Dark Side (31 page)

‘Please stay here,' Patrick whispered and walked away for a short distance, looking upwards, at the windows, I assumed. For some reason he pointed at three of them and then glanced behind him as though working out distances. A small chunk of wood at the top of one of the heaps slid for a short distance and then rolled down to the bottom, which he noted and then ignored. Just the birds, then.

‘Right,' he murmured, coming back. ‘I don't
think
anyone's seen us.'

‘Just go in?' I questioned, feeling as though I was now having some kind of weird dream. Yes, I must have gone to my room at the hotel, put my feet up on the bed and fallen asleep.

‘Yes, let's finish this.'

Back at the front double doors, the one that looked as though it had been forced open, Patrick positioned me well to one side, picked up one of the stray pieces of brick and beat on the small inner door with it. He then drew his Glock, moved quickly aside and shouted, ‘Police! This building is surrounded and you're all under arrest! Come out one at a time with your hands up!'

Predictably, a hail of lead smashed into the doors, some of which penetrated in a cloud of splinters. Much less predictably, seconds later, the big doors burst open and several men dashed out. From the comparative safety of my new position, half behind the left-hand door, I registered that they were carrying handguns the moment they began firing them wildly. In the next couple of moments a couple dropped where they stood, the sound of these shots coming from Patrick's position. One man spun around to point his weapon in his direction and I took a shot at him, this taking him, amazingly, in his gun hand. He sank to his knees and then keeled over, perhaps having fainted. The rest of those left standing bolted back into the warehouse.

There was then a distinct chattering sound and an authoritative voice inside yelled, ‘Drop 'em or die!'

A sub-automatic machine gun fired another short burst and then there was silence for a full twenty seconds. I know, because I counted.

Then, at speed, Patrick momentarily appeared around the edge of my door and, palm facing me, gave me an unmistakable order to stay exactly where I was, before entering the building. After a few minutes he reappeared and gave me a thumbs up.

The thickness of the doors had prevented any hint of what had taken place within to reach our ears. I went in and was completely unprepared for what was before me. Four soldiers in camouflaged battle dress carrying what I was sure were Heckler and Koch sub-machine guns were standing over the prone figures of around eight other men, the latter's weapons – handguns – remained where they had been dropped or thrown down. Ropes hung down the walls from three of the windows.

‘One ran off and is hiding somewhere over there, sir,' one of them said. ‘And you previously ordered us not to kill anyone so we didn't open fire.'

‘Thank you, Sergeant Meyers,' Patrick replied. ‘Does he still have a weapon?'

‘A pistol, sir. Unless there are others concealed there.'

‘Over there' referred to a large and untidy collection of various lengths of wood, sheets of plywood and corrugated iron, tarpaulins, rope and boxes of various sizes that they had obviously collected and used as ‘props'. The way it had all been stored in the corner had created a kind of labyrinth with narrow ‘corridors' in between used for access.

Those on the floor were unceremoniously booted over on to their backs for identification purposes and Patrick walked down the row, gazing into their faces. They had obviously taken one look at who they were up against and surrendered.

‘It's Hamsworth,' he reported, coming over to me. ‘Just like in corny old operas, the baddie runs off and the hero then has a sword fight with him on a staircase, which results in him getting a small flesh wound in a shoulder before he spits his man right in the guts.'

The last few words had been uttered with sufficient venom to poison a small town. After then speaking very quietly to two of the soldiers he waved them into position, one on each side of the collection of what was, in effect, demolition debris, and then, while I retreated a little behind the comforting presence of a massive iron pillar, positioned himself in between the men to one side of the widest ‘tunnel'.

‘There are three of us right here,' Patrick said briskly, addressing the hidden Hamsworth. ‘Should you wish to blow your brains out then please feel free to do so as it will save everyone a lot of paperwork. If, on the other hand you prefer to re-enact the Alamo then that will be a bit more paperwork but rest assured you'll still get a bullet, if not several. That's the choice.'

‘Choice!' Hamsworth shouted from somewhere inside. ‘That's no choice!'

‘That's it. Choose. Quickly.'

‘You said we were all under arrest.'

‘You are. But you decided that was not for you.'

‘OK, I've changed my mind.'

‘Then throw out the gun and come out with your hands in the air.'

‘I can't throw it from where I am.'

‘Then move until you're somewhere you can. Slowly. I warn you, I'm a bloody good shot.'

Nothing happened for a few seconds and then there were sounds of movement and a handgun came flying out through the gap to thump on the dusty floor.

‘Now you,' Patrick called.

‘Not very good at your job, are you?' Hamsworth jeered. ‘You should pick it up to stop me from grabbing and firing it.'

‘So I should.'

He stayed right where he was.

It happened so quickly that if anyone had blinked they would have failed to see the end of it. Or died in the hail of bullets. Those who were not lying prone already threw themselves down as the man emerged at a run, rounds smashing into everything from the rapid-firing weapon in his hands as he swung it around. I fired and so did Patrick – we both hit our target, the man pitching on to his face and falling on the weapon, which fired a few more rounds into the floor and then became silent.

Patrick checked that the man was dead and then walked away, leaving the weapons where they were.

M
iraculously, no one else had been hurt but for a few scratches and minor cuts from flying splinters, as in his haste, or panic, Hamsworth had fired slightly high. I was not feeling guilty at having been partly responsible for his death – my shot had taken him in the chest – because, as far as I was concerned at the time, in the next second or so he would have re-adjusted his aim. The instantly fatal shot had been Patrick's, to the head.

The four soldiers, all from Patrick's old regiment, The Devon and Dorsets, now subsumed into The Rifles, had been ‘borrowed'. He still has good contacts. They had not fired a shot but for the short warning bursts into the air by Sergeant Meyers, the situation exactly as intended, or rather ordered.

This much I learned before Commander Greenway arrived in the wake of the Metropolitan Police and several ambulances. Patrick, apologetically, had also told me that he had only arranged assistance, provisionally, the previous afternoon after I had given him the information about the warehouse and he had gone in search of it. There had been no indication when, or even if, anything would come of it or even if it would succeed. Better to err on the safe side.

The remainder of the cache of weapons, from which Hamsworth had snatched one, had been immediately found hidden under a pile of old plastic bags at the back of the conglomeration of debris. The commander duly inspected this before coming over to where we were engaged in a somewhat edgy conversation with the woman in charge, Inspector Jinny Taylor.

‘They're with me,' Greenway told her, having introduced himself. ‘It'll save time if they report to me and I forward everything to you.'

‘How do I explain
this
though, sir?' she asked, greatly bothered and gesturing towards the military quartet, who were preparing to depart.

‘You have it on good authority – mine – and you can write it down, that I understand they're part of a unit training with the Met in order to assist during any terrorist activity in London. But don't spread it around – it's not for general consumption. It seemed a good opportunity for an exercise due to the expectation that these mobsters were armed with semi-automatic weapons, which has been proved to be quite correct. The Heckler and Koch belong to you, the Met – the Ministry of Defence can't be expected to provide firearms as well – and will be immediately returned.'

She looked relieved and went away to carry on supervising her team.

‘I think that's as you gave it to me,' Greenway said to Patrick. ‘Did I get it right?'

‘Word perfect,' was the reply.

‘How did they get here?'

‘In the old van out the back.' Faced with slight bafflement, Patrick added, ‘No, not in an armed personnel carrier.'

He then went over to thank them.

Able to examine my surroundings properly for the first time I looked around and then, needing a few quiet moments, strolled away from everyone. A forensic team was over by Hamsworth's body, the usual photographs being taken. There would be an inquiry into events by the Independent Police Complaints Commission and it occurred to me that I might end up losing the Smith and Wesson, which I do not carry with any kind of official blessing.

A start had obviously been made into building some kind of ‘set' which was thrown up over by one wall, I supposed to practise for the next raid, robbery, or whatever had been planned. Part of it appeared to have collapsed – the crash we had heard. The warehouse was a typical Victorian building with the same massive iron roof beams and pillars as were piled outside. Soon, the last of the group would succumb to the wrecking ball. Although passionately keen on Britain's past being conserved, I would shed no tears for this one.

A couple of days later, the
Ring o' Bells seemed the most suitable place to have a non-official debriefing, the official ones having all taken place. Unfortunately Commander Greenway could only be represented by an email he had sent Patrick that morning, which he read out, the six of us – we had been joined by Carrick, Joanna, David Campbell and Lynn Outhwaite – sitting in a quiet corner of the lounge bar.

‘“Congratulations on a case well conducted and brought to a satisfactory conclusion. I thought you would be pleased to know that, following a search of the premises at South Woodford, during which more weapons, drugs and counterfeit money were found, a safe was opened that contained, among items already mentioned, a list of names, including photographs, of police officers who were to be targeted, for intimidation purposes or physical attack. My name was in the second category. I especially want to thank you for your warnings and personal endeavour in this matter and, in case anyone else feels like having a go at me, will take your advice with regard to my own safety when Erin and I return from a last-minute planned holiday to Italy. Good shooting!”'

‘You must have saved lives by killing him,' Campbell observed. ‘Hamsworth could have created a bloodbath with that weapon.'

Manifestly, having been through his ordeal by fire, he had been reluctant to join us but Lynn had told him, point blank, that he ought to, this detail whispered in my ear by her when we had first met this evening. As Patrick and James had hoped, the man soon relaxed when a glass of his native brew was in his hand and I was aware that he had already profusely apologized to Carrick for what had occurred.

I am still not sure why it had.

Later, at home, I said, ‘Greenway guessed, didn't he?'

‘I reckon so,' Patrick answered.

‘What'll happen about Nathan Forrester?'

‘I discussed it with Carrick and we're going to drop the charges. He'll be given an official caution.'

I smiled to myself, both at this news and remembering, before we had come out, the expression on John's face when Patrick had given him back his ten-pound note.