by Conrad Jones
37
HENRY
HENRY CREPT around the edge of the warehouse keeping close to the walls. Dozens of security vans were parked inside the cavernous building. Apart from the light from his torch, the place was in darkness.
“The guards will be in the office.”
“Good,” Patrick said. “Let’s get the gear out of the van and get out of here.”
“Are you sure that you can hotwire it if we need to?”
“I had a misspent youth,” Patrick said, grinning nervously.
“Which van was it?”
“That one there.” Patrick pointed to a black Transit. It was the only vehicle with no logo on it. They crept towards it and crouched down next to the driver’s door. He tried the handle but it was locked. Henry shook his head in disbelief.
“Did you think it would be open, really?”
“It was worth a try,” Patrick sighed. He took a wire from the bag and began to work on the lock. Henry moved away and checked the roller shutters. They were locked from the inside. He could see the glint of light coming from the corridor which led to the office. The drone of a television reached him. “I’m in,” Patrick whispered.
“Good man,” Henry said, walking back to the van. He looked inside the cab and frowned. There was a bulkhead separating the front from the back. “Now what?”
“We need to get the back open.” Patrick shone his torch around the steering wheel.
“What are you doing?”
“There should be a catch under here that opens the lock on the back doors. It’s been removed. They have adapted the van so that no one can open the rear doors from the inside.”
“Clever bastards, eh?” Henry muttered. “I’ll burn our way into it.”
Patrick shook his head. He knocked on the bulkhead with his knuckles. “This has been plated. It’s been reinforced. Your lance won’t cut through that.”
“What about the back doors?”
“Try it but I think there’s a better option?”
“What’s that?” Henry raised his eyebrows.
“We take the van. If we get it out of here, we can take our time getting into it. We need industrial cutting gear to get through this plate.”
“Can you hotwire this?”
Patrick looked at the steering column and shook his head. “They’ve plated that too. See here,” he said, pointing to it. “If I bust the ignition block I could fuck it up completely. We need the key.” Henry nodded and stood up. He walked towards the corridor. “Where the fuck are you going?” Patrick hissed.
“To get the key, Einstein. Where do you think I am going.”
“Shit!” Patrick whispered to himself. “We don’t know how many men are down that corridor.”
“I have fifteen bullets in this magazine and another four magazines in my jacket.” Henry paused and counted on his fingers. “Do you think there will be more than sixty?”
“Funny, very funny,” Patrick said. “Don’t kill anyone!”
“I’ll try,” Henry winked. “Are you coming or are you going to stand there with your thumb up your arse?”
Patrick shook his head and followed. He stayed close to his shoulder. They reached the door, which led to the corridor and peered through the glass. The corridor was empty. A light burned from the office. The reflection of a television screen flickered off the glass. Henry turned the handle and pushed the door open slowly. The hinges creaked and he stopped, holding his breath. Patrick froze to the spot. They waited for the office door to open and a horde of angry security guards to run out, guns blazing but nothing happened. Henry grimaced at Patrick, a thin smile on his lips. Patrick breathed a sigh of relief and they moved on down the corridor. They were five yards from the office door, when a shadow appeared on the glass and it opened.
“What the fuck?” the guard hissed. He reached into his jacket with his right hand. Henry raised the Glock and fired once. A dark hole appeared in the centre of his forehead and the back of his head exploded. Pink goo sprayed up the wall. His eyes widened as his knees buckled and he fell forward onto his face.
Henry moved quickly. He stood in the doorway and aimed the Glock, both hands on the weapon. Patrick watched in horror as he fired two shots to the left, two to the right and another two straight ahead. His ears were ringing as Henry disappeared into the office. He was stunned and stared at the spreading pool of blood on the floor.
“Get in here,” Henry called. “I need your help!”
Patrick moved towards the door, stepped over the dead guard and looked into the office. Three bodies were sprawled on the carpet. Blood splatter covered the walls and ceiling in crimson arcs.
“Jesus Christ, Henry!” he snapped. “I thought we weren’t going to kill anyone.”
“I changed my mind when he reached for his weapon.” Henry glared at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, don’t you want to live?”
“Of course I do.”
“Good. There’s a board full of keys over there. Have a look for what we need. We might need to move some of the vans from in front of the doors.” Patrick was staring at the dead men. “Patrick!” Henry shouted at him.
“What?”
“Get a fucking grip, will you!”
“Okay,” Patrick mumbled.
“Get the keys!”
“Okay. What are you going to do?”
“We’re on candid camera,” Henry pointed to a bank of monitors, “I’m going to wipe it while you get the van out of here.”
“I can’t believe you killed everyone.”
“Shut up and get the keys.”
“You didn’t need to kill them all.” Patrick searched for the right keys. They all looked the same until he spotted the labels. Then the system made sense. He found the keys for the transit and put them in his jacket. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“I did, Patrick.”
“Why did you?” Patrick said taking the other keys from the board. The vans between the transit and the roller shutters were Fords. He took all the Ford keys and put them into another pocket. “I don’t get it.”
“Because that is what the Karpovs would do,” Henry said with a wink. He tapped the side of his head with his forefinger. “Up here for thinking, Patrick and down there for dancing. I want Big Ron Mason to think that the Russians fucked him again.”
JO WALKED into her office and nearly bumped into Google. Her black trouser suit touched her curves in the right places. Google looked red faced and excited. He held up a sheet of paper and smiled.
“You need to see this, Guv,” he said, waving the paper.
“Take a seat, Google,” she said, pointing to a chair. “You look like you’re going to pee yourself.”
“I nearly did when I saw this,” he said, sitting down. He straightened his tie. “Steff Cain was a genius.”
“Calm down and talk me through what you have.”
“It was in the file that technical brought over,” he began. “I had a scan through it all quickly but this stood out straight away.”
“What is it?”
“It is mobile phone acquisition,” he said, holding up the sheet. “Cain took it out three weeks before she died. There are calls made to Cain’s number up to the day before she died. Some of the calls are over an hour long. She didn’t answer the last three.”
“Tell me that you think that the phone was for her informer.”
“Why else would she need it?”
“Tell me that you have the number.”
“I have the number.”
“Tell me it is still active.”
“It is still active.”
“Tell me it is switched on.”
“It is switched on.”
“Now tell me that you have triangulated it and you know where it is.”
“I have triangulated it and I know where it is.”
“I love you, Google.” She slapped the desk with her hand. “And I’m not even joking. Well done, Google.”
“Thank yo
u, Guv.”
“Does Braddick know yet,” she said, reaching for the phone.
“Not yet. Do you want me to gather the troops?”
“Yes. Everyone and his dog. Get an ARU Inspector up here too.” She dialled Braddick. Google stood up and walked towards the door. “Google!”
“Yes?”
“You had better call the ACC too. We will need his authorisation for this.”
“No problem.”
“Google.”
“Yes.”
“Well done.” Google blushed and nodded and hurried off. Braddick answered the telephone. “You are not going to believe this!”
38
Big Ron
BIG RON PULLED up to the entrance of the compound. The rollers were down and everything looked okay until he realised that the gates were unlocked. What were the men inside thinking? Maybe one of them had gone to the chippy or sneaked out to the pub. It wouldn’t be the first time that type of thing had happened. He was beyond rage to the point where he couldn’t think straight. The Karpovs had gone for them all out, no holds barred. They had dug a hole in his front lawn and buried his cousins head first in it, leaving their legs sticking up. Then they had torched his home. The bastards had no class. He was fuming that he hadn’t torched their clubs. Hindsight was a bitch. They had let everyone at the clubs go unharmed. All he wanted was the drugs and money and to piss them off. They had responded with the wrath of the devil.
One of his men had called him and told him about the pictures on the internet. Becky had been raped and Rickets wasn’t answering his phone. He had no more information than that. She had been taken away in an ambulance but he didn’t know if she had made it. He should have known better. He should have let sleeping dogs lie but it was too late for regrets, too late for hindsight and too late for sorry. Sorry wouldn’t cut it for Rickets and Becky. Rickets adored her. He would be devastated. Ron knew that he needed to consolidate their position or the Karpovs would bury them all. Whoever all was. He wasn’t sure who was behind him and who wasn’t anymore. His men seemed to have deserted him like rats leaving a sinking ship. Despite leaving a dozen messages, none of his men had returned his calls and looking at the empty car park, no one had turned up at the compound. He was bitterly disappointed but hardly surprised. All those years that he had looked out for them and where were they now?
He thought about the images of Becky. They were horrific. She had been through an ordeal that was beyond description. They had terrorised a gang member’s partner and published the pictures for the world to see what happens to people who fuck with the Karpovs. Those images would be out there forever. That was the nuclear weapon of retaliation and it had the desired effect. If he was honest with himself, it was no wonder that his men hadn’t turned up. They had probably packed up their families and left town and who could blame them? Ron was alone and that was that.
He opened the driver’s door and climbed out, walking to the gates he inspected the CCTV cameras. The gates squealed as he pushed them open. He wondered why the guards hadn’t seen him. If they were asleep, he would give them a good kick up the arse. Ron climbed back into the vehicle and drove up to the rollers. He turned off the engine and climbed out. The roller shutters were open at the bottom. It was only a few inches but it was enough to set the alarm bells ringing in his head. The shutters could not be closed and locked from the outside. It was a feature of their design. It was only then that he realised that the compound had been compromised.
He stormed towards the rollers, angry beyond description and reached down to lift the shutters up. They rattled loudly and the noise echoed from the walls. He reached inside to switch on the lights, fumbling blindly in the dark until he felt the panel. One by one the long fluorescent light tubes flickered to life and illuminated the interior. He looked at the spot where the black transit had been parked and roared like a silverback gorilla. His cries were carried on the wind into the night. The safe van had gone with two months takings and what they had taxed from the Karpov’s nightclubs and he had a good idea who had taken it.
Ron turned towards the corridor door and kicked it as hard as he could. It crumpled like cardboard; the hinges were ripped from the frame. The door rattled down the corridor and came to a stop near the dead body of the security guard. Ron stopped and looked at him. A single shot through the forehead had killed him, the entry wound dead centre. Whoever had shot him was ex-military. He reached the office door and looked inside. The three bodies were still warm, the blood still running from their skulls. They had been shot from the doorway, one shooter, six shots, all on target. He couldn’t see any bullet holes in the walls. The shooter hadn’t missed with a single shot. That kind of marksmanship was very rare indeed.
Ron froze when he heard the sound of an engine approaching outside. He ran to the desk and took out his gun before running down the corridor towards the vehicle bay. He raised the gun and aimed just above the approaching headlights. The van stopped in front of the open shutters and the engine was switched off. Ron blinked as the driver turned off the lights and opened the driver’s door.
“Fucking hell, Rickets,” Ron said. He felt emotional and relieved to see him. “I didn’t expect to see you.” Ron walked towards him and they embraced. Rickets was weeping like a child. Ron closed the shutters and waited for him to settle down. “How is she?”
“She’s at the Royal. She’s alive but she won’t see me,” Rickets sniffled. Ron felt awkward. Rickets was the hardest man that he knew but he was broken. “Her father is blaming me. He said that he is going to get an injunction against me so that I can’t contact her.”
“What a cunt,” Ron said, shaking his head. “He can’t do that.”
“I can’t say that I blame him to be honest.”
“You can’t put this on yourself.”
“Can’t I?” Rickets shook his head. “Who else is to blame, Ron?”
“This is not your fault,” Ron said. “This is down to those Russian bastards. They did this. They started this and we need to finish it before they do anything else. We have to stop them.”
“Who exactly are you going to stop, Ron?” Rickets snapped. “There are hundreds of them and you can’t get near the Karpovs. If you kill a few of the top dogs, another one steps up into their place before they’re cold. You can’t win.”
“I have to do something. These bastards are well out of order and I’m not having it.”
“What are you going to do, Ron?” Rickets stepped back and wiped his eyes. “Are you going to take them all on single handed?”
“If I have to.”
“Then what? They won’t stop coming back at you. You hit them hard and they come back even harder.”
“They burned my gaff down and dumped the Farrells on my lawn.”
“That’s just the start. They’re not finished yet, Ron. If they can’t find you, they will go after young Ron. They’ll come here next.”
“They already have.” Ron pointed to the empty space where the safe van had been. “Our stash has gone.”
“The safe van?”
“Gone.”
“What about the guards?”
“They shot them all.”
“Fucking hell. We’re finished, Ron. It’s all over.”
“We can’t do nothing, Rickets.”
“Look around you, Ron. This is it. The men have all left town. You’re the only one left with any fight in you. Everyone else saw what they did to Becky and they have run for the hills and I can’t blame them. We’re finished.”
“I’m not finished. What about you, Rickets?” Ron tilted his head. “You’ve never rolled over for anyone before.”
“This is different, Ron. We can’t fight them. The dirty bastards don’t play by our rules.”
“When did we play by anybody’s rules?” Ron scoffed. “We always made up our own rules.”
“When, Ron?” Rickets shrugged.
“What do you mean, when?”
“When did you mak
e up your own rules?” Rickets took a deep breath and sighed.
“I’ve always made up the rules.”
“You’re kidding yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Eddie Farrell made up the rules and he worked for the Karpovs.”
“Bollocks!”
“It’s the truth and you know it.”
“Bollocks.”
“We were dancing to their tune all the time and do you know why?”
“Go on. It sounds like you’re going to tell me anyway,” Ron growled. His face reddened with anger.
“Because you always knew that we were out of our depth. We could never have fronted out the Karpovs, not then and not now and you know it. Look at what they’ve done, for fuck’s sake!”
“Careful, Rickets.”
“Careful?” Rickets shrugged. “It’s a bit late to be careful, isn’t it?”
“Look, you’re upset,” Ron said quietly. “We can’t do nothing. We have to end this.”
“There is only one way to end this, for me, for Becky, for my family, for everyone.”
“And that is what?” Ron said, shaking his head. “Are you walking away?”
“I’m not walking away. No one can walk away completely, can they?”
“Okay, I’m listening. How do we end this?”
“We can’t win, Ron. We have to end it.”
“How?”
“I’ll have to do what they told me to do,” Rickets said, pulling out his gun. “I’m sorry Ron.” He fired three bullets into Ron’s chest before he could react. Big Ron Mason staggered backwards, clutching his chest.
“Why?” Ron gasped as his legs gave in and he fell backwards onto the floor.
“Because they said that they would do it again if I didn’t,” Rickets said, raising the gun again. He emptied the clip into Ron’s head. “Bye, Ron. Forgive me but I had no choice.”
39
MIT
THE BRIEFING ROOM WAS PACKED. Braddick and Jo walked to the front and stood beneath a bank of screens. The ACC was pacing up and down, looking stressed and tired. He was talking to an inspector from the ARU and a DI from the Tactical Entry Unit. A buzz of conversation echoed across the floor. Braddick picked up the remote and turned to face the room.
