Authors: Andy McNab
She was happy now as I turned to face Sundance and Trainers. Suzy looked the other way, past the toilet and towards the other two somewhere in the next carriage. ‘I thought you’d called from Berlin. I’m sorry.’
She moved closer to me: we must have looked like a boyfriend and girlfriend who’d just had a row and were busy making up. ‘What now?’
Sundance was still on his cell, his eyes not leaving mine.
‘We can’t go to Liverpool Street. You know Tottenham Hale?’
‘Nope.’
‘Me neither. OK, we’ll RV at Smith’s in Sloane Square – that’s the only location not known to anyone but us, right?’
‘Shall we split the bottles?’
Good call. If only one of us made it to the source, we might be able to carry on with the job. I nodded slowly as a woman squeezed past us and opened the toilet door, only to be put off by the smell and turn away. Suzy took off her jacket and knelt by my feet, peeling off the outer duty-free bag and putting two bottles into it. I kept my eyes moving between the two teams. Sundance was redialling, pissed off that he’d lost his signal, and the German kids ran past again as she stood up, the bundle under her arm.
I still had the carrier-bag and two bottles in my left hand, the other on display in the right. ‘We’ll keep the RV open until eleven thirty tonight. If either of us doesn’t make it, the other one’s got to get to Fuck-face with their bottles. It’s Kelly’s only chance.’
She nodded.
‘No matter what, don’t get the Yes Man involved.’ I looked past her to see Sundance on the phone again and Trainers adjusting his bag and just staring at me, really pissed off. ‘He won’t give a shit about her. Will you promise me that?’
She nodded again and looked back down the carriage. ‘I’ll do my best, but ultimately DW has to be controlled – you know that, don’t you?’
56
Ugly grey tower blocks sprouted from among the greenery as the tannoy announced the joys of Tottenham Hale, just twenty minutes from Oxford Circus via the Victoria line. Tourists could get to many parts of London from here more quickly than by going all the way in to Liverpool Street. I looked out of the window as the train lost speed, trying not to make it obvious what we were about to do.
Soon we were pulling into a mishmash of glass, Perspex, concrete and billboards, surrounded by office blocks and open space. I caught a glimpse of a main road and a large car park, busy with shoppers.
Quite a few people stood up in our carriage and started to make their way to the doors: women in airline uniforms after a shift at a ticketing desk, holidaymakers on their way home. A black woman put her baby into the three-wheeled buggy behind Suzy and busied herself with the straps.
Sundance and Trainers were still at the far end, looking even more pissed off. I couldn’t see the other two, but had no doubt they were getting ready to take us from the train.
I checked that the bumbag was zipped up, and that nothing was going to fall out of my pockets. Suzy started doing the same, not trying to hide the fact. ‘Fuck ’em, what does it matter?’ She was right: they would still proceed as if we were going to do a runner, so waiting until the last minute wouldn’t help us any. The train slowed enough for me to read the billboards. The woman negotiated her buggy round the suitcase and rucksack slalom and we fell in behind her. It squeaked to a halt and the automatic doors opened, our last chance to talk to each other. I put my mouth close to her ear. ‘Smith’s, half eleven.’ She nodded, and we followed mother and baby on to the platform. She had that scary look in her eyes again.
The only way out was via a footbridge, enclosed by scratched and graffiti-covered Perspex. Sundance and Trainers tucked in behind us as we mingled with the crowd of people heading in that direction. The other two were in front of us, but staying near the train in case we jumped back on.
Suzy tapped my shoulder. ‘Good luck. I’m going for the tube.’ As she jogged on up the steps, the other two peeled off and followed her.
I continued behind the mother with the three-wheeler. She had a large bag over her shoulder and was leaning away from it to get a bit of leverage. Through the Perspex, I could see Suzy hurrying across to the other side of the tracks.
I caught up with the buggy at the bottom of the stairs. ‘You want a hand with that?’ She flashed me a grateful smile. I picked up the front with my right hand, still clutching DW in my left. The baby looked about a year old, totally zoned out, half of his face covered by a blue plastic pacifier.
I glanced over the hood before starting to head up the steps. Sundance and Trainers were on the phone again, about twenty paces away, their bags in front of them now, more or less on their chests. They probably wanted ready access in case I dropped DW by accident as I walked backwards with the buggy.
When we reached the top of the stairs I set the front wheel down and got more grateful thanks from the mother. I smiled, turned to my left, and legged it across the walkway. Through the Perspex I could see my new friend clip Sundance accidentally on the side of the head as she adjusted the bag over her shoulder. He didn’t stop long enough to hear her apology. Glancing ahead, I could see the ticket office and the tube-station entrance beyond it. Ticket machines and turnstiles led on to a wide set of escalators that disappeared into the ground. There was no sign of Suzy or the other two.
I went straight through and out into the station approach, past a taxi rank, and ran left, making for the main drag about twenty metres away.
People try subconsciously to get as much distance as they can between themselves and their pursuers, and whether it’s in an urban environment or a rural one they think that means going as fast as possible in a straight line. In fact you need to put in as many turns as possible, especially in a built-up area. Every time you hit a four-way junction, it makes the pursuers’ job more difficult: they have more options to grapple with, a larger area to cover, and have to split forces. A hare being chased in a field doesn’t run in a straight line: it takes a big bound, changes tack, and off it goes again. Just as its pursuers are getting straight-line momentum, they have to change direction too, which means slowing down, re-evaluating. I needed to be that hare.
I emerged on to what turned out to be quite a big junction. To the left was a couple of hundred metres of straight road, bordering a huge retail park, a large open square lined with all the regulars, B&Q, Currys, Burger King. It was heaving with trolley-pushing shoppers, and vans and cars in search of parking. Loads of confusion, loads of movement, loads of cover.
I didn’t want to go all the way down to the crossing: that would put me in line of sight with the entrance to the ticket office. Instead I jumped the guard-rail and started to run, dodging traffic. I got half-way across, waited on the hatched lines for a gap, then ran again.
Sundance and Trainers were doing the same thing as I reached the retail park. I kept to the paved area on the left of the open square, moving through the shoppers to the opposite corner by a carpet warehouse.
I checked behind me again. They’d split. Trainers was about forty paces back, moving more slowly now I was static. To his right, moving out into the parking area, Sundance was trying to get up level and parallel to me.
I clutched the DW package in both hands now. No way was I going to drop this shit. I followed the paved area to the right, by the carpet warehouse’s glass doors. Sundance was gaining on me, trying to cut me off, so I turned hard left, into B&Q.
I pushed through the turnstile and into a space the size of an aircraft hangar, with aisle upon aisle of paint, drills, workbenches, all sorts, stretching away from me. I was already drenched with sweat, my chest heaving. The two boys were moving purposefully towards the front entrance. I had to put in some angles, had to get that confusion going.
I turned right, trying to get into dead ground, looking up at the signs for a way out. There’d be fire exits, but they’d be alarmed.
I headed for the rear of the store, looking for loading bays, open windows, anything. I realized too late that it seemed to be one big sealed unit, and they’d soon spot that too. One would keep a trigger on the exit point. The other would be coming in to get me.
From a corner of the power-tool section, I watched Sundance come in, also gulping oxygen as he moved past laden trolleys and men in cement-covered overalls.
There was a gardening area through a big hole in the wall to my right. I ducked into a world of fencing and lawnmowers, pre-packed sheds and stacks of paving stone. I felt immediately better being outside: I could kid myself I had a better chance of escape. A forklift truck vanished through a gap about twenty or thirty metres ahead of me. Maybe a storage area – or, better still, a customer pickup point.
I looked behind me again. No sign of Sundance. I joined the trolley pushers heading for where the forklift had disappeared but, shit, it took me nowhere: it was just another cul-de-sac, blocked off this time by lines of rubber plants and small trees. The sprinklers were working overtime here, and the concrete floor was wet.
I turned to go back out again, but Sundance was on to me, his eyes fixed on mine. I moved towards the corner, edging past a small group of shoppers with unsteerable trolleys. Maybe I’d be able to get through the fence. I didn’t run: on top of everything else, I didn’t want to attract the security guards. I might already be in the shit, but it could only get deeper if the real world got involved.
It wasn’t going to happen. I brushed aside a potted palm and hit the fence, but there was no way out. Sundance was closing in.
I turned to face him, holding up the bag. ‘I’ll throw it.’
‘No, you won’t, boy.’ He opened his jacket to show me a revolver in a hip holster. ‘Give me the bottles or I’ll drop you here and now.’ He took another couple of steps, then stopped as the tannoy announced that assistance was needed in the paint store. I was cornered, my back to the fence. We were no more than three or four paces apart. He held out his hand. ‘Gimme.’
Beads of sweat glistened on his scalp before tumbling down his face. I held the bag even higher. He moved his hand slowly to his short and drew down on me. It was suppressed. He kept the weapon low, his eyes never leaving mine. He brought back the hammer with his thumb. ‘It’s worth the risk . . .’
I couldn’t tell if he meant it or not, but the look on his face worried me. He had Suzy’s kind of excitement in his eyes. I leant back against the galvanized steel with the DW in my right hand, and slid down to place it on the wet floor. The sprinklers pattered on the duty-free bag and I could feel my jeans getting wet. The forklift speeded past, the other side of the row of palms, beeping its hooter to clear some trolley-pushers out of its path.
What next? I knew he wouldn’t want me to move past him so he could pick up the bag. We’d get too close in the narrow aisle, and he couldn’t guarantee we wouldn’t land up fighting. He needed to control me while he took control of the bag.
‘Open your mouth.’
I would have done the same.
As I let my bottom jaw drop, he took a final step and moved the weapon up from his waist towards my face. My eyes were glued to its muzzle, my brain shrinking by the nanosecond. The sounds around me blurred and receded as it neared my mouth.
I didn’t want to take a breath, I didn’t want to move my eyes. The hammer was still back, the pad of his first finger on the trigger, the suppressor almost brushing my face.
I shot my hands up to the point where my eyes were fixed, grabbed the barrel, turning it up and to the left.
He swivelled to punch me with his free hand. I didn’t have time to dodge the blow. Pain exploded in my temple and my eyes blurred.
The weapon was just inches from my face, pointing into the air. I wedged a little finger in front of the hammer and turned him so his back was against the fence. He pulled the trigger and the hammer slammed into my skin. Locking my bent arms tight, I brought his wrist so close to my face that I could feel the fat barrel alongside it, then I collapsed my full bodyweight on to the ground.
The yell I gave as my knees crashed into the concrete was almost as loud as the one he did as his arm was pulled out of its socket.
He went down like a bag of shit. I clung to the weapon, twisting it out of his hands, sticking my finger in front of the hammer once more to squeeze off the action and keep it at half-cock. He grabbed at DW, saliva flying from his mouth. ‘Fuck you, fuck you.’
He knew what was going to happen next, and I wasn’t going to disappoint him. I gave one well-aimed kick to his face, and left him writhing on the floor as he tried to protect his right arm and not breathe too hard through a mouthful of broken teeth.
Pushing his short down the front of my jeans, I picked up the duty-free bag, got back into the store proper and headed for the opposite side. I kept my eyes on the exit, waiting for Trainers to appear.
In he came, moving towards the garden section, shoving his cell back into his pocket. Sundance can’t have been speaking too clearly, but Trainers had certainly got the message. His eyes scanned every aisle.
I started towards the front of the hangar, not running, trying to remain casual. People behind me were starting to mutter about something going on, and they weren’t talking about the offer of the day.
The tannoy sparked up, a young man’s slightly strangulated voice asking for the duty first-aider to go to the garden section.