The Rubicon

by Andrew Heasman

  Having checked the information obtained from Brown’s mobile phone, he could now add their telephone numbers and Facebook pages to his list of personal details. Both were incriminated on the footage from the hoax job at Nicholson House, but it did not appear that either of them had been in the front seats of the car during the hit-and-run video (that was not to say that one or other wasn’t the rear seat passenger). Locating an address for them proved not to be as simple as it had been for Brown; their social media information proved useless on that count. But when Adam flicked through the ‘Messages’ section of the phone, he noticed a number of text conversations between all three parties. One location kept cropping up as a meeting place – Clarke’s Gym.

  Adam had never been a gym devotee, certainly not a boxing gym, but he did know of its whereabouts. If Smith and Danson used the gym regularly, then if he kept watch on it, it would only be a matter of time before one or the other showed up on his radar. He decided that now was as good a time as any and drove into town, parking in a narrow side road such that he could see the comings and goings from the gym’s main entrance.

  He had expected his reconnaissance of the gym to be a long drawn-out and fruitless affair and so had stocked up with plenty of fast-food and takeaway coffee. He made himself comfortable and waited.

  As the evening dragged on, many muscle-bound young men entered the gym, others left looking hot and sweaty, but none of them resembled Archie Smith or Mark Danson. After about two hours, Adam was beginning to lose the will to live; he was bored beyond belief. Suddenly, he was shaken out of his stupor – there they were, both of them, together – talk about good luck.

  They strolled casually from the entrance, their gym bags slung over their shoulders, and wandered down a dark alley to the side of the building where, from an earlier Recce, Adam knew that there was a car park for customer use. A few moments later, they emerged driving a red Nissan Micra. Adam noted the registration number: AK15 DFU. He started his van’s engine, and after allowing a suitable gap to form, began following from a distance.

  Without any deviation, they drove onto the Glebe Estate and then pulled up outside a terrace of dilapidated houses. Adam pulled into a gap between two cars and killed his headlights. He watched as both men went into one of the mid-terrace dwellings. He waited patiently, but nobody came out of the address. Having no other choice, he climbed out of his van, pulled his hat down low to disguise his features, and as casually as he could, walked along the street past the mystery house. As he drew level with its front gate, he glanced sideways. The front dining room lights were on and the curtains open. He could see both of them sat at a table, two plates of food being served to them by a rather obese middle-aged woman. Judging by the body language, she was mother to one or other of the lads; which one, Adam could not say. Putting two and two together, he concluded that this was home to one of the boys. He noted the address: 14 Newport Road - yet another vital detail to add to his growing list of information.

  Climbing back into his van, Adam quickly checked his phone. There was a missed call and a text from Sarah. He had switched it to silent whilst conducting observations on his prey.

  The text read:

  .

  Have you been 2C Jen? RU planning to visit me 2nite?

  .

  He gave her a quick call.

  “Hi there, love, how’re you feeling?”

  “A bit better. Did you get to check on Jen today?”

  “Yeah, no change, I’m afraid. It’s still a waiting game.”

  “Where are you? Are you thinking of popping by later?”

  “Sorry, I can’t, I’m on call-out,” he lied. What he really thought was, if Turner’s people are following me, I don’t want to lead them straight to where you’re hiding. Although he was fully aware of the risks to his family, Sarah was not. It was better that she stay oblivious to what was going on – at least until it was all over.

  ...

  18:00 – Friday 14th December.

  Archie Smith and Mark Danson’s fate had been sealed. Adam had devised a plan.

  Shortly after six O’clock, he drove to Carisbrooke Lane, a street that ran parallel to Newport Road, and which offered uninterrupted views of number fourteen. From this vantage point, he could see that the red Micra was parked outside the address again. It was dinnertime, so it was a fair assumption that one, or both, would be inside, eating. He waited.

  At a quarter to eight, both suspects emerged from the house dressed in smart/casual attire. Were they going out, hitting the town? With Mark driving, they headed away from the Glebe. Adam had specifically chosen this road to park in, knowing that his targets would need to pass the junction at its end if heading into Barrington. He followed at a safe distance. They eventually parked in a cobbled lane midway between the pedestrianised town centre and the seafront, and then they set off on foot towards the High Street. Adam parked and trailed along behind them.

  Mark and Archie entered The Red Lion pub. Through the windows, Adam watched them order at the bar and then take their drinks to where the pool tables were situated. One hour and three rounds of drinks later, they emerged to stagger the 20 meters to The Bricklayer’s Arms, another pub. Great! A bloody pub crawl, Adam thought, but in reality, this was playing to his advantage. Their defences would be down and they would not know what had hit them.

  By midnight, the pubs were beginning to empty and the merrymakers were hitting the streets. Mark and Archie joined the throng as they wandered towards the seafront, to the only nightclub in the area: ‘Studio 94.’ They joined the queue awaiting entry, both clearly in good spirits, Adam watching them from the shadows. This was exactly what he had been hoping for. With them safely ensconced inside the nightclub for the next three, or more, hours, he was free to put his plan into action.

  Pulling out his mobile phone, Adam scrolled through his contacts until he found what he was looking for. He dialled the number.

  “Hello, Buck, is that you?”

  Buck Taylor was an acquaintance of Adam’s from his police days. He was a known supplier of drugs, but a little known supplier of information to the police; one of Adam’s former informants.

  “Who is this?” came the abrupt reply.

  “Greenwood.”

  “What, PC Greenwood?” Adam thought it best not to correct his assumption that he was still a police officer. “I ain’t heard from you in ages. What’s up?”

  “I need a favour. You still in the drugs game?”

  “You know I am. Nothing much changes round here.”

  “I need to get my hands on some drugs, pronto. Anything will do – tabs, powders, grass – whatever you’ve got.” Taylor was instantly suspicious.

  “Why? You planning some Police Op?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Look, I need it fast, as in NOW. What can you do?”

  “It’ll cost ya.”

  “No probs, I’ve got it covered. How long?”

  “Meet me at the back of the old Odeon Cinema on Burk Street in an hour. Make sure you bring the cash.”

  “Will do. Look, keep this between us, OK? Remember, you owe me for keeping you out of the shit a few years back.”

  “Yeah, don’t remind me. Once this is done, we’re quits, right?”

  “Yeah...” Adam hung up.

  An hour and a half later, Adam was the owner of a quantity of white powder (he assumed, and had been told, that it was heroin), numerous multicoloured tablets that resembled Smarties, and a few packets of dried cannabis, pre-packed and ready to sell on. Needless to say, he was not a user, nor a supplier. The acquisition of these drugs was a means to an end. They were to form a crucial, if rather expensive, part in his plans to destroy Smith and Danson.

  His route back to the nightclub took him within sight of where the red Micra had been parked. Good, it’s still there, he thought. His whole plan hinged on the basis that his two targets would be stupid enough to risk driving home after their night out, drunk or not. It was a bit of a gamble, but k
nowing the mentality of the majority of twenty-somethings on the Glebe, it was a fair assumption.

  Satisfied, he returned to his van, removed a small tool-roll containing a set of lock picks from its rear, and swapped his thermal winter gloves for a pair of smooth black leather ones. He walked back to the Micra, stopping short to ensure that nobody was within sight – he did not want any witnesses to what was about to happen.

  Gaining entry to the car took a matter of seconds, Adam’s skills as a locksmith making the task child’s play. He opened the boot silently, tugged at the carpet lining until it lifted, and secreted the majority of the drugs in the void where the spare tyre had once been. He hid the remainder of the cannabis in the glove box, and in the footwell on the driver’s side, he hid the kitchen knife that he had taken from Jared Brown. Satisfied with his actions, he secured the vehicle, giving it a quick once-over to ensure that he had left no incriminating prints, DNA, or any indications that it had been tampered with. Checking once again that he had not been seen near the vehicle, he vanished into the shadows and headed towards the seafront promenade.

  When Sarah had been approached by Turner’s cohorts after her evening run, DS Carmichael had been quick to point out that the CCTV cameras in that area were not working properly. That snippet of information was about to become very useful to Adam. Unobserved, he strolled towards the public telephone box located in the far corner of the promenade car park. Before dialling, he spun through 360 degrees, ensuring that no other cameras were watching him. He called, 999, and once he had been connected to the police control room, he mimicked a Scottish accent.

  “Hello, I’ve just been to the ‘Studio 94’ nightclub in Barrington...” He pretended to be out of breath, speaking quickly as if he had been running. “...and two blokes tried to sell me drugs. They were pretty persistent. I said no, but it pissed me off as I don’t do drugs, so I followed ‘em. They were selling stuff to loads of people. They went outside to a red car to top up their supplies.”

  “What type of car was it?”

  “Red, small, a hatchback I think. I got its number though: AK15 DFU. It’s parked down Warwick Lane, just round the corner from the club” He paused. “I overheard them use the names Archie and Mark, and I saw one of ‘em put a knife in the front of the car.”

  “So they’re armed? Are you sure about that?”

  “One is, definitely. Dunno ‘bout the other.”

  There followed a brief exchange where Adam gave descriptions of both males.

  “And what’s your name please? Where are you calling from?”

  “Look, they’re there NOW. If you’re quick, you’ll get ‘em before they leave. HURRY!” Adam replaced the receiver, a huge smile on his face. He knew that the police would be suspicious of his anonymous call – they would probably assume it was a hoax or a joke - but the mention of weapons and it being an ongoing situation was enough to ensure a prompt and robust response. Now all that he needed was to be nearby in order to witness the police detaining his targets.

  From the comfort of his van, Adam watched as the hordes of youngsters poured out of the nightclub. He checked his watch – 03:15. On an icy night, it would take mere minutes for them to disperse, the majority looking for the taxi rank at the far end of the street. Archie and Mark slowly wandered away from the crowd, cutting down an alleyway towards their car. Mark stopped, and as he propped himself against the wall to reduce his swaying, he urinated into the darkness. Once finished, he continued towards the Micra.

  Unbeknown to them, the town CCTV camera operators had seen them turn into the alley and had transmitted a swift message to the police Armed Response Vehicle (ARV) that was waiting a few streets away.

  As Mark fumbled in his pockets trying to locate the car keys, there was a screech of brakes from the far end of the road. The cobbled lane was filled with blue flashing lights as the officers decamped rapidly, their rifles in the ready position. They advanced on the unsuspecting drunks who were still attempting to access the car, completely oblivious to what was happening around them. From the opposite end of the lane, a police van turned in, blocking their escape, its crew of three completing the pincer movement and trapping Smith and Danson in its claws.

  The silence of the night was rudely shattered as chaos erupted. Orders were screamed at the men. “ARMED POLICE – Stand still!” “Hands in the air.” “Don’t move – Police!” Mark eventually managed to open the driver’s door and then looked up in a state of shock and confusion. Archie stared at the two armed officers and then at those coming from the van, calculating his chances of an escape, but there were none. He raised his hands in surrender, unsure why he had been targeted. They had not done anything wrong, had they? This was a bit extreme just to stop them from drink/driving!

  “On your knees!”

  Archie did as instructed.

  As some officers handcuffed and searched him, others yelled at Mark. “Where’s the weapon? Let me see your hands.” What weapon? He had no weapon. “Move away from the car,” the shouts continued. Mark panicked. He ran.

  “Stand still or I’ll shoot – TASER!” screamed one of the regular police officers.

  He failed to heed the instruction and was instantly zapped by many thousands of volts of electricity. As he sprawled on the damp ground, shuddering and vibrating, he was handcuffed and searched. He struggled and screamed in pain as he was pinned down, a puddle of urine beginning to spread from beneath his prone body (a side effect of having been tasered).

  Whilst both prisoners were monitored by their detaining officers, others began searching their vehicle. Archie looked with amazement as a knife was produced from the driver’s footwell and small bags of something dark were discovered in the glove box, but his jaw dropped when they located the packages of assorted drugs in the boot. He looked at Mark, who stared back, equally perplexed. Where had all of that come from? they both thought, in unison.

  “That’s not ours,” cried Archie. “It’s been planted! You lot must’ve put it there.” His words were ignored as both were arrested for possession-with-intent-to-supply, and possession of an offensive weapon.

  Adam watched with amusement as both men were thrown into the prisoner cage at the rear of the police van. His plan had worked better than he could have hoped. Danson being tasered had been an unexpected bonus. He smiled to himself. Another two of Turner’s team dealt with. Who would be next?

  ...

  Aaron woke with a jolt, his mobile phone’s ringtone playing loudly in the darkness.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “It’s Sam. Listen, my mate was up the club tonight. Says he saw Archie and Mark getting nicked. He reckons it was a planned operation, armed police, vans, the lot. Mark got tasered before they took him.”

  “How reliable’s your mate? Was he telling the truth?”

  “Yeah, he’s sound. Rumour is they were done for supply and weapons.”

  Aaron was silent. He could not believe what he was hearing.

  “What were they up to?” he asked. “They don’t sell nothing unless I give ‘em the go ahead. They working for themselves? Freelancing?” There was anger in his voice.

  “Dunno, but...” Aaron cut him off mid-sentence.

  “Well, find out!” he roared. He hung up.

  This was all he needed, dissent in the ranks. He had already lost one gang member, thanks to Adam Greenwood, now it looked like another two would be spending some time in the nick. He was losing people left, right, and centre! It had not occurred to him that Adam might be responsible for this latest depletion in his manpower too.

  A drowsy voice from the other side of the bed disturbed his thoughts. “Wha...what’s up, love?”

  “Shut the fuck up!” he yelled. He could do without Kelly getting on his nerves as well. “Get me some coffee!” he demanded.

  “What, at this time in the morning, it’s still dark?”

  “Just fucking do it! I’m not in the mood for your lip,” he said.

  Fearing a be
ating, she scuttled away to do his bidding without saying another word.

  Chapter 28

  15:00 – Saturday 15th December.

  Jenny had taken a turn for the worse!

  Overnight, her condition had deteriorated and a ventilator had been required to assist with her breathing. The doctors had informed Adam that she had an infection in her lungs - something else to add to her growing list of ailments - but that it should be controllable given antibiotics and time. Having only arrived home at four thirty from his night-time operation, he had barely managed two hour’s rest before heading back out again to the County Hospital. Adam was totally exhausted, but his personal struggles were forgotten the moment that he saw his daughter. She was so delicate, so fragile, hooked up to all manner of different contraptions that were keeping her alive. He sobbed openly. There was nothing that he could do for her. However, she was in the best place; the doctors and nurses were giving her round-the-clock attention.

  As soon as the consultant had told him that she was responding well to the drugs, he was out of the hospital seeking fresh air. He could hardly breathe in the claustrophobic confines of the intensive care unit.

  He called Sarah, explained what had happened, and ended on a positive note by telling her that Jenny was responding well to treatment. She wanted to drop everything and rush to be by her daughter’s bedside, but Adam had told her that it was pointless; she was still in a coma and was unaware of anybody’s presence. She had asked what he had been up to over the last few days. He had given work as an excuse, choosing, yet again, to keep her in the dark as to his true activities. But he sensed that she was becoming suspicious. Was she beginning to suspect what he had been up to? Should he tell her the truth? He decided to say nothing, but he needed to be more careful in the future. If she was suspicious of his behaviour, it would only take one slip-up on his part, and everything would be out in the open.

  Sarah’s concerns were, in fact, not about her husband’s activities – she knew that he was up to something, she just did not know what – it was more that his whole character had altered. He had never been so focused, and yet, so secretive. Maybe it was a consequence of the stress that he had been under since his wife and daughter had been hit by the car. Maybe it was to do with the intimidation from the Turners. Either way, there was a distinct change in his behaviour. She was worried about him. She had never seen him like that before.