Unlawfully At Large, page 5
part #2 of DCI Tyler Series
The landing pad was directly below them now, and Myers eased back on the cyclic control, flaring the helicopter for landing, a technique that puts the aircraft in a ‘nose up’ altitude to increase drag and reduce momentum. A very experienced pilot, Myers bought the machine into a hovering position above the circular helipad, the centre of which was identifiable from the air by a large capital ‘H’ painted in red.
Seconds later, they were safely on the ground.
“Safe to exit,” Myers told his passengers, and then he waved to Mike Cummings, the ground crew supervisor, who crouched a safe distance away, letting him know it was okay to approach the aircraft.
Cummings led the ground team and their trolley forward. The rear doors were opened and the patient was transferred onto the trolley and wheeled off under the strict supervision of Pamela Bennett.
◆◆◆
Garston instructed his two subordinates to wait in the downstairs foyer while he carried out a final recce to confirm that the planned escape route was still viable.
He didn’t go as far as actually visiting Winston’s room, but he did travel the circuit they would need to complete in order to get there and then return to the car park. Everything went smoothly and he was satisfied that, providing they could overpower the three police guards before the alarm was raised, they would have no trouble getting Winston out of his room and safely away from the hospital.
On his return to the ground floor a few minutes later, Garston spotted a harried-looking porter pushing an empty wheelchair through the foyer towards him. Approaching the man, he raised a hand to get his attention.
“Excuse me, my good fellow, where can I get one of those things?” he asked, putting on his best public-school accent again, just as he had done when he’d posed as a solicitor’s intern. For some strange reason, it always seemed to impress the lower classes. “I need to arrange for a patient to be taken for some x-rays, you see,” he said by way of explanation.
The unshaven porter scratched his head. “Well, you can have this one if you like, doctor,” he offered. “I can’t help you myself as I need to be somewhere else, but I could call another porter to push it for you if you like?”
Garston smiled, taking control of the wheelchair. “Good Lord, no. You chaps have more than enough to do around here. Leave it to me.”
What a bloody nice bloke! the porter thought to himself as he watched the slim doctor push the squeaking wheelchair away. Almost immediately, a nurse sashayed over to join him. As they headed towards the freight lift at the far end of the corridor, a stocky, bald-headed porter he hadn’t seen around before lumbered over and took control of the wheelchair. It pleased him that another porter had offered to help the pleasant young doctor out. Well done, mate, he thought. With a final glance at the trio that predominately lingered on the nurse’s calves, he smiled to himself and resumed his journey.
“Did you see how easily I sweet-talked that pathetic little man out of his wheelchair?” Garston boasted as they reached the doors to the freight elevator a couple of minutes later.
Angela didn’t like Garston; she thought he was an arrogant show-off, and she wasn’t remotely impressed by his antics. “You take too many chances,” she criticised. “You should have sent Errol to get the stupid wheelchair. That’s what porters do.”
That put Garston’s back up and he glared at her until she averted her eyes.
They waited for the lift in awkward silence.
When it finally arrived, Garston stormed in and poked the button marked ‘three’, the floor on which Winston was being held. Angela’s abrasive comment had stung him and, after a few seconds of silent brooding, he turned on her. “In future, keep your worthless opinions to yourself,” he warned, jabbing her in the sternum with his forefinger.
She responded by rolling her eyes at him, which infuriated him so much he couldn’t even bring himself to speak. With an attitude like that, it was no wonder that someone had striped her face with a razor when she was younger.
With his anger still festering, Garston checked that the revolver he was carrying was properly concealed, making sure it could easily be reached when the time came.
When he ordered them to glove up, Errol fished a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket and began inserting his large, calloused hands into them. To his annoyance, Angela raised her rubber-coated hands and wriggled them at him. “Already done,” she said, smugly.
“Smart arsed cow,” he mumbled. If he hadn’t needed her for the breakout, he would have slapped the smirk from her face.
After what seemed like an age, the doors finally slid open on the third floor, announcing their arrival with a pleasant ping. Garston poked his head outside, cautiously checking left and right.
The corridor was clear and he signalled for them to step out of the lift.
“Right, you two,” he said, pulling the flimsy white mask out of his pocket. “No fuck-ups from here on in or we’re all done for.” As he spoke, he carefully tugged his surgical mask up over the lower half of his face, making sure it covered him from the nose down.
The freight elevator they had used was located on the opposite side of the building to Winston’s room, but the advantages of using it outweighed the lengthy walk they now faced. Firstly, its use was restricted to hospital staff so it didn’t get half the foot traffic that the public access elevators did. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it was only about forty yards away from the exit that led out to where Mullings was waiting with the getaway car.
As they set off, Garston found himself hoping that none of the officers who’d been on duty last week, when he’d accompanied Clarke on his legal visit, would be around today. Even if they were, it shouldn’t matter as long as he kept the mask on. He glanced sideways, checking that Angela had done the same and that her scar was properly concealed.
She had and it was.
Being a thicko, Errol had somehow managed to put his mask on upside down, and they were forced to make a brief stop so that Angela could sort it out for him. Garston used the respite to pour a thick line of coke along the back of his hand. Lowering his mask, he inhaled greedily until there was nothing left.
The insufflation brought with it a wonderful new sense of awareness, and by the time they were approaching Winston’s room, with Errol pushing the annoyingly squeaking wheelchair beside him and Angela trailing just behind, a wonderful feeling of calmness had descended over Garston. He knew it was a cocaine-induced euphoria, but he really didn’t care. They were going to pull off this incredibly audacious breakout, and they were going to do it without a single fucking hitch.
He stopped outside Winston’s door, smiling at the stern-faced policeman standing nearest to him. The disinterested looking man was leaning against the wall, looking like he might nod off at any second. Thankfully, he wasn’t one of the officers who’d been present last time. Neither was the short woman with the brunette bob who stood a few feet away, looking equally bored.
“Hello,” Garston said with forced cheerfulness. “We need to whisk the patient off for a few last-minute tests before he’s released.”
“No problem,” the male officer replied, stepping aside to let him in.
“Actually, he was rather aggressive towards me the last time I spoke to him,” Garston said, affecting an air of concern, “so I was wondering if you two would come inside with me, just in case he gets any funny ideas.”
“Do you have any reason to think there might be a problem today?” the female cop asked, responding to his question with one of her own.
Garston shrugged with uncertainly. “Well no,” he said hesitantly, “but if the last time was anything to go by…”
While she didn’t actually go as far as calling him a ‘wuss’, the female officer’s scornful expression implied that that was exactly what he was. “Sorry,” she said, looking anything but. “One of us has to remain outside at all times.”
Garston frowned. This engagement wasn’t going the way he’d envisaged it would. “But it would make me feel an awful lot safer if you both came in,” he said, trying to pander to her ego. As he spoke, he noticed Errol’s hand was casually drifting behind his jacket towards the revolver that was tucked into the rear of his waistband.
The brunette seemed impervious to his charms, and all he got for his efforts was a raised eyebrow that told him she wasn’t going to put herself out for him. She was obviously a rug muncher, he thought, trying not to let his frustration show.
“Tell you what,” the male officer said, looking hot and uncomfortable in his blue NATO jumper. “I’ll come inside with you if it makes you feel safer, but Shazza will have to remain out here. And before we go anywhere, we’ll need to radio in and get permission to move him to another part of the building.”
Garston felt himself becoming flustered. “But –”
“It’s part of the security protocol that’s been agreed by the hospital hierarchy,” the officer called Shazza said firmly.
Garston decided that he really didn’t like her.
Snatching a quick glance through the glass pane in Winston’s door, Garson spotted his uncle slouched on the bed, looking like the caged animal he was. Sitting in an armchair to the right of the door, the third and final police officer was browsing through a magazine. Garston immediately recognised him as the man who’d inspected Clarke’s ID and then shown them into the room last Thursday.
Shit!
Garston felt his heart rate spike a little. He took a deep breath and told himself not to panic; everything would absolutely be fine as long as he kept the mask pulled up. He exhaled nervously, conscious that the police officers were picking up on his agitation and it was making them uneasy.
“We need to radio in where we’re taking the prisoner and why we’re going there,” Shazza said impatiently, and her tone had gone from indifferent to downright hostile. Garston realised that the officers were starting to become suspicious, and that further attempts at subterfuge were almost certainly pointless. They had reached an impasse; he needed them to go inside and they had no intention of doing so. Fortunately, he had a contingency plan to cater for this.
His eyes flicked left and right, making sure that the corridor was still clear. It was, and with a heavy heart, he caught Errol’s eye and nodded decisively.
Moving as one, both men drew their firearms and lunged forward to overpower the two officers. Garston grabbed hold of the male officer by the scruff of his neck and pushed him roughly backwards, knocking him off balance. Before the man could react, he jammed the muzzle of his revolver under the startled man’s chin. Breathing hard, he glanced sideways and was relieved to see that Errol had pinned the female officer against the wall by her throat and had the barrel of his gun rammed against her temple.
Garston’s drug-fuelled eyes flitted between the two terrified officers. “Keep your hands down by your sides and don’t say a fucking word,” he warned. “If either of you makes a move for your radios or shouts out a warning, you’ll both be dead a second later.”
Frozen with fear, both officers allowed themselves to be pushed flat against the wall. “Hurry,” Garston hissed at Angela, knowing someone could walk by and discover them at any second.
With trembling hands, Angela relieved them of their radios. Then she removed the quick-cuffs from their utility belts. Starting with the male, she spun each of the officers around to face the wall. Pulling their unresisting arms behind their backs, she applied the rigid handcuffs to their wrists. She squeezed the ratchets as tightly as she could, ignoring the grunts of pain that followed.
Garston’s voice was full of menace. “Right, you two, I want you to walk into the room as though everything is perfectly normal. We’ll be right behind you. Remember, if either or you say a single word, I’ll blow both your fucking heads off.”
Angela was looking up and down the corridor anxiously. “Hurry,” she pleaded.
With their hands secured behind them, the two cops were manhandled into Winston’s room, with the barrel of a gun rammed into the small of their backs.
The police officer sitting by the bed looked up, startled when everyone bundled into the room. “What’s going on?” he asked, confused, but unconcerned.
As soon as Angela closed the door behind them, Garston took a step backward and viciously clubbed the male officer across the side of the head, dropping him like a stone. A second later, his weapon was levelled at PC Morrison who was, by now, half out of his chair and going for his baton.
“DON’T MOVE!” Garston screamed. And then, a little quieter, “Do as we say and no-one gets hurt. If you cry out or try to use your radio, I swear we will shoot you all.”
Being careful to keep out of the line of fire, Angela cautiously made her way forward and took control of Morrison’s radio and handcuffs. The officer didn’t even look at her; he was transfixed by the weapon now being pointed at him.
While Morrison was being dealt with, Errol ushered the female officer into the opposite corner of the room. He kicked her feet as wide apart as they would go and then made her stand with her forehead pressed against the wall. That done, he dragged the semi-conscious male officer over to join her.
“Lay down on the floor next to your mate,” Errol said, speaking for the first time since they had entered the hospital. He sounded like Frank Bruno, and Shazza half expected him to finish the sentence with ‘know what I mean, Harry’.
Still facing the wall, Shazza knelt down awkwardly and then tried to shuffle backwards on her knees so that she could create the room she needed to lie face down. She didn’t do it fast enough for Errol’s liking, so he grabbed her ankles and yanked them backwards, pulling her legs from under her with tremendous force. Shazza’s chin smashed into the floor with a sickening thud, and she was instantly rendered unconscious by the force of the impact.
“You’ll never get away with this,” Morrison said, licking his lips nervously. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder at Winston. “Look at him. He’s not even fit to walk unaided, so how are you ever gonna get him out of here?”
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here, pig,” Winston snarled at Morrison. Clutching his right side, he gingerly stood up from the bed and lumbered over to his nephew’s side.
“Give me the gun,” Morrison said, tentatively holding out his hand, “before you end up doing something that can’t be undone.”
Garston ignored him. “Lay down on the floor next to your colleagues,” he ordered, pointing at the floor with the barrel of the gun.
“There isn’t enough room,” Angela told him. “You need to put him on the bed.”
Garston immediately saw that she was right, but felt the way she had said it undermined his authority. Before the day was out, he suspected that he was going to have to do something about her increasingly disrespectful attitude. First, though, there were more pressing issues to worry about.
“Lay face down on the bed,” he told Morrison.
The cop shook his head. “Don’t be a prat,” he said defiantly. “Stop this nonsense now, while you can.”
Garston could feel his heart racing. Why the hell was the cop trying to be such a hero? And then it dawned on him that the policeman was deliberately stalling in the hope that someone would walk by and raise the alarm. Either that, or he was expecting his colleagues from the drug squad to arrive early and rush to his rescue.
He cocked the revolver.
“Last chance,” he warned, trying not to let his hand shake, “or I’ll shoot you in the gut and watch you bleed out.” It was a bluff, of course. He had no intention of shooting anyone.
Thankfully, Morrison didn’t know that, and he resentfully did as he was told. Once he was on the bed, Angela rushed forward and handcuffed his arms behind his back, conscious that the revolver was being still pointed at the officer’s spine.
When that was done, she ran back to the two officers on the floor. Breathing hard from her exertions, she knelt down beside them and removed three syringes from her pocket. Each was filled with an ominous-looking brown liquid. She removed the cap from the first one, checked it for air bubbles, and then injected the semi-conscious officer. He groaned, took a deep breath, and then lapsed into a deep sleep. The female cop was still unconscious from where she had smashed her head into the floor, but they didn’t know how long she would be out for so Angela injected her as well. Finally, she stood up and walked towards Morrison.
“Wait,” Garston commanded. “Go outside and get the wheelchair first.”
“But Errol could do that,” She complained, and then realised that she had inadvertently said one of their names out loud in front of the policeman.
It was the last straw, and Garston was across the room in two steps. “You stupid fucking bitch,” he snarled, backhanding her across the face so hard that she spun into the wall. “Now go fetch that wheelchair in here, right now.”
Holding the side of her face, Angela staggered out of the room. When she returned, a few moments later, Garston was gratified to see a splodge of blood seeping through her facemask at the point where her mouth would be.
Walking over to the bed, Garston removed a pillowcase and unceremoniously tugged it down over the policeman’s head. Satisfied that the cop wouldn’t be able to see his face, he pulled the surgical mask down and smiled triumphantly at Winston.
“Not bad, eh?” he smirked, expecting to receive praise from his uncle.
“Not bad,” Winston allowed. “But not good enough.” With that, he shuffled forward and snatched the gun from Garston’s hand.
Looking down at the revolver, Winston sneered derisively. “Are you seriously telling me that the best gun that you could get your hands on was a pathetic little twenty-two?”
Garson bristled at the spiteful jibe. He had originally sourced a couple of 9mm Browning hi-power pistols for the job, but the deal had fallen through and he only just about managed to find alternative weapons in time.
