STATUS DRIFT: A gripping undercover detective crime thriller, page 19
We’re all one moment away from the certainty of decay and as we near the target address, I cannot help but feel that scent emanating from me. So much has changed in my life that I no longer recognise the person I was when I first joined the job. My identity has changed in more ways than I cared for. My career, for what it was worth, is multi-faceted. I open up the throttle. I feel like this is my final ride of freedom.
Winter has been absent. Her relentless pursuit of my whereabouts has ceased. Mike has taken the strain in that area but she could have bypassed him and come straight to me. Her tactics have changed too. Her team has become skilled at not making their presence known to me. Opportunities for me to compromise them have been non-existent on this job. I don’t for one minute assume it’s because I’m being given a loose lead to gain the intelligence she wants to convict Razor. It can’t be, as I have none to give. The only real threat is towards me, from an unrelated target.
39
Winter’s vehicle is parked up in an industrial site half a mile away from the main target premise. Cooper, Winter and their driver are the only occupants. Winter is aware she is now ground-assigned and acting as Gold Control for this arrest phase. The atmosphere in the car is tense, both occupants remaining alert. Winter tries her best to avoid looking at the radio nestled between her thighs. A watched radio never speaks.
‘Operational Control, from DI Hudson. We have subjects Batford and Mills in target area. They’ve ridden slowly by the address and left the area, over.’
‘Operational Control received. Gold Control, did you get that last message?’
Winter flinches as the radio comes alive. ‘Yes, confirmed that both subjects are in target area and have done a ride-by on target premises. All Alpha units, we have eyes on subjects. The job’s on. Maintain current positions. Gold Control, over.’
Winter pauses. The radio is below the car windows. She takes a breath from speaking and releases the radio button at the side of the handset then presses it again and speaks.
‘Tactical Firearms Commander, from Gold Controller. This phase is now handed over to you.’
Winter releases the radio button and breathes in deeply as she awaits the response from the Tactical Firearms Commander. Her need to hand this phase over is uppermost in her mind.
‘All received from Tactical Firearms Commander. All Trojan units, I am now in control of this phase of the operation. Do we still have sight of the subjects?’
‘From Trojan Five-Zero. Update from Alpha Eleven is that subjects are parked up three roads down from target premises. Subject Batford is off bike and on foot towards target premises. Over.’
‘From Tactical Firearms Commander. We are now at alert state amber. I repeat, amber. Act on my command only until told otherwise. Ready weapons. Radio silence unless active.’
40
I can see the door to the target premises from the opposite footway. It’s a typical semi-detached house in a Pinner street. I know from Google Maps it has an alleyway running at the back that provides access to a small courtyard garden and back door. There are no obvious plain-clothes police about and no vehicles that look as though witness protection is in. They won’t be. As far as the police are concerned, once you’re safely housed with a brief cover story, then it’s up to you to keep your lips sealed and get on with life until a permanent arrangement can be made. Hotels are too costly in terms of risk management.
Kat is further back from me on the house side of the street. She’s confident in her stride. We have left the crash helmets and now wear caps and shades. As she approaches the front of the house, she turns right into the alley to cover the rear. I hadn’t anticipated this move. I also hadn’t anticipated the dark saloon that’s appeared, racing towards me from the opposite end of the street. My instinct is to freeze. Headlights are on full beam and blind me.
* * *
‘All Trojan units from Tactical Firearms Commander, alert state red. Repeat, red. We have another vehicle entering the plot at speed, headlights on main beam, occupants wearing masks. Vehicle heading towards the target premises. This vehicle must be stopped.’
* * *
I have no time to waste. I have to set aside my initial feeling and do the job. I move towards the door and up the steps to the bell. I pause, have one last look left and right, and repeatedly ring the bell.
* * *
‘All units – Strike. Strike. Strike.’
* * *
I hear a loud bang. I duck down on the steps. It’s the sound of tyres exploding. A police stinger has caught the saloon. All four tyres are now ineffective. The vehicle swerves and hits a lamppost ten feet from the steps to the house. Sweat forms under the nylon of my cap. I have no idea who’s who or what is happening. All I feel is my instinct telling me it isn’t good.
The quiet calm of the street erupts further in shouts. Sounds of car engines and tyres coming to a stop. This isn’t what I expected. Fear grips me. I have nowhere to run. Fight or freeze kicks in and freeze wins. I can feel the rapidity of my breath on my top lip. The front door of the target premises is flung open and a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun aims at me. In addition I’m aware of my eyes moving from the MP5 to a plastic Lego-looking brick shaped like a handgun. As quickly as I focus, I’m aware of repeated shouts of “armed police”. Two metal hooks attached to a cable suddenly impale me. My body convulses as fifty thousand volts of electricity run through me. I dodged the Taser training. Now I’m the victim of it. Karma for the tube station. I collapse on the steps. I freeze and do as instructed by the armed police officer.
‘Put your hands out to your side, palms up. When I tell you, slowly place them on your head. Do not make any sudden movements or you will be shot.’
The instructions are clear. Due to the array of weapons that are now trained on me from various directions, I do as I’m told. My upper torso is covered in a plethora of small red dots. There are other armed sniper units I cannot see. I can feel my breathing quicken. I just pray I don’t piss myself. It’s evident there’s a grass. I believe I know who that grass is. If I’ve got it wrong, then I’ll put it down to human error and hope for the best lawyer I can buy.
I can hear shouts from the back of the property as Kat gets the same treatment. At the same time shots ring out over my head. More shouts of “armed police” can be heard. As I look up from the ground, two occupants from the dark saloon are slumped against the vehicle. Their Uzi submachine guns are discarded on the floor adjacent to where they lie. The black balaclava masks hide their identity. The blood patterns on the vehicle’s windows and paintwork indicate they’ve been eradicated. I now know they weren’t police. As quick as I’ve been taken down, the armed officers pick me up and drag me to the open rear door of a covert van. I’m hoisted up between two cops, my head is forced down. I’m pushed into the back. An armed plain-clothes officer sits next to me. The door shuts. I hear a bang on the roof.
‘Let’s go.’
My last vision as the doors slam is a sea of blue lights.
41
Twenty minutes previously on the M25 towards Heathrow Airport
‘It’s like a fucking car park, this road. How long have we got until the flight?’ Mike bangs the dashboard in frustration.
‘Will you stop panicking? We’ll make it on time. Just sit back and let me do the driving, will ya? You’re worse than the missus for bitching about the mundane. Focus on your drink in first class, the clunk of ice and the glorious feeling in your throat as one of many drifts into your gut.’
Mike smiles and relaxes. ‘Sorry. I’ve had so much on my mind. By now Sky and the Turk will be dead and Kat back at the club. When is she flying out?’
‘She’ll be on the last flight out tonight. Now shut the fuck up and put some tunes on. How about 2-4-6-8 Motorway?’
Razor’s jaw opens to reveal a gold back tooth as he laughs at his own joke. A phone alert sounds from inside the glove box of the car.
* * *
A nondescript grey Audi estate sits back in lane two as Mike and Razor continue in lane one observing the required speed limit of a slow crawl. The Audi’s four occupants check and ready firearms. Whilst they do, the occupants of two other vehicles do the same. The three vehicles shadow Razor and Mike. Razor and Mike are unaware. The radio operator in the lead Audi estate speaks.
‘Operational Control, from Trojan Eight-Seven, we are currently two cars behind Bravo vehicle. I have other units in position to effect a hard stop. Traffic is slow and we have space presenting itself.’
‘Trojan Eight-Seven, from Tactical Firearms Commander. You are now shown alert state amber, over.’
‘Received by Trojan Eight-Seven.’
* * *
Razor and Mike continue concentrating on their journey, their only focus the airport and a phone ringing from their vehicle.
‘We said no fucking phones.’ Razor slams his fist into the steering wheel causing the car to shake.
‘I haven’t brought a fucking phone! I thought you had. It must be one of Sky’s, I’ll turn it off. Mike releases the seat belt and leans forward to open the glove box. He pauses, slowly sits back, lifting a Nokia mobile phone with a half battery life taped to a 9mm handgun.
‘What in the fuck is this?’ Mike looks at the phone screen and the only app present shows one new message. He reads the WhatsApp message from an unknown number.
Do the decent thing.
Mike shows the gun to Razor. ‘Do the decent thing? Is this your idea of a fucking joke?’
Razor turns his eyes from the road and looks at the gun that Mike has held up towards him.
‘What in the fuck? Put that down, you twat, someone could see it.’
* * *
From the interior of the Audi estate, the operator reacts.
‘All Trojan units from Operational Firearms Commander, firearm seen. Held by passenger and pointed at driver. Alert state red – Strike. Strike. Strike!’
The mundanity of the road changes.
‘Trojan Eight-Seven – doors, doors, doors. Officers deployed, standby.’
* * *
Razor glances in his wing mirrors. ‘What in the fuck’s that Audi doing? Oh shit, it’s the filth; they’re fucking all over us. You grassed me up, you cunt! You fucking set me up with your lot.’ Razor slams on the brakes as the Audi estate swoops in front at an angle, forcing Razor towards the hard shoulder.
Officers in blue caps with chequered bands are deployed and Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns are levelled at the vehicle’s windscreen. Another car is along the offside and another close to the rear. The last police vehicle remains at the rear blocking traffic. The situation is dire. They’re boxed in with an arsenal of weaponry aimed at them. Razor looks in the rearview mirror at a sea of chequered police hats and the barrels of guns.
Mike is the first to explode. ‘No! No! No! Don’t move! They’ll fucking shoot. It’s not me! It’s not me!! I’ve said nothing. By now they’ll all be dead. Why would I risk us when the Turk and Batford will be history? I’m not doing time. Goodbye, Razor.’
Mike raises the gun under his chin and as he squeezes the trigger the windscreen shatters. His body jerks twice as two external rounds pierce his torso. The gun he was holding slides from his hand into the footwell. His lower jaw dangles on a strand of muscle fibre.
Razor remains motionless. His face a thousand-yard stare. He’s unaware of the cacophony of shouts demanding him to raise his hands. His senses have gone. He’s aware of his barrelled chest rising and falling. He’s hauled out of the vehicle at gunpoint and forced face down on the road.
The M25 is now at a standstill, the hard shoulder occupied by police firearms officers. Sirens can be heard as marked traffic cars arrive, and traffic officers start setting up a filter lane.
‘Control, from Tactical Firearms Commander. Bravo vehicle stopped. Passenger has discharged firearm. Shots returned by police. Driver out of car and arrested. No other occupants. Firearm recovered in passenger foot well of vehicle. We’re going to need the road shut for forensics, over.’
‘Operational Control received. Independent Office for Police Conduct will be informed. Units requested are moving in, now area is safe. Control out.’
Winter shuts down her laptop as the aerial live feed continues. She takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose as she stares out of the blacked-out window of the Mercedes. The body camera of the officer who fired the fatal shots clearly showed a clean shoot.
‘Get me to Charing Cross nick.’
The driver indicates, activates the two tones, and heads towards central London.
42
When your mind is a prison, being alone in a cell is comforting. It’s the most looked after I’ve felt in a long time. I wake to the slam of the metal wicket falling against the reinforced door and a shout from the gaoler. My breakfast is served following a rest period before interview. The rest period was deemed longer by the Force Medical Examiner in light of the lead up to my arrest and the apparent trauma that may have ensued from being tasered on the steps of what clearly wasn’t a safe house but a lure to pull me in. I took the bait but couldn’t spit out the hook in time.
I was informed I’d been arrested for conspiracy to murder and supply controlled drugs. Both charges I vehemently deny. I was acting commensurate with my role and authority. I haven’t told Winter that. I’ve said fuck all, as is customary in these circumstances.
I indicate to the youthful gaoler I’m not prepared to hop to the wicket to get my microwave breakfast, and that he will have to come into the cell to deliver. He huffs and mutters ‘for fuck’s sake’ as he opens the cell door and hands me the polystyrene container and plastic knife and fork. He shouts at the next cell to quieten down as he leaves to push the food trolley to the next wicket. I’ve rehearsed this situation hundreds of times since I crossed to the dark side. I know how it will play out.
I just need confirmation of one issue before I decide to speak. That will come in about twenty minutes time when Winter comes to get me for interview. It will be Winter, as she must have her show of power. I realise now this isn’t all for show and for role. This is for real and I don’t intend being remanded in custody if I can help it.
I hear movement outside the cell door and recognise the sound of Winter’s voice. The keys go in the lock. The door opens and there she is, holding my leg. ‘Time for interview, put this on and let’s go. Your solicitor is here and disclosure has been done.’
‘I take tea and two sugars, please. You can leave me now whilst I get ready. Shut the door on your way out.’
She indicates to the gaoler to stand by the door and leaves it open.
* * *
The interview room feels close. A single strip light flickers. I’d had time with my solicitor prior to interview. I’m hemmed in against the wall with my solicitor on my right. Opposite me sits Winter and an officer I don’t know. My brief has told me what I need to know and that was that Mike’s dead. Kat he doesn’t know about. I sit back and wait for the introductions to begin.
‘This interview is being recorded and may be used in evidence if this case is brought to trial. I am DCI Winter attached to the National Crime Agency. The other officer present is…?’
‘DI Cooper attached to the Professional Standards Proactive Unit.’
‘We’re in the interview room at Charing Cross Police Station. Please state your name and rank for the tape.’
‘Detective Sergeant Sam Batford. The other person present is my solicitor.’
‘Simon Jones – Jones and Co Solicitors. I have advised my client based on the disclosure given and he is prepared to answer questions in relation to the allegations made. I will ask for a break should I feel it necessary and interrupt should your questions fall outside of the disclosure given.’
Winter nods. ‘Very well. Before I put any questions to you, DS Batford, I must remind you that you don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence if this case is brought to trial. Do you understand the caution, DS Batford?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have recently been working on Operation Kestrel, the investigation concerning a man named Razor and his criminal enterprise, namely importing drugs and firearms, is that correct?’
‘Well I now know what it was I was meant to be investigating. My brief, provided by you to my superintendent, was to infiltrate and ascertain what criminality may be in preparation or may have been committed. I understood that this was a need-to-know inquiry and that I didn’t need to know, so early on.’
‘You knew full well what we were looking at.’
‘No. As I’ve stated, I kept asking my superintendent what the main job was and he stated he didn’t know. I carried on with my original objective and fed back to him my findings. He was to pass these back to you, as I was instructed to do by him. He told me I was to have no direct contact with you concerning intelligence in light of the previous operation, which you oversaw.’
Winter shifts in her seat. I can already see from the scant writing in her notes that she’s tentatively prepared for this first bite at the cherry, the cherry being me.
‘You must have made records of meetings and conversations,’ she says. ‘Where are these now?’
‘You will have to ask Detective Superintendent Hall. They were all handed to him. Hall told me this was a paper record investigation and nothing was to be placed on any computer system. But you can’t ask him, can you, because he’s dead.’
Winter looks across at Cooper. Both look at each other perplexed at how I would know this.
