by Ian Patrick
18
Sun is up, wind is low and the Vauxhall City Farm is coming to life. The staff prepares the residents for their day of petting and feeding. I like the farm’s serenity; its natural rhythms within its urban setting. Each animal reliant on humans for help and food. No one’s going for slaughter here. It’s 0800 hours. My forty-eight hours have started and I’m waiting for DCI Winter to turn up, looking forward to a cup of tea, toast and tantrums.
The cafe isn’t far and I cross the grass past the football court towards it. Winter’s car arrives. She’s sitting, her phone near her ear, animatedly waving her hand at the windscreen then grabbing the front of her hair. Her body language indicates she’s pissed off. Deep joy. Her hell is about to heat up. I don’t rush but sit on the grass and observe. She really needs to relax more. I’ve never met a more wound-up, highly-strung woman and I’ve met a few women. Granted, none were as driven for their chosen success as her, but all the same they had goals and achieved them.
I’m not against women. I’ve laid many. I’m not proud of my behaviour and every encounter has been consensual. I have a phobia as far as commitment is concerned but who wouldn’t, raised in a series of dysfunctional families? Winter, I imagine, was raised well. Parents in the force and with a need to emulate success to gain parental approval. Right now she just needs a good cup of tea and a chat with me, what could be wrong with that? I’m about to find out, as she’s looked up from her phone and has seen me. Let the action begin.
I hold the door open for her and she acquiesces to my gentlemanly behaviour. She picks the table amongst the many that are vacant as we’re the only customers. She’s dressed in her usual grey suit, black low heel shoes, hair tied back high with a black clip. I scan the menu and kick off the conversation.
“I couldn’t help notice you were in a hostile negotiation on the phone. Everything okay?”
She sits back in her chair and takes the clip out of her hair and it falls around her shoulders.
“We lost the cab from an address over in Barnsbury. We’ve confirmed the driver and housed him. He has the cab parked on his drive right now. Where he went from Barnsbury we don’t know but we do know he picked up Guardino’s accountant, Hamer. It’s the first time we’ve had opportunity to see the cab move and I know from our last conversation time isn’t on our side. I guess I over-reacted. I’m tired after being woken in the early hours by you and not getting back off to sleep.”
The waitress comes over and we order. It’s the first civil reply from Winter, I intend to work on it. “You’re right, time is running out. In fact it’s a ticking bomb and the fuse has been lit. He’s going to move over the next seventy-two hours. He’s rounding up the cavalry and getting the wagons ready to move out. I know this because I’m driving one of them.”
I pause. She needs to take this in and decide on a response. I sit back and eat an Eccles cake. I only manage a bite.
“You’re doing what? Fucking driving?”
“Keep your voice down you’ll disturb the waitress.” She looks around at the empty seating area.
“You don’t have any authority from me to pursue that course of action on my job! Who do you think you are! I told you to call me as soon as you were making progress and you clearly fucking are!”
I take another bite and use the remaining cake as a pointing tool to reinforce my words.
“I don’t answer to you re my activity, that’s governed by my boss. I can’t keep you up to date about activity that has national security implications. We need to stop arguing and you need to come up with what you’re going to do.”
A crumb trail has littered the fine cloth adorning the table. Always play the national security card when you cannot justify your actions. Winter is about to explode.
“Well you can stick your bullshit up your arse. All bets are off. You’ve got your job and I’ve got mine. I intend to nail him and that’s what I’m going to do. Be very aware, Batford, I will take out whoever gets in my way. You’re lower than a snake’s belly. I’ve been asking around and there’s always been talk around your methodology for getting results.” She takes a breath and sips tea.
“I am to understand that when you were on the Flying Squad it was a particularly troubled period. How complaints never made anything stick is beyond me. Now look at you, wrapped up in a unit that has the national security as its main objective. What has this organisation come to? Don’t darken my door again until this is done. You can tell your boss what you like. From what I can see it’s just you and no one else from your unit deployed, which I find strange in itself. But hey, I’m just a DCI trying to take down a major crime lord.”
She finally shuts up and checks her phone. The excision from her world is a minor setback that won’t be made an issue by me unless I tell my boss. I have no intention of doing such a foolish thing. I know my role and that’s all I need to know. It’s already into my forty-eight hours and time costs money. I get up and leave as she answers her phone. She’ll regret that move when the intelligence feed she clearly has dries up. Snouts, informants, grasses, call them what you like, in the end they’re only good if the cash keeps flowing. Once this job moves she’s alone with her team. The same team who can’t run with a black cab for ten miles.
I carry on walking towards the Thames and head for Lambeth Bridge. I put a call in en route. Mike agrees to meet me under the bridge. I may only be a DS but in my world a boss will run when the chips are down.
I wait on the bridge and look out over the river. The flow, calming and mesmerising. Thankfully no bodies have washed up today so the river traffic is light. Gulls swoop and grab at scraps left on the bridge footway. After a few minutes, more gulls appear overhead. I move, as I’ve been shit on enough for one day. I take the steps down and wait. He arrives out of breath having walked, hurriedly, from New Scotland Yard. It will do him good to get out of the ivory tower and experience life at the coalface. He used to be a good UCO but once you’re out of the game it affects your nerve to get back in. Times change, methods change, people change.
“You took your time.” He doesn’t find it amusing. He’s leaning on the stone wall, head down, looking like he’s going to hurl. He has the body of a retired boxer who hasn’t seen a rope in years. His broken nose adds to the image.
“I came as quick as I can for fuck’s sake, you said you were going to jump.”
“I decided against it. Tide’s out.”
He looks up and a smile appears on his face and we both end up laughing. Humour is essential in this line of work.
We’re alone. No one hangs around here, just runners doing their day’s exercise before going back behind their desks to rot in paperwork and cash.
“Job’s on. I’ve been told I’m driving a valuable load split from the rest. Stoner says Big H trusts me and needs this load going where it’s meant to without a hitch. I don’t know any more other than it’s all set to move in forty-eight hours. I’ll go dark as he’s got phones for the job.”
“Good work. His phone’s gone quiet. He may have killed the line, we don’t know yet. You do know we can’t provide backup. Those days are over and this job’s too sensitive. If it comes on top, are your next of kin details up to date on the system?”
I look at him. He’s serious.
“Yes. I’ll have another line. I’ll let you know when it’s done. Someone’s talking to police. Winter is getting an intel feed from someone close. Her team are active now. They know who Ron is and are concentrating on him and his cab. I’ll deal with her team. I’ve left the car where you left it. Here’s the key, I won’t be needing it from here.”
He hands me a padded envelope from his messenger bag.
“This is the final payment until the job’s done. Once it’s over we can sort out the rest. The boss sends her regards and hopes you are well. This counts as her welfare check. I’ll be telling her you’re fit and good to go. The drop box is gone. You know the watches for recording are no longer in use but this is new. It wo
n’t record but it will give your location if you press the side button. It’s the best we can do. We can’t afford to lose this one Sam. If you press it I’ll get people within the area. They won’t move until they’ve seen you and can assess what’s happening. It’s a last resort and we need to be covered as an organisation. Good luck.”
He hands me the watch from his wrist and I put it on. I wait as he leaves. It’s like he’s handed me my retirement gift and best wishes all in one. There’s something he’s not telling me and it doesn’t sit well. That’s why I lied to him about my knowledge of Hamer. I don’t know who’s talking to who anymore. What I do know is that the lips that whisper always have a last wish.
19
All I have fits in one large canvas holdall. I have it over my shoulder and it hugs my back with a fond familiarity. There was no one to bid me farewell. I left Crime and Punishment for the next inmate.
I decide to wait in the Imperial War Museum. It’s free and I’ll be undisturbed. My phone also has good reception here. Nothing worse than waiting for an important call than realising your phone signal’s poor. I’d taken the precaution of getting two extra batteries for each phone. They’re charged and good to go, which is more than can be said for me.
To kill time I take in the trench exhibit. As I walk through the mock trench the sounds from a recorder invade my brain, shouts from soldiers, gunfire and explosions. My mind numbs. I don’t freeze, but part of my subconscious is telling me to. A mother and child filter past me. She ushers him gently on, using her body as a shield to her son. A bad choice of exhibit I realise but this is where I am right now, in a trench waiting for the call to go over the top. As I exit the other side my Stoner phone goes.
“Switch on the other phone. Wait until you’re called and given a location to go to. It will only be me talking to you so anyone else on this line, get rid of them. Speak soon.”
I’m outside now. Pigeons peck around the base of a bench where I’m sitting. I’ve never been in this situation before in my whole career. I can do loneliness but not like this. No backup. I shut down the Stoner phone, remove the SIM and get rid of the phone in a waste bin. I don’t have any other phone now. My work one went dark after my meeting with Mike my superintendent. My only support is a blonde, coke-sniffing, fuck-buddy to an Italian drug importer. I just hope my firm have the others covered.
I’ve been at the museum long enough. I’m not in the habit of checking my phone every five minutes like an adulterer waiting for their lover. I have no idea where I will have to go next but hope it’s commutable by public transport. I take a walk out to the main road and wait for a cab. I don’t wait long the driver pulls over. I open the door and get in.
“Union Jack Club, Waterloo.”
I’ll wait there until my call comes in. I need the feeling of the country backing me and this is the closest I can think of. My motives may not be the purest but I still have a role to play for the greater good of the economy and public health. At least that’s what I’m telling myself as my ride pulls away.
Decision log entry – 15th August 2020
I’ve heard nothing from DS Batford and I cannot rely on his timeframe as we are already forty-eight hours in and nothing has taken place as far as I can ascertain.
The cab belonging to Ron has barely moved and I have officers deployed for lengthy periods of time sat around drinking coffee and playing cards.
In light of this I feel I have two options, both of which I intend to employ:
1/ Target DS Batford as he is my only hope of finding this team and establishing what he is driving, when and from where. He is now incommunicado and it is my assumption that he may have gone rogue. I have nothing to back this up with but I will try and establish this with my next option:
2/ I have arranged a meeting with his detective superintendent, Mike Hall, from SCO35 who is responsible for DS Batford. D/Supt Hall is my only point of contact with the Metropolitan Police in relation to DS Batford’s deployment.
I am open-minded at this stage but cannot comprehend how the operation was evolving until Batford and his cronies became involved.
Since their inception I have:
A) Lost my intrusive surveillance authority in relation to Guardino’s phone.
B) My CHIS (Covert Human Intelligence Source) handling unit have now informed me they no longer have the friendly they were speaking to on board and had to make payment for the information they had supplied.
C) My Crimestoppers information appears to be coming from DS Batford; an officer employed on this operation whom I have no contact with or any way of contacting.
D) The black cab that was being used now seems to have run out of fuel and is having a rest.
Further lifestyle work is being attempted but to no avail.
I will await the outcome of my meeting today at New Scotland Yard.
Entry complete.
20
“Wake up! Wake up!”
My head is fuzzy, my eyes barely open and I can feel heat and pain from my right ear.
“Get up off the floor and get in the shower.”
I can’t register my surroundings. I’m lifted easily from the floor and dragged into a bathroom. The polyester shower curtain is flung aside and I can hear the beat of the water cascading from the showerhead. My head is shoved under the flowing storm. I shut my eyes as freezing water filters into my mouth and ears and then invades the rest of my body as I’m forced under. I have no fight left. On the bath floor I see rivulets of scarlet. My blood runs from my body, fleeing attack. From where I’m bleeding I don’t know.
The room fades in and out of focus and I lean against the shower wall but then the same hand that dragged me from the floor drags me out and towards a double door. The door is opened and I’m forced, naked, to the floor. I collapse. I’m the coldest I’ve ever been. The snow is fierce from the balcony on what must be the top floor of a block of flats as my eyes make out a horizon of lights in the distance.
My body curls up. My knees tuck under my chin and the snow becomes one with my tears. I shut my eyes and wish for death to save me from the pain and cold. My naked body already feels as tight as rigor mortis. I try and squeeze myself warm and protect my form from what may come next. I hope I’m thrown over. A quick death would be welcome now. I have no saviour, no hero to help me. Not this time. It’s me against the tyrant whose face I’m yet to witness.
The doors fly open and smash me in the back where I lie. I feel a hand grab my shoulder and as I turn I see my captor’s face before more cold water is thrown over my body from a steel bucket. My father smiles and laughs as he throws the empty pail on the floor and all I remember hearing is his laughter and the sound of metal spiralling on concrete trying to find grip, a slow vibration enters my body and gradually continues…please, don’t wake me…please.
My eyes open. I’m lying on a single bed in the Union Jack Club. I’m fully clothed. My childhood memory evaporated. On the bedside next to me the only phone I have vibrates and the screen flashes in unison. I sit up quickly grab the phone and press the green button.
“Yes.”
“Get to Luton Airport. Go to the car hire and ask for a booking in the name of Tom Davis. Once you’ve got the car call me on this number.”
The line goes dead. I throw the phone on the bed and lie back. It’s all starting. This is either my finest hour or my final hours. A combination of the two isn’t an option. I grab my bags and head for Blackfriars train station and a train to Luton Airport Parkway.
The train is on time and I’ve taken the liberty of travelling first class. It’s a fast train so should be there in around thirty minutes unless there’s a jumper on the line. The door opens and a teenage couple enter my exclusive ticket area. Both are linked by the same set of in-ear headphones and iPhone. The music is some drum ’n’ bass shit that pervades my silence. I sit back and let them be. I have bigger battles ahead and would have done the same years ago except my iPhone was a Sony Walkman and I woul
d have been alone.
As we leave Kentish Town in a blur, I feel as though I may never see London again. Whether it’s wishful thinking or gut instinct I’m unsure, but the feeling is there. I glance at the teenage lovers. Not a care in the world. Their only transport this train and a skateboard at the other end. I take the opportunity to have a natural and get up and head towards the middle carriage. My luggage is stowed above and hasn’t anything of value in it. I’m carrying what I value.
The train’s motion has me swinging between the aisle seats as I steady myself. The toilets are in the buffet car. The only thing I take in is a male, five foot ten, short-cropped hair reading a paper. It’s yesterday’s, as I recognise the front page. He looks in my direction then turns away, his back towards me. At his feet is a daypack. He’s not travelling by air unless he’s taking a very short trip, for which he isn’t dressed, wearing only jeans, a North Face Gilet, black T-shirt and brown Timberland boots.
I wait outside the toilet. It’s unoccupied but I’m not happy with him. Then it happens, his phone goes. He takes it out and places it to his ear. I recognise the make and colour. National Crime Agency standard issue. I’m being followed. I enter the toilet and take a piss. When I come out he’s gone and a female is in his place. Similar casual dress carrying a different paper. He knows, or thinks he knows I’ve made him. I now know there’s more than one out on me. I need to lose them between here and the airport.
I go back to my seat. I’m more alert. The carriage near mine only has a family and children in it and the kids in my carriage are just kids. She has eyes on me through the glass in the door from the buffet car. I know she’s looking at me as she starts applying lipstick in a handbag size vanity mirror that is looking my way. I resist the urge to wave.
