Honour Bound (23 page)

-39-

Greg
Shepherd, behind the wheel a recently stolen Mercedes, turned off the main road
and stopped at the barrier blocking the entrance to a small industrial estate.
A grey haired guard strolled out of a security hut and peered into the car.

Shepherd
lowered the window and nodded. "Morning Tom, I can see you’re rushed off
your feet again."

The
guard smiled. "Hello Mr. Shepherd, I didn't recognize you there for a
minute. You know, I'm
gonna
have to get
mesen
' a pair of glasses. The old peepers are getting worse
I can '
ardly
remember what the missus looks
like."

"Tom,
believe me, sometimes that's not such a bad thing."

The
guard laughed. "Tell me about it. I might not be able to see her but I
know when she's about. Built like a rhino she is, similar temper an' all."

"I
don't believe that. You wait 'till I see her."

"Your
welcome any time Mr. Shepherd. She can moan at you then, at least it'll give me
a break."

"Look
here Tom," Shepherd said with laughter in his voice, "I can't spend
all day chatting to you, I'm a very busy man, I've got money to make. Are you
going to open the gate or do I have to drive through it?"

"It's
your barrier Mr. Shepherd, but don't you go scratching that car, you might want
to give it to me someday. I'll let you in you just take care of yourself."

The
guard wandered back into the hut, moments later the barrier lifted and Shepherd
drove through and parked the Mercedes outside an industrial unit with an
'Import & Export' sign hanging over the door. The inside of the unit was
cold and smelled musty through lack of use. Shepherd went straight through the
empty storage area and into an office at the rear. He tapped a combination into
a numerical keypad on the door of a wall safe and waited while the door opened
under its own power. Reaching inside, he lifted out a leather holdall, quickly
checked the contents then pressed another button on the keypad to close the
door.

Twenty
minutes later, he parked outside Hammersmith underground station. He stayed in
the car with the engine running, knowing he would not have long to wait.

Mickey
Stubbs appeared first, materializing out of the gloom of the station's main
entrance, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He eased his way through the
flock of people going into the station and got into the front seat. Moments
later Bobby
Dern
came in to view. After dropping a
newspaper into a bin, he crossed the endless flow of pedestrians and got into
the back seat of the car.

Shepherd
turned in his seat to face them. "The
gear's
in
the bag Bobby, sort it out when we get rolling. So then, what's the
score?"

Stubbs
spoke as Shepherd eased the Mercedes into the traffic. "We checked the
address front and back. It's a block of apartments, reasonably sized with four
entrances only one of them at the back. At the front there’s a small one at
each end and the main one in the middle. Our man lives on the first floor not
far from the lift."

"Any
guards, porters, anything like that?" Shepherd asked.

"None
that we saw,"
Dern
said. "His car's parked
out front but there's no sound from his flat."

"Okay,"
Shepherd said, nodding his head, "first impressions?"

"We've
had a good
recce
," Stubbs said. "We're
going to have to take him either outside in the street or in the entrance
hall."

"What
about inside his own place, always a nice touch that?"

Dern
answered.
"No go. There’s an infrared beam on his door,
it's
set in the gap between the handle and the frame. If you turn it or kick the
door in the alarm will go off, if he's in, we lose surprise and he gets the
advantage, if he's out everybody in the building will know something's going
down. As Mickey says, it'll have to be done either in the foyer or in the
street."

Shepherd
steered the car into Weston Road and pulled into the kerb not far from the
junction. He thought for a moment. As a team they always avoided street hits
were possible. There was always the chance of a budding hero getting in the way
and cocking things up.

"What
about escape routes round the back?" he asked.

"No
problems," Stubbs said. "There's a high wall but it has a gate in it.
The gate is unlocked and it leads directly onto a main road. You can disappear
quicker than a rat up a drain-pipe."

"Great."
Shepherd looked at
Dern
. "Bobby, you and I will
take the inside." He nodded at the holdall, "There's a couple of
radios in there, take one and the silenced Berettas."

He
looked at Stubbs. "Mickey, you stay with the car, me and
Bobby'll
go wait for him upstairs. If he gets past us and
goes out the front, we won't follow him we'll just give you a shout on the
radio. When he comes out you take him with the MP5. If he goes out the back,
we’ll take him and let you know, then you can leave nice and quiet like, and
wait for us outside Acton Town tube station. If it’s you that gets him, fuck
off quick and torch the car. Any problems with that, or anything you want to
add?"

Both
men shook their heads. "Sounds okay to me," Stubbs said.

Shepherd
looked up and down the road, they had been parked for five minutes and no one
had passed on foot in either direction. "Okay," Shepherd said,
"let's earn it."

The
Mercedes moved slowly along Weston Road and at Stubbs' bidding, Shepherd pulled
in and parked next to the offside kerb. Marlborough Court, a modern red-bricked
building, followed the curve of the road, and from their position in the car,
they could see all three front entrances.

"Don't
forget," Stubbs said, "if you get him on his own, try and find out
where the girl is."

"Don't
worry,"
Dern
said, as he opened the holdall,
"I want to shag it as well."

He
handed Shepherd one of the silenced Berettas then put a radio into his pocket.
"See
ya
later, Mickey," he said as he got
out and closed the door behind him.

Stubbs
waited until the two men disappeared into the interior of the building before
sliding across into the driver’s seat. He pulled the MP5 from the holdall,
cocked it and put it on the floor between his feet. From his own bag in the
passenger
footwell
, he took a Browning Hi-Power
pistol, which he put in his jacket pocket, and a flask full of coffee.

"And
now we wait," he said to himself. He turned on the second radio, poured
himself a coffee and settled back into the seat.

-40-

Norton
drove on mental autopilot, only half concentrating on his surroundings while
his mind sifted through a jumble of thoughts. He now knew there was a
connection between the bombing of Heathrow, the murder of Vance and Jayne, and
a possible attempt on a bullion convoy. Holmes was in it up to his fat neck, of
that he was certain. Unfortunately, being certain only left him at the half way
stage, to cross the finishing line he would have to prove it. The only tangible
link between Holmes and the robbery had been the device at the Senator Hotel
which was no longer there. The information he had coaxed from Joey Williams
would never be heard in a court of law, and Norton had his doubts as to whether
a playful prod from the reapers scythe, would prompt Williams to repeat it to a
judge.   

Another
joker in this particular pack was Reginald Langdon. He’d had briefings,
although not in depth, on the state of play and of the players in this
particular game. If there was something he wanted to know that was not included
in the briefing, he had freedom of access to the files. At least he thought he
did, no one who was authorised to use the computer system would have known of
Vance's backup check. It would have been a pointless exercise had it been
common knowledge. The fact that Vance was about to authorise a surveillance
team, something he would never have considered unless he was positive there was
a leak, put a black mark directly over Langdon's well groomed head. Holmes and
Langdon playing for the same team, he thought, strange bedfellows indeed.

Norton
pulled the Vauxhall into the centre of the road indicating a right turn into
the sweeping curve of Weston Road. He had decided, after they had left Jamie
Stewart, to pay Holmes a visit. To introduce him to Mr. Sig was the way he had
put it to Sarah. But the Sig might not be enough, so he was returning to his
apartment to collect some rather special equipment. It was a move he would
rather not make, but not knowing who he could trust had left him little option.
From now on, he would have to be extremely careful.   

He
steered the car into Weston Road and pulled immediately into the kerb, took off
his sunglasses and put them on the dash.

"Why
are we stopping here?" Sarah asked. She had been watching his face during
the journey. If he had been aware of her attention, he had not made it obvious.
His look of concentration had been so prominent she had not spoken, not wanting
to interrupt his thoughts. But now the look of concentration had turned to one
of concern. They had stopped about two hundred yards from the apartment block,
and he was not attempting to get out of the car. She looked out of the rear
window and around the car wondering what he had seen, what she had missed.

"Why
have we stopped here?" She repeated, seeing nothing untoward, "What's
the matter?"

Without
taking his eyes from the road up ahead he said, "Can you see that Silver
Alfa Romeo sports car?"

"Yes,"
she said, following the direction of his stare. The
Spyder
was parked against the left hand kerb a few yards past the main entrance to the
apartment block. A line of cars filled each side of the road with enough space
in the middle for two cars to pass safely.

"Can
you see the red Mercedes parked nearly opposite?"

"Yes
I see it. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing's
wrong with the car. It's the person inside that concerns me."

"I
can't see anyone," she said, moving her head to the left and then right
hoping the action would give her a better angle. But all she could see were the
headrests of the front seats.

"I
can't see anyone from here either." Norton said. "But as we came
round the corner someone hung their arm out of the drivers window, looked like
they were emptying a cup or something. Now he's either a midget, or he's
slumped down in the seat because we should be able to see his head from
here."

"What
are you going to do?" she asked.

"Not
a lot. Not with you here."

It
could be nothing, he thought, just an innocent someone waiting for a friend.
Someone who'll be scared shitless if I poke a gun in their ear.
He thought about Talbot and the surveillance team. If Langdon has had a free
run on the files, he could have got my details to any of the hit teams offering
their services. He looked across at Sarah her face showing signs of alarm,
bugger it, I'm not taking the chance.

Leaning
over, he opened the glove compartment. Empty. He applied a slight pressure to
the upper right hand side of the compartment and it raised itself within the
dashboard until another compartment came into view. This one contained a small
mobile phone, a
Glock
19 semi-automatic pistol, two
full magazines and a box of ammunition.

"Very handy."
Sarah said.
"Every car should have one."

"All
the ones that I drive have," he replied nonchalantly, giving her a
sideways glance and acknowledging her weak smile.

He
took the phone and dialled a number.

"Who
are you phoning?"

"The
police of course, you know, 'If in doubt give us a shout'. You must have seen
their adverts in the papers."

"Police,"
he said into the mouthpiece as the operator answered.

Sarah
watched him.

He
reeled off a telephone number and waited.

"Oh,
hello," he said, "I live in Weston Road. There's a Red Mercedes
parked in the street and I think the driver's got a gun."

A pause.

"West twelve."

Another pause.

"No.
I won't give you my name I don't want to get involved."

He
pressed the 'End' button and put the telephone into his pocket. He would keep
it with him from now on as this was the number he had given Jamie Stewart.

"Will
they come, do you think.
The police?"

"That's
why I said I thought he had a gun. They'll be here."

Less
than ten minutes later two police officers in body armour walked past the
Vauxhall towards the Mercedes, one speaking on his radio. Norton noticed the
safety clips on both of the men's holsters were undone, allowing the guns to be
drawn quickly if needed. The two officers split up. The one who had been using
the radio drew his gun and knelt down behind a car on the opposite side of the
road to the Mercedes and slightly behind it. The other one crossed the road,
also behind the Mercedes. Norton could see him crane his neck to look in the
rear seats of the car. He turned towards his colleague and raised one finger
indicating there was one person inside.

"Shit,"
Norton swore.

"What's
the matter?" Sarah said, surprised by the sudden oath.

"The main entrance to my block."

"What's
the matter with it?"

“The
door's open,” Norton said, “
and
it shouldn't be. It
shuts itself after a couple of minutes if the sensors don't pick up any
movement. I've lived here for years and never, to my knowledge, has that door
stayed open. And I don't believe in coincidences.”

He
pulled down the sun visor, took his ATU identity card from the document flap
and put it in his pocket. "Stay here," he ordered, drawing the Sig
from its holster, "keep below the dashboard, I'll come back for you."

Sarah
nodded and sank lower in the seat.

He
got out of the car, gun in hand but both shoved into his jacket pocket and
walked along the footpath towards the kneeling policeman. As he drew level, he
slowed down and flicked the ID card onto the boot of the car. The policeman
gave it, and Norton, a quick glance. "There's probably another one in the
block behind you," Norton said. "I'll take care of him, you deal with
the car."

The
policeman nodded. 

Norton
walked into the apartment block. As he did so, he heard the second policeman
telling the driver to get out of the Mercedes, and to do it very slowly.

Norton
stopped by the entrance door, a piece of cane from the rose beds at the side of
the building had been wedged into the gap at the bottom to keep it open.

With
my car being outside, he thought, they may think I'm still in the apartment.

He
pressed the call button for the lift and stood back. The Sig, still in his
pocket, was aimed at the doors waiting for them to open. The lift was empty.
Stepping inside he pressed the button for the first floor, his floor, and
stepped out again before the doors shut. Crossing the hall to the emergency
stairs, he went quickly but quietly to the first floor. He opened the emergency
door just enough to see into the corridor, heard the subdued chime as the lift
doors opened and the electronic voice announce the floor number. The hoped for
the sound of footsteps as someone inspected the lift but they did not come, so
he stepped into the corridor pulling the door shut behind him.

His
apartment was about twenty yards from the lift, doors still open, as they would
be until it was summoned from another floor. He walked forward, right hand
gripping the Sig in his jacket pocket. His senses, sharpened by pumping
adrenaline picked up a sound behind him, a light footfall, probably a heel
scuffing on the heavy duty carpet. The centre of his back began to tingle as
his mind imagined the pain of a bullet smashing into it. He consoled himself
with the thought that if the person behind him wanted him dead he would have
fired already. Fighting the urge to turn round he walked on.

A
blonde man stepped into the corridor about ten yards in front of him. 'Cleaners
cupboard,' flashed quickly through Norton's mind. Was this man a cleaner, or a
target? He had to be sure. His question was answered as the man turned to face
him and levelled a gun at his chest.

Norton
stopped opposite the lift doors.

"Nice
trick with the lift," the blonde man said, "nearly had me going for a
minute."

"Never
mind," Norton said, eyeing his reflection in the polished aluminium of the
lift car, "can't win '
em
all."

"Let
me see your hands," the man said. "I want them out of your jacket. But
make it slow. Oh! By the way you won't make it to the lift, even if you
try."

Norton
knew he had to stall. His way out was the lift, but there was not enough time
to get in, press a button and wait for the doors to close. Someone hopefully
would want to use the lift in the very near future.

"How
much are you being paid?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the blonde man but
acutely aware of the person behind him. "I'll double it if you reverse the
contract and stiff whoever sent you."

The
lower half of the blonde man's face twitched. "Thanks, but no
thanks," he said. "Now take your hands out of your pockets, nice and
slowly."

Ting.

The
lift call bell sounded. Norton
slumped
his shoulders
as a sign of acquiescence, and immediately launched himself to the left. He
pulled the trigger twice while he was in the air. The front of his jacket
ballooned out as two bullets punched their way through the material.
Dern
staggered and began to slide down the wall. Three
bullets fired from behind spat passed Norton's shoulder, one of them tugging at
the collar of his jacket. After what seemed like an age, he landed in a heap on
the lift floor, the doors closing behind him.

As
the lift began its descent, three bullets punched through the doors in quick
succession. They dropped harmlessly to the floor after hitting the rear wall,
their velocity reduced by the silencer and the passage through the metal.
Norton waited two seconds then quickly got to his feet and pressed the
emergency stop button. He grabbed the handrail for support as the lift
shuddered to a halt. He put the Sig in its holster and using the handrail as a
foothold, pushed himself through the inspection hatch in the roof of the car.
The lift had descended only a few feet, the winch gear just inches below the
level of the corridor.

"Shit,
Bobby you look a fucking mess." The voice was quite clear through the
aluminium doors. Norton smiled and crossed the top of the lift. Two of the
bullet holes in the door had small pencil beams of light penetrating into the
dimness of the lift shaft. The body of the man who had spoken to the shot
gunman blocked the third. Taking the Sig from the holster, he fired four rounds
through the door six inches higher than the blocked bullet hole. His reward was
a scream and the sound of a collapsing body.

He
prised the lift doors open and climbed the few feet into the corridor. The
blonde man was on the floor, gun in hand but unconscious, a deep red stain
covering the front of his jeans. A second man lay across his legs, blood oozing
from a large hole in his side. Norton checked his pulse, dead. He picked up two
Berettas and put them in his jacket pocket then quickly searched the blonde
man's clothing for any other weapons. Finding nothing, he went to the emergency
door and descended half a dozen steps to the window that overlooked Weston
Road.