by J. D. Weston
“No, we're talking deepest darkest sticks, not much chance of it being at the top of a traffic cop’s priority list out there,” said Harvey. “Lastly, the cop had three sets of cuffs on him. Pretty unlikely he carries them every day, right?”
“Right. So what did you do?” asked Frank.
“I told him what I thought.”
“You told him what you thought?
“I put the guy down and cuffed him. Then unlocked these guys’ handcuffs.”
“That’s when we found the real cop unconscious in the boot of the car, sir,” said Melody.
“And what did you do with him?”
“Sat him on the ground leaning on the car,” said Harvey. “I gave a call over his radio, took the dash cam and hard drive, and we got out of there.”
“So nobody saw you?”
“Whoever drove past might have seen us, but no police saw us.”
“What’s with the questions, sir?” asked Melody.
“Well, Mills, every time you lot go out, I have to pull answers out of my backside for the mess you make.”
“This wasn’t us being cavalier, sir,” said Melody.
“No, you’re right. So I hear now your phones are compromised?”
“Only Harvey’s for sure, but ours are off to be safe. We’re relying on the comms until Reg can confirm the phones are safe to use.”
“What’s the plan to check that?”
“I’ll go out, away from here. I’ll turn my phone on, and Reg will be able to see if it’s being tracked, and where the tracker is,” said Harvey.
“Tenant, you can do that?” asked Frank.
“In my sleep, sir.”
“So why isn’t a basic security protocol like that in operation all the time? Is it something we can do constantly?”
“Okay, I’ll get it set up,” said Reg, slightly perplexed at his oversight.
“Has my phone been compromised?” asked Frank.
“I’ll check,” said Reg. “In the meantime, it’s best to turn it off.”
“Good. This is the type of thing we need to get better at, people. Now, talk to me about the warehouse.”
“Stratford, sir. Old warehouse, rough part of town,” said Denver.
“We followed Larson and the goon there,” said Melody, “They weren't there long and then they left again.”
“But?” said Frank. “I can sense a but coming.”
“We got a glimpse inside, sir.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
“A black taxi, sir. Reg has checked the plates, it was Arthur Bell’s taxi.”
“What else did you see?”
“Nothing, sir, the door was only open for a moment while Larson pulled his car out.”
“He either picked something up or dropped something off, Frank,” said Harvey. “I’m going back tonight.”
“Are you? I thought it was me that gave the orders, Stone.”
“Not when it comes to people trying to kill me, Frank. With all due respect.” Harvey spoke the last words slowly and clearly.
Frank stared at Harvey for a second. “Okay, let's make it worthwhile. Mills, you’re going in with him. Cox, Tenant, you’ll both be outside. What’s security like?”
“There’s a guy on the gate, easily avoided, he’s more likely there to stop pikeys getting in,” said Harvey. “There’s a single door on the warehouse with a pull-down shutter over it and a large sliding door.”
“Plan?”
“I’ll get into the single door. The large door screeches and will wake up most of London.”
“Alarm?”
“Doubt it, Frank. There’s a stolen taxi inside that belonged to the dead guy the police found in my house. If I had that taxi, I wouldn’t be setting an alarm.”
“Anyone inside? Security detail?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Okay get in, have look around, bug it and get out.” Frank turned to address the whole room. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Actually, sir, yes,” began Reg. “The dash cam Harvey ripped out of the police car had some pretty quite surprising footage on it.”
14
Break In
It was four am when Harvey sheared the locks on the shutter door. Harvey quietly put the car jack he’d used to one side, and pulled the shutter up, revealing a single door with a glazed upper panel. The wood was soft, cheap and old, and gave easily when Harvey slipped his jimmy bar in and leaned a little weight on it. The lock remained in position, but the entire door was forced away from the frame and opened easily.
Harvey stood in the doorway listening.
“What are you waiting for?” Melody whispered.
Harvey tapped his watch and held up one index finger. Melody noted his frown and look of concentration. She stepped back and checked behind her; the compound of warehouses and garages was clear of people. The security hut a hundred yards away was lit softly from inside, allowing the guard to read his book.
Melody checked across the street and saw the van parked outside the shop. She couldn’t see any movement or lights from inside, the tinted windows hid Denver and Reg well. Even Reg’s screens didn't light the interior of the van.
She sensed movement in the corner of her eye, Harvey was moving in. She stepped slowly behind him, watching for an attack to come from the shadows. The warehouse smelled like a mechanic’s garage; the air was thick with the smell of motor oil and dust.
Melody had her Sig drawn and held it in two hands aiming beyond Harvey into the darkness. Harvey stepped out the little hallway into the large warehouse space and disappeared into the gloom. Melody stood in the doorway listening for his footsteps but heard nothing. She lowered her night vision goggles and saw Harvey standing to her left beside the taxi. Harvey didn't wear NV. He allowed his senses to adjust to the darkness. When he was happy that they were alone, he motioned to Melody to turn the lights on. She found the switches on the wall beside her. Even in the green NV she could see the grime on the switch.
She closed her eyes before flicking the switch and lifted the goggles before opening them again. The warehouse looked like a far different place than it had with the goggles on.
“Stay near the door, in case security see the light.”
Melody stayed put, but planted three audio bugs in various places nearby while she waited; one on top of a large space heater, one below a workbench beneath the light switch, and one on a rack of metal shelving behind her. She leaned against a wooden crate and watched Harvey move around the taxi. The space around the parked car was empty, save for a few hessian sacks that were sat on the dirty floor. An old tool chest stood open, and an array of tools had been thrown inside it. It was a far cry from Denver’s set up and his meticulously clean working environment. A stack of wheels stood in the corner beside the shutter door and a large hydraulic car jack sat beside them. In front of the taxi was a pile of car seats, semi-covered in thick blue plastic sheets, and behind that was an old, battered forklift truck.
Harvey placed a bug inside the black cab. “Rear seats have gone,” he said, just loudly enough for her to hear.
“They’re there in front.” She nodded with her head when he looked at her. “They’re stripping it down to hide the murder?”
Harvey glanced at the pile of seats and stared back at the taxi. He stepped over closer but didn't move anything. Harvey glanced back at Melody.
Melody looked at the crate she leaned on. It was a heavy wooden box fixed to a wooden pallet. She stood away from it to read the sides, but the language was foreign. Whatever it said, it was written in German.
“Harvey?”
Harvey saw Melody looking at the box and joined her.
“German,” she said.
“Car parts?” said Harvey.
“You know what’s made in Germany?”
Harvey stepped back to the tool chest and found a large flathead screwdriver. He rejoined Melody, who was taking photos of the writing.
She hit the
button on her ear-piece that opened comms, “Reg.”
“Go ahead,” came Reg’s reply.
“Sending you a photo, need it translated quick smart.”
She hit send on her phone, then turned it off quickly. She watched as Harvey worked his way carefully around the top of the box, easing the lid up without leaving marks in the soft wood. He prised one end up enough to slip his fingers underneath, and yanked the lid upwards, then carefully lowered it to the floor.
“Direct translation is a bit confusing, Melody, but it basically says, Highly Volatile.”
Harvey was carefully lifting a plastic sheet that covered the contents of the box. Melody held out her hand to stop him.
“Did you hear Reg?” she asked.
Harvey didn’t reply. The frown deepened on his face. He lifted the plastic fully and stared down at the mass of plastic explosives. He raised his eyes to Melody.
“That’s a lot of explosives,” said Melody.
Harvey pulled the lid back on and hammered it closed with his fist.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Denver, extract.” They stepped outside and heard the warble of the van’s exhaust from across the street.
“Go, I’ll catch you up,” said Harvey, as he turned to pull the shutter door down.
Melody turned and ran to the wall she and Harvey had climbed over. She checked behind her to make sure the coast was clear, then pulled herself up and waited for Harvey to join her.
Harvey sprinted from the shadows and leapt up. He caught hold of the top of the wall and was down the other side in matter seconds. Melody took a final glance back towards the warehouse, but as she did, headlights appeared at the entrance to the compound. She laid low on the top of the wall. More headlights appeared after the first, another car. Melody lowered herself down and stood beside Harvey as Denver pulled the van up on the street.
The sliding door slid open, and they climbed in. “Go, go, go.” Denver pulled away as the door pulled shut, and the team sat in silence for a while until they were clear of the area.
Melody was the first to speak.
“We’re too late,” she said. “The explosives are already here, and it looked like two cars just arrived as we left.”
“How much?” asked Denver.
“PX5? Enough to blow a hole in London big enough to fit another city in. About a hundred kilos.”
Denver’s eyes widened. “A hundred kilos of plastic explosives?”
“Sitting on a pallet in a warehouse in the arse-end of London,” said Melody.
“Not for long,” said Harvey. “That’s what the cabs are for.”
“What?” said Melody.
“It’s obvious. They didn’t strip the cab down to hide the murder, they stripped it down to fit the explosives inside.” Harvey took a breath. “That cab’s going to be driven through London and detonated somewhere busy.”
“Stimson?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“Why would Stimson do that? He’s a diamond thief, not a terrorist,” said Melody.
“I know, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Reg, can you get us a list of all known auction houses in the city of London? Not West London, in the city,” said Harvey.
“Easy,” replied Reg.
“Then tell me which ones have a day scheduled as closed in the next few days, should be on their website.”
“What are you saying, Harvey?” said Melody.
“I’m saying the auction isn’t happening in Wethersfield, that's a decoy. Stimson planted that intel to lead us away from the real auction.”
“Frank got us that information,” said Melody.
“Where from? His phone?” said Harvey. “We’ve already seen my phone is compromised.” Harvey let that information settle in, then said, “The robbery will take place at the same time as that taxi drives into London and detonates. They’ll be so much chaos that getting away with a tiny little statue will be easy.”
“There are a number of auction houses in the City of London itself, but notably, there’s one on Queen Victoria Street, which happens to be directly behind St Paul’s Cathedral. It’s closed in three days time for a private event, according to the website's calendar.”
“Queen Victoria Street? That’s where we found Hague, he was on foot heading towards St Paul’s,” said Harvey.
“You think the buddha has been there all along?” said Melody.
“It makes sense,” said Harvey. “Imagine it, they tried to do the heist with Hague as the decoy, but we nailed him, foiled their plan, so they aborted the heist. They found out who we were from the bloody videos people took on the bridge and set up a decoy auction out in the sticks. Meanwhile, their tech guy hacked my identity, they planted a body to get me arrested, then tried to take me out in Essex.” He paused. “And now this. They know we’re getting closer.”
The team sat silently and thought on Harvey’s synopsis.
“Denver,” said Harvey, “let’s go see this auction house.”
“Copy that,” replied Denver.
“Even Stimson wouldn't stoop so low, would he?”
“That depends doesn’t it,” said Harvey.
“On?”
“His motive.”
“His motive?”
“Yeah, what’s driving him to pull such a crazy stunt.”
“The priceless buddha?”
“The Stimsons are responsible for the biggest heists in recent history. They’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember,” said Harvey. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“They've never killed a single person in any of their heists.”
“Not a single one?”
“Nothing more than the butt of a rifle in a security guard’s face. So why would they change that habit now, and potentially kill hundreds of people?”
“His motivation’s changed,” said Melody.
“It looks like it, but there’s more.”
“More?”
“Think about what you just saw, Melody.”
She turned to face him in her seat, “The taxi?”
“And?”
“The wheels?”
Harvey didn’t reply.
“The seats?”
Harvey raised his eyebrow.
“There was a pile of seats,” she said, then her eyes widened. “Too many for one taxi.” Cogs fell into place. She gasped. “There’s more than one taxi.”
15
Fallen Hero
“How far, Denver?” asked Melody.
“We’re coming up to Liverpool Street, less than three minutes away,” Denver replied.
“What’s the plan?” asked Melody.
“I just want to take a look, see the auction house, see what Stimson is likely to do,” said Harvey.
“Looking at the satellite imagery,” said Reg, “from the auction house, they’d have a clear run down to the river, if they had-”
“A boat waiting,” finished Melody. “They’d be away in no time at all, they could have a car waiting at literally any point along the river.”
“I was going to say that, you always steal my thunder, Melody,” said Reg. “I’ll call Frank, and tell him what we’re doing, he should be in HQ by now.”
Reg dialled Frank’s number and waited for him to answer.
“Wait,” said Harvey. “Your phone is on?”
“Well yeah, it works better when its-”
“Turn it off!” shouted Melody.
“Tenant?” Frank answered the call. “What’s the update?”
Just then a car slammed into the side of the van, forcing it into oncoming traffic. Denver’s head crashed into the door and shattered the glass. Reg was thrown back off his seat and onto Harvey who was sat on the floor behind Melody.
Denver pulled the van back to the correct side of the road, but the car held its nose into the side of the van. The two vehicles were locked, neither one dropping their throttles. Smoke rose from the screeching tyres and the smell of bur
ning rubber filled the air.
“It’s a taxi,” called Denver.
Harvey jumped up and slid the side door of the van open, but it was jammed by the damage and the front wing of the taxi. He pulled his Sig and fired two rounds through the small gap into the taxi’s wheel. The taxi slowed a little, allowing Harvey to shove the door open, but the door’s rails were smashed, and it fell off onto the road. The taxi bounced over it, accelerated again and slammed once more into the side of the van, nudging it further and further sideways.
Harvey put his Sig into his waistband, and leapt from the van onto the taxi’s bonnet. He grabbed hold of the windscreen wipers. They twisted and bent under his weight, but he held on, his legs swinging across the front of the car’s rounded bonnet.
The sound of the two battling engines was all Harvey could hear, and the road was filled with smoke. People ran from the sliding wreckage. The van drove on with the taxi wedged into its side, both engines fighting for control.
Harvey let go with one hand and pulled his Sig once more, but the driver yanked the steering wheel just as he aimed, and Harvey’s legs swung across to the passenger side. His feet scraped the road just inches from the tyre. Denver saw Harvey’s struggle and turned hard into the front of the taxi, pushing it off the road to stop Harvey from being crushed. The driver held the wheel firm. As the taxi careered into the roadside barrier, Harvey was dragged off the car.
The team watched in horror as Harvey’s body disappeared from view and the taxi bounced; its rear wheels drove effortlessly across Harvey’s leg. Melody turned sharply in her seat to see Harvey roll into the middle of the road. The taxi came to a stop. Denver was out the van like a shot. He forced his driver's door open as Melody opened hers. She ran back to Harvey, frantically trying to raise Frank on the comms, while Denver yanked the taxi’s driver door open.
The Middle-Eastern driver had smashed his face on the steering wheel when Denver had forced him off the road. He raised his bloodied face and looked ahead of him, confused. He turned and looked up at Denver as Denver's fist connected with his jaw. Denver stood upright, held onto the open door with one hand and the roof of the taxi with the other, then brought his foot down hard on the man’s face again and again.