it so that he would be pushing in through the door just as she was coming out. It wouldn’t be the first time he had worked a meeting with a girl matching that description. He would glance at her briefly, do a double take and recognize her. Even if she had no idea who he was, she would notice the attention.

  Except that she got there first. She stopped in her tracks and stared through the door at him just as he was putting his hand out. Then she pulled it open. ‘Shit!’ She was wide-eyed. ‘You’re Sean Harker!’

  ‘Uh – yeah.’ It wasn’t hard to fake surprise – it covered up the sound of alarm bells going off all around his head. She knows me. Does she recognize me from the airport?

  He recovered quickly and moved his hand in a slow circle in the air. ‘And you’re …’ He jabbed a finger at her with a big, cheeky grin. ‘Emma.’

  She bit her lip and a shy grin of her own spread slowly across a classy face. ‘I can’t believe you remember me.’ She stepped out of the way of other customers, and they leaned against the window together. She offered him her bag and he took a chip. ‘I was just a kid when I last saw you.’

  So far this was going exactly as things would if an off-duty Sean really did bump into a fit-looking blonde. It was easy to keep up the pretence. He let his eyes linger on her face – not just to avoid the Hey, I’m up here line but to see if he could match her with the airport photo. Girl X’s head had been wrapped in a scarf and she’d worn glasses. Emma didn’t wear glasses, and her make-up was slapped on a bit thicker than he thought was necessary. Fifty-fifty, he decided. He couldn’t be more definite.

  ‘Yeah, I didn’t exactly hang around at Markwell.’ He nibbled on another chip.

  ‘It was long enough for—’ She laughed. ‘I shouldn’t say. It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘No, go on. I’m a gent.’

  ‘Well …’ She looked from side to side. ‘Me and my best friend got this huge crush on you.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘You were a bad boy! Everyone knew that.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He couldn’t help feeling flattered. It might even be true. He had been fourteen when Markwell threw him out, but he and the cops were already old friends. He gave a mock-modest shrug. ‘Maybe I still am.’ She laughed. ‘So who was this mate of yours?’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t remember … OK. Zara? Zara Mann?’

  He narrowed his eyes so he could pretend to remember. It also gave him time to think. What was going on here? Was this Emma Booth, having a normal catch-up conversation about her best mate? Or was this Girl X, dangling Zara’s name to see if he took the bait?

  It could have been either. All he could do right now was go with it and see what happened.

  ‘Dark-haired girl? From where I was standing, you two were joined at the hip.’

  A shadow seemed to flit across her face. ‘Yeah. Were.’

  He frowned. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Maybe. So what are you doing here? Didn’t you go into the army?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m just back for a couple of days with some mates. We’re staying at my mum’s.’ He nodded at Affy’s. ‘I was just getting a food order in.’

  ‘Haven’t noticed a group of new fit blokes around.’

  ‘Nah.’ He shook his head. ‘Game of Thrones marathon – can’t tear themselves away. Antisocial fuckers.’

  ‘Well.’ She made as if to leave, a little regretfully. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

  ‘Hey, hey.’ Whether she was bona or fake, he couldn’t afford to lose her now. He slowed her down by taking another chip. ‘You’re better company than those ugly tossers. So, what’s this problem, then?’ He put on a look of concern, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. He felt like the world’s worst actor.

  And if she was faking it, she was the world’s best. She leaned back against the window of Affy’s with a heavy sigh. ‘Long story. How long have you got?’

  He glanced down at the chips. ‘You on your own?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  He grinned, and thought of his mates back at the OP. He pulled out his phone. There hadn’t been time to wire him up again – the priority had been to catch Emma while she was pinged – so they wouldn’t have heard any of this. He had to text them to let them know he was on his way up to her flat.

  ‘Let me get my own portion, and then you can tell me all about it. And I’ll tell the Thrones geeks to get their own fucking chips.’

  ‘So, yeah, Zara …’ Emma pushed another beer into his hand and he mentally toasted the bug in the smoke detector. I’ve got a drink, suckers! Now that he was in her flat – for the second time that day – the others would be listening in.

  She had wanted to sit down in the kitchen, but he had gone into the living room like it was the most natural thing, so that the OP could listen in. They sat in comfy chairs with a small table between them and the chips spread out on the top, and chatted about this and that. The table was small and their heads were close together. It was a scenario with plenty of possibilities and Sean enjoyed being part of it. But he could also imagine the frustration back at the OP as they talked about everything except Zara – the one subject he couldn’t raise without sounding too pushy. At last Emma got round to it on her own.

  ‘I’m worried about her. Apart from the fact I don’t even know where she is …’

  She pushed her sleeve back to show a tanned arm. ‘I spent a month strawberry picking in Kent. Caught the sun. Didn’t hear from her all the time I was away, and when I got back she’d just vanished.’

  Sean pictured the thought processes going on back at the OP as they listened in. Tan – could have been acquired in Africa, or Kent. Strawberry picking – probably cash-only gig, impossible to verify. She had an answer for everything that might or might not show she was Girl X.

  ‘Maybe she’s got a bloke …’

  ‘Maybe. She’s been so … withdrawn. If she had a guy, you’d expect her to be happy about it, wouldn’t you? And I know she’s been cutting her family out too. Ste – that’s her brother – he’s worried like me, but he’s a student and he doesn’t really have time to look out for her too.’

  ‘Shit.’ Sean pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Wish I could help.’

  ‘You’re a sweet guy, Sean Harker.’ Emma pushed her chair back. ‘Only be a moment.’

  He smiled and stayed seated as she headed for the bathroom. He could see one more unexplored opportunity – something they hadn’t been able to check out when they bugged her flat that morning.

  The moment he heard the door click shut, the smile vanished and he grabbed her handbag, which dangled by its strap from the back of her chair.

  What he found – or didn’t find – made the corners of his mouth turn up. Bingo. She’s in the clear.

  When she came back, the bag was back as it had been, apparently undisturbed. She leaned against the door frame and smiled. Then she pushed herself away, but she didn’t sit down on her side of the table. She perched on the arm of Sean’s chair so that he had to sit back and look up at her. Thumb and forefinger plucked the fabric of his shirt.

  ‘So how many DVDs have your mates got to get through?’

  ‘Every fucking series,’ he said with a smile. ‘Take them hours.’

  It was officially the Next Stage, and why not? So far this had exactly matched the scenario an off-duty Sean really would go through, and an off-duty Sean who had got this far into a girl’s flat wouldn’t be leaving until the next
morning. The last time had been before Nigeria, and catching up had been a mission objective for Tenerife for most of the lads, Sean included. But it wasn’t going to happen this time, even though he was now as sure as he could be that she wasn’t Girl X …

  It wasn’t that he had no intention of giving his mates a free viewing – there wasn’t a smoke detector in Emma’s bedroom. Or that he hadn’t had time to restock his wallet since getting back from Nigeria (and he knew for a fact that there weren’t any condoms in the flat).

  It wasn’t even that he was pretty sure the penalty for shagging while on duty was more than just a slapped wrist. Did it count as misconduct on operations, obstructing operations, or just conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline? He wasn’t going to find out.

  No – what he really wanted more than anything else was about ten hours of solid sleep.

  But finding an excuse to turn down a fit girl who was up for it was a whole new experience. He let the smile slip as he took her hand gently in both of his. ‘OK. This is kind of embarrassing …’

  She looked at him questioningly. He didn’t have to fake his face turning red: this was fucking embarrassing, even if it wasn’t true. But he had to come up with an excuse that would work. Choices were: make out that he physically couldn’t, or … or this.

  ‘There was this girl, and … Just say that the one time I really should have used a condom … I didn’t. And now the doctors say I shouldn’t at all. Not until I’ve finished the course of antibiotics.’

  He could picture the ghost of Shitey Bright pissing himself laughing at that point. Probably the OP all were too.

  Her face fell – a little. ‘Oh, shit. Bad luck.’ She smiled. ‘I was right, though – you are a bad boy.’

  He summoned up the old cocky grin again. ‘Not as bad as she was.’