Chapter Forty-Nine
Susan ‘Red’ Reddington knew today would be a great day to wear underwear to work. She’d made the mistake of not doing so once before when a spontaneous training exercise had occurred. Her boss, back then, a happily married man said he could never look at her the same again.
How she felt in the morning dictated how she dressed. Call it risk taking. In every other facet of her life risk was assessed and then again, so why not flaunt things a little, when the risk of being caught was slim?
Today she wore green. Her lucky colour. Hand-picked by her…what was she exactly? Her plaything? Her colleague that had got a little too close for comfort? She shook her head, cleared it quickly as she laid face down on the cold concrete floor, beneath the Guinean consulate buildings. She also had her favourite pencil skirt and jacket on. Cut so she could move, but still look elegant and business-like.
“I will ask you again madam and then I won’t ask quite so nicely.”
The Magnum boot was across her neck keeping her head facing away from another operator whose skilled pair of hands speed-cuffed her to the rear.
Another boot held her crossed ankles firmly to the ground. She was going nowhere. The man in charge spoke again.
“Last chance darlin’. Your choice. Nice way or the nasty way.”
“My name is Captain Susan Reddington, British Army. Ring Whitehall to confirm.”
And I’m Elvis Presley love.” He used his own cold boot to part her legs. “Just checking for concealed weapons, you can’t be too careful these days. And if you are a captain in the army, then I’m Elvis Presley, love.”
“Thank you very much. Shouldn’t you get a female to search me? Not that I’m shy.”
She was hoping the conversation was allowing Kate time to escape. Red had a feeling about this police team and it wasn’t one that filled her with confidence.
“Turn her over.”
She was now on her back, awkwardly trying to shift her body weight to allow for the rigid handcuffs. She stared up at the lights and the plain concrete ceiling, saw the ducted pipes and cables, noted every detail. It was how she operated. Then she scanned the faces of the three men.
What she saw looking back down at her were three sets of eyes and tight-lipped mouths, shielded beneath black flame-retardant balaclavas. The leader’s eyes were as cold as the concrete she was lying on.
“I choose not to believe you. I want to know why you are here and I want to know right now.”
“I told you who I am. I have rights. Make the call. I’m here on official military business. You need to identify yourself.”
He tutted, shook his head and shuffled in his cargo pockets for his phone. “I need to do nothing love. Search her and be as thorough as you like.”
Outside, McGee was getting impatient. No calls. No radio signals. No sound of gunfire. It was either going well or all hell had broken loose and she’d blinked and missed it. Then she got a call.
“Skipper, sincere apologies, Daz McNulty from CO19, we’ve been stuck in traffic. Absolute bedlam. We are ten minutes out.” Well-spoken, polite and professional.
“Wait! Say again.”
“We are ten out boss. Been delayed. Some bloody march against something, took us all round the houses. You OK?”
“Oh God, no. Get here as fast as you can Daz. And get back up. We’ve got a rogue team in the embassy building.”
The middle-aged operator slid his boot up Reddington’s calf, lifting the hem of her dress which slid further up her thigh.
“You cannot do this. I demand…”
A black leather-clad hand arrived across her mouth.
“You, lady demand nothing off of me. I’ve not heard a word from my boss and we had an understanding, if he drops off the radar, we initiate the next phase. Looks like you just got in the way.”
The middle-aged man in black lifted the dress up to reveal her underwear.
“Nice. What do you think boys, reckon she’d be game?”
The other men in black nodded.
“Green, like her eyes boss. Good-looking bird, what do you reckon, late thirties? Still fit. How long have we got?”
The sergeant knelt down, put the barrel of his firearm onto her stomach and slowly slid it downwards pulling the green lace with it as the males around him began to egg him on.
“I reckon her eyes are more blue. Nice hair. I like blondes. Reckon she’s natural? Talking of blondes. I would give anything for a night with the governor’s new girlfriend. What’s her name? Katie? She’d bang like a shithouse door in a force ten that one.”
The team leader slid the muzzle of the pistol a little further revealing more blonde hair.
Red looked around the car park, checked for reflections, for the merest hint of another human, then straight into the sergeant’s eyes.
“Go on. I dare you.”
McGee rang Roberts.
“Boss. We’ve got a…I’m sorry. I have no idea how…”
“Slow down. We’re heading south east, we’ve got a lead on Doto. Looks like she leapt out of the second-story window at the back of the building you are at, silly cow. Now, what’s troubling you.” He knew it was McGee’s first major op since the one that arguably ruined her life.
“The armed team that entered the consular building is not ours. I repeat is not ours.”
“What? Then who are they?” He looked at Cade and made a half-worried, half-despairing face.
“Boss I’ve got no idea but my team are inbound. Once they are here, do we have the green light to go in.”
“No. Hold off. Get some more troops there. I cannot afford a blue on blue. Not in broad daylight.”
“Roger. Jason, I’m sorry but they all look the same.”
“I hear you. And Bridie you can’t say that sort of thing anymore, not in the modern man’s police force.”
“You can’t say modern man’s either.”
She had a point.
“You’ve got this Bridie. I trust you with my life. Hold off and let’s sort this with patience and wisdom.”
He heard the shots down the phone.
“Bridie you OK?”
“Yep. The hell breaking loose you were worried about might have just happened.”
“Get in there ASAP Bridie. At the very least I need eyes on. I’ll call it in.”
He called the control room who had already started taking calls from concerned members of the public. London had been on a razor-edge for at least nine years since the tube and bus bombings of July 2007.
‘We are on our way, sir. Thank you for the call.’
Roberts looked at Cade. “This operating just off the radar is all well and good but I miss the old days Jack – when a cop would call for assistance and the whole world would descend on them. They were great days.”
“They were. Blame budget cuts I guess. These days getting anyone to attend an assistance call would be considered a bonus. You still keen to pursue Doto, given what is happening back there?”
“I can’t be in two places at once mate. I need to let the troops fight fires and consider the bigger picture.”
“Which is?”
“I’ve got the canvas, got the brushes, got the scene. But honestly, I have no bloody idea what the final picture is supposed to look like.”
The forty-four-year-old Metropolitan Police sergeant had always been one of those who lived life to the full. Worked hard. Played harder. Married, twice, divorced once, and fed up with his current wife who had quickly become tedious. He had two girlfriends; one a nurse, one a young police employee and a gambling habit that bordered on dangerous. Up to his nuts in debt, he needed money.
His team were all in the same boat. Three constables, all of whom had followed the boss’s lead. Work hard, play much, much harder. Women were their playthings; money came from wherever it could and they liked to spend it unwisely.
If it was good enough for Steve Hancock, it was good enough for the team.
Helmets now
off, the men were in the mood for some fun.
“Pull ‘em down. Go on!”
The eyes beneath the balaclava were gleeful for a wanton, almost exquisite moment. Then a second later they were vacant.
She’d stepped gently on the concrete until she could see and hear it all. She despised them. She knew them. She had drunk shorts and shots with them at the Old Shades. She’d laughed at their jokes, played pool, potting the eight ball, bending over the table, just so.
‘Nice arse love!’ They had jeered until their boss gave them a look that said, ‘out of bounds’.
She’d slept with Hancock plenty of times and no doubt he’d shown them a few images of her from his phone. A good-looking girl was Kate Briton. And there she was, as loyal as ever, leaning across the back end of an immaculately polished car, training her weapon on the blonde that was spread-eagled on the frigid floor.
Good girl. One of the team. Sweaty Hancock would be so proud.
“Nice work Katie love.” One of the pyjama boys said.
“If you can get it,” she whispered back.
At about twenty feet she couldn’t miss. The first round left the Glock at one thousand, two hundred and thirty feet per second. At that speed it wasn’t worth calculating how long it took. The fact was, it hit him in the neck. She enjoyed that shot. He’d know all about it as he writhed around on the floor with his trousers at half-mast, blood pumping everywhere, his right hand clasped to his neck in unbridled panic.
He could hear his heart beating now, but didn’t hear the next shot, or the next or the last two.
With their weapons either on the floor or safely stowed, they were sitting ducks, and she was on the fairground range picking them off and looking forward to selecting a worthy prize.
Bang, reset. Bang, reset. Smooth Katie. Smooth. Take a second, re-evaluate, fire. Reset and again. All four down, two still alive. Dead men tell no tales. Wasn’t that what the pirate character had said once on the ride at Disney with mummy and daddy?
She stepped quickly from her place of cover, content that there were no more threats. She pulled the rigid handcuffs from the sergeant’s body armour and slammed them onto his wrists, then reached into the right-sided pocket on his black body armour, hoping he’d copied Hancock. There it was, the long-handled, black-bodied cuff key.
God love the creatures of habit.
She quickly opened Red’s cuffs, unravelled her wrists then placed them on the constable who was rolling around with a savage wound to the leg. His two best mates were dead.
“You won’t get away with this love. Trust me. We will make excellent witnesses.”
She stared down at him. “You make a very valid point Kev.”
Red was now up and stretching her limbs. She didn’t mind a scarf, or a satin tie, but true custody was a place she had never enjoyed being. She smiled at her daughter. She had done well. Perhaps there was still time to salvage the family name?
“Mum. You heard what the man said about witnesses. After you.”
“Thank you.” She took her turn to kneel down now, straight onto the chest of the ailing sergeant. She ran her fingers across his face.
“Shame. I was looking forward to exploiting the four of you. Like you, my daughter has a habit of arriving too early. Now, where is Doto?”
The sergeant stared back. As blank as a man who had just been given moments to live.
Red persisted. “I can save you and I’ll ask once more. Nice way or the nasty way…”
She ran the muzzle of the Austrian pistol across his thighs this time. Slowly, provocatively until she got a reaction. Life in the old dog yet.
“Where is Doto?”
“Tell me where Steve Hancock is and I might tell you.”
“Hancock is dead,” said Briton. I drilled a round or two into him. Just like he taught me. Bang, bang. Lovely grouping.
“You fucking whore. When this is all over, I will personally ensure…” He was struggling now, but still alive, the wound was dangerous but as yet not immediately life threatening.
Red pushed the weapon into his groin as he tried to summon up the energy to resist.
“I wish to know the answer to three questions. And believe me when I say I will get the response I need. I’ve interrogated people far worse than you and your pack of half-breed dogs.”
“Tell her nothing boss.” The surviving boss sneered across at them.
“Kate would you be so kind?” asked Red.
Briton lined up and kicked him squarely in the face. A similarly placed rugby kick would have earned a few valuable points. It stopped him talking for a while at least.
“Right, I have your attention,” said Red, smiling. “Two dizzy blondes and a hostage. Problem is…bloody hell, how rude. I don’t know your name.”
“Richard Crowbridge,” said Briton. “Crowbridge by name…”
He nodded. He was past caring and feeling vulnerable. He wanted to live.
“Dick by nature. Yep, kind of fits really.” Red slapped him a few times on the cheek to keep him awake. He was losing a lot of blood now.
“Right. Question time. And for these you can phone a friend, ask the host or the audience. Question One. What was Hancock’s connection with Doto Adesida?”
“It was business. She is corrupt. She wants to get her hands on a stash of diamonds that were hidden by some old navy bloke. Years ago.”
“Thank you. Good answer.” He relaxed a little.
“Question Two. Where is the old navy bloke right now?”
“Last I heard, we lost him. Why, what’s it to you?”
“Oh, I see, you are asking the questions now. Not how this game works.” She fired a round into his lower leg, missing the bone, deliberately.
McGee was outside the building wondering where the hell her back up was when she heard the scream.
She had got to a place of safety where she could see into the car park via the reflection from a gleaming black Mercedes Benz.
She spoke quietly into her phone.
“Four subjects down. Two still alive. Two females.” She paused and found herself asking what in the hell was going on.
“Two females alive. No further at this time.”
O’Shea wrote it all down, and with Francis, tried to plot what was going on onto a nearby whiteboard with its ghosts of operations past. The rest of the team had left the office and were fast tracking across the city. This was not how it was planned.
Bridie sent a text to Cade outlining the same detail.
‘Wait or go in? I’m unarmed.’
Unarmed, Jesus girl what are you thinking. It’s like a gun shop in there.
‘There’s your answer B.’ She said as she saw herself looking back in the tinted glass.
“Question Three.” Red continued holding Crowbridge’s face to keep his attention.
“Where are the girls?”
“What girls?”
“The girls. The ones that your team have been trying to round up on your days off. Like the one you bundled into a van recently. Speak…the clock is ticking and it’s already an hour fast.”
“Love I have no idea. Believe me.”
She fired the next round into his thigh. Choosing the fleshy part on the outside of his leg. It would do some damage that a physio might fix but it wouldn’t kill him.
“Don’t ever call me love again.”
The constable was awake again.
“Nothing skipper. Tell these bitches nothing. We’ve got this. Between us and the Mamba, we’ve got this brother.”
Crowbridge stared at him, shook his head subtly. ‘Shut it. Or else.’
Red turned to Briton.
“You know he is really getting on my nerves now. Time is against us. Soon the real police will get here and we’ll have some explaining to do. Now, in order to let you live Sergeant Dick – it’s OK if I call you Sergeant Dick isn’t it babe?” She didn’t need an answer. “I need you to do something for me. You know, to make up for what you were thinking
of doing to me earlier. You game? Up for it?”
“Anything lady…anything.” He was fading now.
“Kate. Give him your pistol.”
“Mum is that wise?”
“Very. Now Dick, here’s what you do. You carefully shuffle over to Constable Gobby and when I say now you shoot him. Got it?”
“I’m not doing that. You’ll have to shoot me fi…”
He stopped. What was he thinking? She’d already shot him twice.
He took the weapon whilst Red held hers expertly against what was left of his neck.
“I need it to look good mind you. Now shoot him.”
Gobby was forcing himself up onto his knee which kept buckling.
“No Dick. Please. I’ve got Angela at home. Please!”
“Dick? Do I need to ask again?”
“Sorry pal.” In an every man for himself moment, he squeezed the trigger and shot his colleague in the head. There was no need for a second shot. He owed him accuracy if nothing else. Instant loyalty.
“There. We done now princess?” He dropped the gun to the floor.
McGee was pressed hard up against the edge of the window.
‘Damned if you do, damned if you don’t B.’ She listened for sirens. There they were. A mile away at most. Time to work out how to get in. The door that had had its locks blown off seemed a fine place to start.
“It’s Captain, my love. Captain. As in captive with a ‘tain’ on the end. And this is for the girls.” She pushed the weapon into his groin again and began to squeeze, allowing the three passive safety features on the Glock to work in harmony, rendering the gun anything but safe, she squeezed just a little more, waiting for the beautifully engineered trigger system to release the round.
His own passive safety system deployed. He started talking. Quickly.
“The girls are kept at old RAF bases around England. The numbers on the backs of twelve of them equate to a grid reference on a map. We found a couple. There are twelve numbers. Hundreds of girls. Loads of diamonds, conflict ones, and cash and gold probably. The girls were bringing in the diamonds stitched up inside them. I didn’t agree with all of it but orders are orders, Captain. You of all people know that.”
The Angel of Whitehall Page 46