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.’
Simpson’s mobile phone rang and he walked away to answer it. The chief inspector went back to his men.
Welch put his hands in his coat pockets and walked to the middle of the factory. The chief inspector was right. Terry Greene hadn’t been anywhere near the factory. No one had. One of the Alsatians was cocking its leg against the wall of the factory.
There was more laughter from the armed police as they headed back to their van.
Simpson came over, holding out his mobile phone. ‘Guv, it’s the super. Wants to know how we got on.’
Welch shook his head. He was going to need time to get his story straight before he spoke to Superintendent Edwards. He had a lot of explaining to do, but for the life of him he couldn’t work out where it had all gone wrong.
∗ ∗ ∗
Geoff Donovan tested the third batch of heroin as Terry stood watching over his shoulder. Donovan nodded. ‘This is bloody good stuff, Terry,’ he said.
‘Told you,’ said Terry, patting Geoff on the back. ‘They know their heroin, the Russians.’
‘You going to be bringing any more over? This is ten times better than the shit we’ve been getting through the fucking Turks.’
Terry grinned. He lowered his head and put his mouth close to Donovan’s ear. ‘Could well be, Geoff, but for fuck’s sake don’t tell Sam.’ Terry straightened up and looked over at McKinley, who was supervising the counting of the money. ‘How’s it going, lads?’
Fletcher put the last block of notes in the automatic counter and watched as they whirred through the machine. Ryser wrote down the number and handed the final total to McKinley. ‘It’s short,’ said McKinley.
Donovan frowned. ‘Say what?’ He put down his test tube and stood up.
‘It’s twenty quid light,’ said McKinley. He held up the notebook. ‘Have a look for yourself.’
Donovan took out his wallet and handed Terry a twenty-pound note. ‘Can’t be bothered with a recount,’ he said. ‘Life’s too fucking short.’
‘Pleasure doing business with you, Geoff,’ said Terry, pocketing the note. The two men shook hands, then hugged and clapped each other on the back.
Sam was pacing up and down by the BMW, and Terry went over and gave her a hug. ‘It’s all done, love. Let’s go home.’
Donovan shouted over to his three heavies and told them to put the packages of heroin into the holdalls. Fletcher, Ryser and Pike started to pick up the suitcases.
‘Andy, open up the boot, yeah?’
McKinley nodded and walked over to the BMW.
Suddenly there was the thunderous roar of a shotgun and everyone flinched. Four men in ski masks burst in through the doorway. Three of them were holding handguns, the fourth had a sawn-off shotgun. Another masked man appeared from behind a stack of old oil barrels at the far end of the factory, holding an assault rifle.
‘What the fuck’s this?’ shouted Donovan.
The men ran over to Fletcher and the team, waving their weapons and screaming. ‘Drop the cases! Get on the floor now!’ shouted the man with the shotgun.
Two more men in ski masks appeared at the back of the factory. They ran over to Donovan and his crew, waving handguns and shouting. Donovan’s men stopped putting the heroin in the holdalls and raised their hands in surrender. One of the masked men picked up one of the holdalls. ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’ yelled Donovan. The other masked man smashed his gun against the side of Donovan’s head and he fell against the side of a van, blood pouring from his scalp. The man who’d hit him began kicking him hard in the stomach, grunting with each blow.
Fletcher, Ryser and Pike lay face down on the floor, their arms outstretched. Two of the masked men picked up the suitcases.
‘That’s my fucking money!’ shouted Terry.
‘Terry, no,’ cried Sam, grabbing at his arm. She pulled him back. ‘Leave it,’ she shouted. ‘Let them have what they want.’
A heavily built man in a dark blue ski mask and a camouflage jacket stepped in front of Terry and pointed a large handgun at his face. ‘Do as she says,’ he said.
Terry snarled at the masked man. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he shouted.
‘I don’t give a fuck who you are,’ said the man.
‘I’ll get you. I’ll track you down, and when I find you, you are fucking dead. Dead!’
The man in the blue ski mask took a step towards Terry, cocking the automatic with his gloved thumb.
‘Terry, watch it,’ shouted McKinley. He ran over from the BMW and stood in front of Terry.
Terry pushed him to the side. ‘I can handle this, Andy. It’s not the first time I’ve looked at a gun.’
Donovan staggered to his feet, propping himself up against the van. Two of his crew went to help him.
Terry pointed at the man in the blue mask. ‘You’re not gonna get away with this. On my fucking life I’ll seal your fate.’
The man stepped forward and kicked Terry in the stomach with a booted foot. Terry fell backwards and banged into Sam, gasping in pain. He hit the ground and Sam screamed.
McKinley roared and charged at the man.
‘Andy, no!’ screamed Sam.
The man fired, once, and McKinley pitched forward, his hand clutching at his chest.
∗ ∗ ∗
Terry stared in disbelief as McKinley slumped to the ground. ‘Andy,’ he gasped. McKinley’s feet twitched and then went still. ‘Andy!’ screamed Terry. ‘For fuck’s sake, no!’
The shotgun blasted again, scattering pigeons in the roof overhead. Flakes of rust sprinkled down like dirty snow. Terry tried to get to his feet, but a bolt of pain shot through his stomach where he’d been kicked.
Donovan was hustled towards the exit by his three heavies, all of them bent double. One of the men with the holdalls let loose a volley of shots, and bullets thwacked into the wall above Donovan’s head.
‘Terry, come on, get out of here!’ shouted Donovan. ‘They’ll fucking kill us all.’
Terry continued to stare at McKinley’s prostate body, unable to believe what he’d seen.
Sam rushed over to McKinley and knelt down next to him. ‘Andy!’ she cried. She reached her hand into his jacket. ‘Oh God, Andy, no!’ She pulled out her hand and held it up. It glistened redly. Sam turned to look at Terry, tears in her eyes. ‘Terry . . .’ she said.
‘Sam, get away from him,’ Terry shouted. The man in the blue ski mask turned his gun towards Sam but her attention was focused on Terry. ‘This is all your fault, Terry,’ hissed Sam. ‘This is all down to you.’
Terry pushed himself up to his knees, ignoring the pain in his stomach. ‘Sam, get out! Run!’
There was a faraway look in Sam’s eyes as if she wasn’t listening. She turned slowly to look at the man in the blue ski mask.
‘You’ve killed him!’ she moaned. ‘You’ve fucking killed him!’
‘Sam, no!’ Terry screamed.
Donovan and his crew ran out of the factory, cursing and swearing. Bullets thudded into the wall near the entrance.
Terry’s ears were ringing from the noise of the gunshots and the air was thick with the acrid smell of cordite.
Sam slowly got to her feet. The man in the blue ski mask kept the gun levelled at her chest as he stared at her with unblinking eyes. Even from where he was kneeling, Terry could see the man’s finger tightening on the trigger and the look of determination in his eyes. Terry knew without a shadow of a doubt that the man was prepared to shoot Sam.
‘Leave it, Sam!’ Terry shouted. ‘Leave it!’
Sam took a step towards the man in the blue ski mask, tottering like a sleepwalker. Her hands were outstretched, her fingers curved like talons. McKinley’s blood dripped from her right hand. The man took a step back, the gun pointing at her chest. Sam kept on walking. ‘You bastard!’ she hissed.
‘Sam!’ screamed Terry, holding a hand to his stomach as he struggled to get up off his knees. ‘Sam! No!’
‘Get back!’ shouted the man in the blue ski mask.
‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ Sam screamed, and she rushed towards him, her hands grabbing for his masked face.
‘Sam!’ yelled Terry.
Sam grabbed the man’s throat. The gun went off and Terry flinched. Sam stiffened and her head went back.
‘No!’ Terry screamed. ‘No!’
Sam slowly slumped down against her assailant, her hands clawing down his chest. She dropped down on to her knees and then fell sideways. She twisted as she fell, and Terry saw a patch of glistening blood on the front of her coat.
The man in the blue ski mask moved back, staring down at Sam’s body. He looked at his gun, then back at Sam.
Terry stared at the man in horror. ‘What have you done?’ he screamed. ‘What the fuck have you done!’
∗ ∗ ∗
Kim Fletcher got to his feet. The masked men were all staring at Sam, who lay unmoving on the concrete floor. There was an eerie silence, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
Pike looked up at Fletcher, who motioned for him to stand up. Terry was bent double, holding his stomach with both hands. He was in shock, his mouth moving soundlessly.
The man who’d shot Sam slowly raised his gun and pointed it at Terry.
‘Terry!’ Fletcher yelled. ‘Watch out!’
Terry looked up and saw the man in the blue ski mask taking aim. He staggered to the left just as the man fired, and the bullet went wide, smacking into a steel pillar.
From outside, Fletcher heard car doors slam and the roar of a high-powered engine as Donovan and his crew sped away.
Ryser was getting to his feet. The masked man with the shotgun whirled around and fired, narrowly missing Pike. Bits of shot peppered Fletcher’s jacket but he wasn’t hurt.
‘Come on!’ Fletcher roared, and charged towards Terry, who had stopped moving and was cursing at the gunman. Ryser followed.
There was another deafening shotgun blast, but Fletcher didn’t look around. His eyes were fixed on Terry.
The man in the blue ski mask whirled around in a crouch, both hands on his gun, and fired two shots at Fletcher. The shots went wide and Fletcher grabbed Terry by the coat and hustled him towards the BMW. Ryser helped support Terry, who kept muttering his wife’s name.
The gunman fired again, and the offside rear window of the BMW exploded in a shower of glass.
‘Terry, come on!’ yelled Pike. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’
Fletcher threw himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine and Pike grabbed the rear door, throwing Terry into the back as a bullet embedded itself in the front wing. ‘Come on, come on!’ yelled Fletcher.
Ryser pulled open the front passenger door, and had barely dropped down into the seat before Fletcher stamped on the accelerator and the BMW leapt forward.