48 Hours - A City of London Thriller (3 page)

The Inspector was interrupted by three short beeps from my
BlackBerry. “Perhaps you’d better take a look at that, given the
circumstances,” he suggested.

I took out the phone and glanced at the message. I felt my
heart rate increase as I recognised the source. I looked up at the
Inspector before saying, “It’s from him.” I read the message out
loud. It didn’t make any sense to me, but I felt more afraid than I
wanted to be.

“
What the hell does that mean? Don’t wear your favourite
suit!” I bellowed in the direction of the policeman.

“
Josh – er, may I call you Josh?” I nodded. “Whilst you work
in the City, you live in Greenwich, and there is very little chance
of me persuading the Metropolitan Police to arrange twenty four
hour protection for you on the basis of these threats today. We
simply don’t have the manpower, for a start. So, let’s stick to the
plan for now. Go home and make your statement, being as thorough as
you can. Come here first thing tomorrow morning and we’ll see what
we can do. The tech guy you’ll see tomorrow is an outsourced
sub-contractor and not a police officer, but he is excellent at his
job and he will be able to help. Until then, I believe you’ve been
told that you will be accompanied by a private close protection
operative, is that correct?”

I answered in the affirmative.

“
Good. Look, Josh, I’m sure that this is nothing to worry
about. It’s probably just an unbalanced individual who has neither
the capacity nor the will to hurt you. Try not to worry
unnecessarily, and tomorrow maybe we’ll be able to track him down
and lock him up, if we have to.”

I couldn’t help thinking that Bob knew exactly what he was
doing when he allowed only forty eight hours for the whole process.
His forecast about my experience with the police was right on the
money. How much else was he right about?

I shook hands with the Inspector, who placed his hand on my
shoulder, smiled and told me again not to worry.

I was signing out of the building by writing my name again in
the visitors’ book when an attractive young woman in a tailored
grey business suit approached the desk. The jacket was short and
fitted at the waist, and sat above a skirt which was short enough
to be interesting, yet long enough to be modest. She had shapely
legs and wore low heeled shoes, which made her just a little
shorter than me. I guessed her height at around five feet eight,
give or take an inch. Under the jacket she wore a plain white
blouse, buttoned just low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage.
There was a fine gold chain around her neck, with some kind of
stone set in the pendant. When my gaze eventually moved upwards to
her face, I saw an auburn shoulder length bob framing high
cheekbones. She appeared to wear very little make up, and it was my
opinion that she didn’t need it, anyway. She had a friendly smile
and incredible hazel eyes, and she was looking directly at
me.

“
Josh Hammond?” she enquired in a crisp Home Counties
accent.

“
I am indeed,” I smiled as I shook her outstretched
hand.

“
I’m Dee Conrad of Vastrick Security,” the young woman
responded, “and I am your bodyguard.”

Chapter 5

Greenwich, London: Wednesday, 4:30pm.

Bob had never been to Greenwich before and he made a mental
note to come back in the future when he had some leisure time, to
visit the sights. The place seemed to be awash with maritime
heritage and references, as well as being the base for the meridian
upon which all world time was measured.

Bob walked up Langdale Road and away from the Underground
station. He was heading south. He walked long the Greenwich High
Road, occasionally stopping to browse in shop windows. He passed
the Greenwich Playhouse and the Pitstop Clinic, bluntly described
as a clinic for men who have sex with men. Bob crossed the busy
road and headed up Egerton Drive past the Molton Brown Emporium,
and as he did so he reflected on the numerous times he had stayed
in hotels around the world and used bathrooms furnished with Molton
Brown toiletries.

Shortly after the turn off for Ashburnham Grove Bob turned
into a small mews development, built in the late eighteenth century
when the sea was still king in London. The mews was typical of its
type. The buildings were in terraces accessible directly from the
pavement, and all were three storeys high with an additional
basement or garden flat below. Between each pair of houses was a
small alleyway, with a wrought iron gate which led into the rear
gardens.

Bob opened the gate between an occupied house and a house
being refurbished. He walked between the buildings and checked that
the rear access was just as he had remembered. It was. When Bob had
first scoped out the ideal position for his venture this location
had proved to be ideal. The occupied house was not usually
populated until after 6pm most days, when a woman and several
children returned home in a Lexus SUV. Around one hour later the
husband and father arrived on foot.

Bob took up position in the alleyway and opened his attaché
case. Where he stood he would only be visible to a person in direct
line with the alleyway, and as the street was deserted he felt
quite secure where he was. While he waited for his target, he
assembled the odd looking rifle and loaded it with ammunition. Once
satisfied that he was ready, Bob leaned against the wall and
enjoyed the late afternoon sun.

***

I am always at my desk by seven in the morning, and often much
earlier. It is the only way to beat the rush hour these days. In
the years I have been commuting from Greenwich, the rush hour has
moved further forward and now I need to leave the house at around
six fifteen if I want a journey time of forty five minutes or less.
Still, it has the theoretical advantage of allowing me to leave the
office at four in the afternoon, missing the worst of the commuter
traffic on the way home. It also means that I miss the London Tube
weirdos. It seems that six in the morning is too early for the
crazies, who are presumably resting up and preparing for a day of
tormenting fellow passengers, most of whom just want to get to work
without speaking to anyone or making eye contact.

Normally my busy work life means that, on work nights, I drop
in at home, get changed, and arrive at the gym, swimming pool or
the squash centre by five thirty. As I grow older I have discovered
that I have to be in bed by eleven if I want to have any chance of
making the early Tube, and so my midweek socialising is strictly
limited.

As the Tube train rattled into the Greenwich station, Dee, my
new close Protection Officer (bodyguard), set out the plan for our
return to my house.

“
Josh, just take your normal route back, walking at a steady
pace, and I’ll hurry ahead, taking a short cut through Ashburnham
Place. I should get to Ashburnham Mews before you. I’ll leave the
front door on the latch, and then I’ll go up to the first floor and
check out your flat before you get there. We can’t be too
careful.”

I couldn’t help smiling as I agreed to the cloak and dagger
scheme that seemed to me to be both overly complex and
melodramatic. Nonetheless, Ms Conrad did have a point. If she went
on ahead, anyone watching the house would think she was another
tenant and would be unaware that I was being guarded.

***

Bob heard the ‘clack clack’ of a woman’s heels coming along
the street at a brisk pace; he opened the gate and pantomimed the
checking of the lower hinge. His face was obscured by his bent back
as Dee passed by. As soon as she had passed him, Bob stepped back
into the alley and closed the gate again. He watched her as she
walked along the street. Her skirt was tight enough to show that
she was all woman, and the way she walked showed some class. Bob
was still watching when Dee opened the door to one of the three
story properties that were split into four or more flats. He was
interested to note that she lived in the same building as Josh.
Living in Greenwich obviously had its advantages.

If Bob had lingered on Dee’s rear any longer he would have
missed seeing Josh round the corner into the mews. Bob had to work
fast. He took the gun and pressed himself against the wall of the
alleyway with the gate closed. The gun was concealed by his side.
There was too much background noise to hear Josh’s loafers lightly
treading the mews pavement, and so Bob had to rely on his eyes. A
moment later Josh passed by the alleyway, staring straight ahead,
seemingly lost in thought.

Bob stepped out onto the pavement with one large step,
levelled the gun and fired three shots in quick succession into
Josh’s back. There was virtually no sound, just the pop, pop, pop
of three projectiles leaving the barrel.

Bob saw his target go down, and watched as three bright red
patches bloomed on Josh’s back as he lay on the pavement. Bob
stepped quickly back into the alley and shut the gate, locking it
with a padlock he had brought with him. The owners would be annoyed
when they discovered that their gate had been padlocked and they
had no key, but Bob couldn’t care less about that. He did it simply
because it ensured his safe getaway. In the end the padlock proved
to be unnecessary, as it seemed no-one had witnessed his part in
the unfolding drama.

Bob packed the gun into the attaché case as he strode through
the back garden and walked fifty metres along a cobbled backstreet
onto Devonshire Drive. Once he was sure no-one was following, he
slackened his pace and moved casually towards the bus stop, about a
hundred metres away on Greenwich Street. A bus was already taking
passengers on board and so Bob hopped on, swiped his Oyster card
and sat down. He didn’t know where the bus was going, but he would
eventually get to an Underground station he recognised, and soon
after that he would be heading back to the City.

***

I rounded the corner into the Mews just in time to see Ms
Conrad close the door to the house. It was certainly a pleasant
sight. Far from being worried about my blackmailer, I was mildly
excited. I was looking forward to an ‘evening in’ with the lady who
was protecting me and whom I fancied like mad. As I walked along
the path I planned my moves for the night ahead. Perhaps the ransom
demand wasn’t all bad, after all, if this was a
consequence.

I had just walked past the Pattinsons’ house, which was being
refurbished after a fire, a fire for which I was the loss adjuster
- very convenient for site visits - when I felt what seemed like a
punch in the back. It was followed by two more hits before I found
myself gasping for air and dropping to my knees. Feeling dizzy from
a lack of oxygen, I fell face forward and in another few seconds
blackness overtook me. Oddly enough, just before I passed out, the
last thing I remember thinking was, “How does Bob expect to get his
quarter of a million pounds now?”

***

Dee checked the apartment for intruders or any unexpected
messages or parcels. The apartment was clear. It took no time to
check because there was virtually no furniture in the place. What
little furniture Josh had was minimalist but stylish. The apartment
was bright with light neutral colours dominating. The decor was
neither masculine nor feminine. It looked like a show home, rather
than the archetypal bachelor pad she had been expecting.

Having satisfied herself that the flat was clear she walked to
the first floor window to look for Josh, and that was when she saw
him. He was lying face down on the pavement, his dark suit
punctuated with three closely grouped hits to the back that were
bubbling bright red. Dee’s heart skipped a beat. She flung off her
shoes and ran barefoot down to the ground floor and out of the
door.

***

I wasn’t at all sure how much time had passed, but when I next
became aware of my surroundings I was sitting on the pavement with
my back against the wall. An assortment of concerned and curious
neighbours had gathered around. Dee was kneeling at my side,
encouraging me to breathe deeply. I looked at her hands. They were
covered in red. “Is that my blood?” I asked, not really wanting to
know the answer. She looked concerned, guilty even, as she answered
my question.

“
No, Josh, it’s paint.”

I wasn’t sure I understood, or whether I had heard her
correctly. The neighbours looked puzzled, too, and I was somewhat
irritated to note that some of them even seemed a little
disappointed that this wasn’t the drama they had thought at first.
Dee explained.

“
Someone apparently thought it would be amusing to shoot you
with a paint gun. You’re not hurt, Josh, just winded.”

The neighbours were already speculating amongst themselves,
something about it probably being kids from the council flats up
the road, but I was totally bemused. I voiced my
thoughts.

“
I’ve been paintballing a dozen times and nothing hurt like
that. I thought I was dying.” Dee helped me to my feet.

“
Josh, the paintball guns used for those games are toys. This
gun was probably the army version. High velocity paintball guns are
used in the Middle East, mainly by the Israelis, for controlling
violent crowds. I suspect that’s what was used here.”

“
Don’t wear your best suit.” I quoted Bob’s email out
loud.