Dark Winter ns-6 Read online

  Suzy was nowhere to be seen, but I heard traffic in my earpiece and then her voice. I had to block my other ear with a finger to hear what she was saying, because the station tannoy had started up as well. All I caught was something about the main.

  ‘What’s he doing on the main?’

  ‘They’re all held at the main. Outside the station, they’re still apart and static. You get that?’

  ‘Got it. Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ She shut up and the traffic took over in the earpiece. Then, ‘Stand by, stand by, they’re moving. Still apart. They’re at the main, still station side of the main, heading left.’

  ‘Coming out now.’

  23

  The whole place was a building site, metal fences and machinery everywhere, and boards apologizing for any inconvenience during the construction of the high-speed Channel Tunnel rail link, ‘Britain’s Rail Gateway to Europe’. Immediately beyond it was the main, a brightly lit fucked-up mess of roadworks and traffic, clogged in both directions.

  ‘They’re crossing the first junction left, the road running alongside the station.’

  I walked towards it, with Suzy still gobbing off in my ear. ‘That’s Grey and Navy now at McD’s the other side of the junction left . . . wait, wait . . . target’s intending right at the crossing, over the main, towards the island. The other two are going straight, he’s crossing the main.’

  I couldn’t see her but that didn’t matter: I could see the target through the crowds, lit up by the golden arches. He stood waiting obediently with a few others for the green man, then realized the traffic was so clogged he could cross anyway. He was aiming for the paved area in front of a three-storey derelict building, shaped like the bow of a ship and splitting the main into two separate roads.

  ‘Stand by, stand by, he’s towards the island now.’

  I could see him, no more than sixty metres away, and could just hear Suzy over the traffic. ‘I still have, still have. Held on the island. Intending the second road, still held.’

  I headed across the junction left, past McDonald’s, to the crossing that led to the island. I didn’t have to watch him, she’d tell me what he was up to. I was looking ahead: Grey and Navy were taking the next option left further along the road, then disappearing.

  ‘Stand by, stand by, lights green, now crossing. He’s heading right . . . now on the pavement, he’s gone right. Still unaware.’

  I looked back towards the source just in time to see him disappear inside an over-lit Costcutter, a 24/7. We both sparked up simultaneously. ‘Stop, stop, stop!’

  I crossed on to the island and walked along the pavement to the left of the wedge-shaped building to get out of line of sight of Costcutter. Suzy still had eyes on. ‘I’ve got the trigger, and can give direction once he goes foxtrot.’

  ‘Roger that, mate. I’m on the dead side of the derelict building. The other two took the first option left past McDonald’s. Wait . . .’ I moved a little further along the road to get the street sign. ‘That’s Caledonian Road, Caledonian. I’ll wait for your stand by.’

  ‘Caledonian, OK.’

  This had always been a sleazy, run-down area, a jumble of kebab, chip and burger joints, and corner shops selling porn. It was the home of down-and-outs, drug-dealers and their addicts, many of them prostitutes. The derelict building was boarded up, awaiting redevelopment, the chipboard sheets at street level covered with an already grimy artist’s impression of a brave new world.

  I could just make out Suzy again, above the impatient revving of engines. ‘Stand by, stand by. That’s him foxtrot, he’s foxtrot. He’s gone left, blue carrier-bag, your right with a blue carrier.’

  I went back to the ship’s bow. ‘I have, I have.’

  I was about twenty-five metres behind him. ‘That’s him approaching the first junction left.’

  We were now walking along the main once more, opposite the station, when he disappeared. ‘He’s gone left, unsighted to me.’

  ‘Roger that. I’m behind you, I’ll try and parallel.’

  ‘Roger that.’ Suzy was going to try to find a road that ran parallel to the one the source had gone down.

  I got to the junction and waited by the small police station on the corner. It looked like a converted corner shop with mirrored glass. ‘Suzy, it’s Birkenhead Street.’

  ‘Roger that, Birkenhead. I’m behind you on Gray’s Inn – it dog-legs after a hundred. I’m now parallel to Birkenhead.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  I crossed the road as if to go straight past the junction towards the flashing lights of the amusement arcade opposite the police station, and glanced left as arcade machine-gun fire and screams of death filtered through the doors. ‘He’s about half-way up Birkenhead. The street’s about two hundred. At the top there’s a T-junction. Must link left with Gray’s Inn.’

  ‘Roger that, I have a junction right. St Chad’s Street – St Chad’s. I’m going static, see if I can see him coming up to the T.’

  I waited on the corner, wanting him to make a bit of distance before I followed. In any case, as soon as he reached that junction Suzy should know which way he was going. ‘OK. Roger that. I still have, on the left on Birkenhead.’

  Birkenhead was a street of Edwardian houses that had been converted into seedy private hotels. They all seemed to have identical net curtains and condensation on the windows, the sort of place you’d bring one of the station hookers if you didn’t fancy an alleyway.

  ‘Stop, stop, stop! What the fuck is he up to? Just short of the T junction.’ He just stood there. ‘Wait, wait . . . lighting up.’

  ‘Roger that. I’m static by the snooker hall on Gray’s Inn Road and have a view all the way down St Chad’s.’

  ‘Roger that. Still static, he’s smoking.’

  He stood with the carrier-bag in his left hand and his cigarette in the right. Why had he stopped so suddenly? Did he know he was being followed? If so, why didn’t he look round to check? Was he waiting for someone?

  ‘He’s still static, smoking. He’s head up, plane spotting or something. I haven’t got a clue what he’s up to.’ He wasn’t looking at the stars, that was for sure. The sky was the colour of mud.

  Suzy came straight back. ‘It’s the CCTV. I can see a camera at the first junction, right on St Chad’s. The camera is starting to move, the camera is—’

  ‘Stand by, stand by. He’s foxtrot.’

  I stayed where I was. ‘He’s at the junction left. He’s going left, towards you, he’s going left.’

  Suzy cut in just as he disappeared from my view. ‘I have, I have. That’s him now towards . . . No, that’s stop, stop, stop! That’s keys out. He’s at a door, he’s going complete. I’ll walk past.’

  ‘Roger that. I’ll wait short of the junction and meet you there.’

  I looked back at the railway station behind me, no more than fifty metres across the main, and could now see the reason why all three had held at the exit. At the first junction past WH Smith and Boots another CCTV camera was set high on a steel pole. It swivelled, then settled more or less directly facing the entrance to McD’s.

  I crossed back over Birkenhead to the side of the street he’d taken. The source had gone left. He’d been watching the camera, waiting for the right moment to make his move, like an escaping PoW timing the progress of a sentry.

  I could hear Suzy’s breathing in my earpiece as she moved along St Chad’s. I stopped about five metres short of the junction, next to a steel-barred gate, about seven feet high and padlocked, that guarded the gap between two buildings. Through it I could see the rear of a three-storey block of flats, which formed the corner of Birkenhead and St Chad’s, and also the back of the row of Edwardian houses that the source had gone into. Light spilled from the clear plastic sheeting of a small DIY conservatory on to a haphazard pattern of downpipes.

  A light went on behind a droopy net in one of the top-floor windows, then the main curtains were pulled swiftly shut.r />
  The camera began to turn with a gentle electric whine. I got my cell out and put it to my ear instead of using the hands-free, so anyone watching would see I had a reason for being there. ‘The camera’s on the move again.’

  ‘I’ve got it.’ There was a pause. ‘The house is thirty-three. It’s thirty-three. It’s the one nearest the block of flats.’

  ‘OK, thirty-three, got that. Just carry on round the corner and you’ll see me.’

  The camera focused on Birkenhead, which meant I must have been exposed below the street-lamp. I smiled broadly as Suzy came into view and held out her arms. We kissed, cuddled, and turned off our phones. The camera stayed where it was as I leant against the gate to give her a good look at the rear of the target house.

  ‘Third floor.’ I felt her head move on my shoulder as she looked up. ‘See the crack of light between the curtains?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It came on within a minute of him going into the house. It’s got to be him, and he must be alone. Let’s get clear of the camera. We’ll turn right on to St Chad’s.’

  I held her hand as we walked across the road, under the camera. It didn’t swivel to follow us. We couldn’t see any more cameras ahead of us, just signs stuck on lamp-posts announcing that Neighbourhood Watch really worked.

  She poked me in the arm. ‘Hey, why did you say he could have my number? What’s the matter with yours?’

  ‘I’ll tell you once we’re back at the flat.’

  Suzy took out her pack of nicotine gum and nodded towards the red neon sign on a Chinese Methodist church as she lit up. ‘Like being back on holiday.’

  ‘Run out of B & H then?’

  She turned and blew pretend smoke at me.

  ‘I just wish the Yes Man had told us who the source was.’ She put the pack away as she started chewing.

  ‘He must know how much we love surprises.’

  ‘You know what? I have a bad feeling about this so-called source. Boy terrorists, my arse – who does he think he is?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t care.’

  She studied my face. She wasn’t sure if I was taking the piss.

  ‘“They serve a purpose,”’ I mimicked. ‘I don’t care why they do it, as long as they do.’

  She spat her half-chewed gum into the gutter, looking disgusted by it. ‘Tastes shit. Listen, I reckon we need to be careful with him and those other two.’

  I told her about Grey and Navy’s haircuts and smooth faces. ‘They could just have gone for a job lot at the barber’s – or they’ve cut off not only their hair but also their beards to blend in. That may or may not be good for us.’

  ‘Let’s look on the bright side, yeah?’

  As we passed the church, a figure stepped out from the shadows. He was a white guy in his early twenties, wearing a black leather jacket and ripped jeans. Even in this light I could see his eyes were bloodshot and wild. ‘Oi, you want any whites or browns?’ It sounded like a threat rather than this week’s offer.

  We didn’t break step. ‘We’re all right, thanks, mate.’ I shook my head. ‘We don’t want anything.’

  He started following. ‘Come with me, come down here.’ His voice sounded like a tape-recorder with the batteries running low. ‘Come on, come on.’ He waved his hands towards the rear of the church. ‘I got whites, I got browns, tenner a go.’

  Suzy was sharper this time. ‘Which bit of “no” don’t you understand?’

  He stopped and swayed. ‘You taking the piss, slag? I’ll rip your fucking guts out.’

  We kept walking but both kept him in sight, just in case this was going to get out of control. He slipped his right hand into his pocket. ‘I’ll cut you both. Fucking slag.’

  Suzy laughed quietly as we carried straight on. She was right, we didn’t want to attract any attention; it was better just to keep walking.

  He wasn’t going to follow us on to the main – it was clear he preferred the darkness. He just shouted instead, ‘Fuck you, slag,’ then laughed to himself. ‘If you don’t want ’em, I’ll sell ’em to your fucking kids – your little girls would suck my cock for a baggy.’

  Spinning on my heel, I headed straight back towards him, my face burning. I knew I shouldn’t, but fuck it.

  Suzy was close behind. ‘Leave it, Nick, let’s go. We’re not here for that.’ She came up level and grabbed my arm, trying to look into my eyes. ‘Not now, mate, not now. We’ve got to go.’

  The little bastard staggered back towards the side of the church, cackling like a hyena. ‘Come on, then, fucking wankers . . .’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Nick, what was that all about? I’m trying very hard at the moment to imagine you with a brain. If it’s still in there, switch the fucking thing on.’

  She dragged me down to the main and we headed west until we managed to flag down a cab.

  24

  The small red LED on the alarm panel blinked as I tapped in the eight digits so that we wouldn’t disturb the QRF as they sat down to The Bill. Suzy was already past me and on her way to the fridge with our two bags of microwave food. We were becoming a proper little domestic couple.

  I could see things had moved on efficiently while we were out. Yvette had dropped off the NBC kit: it was stacked on Suzy’s bed, still in its vacuum-packed plastic bags. Sitting on the coffee-table in the living room was a brown cardboard box, about ten by eight, its lid open, filled to the brim with blister packs of shiny dark green capsules. I picked one up and turned it over. ‘We’ve got the doxycycline.’

  ‘Oh, great.’ Suzy’s voice drifted from the kitchen. ‘Party time.’

  Two cards of pills went into my back pocket; the bumbag and Browning went on top of the TV.

  There were also two sets of keys and a handwritten note. ‘The cars are in residents’ parking. You fancy the Mondeo or the Peugeot?’

  ‘Oh, come on, what do you think?’

  Both of the cars would have been prepared for ops. Any VDMs – such as a dealer’s sticker in the rear window or scratches on the bodywork – would have been removed. The interior bulbs would have been taken out too so that we could work at night without being seen getting into and out of the vehicles. There would also be two rocker switches under the dash to cut out the brake and reversing lights.

  The next item on the note was Yvette asking if I wanted someone to take my hire-car back. These people did know everything: there was no such thing as a personal life.

  I fell on to the settee and hit the Sky remote control, scrolling the twenty-four-hour news channels to catch up on all the gloom and doom.

  Suzy came in, munching her gum, not liking the taste at all. ‘I’ll get used to it, don’t worry. We might as well load up the SD mags now, don’t you think?’

  I plugged my cell into the charger and followed her into the bedroom. She pulled the suitcase from under the bed, lifted out two clear plastic bags full of loose rounds and threw me a pair of surgical gloves.

  I picked up one of the SDs and carried out NSPs by pulling back on the cocking piece at the top of the barrel and checking there were no rounds in the chamber, then letting the working parts go forward under their own steam and gently squeezing the trigger until I found the second pressure. It had a lot less play than the Browning, which would be a pain in the arse when we had bulky rubber NBC gloves on, plus the thin white cotton inners to soak up the sweat.

  The pistol grip had a three-round-burst and single-shot selector on the safety catch. Push it down with your right thumb until the first click and it would only fire one round each time you squeezed the trigger. Push it down again as far as it would go and you’d fire a three-round burst.

  If you ran out of ammunition with the original MP5, the working parts would still move forwards and lock into position as if it had collected a round from the magazine and rammed it into the chamber. Then you’d be left with a dead-man’s click as you squeezed the trigger on an empty chamber. To change magazines you had to cock the weapon, reload, then slam do
wn on the cocking handle to let the working parts move forward to pick up a round before you could resume firing. A pain in the arse, especially if you had people firing at you.

  These MP5 SDs worked the same way as M16 assault rifles and all semi-automatic pistols: after the last round was fired, the working parts remained to the rear. All you had to do was replace the magazine and hit the release lever. It made life just a little bit simpler, and I was all for that.

  What I liked most, however, was the HDS [holographic diffraction sight]. The heads-up sight was just like a tiny TV screen. I pressed the right-hand button just below the screen and Suzy looked over to see what I was up to. ‘Ever used one of these before?’

  She nodded. ‘Last year. Nothing exciting, just took out some street-lights and a dog the night before going into an office block. Good kit, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s the understatement of the century.’

  I brought the weapon into the aim: the bedside lamp was about to get the good news. The heads-up inside the screen was a dull white light, in the middle of which was a circle with a dot in its centre. The light couldn’t be seen from the barrel end of the weapon. Hitting rapidly moving or multiple targets in a closed environment couldn’t be easier. It was a bit like taking a picture with a digital camera – you could keep both eyes open, but lock the sight on to a target as quickly as you saw it, even through the eyepieces of a respirator.

  A lot of people didn’t like these things, but I did. If you’re firing in CQB [close quarter battle] conditions, both eyes have to be open: you’ve got to be able to see all the threats around you, all the time.

  I turned off the HDS and started to load the thirty-round magazines. I couldn’t tell by the markings, but I hoped they were subsonic rounds. The SDs would work with high-velocity rounds, but the power of the gases that propelled them could blow out the baffles and produce a normal muzzle report. I supposed we’d be finding out soon enough.