Guy Fawkes Day
Page 63
***
‘Stevie boy!’ Smedley hissed for the fourth time as loudly as he dared down the tunnel. "Stevie boy!…Connor!…where the fuck are you?"
He had jumped up from the dip and was suspended precariously on the lip of the shaft, his forearms exploding from the pain of keeping himself suspended and his fingers slipping off the smooth metal.
One last time.
‘Connor!… Connor, you fat bloody paddy!’
Nothing. Smedley dropped down and checked his watch. Shit, 5:14! In one bloody minute Omar would be going for it, while he was still stuck down in the drains underneath Speaker's Court with four bloody canvas bags laden with all the gear and with no sign of Connor or Newton. There was nowt else for it. He’d have to go it alone.
With the purpose of a split-second decision, Smedley unzipped one of the canvas bags and delved inside, pulling out a Kalashnikov with several 30-round clips for himself, and strapping one of the big heavy canvas bags to his back.
Using the grips he had cut into the stonework during his previous visits, he eased his way gingerly towards the drain cover above, the canvas strap cutting into the flesh on his back. He was glad he had already loosened the drain cover; it moved easily to the side.