‘We’re home and dry when we’ve been paid for the gear,’ said Sam. ‘Come on, put me down.’
‘Spoilsport,’ said Terry, putting her down. He kissed her and she slipped her arms around his neck. ‘Bedroom,’ he said, pushing her towards the door.
‘What is it with you and money?’ she teased. ‘Whenever you get any, you get randy.’
‘Best aphrodisiac there is,’ said Terry. He kissed her again, hard on the lips.
Eventually Sam pushed him away. ‘You’re counting your chickens,’ she said. ‘Let’s wait until we’ve got the money, yeah?’
Terry grinned and nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right. We’ll celebrate later. Let me call Donovan.’
Sam nodded. ‘I’ll get ready.’
Terry phoned Geoff Donovan and told him that they were ready for the exchange, then locked up the house and went out to the car where Sam was waiting for him. It was a cold day and she’d put on a long black coat and gloves. Terry climbed into the front seat.
‘I don’t even get to drive my own car now,’ said Sam, getting into the passenger seat.
‘Sam, after today you can have a dozen Saabs,’ laughed Terry.
∗ ∗ ∗
Frank Welch looked around the assembled officers with a smug feeling of satisfaction. There were more than forty men and women in the room, more than half of them armed.
On the wall behind him were surveillance photographs of Terry and Samantha Greene and their henchmen, and Geoff Donovan and his team.
Superintendent Edwards stood at the side of the room, his arms crossed. He looked at his watch. Welch smiled at the superintendent and nodded confidently. Welch was holding his mobile phone. He’d had it on charge all morning and had a spare battery in his pocket. Blackie had said he’d call as soon as he knew where Donovan was picking up the drugs.
Edwards had suggested that they keep Donovan under surveillance but Welch had persuaded him that he had to be given a free rein. If Donovan got wind that he was being watched, the whole operation would be blown. Edwards had pressed Welch on the identity of his informant but Welch had held firm. Blackie was his source and he wanted it to stay that way. The arrest and conviction of Terry Greene and Geoff Donovan was his ticket to the top and he wasn’t going to throw it away. He popped a couple of breath mints into his mouth.
∗ ∗ ∗
Terry parked the Saab around the back of a warehouse close to the disused factory where the exchange was due to take place. ‘No point in drawing attention to ourselves,’ he said to Sam as they got out of the car. He put his arm around her as they walked towards McKinley, who was waiting for them at the shutter door. ‘You sure you want to be here?’ Terry asked.
‘Bit late to ask me now,’ said Sam, turning up the collar of her coat.
‘McKinley could drive you home.’
‘Nothing’s going to go wrong, is it?’ asked Sam.
‘’Course not,’ said Terry, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
‘Then I want to be with you,’ she said.
‘You’ve changed,’ said Terry, with a smile.
‘You changed me.’
McKinley ushered them into the disused factory. The three white vans were lined up at the far end of the building, the rear doors open. There were stacks of beer and lager in front of the vans. The BMW had been parked at the other end of the factory, pointing towards the exit. ‘Donovan’s not arrived yet,’ said McKinley.
‘He’ll be here,’ said Terry. ‘You stay by the door, keep an eye out for him.’
Fletcher, Pike and Ryser were sitting around a table playing cards. They’d opened a case of lager and there were several cans on the table. ‘Don’t get up, lads!’ Terry shouted over at them.
Sam noticed a metal arch that had been erected near the door. ‘What’s this, Terry?’ she asked.
‘Metal detector,’ he said. ‘Same as they use at airports.’
Sam frowned. ‘Why’s it here?’
‘Donovan’s an old mate, but that doesn’t mean I trust him,’ said Terry.
∗ ∗ ∗
Frank Welch jumped as his mobile rang. ‘Yeah?’ he said, putting the phone to his ear.
‘You got a pen?’ It was Blackie.
‘Yeah, I’ve got a pen. Have you got the address?’
‘Why the fuck do you think I’m calling?’
The detectives and armed police in the room tensed as Welch scribbled down an address in his notebook and cut the connection.
Welch looked across at Superintendent Edwards. ‘It’s on.’ He strode over to a large-scale map of London. ‘They’re here,’ he said, tapping the map.
Edwards walked over to the map and looked at where Welch was pointing. ‘With the heroin?’ he asked.
Welch nodded enthusiastically. ‘Terry Greene’s waiting to hand the gear over. His whole team’s there and Donovan’s on the way.’
Edwards patted Welch on the shoulder. ‘Good job, Frank. Well done.’
‘Right!’ shouted Welch, pointing at the door. ‘Let’s get to it.’
∗ ∗ ∗
McKinley popped his head around the shutter door and whistled to attract Terry’s attention. Terry looked across at McKinley, who gave him a thumbs-up. From outside came the sound of car doors opening and closing.
‘Okay, lads, showtime!’ Terry called over to Fletcher and his team. They put down their cards and hurried over to join him. Terry winked at Sam. ‘Soon be over, love.’
Sam smiled and looked at her watch.
McKinley walked into the factory with a broad-shouldered man in a black leather jacket. Behind them were four large men carrying bulging holdalls.
The man with McKinley nodded at Terry. ‘How’s it going, Terry?’
‘Getting better by the minute, Geoff.’
Geoff Donovan was a shade under six feet with close-cropped hair and designer stubble. He noticed the metal detector and frowned. ‘What the hell’s this?’
Terry smiled amiably. ‘I didn’t want any nasty surprises,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
Donovan’s dark brown eyes hardened fractionally and his smile tightened. ‘How’s about you and your boys skip through first, yeah?’
Terry shrugged. ‘Sure.’ He waved at Fletcher and his team and gestured at the metal detector. They went through one by one. McKinley went through last. The detector beeped and Donovan and his men tensed.
McKinley frowned and went through the pockets of his jacket. He pulled a face and shook his head, bemused. Then he put his hand in his trouser pocket and took out a handful of change. He grinned apologetically. ‘I was playing a fruit machine last night,’ he said. ‘My luck was in.’ He put the coins on a table and went through the detector again. This time it remained silent.
‘Satisfied?’ Terry asked Donovan.
Donovan smiled and motioned for Terry and Sam to go through the detector. Sam sighed. She took her mobile phone out of her bag along with her keys and put them on the table before walking through the detector. Terry followed.
‘Okay?’ he asked Donovan.
Donovan grinned. ‘I feel so much happier now.’ He reached inside his leather jacket. “Course, this is where I pull out a shooter and take the money and the drugs.’ He looked over at his four companions. ‘Right, guys?’
Terry stiffened and Fletcher and his team looked around anxiously.
Donovan grinned and took his hand out. Empty. He made it into a gun and mimed shooting Terry. ‘Gotcha!’ he laughed.
Fletcher and his team laughed nervously. Donovan guffawed and gestured for the four bag-carriers to walk through the detector. Donovan was the last through. He grinned, walked over to Terry and hugged him.
Terry turned to Sam. ‘Sam, this is Geoff Donovan, the meanest son-of-a-bitch north of the river.’
Donovan smiled and held out his hand. Sam shook it. His huge hand engulfed hers but he had a gentle grip. ‘Second meanest,’ he said. ‘You haven’t met the missus. But don’t tell her I said that. Pleased to
meet you, Sam.’ He looked around the factory. ‘So where’s the gear, then?’
‘In the vans,’ said Terry.
‘Let’s get this over with, then,’ said Donovan. ‘We’ve all got homes to go to, haven’t we?’
∗ ∗ ∗
The Rover screeched around the corner, its front bumper only inches away from the police van in front of them.
‘Take it easy,’ said Welch. ‘We want to get there in one piece.’ He put two breath mints into his mouth.
‘Sorry, guv,’ said DS Clarke, dropping down a gear. Welch had a street directory in his lap and he was glancing at it as the Rover sped through the streets. They were ten minutes at most away from the location that Blackie had given him.
DI Simpson was sitting in the back of the car, drumming his fingers nervously against the door.
Behind the Rover was a blue van belonging to SO19, the Metropolitan Police’s armed response unit, and behind that were a further six cars full of detectives and Drugs Squad officers and two more vans of uniformed officers. Bringing up the rear were two dog units. Welch had requested a helicopter, but Superintendent Edwards had said he didn’t have the budget. It didn’t matter. Welch reckoned he had all the manpower he needed to bring in Terry Greene.
Welch’s heart was pounding in anticipation of putting Terry Greene back behind bars, where he belonged. And all the credit would go to Welch. There was no way Blackie would want to admit his involvement, not if he’d been on Greene’s payroll. All the glory would go to Welch, and he was determined to take full advantage of it.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on Greene’s face when Welch snapped the handcuffs on him. Geoff Donovan, too. And then there’d be Samantha Greene. Welch smiled to himself. That was what he was most looking forward to. Looking into the eyes of Samantha Greene and telling her that she was under arrest. The anticipation was almost painful, and Welch could feel the start of an erection. His face flushed with embarrassment and he opened his legs and adjusted his trousers. He realised that Clarke was looking across at him, a look of puzzlement on his face. Welch snorted and pointed ahead. ‘I didn’t say slow to a crawl,’ he snapped.
∗ ∗ ∗
Fletcher put a block of notes into the automatic money-counter, and it whirred through them. Pike wrote down the number on the digital read-out and Ryser stacked the notes into one of several suitcases. Sam and Terry watched. ‘I didn’t realise ten million pounds took up such a lot of space,’ she said.
Terry put his arm around her. ‘It’s going to set us up for life, love,’ he said. ‘For life.’
Sam nodded. ‘It better had, Terry, because I’m not going through this again.’
McKinley was leaning against the BMW, his legs crossed at the ankles, watching Donovan’s four heavies unpack the heroin from the vans.
Terry gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘You get a kick out of it, though, don’t you? Come on, admit it.’
‘I don’t know if kick is the right word,’ she said. ‘More like scared to death.’
‘Nah, it makes you feel alive. Really alive. It’s like after Vesuvius erupted.’
Sam frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Vesuvius. The volcano. After it erupted, the fields around were covered with people making love.’
‘It always comes down to sex with you, sooner or later, doesn’t it?’
Terry grinned. ‘It’s taking risks. It makes you want to celebrate being alive.’
Sam shook her head and raised a warning finger. ‘If this is a roundabout way of saying you want a quickie, you can forget it.’
Terry laughed. ‘Maybe later?’
Sam laughed along with him. ‘Maybe.’
Donovan had taken one of the plastic-wrapped packages from each of the vans and put them on the table where Terry’s crew had been playing cards. He tore a hole in each of the packages and checked samples of the heroin with a testing kit.
‘You’re getting suspicious in your old age, Geoff,’ Terry called over to him.
‘Just making sure there’s no problems down the line,’ said Donovan.
Sam looked at her watch.
‘Don’t worry, love,’ said Terry. ‘Won’t be long now.’
∗ ∗ ∗
Clarke pulled up next to the S019 van. Armed police were piling out and checking their weapons, and two uniformed officers were studying the factory building through binoculars.
The windows on the ground floor were boarded up and there was a ‘For Sale’ sign above the delivery entrance. ‘We could get a floor plan from the estate agents,’ said the chief inspector in charge of the armed police squad, a tall, gangly man with a shock of ginger hair. He hadn’t bothered to introduce himself by name and Welch had the impression the man resented not being allowed to lead the operation. Welch had been insistent, however: it was his operation. His glory. The armed police were just the hired help.
Welch shook his head. ‘No time,’ he said. ‘We’re going in as soon as the Land Rover gets here.’
‘There’s no rush,’ said the chief inspector, adjusting his bullet-proof vest. ‘They’re not going anywhere.’
Welch’s nostrils flared. ‘This is my operation. I decide when we’re going in.’
The chief inspector narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. He nodded once and went over to talk to his men, running his hand through his ginger hair.
‘Okay, guv?’ asked DI Simpson, handing him an opened pack of chewing gum.
Welch shook his head. He was still sucking his breath mints. ‘Where’s the Land Rover?’
Simpson gestured towards the main road. ‘It’s on its way.’
‘Soon as it gets here, we go in. Crash through the door and we all pile in.’
‘Bloody hell, guv. If they start shooting it’ll be a bloodbath.’
Welch winked. ‘Don’t tell anyone, Doug, but my man says they’re not armed. It’s a gun-free zone in there.’
∗ ∗ ∗
Sweat was pouring down the man’s spine and he desperately wanted to scratch his back, but he knew that to do so would risk giving away his position. He cradled his gun in his arms as he crouched behind the stack of oil barrels, but kept his finger well away from the trigger. His instructions had been clear. He was to watch and wait until the building was stormed. Only then was he to go into action. Until then his orders were to watch. And wait.
The targets didn’t appear to be armed. They’d all walked through a metal detector, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be weapons hidden near by. He recognised most of the men there. Terry Greene. Andy McKinley. Geoff Donovan. And the woman. Samantha Greene. He’d spent the morning studying photographs while he was being briefed. It was imperative that there were no mistakes. His balls would be on the line if anything went wrong.
He was wearing a black woollen ski mask with holes for his eyes and mouth, and black overalls. Black was the best colour to wear. It inspired fear. People were more inclined to obey orders from a man in a black uniform. The Nazis knew that. So did the SAS. It inspired fear and obedience. So did the mask. The mask was soaked in sweat and the wool made his skin itch. He wanted to look at his wristwatch, but he knew he had to keep all movement to a minimum. He strained to hear what they were saying.
The one called Donovan held up a small test tube and peered at its contents. He nodded. ‘Looking good, Terry,’ he shouted.
Terry Greene was watching his men counting the money. ‘Be easier to suck it and see, Geoff,’ he said.
Donovan pulled a face. ‘Never touch the stuff,’ he said. ‘Mug’s game.’
The man rolled his shoulders inside his overalls. The tension was tightening his muscles and he forced himself to relax. He’d have to move soon and he’d have to move quickly.
∗ ∗ ∗
Welch grinned as the Land Rover arrived with four uniformed officers. An extra-large metal bumper had been welded to the front to act as a battering ram, and the windows had been reinforced with wire mesh. The driver was
wearing a protective helmet and a bullet-proof vest. The three officers with him climbed out.
Welch waved at the factory. ‘Right, let’s do it,’ he said. The SO19 chief inspector led his men towards the factory, fanning out as they approached the entrance. As they got to within fifty feet of the building, the Land Rover surged forward, heading for the metal-shuttered delivery entrance. Two uniformed officers followed with large Alsatians straining at their leashes.
Welch started walking, flanked by Simpson and Clarke. The rest of the team spread out, walking purposefully but making sure that they didn’t get ahead of Welch. Behind them, the Drugs Squad and the uniformed officers followed.
The Land Rover slammed into the metal shutters and crashed through. The armed officers broke into a run and poured through the opening, shouting staccato commands for everyone inside to lie down and offer no resistance.
Welch felt the adrenalin pump through his system and he broke into a trot. Simpson and Clarke jogged after him and within seconds everyone was running towards the factory, whooping and cheering like a group of football supporters on the rampage.
They ran into the factory, their shouts echoing off the walls. The armed officers were standing around the Land Rover, guns pointing down at the ground. Welch frowned. He whirled around, looking for Terry Greene. His heart pounded as he realised that apart from the police, the factory was empty. Totally empty. There was nowhere in the factory for them to be hiding.
The SO19 Chief Inspector came over and glared contemptuously at Welch. ‘Great tip, Raquel.’
‘There must be some mistake,’ said Welch. There was a burst of laughter from the armed police and several of them looked over in Welch’s direction.
‘Dead fucking right there’s a mistake. And it’s standing in front of me. You’re going to have some heavy questions to answer back at the station.’
‘They must have gone. They were here and they left. We were late.’
The chief inspector shook his head. ‘Look around. This place has been empty for years. Face it, Raquel. You were given a bum steer.’
The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Page 33
