Operative 66 : A Novel

by McDermott, Andy

  ‘Jahmir,’ said Bato. Jammer hobbled into the room on crutches. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘I, uh . . . I don’t know,’ the young man replied, worried. ‘Show me the lock screen.’

  Reeve tapped the power button. The screen lit up. The background image was a mound of hundred-dollar bills. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jammer said, relieved. ‘That’s mine.’

  Bato aimed the gun at Reeve and advanced. He was careful not to cross into his bodyguard’s line of fire. ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘Alex, if you do, he’ll kill you,’ Connie said, voice quavering.

  ‘If I don’t, he’ll kill you.’ Reeve handed the tablet over.

  Bato backed away, passing it to his nephew. ‘Check it.’

  Jammer awkwardly supported himself on the crutches as he unlocked the machine. He opened the spreadsheet app and swiped through pages. His relief was palpable. ‘It’s here! It’s all here.’

  ‘It is all there,’ Bato echoed. He was not being complimentary. ‘Have any copies been made?’

  Jammer’s joy was very short-lived. ‘I . . . I don’t know. I don’t even know if there’s a way to find out. He could have sent copies to anyone . . .’ His face fell further with each word.

  ‘I only took it so you’d stay away from the people in the house.’ Reeve shot an angry look at Bato. ‘You didn’t have to do that to Brownlow.’

  ‘I have done worse to people for less,’ was the uncaring reply. ‘And I can still reach him. And the girl, and her baby. Did you send copies to anyone? To the police?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And why should I believe you?’ The icy eyes drilled into him.

  Reeve’s gaze remained firm. ‘If I had, the police would already have arrested Jammer. And since he had all those helpful names and addresses, everyone else as well.’

  Bato gave Jammer a cold glare, then turned back to Reeve. ‘You underestimate how many friends I have in the Metropolitan Police. But . . . I believe you.’ He returned the gun, and held out his hand to his nephew. Jammer hesitated, then passed the iPad back to him.

  The gangster was briefly still – then with shocking force smashed the tablet against Jammer’s face. He fell with a shriek. Connie screamed. Bato hurled the iPad at Jammer’s bloodied head. It struck with a solid thud, the screen breaking. The young man cried out again, raising his hands to defend himself.

  It made no difference. Bato kicked him, again and again, yelling in Albanian. Reeve watched. His face was impassive, but internally he was preparing for the same – or worse.

  Finally Bato paused the assault. He stepped back, leaving Jammer writhing and groaning on the floor. A huff of breath from his exertion. ‘If we were not joined by blood, Jahmir, I would have killed you,’ he growled. ‘You made a stupid mistake. Stupid.’

  ‘I’m – I’m sorry,’ Jammer whimpered. ‘I’m sorry!’

  Bato glared at him – then delivered one final kick. ‘I accept your apology.’ Another exhalation, then he rounded on Reeve. ‘But you . . . we have no blood in common.’

  Bato’s fists clenched – and he lunged.

  CHAPTER 52

  Maxwell pulled over on The Bishops Avenue, fifty yards from Bato’s mansion. ‘What have we got?’

  His team were spread through three vehicles. He was in a Discovery with Locke. Blake and Stone were in an identical Land Rover ahead. Flynn drove an anonymous dark Transit van, which halted behind Maxwell’s 4x4. ‘Not much,’ Stone replied over the phone. The other Discovery had driven past the house to reconnoitre. ‘Walls are too high to see inside.’

  ‘Okay. Come back and stop fifty yards from the gate. You should be out of sight. We’ll use the drone. Deirdre?’

  Flynn was also linked in on the call. ‘Setting it up now.’

  The Operatives had brought everything they needed – or might need. The drone was one of their contingency items. A modified civilian quadcopter, it could provide real-time video surveillance in almost total silence.

  Maxwell watched the van in the mirror. A hatch in its roof soon opened. A brief matt-grey blur in the streetlights, then the drone was gone.

  He took out a small tablet computer. A few seconds to load an app, then the feed from the drone appeared. His own vehicle was visible as the little aircraft climbed. Then it turned, gliding across the road towards the mansion.

  Figures came into view in the grounds. ‘Looks like they’re giving Reeve an honour guard,’ said Flynn.

  Maxwell’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re not kidding.’ Several men stood in the rain outside the house – and all were armed. ‘Can you zoom in?’

  She complied. The camera fixed upon one man. ‘Suppressed Skorpion,’ Maxwell noted. ‘They’ve all got the same weapons. They’re expecting trouble.’

  Flynn zoomed back out and continued the survey. ‘More men at the rear. Seven in the grounds, at least. There could be more inside.’

  ‘I’d put money on it,’ Maxwell replied.

  ‘I’ve seen wankers like this on busts,’ said Stone dismissively. ‘Fucking Albanians. Macho arseholes, with no training. They’re only tough guys if they have a gun and you don’t. Go in heavy on them and they piss their pants in terror.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked Blake.

  ‘What we’re trained to do,’ said Maxwell. ‘Alex is still in there, and he’s still connected to our servers. Whatever he’s doing, it stops now.’ He straightened. ‘Vests on and arm up.’

  ‘How long will we have?’ asked Locke.

  Stone had the answer. ‘Unless a Trojan happens to be driving right past?’ Trojan was the Met’s code for an Armed Response Unit. ‘We’ll have five minutes before one gets here from the nearest station.’

  ‘Then let’s be done in three,’ Maxwell announced. ‘We go in and kill every living thing we find.’

  Bato’s fist rushed at Reeve’s face. He easily dodged it. The Albanian was tough, brutal – but also predictable, telegraphing his moves. Another strike. Reeve’s right forearm swatted it aside.

  Anger flared on Bato’s face. He barked an order – and one of the bodyguards joined the fray.

  Reeve’s immediate thought was to get his gun. But the big man shoved the pistol into the back of his waistband before engaging. He had some martial arts training, Reeve instantly saw. Not to a high level, but enough to complicate things. And the bearded bodyguard, holding back, was still armed. If Reeve broke away, he would be shot.

  He jerked clear of a punch, sidestepping a kick at his knee. The bodyguard circled around him. He now had attackers in front and behind. If he didn’t deal with them quickly, he would be trapped—

  The guard was the bigger threat. Reeve swung to face him. He waited for his next strike, dodging – then snapped out a counterattack. The heel of his palm crashed against the man’s jaw. The Albanian staggered back, rattled.

  Reeve pressed his attack. A heel-kick to his shin, then, as his target cried out, a second blow to his head. The bodyguard reeled—

  Sound behind: footsteps, the hiss of fabric. Reeve turned his head. Bato was charging. He pulled sharply away, expecting a punch. Instead a kick landed hard on his hip. It was Reeve’s turn to stagger. Connie gasped.

  The man watching her came to the doorway, gun in hand. Bato shouted another command. The gun rose to track Reeve. The bearded bodyguard pocketed his own weapon and advanced. Reeve moved clear of Bato to face him. The newcomer clenched his fists, weight on the balls of his feet, left foot forward. Orthodox stance – a boxing move. His right hand jabbed at Reeve. He blocked it, but the impact still delivered a fierce blow to his forearm.

  Three against one, and all were at least competent fighters. Thoughts of his plan were replaced by reactive survival instinct. He had to get a gun. The first bodyguard was recovering. Reeve whirled and ploughed a fist into his stomach. He stumbled backwards. Reeve tried to angle around him. The
pistol’s grip protruded from his waistband. He snatched at it—

  The bearded guard rushed at him from the side. Reeve had no choice but to pull away – only for Bato to attack from behind. A stone fist slammed against his kidneys. Pain exploded in Reeve’s lower back. He held in a yell. He would be pissing blood for a week . . .

  If he lived that long.

  He sensed more than saw Bato pressing his attack. Reeve’s right arm lashed downwards as he spun, deflecting another punch. Bato lurched, momentarily unbalanced. Reeve continued his turn. Pain flared in his injured arm as his left fist lanced at the gangster’s face. The older man jerked back – not quite fast enough.

  Reeve’s knuckles caught his cheekbone. Bato let out a grunt. Fury rose in his eyes. It had been years since he’d been on the receiving end of an attack. His bodyguards were momentarily shocked. Then their assaults resumed, more forcefully, fuelled by anger – or fear.

  Reeve fought to defend against attacks from two directions. The gun was still his objective. He ducked beneath a sweeping haymaker, whipping around on one foot. His other smashed against an ankle. The bodyguard cried out, almost falling. Reeve sprang back up. His hand slashed, fingers extended. They raked across the bearded man’s eyes. He leapt back with a yelp, one eye squeezed shut. Reeve whirled back to his companion. The gun was exposed. He snatched for it—

  Bato’s balled fist crashed against his left biceps.

  An explosion of agony almost overpowered Reeve. Bato had hit the bullet wound. This time he couldn’t contain an anguished howl. Before he could recover, one of the bodyguards body-slammed him. He fell. ‘Fucking yes!’ Jammer exulted, laughing. ‘Make that cunt scream!’

  A foot thudded into Reeve’s stomach. The other man went for his head. Blood welled in his mouth. His vision blurred. Another kick hit home. He heard Connie begging for his attackers to stop. They didn’t. His wounded arm was hit once more. He screamed again—

  Bato snapped an order. It wasn’t one Reeve expected. ‘Stop! Stop, hold him down.’ The bodyguards obeyed. He was in too much pain to resist. The gangster moved closer, frowning – but also curious. ‘You take so much without a sound. But then . . . here?’ He tugged Reeve’s clothes from his left shoulder. A bandage was revealed. A fresh oval of bright red blood blossomed on it.

  Bato pulled it down. Reeve gasped as the injury was exposed. ‘This is a bullet wound,’ the Albanian exclaimed. He looked at Jammer, who had struggled to a sitting position. ‘You did not say you had shot him.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Jammer replied. ‘Wish I had, though. It wouldn’t have been in his fucking arm, either.’

  ‘Shut up.’ Bato turned back to Reeve. ‘Not many men can fight so well with a wound like that. Who are you?’ Reeve didn’t answer. ‘Who are you working for? Are you a cop?’

  ‘Keep hitting his bullet hole,’ Jammer suggested, with sadistic relish. ‘He’ll talk.’

  ‘No.’ Bato stepped back, staring intently at Reeve. ‘Something is not right.’ An order, and the two bodyguards hauled Reeve to his feet. ‘We kill him, now, and dispose of the body.’

  ‘No!’ cried Connie. She ran into the room. The third bodyguard grabbed her.

  Bato took a gun from one of his men – then addressed his nephew. ‘Jahmir. You can kill him. For kanun.’ Reeve didn’t know the Albanian word, but guessed it involved honour, or revenge. ‘You say you are tough and strong. Prove it. Take his life. Show your worth, and I may even forgive your stupidity.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll fucking kill him, yeah,’ said Jammer, trying to stand. The third man released Connie to help him up.

  ‘Good.’ Bato waited for him to hobble closer, then gave him the gun. ‘Do it.’ He stepped clear, his guards following suit.

  Jammer faced Reeve. He clumsily propped himself on one crutch to raise his right arm. Reeve kept his eyes fixed upon the gun. The bodyguards had readied their own weapons. He would never reach Jammer before being gunned down. But if he could bring him closer . . .

  ‘You look a bit shaky, Jammer,’ he said. ‘Sure you can hit me from there? Only way to be sure is do it point-blank.’

  The younger man didn’t take the bait. ‘Fuck off.’

  Then he took aim.

  ‘Alex!’ Connie wailed.

  Reeve tensed. He could dive clear – but the bodyguards would kill him anyway. A sick, leaden feeling ran through his veins. The realisation that he was about to die—

  A thunderous bang came from outside.

  CHAPTER 53

  Blake and Stone took their Discovery some way back along the street. Then they returned, at speed – and swerved to ram Bato’s front gate.

  It was a heavy barrier, but couldn’t withstand the force of two tons of metal. It smashed open. A guard leapt clear to avoid being mown down.

  Blake had disabled the airbags. Even braced, the impact threw him and Stone hard against their seatbelts. The Discovery reeled on its suspension, front end caved in. Blake recovered, straightening out. The mansion loomed ahead. He skidded to a halt near the front door.

  Stone was already moving. ‘Get ’em!’ he yelled, scrambling out. He raised his suppressed UMP-9 as the guards responded.

  All heads – bar one – in the lounge snapped around at the unexpected noise. The bearded bodyguard on Reeve’s right darted to the window. ‘Valon! It’s—’

  Reeve moved.

  He had kept his eyes fixed on Jammer’s gun. He lunged, swinging leftwards away from the muzzle. Before the other man could react, he grabbed the gun with his right hand. His left hit Jammer’s wrist. The pistol was wrenched free.

  Reeve’s foot swept at Jammer’s broken ankle. His heel connected solidly. Jammer fell with a piercing shriek.

  Reeve turned the gun and clamped his fingers around the grip. The bodyguard to his left was the most immediate threat. Reeve spun and shot him twice in the chest. Before he even hit the floor, Reeve had continued his turn. Two more shots slammed into the bearded man’s back. One went straight through, shattering the window. He toppled over the sill and fell to the driveway below.

  Reeve’s spin brought him back around to Bato and the last bodyguard. His entire movement had taken under two seconds. The third bodyguard finally broke through his shock, gun rising—

  Reeve fired first. Another two bullets found their mark. The man fell backwards on to a glass table. It shattered beneath him.

  Bato hurled himself over the back of a large sofa. Reeve tracked him, firing again. The round struck the leather with a flat whap. The upholstery burst open – but the bullet didn’t penetrate the seat’s back. Bato hit the marble floor behind it with a thump.

  Reeve was about to go after him when muted gunfire came from outside. The Operatives were here. He had to escape the house before they found him. He ran to Connie and grabbed her wrist. ‘Come on!’ he said, pulling her with him. ‘It’s SC9 – we’ve got to move.’

  She was too stunned by the sudden eruption of violence to resist. They ran past Jammer into the hall.

  Bato rose, glaring after the departed couple. He moved to retrieve the nearest fallen gun – then changed direction. Another, boxier sofa was against one wall. He reached down into the gap behind the seat cushions and pulled. It hinged open, revealing storage space beneath.

  Several weapons were stashed inside. He grabbed an AM-17: a state-of-the-art upgrade of the venerable Kalashnikov rifle. A laser sight was mounted on its accessory rail. There were several standard magazines inside the sofa. He ignored them, collecting something larger. A 76-round drum magazine clacked into place.

  Ignoring his wailing nephew, he ran in pursuit of Reeve and Connie.

  Stone saw a guard running towards him. No need for armed police warning procedures any more. He fired a three-round burst into his target’s chest. The gunman tumbled to the ground.

  More gunshots, unsuppressed, but these came from ab
ove. Stone looked up. Flashes in a first-floor room – then a man crashed through a window. His body hit the driveway nearby. ‘Reeve must be up there!’ called Blake from the Discovery’s other side.

  ‘Guess he and Bato fell out. Ha!’ Someone in the front garden opened fire. Bullets clanked against the battered Land Rover. Like many MI5 vehicles, it had a degree of bullet-proofing. Both men shot back. Another guard fell. The remaining defenders scrambled for cover. ‘Let’s get inside and nail the bastard.’

  Tyres shrilled. The second Discovery, Flynn at the wheel, screeched through the wrecked gate. Maxwell leaned from a window, sending bursts of fire at the guards. A man screamed. The 4x4 tore past Stone and Blake, following the driveway along the mansion’s south side. The plan of action was straightforward. Stone and Blake took the front, Maxwell and Flynn the rear. Locke, not yet combat-ready, would oversee from the van using the drone.

  ‘Two men on the north side,’ Locke warned the others through their earpieces. ‘Coming to the front. South side is clear.’

  Neither Stone nor Blake acknowledged. They simply acted on the new information. Two men ran around the corner. Before they even took in the scene, they were dead. ‘Moving in!’ shouted Blake, running for the front door. Stone followed.

  ‘The other men from the rear went into the house,’ continued Locke. ‘Watch out.’

  ‘Nah, I thought we’d just fucking wander in there without looking,’ Stone sniped. He reached the door as Blake readied a stun grenade.

  He pulled the pin. A brief count, then Blake opened the door and tossed it inside. ‘Flash out!’ Both men’s right ears were shielded by their radio earpieces. They ducked, palms clapped against their left ears—

  A dazzling flash and an ear-splitting bang inside the house. Blake and Stone moved even before the echoes faded. Blake threw the door fully open. Stone whipped through, gun raised. Two men staggered in the grandiose hall beyond, stunned by the flashbang.