by Ols Schaber
He opened the door and stepped on a discarded condom. ‘Kessafat’1 He spat on the floor. He took out his holdall and made his way to the black van. It was big and shiny – new, he assumed, as the tyres were barely worn. He felt the bonnet, it was still warm. He stepped back, looked at the huge Mercedes symbol and whistled. He tried to look in through the passenger window but the glass was tinted. Sliding his hand along the side, he walked to the back and pulled the handle. It was closed. He examined the lock.
He came back from his stolen van with some tools. He shoved a thick screwdriver into the lock and jammed it further in with a hammer. He fixed a ratchet to the screwdriver and turned it, metallic cracking noises burst out from the handle. He shone his torch on the lock and fiddled with the screwdriver. It wasn’t long before the door opened.
To his surprise the alarm hadn’t gone off. He aimed the torch beam inside the van and stepped back in awe at what he was seeing. He had expected something like this, but seeing it still felt a little overwhelming. Almost filling the space was a big rectangular metal table with what looked like a hydraulic lift underneath. Each side of the van was lined with flush metallic drawers and he slid a thin one out. It had a selection of surgical tools neatly arranged in customised trays. Above the table was a large operating lamp fixed to the roof. He found oxygen bottles and monitoring machines with screens. This was a mobile operating theatre. Only then did the sweet and sour smell of disinfectant make sense.
A buzzing sound came from the front of the van and a blinking red light filled the driver’s side. Rebwar’s instinct kicked in. He jumped out of the back door and ran as fast he could. The force of the blast pushed him into the packed muddy ground. His ears rang as he looked back to only see the bottom half of the van which was engulfed in fire. What wasn’t metal was disappearing up in smoke. Around him were smouldering bits of what he guessed was left of the top half of the van. He picked himself up and grabbed his holdall that had been thrown away from him in the blast. “Mardar-esho.”2 He stood there looking at his phone. A smaller blast ripped up more of the van and a fresh surge of flames leapt out. He held his arm up to shield his face from the searing heat.
He walked quickly off towards the wooded area up to the scout cabin. Each step was measured and he took time to listen for any unusual sounds. The fire behind him had died down a little, but the wind had turned, spinning thick clouds of black pungent smoke across the darkened sky. He crouched down to let the poisonous gas go by, and then heard a stifled cough from behind the cabin.
He crouched low as he approached, and could see the outline of a man hiding. Through the gaps in the smoke, he saw the figure run into the woods carrying a box. Rebwar took out his revolver and checked it – routine. Holding a tissue over his mouth he went after the man. Using the trees as cover he ran from one to another, the moonlight above gave him enough light to make out the shape of the man rushing through the forest. The man was not being so careful where he stepped and he slipped on and cracked branches, but he was faster and fitter than Rebwar; the years of smoking were taking their toll on his lungs.
He pointed his gun towards the running figure and thought about stopping him with a bullet, but knew he needed him alive. He didn’t trust himself to hit the target in the right place, and he could also die from a flesh wound. He looked at his phone, studied the map and ran off in another direction.
He found the edge of the wood and walked along it, stopping by a little path that led out of the trees, he crouched behind a bush. The gamble paid off and it wasn’t long before he heard heavy footsteps and frantic breathing. He slid the revolver into the waistband off his jeans and hid it under his jacket. He stepped out onto the path. The man stopped and stared. He was carrying a plastic box about the size of a cat crate. Rebwar held up his holdall.
The man took a few more deep breaths. ‘You alone?’
Rebwar nodded, that was not the plan, but Geraldine was nowhere to be seen. What was she playing at? The man stepped closer. It was Lawrence Gibson but he hadn’t recognised Rebwar yet. ‘You’ve got the goods?’ Rebwar shouted to him through billowing smoke.
Gibson looked around him and stepped back a little. ‘I see you found my van.’
‘I was curious. Very impressive. Particularly the rather angry security system.’
Gibson smirked. ‘I’d like to say it’s ingenious but it’s not, but at least there is no evidence. Did you…?’
‘I have the money.’ Rebwar dropped the black bag in front of him took out his pack of cigarettes and offered one to him. He shook his head. Rebwar lit up.
‘All right let’s do this. Before we attract any unwanted visitors, thanks to your curiosity.’ He moved closer to Rebwar and looked at him properly for the first time. ‘Have we met before?’
‘Let’s see the goods. My client can’t wait.’
Gibson put the box on the ground. ‘Show me the money.’
’Show me the goods.’
Gibson smiled, he opened the box and took out a little torch and lit the contents. Deep inside, surrounded by ice, was what looked like a beating heart. Rebwar stared at it wondering how it was kept pumping.
‘Yeah, nature. It’s amazing, heh? It’s been hooked up to an OCS… and now, well you’ve got…’ He looked at his watch. ‘Four hours.’ And he unzipped the bag and looked inside. He saw the cash. Rebwar had only filled the top two layers with Bijan’s money, the rest was paper. The plan had been that as soon as the goods and money were handed over Geraldine would swoop in, but she wasn’t coming. And now Rebwar had missed his opportunity to pounce. Gibson looked up and sniggered, his hand covering his smiling face. ‘I know now… Broken down cab guy.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Rebwar. Isn’t it?’ And he pointed at him.
Rebwar refrained from grabbing his weapon.
‘How the fuck did you find me?’ Gibson hit his head with his palm, ‘Ah of course! O’Neil told me about you. I thought you were that lesbian DC’s partner. If only he’d said the Uber guy! Me and faces, never a talent of mine.’
‘Why Zara?’
Gibson shrugged, looked down at the box and smiled. ‘O’Neil’s idea. And she was getting a bit too curious. Just like you.’
Rebwar motioned to the bag, ‘Why don’t you count it?’
He was poised to grab his revolver. Gibson, sensing the danger, grabbed the heart from the box and threw it at him. Instinctively Rebwar caught it. He could feel it beating but it was starting to slow. Gibson ran off down the track. Rebwar tracked the outline of the man’s moving figure among the dark mesh of branches, took out his revolver, aimed above him and fired. Again and again. Smoke and a traveling echo filled the empty forest. The tree branch Rebwar had been firing at came down and burst into pieces just ahead of where Gibson was running. He was fitter than Rebwar had anticipated, and before he could reach him, Gibson had leapt over the branch and disappeared into the night.
Forty-Seven
Rebwar had called Raj for some help. Gibson had taken his stolen white transit van. He tried to explain to Raj what had happened as minimally as he could. There was no time to waste; he had to catch Gibson before he could disappear. Raj shared Rebwar’s location via his phone and arrived an hour or so later. On the drive back to London, Raj tried to explain the wonders of Car Club. But Rebwar’s mind was focused on catching Gibson and dropped Raj off at Edgware tube station. His last instruction to Raj was for him to go and check on Rebwar’s family and reassure them that he was OK.
He drove to south London to Gibson’s house. It seemed too obvious a place for him to run to, but it was a starting point. After over an hour of London traffic, Rebwar was on edge as he saw the stolen white van parked a little way from the house. The porch light was on, illuminating the blue door, and on the first floor in what looked like a bedroom, the ceiling lights were on. The semi-detached had a side alley leading, he guessed, to the garden. Rebwar checked the chamber of the old Webley pistol; he still had two bullets left, and not much of a plan, but he would imp
rovise. For a second, he thought of calling the police, but that would delay things even more and Gibson might get away, if he hadn’t already.
He got out of the car and quietly closed the door. He peeked into the white van on the way past, no sign of Gibson and the bonnet was cool. Apart from the odd car driving by, the street was quiet, light flickered from televisions behind curtained windows. He tried the front door handle, it was locked. No surprise there. None of the front windows were open. He put his ear to the door to listen and could hear hectic footsteps from inside, as if someone was running around knocking furniture over. He stepped over the little gate that fenced off the small front garden and went down the side alley. It had two brick walls running down to the end with a side gate into the garden. Of course, it was locked. The top of each wall was lined with concrete and embedded with broken glass. He took his sports jacket off, laid it on top and scrambled over, falling awkwardly into a bush on the other side.
He swore at the pain. The new kitchen extension dominated the back of the house. The lights were on and he could see into it as he approached. No sign of Gibson or his wife. Then he spotted red smudges of blood, all over the kitchen floor, it looked like there had been a struggle. His heart sank at the thought of Isabella. He tried the back door, it was unlocked. He quietly opened it and went inside, he still had the advantage of surprise and took out his gun and cocked it. The blood on the floor was still wet where someone had been dragged. He followed the trail of blood smears.
The thumping steps had stopped. Gibson knew someone was there. Rebwar controlled his breathing and trod carefully so as not to make any sound or disturb any potential evidence. He made his way to the door that led into the hall, stopped just short of it and peeked round. Isabella was lying on the floor. She wasn’t moving and there was blood all around her. He couldn’t tell where she had been wounded. Her hair covered her face. A floorboard creaked upstairs and he crouched down, facing the stairs and crept back to see if Isabella was alive. He checked her neck for a pulse. It was faint but there was something. He lifted her hair from her face and neck and saw a deep stab wound to her shoulder. He gently tapped her cheek to get some reaction, her eyelids fluttered open. ‘Stay with me Isabella, you’ll be OK.’ She was looking very pale, he could see from her eyes she understood what he’d said but was terrified. ‘Is he armed?’ She blinked. He took that as a yes and crept over to the stairs, his back to the wall looking up as he climbed. Slowly and cautiously, holding the pistol with both hands. A stair creaked underfoot and he could feel the sweat running down his face.
He got to the top of the landing and was faced with four closed doors. One had frosted glass which he guessed must be the bathroom. He noticed that the door next to it was slightly ajar and decided to start there. It was dark inside. Still pointing his pistol, he switched on the light. Apart from a bed and cupboard, it was empty. He crouched down to look under the bed. He heard footsteps approach but before he could get up, the door slammed shut and the key turned in the lock.
‘Damn it!’ Rebwar cursed and ran to the door.
‘Gibson!’ He tried to open it. ‘Come on. Give it up, everyone knows what you’ve done.’
‘Ah yes, but the police are after you, Rebwar’ Gibson laughed from the other side, but the voice was moving away. ‘But don’t worry, you’ll be gone by the time they get here. If you know what I mean.’ He laughed again as he went down the stairs.
Rebwar checked his phone. No battery. He shouted out, ‘at least do the decent thing and call an ambulance… you don’t have to let your wife die!’
A moment of silence. It was too quiet. Rebwar’s instinct kicked in and he moved away from the door to the back of the room. Just as a powerful shockwave shook the house and blew the door in. Fire was raging in the hallway and smoke billowed into the room. He ran over to the window which was above the kitchen extension. He pushed it open, and, not for the first time that evening, shielded his face from searing heat. He put his pistol into his jacket and stepped carefully out onto the sloping glass roof. The wooden structure creaked under his weight and suddenly his feet slipped from under him. His back hit the glass panes and instead of falling into the kitchen as he expected, he slid down the glass like it was ice. He fell onto the lawn and rolled to a stop. Fire was engulfing the upstairs, flames shooting out of the smashed windows. Smoke seeped out of the roof and had already filled the top half of the kitchen extension. He ran into the kitchen with his jacket covering his mouth and nose. There was a sharp smell of burning plastic. He looked in the hallway where Isabella had been, but now there were just drag marks leading into the front room.
He crouched down to avoid the worst of the smoke and went into the front room. The furniture had been thrown around. There was a large rectangular shape on the wooden floor that was a few shades lighter, where the rug had been. Gibson had taken his wife with him. Upstairs, a window blasted out and glass fragments rained down outside. It was time to leave. He crawled to the front door and burst out onto the pathway, just in time to catch a glimpse of the white van disappearing round the corner at the end of the street. People in dressing gowns and coats had come out of their houses and were staring at the house as if it was a fireworks display. Rebwar shouted at no one in particular ‘has someome called the fire brigade?!’ an old man who was on his mobile nodded to Rebwar. He started to run to his car but turned back and shouted to the man ‘And call the police!’
Rebwar slammed the car into gear and hit the gas. Tyres screeched and the car leapt into action, careering off as it straightened up, taking out the wing mirror of the car infront as it sped off. Some people were pointing their mobile phones at the burning house and others at his car. He took a left at the end of the road where the van had gone. There was no sign of it. He had lost Gibson and had no way to find him. Logic told him he’d be getting out of London. He plugged his phone in to charge and carried on driving around while it came back to life. He needed a map to see where the nearest roads out of London were. For a few moments he swore at how long it was taking, and kept tapping the screen impatiently. When his phone powered back up he saw that the A24 was nearby, leading to the M25. It was past midnight, yet he got caught at every red light, and with each one his sense of defeat increased. But he looked around anyway incase the white van had stopped nearby. He called Geraldine again and again it went straight to voicemail. He didn’t leave another message, what was the point?
He passed Morden, the last tube station on the northern line and the road straightened out. His eyes darted around looking for any sign of the white van. Each one he spotted brought a brief moment of hope that passed as quickly as the van. Small independent business vehicles dotted the roadside outside various houses. Then came some green shrubbery and trees followed by more two-storey buildings. He was definitely heading towards greater London. This went on until the next traffic lights, where Rebwar had another few moments of doubt. He saw in the mirror that his face was blackened with soot from the fire. He got a handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to clean himself up. The traffic moved again and he followed the endless straight road. He stopped at a zebra crossing and looked ahead. There was a Tesco petrol station. His tank was less than a quarter full. That last thing he wanted to do was to waste time getting petrol, but what if he saw Gibson only to run out of fuel as he gave chase? He would never forgive himself.
As he drove onto the forecourt his heart raced as he saw a white van parked by one of the pumps. He could hardly believe it, it was the white van, but there was no sign of Gibson. He quickly pulled into one of the parking spaces away from the pumps. He still couldn’t see Gibson anywhere. He had to get into that van. If he did it quickly and casually enough no one would notice. He put his head down and approached the passenger door which was farthest from the shop’s large glass sliding doors. It was unlocked and he climbed in and threw himself into the back of the van. He bumped up against the rolled up rug that encased Isabella. He quickly and quietly moved the old toolboxes an
d other pieces of junk around to try to get to the far end of the van. He heard someone whistling and footsteps approaching and crouched down. The driver’s door opened and Gibson got in, glancing casually in the rear mirror he started the engine.
Rebwar waited until Gibson was driving along the A24 and had picked up some speed, which filled the back with noise and vibrations of the various boxes and tools. Using the noise as cover, Rebwar slid his pistol out and quickly moved forward, jamming the nozzle of the Webley hard into the back of Gibson’s neck. The van swerved a little as he flinched, and his eyes found Rebwar’s in the rearview mirror.
‘Stop the van, in the next layby.’
Gibson stared at him, his eyes burning with anger.
‘And don’t do anything stupid.’
The van slowed down and pulled into the layby and before Gibson could make a move, Rebwar pistol whipped him on the side of the head and he fell forward onto the steering wheel, setting off the horn. Rebwar pulled him back and checked he was fully out. He went over to the rolled-up carpet where one of Isabella’s hands was sticking out of the end. He held it for a moment. It was cool, but there was still a feint pulse. Rebwar realised he had the chance to do something good while Gibson was out cold and bebefore things potentially got messy. He quickly shoved him into the passenger seat, making sure to tie his hands and ankles with the cable ties he always carried in his pockets. Just incase. He got into the driver’s seat and googled where the nearest hospital was.
Having dropped Isabella outside the local A&E shouting to the swiftly approaching emergency nurses that he’d found her like this, Rebwar drove the stolen white van away at speed. He was heading for the old disused hospital where he’d been made to torture Stefan Lupei. On the way he left another voicemail for Geraldine. That should get her attention if nothing else had.