Dark Winter ns-6 Read online

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘He’s got a job to do as well, you know.’

  We reached the car and Suzy got straight into the driver’s seat. ‘I’ll do first stag.’

  I moved to the back of the car as she clicked open the boot and started to unload her documents, just as we’d done in King’s Lynn. I began checking my kit, not worried about what was happening around me. Suzy would let me know if there was a problem: the engine would turn on and I’d just slam the boot, walk to my seat and we’d drive. If I got a shout from her, maybe because people were coming towards us, it would be in slow time.

  The SD was loaded and made ready, but I still checked chamber and that the mag was on firmly. Then I checked that the top rounds of the spare mags were seated properly and put them into my NBC trousers. I didn’t want to be changing mags and have a stoppage if the working parts came forward but got held because the round wasn’t correctly positioned – not good if you’ve got an ASU just feet away wanting to rip your throat out.

  I tapped the Mondeo’s roof when I was ready and walked along the driver’s side. Suzy climbed out and I was pleased to see her face had no expression at all. She was clearly tuning in.

  A taxi trundled along the road behind us, splashing through the puddles. I got into the driver’s side, checked the keys were in the ignition, and moved the seat back a little. Suzy was mincing about at the rear as I emptied my pockets of everything but the scaffold fixings, including the moan-phone and my own. It all went into my bumbag and was shoved under the passenger seat for what I hoped was the last time. All being well, I’d be back to pick it up in the next couple of hours.

  She was ready too. I got the keys, climbed out and joined her as she slung her ready bag over her right shoulder. I chucked mine over my left to make it easier for us to walk together, then hit the key fob. ‘I’m gagging for a brew.’

  ‘Good idea. Jack Daniels and Coke will do me.’

  She walked round the car and checked each door. Satisfied, she put her arm through mine and we started to walk back towards the main, placing the key under one of the chucks of concrete that diverted the traffic. There’d be no more talking from now. She would be doing exactly the same as I was, trying to visualize every step of the way, trying to create a film in her head of what she wanted to happen, starting with the padlock, as if her eyes were the camera lens and her ears the recording kit.

  I visualized going through the door with the 9mm, lifting my feet as I tried to avoid making noise, starting to get my NBC kit on, avoiding any rushed movements. I imagined going upstairs, my feet moving slowly, deliberately, placing themselves on the sides of the stairs to stop them creaking. Finally, I made entry into a room with Suzy backing me as we took on the ASU. I replayed the footage three or four times on the camera inside my head, from entering the target to leaving with Suzy and Dark Winter, and the ASU dead.

  Suzy pushed out some gum and her jaws got to work. Now was the time to play the fuck-ups, not later. What if the door had been obstructed? What if they hit us as we were getting the kit on? What if one escaped on to the street with the DW, or threw it out of the window? I hit play, then replay, trying to come up with answers.

  It wouldn’t go exactly to script – it never did. On the ground, every situation would be different from what we’d imagined. But the films in our heads were a start point; it meant we had a plan. If it all went to rat shit, at least we’d react immediately instead of standing there feeling sorry for ourselves.

  42

  I checked traser: it was just after two, but the ASU were unlikely to be asleep. They’d be jumping at every hiss of air brakes out on the road or every scratch of a rat on the plaster. If some of them were curled up in their new sleeping-bags, they’d surely have somebody on stag. Which was worse? And did it matter? The fact was, the fuckers were in there and soon we would be too.

  We turned left towards King’s Cross. All the late-night food places were now closed, but the pavements were strewn with their wrappers and a crateload of old Stella cans. There were fewer drunks hanging around than before, and a couple more whores, but otherwise the cast of characters looked more or less the same. The camera was pointing across the road towards the police station. Maybe its mirrored glass needed more protection at this time of night than members of the public.

  As we got to the crossing that took us to the bow of the ship, Suzy pulled her selection of Ward-lock keys out of her jeans pocket. We didn’t look out of place round here: this was cheap-hotel land, and backpackers and budget tourists were seen twenty-four hours a day. We crossed the road arm in arm, on to the tip of Jim’s kebab shop.

  I looked at her and smiled. ‘You ready?’

  She smiled back. ‘You bet.’ Her eyes passed mine and moved on to the station CCTV. ‘It’s still pointing over the road.’

  We turned left on to Gray’s Inn. When we got to the target, I put down my bag and got into position with my back against the door, holding my arms out for her. She smiled and her bag joined mine as she leant into my embrace. ‘Left a bit.’ I moved as ordered, and felt the lock press against my left shoulder as I ran my hands through her damp hair and gazed at her adoringly, while she got her arm up for the key then tried to see over my shoulder and get into a good position to open the padlock. ‘That’ll do, stay there – that’s it, just there.’

  There was no one else about, not that it mattered. Whatever happened, we’d just have to get on with it, as we did getting over the wall in King’s Lynn. Fannying around just gives people more time to take notice.

  A steady bass beat came up the road, two cars pulsating with the power of their own speakers. They revved their engines, jumping the lights up by the ship’s bow less than twenty metres away as Suzy brought down the key from the door frame. I soon heard the shackle being lifted out of the hasp, and felt her breath against my neck. ‘Easy.’

  Suzy moved her head a little towards me as I checked the windows above the shops opposite. ‘The door’s giving.’ Her head went back slightly to check out the station CCTV. I smiled and nodded.

  I lifted my right hand off her back and moved it between us. If anybody came along now they’d think I was having a feel. Her stomach eased away from me so I could reach under my sweatshirt.

  ‘Wait, wait.’ Two figures were approaching from the direction of the ship’s stern, on our side of the street.

  My hand was still between us, now gripping the pistol. It was just a couple of teenagers, out on the town. Both of them saw where my hand was and obviously thought it was my lucky night. As they passed they gave me a big grin and a ‘Wa-hey, get in there!’ as Suzy gave me another kiss hard on the lips. She tasted a little more of gum than vomit now. I pulled her a little tighter with my left arm. Maybe this would be the last time I ever got to kiss a woman.

  They disappeared towards the station and I had one last check round as I took over holding the door in position with my left hand. ‘You ready?’

  She gobbed out her gum, then nodded, and I gripped harder on the Browning. I took a deep breath. ‘OK, stand by . . . stand by . . . go.’

  She backed away slightly to give me some room and I pulled out the weapon, bringing the hammer back with my thumb.

  There was a gap of about a foot between the door and the frame. Keeping the weapon low on my chest, I side-stepped and slipped through into the narrow hallway, still controlling the door. It was pitch black inside. The instant I was over the threshold and standing on hard concrete, I thrust out the weapon, bending from the waist to make myself a smaller target, finger-pad resting on the trigger’s first pressure.

  A shaft of street-light pointed the way to a flight of lino-covered stairs not more than eight metres ahead. I took a step away from the door to let Suzy through, my Browning still straight out in front of me, both hands controlling it now to give the weapon a firm platform.

  I pointed the Browning up the stairs as I lifted my foot to make sure I didn’t kick any shit on the floor, eyes flashing everywhere. The st
aircase was five or six paces ahead. A vehicle passed behind me along Gray’s Inn, a flash of white light flooding the hall.

  There was a closed door to my left. I stopped short of it just as Suzy shut the entry-point behind her, plunging us both into darkness. I stayed still, my mouth open, and cocked an ear at the staircase. A pair of high heels clicked along the pavement. Someone tooted a horn at her. Then there was a gentle rustling as Suzy eased the SDs from their bags. Moments later she was with me.

  The pistol went back slowly into my jeans and I flicked up the safety catch with my right thumb. My ears fixed on the closed door, my eyes on the staircase, I held out my right hand and her body moved into it. We fumbled for a moment before my hand gripped the cold metal of the SD. I felt my way to the pistol grip; my thumb found the safety catch and pushed it up.

  A very faint glow emanated from the back of the sight as my left hand went down for the Maglite in the front pocket of my jeans. Twisting it on with my mouth, I covered most of the lens with the fingers of my left hand so there was just a pinprick of light.

  The door was panelled wood, two lever locks on the left covered with flaking paint, one half-way down with an old brass handle, the other at about chin height. It opened inwards.

  I shone the torch just above the handle for Suzy to see as I crossed to the hinge side, doing my best to avoid the lumps of fallen plaster and other crap that littered the floor, making sure the beam didn’t shine directly into the keyway and through to the other side.

  Suzy knew what I wanted. Her fleece-covered hand closed slowly but firmly around the handle. The rest of her body stayed against the wall, in case someone with a weapon was standing on the other side.

  I followed suit, my right shoulder digging into the frame as I pulled out the extendable butt on the SD until the steel rods clicked into position.

  I placed the weapon in my right shoulder and swallowed the saliva that had gathered in my open mouth. I could have just let it dribble out, but I didn’t want to leave DNA. I adjusted my head so that the cold steel rod holding this side of the butt plate was comfortable against my cheek, and gripped the suppressed barrel with my left hand.

  In the torch’s gentle glow, I could see that Suzy also had her weapon butt fully extended. Her right hand was locked round the pistol grip, weapon pointing to the floor as she eased the butt into her right shoulder. When I saw that her left hand was back on the door handle, I turned off the Maglite.

  There was a burst of laughter out on the street. I pushed down on the safety catch and heard the first click into single-shot. I stepped slowly away from the wall and felt my way forwards until I touched Suzy. I tapped what I guessed was her arm before returning my hand to the barrel.

  I heard the handle creak. Butt in the shoulder, both eyes open, sight on, aiming where the door would open, I moved forwards. As the door opened an inch, dull street-lighting penetrated the room through empty extractor fan holes near the high ceiling. I moved left, away from the door frame, both eyes open, and went static. Legs bent, I leant into the weapon, making it a part of me as Suzy moved in and right.

  We were both clear of the door now, both inside Jim’s kebab shop. Street-light from Pentonville broke through a six-inch gap in the chipboard that covered the tops of MTC’s windows. There was a door to our right, half open. Suzy went towards it, moving as quickly as she could without clattering into debris. I followed as she took up position at the hinged side, facing the opening, weapon up, waiting for me to back her.

  I was just behind as she took one pace into the next room. I followed, going right, my thumb continuously checking single-shot.

  MTC was small, with just an old counter and shelving. Raised voices filtered through from the other side of the chipboard barrier, an argument between a minicab driver and a bunch of clubbers. My eyes followed the voices – a man leaning against 297 was telling the driver he could shove the ride up his arse because twenty-five quid was way too much to get to Herne Hill. The door was bolted, one up, one down.

  I turned back towards Jim’s, weapon still in the shoulder, picking my way through the shit on the floor. Now that some night vision was kicking in I could make out a sliver of light coming from the bottom of our entry-point doorway into the corridor. A couple of cars passed.

  Suzy covered upstairs while I pulled some of the scaffolding pieces from my jeans. As quietly as I could, I wedged three of them firmly between the door and its frame. I didn’t want to hang around: I jammed one in about a third of the way up, another a third of the way down. A third went underneath. There was no way this door would be opening in a hurry.

  We picked up the bags and moved back into Jim’s. Suzy covered her hand with the fleece again to close the door behind us. The room was so dirty and caked with grease I could taste it.

  An emergency vehicle drove fast down Pentonville the other side of MTC, its blue light bouncing off the ceiling. I moved to block the door to 297 with the remaining scaffolding joints as Suzy started to get into her NBC kit.

  43

  I joined Suzy and got the NBC kit on. My SD was never more than arm’s length away, lying on its left side, so I could just lean down, grab the pistol grip and flick off the safety catch with my thumb. My eyes never left the closed door into the corridor.

  I was soon ready, apart from my respirator. The pistol went into the smock’s chest pocket, and I checked the spare SD mags in the map pockets, making sure the rounds were facing down and the concave shapes of the mags were facing backwards. If I had to change mags, all I’d have to do was shove my hand into a pocket, drag out a mag, and the rounds would be facing up and the mag the right way round so it was ready to be placed into the weapon. That was the theory, anyway. In reality, the mags would twist and turn in there, but I liked to feel they were at least in the correct position to start with.

  My mind shrank even further as I checked for the last time that the mag was on tight, and that the safety catch moved freely all the way to three-round burst. As Suzy bent to put on her boots, I tested the extended butt to make sure the two rods were still locked. It wobbled a little on its joints, but these things never give you the firm fire position you get with a solid one.

  I’d have preferred to be clad from head to toe in Kevlar body armour, but apart from that I was ready. One final check with my thumb that safety was on, and, with my respirator in my left hand, I started moving, picking my feet up carefully as I tried to get used to the big rubber boots again.

  A clatter of high heels and laughter passed Jim’s kebab as I reached the door. I moved to the right, by the handle, before kneeling down to lay my SD on the floor. I checked the respirator’s pressure valve was still tight, pushed my hair back from my forehead and fitted the respirator over my face, making sure I had a nice tight seal and the canister was on firmly.

  I took slow, deep breaths to oxygenate myself, inhaling the strong smell of new rubber. Then I stood up. Pistol grip in my right hand, butt in the shoulder, index finger straight along the trigger guard, thumb ready to flick off the safety catch, I checked the SD sight.

  Suzy adjusted the butt of her weapon into her shoulder, lodging it in the soft area between the collar-bone and ball-and-socket joint, then flattened herself against the wall on the other side of the doorway. I eased myself forward to get my right ear against the door. I could hear nothing but the sound of vehicles ploughing through puddles in the street. I stood back, adjusting myself into a fire position, legs shoulder-width apart, leaning forward with my left leg bent, hunched over the weapon, making it part of me once more. Suzy reached across and grasped the handle. I nodded, and she eased it down.

  The door creaked open a fraction; two inches, then three, then four. I could see nothing but darkness. When the gap was about a foot and a half wide, I moved my left foot very slowly over the threshold, letting the edge of my boot down gently into the corridor. I felt a small chunk of plasterboard press against the rubber, and shifted an inch or two to one side until I found a clear area.
I did the same with my right foot, probing for a nice bit of bare concrete. To my right, a sliver of light glinted beneath our entry-point, and just the other side of it two more vehicles splashed through a rain-filled pothole.

  Sucking air through the canister, I made my way towards the staircase, five paces to my left. I had both eyes open, weapon at forty-five degrees, pointing up into the darkness.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and peered up into the darkness. My lungs strained to fill themselves with air.

  I could hear the faint rustle of Suzy’s NBC suit and checked behind me. She was in the doorway, weapon up, covering the darkness above me. She was going to be my one foot on the ground during this tactical bound. While I concentrated on getting up the stairs as quickly and quietly as I could, she’d remain static. When I went firm, she’d come up to me. If there was a drama it would be difficult for her to return fire without hitting me, and the higher I went the more I’d fill her sights. If it went noisy, my plan was to fall flat and slide back down the stairs, letting her take on whatever was up above me.

  Time to go for it. I took a slow, deep breath, every muscle in my body tensed to keep the weapon in a really tight firing position.

  I moved to the right of the stairway to give Suzy a slightly better arc of fire, and, lifting my right leg, moved it slowly forward, wary of old cans or crisp packets, anything that would make a noise. Once my toe touched the wall, I trod down on the first step, easing my weight on to the ball of my foot. The bare wood creaked louder than the noise of my breathing. I stopped in mid-stride, and listened. Nothing.

  I put the rest of my weight on my right foot, repeating the process with the left on the step above, swivelling my body against the wall. My skin prickled with sweat as my eyes scanned upwards, adjusting slowly to the darkness. It looked like there was a landing up there; I couldn’t tell whether there was a door as well. I stopped on the fifth step, rolling my eyes, trying to distinguish any shapes or figures in the darkness. It wasn’t working: I couldn’t see anything yet. We could have done with some NVGs in the ready bags.