Close Call (34 page)

The Chief Constable broke in. ‘We’ll take the risk, George. Bring the armed team forward but hold off going in for a bit.’

Lazarus nodded and radioed some orders.

Chapter 56

What the hell is happening now, thought McManus as he stood at the door of the warehouse and watched the dark-coloured car pull up. He hadn’t believed Liz Carlyle when she’d told him that Jackson had got himself involved with a bunch of jihadis, but there was something going on here that was out of the run of Jackson’s usual style. Who was this ‘customer’ who’d arrived and what was he collecting?

He wondered how much Liz Carlyle and the team back at HQ really knew about the situation. If they’d known tonight would be dangerous, they should have warned him. When Jackson had asked him to meet up at Slim’s, there had been no reason for him to think there could be trouble brewing; it was only when Jackson had insisted on taking away his mobile phone that he’d grown worried. Without his phone, and without a gun, he felt doubly exposed.

They should have issued him with a weapon if they were putting him into a potentially violent situation, McManus thought angrily. But he knew the Chief Constable would never have authorised that, given the accusations against him. Not that the ‘customer’ who had just arrived looked very menacing. OK, he was Middle Eastern-looking, but he was slightly built, not much more than five feet nine, and looked more like a student, in his jeans, trainers and roll-neck sweater underneath a parka, than a jihadi terrorist. McManus hadn’t wanted to believe Liz Carlyle’s claims of a jihadi threat, and part of him still didn’t. And even if this guy was a fanatic, intent on slaughtering innocents, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Not when Jackson had his phone – and a gun.

Now Jackson signalled for McManus to follow him. They walked out to the tarmac in front, where the new arrival stood by his car, watching warily as Jackson and McManus approached.

‘Good timing,’ said Jackson. He gestured at the lorry. ‘Your goods have just shown up.’

‘Who’s this guy?’ the man demanded, pointing at McManus.

‘My business associate,’ said Jackson. McManus took a step back and kept his hands loose by his side. If he was supposed to be the heavy then he’d better act like one.

‘You were supposed to come alone.’ For all his youthful appearance, the man spoke with authority and without any signs of nerves. He’s been trained, thought McManus.

Jackson seemed to sense this too. ‘I’m sorry, man, but I didn’t think it mattered.’

The young guy shook his head. ‘I can see you’re new to this. Rule Number One: no surprises. Understood?’

Jackson nodded reluctantly. It was clear now to McManus who was running the show, and it wasn’t Jackson.

They walked together into the building, where the lorry driver was stubbing out a cigarette with the heel of his shoe. ‘OK please to open up?’ the driver asked.

Jackson shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ He turned to McManus and gestured at the new arrival. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Give our friend a coffee, will you? There’s a machine in the kitchen over there.’ He pointed towards the end door in the partition at the side of the warehouse.

The Middle Eastern-looking guy said sharply, ‘I don’t want coffee. What’s the hold-up?’

‘Don’t worry: I just want to have a look around outside,’ said Jackson. ‘Can’t be too careful, can we? Then we’ll get down to business.’ And Jackson walked out of the warehouse before anyone could object.

McManus turned towards the other man. ‘What’s your name, mate?’

‘Whatever,’ the man said impatiently, his eyes following Jackson.

‘All right, “Whatever” – are you sure you don’t want coffee?’

In the Ops Room Peggy asked, ‘What’s Jackson doing?’

Lazarus looked at Andy, who said, ‘Can’t see him. He’s out of camera range.’

‘Perhaps he’s gone to have a pee,’ said Emily.

Nobody laughed. The atmosphere in the room had tautened with Jackson’s sudden disappearance from view.

Lazarus said, ‘Andy, get me Team Three.’

A moment later Andy said, ‘On the line now.’

‘Yes?’ a disembodied voice came over the loudspeaker.

‘Jackson’s outside the warehouse. Don’t know where he is – out of camera range. Hold your position until we know where he is.’

There was a pause. ‘Do my best. But I’ve got two men closing in now.’

The Chief Constable looked at Liz and winced.

The lorry driver was growing agitated, which didn’t improve his English. ‘Doors to open,’ he was insisting.

McManus shook his head. ‘Not yet. The man will be back any time now.’  The Middle Eastern guy was standing by the front of the warehouse, looking out. McManus had given up efforts to make conversation.

‘Not waiting,’ the driver said, going to the back of the lorry.

McManus took three strides and caught up with him as the driver was reaching for the steel handles of the twin back doors. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘The boss will be back in a minute,’ he said firmly. ‘So cool it.’

The driver stepped back from the lorry door. He shook his head. ‘I am not liking this.’

‘You’ll survive,’ said McManus. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something move outside, and then Jackson came back inside the warehouse, a tense expression on his face.

‘He wants to open the lorry.’ It was McManus speaking.

‘Yeah, well, we got bigger problems. There’s a car down the road that wasn’t there before.’

‘So? Lots of people must come in and out of here.’

‘At three in the morning? I don’t think so.’ He stared at McManus. ‘You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you, Jimmy?’

‘Me? Why would I?’

‘You tell me. First you say you’re retiring, then you try to duck out of driving over here with me. And you didn’t like it when I took your phone. Who are you working for tonight?’

‘I didn’t realise I was working. You said could I lend a hand, and here I am. What’s this about anyway?’ He pointed over at the Middle Eastern customer who was watching them from the front of the warehouse.

‘Never mind him,’ Jackson said curtly. He seemed to have made up his mind. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll open the doors and let the cargo out. I want you to take them into that room – I’ve got beds in there, and they can spend the rest of the night here. While you doss them down I’ll finish up with my customer here. Got that?

‘OK.’ McManus was thinking hard about his options, which seemed dismayingly limited. If there were police outside and they raided now, how was it going to look? They’d never believe he’d been forced into giving up his phone; they’d assume he’d been trying to double-cross them. Yet it was equally clear Jackson wasn’t going to let him out of his sight – not long enough to get away, at any rate – and Jackson had a gun . . .

Jackson turned to the driver, ‘Go on. Open up.’  Then he looked back at McManus. ‘Just try something now,’ he said, his voice full of menace, ‘and it will be the last thing you ever do try.’

‘What on earth?’ asked Peggy as they watched the monitor. The back doors of the lorry had been opened, and a pile of mattresses dragged out by the driver and chucked onto the warehouse floor. Now down a step at the back of the HGV came one, two, three, and finally a fourth woman.

They were all bedraggled, thin with matted blonde hair, and each clutched a suitcase. In spite of their winter coats and trousers, they looked frozen and they screwed up their eyes, dazzled by the light. They looked to be in their twenties – except for the last one, whom Liz watched with a growing sense of outrage: the girl could not have been more than sixteen years old.

Once out of the lorry, they huddled together in a little circle, clearly apprehensive about their new surroundings. The youngest was shivering uncontrollably, and one of the other women put an arm around her shoulder.

Jackson stepped forward. ‘Welcome to England and the Jackson Hotel. You’ll be spending the rest of the night here. My associate Mr McManus will show you to your quarters.’

The oldest-looking of the women stepped forward. ‘We have not eaten for twelve hours,’ she said. ‘We’re hungry.’

Jackson was unfazed. ‘You’ll have to wait till breakfast.’ He made a show of looking at his watch. ‘That won’t be long now. So why don’t you all get some sleep?’

McManus ushered the women towards the side of the warehouse, a plan starting to form in his mind. As he led the women along the partition towards the door into the so-called bedroom, he looked over his shoulder and saw Jackson and the driver conferring at the back of the lorry, while the young Middle Eastern guy stood by looking impatient. It wasn’t going to take them long to locate the cargo in the lorry and bring it out; McManus would probably have less than a minute. But it might be time enough.

When they reached the first door in the partition, the girls stopped and looked back at him for directions. He nodded and indicated that they should open the door. He then stood in the doorway and watched as the girls put down their suitcases in the small spaces between the bunk beds. One of them opened the door into the tiny bathroom next door. He felt sorry for them in this comfortless place after their long journey in the back of the lorry.

‘There’s a kitchen next door,’ he said. ‘You can make some coffee.’ From his position at the door in the partition, he looked back at the lorry. There was no sign of Jackson or the other two. They must all be inside the vehicle.

McManus walked fast back towards the front of the warehouse. As he passed by the lorry, he paused, listening carefully, then he set off, running fast towards the warehouse door.

McManus had gone out of sight of the internal camera as he’d taken the women towards the bedroom, and the attention of the watchers in the Ops Room had focused on Jackson as he clambered into the back of the lorry with the driver and Zara. As they all watched there was silence in the room. Liz now thought it was improbable that the other jihadis would be appearing, and she was willing Zara to get on and retrieve his ‘goods’ from the lorry, so they could send the armed team in to arrest him and Jackson.

Suddenly at the bottom of the screen a figure appeared, walking quickly towards the front of the warehouse. ‘It’s McManus,’ Lazarus exclaimed just as the figure broke into a run, his shoes slapping noisily on the warehouse’s concrete floor.

The outside camera took over, showing McManus as he reached the tarmac forecourt and ran out into the road. He was raising his arms and shouting, so loudly that in the Ops Room his voice came through clearly. ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,’ he yelled. ‘I’m police. DI McManus.’ Fifty yards or so ahead of him an armed policeman had emerged from the undergrowth, holding an assault rifle aimed at McManus.

There was the flat crack of a gunshot and McManus half turned, clutching his stomach with both hands, stumbled, and fell. He lay motionless on his side. In the glare of the outside security lights the camera showed a small pool forming next to the inert figure; like a leak from a broken pipe the little pool gradually got bigger and began to trickle along the road.

‘Oh God,’ said Peggy as the policeman in a bullet-proof vest came slowly forward, his rifle still held high.

Liz looked on in disbelief. Had this policeman shot McManus, an unarmed man? Then at the side of the picture, she saw Jackson standing just outside the warehouse, a gun in his right hand.

Jackson must have seen the policeman at that moment, because he lifted his arm, aimed and fired. The same flat crack split the air, but now almost simultaneously there was a second noise – this time a burst of metallic-sounding gunfire. Jackson spun around, tottered for two steps and fell to his knees. One hand was still clutching his gun, but the other was pressed against his gut. He tried to stand again, but could only make it into a low crouch. He lifted the hand from his stomach and stared at it with a mixed expression of awe and disbelief; it was coated in blood.

He turned awkwardly on his heels to face the approaching policeman, who was shouting at him to drop the gun and stay where he was. But Jackson paid no attention; defiantly he managed to struggle to his feet and point his gun in the policeman’s direction. There was the sound of another burst of fire, then silence. This time Jackson dropped for good.

Chapter 57

People always said old people went to bed early, and Mrs Donovan wouldn’t argue with that. Ever since the nine o’clock news on TV had moved to ten she’d never watched it. Nowadays she went to bed at half past nine and listened to the ten o’clock news on the radio.

But what people didn’t understand was that just because you went to bed early, it didn’t mean you
slept
. Every night she woke up, uncertain and hazy, lifting her head off the pillow to see the bright red illuminated numbers on the clock on her bedside table. They might say 12:30, or 2:17, or – when she was lucky – 5:45. Rare was the night she managed as much as four hours’ continuous sleep; rarer still those where she slept through until dawn.

Tonight was no different. It was four o’clock and she was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of milky tea, a biscuit and a copy of the
Sun
, which her grandson Michael had left behind.