Cade was shaking the soldier’s hand briskly.
“Yes, they are one and the same. And I do Geoff, yes. Something in my water tells me we haven’t seen the worst of this yet. Since I joined the Met team, we’ve had bus pursuits, shootings, bloody explosions, kidnapping and murder…” His voice tailed off as it dawned upon him just how busy the Breaker team had been.
“If you ask me, you’d be better off applying for a transfer then Jack!”
Cade responded with a laboured nod. It was all he could manage.
“Right, let’s get this circus on the move, people.” Woods took control and got his team into position. He carried out a tactical briefing, checked his own weapon, conducted a signal check with each of the team and nodded to the EOD team before pulling on his Kevlar helmet and winking at Cade.
“See you on the other side, boss. You know the drill?”
Actually, he didn’t. In his relatively short service, Cade had only recently qualified to carry a weapon and handled a firearm tactically on less than three occasions and had never led a firearms team on a warrant.
Twenty-four hours prior and in the obscenely early hour’s two Armed Response vehicles approached the road and lights-off quietly closed either end of the street.
One of Woods’ men went forward, initially running along the line of the terraced properties, slowing to a tactical walk until he reached the front door. He stepped quickly but deliberately, up on his toes, checking in front and above. He knew his back was covered.
Plain clothed, he looked to the casual onlooker like a burglar – so he would be relatively safe, little chance of detection.
He silently put a small telescopic-handled mirror through the letterbox and had a quick look at the inside hallway. It was empty but for a growing pile of never-to-be-read mail on the floor. He noted there was little in the way to obstruct them.
The two-man team at the rear of the property were unable to see inside, but what they did do, under the cover of a teammate with a Heckler & Koch G36, was slowly and gently check the door, to see where the resistance was. With the site survey complete, they retraced their steps and returned to base.
Woods was now watching the whole event unravel from a small screen which was receiving signals relayed from the Kent Air Support helicopter. Hovering at a discreet distance so as not to give away their intention, the aircraft was a regular sight over the area, all the better to maintain an air of anonymity.
Three more staff were ready at the rear. Another had joined the officer at the front. Two local traffic cars continued to close the road off top and bottom and would add firepower should the need arise.
Constable Green leant against the white rendered wall of the adjoining address and waited. He’d done this a hundred times. He found himself looking across the street to what was left of the Francis’ home. He signalled to the property with his eyes.
“Bloody mess!”
His colleague didn’t have a chance to reply as they heard the familiar signal over their earpieces.
“Stand by, stand by.”
At the rear of the premises an officer was waiting for the signal to take down the door, it would be an easier task now that the pressure had been lessened by a small hydraulic jack.
The ever-vigilant Romanian had heard them coming. Quiet as they were his abject paranoia gave him the advantage. He could almost sense their arrival, could smell them. He looked across at Dorin Gabor, a young man with whom he had yet to become fully acquainted.
“We must go now. You come with me or you stay, either way you might die. Is it better to be running away to live like a coward than be a brave antelope, caught and eaten by a lion?”
Gabor was part-confused, part-terrified. He had seen his life unravel and wanted only to return to his homeland and live a normal life. But this man, this strange man, had a hold over him which he could not explain to anyone, least of all himself.
“Yes, I will come with you. But when we have got to a safe place, you need to explain what happened with the old man’s house. Please.”
“The old man was in our way, he would have sent me to prison, and you too Dorin Gabor, and do you think you would be safe? Fool. You would go to prison too. I would survive there, you would become a toy, a plaything for the older men. Better dead my friend than to be a slave to that place – to them. Trust me…”
“OK, I come with you. I won’t tell anyone anything.”
“What do you mean? Have you been thinking of doing this, Gabor? Of betraying me? After all, I have taught you. You would betray me?” The words were hissed from his fractured sneer.
The younger male noted the aggressive tone.
Constantin found himself trying to suppress panic. Only the drugs helped, and he was as far from the poppy field as he had ever been.
He had killed before. The old man was not the first, and he would do it again, but he could not harm this fine young man. He had so many plans for him. So, many, plans.
He pushed his hand into a small holdall and withdrew an ancient-looking revolver.
Gabor stepped back instinctively.
“Please, I promise I will not tell.”
He looked exasperated. “Dorin this gun is for you, if they come through that door, shoot at them, before they shoot you. Understand?”
He did. He took the weapon and ran the fingers of his right hand over it. Did what many men did when confronted with a firearm and placed it up to his nostrils and inhaled the stench of black powder and machine oil.
“Is it loaded? How do I fire it?”
Sensible questions.
“Of course you stupid boy. The cylinder holds six bullets, squeeze the trigger, and it will fire. Simple! But Dorin, do not close your eyes, you need to see the bullets hit your target. I will be working on our escape. When we get to the street we will run, faster than we have ever run. There is a red Vauxhall car two hundred metres away, it is open. I have prepared it for our journey to Dover. We are going home, my friend. You and I are heading home.”
He held him firmly on the left shoulder and attempted to smile. It became a leer, but the younger male took comfort from it.
“But what if…?”
“We do not go through our lives asking this question. We belong to Primul Val. What if? Can you imagine the Jackdaw asking this question? No, so neither must we.”
The boy nodded.
“We will head to France and then Spain and meet up with him and he will make us very rich.”
Gabor smiled a nauseous smile before reiterating.
“Rich?”
“Mai mult decat cele mai indraznete vise.” More than your wildest dreams.
“Almost ready, folks. Once the boys have gone in and made everything safe, we can get you in there and you can do all your spy stuff.”
“Understood Mac, just give us the nod and we’ll be ready.”
The Kent Air Support Unit relayed the imagery from the target address directly to Woods’ Mobile Command Post and ran a secondary link to the nearby headquarters at Maidstone.
“Looks like everything’s in place. No movement from the house. I prefer to go in at night to be honest Jack, but time is as they say, of the essence. Watch and learn, my friend. This will be a dynamic entry.”
Cade nodded – part of him understood, but another part wanted to ask more questions. The simple fact was that a dynamic entry was the chosen method for such operations. This was a search warrant – but a methodical search would have to wait. Police officers the world over had learned, often with their lives, the difference between a rapid, safety-first entry and a slow, deliberate search.
Cade had been impressed with Woods’ briefing. He clearly knew the capabilities of all of his men, but he repeated his well-worn phrases, regardless.
He hammered home the mission; dwelling on the difference between rapidity and careless use of speed when clearing the building. He necessarily laboured the need to be safe.
From their Intelligence colleagues they kne
w the approximate layout of the building, but each dwelling could be different, and importantly they didn’t know where, and how numerous their enemy might be. Bursting through the door and into the ‘Fatal Funnel’ would leave them brutally exposed, their very bodies providing a perfectly back-lit target for any would-be offender.
“Remember boys, speed is of the essence. Dominate. Take control. But above all, let’s get home for tea and medals. Just not Sharkey’s tea, eh?”
Woods had committed a two-man team at the front and rear of the building. The rapid entry team would go in via the back door whilst the unit at the front would remain ready to enter in the event of an unforeseen incident. In waiting and only metres away would be the remainder of the team, ready to secure the building and lock down evidence.
It all made sense. Putting more than two bulky, weapon-carrying staff into a room potentially filled with furniture was likely to exacerbate things. Adding a goal-driven offender who might not even speak the same language – was compounding things further.
For this job the team would enter, ‘slice the pie’ and split up quickly, reducing the opportunity to be killed with the same round. Once through the door, one officer would clear the left of the room, the other, the right. A third colleague would be ready to enter and support. Different forces did things in different ways. This was how Woods’ team did things.
With a small kitchen, a lounge and a hallway on the ground floor, the whole initial phase would be over in minutes. With the area secured, the team would move upstairs, placing themselves in a far more vulnerable position.
What they did not realise was that this particular property had a cellar.
“Stay here Dorin, I will be back in a few moments. You trust me, yes?”
He didn’t. But agreed.
Constantin made the call, tapping swiftly on his Motorola keypad until he saw that the call was connecting.
“It is me, George. I am ready. See you at the new house in fifteen minutes. I will not let you down.”
“Make sure you don’t. What about your boyfriend?”
The final word stuck firmly in Constantin’s throat. So this was what they thought of him. ‘Without me, you are nothing.’
But his mind was made up.
He removed the SIM card, carefully double-wrapped it and flushed it down the toilet. He waited long enough to ensure its complete disappearance.
He then walked onto the first floor landing and climbed up the pre-prepared step ladder, opened the heavy loft hatch and felt around for the torch. There, just by the wiring. Good.
He climbed down quickly and walked quietly down the stairs, keeping to the left to avoid the creaking wooden steps, Glock pistol glued to his right hand, ready.
He found the boy watching the back door intently. He admired his fine physique, the sculpted muscles in his back, his broadening shoulders and square-jawed persona. What he liked best was his innocence.
Such a pity.
“Dorin”, he hissed, “Come quickly. The shadow outside that door is a police officer – he is here to kill you.”
Gabor was ready to leave, he had complied with all of the instructions the night before. His clothes and modest possessions were in the luggage area of the Vauxhall. He carried no identifying documents, only an old service revolver.
“We go now, my friend, soon they will arrive and we must be one step ahead. Always.”
He kissed him on both cheeks. An unusual act in his country.
“All quiet here, boss.” It was Green, now in full tactical mode, the light-hearted banter parked up for another time.
“Yes, yes. Stand by, Hotel Nine Nine has a temporary download issue. All units stand by!”
The Eurocopter remained at hover, burning fuel, its observer calling up to the local air traffic control with their location and call sign – Police Thirteen.
Concise and clear messages bounced back and forth – given the motorway-like air traffic that passed through the area to the key London airports, it was essential.
On the ground the team was on edge, waiting. Green’s feet itched; they always did at incidents like this – he considered the feeling an indicator that he was still alive.
“No sound from inside the property skipper. Quieter than a Charlie Chaplin film. Over.”
The two Romanian men walked deftly up the stairs. Reaching the next-to-last step, Constantin stopped. Held his hand up and gestured for his partner to wait.
Gabor turned to look back down the stairs. It was the moment that Constantin Nicolescu – son of Nicolae had prayed for. He could not look into the boy’s eyes.
He brought up the Glock, stared across the open sight and gently, deliberately, expertly pulled on the trigger.
He could feel the tension subtly change. Any moment now.
He was taught not to anticipate the shot, to do so often meant missing the target and he could not leave behind a wounded man. If he could not have him, then no one could.
“Farewell my friend.”
Gabor, caught between foe and adversary, looked back up the staircase as the first round left the barrel of the Austrian-made weapon. Being sub-sonic, he actually saw it in flight, for a second at least.
The Speer Gold Dot hollow point round was travelling at over a thousand feet per second, weighing one hundred and fifteen grains, or about seven and a half grams, it struck the young male in the sternum, shattering the round and the bony structure beneath his young skin.
Nicolescu felt the iconic trigger-reset and continued to pull the trigger. Another round left the weapon and hit Gabor in almost the same location. This time burrowing through his chest and causing chaos to his internal organs as the round fractured, each piece causing permanent damage.
Gabor stared intently at his master.
‘Why?’
He tried to grip onto the stair-rail but his strength was evaporating rapidly. He dropped to his knees, trying to talk, trying to question why the man, who days before had tried to seduce him had now probably ended his life.
“Why?” Again. His voice was hoarse as he fought to swallow bitter, oxygenated blood.
It would be his last word.
The third round exited the pistol and struck him just above the left eye. He fell backwards onto the staircase and remained in an unceremonious position, spread-eagled on the steps.
Constantin’s inner-dialogue was manic. ‘Perfect – two to the body, one to the head’. He sprinted up the remaining step and onto the ladder. And found himself in the loft in seconds, pulling up the aluminium ladder behind him and discarding it into the void.
“Shots fired!” announced Gary Green rapidly but without a hint of panic.
“Shots fired!” The call was repeated over the radio.
Woods hadn’t heard the discharge but knew from the tone of his senior man’s voice that it was genuine. He now had a decision to make and one which would either maintain his career or end it. Either way, Cade was somewhat pleased he wasn’t in Woods’ boots.
“We going in Mac?” asked an excited Roberts.
“No, not yet.”
Woods was speed-dialling his commander, whilst asking for a sit-rep from the ground and in the air.
Normally, as bronze commander on the ground, he would make the call to enter, but the intelligence had indicated the possible presence of improvised explosives. He was damned if he did…
“Guv, shots fired at the address, no new intel to support or negate the explosives. Can I go in?
His boss, a man with far less service, and a greater lack of humour paused and fumbled around behind his secure and well-ordered desk, clearly unable to make a decision. He was one of those that had been dressed for export – and subsequently ended up being Woods’ boss.
“Leave it a minute then gas them Mac. Get back to me, I’ll flag this with the Chief.”
“Yes, yes, will do,” was all Woods could offer as he disconnected.
“Skipper?”
“Go ahead Gary.”
> “We need to get in there now.”
Woods knew this, but his hands were tied.
A minute passed. Woods could hear the second hand transitioning on his Casio G-Shock.
“Skipper?”
“Fuck’s sake Gary – you’ll be the death of me.”
Woods threw his treasured cigarette to one side before keying the microphone.
“All units: strike, strike, strike!”
Constantin checked the simple timer that was strapped to the loft door. Thirty minutes should do. It was a basic device and one which he was not particularly proud of, but it would do. If nothing else, it would slow those pigs down.
He took one last look at the boy, then closed the hatch behind him and scurried along the roof void as fast as the structure would allow.
A peculiarity of some less-than-cared-for terraced homes in Britain was that the roof space was still shared, a cost-saving measure when neighbours were more trustworthy.
A row of the properties had been left with only partially bricked up gables and once he had discovered them he knew they would enable him to move quickly through the roof, traversing from house to house, undetected.
He paused, surprised at the heat that had been retained in the sagging roof, mopped his brow, thought of Gabor’s expression, pitied him, then moved on.
There was no time to dwell on the past.
He was now eight houses away from the target address. His luck had perhaps run out? He opened a loft hatch and dropped precariously onto the landing. The occupants were not upstairs.
He could instantly smell a pungent aroma of ethnic food and felt intensely hungry.
‘Push on Constantin, you must push on. You can eat if you live.’
He ran down the stairs to see a middle-aged Indian female, dressed in the black costume of her Muslim faith. She was as shocked as the male.
She saw the pistol in his right hand and began to sob, saying something repeatedly that he did not understand. But this was England, so she must understand the mother language, surely?
Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2) Page 18