Operative 66 : A Novel

by McDermott, Andy

  A pause – then the moment Reeve had expected arrived. The floorboards creaked as the man’s weight shifted—

  Then the smack of impact. A shriek, a thump as she fell. The baby screamed—

  Reeve was already moving.

  Out of the flat, up the stairs to the door above. He pushed the handle. It opened. He swept through. The apartment was smaller than Connie’s, furniture old and tatty. The howling baby, maybe six months old, was in a cot. A terrified young black woman had fallen beside it, a hand to her face.

  Standing over her was a white man. Short dark hair, sallow skin, gold glinting around his wrist and fingers and neck. He looked around at Reeve in surprise, then anger. ‘Who the fuck are you? Fuck off out, or I’ll fucking make you.’

  Reeve assessed him. Early twenties. About the same height. His challenger was both thinner and fatter: less muscle, more weight around the gut. He wasn’t afraid of the intruder. That suggested he was used to fighting – and winning. He didn’t have the build of someone who trained regularly, though. So he took on softer targets. A bully.

  ‘Liam, no!’ the woman cried.

  The man ignored her. ‘All fucking right,’ he growled. He advanced, raising his fists. Reeve retreated. Not out of fear, but to get clear of the woman and her baby.

  His opponent mistook his withdrawal for cowardice. Confidence on his face – then he lunged, arm swinging to punch him.

  To Reeve, the motion was as predictable as the arc of a thrown ball. He dodged, twisting aside – and caught Liam’s fist in his right hand.

  The other man was startled by the interception. He tried to pull free, but Reeve kept hold. Another twist – and he jabbed him in the stomach with his right elbow. Liam barked in pain. He jerked backwards, breaking from Reeve’s grip. A moment to recover, then another swing, an angry haymaker.

  Reeve easily deflected it. Liam staggered as his balance shifted. Before he could recover, the heel of Reeve’s open palm slammed up under his jaw.

  His teeth clacked together, hard. He stumbled back. Reeve waited for his response. If he was a good or smart fighter, he would change his approach now . . .

  He was neither. Liam’s rat-like face flared with anger. With a roar, he dropped his head and charged.

  Reeve easily swung aside. Before Liam could come about, he delivered a rapid jab to his cheek. The other man staggered – then lashed out with one leg. It caught Reeve’s left shin where Connie’s car had hit him. Resurgent pain knocked him back with a grunt.

  Liam realised he had scored a point and kicked again. Reeve barely jumped clear. A surge of anger. Time to end this. He waited for Liam to straighten – then ploughed a punch into his stomach.

  The other man saw it coming just in time to flinch back. Even so, the blow still hit. He let out a hoarse whoop of expelled air.

  Reeve watched him. Would he accept he was outmatched, or—

  Liam’s face contorted into a furious, mindless snarl – and he charged again.

  This time, Reeve didn’t have enough space to dodge. A table’s corner jarred his hip. He stumbled clear, but now the other man was on him—

  Another haymaker. Reeve tried to duck away – but it clipped his left arm. Even though it didn’t hit the wound directly, the impact was still agonising. He cried out.

  Leering glee as Liam realised what had happened. Reeve knew every attack would be now aimed at his bandaged arm.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  Liam took another swipe. Reeve dodged it by spinning into a half-turn – and hurling himself backwards. He slammed against the other man. Right elbow hard into his sternum. He whirled back around. Liam’s eyes were wide in shocked pain from a skipped heartbeat. A chop to his throat. Liam fell. Reeve stood over him, about to slam a heel into his chest—

  The baby’s frightened cry stopped him. The woman stared at him in fear and astonishment. Was she going to side with her ex against him, or call the police?

  He stepped away. Liam, gasping, looked up at him. Reeve gazed impassively back. Take the hint. The fight’s over. Don’t make me finish it . . .

  The younger man forced himself to his knees, then stood. Reeve glanced at the door. A poisonous look, then Liam shambled towards it.

  He was about to exit – then shot the woman a pointed glare.

  Reeve had been going to let him leave. Now, he couldn’t. He knew that look too well. I’m coming back as soon as you’re alone.

  Not this time.

  Liam walked out – only for Reeve to catch him on the landing. He didn’t want the woman or her baby to see. Another brutal chop to the side of Liam’s neck. He staggered, momentarily stunned by the karate blow. Reeve drove another punch into his kidneys. As Liam reeled, he hauled him down the stairs. By the time he reached the bottom, the other man was recovering.

  He waited for the inevitable enraged punch – then delivered a precise one of his own. His knuckles smashed into the nerve cluster under Liam’s right shoulder. Liam squealed as his whole arm fell limp.

  Reeve shoved him against the wall, then rapidly turned out his pockets. He let the squirming man collapse as he found his driving licence. ‘Liam James Northwood,’ he said, reading it. Liam looked at him through tear-filled eyes. ‘I know where you live.’ He tapped Liam’s address on the plastic card. ‘If you hurt the lady upstairs again, I will come and find you. And next time, I’ll use both arms. You understand?’

  ‘Yes . . .’ was the weak reply.

  ‘If you’re going to be a father, be a good one.’ He bent lower to look Liam in the eyes. ‘Because I’ll be watching.’ He handed the other man’s belongings back to him, then straightened. Bewildered, Liam scrambled to the front door. Reeve didn’t follow. A last fearful glance, then Liam was gone.

  Reeve turned at a noise. A middle-aged man peered anxiously at him from the downstairs flat. ‘It’s okay, there’s no trouble,’ Reeve told him. The ginger-haired neighbour sucked nervously on his lower lip, then retreated.

  The woman, holding her baby, came on to the upper landing. ‘What – what happened to Liam?’ she asked in a strong south London accent.

  There was a fresh bruise on her cheek. ‘He won’t hurt you again,’ Reeve told her. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Her hand went unconsciously to the mark on her face. ‘Is he . . . all right?’

  ‘He’ll recover.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed. Then: ‘Not that I’m wishing he’d been badly hurt or anything,’ she hurriedly clarified. ‘I mean, he’s my baby’s dad. It’s just, he’s, well . . . ’

  Reeve nodded. ‘I totally understand.’

  ‘Wow.’ A giggle of nervous relief. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I mean, really, thank you.’ A broad grin, followed by another nervous giggle. ‘Jaz. I’m Jaz. Short for Jasmine. And this is Hallie.’ She nodded at the baby, who while still unhappy was no longer crying.

  ‘Hi, Jaz. And hi, Hallie. I’m Alex.’

  She smiled again, then glanced towards Connie’s open door. ‘Are you with Connie? She didn’t say she had a boyfriend.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just visiting.’

  ‘Oh, right. Right.’ She nodded, a little too vigorously. ‘Well, ah, I’ll let you get on. Thank you again. Alex. Nice to meet you. Well, maybe not “nice”? But I’m very glad you were here. Thank you. Thanks.’ She backed into her flat a little further with each word, finally waving. ‘Bye.’

  ‘Bye,’ he replied. She beamed again, then closed the door.

  Reeve returned to Connie’s flat. He finished his breakfast and washed up, still considering his options. Finding Maxwell would be dangerous. SC9 would likely anticipate his actions. He had to outthink them—

  A knock at the door.

  Reeve whipped around, instantly on alert. It couldn’t be Connie; she wouldn
’t knock. The police, making door-to-door enquiries? Unlikely: he was miles from last night’s incident. Unless someone had seen Connie with him. The hospital porter – had the cops spoken to him? He stood, fight-or-flight reflexes kicking in—

  ‘Hi?’

  Jaz. He relaxed, slightly.

  Still cautious, he opened the door, one foot positioned to wedge it if needed. But she was alone. No baby. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi. Again.’ A nervous little wave. ‘Er . . . can I come in?’

  Reeve hesitated – it wasn’t his flat – but it seemed rude to leave her standing outside. ‘Okay.’ Jaz entered. He stepped back, blocking access to the rest of the room.

  If she was offended, it didn’t show. Her broad smile returned. ‘I just wanted to say – well, thank you again. But also, wow.’

  ‘I was just stopping him from hurting you,’ he said, slightly awkwardly.

  ‘No, no, I mean – it was like a martial arts movie. He hardly even touched you.’

  Reeve’s left arm was still sore. ‘I wish that was true.’

  ‘Nobody’s ever stood up for me like that before. Never. And you don’t even know me.’

  ‘I . . . just have a thing about bad dads,’ he said, discomfort increasing. He wasn’t used to this level of attention, or praise.

  ‘Me too. Except I was still stupid enough to get involved with one. I got Hallie out of it, and she’s wonderful, but . . . ’ Jaz glanced down, embarrassed, then gazed back up at him. ‘Alex . . . can I ask you something?’

  Was she coming on to him? His reply was hesitant. ‘Yeah?’

  Connie bustled into the hall, checking the windowsill for post before going to her door. Normally she would have spent her shift break at the hospital. Today, though, she returned home. She didn’t think Alex Reeve would have robbed her, but had to be sure . . .

  She walked in – and stopped in surprise.

  Not only was he still there, but he was holding a baby.

  ‘Okay . . .’ she said. ‘How long was I gone?’

  CHAPTER 19

  ‘I’m so sorry if this was any trouble,’ said Jaz with an apologetic smile. Hallie was cradled in her arms. ‘It’s just – after what happened with Liam, I kind of . . . crashed? I needed to sleep, but I couldn’t leave Hallie alone . . .’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Connie replied. ‘You had a nasty experience. Your adrenalin spiked, and then it has to go somewhere.’

  The young woman nodded. ‘Normally I would have forced myself to stay awake. And I would never normally have given my baby to someone I’d just met. But I knew that if you trusted him, I could too.’

  ‘I guess you can.’ She glanced at Reeve, who shrugged sheepishly.

  ‘But,’ Jaz went on, ‘I had two hours’ sleep. And I feel so much better for it.’ She addressed Reeve. ‘Hallie wasn’t any trouble, was she?’

  ‘None at all,’ he said.

  Connie peered at Jaz’s bruised cheek. ‘Are you okay? If you want to get the police or social services involved—’

  ‘No, no,’ Jaz quickly cut in. ‘I don’t want to make things worse with Liam.’

  ‘That’s what a lot of abused women say,’ she said gently. ‘It usually doesn’t help.’

  Jaz looked at Reeve. ‘Alex put the fear of God into Liam. I don’t think he’ll try to hurt me again.’

  Connie followed her gaze. ‘Really?’

  The remark was meant for Reeve – what had he done? – but Jaz answered it. ‘Yeah. He was . . . amazing. A real hero.’

  ‘I’m no hero,’ said Reeve. He seemed uncomfortable with the praise. ‘I just helped someone who needed it.’

  ‘Isn’t that what a hero does?’ She beamed at him. ‘Again, Alex, thank you so much.’

  Connie showed her out, then closed the door. ‘So,’ she said, not facing Reeve. ‘This was unexpected.’

  ‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry. I would have gone by now, except . . . well.’

  She turned, face hard. ‘What did you do? Go upstairs and beat up Jaz’s ex?’

  ‘I stopped him from hurting her, and didn’t let him hurt me. Then I warned him not to do it again, or I’d find him.’

  Connie frowned. ‘Are you trying to show off how tough you are?’ Had she misjudged him? If he was just some macho idiot—

  ‘No, not at all.’ He was taken aback by the accusation. His remark had been a statement of fact.

  She saw something on his left sleeve. ‘Oh – but I think he did hurt you.’

  ‘What?’ He looked at his arm. A small oval of blood marred the tight material. ‘Damn. I hadn’t even realised.’

  ‘You didn’t feel it hurting?’

  ‘Oh, I felt it hurting. I just didn’t know it was bleeding.’

  ‘Let me look.’ She ushered him to the sofa. ‘Take that off.’

  He struggled to remove the tight garment. ‘Sorry about your jumper.’

  ‘Never mind that.’ The bandage had a larger stain. ‘Let me get my stuff. I’ll have to take off the dressing.’

  It didn’t take long for her to cut it away. ‘You’ve torn a stitch. God, that must hurt. Have you taken any more painkillers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure this isn’t some macho thing?’

  A faint laugh. ‘Who would I have been trying to impress? The baby? I wanted to save the pills for if I really needed them.’

  She gestured at the broken suture. ‘And that doesn’t count?’

  ‘Well, in hindsight . . .’

  Connie shook her head. ‘God. Men. Okay, I’ll fix it up again . . .’

  The inflammation had reduced slightly. The antibiotics were working. She made him take more Tramadol, then snipped out the broken suture. Once done, she cleaned the injury, then re-stitched it. ‘Some medical advice? After having stitches, avoid getting into fights.’

  A very faint smile. ‘I’ll try to remember that.’

  ‘I’m not sure what I can’t believe most,’ she said, sighing. ‘That you did get into a fight with this wound – or that you won.’

  ‘I’ve had training. He hadn’t. But he won’t give her any more trouble.’

  From past experience with victims, she was unconvinced. But he wasn’t evincing any doubt. ‘Would you really go and find him if he did?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll need to.’

  She eyed him. ‘That’s not what I asked.’

  Reeve grimaced as the suture pulled tight. ‘I don’t like bad fathers. Or abusive partners. He was both.’

  There was hurt in his tone beyond physical pain. ‘Does that come from personal experience?’

  No answer. Realising none would be forthcoming, she continued her work. Before long, the injury was bandaged once more. ‘There,’ she said. ‘How does it feel?’

  Reeve carefully moved his arm. Even with the painkiller, he let out a grunt. ‘Not great.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ She cleared up her supplies, then sat beside him. ‘I know you want to get moving, but I really think you should stay here. At least until tomorrow. Otherwise your body won’t have any chance to recover. You need rest.’

  ‘I can’t argue with you,’ he said wearily.

  She smiled. ‘The antibiotics seem to be working, so keep taking them. The painkillers in a few hours, as well. Now, I need to get back to work. Please, still be here when I get home?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.’ He settled back on the sofa.

  ‘Okay. I’ll see you later. I should be back around midnight – shorter shift.’ She waved, then departed, leaving the exhausted Reeve alone.

  ‘Welcome to our temporary home,’ said Tony Maxwell. The house was a modest brick terrace in a quiet part of north London.

  Harrison Locke gave their surroundings a supercilious look. ‘Hardly the pinnacle of
desirability. Who owns it?’

  Maxwell unlocked the door. ‘MI5. One of their safehouses. The boss procured it for us. We need a base to track down Alex, so this is it.’

  The group filed in, dispersing to lay claim to sleeping areas. Mark Stone opened a connecting door into Deirdre Flynn’s room. ‘We’re neighbours,’ he said with a lecherous smirk. ‘That why you picked this room?’

  ‘It’ll be locked tight, don’t you worry,’ she replied.

  The smile became nastier. ‘Good. Wouldn’t want to walk in on you frigging yourself.’ He darted his tongue from his mouth with a slop, then slammed the door. Flynn made a disgusted sound.

  ‘Mark? Enough of that,’ snapped Maxwell from the landing. ‘We’ll use the dining room as an op centre. I want everyone down there in five for an update.’

  ‘We’ve got intel on Reeve?’ John Blake asked, emerging from another bedroom.

  ‘I’ll tell you downstairs.’

  Everyone was assembled well before the five minutes were up. Maxwell tacked a large map of London to one wall. ‘Okay. I thought Alex would head for London, and I was right. A truck arrived from Glasgow at a depot in Wandsworth early this morning.’ He put a marker on the map. ‘A man whose general description matched Alex’s got out of the trailer. He had a fight with the truckers; put one in hospital. Not long after, two police officers were also taken down.’

  ‘Lethally?’ asked Stone.

  ‘No. He sprayed them with their own CS.’

  The ex-cop was affronted. ‘Bastard.’

  ‘Their description was more clear. It was almost certainly Alex. He had a wounded left arm. A fair bit of blood on his sleeve, apparently.’

  ‘I knew I got him,’ Flynn said.

  ‘So where did he go from there?’ wondered Blake, gazing at the map.

  ‘No idea,’ said Maxwell. ‘If he’d been admitted to any hospital in Greater London, I would have been informed. He hasn’t been arrested either.’

  ‘Maybe we got lucky and he’s died,’ Craig Parker suggested.

  ‘Already checked; no bodies found either. So our job is still the same: find him, and eliminate him. Ideas?’