by Alfie Robins
‘You’ll never take my weight!’ Warren protested.
‘I’ll fasten it off somewhere, if not you’ll have to take the risk I can hold you.’
‘Couldn’t you get anything a bit stronger?’
‘Stop whining Ray, it’ll be fine.’
The younger man was really enjoying seeing the hard-man squirm.
‘That’ll be all I need on top of everything else – a couple of broken legs.’
A large cloud started to cover the bright moon. Both men put on tight fitting leather gloves.
‘See you on the roof old man,’ said Jimbo as he put on his backpack and started his climb.
‘Unfortunately,’ muttered Warren, not relishing the thought of trusting his weight to a length of nylon rope not much thicker than a clothesline. It was only a matter of a few minutes before the nylon rope was dangling down the side of the two-storey building. ‘Here goes,’ Warren said under his breath as he firmly grabbed the rope and gave it a couple of good tugs. A face appeared over the edge of the flat roof, smiling. He began to climb, hand over hand, the rope held tight not giving an inch. Jimbo had tied the rope off around the collar of the roof hatch. The muscles in Warren’s arms were burning, and his knees were well bashed about by the time he stuck his head over the roof edge.
‘Took your time,’ Jimbo taunted as Warren heaved himself over the edge and lay on the flat roof, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon race. ‘Not very fit are you Ray, thought you blokes in the nick worked on the weights in the gym?’
‘Piss off… how do we get in?’ he asked between breaths.
‘Well in the time it took you to shimmy up the wall I found us a way in. Like I reckoned there’s a service hatch. Might have all the hi-tech security down below, but they usually scrimp a bit on the roof. The hatch is fitted with a two-way cylinder dead bolt; by two-way I mean it can be opened from the inside or good news for us, the outside.’ Jimbo fished about in the backpack he’d put down next to the hatch and took out a steel ‘dolly’, a metal bar six inches long and three quarters of an inch in diameter. Next he produced a rubber coated steel mallet. ‘Watch and learn.’ He placed the bar onto the cylinder, holding it with his left hand, mallet in his right he struck down hard on the bar with hardly a sound, once, twice then there was the sound of the cylinder falling to the floor inside the building. ‘That’s it.’
He put down the mallet and the ‘dolly’, put his fingertips under the edge of the fibreglass lid and lifted. The hydraulic ram attached to the lid made the opening effortless as he eased it back on its hinges.
‘Bloody hell Jimbo, you never stop surprising me,’ said Warren, as he turned on his mini-torch and peered into the void, expecting to hear the shrill of the alarm. Silence. He looked to Jimbo and smiled, then leaned in the hatchway and released the expanding ladder. Crash – the ladder unfolded with an unearthly rattle until it reached the floor, still no alarm sounded. As quietly as he could he descended down the aluminium rungs. Jimbo followed.
‘You been in here before?’ asked Jimbo.
‘Yep,’ said Warren as he stood scanning around for CCTV cameras.
‘Do you know where the alarm panel is?’
‘Ground floor in the foyer, why?’
‘Just got a feeling.’
‘Come on Jimbo, you can do better than that.’
‘We’ve just broken into what you reckon is a high security building through the roof, dropped a metal fucking ladder eight feet to the floor, and still the alarm didn’t go off!’
‘You worry too much,’ said Warren, but underneath he agreed with what Jimbo said. As far as he could remember he was sure there weren’t any cameras on the stairwell. Nevertheless, he cautiously led the way down to the foyer. ‘Over there,’ he said inclining his head towards the alarm panel. Jimbo threw caution to wind and headed directly into the centre of the reception area. ‘What the fuck are you doing – the cameras?’
Jimbo stood looking up at the multi-directional dome camera in the centre of the ceiling, then towards Warren, and the confidently strode across to the alarm cabinet and shone his torch’s beam on the panel door. ‘Ray, come and see this,’ he said as he opened the metal door. ‘Not even fucking locked.’
Warren could feel the sweat running down the centre of his back; he was still expecting the alarm to sound. Reluctantly, he walked over to Jimbo. ‘What the hell?’ he said, ‘never mind locked, it’s not even fucking turned on!’
‘Are you sure this place is occupied?’ questioned Jimbo.
‘One hundred per cent, I used to…’ he faltered, ‘have dealings with the people who own it.’
‘Well, I reckon you should get on with looking for whatever we came for.’
Warren left Jimbo looking around for whatever he thought he could nick and sell on, while he went straight to the main office. Everything was pretty much the same as the last time he’d visited. He wasn’t surprised that all the filing cabinets containing the personnel files were locked. He was surprised that the safe door was wide open.
‘I don’t believe this,’ he said aloud to himself. The safe had been emptied, barring two files that lay as if waiting for him, side by side. One was his own and another belonging to Peter Staples. ‘You devious bastards,’ again he spoke out aloud. ‘You were expecting me, too much to have expected the diamonds to be here.’ Warren took the files and tucked them inside his jacket. ‘Done here Jimbo,’ he said wondering who the hell Peter Staples could be. The shooter from the yacht?
‘Yep, so am I,’ Jimbo came in with his backpack over his shoulder, now even heavier due to the two laptop computers on their way to new homes.
Jimbo started back up the stairwell. ‘Hang on,’ said Warren, ‘what’s the point of shimmying down that rope when we can walk out of the front door?’
‘Point taken.’
Jimbo took off the backpack, opened it up and took out a short, steel nail bar, he hooked the claw end between the door and frame and levered. As the door sprung open, Warren managed to catch it before it swung back on itself, preventing even more noise. Jimbo stuck his head out of the door, all quiet, and led the way around the side of the building to where they had cut the wire fence to gain access to the service gap.
‘Get what you wanted?’ asked Jimbo when they were back in the Fiesta. When Warren didn’t rely he repeated the question.
‘Sorry Jimbo, I was miles away,’ replied Warren, who had been lost in thought for a few minutes. ‘Yeah I did.’
‘Didn’t do too bad myself,’ he said as he reached over and put the backpack into the rear.
‘As a professional thief what’s your take on the fact all the alarms were turned off?’ he asked Jimbo.
‘Does make you wonder, I mean, you said to expect hi-tech security. Maybe we should be grateful and shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth?’
‘Yes, but surely it was too easy, it was as if we – I was expected. Maybe you’d better dump the laptops mate. Probably have GPS installed; they could be tracking us right now.’
‘Or we could give them what they want, if they want to follow someone, let’s give them someone to follow if you get my drift.’
‘Oh yes I get your drift alright. Where shall we send it?’ he said as he put the car into gear and drove away from the business park.
‘I don’t know, just find a lorry and send it on its way.’
They did a tour of the Hessle Road industrial area searching for a suitable vehicle. They found it parked up along Havelock Street. Warren pulled into the kerbside. ‘That’ll do,’ he nodded to the purple liveried curtain-sided lorry. The driver was at the front of the vehicle messing with the off-side front wheel and he’d left the vehicle with its engine running.
Jimbo reached into the back and grabbed the backpack. He opened the door and climbed out, then casually walked to the blind side of the vehicle, eased the loose curtain to a side and threw in the backpack. He stood back and read the sign writing on the canvas and smiled.
&n
bsp; ‘Where’s it going?’ Warren asked as Jimbo took up his seat.
‘Bruges, probably be on the ferry in a couple of hours.’
‘Well if the GPS is activated that’ll keep them guessing for while, bloody Belgium. I like it.’
Twenty minutes later they were in Jimbo’s living room, slowly getting pissed. Not that it took a lot of alcohol for the booze to take effect, it had been a busy day and they were both knackered.
‘Here’s to a good night’s work, cheers.’ Warren saluted with his glass of malt, he’d given up the pretence with the tequila.
‘Yeah it wasn’t so bad, at least nobody bashed me on the head this time,’ said Jimbo as he saluted back with his tinnie. ‘You having another Ray?’ He pointed to the near empty glass.
‘No thanks pal, think it’s time I got my head down.’
‘No stamina old man,’ Jimbo quipped as he headed off to the only bedroom.
Warren placed a cushion against the padded arm of the settee, finished his malt and placed the glass on the floor. ‘Goodnight Jimbo.’ He kicked off his shoes, lifted his legs onto the settee and stretched out, resting his head back on the soft cushion. Sleep came quickly.
Chapter 28
Warren woke early with a crick in his back from the soggy settee springs. He could hear Jimbo snoring like a trooper through the closed bedroom door. He smiled, the lad had turned out to be a trusted friend. Warren spun his legs around, reached around and massaged the small of his back. Quietly as he could, trying not to disturb his host he went through to the kitchen, filled and turned on the kettle then returned to the tap and splashed his face with cold water. He was in need of an urgent caffeine fix. He needed a clear head when he read the files he’d hidden under the settee cushions. Warren sat back on the settee with his feet up on the coffee table and sipped the hot mug of cheap supermarket blend instant coffee. He picked up the files, had a quick glance through his own, which strangely enough he found was mostly complimentary. The file he was really interested in was that belonging to Peter Staples, it wasn’t the original and looked like a copy.
Peter Staples had a coloured past, aged thirty-six, an ex-member of the Parachute Regiment with tours of Afghanistan and Iraq under his belt before being accepted into the ‘Regiment’, where he served a further two years as a Sergeant in the SAS. An expert linguist, he was well suited to interrogation work and was an experienced field operative, often working deep undercover for weeks on end. On completion of his term with the ‘Regiment; he’d been headhunted by Gemmell Strategies, an association that began four years ago and was still ongoing.
The rest of the file was sketchy. Several pages were missing, but it still made interesting reading. Staples had been involved in a number of their covert operations, the details of which had been scrubbed through with a black marker pen, to be expected. But as it said on the front of the file he was ‘Active’, leading him to believe Staples to be responsible for the hit on the Seabird. Warren was puzzled; he couldn’t work out why they had left a confidential file for him to just pick up? Obviously they wanted Warren to know, but why?
He tucked the folders back under the cushions as Jimbo emerged from the bedroom wearing just his boxer shorts. ‘You’re up early,’ he said, as he stretched his arms above his head, yawning.
‘Another busy day ahead, you’re going to sort me out some tracking gear, remember?’
‘Give us a chance Ray, let me have a coffee and a scratch first!’ he called from the kitchen above the noise of the kettle boiling. ‘Anyway, the bloke who has ’em only lives down the road. You want a brew?’
Jimbo came through to the living room carrying two chipped mugs of coffee and set them down on the coffee table and picked up the television remote.
‘You haven’t got time for breakfast telly.’
‘I always watch while I have my coffee and come round a bit, anyway you stink! No offence like, but you do.’ Warren couldn’t argue with that one. ‘You can use the shower while I watch me telly then we can get sorted.’
‘Piss off Jimbo,’ he made the pretence of sniffing under his arms. ‘Maybe you’re right. Be ready to go when I come out,’ he grabbed his wash bag and headed for Jimbo’s tiny but clean shower.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’ If the truth was known, Jimbo very rarely watched any television at all, never mind the early morning crap, he was subtly setting his rules – he was the boss in his own home and they’d go for breakfast when he was ready.
‘I was ready for this,’ Warren said as they tucked into their ‘builders’ breakfasts’, a pile of greasy sausages, eggs, bacon and the trimmings, along with two steaming mugs of tea.
‘Billy always does a good breakfast for his regulars, I start most of me days in here,’ he said as he forked half a sausage into his mouth.
‘Has Conway been keeping tabs on us?’
‘Nah, he’s sweet, not heard a word. Mind you I don’t know how long his patience will last, I reckon he’s too busy trying to keep Big Jim happy. Do you reckon you can get his gear back?’
‘To be truthful with you Jimbo I don’t know, I’d be lying if I said yes. I can try and I’m partial to walking on two legs, so I’ll do my best.’
‘Hope your best is good enough mate – know what I mean?’ More sausage and bacon went down the hatch.
‘So, how does this tracker work?’ Warren had eaten enough and pushed away his plate.
‘Got your mobile?’ Jimbo put down his knife and fork and held out his hand. Warren passed over the Nokia. ‘You’re kidding me right? This ain’t no fucking good on the internet. We’ll have to get you something decent, till we get that sorted we’ll use mine.’
Jimbo pushed aside his breakfast, took out his all-singing, all-dancing mobile and tapped in the http address and a password. ‘This is the screen we’ll see, once we put the device on the BMW it will show like this.’ He pointed to the various coloured dots on the screen.
‘How come all these vehicles are already on there?’
‘Cos the site belongs to my mate, he monitors it for a car-hire company in case any get nicked. We’re just borrowing a bit of space and going on his system,’ he disconnected the phone from the server and put it back in his pocket. ‘You fit then?’ he said, as he finished his mug of tea and stood up waiting for Warren.
They left the Fiesta parked partially concealed from view between a Transit van and a Renault people carrier in the car park of the Iceland store on Springbank. The Shangri La was a couple of streets away. A quick check of the car park revealed Staples’s BMW was still there. Warren knew it wasn’t visible from room fifteen at the front of the building. Standing in the hotel’s rear doorway he kept watch, as Jimbo nonchalantly walked over to the BMW and made a show of tying the lace of his trainer. As he stood up, he reached under the front wheel arch, he felt the pull as the tracker attached itself to the metalwork. He made the pretence of brushing himself down and casually walked out of the car park, Warren hot on his heels.
‘Piece of piss,’ said Jimbo to Warren walking closely behind him.
‘A pint in The Eagle?’
‘If you’re buying – see you in there,’ he said, as he crossed the main road, leaving Warren to walk on.
Chapter 29
‘Hello again,’ the girl behind the bar said to Warren. ‘Foster’s?’
‘You’ve got a good memory for faces,’ he said, as he leaned on the bar.
‘Only for the nice looking ones,’ she flirted.
Warren smiled. ‘Best make that two pints please.’ He placed a ten pound note on the bar top. ‘Keep the change.’
‘Thanks very much, I’ll bring them over.
Sat in the bar of The Eagle, two pints in, Jimbo had his iPhone out on the table. The atmosphere was tense as they waited and watched for Staples’s BMW to make a move. Warren could sense Jimbo wasn’t his usual self, instead quiet and sullen.
‘You got a problem Jimbo, something bothering you?’ Warren pushed a packet of dry roasted nuts acro
ss the table.
‘Nope. Nowt bothering me,’ he lied, pushing the packet back. Jimbo sat back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, staring Warren in the eyes.
‘If nowt’s bothering you, then why have you got a face like a slapped arse?’
Jimbo tried to ignore him, but couldn’t. He sat forward and rested his elbows on the table. ‘Can I ask you something?’ His face a mask of seriousness.
‘You know you can.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘What sort of question is that? You know who I am.’ Warren guessed what was coming.
‘I know who you say you are and who Mick thinks you are. Me – I think there’s a bit more to it.’
‘Like what?’
‘One minute you’re a super cool top villain, the next minute you’re – I don’t know you go all strange on me and act like a copper. So which are you?’
Warren turned to face his young friend. ‘What makes you ask a question like that?’
‘Like I said, don’t really know, something about you just doesn’t add up. These people you reckon are after you, tracking systems, the discreet phone calls – it’s all seems a bit secret squirrel to me.’
‘Seriously, there’s nothing for you to worry about, finish your beer.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a top bloke, but I need to know.’ Jimbo was almost pleading to know the truth.
‘I think we’d better have another pint don’t you?’
Warren went to the bar and came back with two pints of lager and a couple of whisky chasers. He knew it would only have been a matter of time before the lad started to question things – Jimbo wasn’t thick. It was the law of averages. Sooner or later he would be sussed; he just hoped it would have been later. The silence dragged on for a couple of minutes, he didn’t know how to start the conversation without freaking Jimbo out.
‘My name is Greg Warren, and I’m a Sergeant with Humberside Police…’