Mad Dogs

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘The fee is five pounds plus two per cent,’ Praful explained, as he carefully tore the bottom sheet off the form. ‘Your wife must give the password to collect the money at the other end.’

  The men looked thuggish, and with their wages piled up on the desk, Junior reckoned it best to let them go before pulling the gun. Waiting was tricky because there was always a chance someone else might walk in, but he felt that his only option was to head for the rack of brochures and pretend to browse.

  It felt longer, but within two minutes the men were on their way out of the door, moving briskly to their cash-in-hand labouring jobs at a hotel under construction behind the department store.

  ‘Can I help you, young man?’ Praful said, acutely aware that people Junior’s age don’t have much call for travel agents.

  ‘Open the safe,’ Junior ordered, backing up to the door and sliding the latch across as he whipped out the gun.

  Praful raised his hands warily. ‘I don’t keep large sums here,’ he warned. ‘I’ve been robbed too often.’

  Junior unzipped his school bag and dumped it on the floor. ‘I didn’t ask for your bloody life story,’ he snarled, as he swept the cash on the desk into his bag. ‘Open the safe and give me what you’ve got.’

  The elderly man had back trouble and groaned as he went down on one knee to put the key into the door of the safe. Junior was disappointed as it swung open: there was a whole bunch of aeroplane tickets in envelopes and the cash drawer from a till containing about £100 in British currency and small bundles of euros, US dollars and rupees.

  Junior had been expecting more. ‘Where do you keep the rest?’ he asked bitterly.

  ‘There is no rest,’ Praful said, as he picked out the money and placed it in the bag.

  ‘Bullcrap. I’ve seen people come in here and change five hundred pounds at a time.’

  ‘Two-hour service,’ Praful said, pointing at a sign on the wall that said: For security reasons, we now require two hours’ notice for all currency exchanges of more than £150. Please call ahead!

  ‘Give me a bloody break,’ Junior moaned. ‘Where’s the rest of the money?’

  ‘Off premises,’ Praful said. ‘This is the third robbery. The last two times I lost many thousands of pounds. Now I can’t get insurance.’

  Junior tried to figure how the system might work. The money was probably stored at Praful’s home, or perhaps the safe was a red herring and the money was stored elsewhere on the premises.

  Junior reckoned there might be a way of getting it, but he’d heard Wheels and the Mad Dogs say that hanging around a crime scene was the most dangerous thing you could do. And maybe he hadn’t made the thousands of pounds he’d hoped for, but he reckoned that the bundles of foreign currency would be into four figures when he exchanged them, which was enough to make the next couple of months bearable.

  Junior grabbed his school bag off the carpet tiles and pushed the gun back inside his tracksuit as he stepped out of the door. He was appalled to see a silver BMW police cruiser parked directly across the narrow street, with two cops inside munching on breakfast bagels.

  Junior choked as he heard Praful locking the shop door to stop him going back inside. As he began to walk, an alarm went off inside Indian Sun. He sped up, hoping that the cops wouldn’t link him to the bell, but the cop on the driver’s side yelled out and he started to run.

  It was only a hundred metres to the pedestrianised high street, but the removable bollard that gave access to delivery vans was down and the cruiser went after him. Junior ran flat out past a couple of shops, looking for an alleyway, as a PA announcement ripped out of the tannoy on top of the car.

  ‘Stop running and raise your hands. Repeat, stop running and raise your hands.’

  Junior couldn’t see the cops backing off unless he aimed the gun at them. He noticed a small seating area up ahead and sent a crowd of pigeons fluttering as he charged between two rows of benches, then ducked behind a tall concrete planter.

  ‘Back off,’ he shouted, waving the gun in the air as a police motorcycle rolled out of a side street behind him and one of the officers stepped out of the car.

  ‘Put the gun down, son,’ the cop said. ‘You’ll only make things worse for yourself.’

  As Junior pointed the gun at the cop, the motorbike growled towards him.

  ‘Stay back,’ Junior shouted.

  He thought about shooting the motorcyclist and running on, but got distracted by another cruiser pulling into the street behind the first. It came up on the opposite side of the benches at speed and braked to a halt less than thirty metres away.

  Two cops jumped out of the back and took cover. Both men wore armoured helmets and flak jackets.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ the driver of the armed response unit shouted over his tannoy, as he cruised forward at walking pace with the two armed officers creeping behind the vehicle.

  Junior shook as the gun wavered hopelessly above his head. He had enough sense to know he wasn’t going to outrun two cars and a motorbike. He considered taking a shot, but couldn’t help thinking that the police marksmen were more likely to shoot him than he was to shoot them with his converted piece of junk.

  That left two options: put the gun down and get busted or turn the gun on himself. And suicide seemed fleetingly attractive as he imagined his mum’s reaction to him getting busted again and the way Sasha’s crew would piss themselves laughing when they found out he’d been caught. Maybe the reason they’d all treated him like a baby was because that’s exactly what he was …

  ‘Put it down son,’ the cop who’d stepped out of the first car said. ‘You’re not old enough to die.’

  And maybe it was just a line he’d been taught at police training college, but something in the voice was sincere enough to calm Junior down. He lowered his arm before throwing the gun into the bushes and standing up slowly with his hands above his head.

  ‘Come on then, you slags,’ Junior said, as he fought off tears. ‘Put me back where I belong.’

  42. RUSH

  Chief Inspector Mark Rush was in charge of the anti-gang taskforce. He was the only officer within the Bedfordshire force who knew about the CHERUB operation and had met regularly with Chloe and Maureen since the mission began four months earlier. He’d watched the CHERUB agents on surveillance operations and been involved in Michael’s arrest and questioning after the death of Owen Campbell-Moore, but he’d never spoken to any of the teenagers directly.

  Now that the mission was coming to its close, Inspector Rush asked to meet the agents – including Gabrielle – so that he could say thanks and brief them on the final take-down. Chloe agreed, but to minimise the chances of everyone being seen together, she set up the meeting in the private function room of an Italian restaurant on the outskirts of London, half an hour from Luton.

  Five days had passed since Junior got busted and James was still beating himself up about it. He was also missing Dana and weighed down with guilt about sleeping with Lois. His worst moment had been in Sasha’s basement the evening after Junior got nabbed, with the entire Mad Dogs crew re-enacting Junior’s I’m not a baby speech and laughing about his rotten luck. Still, the plush restaurant cheered James up and the chubby Chief Inspector arrived bearing gifts.

  ‘Haven’t got kids,’ he explained, as he pulled four envelopes out of his bomber jacket. ‘I’ve got no idea what you’d like so I copped out and got gift vouchers. You can get games, books or whatever.’

  James smiled as he opened his envelope and joined in the round of thanks as the inspector sat down and opened a menu.

  ‘Did you get here all right?’ Chloe asked.

  ‘No probs,’ the inspector said. He looked at Gabrielle. ‘How are you feeling now? I lost a couple of nights’ sleep over you.’

  ‘Not bad,’ Gabrielle smiled. ‘I had a hospital appointment yesterday. The doctor seemed happy with the way everything’s healing. I’ve been doing some brisk walking on campus to help get my strength back
, but I still get sore if I try anything too vigorous.’

  ‘Have you got any good scars?’ Bruce asked.

  ‘More than you,’ Gabrielle shot back. ‘I’m visiting a cosmetic surgeon who’s gonna see if there’s anything they can do to cover the scars. Like, skin grafts or something.’

  ‘I reckon they should leave them alone,’ Michael said, as he smiled at his girlfriend. ‘They’re part of you now.’

  ‘Give us a look then,’ Bruce said.

  Gabrielle stood and gathered up her waist-hugging T-shirt, revealing the three pink scars across her belly, each one crisscrossed with faint stitch marks. Then she twirled to show the puncture mark in her back.

  ‘I thought you only got stabbed twice,’ James said, confused.

  ‘They had to make extra incisions when they tied all of her tubes back together,’ Michael said. He took Gabrielle’s hand and kissed her neck as she sat down. ‘You’re the most beautiful girl in the world,’ he said softly.

  ‘I’ve got a massive scar on my leg,’ Bruce said, as he started pulling up the leg of his tracksuit bottoms.

  ‘Put it away,’ Chloe said firmly. ‘We’re here for a relaxing meal and a briefing on tomorrow’s operation. I don’t want to see any more scars.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Inspector Rush grinned. ‘ ’Cos the only one I’ve got is on my bum.’

  The inspector was trying too hard to ingratiate himself with the kids and his joke went flat, but the waitress came in to break the awkward silence. James eyed her tight black trousers as she took orders and gathered up menus.

  ‘So, Inspector,’ Chloe said as the waitress stepped out, ‘perhaps you can give us a run-down on what’s happening tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m in my civvies so call me Mark,’ the inspector asked. ‘In essence, the plan is straightforward. Simeon Bentine has revealed that Major Dee gets a regular shipment of cocaine hidden inside drums of cooking oil that are shipped from the USA by container.’

  ‘I thought Dee’s contacts were in Jamaica,’ James said.

  ‘They are,’ Chloe explained. ‘We’re not sure exactly how the smuggling operation works. But customs are hot on shipments from the Caribbean, whereas canned goods from the USA are much less likely to be searched. The cocaine is probably brought on board the container ship in a small boat mid-Atlantic. Then they throw the real drums of cooking oil over the side and replace them with drums partially filled with cocaine.’

  ‘From a technical point of view it’s pretty clever,’ Maureen added. ‘The tins are airtight so there’s no way anything can be picked up by sniffer dogs or electronic systems. A container filled with metal cans is also very difficult to image electronically and the only way for customs to inspect what’s inside a drum is to break the seal, which will spoil the produce.’

  ‘It’s the kind of racket that you’ll only ever stop by getting inside information,’ the inspector said. ‘So even if we fail to nab our major suspects tomorrow, we’ll still seriously degrade their ability to bring cocaine into this country.

  ‘Officers from the Leicestershire force have already installed surveillance equipment in the warehouse where the deal is going down. But they had to tread carefully because Sasha Thompson and his boys have also been staking the joint out.’

  ‘That’s good though,’ Michael said. ‘It means they’re definitely planning to show.’

  The inspector continued. ‘All being well, Simeon reckons the container will land at Dover around midnight tonight. It’ll be picked up on a truck and driven to the warehouse, for a meeting between the smugglers and Major Dee’s crew. The container ports get congested, so they could arrive at the warehouse any time between nine and eleven tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Are the smugglers Slasher Boys?’ James asked.

  ‘They’re not part of Major Dee’s crew, but they have links with his associates in Jamaica.’

  ‘Simeon says it’s cash on delivery,’ Maureen noted, ‘so they’re certainly not that close.’

  ‘Once the container’s delivered, it will take ten to fifteen minutes to unload the drums containing the drugs,’ the inspector said. ‘The drums that are removed will be replaced with real drums of cooking oil and the truck driver will take the container on to its destination.’

  ‘And that’s when Sasha Thompson makes his move,’ Bruce said.

  ‘Exactly,’ the inspector nodded. ‘Sasha doesn’t have the time or manpower to go through the whole container trying to find the drugs; but he’s going to want to get his hands on the drugs and the money. That means the Mad Dogs have to make their move in the short window after the drugs have been separated from the container cargo, but before the smugglers drive off with their money.

  ‘But of course, as Simeon has also tipped Major Dee off about the robbery, this is going to be the point where all hell breaks loose. We’re talking about two highly armed gangs going into an all-out battle. I’m guessing a dozen men on the Mad Dogs’ side – all with guns – and probably double that number of Slasher Boys.’

  ‘Total carnage,’ Bruce gloated, clearly relishing the prospect.

  But Chloe wasn’t smiling. ‘I don’t like that attitude, Bruce. More than twenty people have died; Gabrielle was almost one of them. You four have got to make sure you’re not inside that warehouse when the shooting starts.’

  ‘We’re going to have sixty-two firearms officers on the scene including several we’ve seconded from London,’ the inspector said. ‘But it’s too risky to send officers into the warehouse against more than thirty criminals armed with automatic and semi-automatic weapons. If we can safely make arrests at the scene we will, but we don’t want to end up with a siege on our hands, so we’ll be using a soft cordon.

  ‘Some suspects will get out of the warehouse and be tracked by helicopter surveillance and vehicle pursuit teams. We have addresses for most gang members and we’ll be swooping on any that make it home. Our target is to arrest every Mad Dog and Slasher Boy that comes within a kilometre of that warehouse, without any officers getting hurt.

  ‘We’ve set up two special operations rooms to charge and question members from both gangs. I’ve also got two major-crime-scene forensic units from the smoke who are going to seal the area tight and pick up every footprint, fingerprint and DNA speck in and around that warehouse. I want Major Dee and Sasha Thompson behind bars and their respective gangs completely crushed.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Gabrielle smiled.

  ‘So where do we fit in?’ James asked.

  ‘Information,’ Inspector Rush said. ‘We obviously don’t want you getting hurt, but you three boys are the only reliable people we have inside the gangs.’

  ‘If we’re inside,’ Bruce said. ‘Sasha’s hardly spoken to me and James in the last week. I’ve asked if he’s going to put more work our way and he keeps brushing us off.’

  ‘He’s probably been busy organising the robbery,’ Chloe said. ‘The Mad Dogs are a small crew; I don’t see how they can ignore you two after you did so well with the hard front.’

  ‘I’m definitely OK,’ Michael said. ‘Major Dee’s already told me we’re going out to nail Sasha tomorrow. He wants me on the roof of the warehouse keeping look-out. I can either hunker down, or sneak off before it turns nasty.’

  ‘Make sure you do,’ Maureen said.

  ‘Assuming that we do get invited to the party, what kind of information are you looking for?’ James asked.

  ‘I need you boys to tell me how many people Sasha’s bringing, how many cars, what weapons they’re using. The Mad Dogs usually communicate with walkie-talkies. If you can tell us what frequency they’re transmitting on, we can earwig everything they do and record it to use as evidence.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ James said.

  ‘But it won’t be easy,’ Bruce added. ‘I mean, we might be able to send a few sneaky text messages or a quick call from a bathroom, but we can’t be having ten-minute phone conversations about everything that’s going on.’

&n
bsp; ‘Dialling and connection makes phones slow,’ Chloe said. ‘I’ve got some miniature transceivers coming down from campus. They’re disguised as sticking plasters. They’re voice-activated, so you just stick one on your wrist and it picks up your voice if you push down and speak within ten centimetres of the pad. They’re low power, so the signal range is only about a kilometre, but Maureen and I will be close to the warehouse.’

  ‘It’ll look dodgy if me and James have both suddenly got plasters though,’ Bruce noted.

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I’ve used them on another mission. You can stick them on clothes, like inside your lapel or the cuff of a shirt. Only thing is, they’re much stickier than real plasters so don’t put them anywhere hairy or you’ll know all about it when you rip them off.’

  *

  Wheels called James up as Chloe drove them back from the restaurant.

  ‘Where are you?’ Wheels asked.

  ‘London,’ James lied, giving the first excuse for being out of town that came into his head and then scrambling to justify it. ‘Me and Bruce got fed up hanging around the Zoo and decided to splash some of the cash we made in the West End.’

  ‘Shit,’ Wheels said. ‘Can you get back here? Sasha’s got some business for you tomorrow.’

  ‘Excellent,’ James said. ‘What are we talking about?’

  ‘He’s keeping it close,’ Wheels said. ‘But he’s been working his guts out. He’s got Savvas working on three vans and he’s called in the Kruger brothers. You wouldn’t know them because they’re semi-retired, but they’ve just flown in which can only mean something massive is going down.’

  ‘Any idea how much we’re talking about?’

  ‘Five grand apiece for you and Bruce, more if it goes well. But we need you back here ASAP. Sasha wants you both to have passport photos taken.’

  ‘What for?’