Mickey stared in disbelief at the shotgun in Shepherd’s hands. ‘Don’t piss around, Ricky. Didn’t your mum never tell you not to point guns at people?’
‘I need the keys to the Land Rover, Mickey,’ said Shepherd, keeping the shotgun levelled at Mickey’s face.
Mickey’s frown deepened. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Give me the keys!’ bellowed Shepherd.
Pinky Patel backed away, his hands in front of his face, muttering to himself. Yates and Black looked over from the table where they had been counting the money. ‘What’s going on, Mickey?’ shouted Yates.
‘I don’t have the time for this,’ said Shepherd. ‘Give me the keys.’
He heard the click of a gun being cocked behind him. ‘Put down the gun, Ricky,’ said Mark.
Shepherd moved quickly, stepping to the side. Mark was about twenty feet away, standing next to the Jeep. ‘Stay where you are, Mark,’ said Shepherd. ‘Just let me get out of here and no one gets hurt.’
‘Put down your gun or I’ll shoot you,’ said Mark.
‘Yeah – well, from where you’re standing you’ll hurt me, but I’m so close to your brother that there’ll be nothing left of his head. So you’re the one who’s going to have to drop his gun.’
‘Ricky, what the hell’s going on?’ said Mickey. ‘Are you ripping us off?’ He sounded more irritated than afraid.
‘I need the Land Rover, that’s all.’
Mickey reached slowly into his pocket and took out the ignition keys. He held them out. When Shepherd tried to take them, he snatched them away and held them tight in his fist. ‘You’re not going to shoot me, Ricky. It’s not in your nature.’
Shepherd pointed the shotgun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. Bits of tile crashed to the floor and a fluorescent light fitting shattered. Glass and metal tinkled around them. Shepherd pumped the gun to reload and pointed it at Mickey again. ‘Give me the keys,’ he said. He turned to Mark. ‘You take one step closer to me and I’ll do your legs.’
‘Why do you want the Land Rover?’ asked Mickey.
‘Give me the keys!’ shouted Shepherd. He jammed the barrel of the shotgun under Mickey’s chin.
Mickey smiled tightly and tossed the keys to his brother. Mark caught them with his left hand, keeping the shotgun steady with the right.
Shepherd kept the shotgun barrel pressed against Mickey’s throat. He looked at Mark. ‘Give me the keys or I’ll pull the trigger, I swear.’
‘He won’t, Mark,’ said Mickey. ‘He’s not going to do a damn thing.’
Shepherd’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Yates walked up to Mark and stood behind him. ‘Come on, Ricky, relax. Just tell us what’s wrong.’
‘I want the Land Rover. Now, give me the keys!’ Mark grinned and put them in his pocket. Shepherd’s heart was pounding, but he knew that screaming at the men wasn’t going to do any good. They were armed robbers, they were used to loaded weapons and violence and the only way he could prove he was serious was by pulling the trigger.
‘There’s five of us here, mate, six if you include Pinky,’ said Black.
The Indian threw up his hands. ‘Don’t involve me in this!’ he protested. ‘This is nothing to do with me.’ He backed away and crouched behind the Jeep.
‘Will you all calm down?’ said Mickey. ‘Nothing’s going to happen.’
‘Give me the keys!’ Shepherd hissed at Mark.
‘There’s five of us, and how many shells in the shotgun?’ said Yates.
‘You can’t shoot us all, mate,’ said Wilson, lining up next to Yates. He was also holding a shotgun levelled at Shepherd’s chest.
‘He’s not going to shoot anybody,’ said Mickey, quietly. ‘If he was going to shoot me he’d already have done it. He’s talking tough but he knows he can’t do it.’ He grinned at Shepherd. ‘Ain’t that right, mate?’
‘Mickey . . .’ said Shepherd.
‘Prove me wrong,’ said Mickey. ‘Pull the trigger, because if you don’t Mark’s going to walk over, take that gun off you and shove it up your arse.’
‘Don’t do this, Mickey,’ said Shepherd.
‘Take the gun off him, Mark,’ said Mickey, as he stared intently at Shepherd. Mark walked slowly towards him, keeping his gun trained on Shepherd’s face. Shepherd in turn kept his shotgun pressed to Mickey’s throat. Mickey continued to grin as Mark got closer. ‘You can’t do it, can you?’ said Mickey.
Shepherd gritted his teeth. Mickey was right. No matter what the provocation, no matter how high the stakes, he couldn’t shoot an unarmed man.
‘It’s over, mate,’ said Mickey. Mark placed the barrel of his shotgun against the side of Shepherd’s head. His finger whitened as it tightened on the trigger. ‘Put your gun down,’ said Mickey. ‘Because my brother isn’t as soft as you. You can trust me on that.’
Shepherd cursed and took the shotgun away from Mickey’s throat.
‘You slag!’ shouted Mark, and he slammed the butt of his shotgun against Shepherd’s jaw.
Bradshaw focused on the third plane in the landing sequence. It was a Boeing 747 but sporting the livery of one of the American airlines. As much as he hated the Americans, he wanted to bring down a British jet. He wanted to hurt his country. There would be time enough later to turn his hatred on American targets. Two miles behind the 747 a fourth plane was just a small black dot against the blue of the sky. And behind that, not yet visible even through his binoculars, was a fifth, and a sixth. Heathrow was one of the busiest airports in the world. It was only a matter of time before the perfect target came into view.
Mark kicked away Shepherd’s shotgun and it spun as it clattered across the concrete. ‘You slag, pull a gun on my brother, would you?’ he said, aiming his gun at Shepherd’s legs.
Shepherd rolled onto his back and sat up. The blow had stunned him but nothing was broken. He stared up at Mark. ‘Like Mickey said, I couldn’t pull the trigger.’
‘Yeah, and like he said, I bloody well can.’
‘Hold your horses,’ said Mickey, taking control. ‘Pinky, get the bloody hell up off the ground, will you?’
The Indian appeared from behind the Jeep, wiping dust from the knees of his suit.
‘Chopper, Davie, have a quick look outside,’ said Mickey. ‘Anything untoward and we might have to go out guns blazing.’
Yates and Black jogged to the entrance and disappeared outside.
‘I’m going to blow his bloody legs off,’ said Mark. ‘Trying to steal from us, the thieving slag.’
‘I wasn’t after your money,’ said Shepherd, getting unsteadily to his feet.
‘One thing at a time,’ Mickey said to his brother. ‘Let’s get the money sorted first.’
Yates and Black came back inside. ‘Looks kosher,’ said Black.
‘Right, change of plan. Pinky, can we move the cash to your office now?’
Patel pulled a large red handkerchief from his trouser pocket. ‘It’s not a problem, Mickey. My boys were going to collect it here but I can tell them to meet me at the office.’
‘I want the cash out of here now. We’ll put what we can into your Beamer. Get your motor in here. As soon as the cash is loaded, off you go.’
Patel hurried outside, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.
‘Barry, you help Chopper and Davie.’
‘It won’t all fit in the Beamer,’ said Yates.
‘What’s left over you leave in the Jeep and take to Pinky’s place. Then you get the hell out of Dodge. We don’t know how secure we are here. It could all go tits up at any moment.’
‘Mickey, we’ve got to talk,’ said Shepherd.
‘We’ve got nothing to say to you, slag!’ shouted Mark.
‘Leave it, Mark,’ said Mickey. ‘We safeguard the cash, then find out what the hell’s going on.’
They heard Pinky start up the BMW. A few seconds later the car edged inside the industrial unit and parked next to the Land Rover. Pinky opened the boot and Yates, Black and Wilson piled in the cash.
Shepherd took a deep breath. ‘Listen to me, Mickey. This is just about the most important conversation you’re ever going to have in your whole life and you have to believe that everything I’m about to tell you is the truth.’
Mark stepped forward and raised the butt of his shotgun. Shepherd flinched and raised his arm to block the blow. Mark swung the gun down and tightened his finger on the trigger. ‘Shut the fuck up, slag!’
‘Just let me talk,’ said Shepherd.
Mark handed the gun to his brother. ‘I don’t need that to sort this slag out,’ he said.
‘Leave it, Mark. There’ll be time for that later,’ said Mickey, but Mark ignored him.
‘I’ll talk to you,’ Mark said to Shepherd. ‘I’ll talk you into the middle of next week.’ He threw a punch that Shepherd just managed to block, pushing Mark’s arm to the side with the flat of his hand. Mark’s knee came up and slammed into his gut. Shepherd staggered back, winded.
Mark pressed forward, punching with both fists. Shepherd threw up his hands, trying to ward off the blows, but Mark hit him twice in the chest. Shepherd lashed out with his foot but Mark hooked the leg with his left hand and twisted it so that Shepherd fell to the ground. Mark kicked him in the ribs and Shepherd rolled to the side, then struggled to his feet.
‘Mark, just listen to me, will you?’
Mark shuffled on the spot and kicked out with his right leg, twisting into a roundhouse kick at the last minute that caught Shepherd on the side of the head and sent him crashing to the ground again.
Yates, Wilson and Black finished loading the money into the BMW and slammed the boot. Patel beeped his horn and drove out of the building as the three men put the rest of the cash into the back of the Jeep.
Shepherd got to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand – his lip was bleeding. Mark bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, grinning triumphantly.
‘We’re done, Mickey,’ said Yates.
‘Off you go,’ said Mickey. ‘Drop the cash at Pinky’s. I’ll call you, let you know what’s happening.’
Yates gestured at Shepherd. ‘What about him?’
‘We’ll take care of him,’ said Mark.
Yates, Black and Wilson piled into the Jeep and drove off. Mickey cradled the shotgun as he faced Shepherd.
‘Mickey, we need to talk,’ said Shepherd.
Mark scowled, then moved towards Shepherd, throwing two punches to his face before kicking him in the chest. Shepherd was already moving backwards, which lessened the damage but the blows still hurt.
Shepherd glared at him and wiped his mouth again. Mark was grinning as he wove from side to side, faking punches and making snorting sounds. ‘All right, big man,’ said Shepherd. He straightened up, flexing his fingers.
Mark had his hands held high in front of his face, Muay Thai-style, and shuffled forward on the balls of his feet. Shepherd knew that Mark was the better kickboxer, no question of that, but they weren’t in the ring now and Shepherd was no longer constrained by the rules of the martial art.
‘Come on, big man,’ said Shepherd, calmly. ‘Give it your best shot.’
Mark moved forward, fists flailing. Shepherd kept his hands at chest level, fingers slightly curved, then his left arm went up to block a punch and he hit the inside of Mark’s arm hard. With his right hand he grabbed Mark’s wrist, then dropped down, pulling the arm with him. He slammed his left hand down on Mark’s elbow, locking the arm in place, and as Mark lost his balance, he crouched low, keeping the arm locked. Mark fell to the ground cursing and Shepherd released his grip. Mark rolled onto his back but Shepherd was quicker and dropped on top of him, trapping Mark’s arms with his legs. Shepherd’s right hand flashed up, his fingers curled into talons, and he raked them down towards Mark’s eyes. Mark saw the blow coming and screamed in panic, knowing he was defenceless and that the fingers were going to gouge into his eye sockets. Shepherd pulled the attack, freezing his hand just inches from Mark’s face. Mark had gone white, and Shepherd could feel him trembling. ‘Are you happy now?’ he snarled.
Mark was gasping for breath as he stared up at Shepherd.
‘I could have blinded you, Mark. Or just as easily killed you.’
‘But you didn’t,’ said Mickey, pressing the barrel of his shotgun against the side of Shepherd’s head.
Shepherd reacted instinctively, his right arm shot up, knocking the shotgun away. Then he jumped to his feet and grabbed for Mickey’s throat with his left hand. He twisted the shotgun from Mickey’s grasp and kicked him in the stomach, sending him hurtling back against the bonnet of the Land Rover. Then he stepped to the side so that he could cover both brothers with the shotgun. ‘Will you two just listen to me?’ he said. ‘I need the Land Rover. That’s all.’
‘What are you playing at, Ricky?’ said Mickey, rubbing his throat. Mark got to his feet, still shaken by Shepherd’s attack.
‘A group of terrorists is about to shoot down a plane at Heathrow. At the moment I’m probably the only person who can stop them,’ He gestured at Mark with the shotgun. ‘Now give me the keys.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Mickey.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ said Shepherd. ‘Just give me the bloody keys and I’m out of here.’
‘Why aren’t the cops after these terrorists?’ asked Mickey.
‘There isn’t time,’ said Shepherd. ‘And the cops aren’t geared up for dealing with terrorists with surface-to-air missiles.’
‘This is connected with Kleintank, isn’t it?’ said Mickey. ‘The Dutchman and his bloody missiles.’
‘I don’t have time to explain,’ said Shepherd. ‘People are going to die if I don’t do something. A lot of people.’
‘Give me the keys, Mark,’ said Mickey.
‘You don’t believe this shit, do you?’ said Mark.
‘Just give me the keys.’
Mark fished them from his pocket and tossed them to his brother. Mickey caught them one-handed.
‘Mickey, we don’t have time for this.’
‘What are you going do, mate? Shoot me? We’ve already established that ain’t gonna happen.’
‘You’ve got your money, your lads are away. All I want is the bloody vehicle.’
‘And with that you’re gonna stop the terrorists?’
‘I’m going to try.’
‘And you’re not bullshitting? They’re planning to shoot down a plane?’
‘God’s honest truth, Mickey.’
Mickey nodded slowly. ‘I believe you,’ he said. He looked at his brother. ‘I’m going with him. You check that the guys are okay, make sure Pinky gets the cash sorted.’ He headed for the Land Rover.