Screen of Deceit (2 page)

‘So how you doing, H?' Rik asked, breaking their silence. ‘I know you've been through the ringer.'

‘Out the other side now,' he lied brightly.

‘Must've been tough,' Rik commiserated.

Henry nodded. Yeah, it had been tough. Seeing the bodies of two of his colleagues who'd been butchered by terrorists and having the same almost happen to him and then – very big ‘then' – shouldering all the guilt, however misplaced, that maybe he had been responsible for their deaths.

‘I can see you'd rather not go down that route,' Rik said. He smiled wanly at Henry.

‘Wiggum Alpha Four to Wiggum Alpha One,' their personal radios blared in stereo. They were tuned into an encrypted frequency dedicated solely to this operation and all the other officers involved had been designated call signs beginning with Wiggum. WA4 was the call sign of the plain traffic car parked up on a bridge spanning the M55, one of the two routes most likely to be used when travelling into Blackpool. WA4 was equipped with a state of the art ANPR – Automatic Number Plate Recognition – which locked on to the registered number of every vehicle heading towards Blackpool and checked it against numerous computerized databases, including various intelligence ones and the Police National Computer. The resultant search was almost instantaneous.

Rik exchanged a quick glance with Henry. ‘Alpha Four, go ahead.'

‘Bingo!' said the officer in a less than professional manner. ‘Target vehicle, the black Lexus' – he gave the registered number – ‘has just passed under my point on the M55, heading towards the golden city.'

‘Roger, thanks for that,' Rik said, a quiver of excitement in his voice. He locked eyes with Henry. ‘The consignment's on the way in,' he said gleefully. Into his PR he said, ‘All other patrols acknowledge.'

Which they did, one by one.

‘No one is to move from their positions,' Rik instructed them, ‘until I say.'

He gripped the steering wheel. Henry saw his tension.

‘The guy is supposed to be mega-surveillance conscious,' Rik said. ‘If he even smells a cop, he'll be off … shit!' Rik saw a movement down the street and slithered low in his seat, as did Henry, who had spotted the same thing: a car, no lights, turning slowly into the street by the area of derelict land, creeping inch-by-inch towards the warehouse gates.

‘Who the hell's this, then?' Henry hissed.

‘Dunno,' Rik breathed.

‘Wiggum Alpha Five to Wiggum One,' their radios called up. WA5 was a pair of plain-clothed PCs huddled in the back of an old Transit van on an adjoining street. ‘A Ford Focus has just turned into your street.'

‘Yeah, got eyeball,' Rik confirmed. ‘Nothing else, though … maybe two occupants, but it's a good one-fifty yards from us … did you get the reg number?'

‘No.'

‘Bollocks!' Rik said, but not into the PR, smacking his hand on the edge of the steering wheel.

‘Uninvited guests,' said Henry.

‘Lookin' that way.'

‘Always expect the unexpected,' Henry said unhelpfully.

Rik glared sideways at him. ‘Maybe this has nothing to do with us,' he said hopefully.

‘You mean a car creeping suspiciously around with no lights, on the street where you expect a drugs drop to take place, and at the same time of day, i.e., the witching hour? Pull the other one, Rik old pal.'

The offending car pulled in by the warehouse gates. Behind these gates was a partly derelict warehouse, Henry knew from the briefing, where a consignment of drugs was supposed to be being stashed, and at the moment they were stashed, the cops were going to leap into action and ensure that all the baddies were banged up. It was as straightforward as that – a dozen cops dotted around, hidden from view, ready to be given the ‘Go, go, go!' by Rik … but another car and another two players on the scene had caught them on the hop a little.

‘They could be scouting, checking the place for any signs of us,' Henry thought out loud.

‘They could be waiting to nab the drugs for themselves.'

‘Or they could be out screwing.'

‘Or they could be here for any number of reasons,' Rik said, wrapping up the speculation. ‘Question is, what do we do with them?'

‘Sit tight, keep everyone informed, see what transpires,' Henry said, now starting to thoroughly enjoy the slowly unfolding events. The intelligence was that the biggest drug dealer in town was bringing in a consignment to hide in the old warehouse and, quite simply, the police were going to nab him. No one else was expected to be turning up to the party. But Henry did not believe in such coincidences. The guys in this car were definite gatecrashers.

The Ford remained motionless. Even through the pouring rain and the obstruction of a car parked in front of their Astra, Henry could see exhaust fumes rising from the tailpipe of the newly arrived car. He peered through the night, squinting, to establish there were just two figures in the car.

‘Switch off,' he said quickly to Rik. ‘If I can see their exhaust fumes, they can see ours.'

‘Good point.' He flicked off the ignition.

The rain continued to bat down. The Astra began to steam up almost immediately.

‘Wiggum Alpha Six to Alpha One.'

‘Alpha One,' Rik acknowledged. Alpha Six was a cop sitting at the motorway exit at Marton Circle, just on the outskirts of Blackpool.

‘The Lexus has come off at junction four and is heading into Blackpool on the A583.'

‘Roger,' Rik said unsurely, then, ‘Shit!' as the doors of the Focus opened and both occupants climbed out. He relayed this development to all the other participants in the operation and told them all to stay put. ‘Not good, not good,' he said to Henry.

The two guys split up, one crossing the street, then they started walking slowly down the street towards the Astra.

‘If they are mixed up with this and they spot us, cover's blown and maybe the operation,' Rik said bleakly. Henry's thoughts entirely.

‘And there's no doubt about it, they're gonna spot us.'

The men were getting closer.

Henry and Rik were rigid in their seats, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

‘Whaddaya reckon, pal?' Rik said through the corner of his mouth.

‘I think our goose is cooked and we've about ten seconds to make a decision.'

‘One way or the other, they need to be neutralized, because if they are spotters or even rivals, this op will go tits up if we don't get them off the street like now. You up for it?'

‘Shiny-arsed I may be—' Henry began, but didn't finish.

Rik was speaking hurriedly into his PR: ‘For info of patrols, Alpha One is challenging occupants of the Ford Focus … Alpha Six, get yourself on to the street now … intention is to get these two out of play now, no messing …' He was uttering these words as he opened his door, Henry following suit just a fraction of a second behind him. They would have to work quickly to deal with the two men, get them off the plot and get everything back to normal.

The two detectives were out of the car speedily, Henry approaching the man making his way down the left side of the street, Rik moving diagonally across to the other, each cop reaching for his warrant card; Henry also curled his fingers around his extendable baton which hung from the belt of his jeans.

He glanced over at Rik, seeing his hand extended with his warrant card in it. Henry turned his attention back to the man he was going for, seeing him more clearly now as they closed on each other, although the guy's face was still a mix of shadow and light.

‘Police,' Henry said, ‘need to have a word, please.'

Across the road, Henry was aware of a similar confrontation taking place.

The man Henry had challenged stopped in his tracks, but did not speak.

At the far end of the street, a vehicle swung in, headlights blazing: Alpha Six.

Henry breathed an inner sigh of relief. Now they had these two jokers, whoever they were, whatever they were doing, outnumbered and boxed in and could take them off the plot quickly and efficiently.

Just as long as it all went swimmingly …

Suddenly there was a ‘crack' from the other side of the street. Henry knew immediately what he had heard – a gunshot.

He ducked instinctively.

Rik groaned and went down, clutching his thigh.

These two were not going to be easy.

The man in front of Henry reacted. He lunged at him, taking him by surprise. He was a big guy, as was Henry, but he barged Henry aside and pushed him roughly against the wall of a house. Henry crashed painfully against the brickwork, but bounced straight back and launched himself at the man who had begun to run. Henry's warrant card skittered away (never to be found) as both his hands grabbed the man, who twisted into him and powered a big fist up into Henry's guts.

Even in the darkness, Henry saw it coming, although there was little he could do to prevent it connecting other than to tense his stomach muscles and try to pull back.

It was still a good punch. Henry's breath shot out of him. He curled double, holding himself.

The police car raced down the street.

Henry – ashamed he'd taken such an early punch – staggered backwards a step, righted himself, then leapt at the man as he turned and attempted to run away again.

This time Henry succeeded in wrapping his arms around the man's waist. He gripped him tight, head tucked in for protection, and heaved him round, trying to slam him against the wall. The suspect pummelled Henry's head with his fists, shouting obscenities at him as he fought.

But Henry clung on like a limpet, even though one particularly powerful thump crashed into the side of his head, sending a flash of lightning through his brain.

And then help arrived as one of the cops from Alpha Six piled in and felled the guy with a blow across his back with his baton, narrowly missing Henry's head. Henry reared away as the officer sprayed him with a faceful of CS gas just to be on the safe side, ensuring the man was then skilfully taken down and handcuffed within seconds.

‘Pin the bastard down – and call for an ambulance,' Henry ordered the bobby, who jammed a size eleven Doc Marten boot into the middle of the man's back, not allowing him the chance to clear the CS away. Henry extracted himself, thankful he hadn't been clattered with the baton or given an accidental shot of CS, and ran across the wet road to Rik Dean who lay there groaning, holding his right thigh.

‘Ah, shit, shit,' he grimaced in agony.

The other cop from Alpha Six was kneeling next to Rik, saying soothing words and holding something that looked like a hankie to Rik's leg wound.

Rik looked up at Henry. ‘Bastard shot me … Christ, this hurts …'

Henry bounced down on to his haunches. ‘It's OK, pal, ambulance is en route … where is he?' he asked. Having been involved in his own little fracas, Henry had not seen what had happened on this side of the street.

‘In there,' Rik gasped as more pain shot through him, whipping him back and causing him to smack his head on the pavement with a horrible, hollow sounding thud. ‘Shit.' He pointed to the warehouse gates and Henry saw a Judas gate set within the larger gate. Rik's pain eased momentarily and he looked up pathetically. ‘Am I going to die?'

‘Not bloody likely.'

‘Shit – I always get into trouble with you.' He was referring to a previous incident when, with Henry, he'd been stabbed by a psychotic child molester they'd been questioning. Henry had saved his life that time.

‘You'll be OK, honest. He's only shot you.'

‘Your bedside manner is crap … ahhgh!' More pain speared through him.

In the distance Henry heard the ambulance siren closing in. They were a pretty efficient bunch in this neck of the woods. Now he knew he needed to take a step back, take stock of the situation. He stood up, groaning as his stomach muscles tensed from the blow they'd received. He needed to get his thoughts into gear quickly and reprioritise what was going on as, by default, the running of this operation had now dropped into his lap.

What had started as an attempt to catch a major drug dealer had deteriorated into farce. Nothing new there, Henry thought cynically. Story of my life. Question was, what, if anything, could be salvaged? The priority was to get Rik urgent medical treatment, then to catch the guy who'd shot him and, way down the list, try to achieve the original objective of the operation.

Henry's mind buzzed.

He'd just come along for the ride, nothing else. A bit of a jolly whilst Kate was gallivanting in the Big Smoke with the kids; something to do on what would have been a long, boring evening. A bit of gung-ho policing. Fun. Chasing baddies. Not having any responsibility – that had all been on Rik's shoulders, but not now.

He squatted back down. ‘How's it going?'

Rik's face was creased in agony, but he still managed to give Henry a withering look. ‘As well as can be with a slug in my leg.' Rik shivered and Henry recognized the onset of shock. He had been going to tell Rik was what going to happen now, but he decided Rik probably wasn't all that interested.

He stood up and spoke into his radio.

The dog patrol arrived seconds after the ambulance had departed with Rik in the back of it. The whole wet street was now alive with cops and their cars, with Henry, now sporting a hi-viz yellow jacket, directing everything.

Lancon Albert looked greedily up at Henry, his eyes shining like diamonds in the dark, his big teeth very apparent, his long, sloppy tongue drooping out, hot breath making steam.

Henry was glad that his handler, a squat, tough-looking copper called Craig, was holding tight on to the German Shepherd's leash because Albert obviously wanted to get working, all the movement and flashing lights obviously exciting him. He wanted to sink his teeth into something.

‘He ducked into the Judas gate,' Henry was telling Craig and Albert. ‘He didn't come back out and no one followed him. As far as I know there's no other exit … it's an old warehouse, partially falling down …'