A Real Job (4 page)

Catching sight of McCrossan at the entrance to Amen Court, a side road running off Warwick Lane, Steve shouted to David, ‘There’s the fucker, he’s run into that side road down there.’

Seeing they had not lost McCrossan gave the officers extra impetus to run that bit harder. As Steve ran into Amen Court David grabbed him. Then bending forward with his hands on his knees, David was panting hard as the side effects of his smoking habit mixed with the beer he had been drinking took its toll. Breathlessly he said, ‘This could be a set up’. Straightening up, he placed his hands at the base of his spine and said, ‘After all these years it looks like the Provisional’s are calling in the death threat and they want us out in the open to do it.’

‘But we’ll lose him!’ Steve said starting to run down Amen Court.

‘Get back!’ David shouted after him, ‘Think about it.’

After working most of his service with David, Steve knew there were times not to question his judgement. This was one of them. Running back to the entrance into Amen Court, Steve joined his DS. Looking at the doorways leading to the numerous terrace connected small businesses in the Court, they strained their eyes for any movement that would betray McCrossan’s position. There was no sign of him or anyone else in the side road. Disconcerting for the officers was that while most of the offices were open, not one person could be seen by the windows. With Warwick Lane heaving with commuters, the stillness in Amen Court heightened the two men’s senses.

Hearing a buzz like a wasp flying by, Steve felt something go past his ear followed by a cracking sound above their heads. Looking up, he saw fragments of brick and mortar fly up in the air from the wall just above their heads. ‘The fucker’s shooting at us,’ Steve shouted grabbing David. Pulling him back, Steve took cover behind the MDG building in Warwick Lane as another bullet thudded into the brickwork of the building’s side wall. Looking at David, he took out his mobile phone. Pressing the number he stored for Metropolitan Police’s Counter-Terrorism Unit, SO15, while waiting for the call to be answered Steve said, ‘The fucker’s calling in that death threat alright.’

‘As we can’t hear any shots I reckon he’s using a silencer,’ David said, ‘That’s making it harder to work out where he is.’

Answering his call, Steve told SO15 what was happening. Thinking that McCrossan must have come out of a doorway to shoot at them, David tentatively looked around the corner of the building. Focusing mainly at doorways and windows, no one could be seen in the Court. ‘He must have run into one of the buildings across the way, but I can’t see where he is,’ he said looking back at Steve while keeping his body against the building.

‘Ok we’ll do that,’ Steve said to the SO15 officer on his phone. Terminating the call, he said to David, ‘SO15 want us to stay here. They’re calling CO19 for firearm support. I’ll ring Debbie. She can tell George. Have another look for the bastard. He’s still got to be around here somewhere.’

‘If he is, we’d better stop people crossing in case he starts shooting again,’ David said getting his warrant card out of his jacket pocket. Crossing Amen Court, he ran to the opposite pavement holding up the card with his right hand. Raising his left arm out in a shepherding manner he started shouting, ‘Police. Get back, there’s a man with a gun.’ With a look of fear in their faces, some stopped dead in their tracks. Two smartly dressed men wearing dark pin stripe suits carrying bags similar to what Peter used for work, who David guessed were young barristers, looked at the officer in a dismissive manner as they continued to walk across Amen Court. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ David shouted at the men showing them his warrant card, ‘I’m a police officer, get back. There’s a man with a gun down that side road.’ Reaching out to the men, he stepped out from the corner of the building. As he spoke, a loud pinging sound came from the paving stone by his feet resulting in small fragments shooting up in the air. Making the two men stop suddenly, colour drained from their faces as they looked at the officer. David turned round to see a small indention on the paving stone. Grabbing the two men, he pushed them over to the corner of the building ensuring they were out of the line of fire. ‘Stay there,’ David said. Pointing to a man with a shaved head wearing a tight fitting polo shirt revealing a build that looked like he worked out in the gym, thinking his size would command respect, David barked out, ‘You, stop anyone crossing the road.’

As the man nodded he would, David ran into the Warwick Lane waving his arms to stop the traffic. Sensing motorists may ignore what they would see as a mad man standing in front of them, he hoped the crowds of people gathering either side of Amen Court might make drivers realise something was wrong and stop. Ignoring David, the first few cars approaching the junction did not even slow down. They just sounded their car horns causing him to jump back onto the pavement. Seeing a gap in the traffic, David ran out into Warwick Lane frantically waving his arms to stop vehicles driving past Amen Court.

A white Ford Transit van was leading the next group of vehicles approaching from the traffic lights further down road. Seeing David stood in his path, the driver slammed the brakes causing an ear piercing screeching of tyres to drown out Steve’s shouts to David to get back onto the pavement. Making everyone in the area look at the vehicle, David could see the driver struggling to stop. Ignoring the fact the van may knock him down, he stood rigid in its path with his right hand raised giving the police stop signal he had been trained to do during his basic training when in uniform many years before. Watching the van get ever closer to his body David started mumbling, ‘Hail Mary full of grace our Lord is with thee, Hail Mary blessed are thou amongst women . . .’ Stopping inches from him and seeing how his prayer was answered quickly, David ran round to the van driver’s door that had the window down. Showing the driver his warrant card, he told the driver to remain where he was as a man in the side road was shooting at passers-by. David decided that was all the driver needed to know. No way was he going to tell the driver and those nearby that it was an Irish terrorist called McCrossan who was carrying out a death threat he made to the two officers many years ago.

With the traffic stopped and everyone, including the pedestrians looking at the two officers, in a moment of compete silence the sound of the Z Cars theme that Everton Football Club entered the pitch to at the beginning of their home games began echoing in the immediate area. Realising it was his mobile phone ring tone David reached into his jacket pocket. Seeing it was Debbie calling, he answered it. ‘Alright Debs.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, we’ve stopped the traffic and the pedestrians from crossing the junction,’ David said trying to look down the Court as safely as he could, ‘the bastard’s fired at least three rounds at me and Steve and as we couldn’t hear a shot being fired, we think he’s using a silencer. We know he’s in Amen Court but we can’t see what position he’s taken up.’

‘I’ve spoken to the Met. You’re to stay there until CO19 attend the scene. Once they’ve arrived we’ve arranged for transport to take you to Thames House where Jenny Richmond from MI5 will debrief you. Peter’s alright, he’s with me and once you and Steve have finished we’ll meet up at the hotel.’

‘OK, have you got an ETA for them?’

‘They should be with you any minute now.’ As Debbie spoke David became aware of sirens in the distance getting louder. ‘No heroics and I’ll see you at the hotel after you’ve finished at Thames House.’

‘OK love, I’ll see you soon,’ David said ending the call. Putting his phone back into his jacket pocket he could see two marked Metropolitan police cars with their lights and sirens on approaching the scene at speed. David walked over to the building opposite Steve and said ‘OK folks, you won’t have to wait much longer, armed police officers are arriving.’ With his back to the wall of the building, he cautiously stepped towards the corner of Amen Court and Warwick Lane. Peering around the corner he looked down the small side road, but still there was no sign of McCrossan. Explaining why they could not see anyone by the windows, it crossed his mind that McCrossan must have entered a building and taken its occupants hostage. He looked over to Steve who gave David a thumbs up.

The first police car came to a stop close to where David was standing. Turning round, he saw two uniform CO19 officers wearing baseball style caps and body armour carrying Heckler and Koch rifles running up to him. Showing them his warrant card, he said, ‘I’m DS Hurst . . .’ and as he briefed them the second car came to halt by Steve where the two armed officers took up positions, one each side of the entrance to Amen Court. Crouching down and pointing their rifles down towards the buildings in the narrow side-road, they took cover at the corners of the buildings making themselves a smaller target. By the time David finished briefing the firearms officer a small army of uniform police officers had arrived at the scene. A further four officers from CO19 took up preliminary positions around the scene as they made a sterile corridor while other unarmed officers, some wearing the symbolic British custodian helmets had already started moving the crowds back, while a safe distance away from the junction a couple of others started unravelling the blue and white crime scene tape, running it from the buildings across the roadway of Warwick Lane.

‘Thanks Sarge, we’ll take it from here. Are you sure you’re not hit?’ the CO19 officer said looking at David for any marks on his body.

‘I’m fine,’ David said reaching in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes as Steve joined his DS and stood alongside him, ‘This is DC Steve Adams from my team.’ Steve nodded as he took a cigarette from the packet David was offering him. ‘We’ll just wait here until our transport arrives,’ David said holding out his lighter to Steve.

‘If you’d go by the tape down there,’ the officer said pointing down Warwick Road, ‘my inspector’s just turned up. I’ll brief her and we’ll be in touch for a statement from you.’

‘Thanks mate,’ David said raising his hand in gratitude to the officer as he and Steve walked off.

‘Give us your lighter again,’ Steve said, ‘my ciggie’s gone out.’ Handing Steve his lighter David looked closely at his friend. Although some colour had come back to his face, he could see Steve’s hands were still shaking. Knowing how scared Steve had been that night Quinn pointed a pistol at him, he didn’t know if his friend’s hands were shaking with fear or anger. ‘Cheers mate,’ Steve said with the cigarette perched at the side of his mouth while his hand feverishly flicked the small cogged wheel to raise a spark to ignite the Zippo lighter. ‘I’m definitely not on the Irish fucker’s Christmas card list, every time the bastard sees me, he wants to kill me.’

Giving a forced smile at Steve’s attempt to lighten the mood with his usual black humour, David said nothing for a moment. ‘That’s a fucking turn up him coming after us after all that time. We were lucky no one got shot,’ David said taking his lighter off Steve and placing it back in his pocket, ‘what I don’t get is why now? It’s been years since the Good Friday Agreement.’

‘They have long memories. The bastard’s most probably seen the news reports of the trial and realised that with Liverpool and Manchester getting mentioned, assumed we were involved and hung around the Old Bailey to look for us. It’s been so long since they made the death threats he most probably thought we’d have our guard down. He was right!’

Taking another drag of his cigarette David said, ‘I’m not so sure. I’ve got a gut feeling someone tipped him off of our involvement in the case. Once he saw us, he’s most probably followed us over the last couple of days, checking our routine and waiting for a good moment to get us. I think he wanted us to see him in the pub and being a pair of soft dickheads we did just what he wanted us to do. We followed him with no firearms and no back up.’

As David spoke a blue Audi pulled up by the crime scene tape cordon. Before it came to a halt the front passenger door was flung open and the officers were approached by an MI5 officer. Showing them her identity car, she said, ‘David Hurst and Steve Adams I presume?’

‘Yes,’ David said confirming it by showing her his warrant card.

‘Jump in, we’re taking you to Thames House for a debrief. After that you’re going back to your hotel to pick up your things as you’re both returning to Manchester tonight.’

Holding up the crime scene tape for him and David to get under, Steve’s thoughts were intense. The world outside his mind suddenly went quiet. Focusing on the words ‘crime scene’, he was going over what David had said along with what the Provisional IRA said the night they found him in the back garden of the house in Manchester. If someone had tipped off McCrossan and other former members of the Provisional IRA, he knew whoever it was has be on the inside. Not just inside the police, but more disconcerting to Steve was that the informer must come from Special Branch. Walking in silence to the Audi, no names came instantly to Steve’s mind. What did come to his mind was how even in the last few years those the Provisional IRA saw as their enemies during the Irish Troubles including police officers had either been killed or had unexpectedly disappeared.

Chapter Three
Residents’ Bar,
Strathmore Hotel, Kensington, London, 19.25 hours, Wednesday, 27
th
June
 

George Byrne placed two double Irish whiskies on the table in the empty residents’ lounge in the Strathmore Hotel that he, Debbie Heron, Craig McDonald and David’s brother, Peter Hurst were sat round. ‘They’re for David and Steve. They’ll be here any moment. Steve’s just text me to say they’re on their way back to the hotel,’ George said sitting down next to Craig.

‘Are they OK?’ Peter asked picking up his drink.

Sitting next to Peter, Debbie said, ‘They’re fine,’ She could see he was still looking pale. Gently, but comfortingly she placed her hand on his arm and said, ‘those two have been in worse scrapes than this.’

Still coming to terms that David and Steve had been shot at, this was the first time he learned his brother was a Special Branch Counter-Terrorism Unit officer and why McCrossan shot at them. Being sat in a west London hotel with an MI5 officer, David’s detective inspector from what he now found out was Special Branch’s Counter-Terrorism Unit and Debbie who he assumed was also working with David’s team, was so surreal it felt like a dream. All he could find himself doing was staring at the green tartan carpet on the lounge floor then scanning up to look at a copy of a painting of the late Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother that looked like it had been originally painted when she was in her twenties. He wasn’t really looking at the painting, the images he was concentrating on were those in his head of him and David from their childhood to teenage years. Alone with his thoughts, running through his mind was what he would have done if his brother had been killed. Even though the other three were talking, he wasn’t listening. He didn’t want to hear, he didn’t want to know any more about their business. Peter couldn’t believe the influence they had, even with the hotel staff. When they entered the residents’ lounge Craig told the duty manager to ask the handful of guests drinking there to leave and that no one else was allowed to enter adding that only the manager was to supply them with drinks. Thinking that perhaps even the duty manager had some role in the security services, it was getting to him that you didn’t know who was and wasn’t working for them. He first met Craig through his brother who worked with him at the same barristers’ chambers. Up to today all Peter knew was that Craig was a civil servant. He was, but Peter now knew he was not the type of civil servant he originally thought him to be. What got to him most was not even his twin brother felt he could trust him. He no longer felt he knew the person who was the closest to him. It was a clandestine world he wanted to know nothing of or be part of.