by Andy McNab
There were no motion-detector lights at the back of the house, just standard ones with an on/ off switch by the patio doors. I remembered switching them on for a barbecue.
I stroked Kelly's hair and looked down and smiled. Then, really slowly, I started to unzip the bag and get out what I needed. I put my mouth right to her ear and whispered, "I want you to stay here. It's really important that you look after this kit. You'll see me over there, OK?"
She nodded. Off I went.
I reached the patio doors. First things first: make sure they're locked. They were. I got my Maglite and checked to see if there were any bolts at the top and bottom of the frame.
It's no good defeating a lock if there are also bolts across;
that's one of the reasons why you try to attack a building at the point of last exit, because you know they can't be bolted again from the outside.
Normally the next thing to do would be to look for the spare key why spend an hour with the lock-picking kit if there's one hidden only a few feet away? Some people still leave theirs dangling on a string on the other side of the mailbox, or on the inside of a pet door. Others leave it under a trash can or just behind a little pile of rocks by the door. If a key is going to be left, it will nearly always be somewhere on the normal approach to the door. But this was Kev's house: I wouldn't find spare keys lying around. I put the photographer's blanket over my head and shoulders and, with the Maglite in my mouth, got to work with the lock-pick gun.
I opened the doors gently, moved the curtain aside, and looked inside the living room. The first thing I noticed was that all the curtains and shutters were closed, which was good for me because, once inside, we'd have cover. The second thing that hit me was an overpowering smell of chemicals. I tiptoed back to Kelly and whispered, "Come on, then!"
Our shoes were caked with mud, so we took them off on the concrete step and put them in the bag. Then we went inside and I pulled the doors closed.
I held the Maglite with my middle finger and forefinger over the lens to block most of the light and kept it close to the floor so we could see our way through the living room. The carpet and underlay had been taken up, and all the furniture was pushed to one side. All that was left were the particle board sheets that the builders had used instead of floorboards.
Someone had done a good job of scrubbing the brown stains under where Kev had been lying, which explained the chemical smell. The Murder Mop people had been in; once forensics finished, it was up to the commercial companies to clear away the mess.
We reached the door that led into the front hall. Kelly stood still, an old hand at all this stuff now. I got on my knees, eased the door ajar, and looked through. The front door was closed but light from the streetlamps shone through the stained-glass flower set into the window above it. I switched off the flashlight and stationed Kelly by the bag in the hallway.
I stopped and listened, and generally tuned in. The engine was still idling.
I felt Kelly pulling my jacket.
"Nick?"
"Shhh!"
"What happened to the rug--and what's that horrible smell?"
I turned around and half-crouched down. I put my finger to her lips and said, "We'll talk about it later."
There was a beep beep beep from the police car's radio.
The guys inside were probably drinking coffee, pissed off to be on duty all night. Some radio traffic came on the net. Who ever was Control sounded like Hitler with a dress on.
Indicating that Kelly should stay where she was, I moved across to the study and gently opened the door. I went back, picked up the bag, and guided Kelly into the room, propping the door open with the bag to let the light come through from the hall. Everything looked very much the same as before except that the things that had been strewn all over the place had now been arranged in a neat line along one wall. The PC was still on its side on the desk, the printer and scanner in position on the floor. They had all been dusted for prints.
I took the photographer's material and a box of tacks from the bag and lifted the chair near to the window. Taking my time, I climbed up and pinned the fabric along the top and down the sides of the entire wooden window frame. I could now close the door and put the flashlight on.
I went over to Kelly. Even above the reek of solvents and cleaners I got a waft of greasy hair, Coca-Cola, bubblegum, and chocolate. I whispered into her ear, "Where is it? Just point."
I shone the flashlight all around the walls, and she pointed at the baseboard behind the door. This was good; nothing there seemed to have been disturbed.
I immediately started prying the wooden strip away from the wall with a screwdriver. A vehicle passed the house, and I heard laughter from the police car probably at Control's expense. They'd be there solely to deter people from coming around and being nosy. Chances were, the place would be knocked down soon; who'd want to buy a house in which a family had been murdered? Maybe it would be turned into a memorial park or something.
I kept Kelly right next to me; I wanted to keep her reassured. She was interested in what was happening, so I smiled at her now and again to show that everything was fine.
With a small creak the section of board started to give way.
I pulled it right off and put it to one side. Then I bent down again and shone the flashlight inside. The beam glinted on metal. What looked like a gun safety box, about eighteen inches square, was recessed into the wall. It was going to need decoding. It could take hours.
I got out the black wallet and set to work, trying to re member to grin at Kelly and let her know it wouldn't be long, but I could see she was getting restless. Ten minutes went by.
Fifteen. Twenty. Finally it was all too much for her. In a loud whisper she said crossly, "What about my teddies?"
"Shhh!" I put my finger to her lips again. What I meant was Fuck the teddies we'll get them later on. I continued decoding.
There was a pause; then, no longer a whisper: "But you said!"
It had to be stopped right there and then. Obviously, being Mr. Smiley wasn't working. I turned to Kelly and hissed, "We'll do it in a minute. Now shut up!"
She was taken aback, but it worked.
I was luckier than I might have been with the decoding. I'd just finished, had put the tools away, and was opening the box when I heard a low moan from her.
"I don't like it here, Nick.
It's all changed."
I turned around, grabbed her, and covered her mouth with my hand.
"For Christ's sake shut up!" It wasn't what she expected but I didn't have time to explain.
With my hand still clamped hard over her mouth, I picked her up and slowly walked to the window. I listened, waited, but there was nothing. Just a bit of banter and laughing, and the crackle of the radio.
As I turned back, however, I heard a short, sharp metallic dragging sound.
Then, for a split second, nothing.
Then, as Kev's pewter tankard of pens and pencils fell from the desk and hit the bare floor, there was a resounding crash.
The noise went on as bits and pieces scattered in all directions. As I'd turned, Kelly's coat must have caught on the sharp points of the pencils and dragged the tankard off the table.
I knew the noise was magnified twenty times in my head, but I also knew they would have heard it.
Kelly chose that moment to start to lose it, but there was no time to worry about that. I just left her where she was, went to the doorway, and listened to the sound of car doors opening.
Pulling the pistol from my jeans and checking chamber, I moved out of the study. Three strides got me across the hall and into the kitchen. I closed the door behind me, took a couple of deep breaths, and waited.
The front door opened; I could hear both of them in the hallway. There was a click, and light spilled under the kitchen door.
Then footsteps, and I could hear nervous breathing on the other side, and the jangle of keys on a belt.
I heard the study door ope
ning. Then a half-shouted, half-whispered, "Melvin, Melvin--in here!"
"Yo!"
I knew it was my time. I brought the pistol up into the fire position, put my hand on the doorknob and gently twisted. I moved into the hallway.
Melvin was in the study doorway, his back toward me. He was young and of medium build. I took a couple of big strides, grabbed him across the forehead with my left hand, yanked his head back, and rammed the pistol muzzle into his neck. In a very controlled voice that had nothing to do with the way I was feeling, I said, "Drop your weapon, Melvin.
Don't fuck around with me. Drop it now."
Melvin's arm came down to his side and he let the gun fall to the floor.
I couldn't see if the other one had his pistol out or not. It was still dark in the study. Their flashlight was no help.
Melvin and I blocked out most of the hallway light. I was hoping that he'd already reholstered, because part of their training would be not to scare kids. As far as he was concerned, Kelly had been just a kid there on her own.
Melvin and I were in the doorway. I shouted, "Put the lights on, Kelly--do it now!"
Nothing happened.
"Kelly, turn the lights on." I heard small footsteps coming toward us.
There was a click, and the lights came on.
"Now wait there." I could see her eyes were swollen and red.
Inside the room stood Michelin Man. He must have weighed around 250 pounds, and by the looks of him, he had only a couple of years to go before retirement. He was holstered, but his hand was down by his pistol.
I said, "Don't do it! Tell him, Melvin." I prodded his neck.
Melvin went, "I'm fucked, Ron."
"Ron, don't start messing around. This is not the one to do it for. It's not worth it, not just for this."
I could see that Ron was on top of it. He was thinking about his wife, his mortgage, and the chances of ever seeing another bag of doughnuts.
Melvin's radio sparked up. Control snapped, "Unit Sixty-two, Unit Sixty-two. Do you copy?" It sounded like a demand, not a request. It must have been great to be married to her.
"That's you, isn't it, Melvin?" I said.
"Yes, sir, that's us."
"Melvin, tell them you're OK." I jabbed the pistol a little harder into his neck to underline the point.
"The safety catch is off, Melvin. I've got my finger on the trigger. Just tell them everything's OK.. It ain't worth it, mate."
Ron blurted, "I'll do it."
Another demand: "Unit Sixty-two, respond."
I said, "Put your right hand up and answer with your left.
Kelly, be very quiet, OK?"
She nodded. Ron pressed his radio.
"Hello, Control. We've checked. Everything's fine."
"Roger, Unit Sixty-two, your report timed at twenty-two thirteen."
Ron clicked off.
Kelly immediately went back into crying mode and sank to the floor. I was stuck in the doorway with a pistol to Melvin's neck, and Ron, who still had a weapon in his holster, was facing me from the middle of the room.
"When all's said and done, Ron, if you don't play the game, Melvin's going to die--and then you're going to die.
Do you understand me?"
Ron nodded.
"OK, Ron, let's see you turn around."
He did.
"Get on your knees."
He did. He was about four feet from Kelly, but as long as she stayed still she wasn't in the line of fire.
Melvin was sweating big-time. My hand was slipping on his forehead. There were even droplets running down the top-slide. His shirt was so wet I could make out the shape of his body armor underneath.
I said, "With your left hand, Ron, I want you to lift out your pistol. Very slow, and use just your thumb and forefinger.
Then I want you to move it to your left-hand side and drop it.
Do you understand me, Ron?"
Ron nodded.
I said, "Tell him, Melvin, tell him not to fuck around."
"Listen to the man, Ron."
Ron gently removed his pistol from its holster and dropped it on the floor.
"What I want you to do now, with your left hand, is get hold of your handcuffs, and I want you to drop them just behind you. Understand?"
Ron complied. I turned my attention to Melvin, who was starting to tremble. I spoke quietly in his ear.
"Don't worry about it, you're going to live. You'll be talking to your grandchildren about this. Just do exactly what I say. Understand?"
He nodded.
I turned to Ron and said, "Now lie down, Ron. Facedown on the floor."
Ron spreadeagled himself and was now under control. I said, "What I'm going to do next, Melvin, is take one step back, and this pistol is going to leave your neck--but it's still going to be pointing at your head, so don't get any ideas.
Once I've stepped back, I'm then going to tell you to kneel down--do you understand me?"
He nodded, and I took a swift step backward. I wanted to be out of arm's reach from him right away; I didn't want him doing some kind of heroic pirouette to grab the gun or knock it out of the way.
"OK, kneel down, then lie down. Just like Ron. Now put your hand next to Ron's."
I now had both of them lying facedown, forearms together.
I moved behind them, picked up the handcuffs, and with the pistol stuck in Melvin's ear, I locked his left wrist to Ron's right. I then took Melvin's handcuffs from their holster, stepped back, and said, "I want you to arch your bodies and move your free hands around so they're together as well. Both understand me? Believe me, boys, I want to get this over and done with; I just want out of here."
I finished the job. They weren't going anywhere. I took their wallets and threw them into the bag. I took Melvin's radio and kept it with me, and took the battery out of Ron's and threw it into the bag. At the same time, I grabbed the roll of gaffer tape. I started with their legs, then used the tape to bind their heads together as well. I put a final strip around their necks, and another around their mouths. I checked that both were breathing through their noses, then dragged them into the hallway--no small job, but I didn't want them to see what I was going to do next.
I looked at Kelly, pressed against the study wall. She looked pathetic. This must have been terrible for her. She'd been looking forward so much to coming home, only to find it wasn't the place she'd been expecting. It wasn't only that her family was missing; everything that was familiar to her was drenched in chemicals, shoved to one side, or simply not there.
I heard myself saying, "Why don't you go and see if your teddies are there."
She turned and ran. I heard her rattling up the now uncarpeted stairs.
I went into the study, crouched down by the baseboard, and, at last, was able to open the gun box. There was nothing inside but a lone floppy disk.
I put the chair back by the desk and lifted up the PC. I soon had it working. There was no password protection, probably deliberately. If anything happened to Kev, he'd want the whole world to read what was on the disk.
I clicked open various files but found nothing interesting.
Then I found one called Flavius; I knew I'd hit pay dirt. It was the code name of the Gibraltar operation.
I started reading. Kev had found out pretty much what Big Al had told me--that PIRA's connection with the cartels originated when it started running drugs for the Colombians up through North Africa and into Gibraltar for distribution in Spain and the rest of Europe. PIRA was good at the job, and the cartels paid well.
After a while, PIRA had also begun to use the drug trade to raise some of its own money, funds collected by Noraid in the USA. Big sums were involved; Kev's figures showed that Sinn Fein had been netting more than $ 1,000,000 a year.
These donations had been invested in narcotics, transported to Europe, and then bartered for arms and explosives in the old Eastern-bloc countries. It was a business marriage made in heaven; PIRA had the drugs, the Eas
t Europeans had the weapons. The downfall of the USSR and the rise of the Russian mafia couldn't have been better timed.
I had to get back into work mode. I couldn't just sit there reading. I was in a house with two policemen and one pissed-off little girl. I ejected the floppy disk and put it in my coat pocket.
The controller from hell came back on the net.
"Unit Sixty-two, do you copy?"
Shit.
I went into the hall.
"Ron, time to speak up."
Ron looked at me, and I knew he was going to fuck with me. His face was a picture of defiance. I moved over to them and pulled the tape off their mouths. Ron was the first to talk:
"You answer it, because we can't. You won't kill us, not for that."
Control went up an octave.
"Unit Sixty-two!"
Ron had a point.
"Kelly! Kelly! Where are you?"
"Coming--I just found Ricky."
I stepped back over my two new friends toward Kelly, who was coming down the stairs. There was no time to be sympathetic or nice.
"Get your coat and shoes on quick!"
I got all the stuff together, put my running shoes on, and checked that Ron and Melvin weren't choking to death on the gaffer tape. Both looked quite happy with themselves but were still thinking of a good excuse for why they were in this state in the first place.
We left the same way we'd come. I was gripping Kelly's hand, more or less dragging her along, keeping an eagle eye on Jenny and Ricky. I didn't want the neighbors hearing screams for lost teddies.
As we drove, bursts of light from the streetlamps strobed into the back of the car, and I could see Kelly in the rearview mirror. She was looking miserable, her eyes puffy and wet.
She had every right to be sad. She was bright enough to realize that this was probably the last time she'd ever be here.
This wasn't her home anymore. Now she was the same as me.
Neither of us had one. I hit the Dulles Airport access road and headed for economy parking. I allowed myself a wry smile; if this kept up, it would soon be full of my stolen cars. I could hear the light patter of rain on the roof as we parked.
