Death Trap (26 page)

‘Not even Gary Larkin?’ Newman said.

Rio shook her head. ‘Calum Burns was adamant that this just doesn’t fit Gary Larkin’s MO. The house is owned by a front company based in the Cayman Islands, so it will be hard to find out who owns it. This is the strongest lead we’ve had in this case. I want to take an armed response team down there and investigate.’

The AC gazed intently into Rio’s face. ‘But all you have to go on is an anonymous tip-off. I’m not sure that will be enough to instigate a gold-level operation.’

Rio played her final card. ‘Calum’s source also said that he believes the gang are getting ready for another raid.’

A look passed between Newman and Tripple. Finally the Assistant Commissioner turned back to Rio and simply said, ‘Please can you wait outside.’

Once outside Rio couldn’t sit down on the chair that Newman’s PA offered her; she was too pumped up to remain still, so she paced, ignoring the silent, disgruntled puckering of the PA’s lips, who probably thought she was disturbing the calm energy of the room. Rio knew that sanctioning an armed operation was a serious thing, especially with the heat that the service was still feeling over two armed incidents that had gone badly wrong. But if this operation didn’t take place . . .

Rio abruptly stopped pacing when the door opened. She wasn’t invited back in. AC Tripple just said, ‘Make sure you apprehend this gang. And everything - I mean everything – is played by the book.’

8:10 p.m.

Body armour.

High-tech stab and bullet-proof vest.

Taser.

Incapacity spray.

Telescopic baton.

Speed cuffs.

Torch.

Rio checked herself in the mirror in the locker room. It bought back all her memories of being in one of the Met’s ARV (Armed Response Vehicles) ten years back. And just like then, every time she donned the specialist clothing and its lethal sidekick weapons, she felt the same – a strange power mixed with fear. You could take another life, lose your own; you never really understood the situation you’d find yourself in until you were in the field. The only items Rio was missing were a self-loading Glock and Heckler-Koch assault rifle. She would be the only member of the armed response team who wasn’t armed; shit, she still saw that lousy letter denying her annual firearms refresher training.

‘You look like one mean machine. The response unit are here.’

Rio turned to find Strong admiring her just inside the doorway. She drew in a deep breath as she gazed back at her reflection. ‘Who’s heading up the team?’

‘Specialist Firearms Commander Billy Jenkins.’

Rio allowed herself a half smile. ‘Good. He was my CO when I worked in his unit.’

Strong moved further into the room. ‘I think we might’ve lucked in with the High Commission in Cyprus. The North Cyprus police notified them that they have a British national fitting Samson Larkin’s description. He was arrested after a disturbance at a casino, but was travelling on a false passport so we can’t be sure that it’s him.’

Rio reached for her blue cap with ‘Police’ written on it, but she didn’t put it, instead turned it in her hands. ‘No matter, the important thing is that we think he’s in lockdown.’

‘But without extradition how are we going to get him back?’

‘Well let’s hope that tonight nets us the gang, which means we can think about Samson Larkin after.’

Strong took a step closer. ‘There’s one other thing. Remember Nikki’s boyfriend, Adeyemi Ibraheem? His mother’s at the front desk demanding to see you—’

Rio turned back to face him. ‘What does she want?’

‘She said that her son’s disappeared.’

Rio placed her cap carefully on her head. ‘I can’t deal with that now. Tell her to come back tomorrow or give a statement to one of the other officers.’

As she swept past him Strong caught her arm. Rio partially twisted around to face him. Her brown eyes caught his intense blue. He let go of her arm.

‘You still owe me a kiss,’ he said softly.

‘What?’ Then Rio remembered their bet as they waited outside Gary Larkin’s home. ‘Look—’

But Strong’s head was already moving. His lips touched her skin, but not where she was expecting it. His mouth grazed her forehead.

‘You look after yourself,’ was all he said.

Rio couldn’t speak; there was something thick lodged in her throat. All she could do was nod before she walked away.

The atmosphere in the operations room was highly charged and thick with focus and tension as everyone listened to Officer Billy Jenkins outline the strategy for the operation. Rio stood by his side in front of a board, which had maps and photos attached. Most prominent among the photos was the oast house itself that the gang were reported to be hiding in. Once used for drying hops, the building resembled a stone farmhouse with an inverted funnel-shaped stone tower built into the structure. The tower in the photo had small windows built into it at the top. It stood on a small hillock, with commanding views of the surrounding countryside. Jenkins didn’t bother to tell his armed officers that the place was a natural fortress and that a lookout in the tower could see anything coming or going. It was too obvious.

The only cover that could be used for approaching the house was a number of hedges that divided up the neighbouring fields. The only way up to the house was on a gravel drive that ran up from a lane, which was a quarter of a mile distant. Jenkins continued to explain that he was going to divide the team into two sections. They’d approach in the two, armed vehicles down the lane, headlamps off and park up, out of sight of the house. One team would use the hedgerows as cover to get to the back of the property. The other would go down on the verge of the gravel drive to the front of the house. When everyone was in place, Jenkins would give a signal and stun grenades would be thrown through the windows and explosive charges would take off the front and back doors. At the same time two four-by-four vehicles, with arc lights, would come down the drive to illuminate the scene. The two units would then gain access by the windows and doors and detain anyone inside.

Rio asked, ‘What if the windows are reinforced and we can’t get our grenades in?’

Jenkins was curt. ‘Shoot them out. Of course that doesn’t include you, Rio.’ He addressed the whole group. ‘Although Detective Inspector Wray will accompany us she will remain in the armed vehicle once we reach the scene.’

Rio nodded. But she added, ‘This gang are dangerous. Only shoot to kill in the most extreme situation because our ultimate goal is to take them in alive.’

thirty-four

9:20 p.m.

The two specialist firearms vehicles and four-by-fours gathered in the forecourt of a disused garage, two miles from the oast house. After a final run through to ensure everyone understood their roles, and a weapons check, they set off, Rio beside her former commanding officer. A mile down the road they turned off into the lane that ran up to their target. It was narrow, and trees and bushes brushed and rattled against the doors as they drove down. Once on the lane, they’d turned off their headlamps and slowed to ten miles an hour.

As they went down, Rio could see the house, with all its lights turned off, as a black silhouette against the night sky looking more like a medieval castle than a house. Her hand rubbed against the place where she would have kept her Glock if she’d been allowed one. Another half a mile down the lane the convoy came to a halt. Rio looked at her watch.

9:23 p.m.

Jenkins gave Rio a grave look. ‘Let’s hope this doesn’t take too long.’

Then he jumped out into the night. She watched as the inky figures set off. One team used the cover of a hedge running along a neighbouring field, while Jenkins’ group inched back down the lane to the gravel drive that led up to the house. The end of Rio’s nerves felt like they were giving her a static charge as she sat by the radio to await confirmation. She knew it would take a while for them to get to their allotted points. It always did.

‘In position.’ The voice of the officer of the team camouflaged by the hedge flickered into life on one of the radios in use. One was a direct link to the officer in charge, the other was set to the main police frequency.

‘Any sign of life in the house?’ Jenkins spoke back

‘No. The curtains are all closed and it looks dead in there.’

The radio went silent. Rio looked out into the darkness. The moon was behind clouds and she could see nothing. She didn’t like sitting in a van. A rapid patter of rain set up a beat against the vehicle almost matching the racing of her heart. She stared hard at the radio. Nothing.

Come on.

Come on.

Rio checked her watch again.

9:33 p.m.

Ten minutes had gone by and still there were no more commands on the radio. Rio cursed under her breath knowing that even the simplest of operations could go wrong in the dark. She desperately wanted to go up to the house herself . . . but protocol dictated she stayed put.

She looked out of the window at the outline of the house that was nearly obscured by the night, wind, mist and rain. Why wasn’t Jenkins back on the radio?

Come on.

Come on.

COME ON.

The sound of gunfire from the oast house tore through the air.

Rio broke protocol and got on the radio.

‘Boss? Boss?’ Her voice was frantic. ‘Jenkins? What the hell is going on up there?’

Finally he came on. ‘I don’t know. There’s shooting coming from somewhere; I’m trying to get round the front to see if it’s our people. I can’t see anything up here.’

‘Is it coming from inside the house?’

‘Can’t tell . . .’

Another burst of gunfire. Then another. The rat-a-tat of automatic fire: a Heckler & Koch, or another type of submachine gun? Rio jumped out of the command vehicle and entered the unnerving dark. She ran down the lane in the driving rain. More gunshots beat out as she turned onto the gravel drive. Crouching low, she was conscious of the crunching of her feet against the gravel as she drew closer to the house. She drew up to a stone wall and breathed easier when she found several of Jenkins’ men aiming their guns at the house.

‘What’s going on?’

Jenkins swore. ‘God damn it, Rio, what the hell are you doing?’

‘I heard gunfire. Is it coming from inside?’

‘We thought we heard gunshots from inside, so one of my men opened fire.’

‘So what are you doing?’

‘We wait.’

Rio rapidly shook her head with disbelief. ‘I can’t let them get away . . .’ Rio pulled a Glock from one of the officers who held an assault rifle.

‘What are you doing?’ Jenkins was furious. Even Rio couldn’t believe what she was doing. ‘You’re not authorised and I’m not going through six months of a disciplinary to explain why—’

But Rio didn’t wait for him to finish, just said, ‘I’m going around the back.’

Rio set off, skirting the stone wall. She could hear the squelching of Jenkins’ boots in the mud as he followed her. The scene was now silent except for the wind, which was ripping across the hill. As they came round to the back, Rio was sure that she saw a figure moving across the grounds at the rear of the property. She squinted and pressed her head slightly forwards. Yes, there it was again, someone in the dark. Someone was out there. Whoever it was they were hugging the ground like an animal.

She yelled, ‘Stop – armed police!’

There was a flurry of movement. Rio let loose a fusillade of shots over the top of what she thought she’d seen. Her gunfire was answered as if in a call and response by gunfire from the police at the front of the building firing over the roof.

‘Did you see that?’ Rio said breathlessly to Jenkins. ‘I saw someone.’

But Jenkins shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anyone.’

How couldn’t he have seen it? She definitely saw someone.

‘Come on,’ Jenkins commanded.

Rio and Jenkins moved into position at the rear of the house by an outbuilding.

‘Have you got any of the stun grenades?’ Rio could feel the anger still vibrating from the firearms commander. ‘Look, I’m already here, so let’s see if we can catch the bastards.’

After a few tense seconds Jenkins nodded. He passed her the grenades.

‘I’ll go in; you keep your gun trained on the building.’

Rio felt no fear as she ran across the courtyard. When she reached the wall of the house, she felt her way along but instead of a window, she found the back door. It was slightly ajar. She raised the Glock to her shoulder and pushed the heavy door open with her foot. Sank to her knees, pointed the firearm high and peered inside. If the landscape was too dark to see anything, inside the building it was black. She took her torch and illuminated a corridor. It had rooms opening off it and what seemed to be a staircase at the end. She heard footsteps behind and to the right of her. She flicked off her torch and rolled onto her back, pointing her gun upwards. Three shadows seemed to be closing in on her; she shouted again, ‘Armed police; raise your hands!’