‘Here,’ said Jackson curtly, handing him the car keys, ‘You drive.’ He took out his phone. ‘I’m turning this off for safety’s sake. Give me yours and I’ll turn that off too.’
Chapter 55
Andy, the bald man, yawned loudly. It was almost one o’clock. On the table was a litter of paper plates covered with crumbs, curling sandwiches, sausage rolls and other delicacies provided by the canteen, together with several Thermos jugs of coffee. They had monitored the lorry’s progress for more than four hours as it had worked its way across country from the east coast, come up the M1, then, as if drawn by a magnet, moved west towards Manchester. It had been tailed the whole way by A4 teams.
‘Any news of McManus?’ The Chief Constable had been looking in from time to time during the evening, but now he’d sat down at the table, looking as if he had come to stay. He had been told earlier in the evening about McManus’s text message.
Lazarus shook his head. ‘No, sir. And his phone’s switched off. As is Jackson’s. They may still be at the club, but we don’t know for sure.’
‘Something coming through now,’ Emily, the Detective Sergeant, announced. ‘It’s the Eccles estate.’
On one of the monitors a misty picture came up, showing a stretch of road, some bushes and the outline of a car in the distance, coming towards the camera. Officers Fielding and Pierce from Manchester Police’s CT unit were lying hidden in a shallow ditch that ran along the edge of the estate on the east side. A couple of their colleagues were in similar positions at the west entrance. While Pierce kept a lookout, Fielding lay on his belly and watched through the special nightscope of a videocam recorder he had perched on a low tripod. The feed from Fielding’s camera, displayed on the screen in the Ops Room, showed an Audi coupé slowing as it turned off the approach road into the estate, then driving away from the camera on one of the estate’s narrow roads.
In the Ops Room, Emily said, ‘That’s Jackson’s car.’
‘But where’s McManus?’ asked Peggy.
There was no sign of any other vehicle. Andy was talking into his microphone, and he suddenly held up a hand. He flicked a switch and his conversation was audible on the speaker.
‘Picture’s clear enough,’ said Andy. ‘How many in the car?’
Pierce spoke from the ditch at the estate. ‘Two guys. A black guy – I think it was Jackson. And a white driver. Mid-fifties maybe. Clean-cut.’
‘Thanks.’
The Chief Constable asked, ‘You reckon that’s McManus?’
‘Has to be,’ said Lazarus. ‘Otherwise he would have called us.’
‘Jackson’s no fool,’ said Emily. ‘He’ll be keeping a close eye on everyone around him, and being extra-careful. I’m sure that’s why his phone’s off and probably why McManus’s is off as well.’
They watched the monitor anxiously. From the perimeter where Fielding and Pierce were hidden, you couldn’t see the Jackson warehouse, and the cameras in the warehouse – one on its exterior, the others inside – had so far shown no movement.
Suddenly the camera outside the warehouse came to life as a light went on, and the vast front door of the warehouse began to lift up slowly. Two figures were visible, standing just outside the building.
‘Is that McManus?’ Peggy asked.
‘Yes,’ said a new voice in the room. ‘That’s him all right.’
All heads turned to the door. It was Liz Carlyle, standing just inside the room, wearing her overcoat. Peggy leapt up, knocking her chair over. ‘Liz.’ The relief in her voice was clear. ‘I didn’t expect you back tonight. How are you?’
It had been a hard day by any measure, and it wasn’t going to be over any time soon. But at least she would be concentrating now on something that didn’t drain her emotions, something that called on her professional skills rather than her feelings.
She’d had plenty of time on the journey back to mull over her day’s hurried trip to Paris: Isabelle meeting her at the Gare du Nord; the conversation and the tears on the drive out to Martin’s flat; the realisation, when she stood in the sitting room and looked out of the window at the Square opposite, the trees bare of leaves now on this raw day, of just how much of her life, her emotions and, as she had thought, her future lay there.
Foolishly Liz had imagined she could collect all her belongings in a suitcase and take them back with her, but it took less than five minutes in the flat to recognise just how many clothes, books and odds and ends she had accumulated over the few years of her relationship with Martin. After the flat there had been a brief meeting with Claudette, Martin’s ex-wife, who had been civil, if not exactly cordial. And finally a tearful hour with Mimi, Martin’s adored daughter.
There had been no reason to stay longer, since she would be coming back again soon – for the funeral, for the gathering of her possessions, and (this she had promised the girl) to spend some more time with Mimi. So she had headed back to the station and caught a late afternoon Eurostar back to London. She’d gone to her flat, planning to leave the operation in Manchester to the police, but after an hour at home she’d felt so desolate and restless that when eventually she’d checked her mobile and seen the text from Peggy announcing that she was leaving for Manchester, she had decided that she would go to join her.
She’d managed to get what must have been about the last seat on the packed train by travelling first class; she’d fallen briefly asleep, waited in a long queue for a taxi, and now here she was, slightly dazzled in the brightly lit Ops Room but relieved to be able to focus on something that had nothing to do with Martin Seurat and the grief that flooded through her in unpredictable waves.
Peggy said, ‘Zara’s been at his mother’s house in Eccles. We’ve just heard from the A4 team there that he’s gone out. He’s in the car he rented in Birmingham.’
‘Are they still with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Here’s the lorry,’ Andy announced as the grey, wavy picture from the night-vision camera at the gate appeared on the screen again. The images from the camera outside the warehouse were showing on another screen. The lorry drove into the picture, made an enormous 180-degree turn, and stopped, facing out on the hard standing where Jackson and McManus stood waiting. Jackson waved it backwards and the lorry reversed slowly into the warehouse, gave a belch of exhaust, and stopped.
Jackson and McManus went in and attention in the Ops Room switched to the pictures from the cameras inside the warehouse. After a moment the driver jumped down from the cab. He was a short, stocky man in a thick dark pea jacket.
‘You made it at last,’ said Jackson, his voice clearly audible in the Ops Room.
‘Ya. That was one good long hell of a drive.’ His English was heavily accented and quite difficult to make out on the microphones. ‘We had to stop a lot for fuel.’
‘I bet you did,’ said Jackson knowingly. ‘Everything all right with the cargo?’
‘Yeah. You want to see?’
The man made to go for the rear of the lorry, but Jackson put up a hand. ‘Wait a minute. Tell me about the journey. Any problems?’
‘The journey? It was difficult, especially in Germany. Snow has come early this year.’
‘I’m not asking about the weather. I meant, when you got to Harwich. Were you stopped at Customs? Have they been through the cargo?’
‘No. I expected them to open the doors, but they didn’t.’
Jackson turned to McManus, who was standing beside him, before turning back to the driver and asking, ‘Do they usually look inside?’
‘Always. In my experience. But not tonight.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
McManus said, ‘Could just be shortage of staff, weight of traffic, Christmas spirit – anything. I wouldn’t read much into it. And he got here, didn’t he?’
Jackson’s eyes stayed on McManus. ‘Yeah, but what I’m wondering is if anyone else came along for the ride.’
The three men in the warehouse now moved outside to the tarmac f
orecourt, and all the microphone could pick up was the faint sound of voices.
‘What are they waiting for?’ asked Andy. He sounded cross.
Before anyone could answer, the three men started walking back into the warehouse. The driver was gesturing at the back of the lorry. ‘I should open it up now?’ His voice came through loudly.
‘Not yet,’ said Jackson curtly.
The driver was insistent. ‘I have done. Let me unload and then I can be gone. I have mattresses to go to Glasgow by tomorrow. And there is a breathing cargo here that needs some air.’
Jackson laughed harshly. ‘“A breathing cargo”. I like that. Don’t you, Jimmy?’
McManus shrugged. ‘I hope you haven’t dragged me out here for a bunch of tarts.’
‘You’ll see soon enough.’ And Jackson walked to the front of the warehouse again, while McManus stood still, half in shadow, and the lorry driver lit a cigarette.
Back in the Ops Room, Emily asked, ‘Why doesn’t he want the lorry opened up?’
‘Because the main customer hasn’t arrived,’ said Liz.
‘If he ever does,’ said Andy.
‘He will. Zara’s come all the way from London,’ Liz said. ‘I don’t think it’s just to see his mum.’
Fielding’s camera had picked up another car coming into the estate, a dark Ford S Max. Peggy looked at Liz. ‘That’s the car Zara hired.’
Thirty seconds later, as the S Max appeared on the monitor parking on the tarmac outside Jackson’s warehouse, Lazarus was on the radio to the armed police team. ‘Target has arrived.’ Turning to Liz, he said, ‘Time to go in?’
‘I think we should wait a bit.’
‘You sure? If the guns are in the lorry we’ll find them. We can strip the bloody thing down to nuts and bolts if we have to.’
‘We still don’t know where the others are.’
‘You think they’re coming to the warehouse?’
‘Possibly. I’d like to hear what Zara and Jackson say to each other.’
‘I make Jackson as just the middleman.’
‘I think you’re right, but don’t we need to hear them make the transaction if we’re going to be sure of a successful prosecution? Otherwise we haven’t got much to stick on Zara. He can say he’s come to collect mattresses, and without more evidence a jury might give him the benefit of the doubt.’
The Chief Constable broke in. ‘We’ll take the risk, George. Bring the armed team forward but hold off going in for a bit.’
Lazarus nodded and radioed some orders.
Chapter 56
What the hell is happening now, thought McManus as he stood at the door of the warehouse and watched the dark-coloured car pull up. He hadn’t believed Liz Carlyle when she’d told him that Jackson had got himself involved with a bunch of jihadis, but there was something going on here that was out of the run of Jackson’s usual style. Who was this ‘customer’ who’d arrived and what was he collecting?
He wondered how much Liz Carlyle and the team back at HQ really knew about the situation. If they’d known tonight would be dangerous, they should have warned him. When Jackson had asked him to meet up at Slim’s, there had been no reason for him to think there could be trouble brewing; it was only when Jackson had insisted on taking away his mobile phone that he’d grown worried. Without his phone, and without a gun, he felt doubly exposed.
They should have issued him with a weapon if they were putting him into a potentially violent situation, McManus thought angrily. But he knew the Chief Constable would never have authorised that, given the accusations against him. Not that the ‘customer’ who had just arrived looked very menacing. OK, he was Middle Eastern-looking, but he was slightly built, not much more than five feet nine, and looked more like a student, in his jeans, trainers and roll-neck sweater underneath a parka, than a jihadi terrorist. McManus hadn’t wanted to believe Liz Carlyle’s claims of a jihadi threat, and part of him still didn’t. And even if this guy was a fanatic, intent on slaughtering innocents, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Not when Jackson had his phone – and a gun.
Now Jackson signalled for McManus to follow him. They walked out to the tarmac in front, where the new arrival stood by his car, watching warily as Jackson and McManus approached.
‘Good timing,’ said Jackson. He gestured at the lorry. ‘Your goods have just shown up.’
‘Who’s this guy?’ the man demanded, pointing at McManus.
‘My business associate,’ said Jackson. McManus took a step back and kept his hands loose by his side. If he was supposed to be the heavy then he’d better act like one.
‘You were supposed to come alone.’ For all his youthful appearance, the man spoke with authority and without any signs of nerves. He’s been trained, thought McManus.
Jackson seemed to sense this too. ‘I’m sorry, man, but I didn’t think it mattered.’
The young guy shook his head. ‘I can see you’re new to this. Rule Number One: no surprises. Understood?’
Jackson nodded reluctantly. It was clear now to McManus who was running the show, and it wasn’t Jackson.
They walked together into the building, where the lorry driver was stubbing out a cigarette with the heel of his shoe. ‘OK please to open up?’ the driver asked.
Jackson shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ He turned to McManus and gestured at the new arrival. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Give our friend a coffee, will you? There’s a machine in the kitchen over there.’ He pointed towards the end door in the partition at the side of the warehouse.
The Middle Eastern-looking guy said sharply, ‘I don’t want coffee. What’s the hold-up?’
‘Don’t worry: I just want to have a look around outside,’ said Jackson. ‘Can’t be too careful, can we? Then we’ll get down to business.’ And Jackson walked out of the warehouse before anyone could object.
McManus turned towards the other man. ‘What’s your name, mate?’
‘Whatever,’ the man said impatiently, his eyes following Jackson.
‘All right, “Whatever” – are you sure you don’t want coffee?’
In the Ops Room Peggy asked, ‘What’s Jackson doing?’
Lazarus looked at Andy, who said, ‘Can’t see him. He’s out of camera range.’
‘Perhaps he’s gone to have a pee,’ said Emily.
Nobody laughed. The atmosphere in the room had tautened with Jackson’s sudden disappearance from view.
Lazarus said, ‘Andy, get me Team Three.’
A moment later Andy said, ‘On the line now.’
‘Yes?’ a disembodied voice came over the loudspeaker.
‘Jackson’s outside the warehouse. Don’t know where he is – out of camera range. Hold your position until we know where he is.’
There was a pause. ‘Do my best. But I’ve got two men closing in now.’
The Chief Constable looked at Liz and winced.
The lorry driver was growing agitated, which didn’t improve his English. ‘Doors to open,’ he was insisting.
McManus shook his head. ‘Not yet. The man will be back any time now.’ The Middle Eastern guy was standing by the front of the warehouse, looking out. McManus had given up efforts to make conversation.
‘Not waiting,’ the driver said, going to the back of the lorry.
McManus took three strides and caught up with him as the driver was reaching for the steel handles of the twin back doors. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘The boss will be back in a minute,’ he said firmly. ‘So cool it.’
The driver stepped back from the lorry door. He shook his head. ‘I am not liking this.’
‘You’ll survive,’ said McManus. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something move outside, and then Jackson came back inside the warehouse, a tense expression on his face.
‘He wants to open the lorry.’ It was McManus speaking.
‘Yeah, well, we got bigger problems. There’s a car down the road that wasn’t there before.’
‘So?
Lots of people must come in and out of here.’
‘At three in the morning? I don’t think so.’ He stared at McManus. ‘You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you, Jimmy?’
‘Me? Why would I?’
‘You tell me. First you say you’re retiring, then you try to duck out of driving over here with me. And you didn’t like it when I took your phone. Who are you working for tonight?’
‘I didn’t realise I was working. You said could I lend a hand, and here I am. What’s this about anyway?’ He pointed over at the Middle Eastern customer who was watching them from the front of the warehouse.
‘Never mind him,’ Jackson said curtly. He seemed to have made up his mind. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll open the doors and let the cargo out. I want you to take them into that room – I’ve got beds in there, and they can spend the rest of the night here. While you doss them down I’ll finish up with my customer here. Got that?
‘OK.’ McManus was thinking hard about his options, which seemed dismayingly limited. If there were police outside and they raided now, how was it going to look? They’d never believe he’d been forced into giving up his phone; they’d assume he’d been trying to double-cross them. Yet it was equally clear Jackson wasn’t going to let him out of his sight – not long enough to get away, at any rate – and Jackson had a gun …
Jackson turned to the driver, ‘Go on. Open up.’ Then he looked back at McManus. ‘Just try something now,’ he said, his voice full of menace, ‘and it will be the last thing you ever do try.’
‘What on earth?’ asked Peggy as they watched the monitor. The back doors of the lorry had been opened, and a pile of mattresses dragged out by the driver and chucked onto the warehouse floor. Now down a step at the back of the HGV came one, two, three, and finally a fourth woman.
They were all bedraggled, thin with matted blonde hair, and each clutched a suitcase. In spite of their winter coats and trousers, they looked frozen and they screwed up their eyes, dazzled by the light. They looked to be in their twenties – except for the last one, whom Liz watched with a growing sense of outrage: the girl could not have been more than sixteen years old.
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