THE FOLLOWER: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 4)

by Robert White

  Even so, Simon had developed a case of seriously cold feet since viewing Todd’s crime scene videos and it took Rick a further five grand to persuade him to take the job.

  I really wanted to leave the lock-up and visit Maggie, but Rick had put the mockers on that, pointing out that me and Mitch had been picked up by Al-Mufti’s crew pretty easily, and we were all safer where we were.

  He was right of course, but I still wanted to be elsewhere.

  It was past midnight and Lauren and Mitch had got their heads down.

  When I stepped back into the lock-up after my smoke, Rick was sitting in front of his laptop, pouring over the transcripts of an interrogation conducted by The Firm on one of the Yunfakh recruits.

  He looked up from the screen. “Fancy putting the kettle on, pal?”

  “Aye, I’ll have one with yer before I turn in.”

  I dropped a mug of tea in front of him and he stopped scrolling the mass of text.

  My old pal sat back, stretched his arms over his head and took a deep breath. I knew something big was coming, and I was right.

  “Listen pal,” he began. “You ain’t going to believe this, but the only reason we know about the existence of Yunfakh and their connection to Khalid Kulenović, is because of Stephan Goldsmith.”

  I nearly choked on my brew. “Jesus H Christ, pal, will that fucker never die?”

  Rick managed a grim smile. “The Firm always said he was useful… turns out, on this occasion, they were right. Apparently, Yunfakh were muscling in on the Albanian’s drug territories in the States. They told Goldsmith all about this new gang, who was leading it, how it worked, so on and so forth, and in true fashion, Goldsmith dropped the dime to Old Cartwright.”

  Rick tapped some keys on his laptop. “Now, MI5 believe Yunfakh will be doing the same here. They reckon they will be dealing big quantities of cocaine and heroin within months. They may even be at it already.”

  I felt sick to my stomach. Every time I heard that bastard Goldsmith’s name, I couldn’t help but think of JJ, Grace and little Kaya. Never mind what he’d done to Rick.

  “So, Goldsmith was playing both sides as usual.” I said. “Feeding The Firm some scraps and keeping his gangster mates happy at the same time… The evil fucker deserved everything he got, pal.”

  “You’re right on the money there, mate.” Rick hit another key and slowly turned the laptop towards me.

  “But Frankie didn’t deserve this, eh?”

  I was dumbfounded. I pulled the computer towards me, unable to take my eyes away from the grotesque image. Away from Frankie Green’s horribly mutilated body.

  “So, he was alive after the battle then?”

  Rick nodded. “It looks that way doesn’t it. You can see from that picture, he’s taken a hell of a beating too… before the bastards nailed him to that fucking pole.”

  I shook my head. “There’s no cross there, but the result is the same… the fuckers crucified him, eh? And slit him open. Just like young Todd.”

  I turned my attention to the images of Abdallah and Siddique Al-Mufti. The older man wore his hair in the same ponytail we had seen that day in Tiji, although his trendy suit had been replaced by traditional Arabic fighting clothes. Those piercing blue eyes looked directly into the camera, mocking, proud.

  Then there was the boy. I examined him. He didn’t have the same blue eyes as his father. He had taken after his Lebanese mother and dark pools flashed like wet stones under black brows. Even at nine or ten years old, he looked a serious child and held his AK47 across his chest, striking the identical pose to his father, like a pair of hunters, displaying their prey.

  I turned to Rick.

  “So, Siddique will be what? Twenty-nine, thirty maybe?”

  “I reckon.”

  “And he’s here… now… running this Yunfakh crew?”

  “That’s what Cartwright says.”

  “And if we are right, and Sid is Siddique?”

  “Then we are right on the money.”

  Rick hit a key on the laptop and it flicked back to the transcripts. He tapped the screen.

  “But this won’t be easy, pal. This guy, the one The Firm interrogated, he says that all Siddique’s men are terrified of him. They call him ‘Tanin,’ Arabic for ‘Dragon.’

  Rick drained his brew. “Another thing. Cartwright told me, was that this prisoner died under interrogation. That isn’t exactly true either. He bit off his own tongue and choked to death rather than face the consequences of his capture.”

  I couldn’t feel anything for the dead gang member. All I could see in my mind’s eye, was Frankie nailed to that post with his guts spilled out on the floor. My anger began to boil up inside and I noticed that I had been gripping my fists so tight, that my nails were close to breaking the skin on my palms. I knew I didn’t need to see the picture again. I knew it wasn’t good for me to look at it. Yet I took back the laptop once more, and like a ghoulish driver slowing to see the victims of a road traffic accident, I hit the key to display the picture of our pal Frankie once more.

  My hands were shaking. “Don’t you worry my son,” I said to the screen. “We’ll slay this dragon for you, if it’s the last thing we do.”

  Lauren North’s Story:

  Simon rang Rick just before 0600hrs.

  As we suspected, in keeping with Yunfakh’s mantra of not using digital devices, the call to Todd Blackman’s mobile, was made from a public telephone box located in Sackville Gardens, close to the infamous Canal Street, in the heart of Manchester’s gay village. The box was walking distance from where Todd and Henrietta Duvall had been enjoying their chicken burgers.

  I’d called Larry, made up a woolly enough story about how we thought our man in the phone box may have witnessed some of Todd’s movements on the night he was killed, and although he’d seemed reluctant at first, he finally agreed to try and obtain the relevant CCTV footage and meet me in Starbucks, just a short cab ride away.

  After what had happened to Des and Mitch the previous day, Rick insisted we pair up. Something I hadn’t mentioned to Larry.

  I vented my concern that the presence of another team member might spook the detective, but Rick wouldn’t budge.

  “I don’t want you out there alone,” he said as he scrambled eggs on the stove.

  I teased him. “You mean you don’t want me alone with Larry?”

  He set his pan aside, slipped his arms around my waist and examined me with those wonderful chocolate eyes.

  “I trust you Lauren, always will.”

  He frowned for a moment and pursed his lips, as if the words he sought were difficult to form in his mouth. He stroked my face as he spoke.

  “We both have time to work this out you know? Me and you. It’s been crazy, I know. Job after job. But this is our world, your world now. Just give me a little time…please.”

  I slowly shook my head, feeling a big smile come to my face. He was like a complex puzzle that you would never quite know the answer to.

  “Wow, that came out of the blue.”

  He released me and scraped his eggs onto a plate.

  “Some things need saying.” He waved the pan at me. “You want some?”

  I looked up at him. “I want you,” I said.

  He smiled too.

  * * *

  It was Mitch and I that kitted ourselves up ready to leave the lockup for the meet with our pet detective. Des and Rick were going to visit some drug dealer type from back in the day. Apparently, he could be a handful.

  I did my best to put Rick’s sudden romantic interest to the back of my mind, but once again, the merest hint of affection from him, saw me as loved up as a silly teenager.

  The American checked over his Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum 629 Deluxe TALO handgun. It was a big stainless-steel beast of a weapon.

  I gave him
a girly grin.

  “Do you feel lucky punk?” I asked in my best Clint Eastwood voice.

  “I think you will find Ma’am, that way back in 1971, long before this cowboy was born, Dirty Harry Callahan used a model 29 with a five-inch barrel. Then, the most powerful handgun in the world. However, this model is shorter and easier to conceal.”

  “It must make a hell of a noise.”

  “I like revolvers opposed to SLP’s Ma’am. They tend to go bang when you need them to.”

  “But you are leaving that rocket thing of yours at home today?”

  It was Mitch’s turn to smile. It was a very pleasant occurrence, and his whole face appeared to light up when he did so.

  “Yes Ma’am. I think Mr Fuller is of a mind that my Buddy should stay where it is for the time being.”

  I selected the little Colt six shot SLP that I’d used on the Anson Estate job, along with my now favoured ASP. Both slipped nicely into my bag. I didn’t want Larry giving me a hug only for him to find some great big pistol sticking in his ribs. He was paranoid enough already.

  We left the lock-up to warm drizzle. The heatwave had finally broken and the good folk of Manchester scuttled about their business in damp, humid conditions that made shirts stick to backs and hair frizz uncontrollably.

  No sooner had we hailed our cab and dropped onto our seat, my phone vibrated.

  “Hi Larry,” I said. “… everything okay?”

  He sounded breathless. “I’ve been followed. Two men. Both black. Africans. I noticed them when I parked my car in town. Then again, after I left the CCTV station at the Council offices.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “I think I lost them… I mean, I’ve done enough surveillance courses to know the script, but I’m going to do another couple of moves before we meet… to be certain, I mean. What’s going on Lauren?”

  It wasn’t the time for explanations. I kept with the program. “Okay Larry, just stay calm, mate. Let’s change our venue, too. Let’s say The Old Monkey in an hour…okay.”

  Larry still sounded shaken. “Yes, okay… I, erm… I have pictures of your guy.”

  I felt my stomach flip. And for the first time when talking to Larry, it wasn’t due to nerves.

  “Okay,” I said. “Be careful.”

  I asked the driver to drop us at Piccadilly station where Mitch and I split up and carried out our own set of anti-surveillance drills, before meeting up again on Portland Street with five minutes to spare.

  As I walked into the popular Manchester pub, I immediately saw Larry nursing a pint of dark ale in a quiet corner. He smiled weakly. When he saw Mitch, as I’d suspected, his face fell.

  I sat whilst Mitch ordered coffee.

  “Who’s the big fella?” he asked, a real edge to his tone. “I would have thought, that as I’ve just put my career on the line and lied to obtain this footage, you might have thought it prudent to come alone.”

  I ran my tongue over the front of my teeth, desperate not to snap back at him. After all, he was the one taking the risks with his job.

  “You can trust Mitch, Larry. He’s part of our team.”

  Right on cue, the American sat and offered a huge hand. “Mitch Collins. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir.”

  Larry reluctantly took and shook.

  Mitch did his best to calm Larry’s nerves. “Mr Simpson, Sir… The two African guys. They were most probably looking for us… not you. They’ll know that you were connected to the case and, therefore, presume we may contact you. Mr Cogan and I were also followed yesterday.”

  Larry threw back his head and mimicked Mitch’s accent as best he could. “Ha! And did you shake off your tail…Sir… I mean, you being the CIA an’ all? Just like your pal Mason Carver uh? The guy who threatened to have me taken off the case if I didn’t spill the beans on the crime scene? He kept that promise on that one alright.”

  Mitch kept his tone level. The American’s long fuse apparent for all to see. “You’re correct, Mr Simpson, I do represent the interests of the United States Government here in the UK. And yes, Mr Cogan and I dealt with yesterday’s threat appropriately. But I had no hand in having you removed…”

  “By appropriately,” spat Larry, not waiting for Mitch to finish. “You mean you murdered them both.” He got straight in the American’s face, hands on the table for support. “I may be on gardening leave, but I read the fucking papers.”

  That stopped me in my tracks. “What do you mean, gardening leave Larry?

  He looked at us both in turn and snorted his derision. “Oh yes, did I not say? Not content with dropping me from the lead role in the Blackman case, your boss, Carver, has seen to it that I’m put out to grass. DCS Williams, praise the Lord, is now all controlling. I’m suspended in all but name.”

  Larry turned his attentions and increasing fury on me. Bringing Mitch along had been a bigger mistake than I’d imagined.

  “And now you,” he hissed. “Expect me to help you murder the guy on these CCTV pictures, don’t you? I mean, come on, that’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it? Find him and kill him? All this shit about him being a witness, well, it’s just bollocks isn’t it. He’s your fucking suspect.”

  Our coffee arrived and Larry threw himself back in his seat and sulked.

  I’d heard enough.

  “Listen... Detective. We don’t just go around killing people for the sake of it. I told you, we think this guy may have met with Todd just hours before he was murdered, that’s all. He may be of major importance to us, he may not. And anyway, I thought we’d gone over this. You said you’d help me.”

  He shook his head and moped some more.

  I ploughed on.

  “There’s no point in getting all wound up about those two guys yesterday. Mitch and Des had no choice but to take the action they did. They were under fire… and they returned that fire. End of. Have you even considered who those people were? Or the identity of your tail today? Who they might be working for?”

  I pointed.

  “You can’t get it in your head can you, Larry? You don’t listen to what I say. There are people in very high places, the same people who got you suspended, that want this case closed. Done, dusted. Understand? And on the other hand, there are another set of equally dangerous folks who are on the streets of Manchester right now waving fucking AK-47’s around. This is a power play far and beyond anything you have ever dealt with Larry. To be honest, I think you’re best out of it. For your own good.”

  Mitch’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen and excused himself. The moment the American left his seat, the atmosphere changed.

  Larry reached across the table and took my hand, his voice instantly soft, consoling. “Can’t you see now, this is what I’ve been saying? Can’t you see what is happening? You don’t need this…We don’t need this.”

  I dropped my own hand onto his.

  “You’re a good man, Larry, a truthful man, you uphold the law of the land the only way you know. But I can’t play by your rules, neither can Mitch, or Des, or Rick. I’ll be honest with you, we’re against the clock on this one, and I can’t stress enough, how dangerous this game is. If you don’t feel comfortable sharing those pictures with us, Larry… that’s fine.”

  I stood. “We’ll just have to find another way.”

  He looked into my eyes, his hand resting firmly on the envelope he’d brought with him. I could see him fighting his demons; wrestling with his own particular sense of right and wrong.

  Finally, he came to his decision. I could see the sorrow in his eyes. “No… no Lauren. I can’t do it. I just don’t believe you. And I can’t be a party to what you have in mind… to murder. I just can’t.”

  I bit my lip and nodded my acceptance.

  “If that’s what you think, Larry. There’s nothing more to say.”

 
He held my gaze for a moment. “Lauren, look. I mean, can’t we… can’t we sort this out between us?”

  I turned down the corners of my mouth and shrugged. “Let’s just say, like you, Larry. I changed my mind.”

  * * *

  We stood in the drizzle of Portland Street.

  Mitch was really pissed. “So, he won’t give up the photographs?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well I say, I go in there, bust his head and take them from him.”

  “Great idea cowboy. What then? Ride out of town and hide in the hills till the posse has gone? Come on… he’s a cop. This ain’t the Wild West. Anyway, I have another idea.”

  We walked steadily to the end of Canal Street and eyed the phone box where the call had been placed.

  I placed my hand on one of the American’s impressive biceps and gave him my best smile.

  He read my thoughts and he wasn’t a happy bunny.

  “You have to be joking Ma’am.”

  “I never joke about these things, Mitch. Look… there are at least six bars on the strip here that have CCTV outside, three looking out towards Sackville Gardens. They must have a shot of our guy. Not only that, but after making the call he may have walked down Canal Street to meet Todd and we could get even better footage than Larry obtained from the council system.”

  “But that means, I have to go inside a… a…”

  “A gay bar, yes Mitch. And I know how you feel about homosexuality, but the bible also has a little section in it about ‘Thou shalt not kill’… and that did not appear to stop you and your Buddy thing yesterday. Come on, Mitch. I need you to take one for the team.”

  I thought he was going to cry. “Aww Ma’am, I mean, that is so not fair.”

  I turned him to me, gripped him by both arms and looked him up and down.

  “Now come on Marine. Give me a smile. The boys in there will love a big strapping lad like you. Twinkle those eyes and flash that pearly white smile of yours, and I’ll bet they’ll give you anything you ask for.”