Kitabı oku: «The Follow», sayfa 5

11

I walked into the office to a round of applause. People stood at their desks and clapped as I walked by, and I felt my face go red. I’ve never been great at accepting anything like praise even if, like then, it was only people showing their pleasure at having me back in the office. I made my way into the drugs pod, squeezing Sally’s shoulder as she smiled at me.

Ian Rudd was there, one of the officers on the team, as was Simon Tate, the nominal team leader by dint of years in the job, both wearing the trademark short-sleeved shirts that were so useful for hiding covert kit. Both of them shook my hand and I sat at my desk to find that some wit in the office had made me a card that simply said on the front:

SHAME YOU CAME BACK, I WANTED YOUR CHAIR!

Everyone in the office had signed it and, after the embarrassment faded, I felt a warm glow when I realized how much support I had there. I shouldn’t have been surprised; when you work as closely with people as we do, and for as long, you can’t help but develop a bond that’s something more than friendship – but strangely sometimes less as well.

I got straight to work, wanting to busy myself as my mind was still churning over the burglary the previous day. I had a strong suspicion that the intruders had been working for Davey, probably looking for the heroin, but I knew I couldn’t tell anybody or I may as well just have handed myself in.

‘I’ve already done the meeting sheet,’ Rudd said, swinging his chair round to face mine, ‘so I think it’s your turn to make the tea.’

I sighed; I’d rather be writing than making tea for thirty people but I couldn’t really say no after he’d done my work. Rudd is one of those people who always looks annoyingly young; at twenty-seven he could still pass for eighteen. During his uniform days this had caused him no end of grief as people seldom like to be told what to do by people who appear younger than them, but as a surveillance officer it makes him invaluable.

He could easily pass as a student or a young office worker, and frequently he and Kev pretend to be grandfather and grandson, much to everyone else’s amusement. He’s slim, but I know that he’s deceptively strong, as years ago we had been part of the same kung fu club and he has more stamina than the rest of the office put together. Last time we’d been on a run together, he had sped on into the distance and picked me up on the way back, which he kept reminding me about, much to my chagrin.

I picked up his mug and then Tate’s, a serious-looking older officer in his early forties with a barrel chest and a calm manner. He is almost the exact opposite of Rudd, having short brown hair instead of the younger officer’s wavy blond locks, and the only thing they really have in common is their confident manner.

I’d managed to get halfway around the office and the tray was piled high with cups when Kev came into the office almost at a run, a thing all but unheard of.

‘I need six with kits and ready to go,’ he called before he even made it to his desk.

I dumped the tray next to Kate, one of the researchers, with an apologetic look and ran back to my desk to get my covert radio kit. The kit is designed to be well hidden under clothing and take advantage of the natural curves of the body to look as though it isn’t there. A multitude of wires then spread out across the body, ending with a pressel that can be placed somewhere unobtrusive, with the radio safely tucked out of sight.

The earpiece is so small that you can’t actually see it, even if you know it’s there, which is probably why the kits cost just shy of a grand each. Worth every penny though, in my opinion, as no one can tell you’re wired unless they hear you talking.

Rudd and Tate were both getting their kits on, as were Julian ‘Eddie’ Edwards, Mike ‘Tommo’ Thompson and Ralph ‘Ralphy’ Smith. Everyone who works in any kind of surveillance ends up with a nickname – don’t ask me why – and most were fortunate enough not to have one as bad as mine. I’d gained it on my first day in the office after screwing up embarrassingly on my first follow. I’d been forced to take it in good humour, despite the fact that I hated it from the second I heard it.

‘Are we going to need fighting kit?’ Tommo asked, holding up the covert harness that contained spray, baton and cuffs.

‘Take it in a bag but keep it close. I’ll brief in two minutes,’ Kev replied, struggling into his own kit.

Before the two minutes were up, we were all squeezed into the inspector’s office, with Kev once again in the only chair. The rest of us perched as best we could on the minimal furniture dotted around the room that suddenly smelled of sweat and the other odours that congregate wherever several men gather. Kev ostentatiously cleared his throat to get our attention and I listened closely, intrigued as to what could get him in such a state of excitement.

‘We’ve got some intel on a robbery that’s going to happen at a jeweller’s in the South Lanes when they open at nine. It’s only just come in, but we’re expecting four of them, all Eastern European, with a vehicle as yet unidentified. Apparently they’re going to hit Wester’s on Union Street, just opposite the Font and Firkin,’ he said, naming a local pub that’s known by anyone who has worked Brighton for more than a few months.

‘We need to put someone in the shop, in the back room, so we need to leave in the next five minutes. Tommo, that’s you if you don’t mind. Ralphy, you’re driving. I want the car on Ship Street just south of the entrance to Union Street. That’s the most likely place for them to park, and I want the car identified as soon as it arrives. Rudd, you’re with me. We’ll be around the corner inside another jeweller’s, waiting for the call from Ralphy or Tommo. That leaves Ding’ (I really hate my nickname), ‘and Eddie as pedestrians, with Tate in CCTV in case they get away, and doing the log, please.’

Every surveillance job has a log that goes with it, where the log keeper writes down anything relevant so that it can be referred to later. It’s a godsend as, after a four-hour follow, it’s easy to forget key parts that could be vital if the job goes to court.

Kev looked around the room at us, an uncharacte‌ristically serious expression on his face. ‘I want stab vests on, gentlemen. We don’t think they’re going to be armed but they may be.’ He ignored our groans as we thought about all the rejigging of kit we would have to do to fit the cumbersome vests. It was just like Kev to let us get kitted up and then tell us about the vests; no doubt he thought it was hilarious.

‘We’ll have LST on standby in a van on Middle Street and, just in case, we’ve got a plain clothes firearms unit who will be parked up at Bartholomew Square. Questions?’

Tommo half raised a hand. ‘Yeah, if I don’t hear anything first, I take it I call as soon as they enter the shop?’

Kev nodded. ‘Yes. We’ve warned the jeweller’s and they’ve agreed to open anyway, with just one male member of staff. We should be right around the corner, so hopefully we can be inside before it gets nasty. Anything else?’

We all shook our heads and filed out, picking up our stab vests and strapping them on as we headed down to the car park. We headed out in two cars: me, Tommo and Eddie in one and the rest in the second that Ralphy was driving. We dropped Tommo at the entrance to The Lanes that opened onto North Street and then dumped the car in King’s Place, leaving the logbook on the dash so that it wouldn’t get a ticket. Eddie and I then ambled through The Lanes together, chatting about nothing much and trying to look for all the world as if we were window shopping. I’m not sure how convincing we were at eight thirty in the morning, but we did our best.

The brick-paved pedestrian area known as the South Lanes is a lovely part of Brighton, with interesting shops and cafés that sell all manner of items and old buildings that tower overhead, making you feel as if you’re walking through a man-made ravine. They also act as a confusing warren of twisting paths and are ideal for criminals trying to make an escape, so the jewellers here are hit every couple of months or so, often without us ever finding the culprit.

I stopped outside a shop offering bongs and pipes, pointing out to Eddie the huge cannabis leaf stencilled on the window. ‘Subtle. I bet they do a roaring trade with all the students.’

‘Yeah, can you hear that buzzing?’ he asked, indicating his hidden earpiece.

I shook my head. ‘No, mate, clear as a bell here. Hang on. Eddie from Ding, test call?’ I said, pressing the button hidden in my pocket.

‘Yeah, Lima Charlie,’ he replied via the radio, giving the loud and clear signal.

On the private channel we use for surveillance jobs, we tend to use nicknames and first names rather than the call signs that are reserved for use on the main divisional channels. It takes too long to use a call sign every time you want to get hold of someone, and there’s a much more relaxed feel to the communication. Often we use a mobile phone as cover, having a made-up conversation and pressing the pressel only during certain parts, imparting information to the rest of the team. I had used this technique a few months before on a job when I had been sitting on a park bench and our target, a small-time dealer, decided that he would sit next to me and enjoy the sunshine. Before he could engage me in a conversation I had pulled out my phone and pretended to answer a call, giving Kev answers to the questions he was asking via the radio while the target hadn’t even twitched.

That morning, however, it was far easier for me and Eddie to stick together. It seemed more rational to have two of us wandering around together than two apparently unrelated people window shopping at that hour of the day. I felt a little bulky and obvious with the stabbie on under my short-sleeved shirt, but hoped that the jacket I’d thrown over the top would stop anyone from noticing. We stopped at a nearby café and I bought us a couple of takeaway coffees, then we strolled around The Lanes enjoying the sounds of the city waking up.

The traffic noise was muted there, thanks to the tall buildings that threw the sound around in odd ways and there was a warmth to the air that promised to build into a scorching day. I was just beginning to relax and enjoy myself when the radio crackled to life in my ear, Ralphy’s voice coming through loudly enough to make me start.

‘Contact, contact, dark green Mercedes, index November 367, Delta Yankee Tango. Four up, three males and one female, all Eastern European-looking, well dressed. One of the males is driving and they’re parked up right at the end of the street.’

I checked my watch and guessed that this would indeed be the target vehicle as it was five minutes to nine. Ralphy spoke again, hushing his voice despite the fact that they wouldn’t be able to hear him.

‘Three out, two males and the female, and heading into Union Street. The driver remains in the vehicle and the other three are away from my view eastbound.’

Kev’s voice came over the radio the instant Ralphy stopped talking, like the well-oiled machine that our team is.

‘Kev has control and they are towards Wester’s, to the door, and the female is knocking while the males stay out of sight to either side. Tommo did you receive my last?’

Three clicks came over the radio – the signal we use for yes when we can’t talk; two clicks for no.

Kev picked it up and resumed the commentary.

‘Three clicks for yes, received. Standby, the door is open and one of the males is in with the female, the other male stands on the door facing out. All units wait for Tommo’s call.’

I glanced at Eddie and saw that he was as rigid with the tension as I was. This part of a job is the worst, wanting to get into the shop and stop them before anyone gets hurt but after they have done something criminal. It’s a fine line and it’s easy for something to go wrong.

Tommo’s voice came over the radio in a frantic whisper, and before the words, ‘Go, go, go!’ were fully out of his mouth, Eddie and I were racing around the corner towards the startled-looking brute that stood on the step of the jeweller’s. He was wearing a smartlooking suit, dark grey with a black shirt, and had shoulders that looked twice as wide as I was tall. He had slicked back black hair and a swarthy complexion, and he turned as we ran down the street towards him.

Both Eddie and I automatically made it look as if we were running past, and I made a show of looking at my watch as we approached. ‘Three minutes,’ I called to Eddie, and saw the guard relax slightly as he dismissed us from his mind. We swung back sharply into his focus as I veered suddenly to the left, directly towards him, and his right hand shot inside his jacket.

Just as I went for the grab, Eddie leapt into the air towards him with his knee up, aiming for his solar plexus. Unfortunately, owing to the fact that the man was on a step, Eddie’s knee caught the guy in the groin with his full weight behind it and he collapsed with a scream.

I leapt over his writhing form and slammed into the door hard enough to rattle the shop front, tumbling through as the lock burst under my weight. Eddie followed me through and I saw a young man, obviously the shopworker, being held up against the wall by another man in a suit with the same slicked back hair as the lookout. A blonde woman in grey slacks and a white blouse pulled jewellery from a display and shoved it into her large bag as her colleague subdued the young man.