Authors: Andrew Snadden
As Richards began to dial the internal extension for the Firearms unit, Crane updated that Bradford and Cooper had now gone inside the warehouse and that there was nothing else left to report at that time. Anaura acknowledged them and put his radio down on the table. Richards finished the call with Balham and said to Anaura that two Armed Response Vehicles would be relocating to Central District at eleven thirty after the current team had handed over to the night shift. Valera then stood up and said that she would get a coffee for everyone as it was beginning to appear as though they were in for a long wait. Anaura leant over his desk to get his mug from its usual resting position on the right side of it below the operational info board. As he picked it up, he remembered how Drayson had looked at something on the board and froze before he spilt coffee on his lap. He passed the mug to Valera and began scanning for what may have interested him, but there was nothing other than a couple of maps and mug shots. Richards asked what he was doing, however Anaura raised his hand up to implore him to wait a second.
There it was...................the business card that had been left by the mysterious superintendent from Scotland Yard. Anaura's mind began working in overdrive as it tried to ascertain why Scotland Yard were interested in Drayson and why he had taken an interest in the card himself; did he suspect or know that he was being looked into by them? Anuara raised his finger up to Richards, whatever the idea was, it was about to arrive. Anauara began bouncing his palm off of his forehead, desperately trying to kick-start his brain to help him piece everything together to get an answer whilst the other detectives looked on at him perplexed. Vivid images began to rush through his head in a super-fast sequence...............The superintendent asking him to keep an eye on Drayson, Drayson's reaction to him when he informed him of a corrupt officer, the way he muscled his way onto the case and operation, Drayson's failure to catch the Gang, Steiner informing him that Drayson had tried to prevent the operation from taking place, Drayson being from Eastings, Poultan, Foster; and finally the Landlords voice describing the unknown middle aged man.
“IAN, IT'S DRAYSON!!!!!!!!!!” Anaura yelled out.
“What, what are you talking about Peter?” Richards replied in utter confusion.
“Drayson's our dirty Copper! He's the one! How could I not have seen it?” Anaura declared with his hands on his forehead.
“Whoa, whoa! Steady Peter, what makes you think that?” Richards asked imploring his friend to exercise caution.
Anaura quickly explained all the pieces of the puzzle to Richards and Usher who sat there with stunned expressions.
“Jesus Christ Peter, you could be right! However we need solid evidence mate, as much as I agree with what you're saying, we can't start making accusations without proof. We can't just storm into his office and nick him, he's a chief superintendent and PSD don't even know anything about it yet!” Richards remarked.
“I'm calling that superintendent from Scotland Yard; right now!” Anaura said as he hurriedly ripped the card from the board.
Valera walked back into the office with the coffees and asked why everyone had pale and shocked expressions. Richards updated her about what was going on which caused her to drop the four mugs of coffee she was holding in surprise. Anaura, who was waiting for the superintendent to answer, nodded to her to signify it was true. Richards suggested to Anaura that they should go back to the pub with a picture of Drayson to see if the Landlord recognised him. He replied by saying “Definitely! I want that bastard tonight!”
“Hello?”
“Sir it's DI Anaura. It's Drayson, Drayson's working for the Gang!” Anaura declared in an overzealous and impatient manner.
“DI Anaura what are you trying to tell me? How do you know, what proof do you have? I would urge you to tread carefully!” The Superintendent said.
Anaura began running through his theory and the obvious indications to his involvement.
“That's why you came to me isn't it? Isn’t it?” Anaura enquired.
“DI Anaura, you must have proof, without proof nothing can be done! Do you think this is the only time Drayson has been in the spotlight and hidden in the shadows; WE NEED EVIDENCE!!!!”
Anaura continued pleading with the Superintendent to help him while the other three detectives looked on with apprehension.
“O.P TO DI ANAURA, O.P TO DI ANAURA?! BOSS ANSWER, QUICKLY!” Crane yelled in a panic over the air. Richards picked up the radio as Anaura continued his conversation with the Superintendent.
“IT'S FOSTER! IT’S ANTHONY FOSTER! HE'S JUST PULLED UP IN THE CAR PARK!!!!” Crane yelled out in a trembling voice.
Anaura dropped the phone as he spun around to see the cars headlights piercing the darkness of the warehouse's carpark on the blurry CCTV feed.
“FUCKING HELL!!! IAN GET THE CAR STARTED, NAOMI, JENNIFER GO WITH HIM, I'LL BE OUT IN A SECOND, TELL THE INTEL LOT NOT TO APPROACH HIM OR MOVE UNTIL FIREARMS SUPPORT ARRIVES!!!!!!” Anaura rapidly shouted out.
He picked up his phone with the Superintendent still calling his name at the other end of the line and hung up without answering him. He grabbed four stab vests from the lockers and ran out to meet the others in the rear yard. Anuara jumped into the front passenger seat and Richards subsequently put his foot down hard on the accelerator. The Mondeo wheel spun out of the station's car park.
Drayson, who was now feeling light headed from the drug spiked whiskey and long wait, shot up in his seat as though he'd had a bucket of freezing water thrown on him. The update over the radio sobered him up almost instantaneously.
A couple of miles away, parked up in Westway Street , O'Keeffe, MacNeil and Allen were sat in a plain Audi watching the pubs fill up with students who were drinking their grants away on a Wednesday night, despite the English summer rain that was suddenly beginning to pour from the heavens. O'Keeffe, now a Sergeant, commented on how he wished that he was younger so that he could have a crack at the eighteen year old girls without them seeing him as an old pervert and that he wondered whether they were wearing knickers under their short skirts. Although there was always humorous conversations between them, on this particular night they were worse than usual as a result of being informed at their earlier briefing that Foster was now a murder suspect. The news had not been received well by any of the officers who all cited that just because Foster had mental health issues and his car had been seen on the motorway, did not mean he was the killer.
“OPS Command to team leader!” The Force Control room Inspector called over the firearms command radio channel.
“Team leader, go ahead sir” O'Keeffe replied.
The control room Inspector stated that he was declaring a Spontaneous Firearms Incident at Basin Road South and that the subject was Anthony Foster and he was believed to be armed. The three officers looked at each other with horror before Allen in the back seat hurried to remove the standard ARV guns-the Heckler and Koch G36 5.56 calibre rifles. O’Keeffe looked at Arthur and said “GET THERE AS QUICK AS YOU CAN MATE!” with a severe stutter brought on by the abrupt adrenaline dump from hearing his former friend's name. Arthur switched the Audi's lights and sirens on, causing the nearby students to jump with fright as they had not known that the parked car was a police vehicle. As O'Keeffe and the two other SFO's hurried towards the scene, PC Potter and his colleague PC Lewis who were patrolling West Ording in a marked BMW X5 ARV, informed their team mates that they would meet them as soon as possible at the City's Lagoon so that they could move forward together in case there was a need to perform an emergency hostage rescue. With the two advanced firearms drivers negotiating the roads at high speeds, the passenger from each vehicle read out the incident log to their colleagues to appraise them of the full circumstances, including that Foster was to be treated as a high threat suspect because of his previous training.
In his office, Drayson was trying to suppress the panic attack that was threatening to engulf him. As the Gold Commander he wrote on the serial that the safety of the public and the firearms officers were of the utmost importance; he left out Foster, as if somehow ignoring his presence on the log would make things turn out better.
Anaura and the other detectives were almost on scene as the Intel officers at the Observation Post gave a running commentary of what was happening, including that Foster was now inside. Richards looked at Anaura with wide eyes as he began to wonder whether they might already have been too late. As they drew closer to the scene, they heard that the ARVs were only a matter of minutes behind due to their faster cars and higher level of driving skills. Suddenly the voice of the OPS Command was heard over the radio ordering Anaura to hold off and that O'Keeffe as the ARV team leader had full authority and control over the scene. As much as he wanted to get to the warehouse as fast as possible, Anaura knew that it was one order that he couldn't break. If they steamed in there without guns or protection they would not being going home that night. The Mondeo flew into the complex and came to a begrudging halt well shy of the warehouse.
Inside the warehouse, Foster stealthily walked up the stair case flashing his torch through his T-shirt at short intervals to gain a view of where the stair case led. The minimal use of the torch through the t-shirt, helped prevent it from being easily seen by others. As he negotiated each step he walked on the outside edges of his shoes to help suppress the sound of his footsteps. He approached two doors and moved through them slowly with his Sig Sauer P226 handgun pulled in tight to his body and in front of his chest, ready to be punched out and fired if he was to meet the two remaining members of the Gang unexpectedly. Foster entered the huge expanse of darkness of the empty warehouse's main work floor where he could hear the loud sound of the rain bouncing off the corrugated roof above him. He inhaled sharply as he scanned the darkness, suddenly as he moved further into the room, he saw a light coming from an elevated position to his right. Knowing that there was nowhere else the pair would be lurking, Foster moved quickly but stealthily towards the source of the lights. Upon reaching the old steel staircase, he slowed down to a snail’s pace, taking each step at five second intervals to prevent the metal giving off vibrations that would alert his prey. Although the operational pack had not alluded to the Gang using firearms, Foster knew from his training that you never assumed anything, especially whether a suspect was armed or not; that type of mistake could cost you your life.
“Guys where are you? We need to get in there!” O'Keeffe enquired from the City's Lagoon road that led into the Harbour's industrial site.
“Only a couple of minutes out now!” Potter, a highly experienced firearms officer, responded.
“Roger that, Potts. The second you reach us, stop and quickly get your full kit on, including stun grenades; this could become an instantaneous hostage rescue!”
“All received John, ETA.............two minutes!” He replied.
“Bloody hell Peter, we need them in there fast, he's already been in there five minutes!” Richards exclaimed inside the Mondeo.
Anaura told him to keep calm before asking the Intel officers what was going on. Williams replied that they couldn't see or hear anything due to the noise that the nigh on horizontal rain was making, and asked whether they should move forwards, to which Anaura replied that they were not to move from their position under any circumstances.
Foster reached the top of the stair case and slowly peered into the illuminated room through the window. Inside the room he could see Bradford and Cooper playing cards but looking less than happy.
“FUCK THIS PAUL! I can't concentrate on this game, where is Robbie? I don't like this, he should be here already! I've got this bad feeling that he's involved in all of this stuff with Nick and Larry!” Bradford exclaimed as he threw down his hand of cards in exasperation.
Foster looked around the rest of the room to assess whether there was anyone else inside as there was still a possibility that the Gang may have hired protection after hearing about the murders of their associates. Bradford and Cooper were definitely alone though. Fosters heart beat began to pound hard as the fight chemicals started to pump their way around his circulatory system. He took three very deep breaths to shake off the effects of the adrenaline that had a strange way of preventing a person from breathing properly, filling them with stage fright inducing anxiety as a result. He gripped the gun tighter in his hand and took one more sharp breath.
The door burst open so hard that it almost came off the hinges with the handle embedding itself into the stud wall as it did. Foster charged into the room as the two men jumped out of their skins and spun around with expressions of terror to see what had just smashed through their door. Foster pulled the trigger of the gun in a rhythmic sequence of two quick shots, followed by a millisecond pause and then a third, a technique designed to cause the maximum amount of fatal trauma to the victim. The three bullets accelerated at high velocity from the barrel, preceded by three eardrum bursting bangs that reverberated off the office walls. The first two 9mm rounds smashed through Cooper’s sternum and upper left rib, shattering the bones and sending the fragments pin balling around his chest cavity before severing his spinal cord and slicing through the right aorta of his heart. The third, went straight as an arrow between his eyes, through his skull, into his brain and out the other side. He was dead before he even had chance to focus on who had just burst through the door. His body slumped, leaning off to one side and slid down half a foot down into his chair.