THE FOLLOWER: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 4)

by Robert White

  “I’ll have to live with that decision Lauren. I know that, and I don’t need you to remind me. The fact that some of this could have been prevented will play out in my own private nightmares. I know… they’ve already paid me a visit. And I know now, I was wrong…so, just hear me out, okay?”

  He removed some papers from his case. They appeared full of manic scribbles.

  “After I left you that day,” he began. “I did go to see DCS Williams.”

  He held up a hand.

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t mention you. I told him that an informant had given me a tip about a suspect seen with Todd the night he was killed, and that I had some CCTV stills of him”

  “And?”

  “And, I came away with a flea in my ear and a warning not to interfere in his investigation.”

  “Unsurprising.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, I went back home, brooded and drank too much.”

  “Like all detectives do.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “I was foolish. I should have come straight to you then. I should have realised that the heavyweight politics at work would never allow for a normal investigation.”

  He rummaged in his case again and pulled out a sheaf of 10 x 8 photographs and placed them alongside his notes.

  “Then there was the assassination attempt on JE Blackman at the Midland Hotel. What could be spared from my team, SOCU, were given the job of investigating the shootings. Of course, they’d already been through the CCTV footage from in and around the hotel. However, as you know, I happen to be good friends with the guy who runs the city’s camera unit… and I got these.”

  He pushed a small pile of stills over the table.

  “They clearly show that the man who made the call from the Sackville Gardens call box, was also directly involved in attack on Senator Blackman.”

  As I dutifully flicked through the shots, I began to think I’d had a wasted journey. After all, we already knew the identity of the gang behind the shootings at the Midland. To see pictures of Siddique Al-Mufti in the area of the hotel was hardly going to be a revelation.

  The pictures did indeed show the Arab standing in St Peter’s Square, both alone and in the company three other men.

  Larry tapped one picture. “These three, standing with our man are the shooters… positive ID’s from the internal CCTV. Thankfully, my Detective Sergeant still speaks to me and sent me these.”

  Larry leafed through until he found two other shots taken from the Midland Hotel’s own system, showing the same three men walking into what looked like a side or staff entrance. They were openly carrying weapons.

  I studied the pictures.

  “Very casual, considering the Secret Service were in the lobby.”

  “Yes, and how slack was their marking? No one at the rear entrance, no one on the emergency exits. I figured the job stank, and I was right. I checked all the cameras within half a mile of the hotel in the run up to the shooting. Finally, I came across this…the reason I called you.”

  Larry handed me another picture from his case.

  “I was going to hand all this over to SOCU. That was, until I saw this last shot.”

  He turned and looked into my eyes.

  “You were right. I hate to admit it, but this… this picture says it all. The cops are in over their heads. This needs to be dealt with your way… I’m so sorry, Lauren.”

  I studied the picture.

  “You want that drink now?” he asked.

  “Make it a double,” I said.

  Rick Fuller’s Story:

  I needed a shower and to change my damaged trousers. By the time I sat across from Mitch in the cool of our lockup, I figured Lauren would be with Larry.

  “What do you think the cop wants, Mr Fuller?”

  I raised my brows. “I really don’t know. I mean, he’s out of the loop. It’s hard to imagine he knows anything more than we do.”

  Mitch gave me a knowing look and changed the subject.

  “Hey, Mr Fuller, never mind Larry, what about that kiss, huh? I didn’t realise that you and Miss North were romantically inclined?”

  “That’s because it’s none of your business, Mitch.”

  “I was just sayin’ is all.”

  I rubbed some life into my face with both palms.

  “Sorry mate, I get so touchy about it. We are… and we’re not.”

  Mitch just looked at me and waited.

  “What I mean is, we haven’t, I mean, you know we haven’t been in the position to…”

  “You mean you haven’t slept together?”

  I nodded.

  Mitch scratched his head.

  “With all due respect, Sir. You have a beautiful woman there. I mean, she’s all over you like a swarm of bees, and you seem more interested in the hole in your trousers. I mean, this thing with your clothes. All these cars in here, that place where you live. You are one uptight guy, I’ll say that for you.”

  “I haven’t always been this way. Well, not with the OCD thing.”

  “OCD?”

  “Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I have it.”

  “I ain’t never heard of that, Sir. I’m so sorry. Is it fatal?”

  I almost burst out laughing.

  “You are a naive guy, Mitch. No, it isn’t fuckin’ fatal. It’s a disorder of the brain and affects different people in different ways. For me, it began with cleaning. For instance, if you spilled your drink on the table, I would probably have to scrub the whole kitchen.”

  “But when you’re working, I mean when you’re in the field, I ain’t never seen anyone better. You don’t stop to mop up the blood you spill, do you Mr Fuller?”

  “To be honest, it’s the only time I ever feel truly normal, Mitch. That’s why I don’t think I could ever stop… ever have a normal life, a relationship.”

  “With Lauren?”

  “With anyone.”

  He mused on that for a while.

  “So, when did this start, this OCD?”

  “Oh, I suppose as a young kid. Not that the doctors knew what it was back in the late sixties.

  I’d lost my Dad when I was small. He was part of 45 Commando, who were involved in the Battle of the Crater in Aden, 1967. He survived that but was shot dead in an NLF ambush the day after. My mum never recovered from losing him. I came home from school two days before my thirteenth birthday, to find her with her head in the gas oven.”

  “Oh, my Lord.”

  I turned down my mouth. “It’s a long time ago, son. After that, I was passed between a few distant relatives for a while, but my behaviour became too difficult for them to tolerate and I was put into care. The army saved me.”

  “It has a way of doing that on occasions, Sir.”

  “It does. Anyway, my issues got much worse after my wife was killed. They say that trauma can bring the condition on. It certainly did with me. I fell off the perch for a while. If it hadn’t been for Des, I would probably have followed in my mother’s footsteps and topped myself.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, I’ll let you be the judge of that, son.” I stood and found the kettle. “… And I have no idea why I’m telling you about my dim and distant.”

  Mitch smiled. “My Momma always said I was a good listener.”

  “She was right, Mitch.”

  The American stretched his long powerful arms over his head. “Well, for what my humble opinion is worth, Mr Fuller, I’d say that when this matter is over you just pick up that woman of yours, carry her in your arms to the most beautiful beach you could ever imagine, take her hand in marriage and glory hallelujah.”

  I smiled. “You’ve got some imagination Mitch, I’ll say that.”

  As I poured our tea, my phone rang.

  “Hi Lauren.”

 
“Is Mitch with you?” she asked quietly.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll be with you in ten.”

  Des Cogan’s Story:

  After much fucking around, playing avoid the Arab, I’d arrived at the Prince O’ Wales to find it closed.

  Not only closed, but with two of the three lovely frosted glass windows boarded up. There was a cop car parked around the corner in the side street. As I strolled by it, I placed my hand on the bonnet to find it hot.

  I knocked on the door of the main bar and waited for an answer. Finally, there was movement. Maggie opened the heavy door an inch or so and peered out.

  When she saw it was me she pulled it the rest of the way and threw her arms around my neck. I held her tight, but before either of us could speak, she began to sob into my collar.

  “Hey, hey, come on, hen. Come on, it can’t be that bad, can it?”

  She pulled away from me, eyes red, nose streaming. She wiped her face with her hand. “Oh Des, come in. Please come in. The police are just leaving. It was awful… just awful.”

  I followed her into the bar. The old boy in the striped apron, the same one I’d seen outside after I’d left Maggie’s bed, was busy sweeping glass from the floor. A young girl wearing thick gardening gloves was picking shards from the furnishings and hoovering the smaller slivers.

  “What happened here then?” I asked.

  A rather rotund policewoman waddled from behind the bar holding a clipboard. “Vandals,” she said. “Bloody kids.”

  I looked at Maggie. She gave me the slightest shake of her head.

  “Oh right,” I said to the cop. Playing the game. “There’s no one hurt, I hope?”

  “Old George has a cut on his head,” said Maggie. “He’s gone in an ambulance for it stitched. But he’s a tough old bird.”

  I put my arm around her. She was trembling. “So he is.”

  “You’ll be looking for these little buggers then?” I asked the plump plod.

  The woman gave me a practiced smile that couldn’t hide her weariness. “We’ll give it a go, but it was dark, they had their hoods up. You know the script, Sir.”

  “Do I?”

  The cop pulled out a business card and handed it to Maggie.

  I wondered how long the cops had carried those. Back in the day, when I was wee, everyone knew who our local coppers were. We knew them by name. More importantly, they knew us little sods too. And our brothers and more importantly, our parents. Having your hood up back then would not be a means of escaping punishment. Old PC McDermott would ensure you got your just desserts, whether he could prove your guilt or not.

  “You can get me on that number, Maggie,” droned the Cop. “I’ve written your crime reference number on the back for the insurance.”

  I saw Maggie’s tears start again. “You can’t buy windows like those anymore. They don’t make them.”

  The Cop dismissed that with a shrug. I could see her mind working.

  It’s just a couple of windows, get a grip. You’re a licensee of a Manchester boozer for fucks sake.

  I gave Maggie a squeeze. “Come on, I’ll help you clear up.”

  She managed a weak smile. “Thanks Des.”

  Once the place was in some semblance of order and the staff had left, we sat in the bar around a copper topped table, me with a Guinness, Maggie with a glass of red wine. With only the optic lights illuminated and the windows boarded, the pub was dark and quiet.

  Maggie reached across the table. “You’ll stay tonight, won’t you Des.”

  “If that’s what you want hen, yeah. I’d just nipped in to see how you were getting on like.”

  “I’d like that. I… well, I need the company to be honest.”

  I gave her a smile and held her hand. “So what really happened?”

  Maggie sat up. “Pretty much as was said. It was kids. Well, teenagers anyway. We caught them on the cameras, but like the officer told you, they were wearing hoodies.”

  “So, why the shake of the head earlier?”

  “Why do you think, Des? They’ve been back, those guys you saw the other day, the ones from Lucas Estates.”

  “What? Getting all heavy?”

  She shook her head. “No, that isn’t their style. It was all veiled threats; ‘the pub’s in a bad area; you never know what might happen; you’re a woman on your own.’ You know, all that kind of shit.”

  I knew.

  “So, you think they slipped the local idiots a few bob to put yer windows in?”

  “I reckon.” She drained her glass and checked her watch. “Gosh, look at the time. It’s getting late, and the window guys will be here at seven. You want another… before bed?”

  That brought a smile to my face. I followed Maggie behind the bar and wrapped my arms around her waist as she poured my drink.

  She let her head fall backwards so I could kiss her neck. I could smell her perfume. She felt so good.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said. “Does that sound stupid? I mean, we’ve only just met, you know, just that one night together. Am I being a silly middle aged fool?”

  I held her tight.

  “I figure we can all be a wee bit silly at times, hen. I’ve been on my own a while now and ye sort of get used to being lonesome. I reckon ye get to the point where being lonely is the easier option. No one to worry about. But I have to say, well… well if I’m honest, I’ve missed you too. So maybe we’re both being foolish.”

  Maggie gave me a beaming smile at that.

  “There you go,” she said handing me my glass. “You want to take it upstairs? I’ve bought some Pavarotti?”

  “Oh, that’s fantastic, Maggie, ye’d no need to do such a thing. Aye, I’ll bring it up.” I felt for my pipe. “I’ll just nip out for a wee smoke first, if ye dinnea mind.”

  “Just bolt the door after you when you come back in.” She raised her brows, “And don’t be long.”

  * * *

  I stepped out into the warm evening, filled my pipe and inspected the pebbles of glass still glistening on the pavement, the shavings of wood left by the boarding up service, the position of the CCTV cameras.

  Was it just feral kids? Or was it more serious? Was it connected to Lucas Estates, to Yunfakh? To Al-Mufti?

  I lit the bowl, took the smoke into my lungs and blew it into the night sky.

  It wasn’t the time to think about such things. Now was the time for love, for the opportunity to hold a good, decent woman in my arms. To share a night with someone who just maybe, could become special.

  I turned and stepped back inside the Prince.

  Just as the screaming started.

  Lauren North’s Story:

  Larry dropped me at Piccadilly and I’d collected my RS6.

  I parked almost a mile away from the lockup, worked more drills, checking for tails, doubling back, darting in and out of takeaways and late bars. Checking and re-checking again and again. It wasn’t paranoia, it was about keeping alive.

  After punching the entry code into the lock-up door, I stepped into the cool air.

  Rick and Mitch were sitting drinking tea. The TV played silently on the wall. Mitch had his Magnum stripped on the table top, and was busy cleaning it.

  Both men looked up.

  “You okay?” asked Rick.

  I drew my Colt and pointed it at Mitch. I don’t quite know how I expected him to react, but he just lay his hands on the table and looked straight into my eyes.

  “Mr Cogan was of a mind that you guys never point a gun at a man unless you intend to kill him,” he said quietly.

  “What’s this about?” spat Rick, brow furrowed, eyes darting between the American and my drawn weapon.

  I edged around the table, never taking my eyes from Mitch and lay down the photograph Larry had given me.

  I
t depicted Siddique Al-Mufti. He was standing in the doorway of The Revolution Bar on Oxford Road and was in deep conversation with another man.

  That man was none other than Mason Carver.

  I gestured towards the shot with my chin and eyed the American. “Recorded less than an hour after you slipped out of the Old Monkey to take his call.”

  Mitch was impassive.

  I pressed on. “And then, that same evening, you drag Rick along to meet JE Blackman at the request of our ‘so called’ friend from the CIA. The moment you arrive in the room, Yunfakh walk into the Midland Hotel, through an unguarded back entrance, slip up a stairway similarly bereft of any of your Secret Service colleagues and make a real mess of the Senator’s very posh suite. How conveniently incompetent, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t speak for Mr Carver Ma’am.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe not, but you take orders from him.”

  “When I arrived in the UK, I was instructed to report to Mason Carver. He was to be my contact here. In turn, he instructed me to assist you and that is what I believe I have done. Now, I admit, that my orders were to keep Todd Blackman’s sexual preferences a secret for as long as possible, and to keep any information to the contrary from you, but at no time did Mason Carver suggest that I hinder your team further. I have had no reason to suspect him of any wrong doing… until now that is.”

  Mitch took a good long look at me. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or disappointment in his eyes. “What I can say for certain Ma’am, is that Mr Fuller here saved my life in the Midland. For sure, no doubt, one hundred percent.”

  He turned his gaze to Rick. “But, as the Lord is my witness, Mr Fuller. If I’d wanted harm to befall you that night, I could have shot you down like a dog in that corridor, or let the guy with the AK do it for me, that’s the truth, Sir, and you know it.”

  Rick nodded his agreement.

  I felt suddenly tired. As though someone had unplugged me.

  I sat and dropped the Colt on the table.

  “I take it you ain’t going to shoot me now Ma’am?” said the American.

  I managed a weak smile. “I just needed to know we could trust you.”