Soft Target ss-2

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Drop your weapon!’ Shepherd yelled.

  ‘Armed police!’ shouted Tapping, from the front of the shop. There was the deafening sound of a shotgun blast followed by the crack of a 9mm round. A woman screamed and a man yelled.

  Almost immediately Ramshaw let the rope slide and Shepherd dropped to the floor. He bent his knees to absorb the impact but his eyes never left the man in front of him. He caught a glimpse of a hostage just behind the target, a man in his twenties wearing a blue baseball jacket, but he kept focused on the man with the shotgun.

  The shotgun barrel swung down. The man’s mouth was open in surprise, eyes wide and staring. Shepherd slid his finger inside the trigger guard. One pull and he’d hit him dead centre. His finger tightened on the trigger, but he could see how frightened the man was. Shepherd rushed forward, the rope trailing in his wake, and slammed the stock of the carbine against the man’s chin. His eyes turned up in their sockets and he fell to the ground. Shepherd kicked the shotgun to the side and rushed through the door. He shouldered the man in the baseball jacket to the side, his MP5 at the ready, but it was all over.

  The air was thick with dust from the ceiling. The second target was on the floor, the shotgun several feet away, blood oozing from his left thigh. He was clutching his leg and wheezing. Through the shop window Shepherd saw two armed police running from the coach, handguns held high.

  Tapping was standing by the counter, breathing heavily.

  ‘You okay, Kev?’

  Tapping nodded.

  Shepherd spoke into his radio mike. ‘All clear, Sarge. Two targets, one unconscious, one bleeding from a leg wound. We need paramedics.’

  ‘They’re on their way, Stu. You okay?’

  ‘We’re fine.’

  The two armed officers burst into the shop. One picked up the shotgun and made it safe.

  ‘There’s another in the kitchen,’ said Shepherd.

  Two paramedics arrived with a trolley. Tapping and Shepherd ushered the hostages outside. One of the members of staff, a middle-aged West Indian, was insisting that he be allowed to stay but Tapping told him it was a crime scene and pushed him outside. The woman who had been looking after the injured hostage was sobbing and a WPC took her to an ambulance.

  The paramedics dealt with the injured hostage who was bleeding from the stomach and barely conscious. Shepherd knelt beside the robber Tapping had shot and used his Swiss Army knife to cut away the man’s bloody trouser leg. There was an entry wound six inches above the knee and a larger exit wound at the back. It was bleeding but Shepherd could see it wasn’t life-threatening.

  Two more paramedics rushed in. Tapping and Shepherd moved away to give them room to work on the man’s injured leg. Sutherland and Ramshaw appeared at the shop doorway. ‘Everything okay?’ asked Sutherland.

  ‘We’re fine,’ said Shepherd.

  The armed officer who’d gone into the kitchen reappeared with two uniformed officers who’d come in through the fire exit. They had handcuffed the robber Shepherd had knocked out. The man was still dazed but he could walk.

  ‘How did you manage that?’ asked Sutherland.

  ‘He was slow,’ said Shepherd, ‘and I almost landed on top of him.’

  ‘Mine fired by mistake,’ said Tapping. ‘Shat himself when I dropped through and the shot went into the ceiling but I couldn’t take the chance of him firing again.’

  ‘I’d forget the “by mistake” bit if I were you,’ said Shepherd, keeping his voice low. ‘He fired, end of story. There were too many civilians around to take chances.’

  Rose appeared at the door. ‘You guys okay?’

  ‘Not a scratch,’ said Tapping. ‘The one on the ground shot at me so I fired. Stu here didn’t bother with his gun, took his guy out with a flying drop kick.’

  ‘I hit him with the stock,’ said Shepherd.

  Rose clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Not bad for a first day on the job,’ he said.

  Swift jogged down the street. He stood aside for the paramedics to wheel out the injured hostage. ‘Is he going to be okay?’

  ‘Stomach and intestine perforated and he’s lost a lot of blood,’ said a paramedic. ‘It doesn’t look good.’

  ‘No one else hurt?’ asked Swift.

  ‘Just a leg wound,’ said Rose, indicating the robber on the floor.

  ‘Brilliant, lads,’ said Swift. ‘Might have a photo-call for you later, turn you into heroes.’

  Shepherd grimaced. ‘If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather keep a low profile. A guy did stop a bullet. He might have relatives who’ll take offence if they see us grinning on the front page of the Evening Standard.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Swift, ‘but the OIC’s going to be putting you up for a commendation.’

  Shepherd forced a smile. He knew he wouldn’t be getting a commendation for ending the siege. Stuart Marsden didn’t exist. If Shepherd got a commendation it would be for exposing the bad apples in SO19. And he doubted that Ken Swift or any other cop would be lining up to shake his hand when that happened.

  ‘You know the drill, Kev,’ said Swift, putting his hand on Tapping’s shoulder. ‘SOCO will take the weapon and you’ll have to talk to the Internal Investigation Command. You’re removed from firearms duty, pending the result of the investigation, but it looks righteous to me. I don’t see you having any problems.’

  ‘I do my job and I get to ride a desk for six months,’ said Tapping, bitterly.

  ‘You saved lives today,’ said Swift, ‘but there’s a procedure, you know that. You did well, and you’ll be back on duty before you know it.’

  ‘Might be worth giving this place a going-over, sir,’ said Shepherd. ‘The owner seemed pretty keen to stay and it seems a funny place to stick up with shotguns.’

  A uniformed constable picked up a red nylon bag with a Nike swoosh that had been lying behind the counter. He unzipped it and whistled softly. It contained rolls of banknotes and a Ziploc plastic bag filled with polythene packages of white crystals.

  Swift walked over and picked up the Ziploc bag. ‘Crack cocaine,’ he said. He looked at Shepherd. ‘You were right.’

  ‘Explains the artillery,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘There must be thirty grand there,’ said Sutherland.

  Swift put the drugs back into the nylon bag and zipped it up. ‘It just gets better and better for you two,’ he said. ‘You rescue the hostages and bust a major drugs operation.’

  ‘All in a day’s work.’ Shepherd grinned and winked at Tapping. Then he looked at Rose. The sergeant was gazing at the nylon bag with a thoughtful look on his face.

  Shepherd glanced over his shoulder to check that no one was paying any attention to him, then slipped the three mobile phones out of his locker and into the pockets of his jacket. He didn’t want anyone asking why he was carrying so many. When he worked undercover among villains it was common practice to have numerous mobiles, usually with pay-as-you-go Sim cards that were thrown away regularly. But cops weren’t villains. Most of them, anyway.

  Shepherd left the building and headed for the underground car park. He took one of the phones out of his pocket and switched it on.

  Rose and Sutherland caught up with him and slapped his shoulder. ‘Drinks,’ said Rose.

  ‘Right, Sarge,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘First round’s on the new guy,’ said Sutherland. ‘Tradition.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Bull’s Head, down there on the left,’ said Rose, pointing along Leman Street. ‘Landlord used to be in the job so we can have a lock-in whenever we want. Tonight’s gonna be a heavy night.’

  ‘I’m driving, Sarge.’

  ‘That’s what minicabs are for.’ He pointed down the road. ‘Second left.’

  ‘I’ll catch you up,’ said Shepherd. ‘I just want to check my messages.’

  Rose and Sutherland headed down the road, deep in conversation. Shepherd looked at the mobile. A voicemail message was waiting on the Tony Nelson phone.
Shepherd put it to his ear and listened. It was Angie Kerr, asking him to call her back. Her husband was away for the night so he could call any time.

  Shepherd dialled her number.

  ‘It’s me,’ he said, when she answered. ‘Is it okay to talk?’

  ‘He’s away all night,’ she said. ‘When are you going to do it?’

  ‘This isn’t the sort of conversation I want to have on the phone,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I’ve got some details of where he’ll be over the next few days,’ said Angie. ‘I thought it might help to meet up.’

  Shepherd raised his eyebrows. He’d thought he was going to have a problem persuading her to meet him, but now she was the one pressing for a face-to-face.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That works for me.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Morning should be okay.’ Shepherd did a quick calculation in his head. He could get to Manchester in four hours, but getting back to Leman Street for two o’clock would be a taller order. A helicopter would be the fastest way, but even Major Gannon would draw the line at Shepherd using the SAS as his personal taxi service. If he drove he’d have to leave Manchester at ten to stand a chance of getting to Leman Street in time for his shift. He’d have to talk to Hargrove and see if they could come up with a suitable reason for him being late on his second day with the unit. ‘How about early?’

  ‘Nine? Same place as before? The supermarket?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘And you won’t do anything before then, will you?’

  ‘As soon as I’m ready to move I’ll let you know. That way you can get your alibi sorted. Anyway, like I said, this isn’t a conversation for the phone.’ Shepherd cut the connection and phoned Hargrove.

  ‘I hear you’ve had a busy day,’ said the superintendent.

  ‘It’s helped me bond, that’s for sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘Angie Kerr’s been in touch. She wants a meet and I’ve fixed up for tomorrow at nine. The supermarket car park again.’

  ‘She wanted the meet?’

  ‘Said she wanted to give me some info about his movements.’

  ‘That’s perfect. We’ll have the Volvo wired again, get her on video handing you the info then bust you both. She gets taken to the nick and you go back to SO19.’

  ‘I’m going to need a reason for getting to Leman Street late. Medical, maybe. Can you fix it up?’

  ‘I’ll take care of it. What’s your plan now?’

  ‘I’m off for some more bonding with the guys, then I’ll drive up to Manchester. The flat’s still free, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll catch a few hours’ kip there. Just hope tomorrow’s a quiet shift.’

  Shepherd put away the phone and walked to the pub. He heard booming laughter and clinking glasses as he went into the main bar. He wasn’t proud of what he was doing: he was lying to fellow cops, and that made him feel sick. There was a good chance that Keith Rose was bad, but he had no way of knowing who was helping him, which meant he had to lie to everyone. He forced himself to smile. He was Stuart Marsden and he was among friends.

  Ken Swift was standing at the bar surrounded by half a dozen men from Amber team. Rose was in a booth with Sutherland, the two men deep in conversation. The sergeant looked up as Shepherd walked in and raised his glass in salute. Shepherd nodded and headed for the bar.

  Ken Swift had bought a round and ordered lager for Shepherd. ‘Nice work, Stu,’ he said. ‘You done that falling-through-the-ceiling trick before?’

  ‘I’ve abseiled, but never gone through a ceiling.’

  The inspector introduced Shepherd to Amber team. Shepherd shook hands with them all, committing to memory the names and faces he hadn’t already memorised from Hargrove’s files. They were all easy in each other’s company, men who had worked and drunk together for months, if not years, but they made sure he felt at home, including him in their conversation and jokes. They were a good mix: a couple were older than Shepherd, the old hands of the team, but the rest were about his age or younger. They all worshipped Swift, deferring to him whenever he spoke, watching him even while they were joking and knocking back their pints. Ramshaw and Tapping came in together. Everyone cheered Tapping and Shepherd took the opportunity to buy a round, dumping his first pint in the process. With the drive to Manchester ahead, he didn’t want to drink more than a few mouthfuls.

  He stood with Amber team for half an hour, but kept a watchful eye on Rose and Sutherland. The two men were still deep in conversation, Rose doing most of the talking and Sutherland nodding.

  Swift came to stand next to Shepherd. ‘How are you getting on with Rosie?’ he asked.

  ‘So far, so good,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What about the map work? Must be a lot harder than Glasgow.’

  ‘No problems,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You ever use the rifle?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Shepherd. ‘I never liked the long-distance stuff. Always seems too impersonal.’

  ‘A good sniper can take out a problem without putting lives at risk,’ said Swift.

  ‘No argument there,’ said Shepherd. ‘I just prefer to be up close and personal, that’s all. Why do you ask?’

  ‘One of our snipers has just made sergeant and he’ll be moving from SO19. I’m looking for someone to fill the slot.’

  Shepherd took a sip of his pint. The last thing he needed was to be moved from the ARV. ‘I prefer to be on the ground,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, but you get all the false alarms as well. The Specialist Firearms teams only get called out for the big stuff.’

  ‘Horses for courses,’ said Shepherd.

  Rose came over to the group by the bar and put his arm round Swift. ‘Don’t let this guy talk you into joining Amber,’ he said to Shepherd. ‘You’d hate it, driving around in a furniture van, turning up late.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him. It’s his lack of ambition that’s kept him a sergeant all these years,’ said Swift.

  ‘I didn’t kiss the right arses, is what he means,’ said Rose. He ordered a round. Shepherd took the opportunity to slip his three-quarters full glass on to the bar.

  ‘There’s a lot to be said for military training,’ said Swift. ‘Maybe we should be recruiting more ex-army guys.’

  ‘Were you army?’ asked Shepherd, although he knew that Swift had never been in the armed forces. His file had been on Hargrove’s CD.

  ‘Nah, I was a fireman, way back when. Got fed up with climbing ladders. I was at Hendon the same time as Rosie here. A few years older and a lot better-looking.’

  ‘That’s why you’ve been divorced three times, I suppose,’ said Rose.

  ‘The grass is always greener,’ said Swift. ‘That’s been my problem.’

  ‘You married now?’ asked Shepherd. The file had said Swift was being sued for divorce by his third wife.

  ‘Just about to get loose from wife number three,’ said Swift. ‘Good riddance. What about you? Bitten the bullet?’

  Shepherd grinned. ‘I’ll give it a few years before I settle down.’

  ‘Wish I’d done that,’ said Swift. ‘My first wife got her claws into me when I was eighteen. Dragged me kicking and screaming down the aisle a year later. Still, we had three good years.’

  ‘You got divorced after just three years?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Swift. ‘The three good years were followed by five hellish ones. Then she divorced me.’

  Rose groaned. Clearly it was a joke he’d heard many times before.

  Sutherland was sitting on his own now, legs stretched out, staring up at the ceiling with his beer glass balanced on his stomach. Shepherd walked over and sat down next to him. ‘All right, Mike?’ he said, clinking his glass against Sutherland’s.

  ‘Ace,’ said Sutherland, sitting up. ‘One hell of a day. Like Rosie said, you might be a Jonah. You can go a week without a big one breaking and you get two in one day.’

  ‘You’d rather spend all day dealing with f
alse alarms? Kids with airguns and robbers with cucumbers in brown-paper bags?’

  ‘Oh, Christ, an adrenaline junkie.’ Sutherland groaned. ‘Just what we need.’

  ‘We’re trained to deal with armed criminals,’ said Shepherd. ‘Anything else is a waste of our time.’ He stretched out his legs. ‘I’ll sleep well tonight,’ he said. ‘Damn near broke my hip dropping through that ceiling.’

  Tapping was being toasted noisily by Swift and half a dozen members of Amber team. ‘It’s Kev I feel sorry for,’ said Sutherland. ‘That’s him off firearms duties until the shooting’s investigated.’

  ‘It was by the book.’ Shepherd grinned. ‘At least it was once we bust through the ceiling.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter if it was by the book or not. He’s on desk duties until it’s investigated. We’ve one guy who’s still on hold four years after a shooting.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Shit’s right. Shot an armed robber during a raid on a supermarket. Robber’s gun turned out to be a replica and now he’s trying to sue the Met for everything from lost wages to infringement of his human rights. He was terrorising a pregnant woman, for God’s sake, yet he’s the one suing us. Until it’s resolved, our guy isn’t allowed to pick up a gun.’

  ‘Lucky I didn’t get off a shot,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I’m serious, Stu. The world’s gone bloody mental. You have to work your balls off to get into SO19, then you train and train to do the job right, but the minute you fire your weapon you’re treated like a criminal. In fact, the criminals get more leeway than we do.’ He drank some lager. ‘You know Swift’s serious about getting you and Kev a commendation?’ he said.

  ‘Screw that. I’d rather have a pay rise,’ said Shepherd. ‘You can’t spend a commendation.’

  ‘You short?’ asked Sutherland.

  ‘Who isn’t, these days?’

  ‘I can bung you a few quid until you’re sorted.’

  ‘Cheers, Mike, but I need more than that.’ He leaned closer to Sutherland and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘That thirty grand would have come in handy.’

  ‘What thirty grand?’

  ‘In the pizza place. The drugs money. There was thirty grand in that bag.’