Before the chief inspector could respond Liam was out of the car and across the street, strolling along the pavement opposite as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The BPOL officer gawped as the D.C.I. stopped to admire a tree half a block behind the van, and then as he restarted his constitutional, unhurried, admiring each garden as he passed and taking time to nod to a pretty fräulein who was walking the opposite way.
When he’d passed both the van and the house Liam crossed the street again and turned left, disappearing for five minutes to circle the block on the other side. Eventually he returned to the BMW and as he clambered back into the back seat Vala leant over to whack him on the leg.
“Scheisse! What the hell was that? You could have got yourself shot!”
Liam rubbed his thigh dramatically. “Here, have you been taking unarmed combat lessons from my wife?” He turned to Craig with a smile. “No driver in the van and no keys, so there’s only the two men and Weber in the house makes three.”
Vala shook her head. “You can’t say that. There might be someone in the back of the van.”
Craig disagreed. “If there was they’d have left the leys in the ignition in case he needed to make a quick getaway. Liam’s right. It’s three against three and we have the initiative. Good work, Liam.”
Just then the front door of the house opened and the two bulked-up men reappeared. Wedged between them was the man they’d caught on camera at Emmett Darrian’s house. Vala hissed beneath her breath.
“Weber.”
“OK, wait till they’re three hundred metres up the road and then pull out, Vala. Stay three car lengths behind until I signal.”
It was a long five minutes before Craig did, but finally, on a broader stretch of road with hedgerows on both sides and a ditch that might have been dug especially for the event, he signalled Raske to speed up, praying that the windowless back door of the van meant that by the time their adversaries finally spotted them in their wing mirrors they’d be so close it would be too late.
He was almost right. Everything was going to plan until the BMW had pulled out halfway along the van. Then, as had always been the risk, the van-driver spotted them and swung out to side swipe their car before they could do the same to him.
With a sickening thud Raske’s head smashed against the driver’s window, knocking her out cold. Like a synchronised swim team Liam moved behind her seat and lifted the BPOL officer wholesale out of her seat-belt and into the back with him, while Craig slid across into the driver’s seat and slowed down the car to regroup. Meanwhile Liam laid the unconscious chief inspector down and took up Craig’s vacated position, opening the passenger window a crack and inserting his Glock ready to fire.
“Give them a whack, boss!”
Craig accelerated so they were lined up with the van’s front bumper, then he torqued the wheels so hard the BMW’s rear end swung around and tipped the van forward and over into the ditch.
Liam whooped as they passed the now recumbent transit van.
“Nice one. Chuck a U-ey and go back. I’ll keep my gun on them.”
With that he slid his window the whole way down and leant out, ready to fire at the first thing that moved. He’d reckoned without the natural barrier that the van afforded their opponents and halfway back to their target Craig heard a series of cracks.
“Machine gun! Get down.”
Liam slid back into the vehicle and both detectives dropped their heads.
“Pull up there and let me out, boss.”
As Craig obliged, Liam slipped out and took up position behind his open door, firing off six rounds that saw the machine gunner fall. Craig did the same on the other side of the car, praying that Vala didn’t choose that moment to wake up.
“Two of them left, Liam. Can you see anything?”
“A pair of feet down the side. I’ll going to aim for those.”
He was as good as his word. Two more shots cracked out followed by a loud scream and foreign words that even he knew were rude.
Craig decided to call the men out.
“Maximilian Weber. This is the police from Northern Ireland. We have a European warrant for your arrest. Come out with your hands up.”
More swearing followed by English.
“I can’t walk. You bastards shot my feet.”
As Liam sniggered, Craig shouted again.
“Tell your friend to throw out both your guns and any one still alive raise your hands.”
For a moment there was no movement, then they heard two loud clatters as the guns hit the thankfully deserted road, followed by four hands appearing above the horizontal van. Liam shook his head, whispering.
“Don’t go out there, boss. I don’t trust them.”
Craig agreed, but what was the alternative?
“We’ll both have to go to cuff them, Liam. Are you up for that?”
The D.C.I. edged slowly around the BMW in response, watching the men’s elevated hands all the way. When he was behind Craig Liam whispered again.
“Something’s off. I can feel it.”
“We’ve no choice.”
They reloaded and then Craig moved around the car door until he was in the open. Just as he did Liam put a name to his doubt.
“Machine gun!”
The dead man’s machine gun was still in play, and in the second Liam called it the second bodyguard dropped his hands, grabbed the weapon and releasing a spray of bullets their way.
As the bullets hit the air, Liam rugby tackled Craig, pulling him to the ground. Both cops hit the tarmac with a thud as Liam aimed his Glock in the gunman’s direction and squeezed off six more rounds.
They hit their mark, and the second guard joined his buddy in the grave. Maximilian Weber yelled over the ringing in everyone’s ears.
“Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed.”
Liam could feel his finger twitch to shoot the Stasi Colonel but he controlled the urge and turned towards Craig. The sight that greeted him made his heart sink. The detective was lying face down on the road with blood covering the left side of his head and a hole in his left thigh. Liam turned him over frantically, checking for a pulse. It was there but it was thready and a charred gash on Craig’s skull was spurting with blood.
Liam reloaded his Glock and raced towards the van, his fury making him want to put a hole in the German. He screwed his barrel hard against Weber’s temple, picturing the way in which Billy Regent had died. The D.C.I.’s mouth was dry with adrenaline and the desire for revenge and the sight of the aging communist’s terror was doing nothing to deter him, only the thought of having to explain Weber’s death well enough to avoid getting locked in a German prison made Liam eventually retract his gun.
He cuffed the man to the van’s front bumper as roughly as he could and raced back to the others, reaching for his phone and hoping the emergency services spoke enough English to understand his words. He checked on Vala Raske and then thudded down on the tarmac beside Craig, praying that he survived long enough to reach a hospital.
Three hours later Max Weber was in a prison ward with both of his feet in casts and Vala Raske was under observation with the promise of discharge the next day. Craig was back from theatre without the bullets lodged in his skull and leg but still comatose, with the doctors refusing to give a guarantee of his survival or what abilities the detective might have if he ever woke up.
It was the middle one of the three scenarios that Liam had imagined: Craig dead, comatose for who knew how long, or wide awake and joking, but now that he had a title for his condition he’d couldn’t put off making the calls.
The D.C.I. removed Craig’s mobile from his plastic possession bag and copied three numbers onto his own phone, trying to choose the best order to call them for the least distress and the most support. In the end, he plumped for dialling Craig’s father, Tom, and then Katy, reckoning that between them they could work out how to tell Craig’s mum.
Chapter Eighteen
Dresden. Monday, 27th June 2016. 6
p.m.
“You’re telling me the UK voted to leave the EU anyway?”
Liam rolled his eyes at the question. Glad as he was that Craig had finally woken up, it had to be the tenth time that he’d asked it, and he couldn’t keep putting the repetition down to the hole in his head. Denial was obviously not just a river in Egypt.
The D.C.I. lifted a grape from the bedside cabinet and popped it into his mouth.
“Look, boss, what can I tell you? The media told people all about the cabal and the conspiracy and they still voted for Brexit.”
He planted himself at the bottom of Craig’s bed.
“When you think about it, Weber and the rest could have just saved themselves the trouble of all that plotting, couldn’t they? ’Cos obviously enough people wanted out anyway.”
Craig shook his still-bandaged head. “I’m astounded. I really am.” Suddenly a frown covered on his face.
“What? You’ve just thought of something, haven’t you?”
Even Craig couldn’t believe what he said next. “What if they did something else and we missed it, Liam? Something more than the bent politicians and whipping up nationalist fervour.”
“Such as?”
The reply was preceded by a sigh of despair. “I don’t know, that’s the problem. We know that there was someone in Whitehall involved, someone that we didn’t get. It must have been them that ordered Hartnell’s death.” He ended the sentence with a defeated shrug. “We’ll keep looking for them but we might never know what else they did.”
Liam decided that it was time to cheer him up. “OK, so do you want some good news?”
Craig couldn’t imagine what good there could possibly be in the situation so he responded with a grunt. Liam was unoffended.
“Harrison’s story checked out. He’s in the clear.”
Craig wasn’t impressed. “I thought you said it was good news! That means we’re stuck with him.”
“Ach, that was just a teaser. OK then. Bakar Dudaev.”
Craig frowned again, making his head hurt. “What about him?”
“Well, it turns out Weber wants to make a deal and he’s offering us Dudaev in exchange.”
Craig gawped at him. “How the hell does he know Dudaev?”
“It seems our little Chechen has been touting his stolen satellite codes for sale around Europe. Weber won’t give us any more detail unless we agree to deal.”
Just then the hospital room door opened and a smiling nurse appeared, brightening the mood.
“Herr Craig, your father and partner have gone to their hotel for dinner and will return to see you later.”
When she disappeared again it was Liam’s cue to leave. He produced something from his jacket pocket before he did. A CD case.
Craig eyed it doubtfully. “What’s that?”
Liam rolled his eyes. “It’s a Lamborghini. What the heck do you think it is?”
“I meant what type of music, smart-ass.”
The D.C.I. shook his head, struggling not to laugh. “It’s a surprise. But you’ll like it, honestly. It’ll keep you company till your dad gets back.”
He put the disc on to play and headed quickly for the door, as the strains of a country and western song about someone’s favourite pony began to play.
Craig’s groan almost as loud as the music. “Turn it off! You know I can’t get out of bed.”
But the detective was already out the door.
“Liam! Get back here now!”
Liam was too far away to hear. Just as well or he would have heard himself being threatened with the sack.
THE END
Core Characters in the Craig Crime Novels
Superintendent Marc (Marco) Craig: Craig is a sophisticated, single, forty-six-year-old. Born in Northern Ireland, he is of Northern Irish/Italian extraction, from a mixed religious background but agnostic. An ex-grammar schoolboy and Queen’s University Law graduate, he went to London to join The Met (The Metropolitan Police) at twenty-two, rising in rank through its High Potential Development Training Scheme. He returned to Belfast in two-thousand and eight after more than fifteen years away.
He is a driven, compassionate, workaholic, with an unfortunate temper that he struggles to control and a tendency to respond with his fists. His girlfriend of two years, Katy Stevens, is a consultant physician at the local St Mary’s Healthcare Trust.
Craig lives alone in a modern apartment block in Stranmillis, near the university area of Belfast. His parents, his extrovert mother Mirella (an Italian concert pianist) and his quiet father Tom (an ex-university lecturer in Physics) live in Holywood town, six miles away. His rebellious sister, Lucia, his junior by ten years, works as the manager of a local charity and also lives in Belfast.
Craig is now a Chief Superintendent heading up Belfast’s Murder Squad and Intelligence Unit. The Murder Squad is based in the thirteen storey Co-ordinated Crime Unit (C.C.U.) in Pilot Street, in the Sailortown area of Belfast’s Docklands. He loves the sea, sails when he has the time and is generally very sporty. He plays the piano, loves music by Snow Patrol and follows Manchester United’s and Northern Ireland’s football teams, and the Ulster Rugby team.
D.C.I. Liam Cullen: Craig’s deputy. Liam is a fifty-one-year-old former RUC officer from Crossgar in Northern Ireland, who transferred into the PSNI in two thousand and one following the Patton Reforms. He has lived and worked in Northern Ireland all of his life and has spent thirty years in the police force, twenty of them policing Belfast, including during The Troubles.
He is married to the forty-one-year-old, long suffering Danielle (Danni), a part-time nursery nurse, and they have a five-year-old daughter Erin and a three-year-old son called Rory. Liam is unsophisticated, indiscreet and hopelessly non-PC, but he’s a hard worker with a great knowledge of the streets and has a sense of humour that makes everyone, even the Chief Constable, laugh.
D.I. Annette Eakin: Annette is Craig’s Detective Inspector who has lived and worked in Northern Ireland all her life. She is a forty-seven-year-old ex-nurse who, after her nursing degree, worked as a nurse for thirteen years and then, after a career break, retrained and has now been in the police for an equal length of time. She divorced her husband Pete McElroy, a P.E teacher at a state secondary school, because of his infidelity and violence. They have two children, a boy and a girl (Jordan and Amy), both teenagers, and Annette also has a baby daughter with her new partner, Mike Augustus.
Annette is kind and conscientious with an especially good eye for detail. She also has very good people skills but can be a bit of a goody-two-shoes. Since her marriage broke down, she has acquired a newly glamorous image and is now in a relationship with Mike Augustus, a pathologist who works with Doctor John Winter.
Nicky Morris: Nicky Morris is Craig’s thirty-nine-year-old personal assistant. She used to be PA to Detective Chief Superintendent (D.C.S.) Terence ‘Teflon’ Harrison. Nicky is a glamorous Belfast mum married to Gary, who owns a small garage, and is the mother of a teenage son, Jonny. She comes from a solidly working-class area of East Belfast, just ten minutes’ drive from Docklands.
She is bossy, motherly and street-wise and manages to organise a reluctantly-organised Craig very effectively. She has a very eclectic sense of style, and there is an ongoing innocent office flirtation between her and Liam.
Davy Walsh: The Murder Squad’s twenty-eight-year-old computer analyst. A brilliant but shy EMO, Davy’s confidence has grown during his time on the team, making his lifelong stutter on ‘s’ and ‘w’ diminish, unless he’s under stress.
His father is deceased and Davy lives at home in Belfast with his mother and grandmother. He has an older sister, Emmie, who studied English at university. His girlfriend of almost three years, Maggie Clarke, is a journalist and now News Editor at The Belfast Chronicle. They became engaged in early 2017.
Dr John Winter: John is the forty-five-year-old Director of Pathology for Northern Ireland, one of the youngest ever appointed. He’s brilliant, eccentric,
gentlemanly and really likes the ladies, but he met his match in Natalie Ingrams, a surgeon at St Mary’s Trust, and they have been happily married for almost two years.
John was Craig’s best friend at school and university, and remained in Northern Ireland to build his medical career when Craig left. He is now internationally respected in his field. John persuaded Craig that the newly peaceful Northern Ireland was a good place to return to and assists Craig’s team with cases whenever he can. He is obsessed with crime in general and US police shows in particular.
D.C.I. Andrew (Andy) Angel: A relatively new addition to Craig’s team and its second D.C.I., Angel is a slight, forty-one-year-old, twice divorced, perpetually broke father of a six-year-old son, Bowie. A chocoholic with a tendency towards lethargy, he surprises the team at times with his abilities. His spare time is spent collecting original Irish art and the constant search for a new relationship Romantic subtlety isn’t his strong point.
D.C.S. Terry (Teflon) Harrison: Craig’s old boss. The fifty-eight-year-old Detective Chief Superintendent was based at the Headquarters building in Limavady in the northwest Irish countryside but has now returned to Docklands where he has an office on the thirteenth floor. He shared a converted farm house at Toomebridge with his homemaker wife Mandy and their thirty-year-old daughter Sian, a marketing consultant. Mandy has now divorced him, partly because of his trail of mistresses, often younger than his daughter, so Harrison has moved to an apartment in South Belfast.
Harrison is tolerable as a boss as long as everything’s going well, but he is acutely politically aware, a snob, and very quick to pass on any blame to his subordinates (hence the Teflon nickname). He sees Craig as a rival now and is out to destroy him. He particularly resents Craig’s friendship with John Winter, who wields a great deal of power in the Northern Irish justice system.
The Cabal (#16 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 38