Live Fire (2 page)

‘More’s the pity,’ said his companion. He showed her his warrant card. ‘I’m Inspector Michael Franklin. My colleague is Detective Sergeant David Brewerton.’

‘They’re here about a robbery, Sandra,’ said Crompton.

‘I hadn’t heard about any robbery,’ said Ford, frowning.

‘It hasn’t happened yet,’ said Franklin, putting away his warrant card. ‘That’s why we’re here. A gang have been casing this bank for the past two weeks and the intelligence we have is that they’re going to move in today.’

Ford’s jaw dropped. ‘Wow,’ she said. She looked at Crompton. ‘But if they’ve checked the branch they must know we have the full range of security measures, bulletproof glass, hidden alarms . . .’

Franklin held up a hand to silence her and smiled apologetically. ‘This is a highly professional team, Miss Ford,’ he said. ‘They have assault rifles with armour-piercing ammunition and they have explosives.’

‘My God, they sound like an army!’

‘Ex-army,’ said Brewerton. ‘They all served in Iraq. A couple of years ago they were being shot at in Basra. Now they’re the ones doing the shooting.’

‘They robbed a bank in Glasgow last month and we believe they intend to hit your branch this morning,’ said Franklin.

‘Head Office has asked that we co-operate fully with the police and that we do everything they say,’ said Crompton.

‘Absolutely,’ said Ford. ‘But obviously the safety of our customers and staff is paramount.’

‘That goes without saying,’ said Crompton.

‘The best way of ensuring that nobody is hurt is to do exactly what the robbers ask,’ said Franklin. He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Between you and me, Miss Ford, we have a man under cover in the gang. That’s how we know they’re planning to hit this branch today. He’s a very experienced officer and he’ll be doing everything he can to make sure that no one gets hurt.’

‘So you’ll catch them in the act – is that the plan?’ asked Ford.

Franklin chuckled. ‘As my colleague said, we try to avoid shoot-outs these days. No, we know where they’ll be heading and we’ll have them under surveillance every step of the way. When we can scoop them up without anyone getting hurt, we’ll move in.’

‘What about dye packs and such?’ asked Ford.

‘Nothing like that, Sandra,’ said Crompton. ‘Nothing that will slow them down or get them annoyed.’

‘All you have to do is to follow the instructions they give,’ said Franklin. ‘Try not to anticipate anything because that will tip them off that something’s wrong. Just do exactly as they say. Give them what they ask for and let them get out as quickly as possible. Our men will do the rest.’

Ford’s eyes were wide. ‘This is so exciting,’ she said. ‘Like a movie.’

‘Sandra, this is a very serious business,’ stressed Crompton. ‘There must be no panic, nothing to alarm the robbers.’

‘Actually, that’s not strictly speaking true, Mr Crompton,’ said Franklin. ‘If everyone’s too calm they might well get suspicious. They will be expecting the people in the bank to be scared. That’s why we’re not telling everybody, just the key personnel.’

‘That’s you, of course,’ said Crompton. ‘And I’ll be calling in Max and Peter. But everyone else has to stay in the dark. I’ll put Max and Peter on the window, and I want you to be close by. When the robbers come in, the three of you can handle the money. Just tell everyone else to stay calm and keep their heads down. From what we’ve learned from our inside man they’ll be wanting access to the safe-deposit boxes.’

Ford frowned. ‘We don’t have a master key for the boxes. The customers have their own keys.’

‘They’ll have drills,’ said Brewerton.

‘So, how long will they be in the bank?’

‘Fifteen minutes at most,’ said Brewerton. ‘So far as we know.’

‘Where will you be, Owen?’ asked Ford.

‘Mr Crompton will be here upstairs with us,’ said Franklin. ‘It’s important that everything appears exactly as usual. In the mornings Mr Crompton is usually in his office, so that’s where he has to be. Do you think you can handle things downstairs? As deputy manager we’d prefer it if you were holding the fort but if you think you might not be able to cope we can get one of the male assistant managers to step in.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Ford, brusquely.

‘You’re sure?’ asked Franklin. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of in admitting you’d rather take a back seat.’ He looked at his colleague. ‘We’ve got fifteen years in the Flying Squad between us and I still get the chills when I see a guy with a sawn-off heading my way.’

‘That’s the truth,’ said Brewerton.

‘It won’t be a problem,’ said Ford. ‘Do we have any idea what time they’ll be here?’

‘All we know is that it’ll be this morning,’ said Franklin. He smiled. ‘You’ll do just fine, Sandra, I’m sure. Now, what’s really important is that immediately they leave you calm everyone down, explain that the police are on the case and that the men will be apprehended within the hour. I don’t want anyone phoning the
Evening Standard
or the TV.’

‘They’re going to be pretty stressed out,’ said Ford.

‘Which is why we’ll be relying on you to keep everyone calm,’ said Franklin. ‘Now, can you send up Simon so that we can brief him? And don’t forget, other than the three of you, mum’s the word.’

‘You can rely on me,’ said Ford.

Franklin and Brewerton watched her close the door. ‘Nice tits,’ said Brewerton.

‘I can’t do this,’ said Crompton. He put his head in his hands. ‘My heart’s thumping like it’s going to burst.’

‘Deep breaths,’ said Franklin. ‘Take deep breaths and think happy thoughts. It’ll soon be over.’

Brewerton stood up. His jacket swung open, revealing a semi-automatic in a nylon holster under his left arm. ‘Don’t worry, Owen,’ he said. ‘This isn’t our first time, we know what we’re doing. Just make sure you tell Max and Peter what to do. If anyone trips the silent alarm this could all turn to shit. And you know what that’ll mean.’

The white Transit van bore the scars of a thousand or so days of battling the London traffic, with dented wings and scrapes on both sides. It was mechanically sound, though, and the engine had been carefully tuned. The vehicle was the clone of one used by an electrician in Brixton with identical registration plates and tax disc. The driver was in his late forties. Two decades earlier he had been a London taxi driver, one of the breed who knew virtually every street and landmark in the city by name. Don Parkinson had long since given up his taxi badge and now plied his trade as one of the most respected getaway drivers in the country. During the course of his criminal career he had acquired the nickname ‘DP’, which had nothing to do with his initials and everything to do with his habit of muttering, ‘Don’t panic,’ to himself whenever things got serious. He looked at his watch. There was a small digital clock in the dashboard but he didn’t trust electrical timepieces. The Rolex on his left wrist was half a century old and it had never failed him or his father before him. ‘It’s time,’ he said. A man was sitting next to him in the passenger seat and three more in the back. All were wearing long coats.

‘Rock and roll!’ said the man in the passenger seat. His name was Robbie Edwards and he was a veteran of more than two dozen armed robberies. He was thick-set with well-muscled forearms and a rock-hard abdomen, but in the blue pinstripe suit and cashmere overcoat he looked like any other well-heeled businessman in the city. He was well tanned, and though his black hair was flecked with grey he still seemed younger than his forty-five years. He took a pair of dark glasses from his coat pocket and put them on.

The three in the back of the van were in their thirties. They were all thinner than Edwards but had the look of men who spent a lot of time in the gym. Ricky Knight was the tallest, with dark brown hair and Ray-Ban sunglasses. Geoff Marker was also wearing shades, his hair had been shaved to disguise his receding hairline and he had a small diamond in his left earlobe. Billy McMullen was blond with a neatly trimmed goatee beard. The one thing they had in common, other than the long coats and the scarves around their necks, was that they were all cradling loaded Kalashnikov assault rifles.

‘Glasses,’ Knight said to McMullen.

‘I know.’ McMullen scowled, taking a pair of Oakley shades from his coat pocket and putting them on. ‘You’re as bad as my bloody mother. Wear your scarf, button your coat, don’t forget your dinner money.’

Knight grinned. ‘Rough childhood?’

‘It was okay. She was just a bit of nag. Dad left when he couldn’t stand it any more so we kids took the brunt. She was a bit on the over-protective side.’

‘She still alive?’

McMullen shook his head. ‘Dead. Cancer. Ten years back. She was nagging the doctors and nurses right until the end.’ He took the magazine out of the Kalashnikov, then re-inserted it. ‘Wonder what she’d make of my chosen career. She’d probably tell me I was using the wrong gun and wearing the wrong sort of shades.’

‘Mothers, huh?’

‘Can we stop all this touchy-feely heart-to-heart crap?’ snapped Marker. ‘I’m trying to get into character here.’

Knight winked at McMullen but they fell silent. They knew what Marker meant. In a minute or so they would be inside a bank wielding automatic weapons, but the guns weren’t enough: the people in the bank had to believe that the men were serious about using them. It was an act because they had no intention of shooting anyone – that would mean a life sentence where life meant life, and they had no intention of spending decades behind bars.

‘Here we go,’ said Edwards. He opened the passenger door. He was carrying a black Adidas sports bag. McMullen pushed open the van’s side door and stepped into the street, his Kalashnikov under his coat. Knight and Marker followed him and headed straight for the entrance to the bank. Like McMullen, they had their weapons under their long coats. McMullen glanced left and right – no one was paying them any attention – and hurried after Knight and Marker.

McMullen, Knight and Marker pulled the bank’s doors closed and spread out across the floor, keeping the weapons under their coats and pulling the scarves up over their faces. Edwards stood by the doors. He took a printed sign out of the sports bag, pulled off the adhesive backing and pressed it against the glass. The sign read, ‘
POWER CUT
–
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. PLEASE USE OUR BRANCH IN REGENT STREET
.’

Edwards looked at McMullen and nodded. As McMullen swung his Kalashnikov out from under his coat, Edwards flicked the locks on the doors.

‘Everyone against the wall!’ McMullen bellowed. ‘This is a robbery and if anyone so much as looks at me wrong I’ll blow their fucking head off!’

Knight and Marker pulled out their assault rifles and levelled them at the customers gathered at the counter. ‘You heard him!’ shouted Knight. ‘Against the wall – now!’ Keeping the customers in one place made them easier to control, and against the far wall they couldn’t be seen from the doors.

Edwards pulled a large revolver from his sports bag and flicked off the safety.

A young man in a grey suit fumbled with his mobile phone. Marker rushed over to him and slammed the butt of the Kalashnikov into his stomach. He fell to the ground, gasping for breath, and Markham stamped on the phone. ‘Any other heroes?’ he shouted, and kicked the man in the ribs. ‘Anyone else want some of this?’

The rest of the customers huddled together by the wall. There were two elderly women in cloth coats clutching handbags, a young girl with a baby in a push-chair, three middle-aged businessmen in suits and a teenager in a black leather motorcycle jacket and torn jeans.

Knight and Edwards walked over to the counter and aimed their weapons at the tellers behind the bulletproof screen. Knight gestured with his Kalashnikov. ‘The bullets in this will go right through that glass without breaking sweat,’ he said. He nodded at the door to the left of the counter. ‘Now, open the door or I’ll pull the trigger.’

The girl with the baby began to cry. Marker walked over to her and pointed a gloved finger at her face. ‘Stop blubbering, you bitch!’ he hissed.

‘Leave her alone, she’s only a girl,’ said one of the businessmen. He was black with greying hair and he was clutching his briefcase to his chest.

Marker left her and confronted the businessman. ‘Another bloody, hero, huh?’ he said. He gestured at the man in the grey suit who was crawling towards the rest of the customers. ‘You want what he got, do you?’

He glared at Marker defiantly. ‘You don’t have to threaten girls to get what you want.’

Marker thrust his face close to the man’s. ‘You want some, do you?’

‘I just want you to take what you want and go. It’s the bank’s money you’re after, not ours. No one here is going to stop you, so just get on with it and leave us alone.’

Marker could see that the man wasn’t intimidated by the rhetoric or the gun. He stepped back and slammed the butt into the man’s face, splintering his teeth. Blood gushed from his mouth and he dropped the briefcase. Marker hit him again, this time on the side of the head. He slumped to the ground without a sound. ‘Anyone else?’ he shouted, turning back to the rest of the customers. ‘Anyone else want to give me any grief? Because I’ll kill the next person who steps out of line. Do you morons understand?’ They pressed together, too scared to look at him. One of the elderly women had her eyes closed and was muttering a prayer. Marker pointed the gun at them, waiting for any signs of defiance or resistance.

Knight aimed his Kalashnikov at a blonde woman in a pale blue blouse. ‘Open the door, darling, before anyone else gets hurt. And don’t even think about hitting the silent alarm.’

She moved towards the door. Edwards covered the other tellers with his revolver. ‘You two get back against the wall and keep your hands where I can see them.’

Knight walked towards the blonde, keeping the Kalashnikov pointed at her chest, his finger on the trigger. ‘Don’t get any ideas,’ he warned her. ‘Like my friends said, the bullets in this will go straight through that glass.’

She opened the door with trembling hands and Knight stepped through, Edwards behind him. ‘Everyone on the floor!’ Edwards shouted. ‘Face down with your hands on the back of your head.’ He pointed to the stairs that led up to the offices. ‘Anyone comes down, you take care of them,’ he said to Knight.