by steve higgs
Just then, CI Quinn exited the mobile command centre, looked around, spotted me and crossed the short distance to where I was sitting. He looked annoyed. ‘My men are getting reports from the Ukrainians that they were set upon by what they described as a geriatric special forces team.’ He said. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?’
‘Maybe.’ I tried to make my reply sound innocent.
‘Yes. Well, they have vanished like ghosts back into the dark. That’s a direct quote. Some of my officers saw them and gave chase but were fired upon. No injuries sustained though which makes me think the shots were to deter them from following, not to do them any harm. Doesn’t your father work here?’
‘He does.’ I answered, giving nothing away.
Exasperation etched on his face, he placed his head in his palms and groaned. ‘Mr. Michaels you have an uncanny knack for making my life both easy and impossible. Whoever they are they were nearly shot, you know. All in black and running around in the dark with guns. It would seem they found Detective Sergeant Kushnir though and two security guards and were escorting them to safety. That’s what DS Kushnir is saying anyway. How do you do it? How do you bring down a firefight in my jurisdiction and walk away scot free?’
I said nothing.
‘Would you like to tell me who they are? I expect the mayor will want to hang medals around their necks.’
Better make it a big one, I thought, so my dad could hide from mum behind it.
‘I need to see the security guards.’ Next to me Big Ben was already getting up. I wanted to check how bad they were for myself.
‘Really?’ CI Quinn said. ‘You need to see them. You cause nothing but mayhem and now you expect me to let you wander off to see the men your private army saved?’
‘Yes.’ I replied.
He sighed, looking around rather than at me. Then he pursed his lips as he made a decision. ‘I’ll come with you. I’m about to be replaced by an incident commander anyway. This is too big for a Chief Inspector now. Way too big.’ He turned back toward the command centre calling, ‘Wait there.’ Over his shoulder.
He came back out less than ten seconds later with two bright yellow high-visibility vests in his hand. Each had POLICE written across the back in bold letters.
‘Put these on. It might stop people from thinking they should shoot you.’ I think he was talking to Big Ben rather than me. He still looked like one of the armed police but without the insignia so actually he looked more like a terrorist.
‘Actually, I need the gents.’ Big Ben said as we set off. ‘I’ll catch up with you.’
CI Quinn and I walked in silence across the cobblestones to the Admiral’s building where staff were still leaving. A thought occurred to me. ‘Ian have your men found Alex Jordan yet?’
‘Alex Jordan?’ He repeated. He frowned for a second. ‘Oh, you mean the Dockyard’s CEO. I don’t think so. Why?’
CI Quinn had been rounding up Ukrainians and anyone that looked like they might be involved in the crimes they were committing. He didn’t know about Alex Jordan. No one did.
‘Because he is the guy at the top of the pyramid. He’s the big boss of the Ukrainian gang you are currently arresting, and he is probably being evacuated from the building in front of us by your men. Escorted to safety by the very persons that should be arresting him.’ I had already started running. Not towards the building though. I was heading for the exit where the first of the civilian staff evacuated from the Admiral’s building were filing out. A long thin snake of them were walking in a straight line out the large oak front doors I had not seen open until today. They passed through a cordon of officers that were recording who they were and where they could be reached and probably checking them against a list of employees to make sure they were releasing innocents not criminals.
Alex Jordan had to be among them and would be gone if we didn’t catch him.
No one paid us much attention as we raced up the line of confused-looking staff in their office wear. They had been happily oblivious to the fight playing out beneath their feet and getting on with whatever their job involved when the police had descended on them like a swarm of locusts. The police would not have told them anything other than they needed to evacuate the Dockyard. So, they were going home early, which was nice, but now would be questioning whether they were coming back tomorrow and if they still had a job.
The line of people had already reached the exit building where the gift shop and ticket booths were located. As we ran toward it, I couldn’t see anyone that looked like Alex Jordan. It could mean that he was still inside, waiting to file out through the police cordon or he might have gone down the stairs and into the tunnels to find his escape when he saw the police coming. Or he could have left already. All these things were possible.
However, when we entered the gift shop, I saw him.
He was in the car park and hurrying away.
‘There.’ I yelled to Quinn as I pointed through the now unmanned ticket booths.
Our jog turned into a sprint, my body protesting after the recent beatings it had taken. My abs a solid ball of insistent pain that demanded I stop doing things with them and take a month off.
We barrelled through the doors and out into the car park with enough force and noise to alert him. He glanced over his shoulder, saw me or perhaps saw the yellow vests and started running himself. He had a large bag over one shoulder, filled with money no doubt as Pasha and the others had been trying to do. It was slowing him down.
‘Police, halt!’ CI Quinn bellowed in a tone he clearly believed would generate the reaction he wanted. To my surprise it did.
Alex stopped running, dropped the heavy bag to the gravel and turned to face us. We were fifty yards from him and running, but as we drew closer, I grabbed Quinn’s arm and slowed his pace.
‘What are you doing, man?’ Quinn asked, bewildered that I was holding him back. I had faced enough fighters, both in the ring and in life, to know that my earlier casual assessment of his skills was on the money. He was loosening up for a fight right now, twisting his ankles and his neck, bending over to place his forehead against his ankles without bending his knees. He was limber and supple.
We were not in earshot yet, but I whispered anyway. ‘He can fight. This will not be easy. Best to bring in backup than risk him overpowering us and escaping.’
Quinn looked the man up and down. Alex Jordan is short and has a lean frame. Visually there is nothing to suggest that he could be dangerous which must have worked in his favour many times in his life. A police issue baton appeared in Quinn’s hand as he said, ‘I think I’ll be okay with just one man. I can call for back up when he is in cuffs.’
Before I could stop him, he moved to take Alex into custody. Mentally I wished him luck, physically I moved to create a vee angle so that Alex had to divert his attention constantly between the two of us. If I could time my attack to coincide with Quinn’s, then maybe this would be easy.
It wasn’t.
As Quinn stepped in, Alex darted toward me, feigning a move that would cause Quinn to follow him, then reversed his direction and struck him hard on the side of his face. It was the sort of move I used and one I liked to believe I wouldn’t fall for.
Reeling back and off balance, Quinn could do nothing as Alex grabbed his baton to wrench it from his grip. I was feeling sluggish and I hurt more or less everywhere. The adrenaline that had coursed through my bloodstream too many times today already had left me feeling spent. Adding it all up, I knew I had no option but to end the fight quickly. If Alex had the chance to arm himself with a weapon like a baton, we would not beat him.
But I had bet on him trying to get it as soon as I saw him go for Quinn and counted on his focus slipping briefly. It gave me the opening I needed.
Putting everything into my move, I took two steps, leaped onto the bonnet of a car and dived at the smaller man. I wanted to wrap him up in a hug that would encompass his limbs and take away his abi
lity to strike effectively. While he wrestled with me, Quinn would be able to regain his feet and get a cuff on him.
As always, it didn’t work like that. The car I climbed on was fresh from the valet and had a good coat of wax on it. I might as well have stepped on a cartoon banana peel while honking a comedy horn.
I crashed to the gravel at Alex’s feet, hitting head first and tasting blood. Presented with an easy target, Alex drove down with his left knee to smash into my throat. Thankfully he missed as I scrambled for purchase but his knee landed on my chest instead, driving the air from my lungs and he was already raising the baton to strike my face.
Quinn grabbed the raised arm which stopped the downswing but was soon shaken loose when Alex drove a long, thin leg into his abdomen, doubling him over and forcing him to let go.
Whatever fight training Alex had was comprehensive but hadn’t extended to fighting dirty in the schoolyard. Still on my back on the ground, I threw a handful of gravel and loose dust into his face, blinding him for the half second I needed to line up an elbow on his inner knee. As he collapsed inward, I lifted my head and shoulders, swept my left arm behind his head and drew him down so I could bite his nose.
Yelping in shock and pain, he couldn’t get away without ripping his nose off. Panicked, he was punching and clawing at me, but I wasn’t going to let go.
Then the satisfying metal rasping sound of a handcuff ratchet sliding home told me Quinn had him. He pulled Alex away from me, indentations in either side of his nose where my incisors had been. He used the cuff against his wrist to force Alex to the ground as he did so.
From the ground, I heard the other cuff clicking into place. Then Ian Quinn’s face came into view, blocking out the cold grey sky. He was grinning. His top lip was split and there was a bruise already where the first blow had struck home next to his left eye, but he was grinning.
I took his offered hand and let him pull me to my feet. I slumped back against the bonnet of a car, placing all my weight on it and immediately slid off and onto the ground again. It was the same damned car I had fallen off. Quinn just eyed me like I was being strange.
I selected a different car, this time feeling the bonnet for friction before resting myself against it.
While Alex Jordan was yelling about the choice things he was going to do with our kidneys and testicles, the Chief Inspector called for uniforms to assist and gave them our location.
Only when half a dozen uniformed officers came running toward us from the Dockyard entrance did he take his weary eye off Alex Jordan.
After they hauled the smaller man to his feet and after Quinn had directed them to take the bag away as evidence, he offered me his hand. ‘Well done, Mr. Michaels. It was a pleasure working with you. I need to return to the command centre where there will undoubtedly be many tasks for me to perform. I look forward to working with you again in the future.’
I shook his hand, surprised at his change in attitude. Our hands parted, and he turned to go but stopped as if remembering something. ‘When I make my report later, I will state that the special forces team the Ukrainians have reported were an unknown element and not connected to you in any way. That’s correct isn’t it, Mr. Michaels?’
He was sort of smiling as he gave me the opportunity to lie through my face about my involvement in the firefight earlier. I smiled back, as I began to walk away. ‘No, Ian. I arranged the whole thing.’
Going Home. Thursday, November 24th 1522hrs
I got to my car where I planned to wait for Big Ben. I still had on the hi-vis police vest but beneath it was a shirt that had burn holes in it and was damp from rolling on the floor in the tunnels. My feet were soaked and I was getting cold now that the adrenalin was once again leaving my system.
‘Mr Michaels?’ I turned to see Joseph Kushnir jogging across the carpark toward me. ‘Mr. Michaels.’
Despite the cold I felt, I closed my car door before I had the chance to get in and went back to meet him. I offered my hand to shake. ‘Joseph, good to see you in one piece.’
‘No time for that.’ He panted, drawing in a huge breath so he could get his message out. ‘I have to tell you that Alex Jordan is the gang boss.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Oh. Really?’ Poor Joseph was not only surprised by the news but also quite clearly disappointed. ‘How?’
‘I pieced it together.’ I said while shrugging. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because he was there when they took me. I spotted the guards coming out of a tiny brick building that couldn’t possibly have housed them all late last night. I picked the lock and went in after everyone else had gone home and found them making cigarettes down there. Oh, did you get the film I sent you?’ His brain was jumping from one thought to the next.
‘I did. I used it to fool Alex Jordan into playing his hand and to get CI Quinn to come here with reinforcements.’
‘Oh. Good. Good.’
I could see he was going to launch into a long-winded account of what had happened to him, but I was getting cold and I was most definitely feeling battered. I wanted to get clean and warm and sit on the sofa with a dog on each leg while I drank a cup of tea.
‘Are you hurt?’ I asked. ‘Did they hurt you?’
‘Not really.’ He replied. ‘They duffed me up a bit until I stopped resisting, then put me in a room with two blokes called Dave. We tried to break out but there was an armed guard outside.’
‘Are the Daves okay?’
‘Same as me. They were worried though, convinced they planned to kill us. I did my best to assure them they would never be bold enough to kill a copper, but they didn’t believe me.’
Neither did I. Joseph’s naivety was a wonder to behold. I said, ‘You will have a cool story to tell now at least.’ I wasn’t wrong in that assessment either. He had broken into a criminal gang’s underground lair, confronted the big boss and escaped with the assistance of a special forces raid. Okay, some of that was embellishing the truth, but he could make it work.
‘I really have to go.’ I pointed out. I wanted to talk to my father and to Alan Page, neither of whom I could contact as my phone was gone. I needed to get home, but then, as Joseph shook my hand and started back toward the Dockyard entrance building, I saw Big Ben coming out of it.
He waved that he had seen me and was on his way over. I waited for him.
‘You look like crap, mate.’ He said as he drew near. ‘Your ear looks like it’s coming off.’
I felt my ears, the right one was crusted with blood. I must have cut it when I fell off the car and hit the gravel. It didn’t feel torn though. I sagged against the front of my car.
Big Ben gave me a concerned look. ’Are you okay?’
I laughed. Looking down at my ruined shoes, the holes in the knees of my trousers where I could see my skinned and bleeding knees, the burn holes in my shirt which didn’t stop at my shirt – the skin beneath would require some soothing salve, my ragged ear, the cuts to my knuckles and all the bruising I had suffered from fighting in the last few days, I had to laugh at myself. At my life.
‘What is it?’ He asked.
’In all these wounds you can see, the thing that hurts me most is the bruise to the back of my neck where my sister grabbed me while delivering her baby.’
He joined in laughing.
Later that evening, with a snuggly dog on each thigh and a cooling cup of tea in my hand I fell asleep. I woke only briefly when the sound of the dogs finishing my tea reached my ears.
I had called my dad at his house but as expected had got my mother. She answered the phone with a demand, ‘Do you know where your father has been?’
‘Where did he tell you he had been?’ I asked in return, idly swishing the water and bubbles around my bath as it filled. I wanted to deny all knowledge, but that would mean lying directly to my mother. Instead I was going to dance around the truth and see if I could avoid dropping him in it.
‘He says he joined a clandestine force in order
to storm an underground lair and free hostages held by a criminal gang.’
‘Then I guess that is where he was. I was one of the hostages.’
‘Okay, don’t tell me.’ She snapped. ‘I shall expect to see you for Sunday lunch. Two o’clock, don’t be late.’
‘Okay, Mother.’ I was answering on autopilot, wondering how dad and I had got away so easily from her wrath. Maybe she was just glad to have him home and in one piece. Maybe she was plotting revenge. I would find out soon enough.
‘Will you be bringing a date?’ She asked.
I though of Natasha and groaned internally. I was going to have to deal with that soon. What I said was, ‘Not unless you count Bull and Dozer.’ She muttered something about never getting grandchildren and was gone.
Coomer Castle. Friday, November 25th 1000hrs
The blend of Sihk and Christian wedding traditions resulted in a ceremony at the palatial Coomer Castle just outside Rochester, on a day when the sun decided to shine, and the world felt like a perfect place to be.
I had arrived at the venue at 1000hrs to make sure that everything was being set up according to the happy couple’s desires. They had a few very specific requests, but I needn’t have worried as it was all being taken care of. The plush interior was matched by the perfectly landscaped acres of garden and long, winding driveway that would wow the guests as they arrived.
I kept Bull and Dozer on their leads both inside and outside the great house though no one insisted upon it. There was all too much chance one of them would poop somewhere if I let them off. I had taken the option of staying overnight in the castle when it had first been offered three weeks ago upon booking the event because it meant I could keep the dogs close by instead of leaving them at home with Mrs Comerforth yet again. After my repeated absences this week I was glad I had. They would sleep happily enough during the ceremony and come out to mingle and charm people during the reception. If I am honest, it also occurred to me that they would attract the attention of the young women at the wedding. They always brought the ladies running wherever they went, a feature I was thankful for, but rarely managed to convert into anything worthwhile.