Chapter 48
The negotiator introduced himself and Thurstan updated him with what he wanted him to know. Not surprisingly, he wanted to talk. He already had the number of the telephone in the target building and was keen to make contact. He was put on hold. The surveillance TL stuck his head around the door to confirm the tracker had been placed successfully.
Suddenly: “Firearms. One male making for the door.”
Seconds later: “Seven one. Movement at the front. Looks like he’s going to the car.”
“Shit!” He suddenly realised they were vulnerable. If the vehicle left the estate and turned right it would have a clear view of them gathered in Brunswick Street. He stepped out to get them into cover but all he saw were two armoured Land Rovers reversing deftly behind the tree line at the bottom of the street, several inconspicuous parked cars and two vans bearing the logo ‘Courier Services’ on their bonnets. Spud leaned out from behind one of them and gave him the thumbs-up sign as the Tac Advisor slapped another magnetic sign on the side of the nearest Mercedes Sprinter and disappeared behind cover.
Back in Incident Control -
“ ... he’s in the vehicle now and it’s ... an off, off, off, heading for the main entrance.”
“Five three. Visual on the vehicle. He’s taking a left, left, left towards King Street.”
In seconds, the possibilities raced through his mind. Should they simply track it?
No, he needed eyes on, the driver could be going for more weaponry and it created a problem if he returned and drove past the end of their street.
Surveillance and the ARVs?
Yes, he may be armed and had to be arrested as soon as possible but it also had to be discreet; if he was a local his arrest might be notified by onlookers via social media or, worse case, direct to their hostage-takers.
Where the hell could they do it?
He hadn’t a clue.
He spoke quickly to his radio operator, a condensed and precise version of his thoughts.
Four DSU and three ARVs replied.
He sat down, waved off the offer of a cup of tea and for five minutes listened intently to the commentary being given, then:
“Six Two. He’s parked in the disabled bay outside the shops, junction of Long Lane with Woolton Road. I need someone to take the eyeball.”
“Three three. I have visual... He’s going into the chippy. South Parkway on the corner. He’s one of three customers.”
“Firearms. We know it. With you in thirty seconds.”
“Three three. Two customers preparing to leave.” Silence. The seconds idled by.
“Three three. They’re clear of the chippy. Subject’s on the right as you go in, green jacket, grey tracky bottoms. Firearms! Firearms!”
“Hotel Romeo one five. At scene.”
“He’s leaning on the counter, back to the door.” Silence again.
Billy Thompson drummed his fingers on the counter in time to the music from an old sixties radio perched next to the cash till. Two grand was a lot of money, so he knew it’d be well dodgy but as long as it didn’t involve armed robbery or murder he was ok with it; he didn’t intend doing that sort of time.
Presented with an opportunity, he’d made new plans. Many would consider them normal but for him, it’d be a huge step. He was going to buy a decent suit, get manicured up and, with his newly acquired night school qualifications, get himself an honest job.
She’d said she had faith in him, that he could do it and she would help him, she knew good people. She clearly saw something in him no one else had.
It was the only reason he’d originally signed up for the classes. He’d been lurking in the cloak rooms but left empty-handed and bumped into her. She assumed he’d come to the open evening because he was interested in improving himself academically. By the time he left and she’d waved him goodbye, he was. What was there not to like? She was a good looker with a cracking figure but the longer he knew her the less those attributes seemed important. He knew he had to change if he was to stand a chance and a chance was all he needed.
For a while now, he’d been careful about the jobs he got involved in and gained himself a reputation as a savvy but picky bastard. He’d put money away and knew he’d been lucky, so far. This was his farewell performance. He smiled.
His Dad had once told him: ‘Get your feet on the ladder. Any little job will do as a first step. All that’s needed is a little bit of honesty, hard work and loads of commitment.’ Good advice. The following week he’d left them and ran off with a woman who worked in the pub at the top of the street.
He’d thought they’d tell him to ‘do one’ once they’d secured McAvoy in the unit but it became apparent they needed more from him. Ok, so they had a score to settle, he understood, and he was ready for some violence but not the level being dealt out. In a perfect world, he’d have just left. The problem was he needed the money. It was the icing on his little cake. Not to worry, as long as they didn’t top him it would all be ok. Nah! They wouldn’t do that. Would they?
The door bing bonged and he began to turn out of sheer habit. He heard the shouts, ‘Armed Police, Armed Police, don’t fucking move’ but momentum seemed to have taken over.
The next thing, he felt like he had the day he’d accidentally caught the back of his hand on the exposed electrical wiring in the derelict house they were fond of exploring as kids. The difference was, this time it didn’t stop. In reality, it was only five seconds but for him, it seemed like an eternity.