Body Line

sort of shudder, as capable of anything, an invaluable right-hand man.

‘I’d like to keep her in custody,’ Porson said of Sturgess. ‘Best way to make sure she doesn’t tip off Webber. But if she doesn’t show up at her usual places, it’ll be a dead giveaway that something’s up. Do you think we can trust her not to blow the gaff?’

‘No,’ said Slider. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. She knows she’s in trouble but she half thinks we ought to leave Webber alone to get on with his good work.’

‘And they were lovers.’ Porson looked thoughtful. ‘Funny she didn’t mind about him fiddling with that Lescroit woman.’

‘I think she thought he was so wonderful that he was allowed the odd weakness.’

‘The great man must have his little procavities, eh? Well, I suppose we’ll have to take the chance. Make sure she knows that if she doesn’t keep it buttoned she’s for the high jump.’

‘Her agency seems to be the only thing she cares about protecting. I’ll work on that angle.’

But she seemed resigned to it now, and accepted her instructions with docility.

As the plans progressed, the Deputy Commissioner, Specialist Operations – who as a woman knew all about not being loved by her superiors – insisted that Slider should be allowed to be in on the operation; in fact, should be in at the kill. ‘It’s only fair,’ she said, as Porson reported to Slider. ‘Without him we’d have no chance of a crack at Webber, and Europol would be blundering into the Chinese end of the thing in blindfolds.’

It was a big operation, involving levels of co-ordination that had to be set up in an unusually short time – normally these things were planned for months, but since Bodeker was being taken out, it had to be this Wednesday or never. Surveillance teams would watch McGuinness all the way to Maldon on Wednesday night, see him go out in the boat, and eventually back in to harbour. Officers would be watching other ports up and down the coast in case the plan had been changed. An officer would be stationed at Hendon on the ANPR computer, reporting on the return journey of the car: it was thought too risky to tail it too closely. At that time of night, a professional like McGuinness would be all too aware of anything keeping a constant distance behind him.

Once he hit the Stanmore turn-off, a relay of motors would check that he did in fact end up at the hospital. Slider would be part of a group hidden in the grounds, who would move in once they had been told the car had gone down the drive. They would all be wearing Kevlar jackets and be armed.

‘I hope it won’t come to it,’ Porson said as he briefed Slider, ‘but there’s a lot at stake. This is a big money operation. They’ve offed two people already, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this McGuinness type went tooled-up as a matter of course. But keep it under your hat. Don’t want any whisper getting out we’ve got a big op going down.’

On the night, everything was in place. The hands-off surveillance worked: the Marlin went out and came back in to Maldon; McGuinness, driving the hospital Jaguar, drove back to the A12 and followed the same route Rogers had taken on his last run. He was clocked turning off towards Stanmore, and Slider, waiting in the chilly mist under the trees behind the staff car park, finally received the radio word that the target was on his way. The March dawn was still some way distant; it was black and cold and his stomach felt very peculiar, though that could have been hunger – he had been waiting for four hours, and it was an even longer time since supper. There were four of them strung out along that side, and the other three, who were all from specialist units, looked oddly at him from time to time, as if they were too polite to ask what a plod like him was doing mixed up in this big-boys’ game. His team leader, Corby, who was from the SCD, went so far as to advise him to hang back ‘when it went down’ and let them take the action. He meant it kindly.

There were another four officers on the other side, ready to close the trap once the car had passed through the visitor’s car park into the staff one. Because of the buildings, it was not possible for Slider to witness the car’s arrival – that was reported in terse radio bursts from the other team. But when the word came – Marlin’s in the net. Big Shark’s in the net (how they loved their codes!) Go, go, go! – Slider’s team were closer and were the first on the scene, emerging from between the buildings under the yellowish car park lights to where the Jaguar stood close to the annexe building. The fire door had been propped open, and behind the Jag were McGuinness, reaching into the open boot and lifting out what looked like a large, heavy cold-box, and Sir Bernard Webber.

The Big Shark, Slider thought, with a clutch of excitement. Supervising this last stage of the operation. But of course it would be. Doubtless always had been. The fewer people who were in on this end of the scheme, the safer they would all be. Webber would know that now if he never had before.

It was only a fleeting thought: Slider’s adrenalin was pumping as fast as his legs. As he pounded across the tarmac, he saw McGuinness turn his head, thrust the box into Webber’s arms, making him stagger, and reach under his leather jacket. The thought flicked through his mind: so he does go armed.

Corby, to Slider’s left, shouted, ‘Gun!’ almost at the same moment as the other team arrived from the other direction, and its leader, Nicholson, shouted, ‘Armed police! Stand still!’ There was a dull gleam in the lamplight as McGuinness brought out the gun. Slider’s stomach clenched. Webber had recovered his balance, turned towards the fire door with the box.

There were two explosions in quick succession. The first was McGuinness, firing at Corby’s team. Slider felt something pass him in the dark and out of the corner of his eye he saw Corby drop. Christ, he thought, with a jolt of his stomach. The second shot was from Nicholson, a warning. It struck the tarmac near McGuinness with a little puff of grit and pinged off the car’s wheel arch with a brutal sound that made Slider wince. Oi, not the Jag!

Nicholson’s voice was an adrenalin scream. ‘Armed police! Drop the gun! Stand still!’

Corby was up on his elbows, apparently unhurt: he had dropped in reaction. He was aiming his pistol at McGuinness. ‘Drop the gun!’ he yelled. ‘Don’t be a fool. You’re surrounded.’

It all seemed to be happening at once. McGuinness fired again at the same instant as Corby spoke. Slider had no idea where that shot went. Contrary to myth, it is extraordinarily difficult to hit a moving target, even one as big as a policeman. At the sound of it Webber stopped in his tracks, perhaps unsure if he was being shot at. Slider saw him swivel his head jerkily from one side to the other. Adams, on Slider’s right, had his gun on McGuinness too. McGuinness looked over his shoulder at the other team, then back. His gun moved, covering Slider for a breathless moment, then Adams, and then slid on and up as he raised his hands in surrender.

A cold sweat of relief bathed Slider as he left McGuinness to the others and ran, feeling clumsy with his unfamiliar Kevlar armour and sidearm, to get himself between Webber and the fire door. He wanted to make sure he caught him with the goods, red-handed.

Webber’s head flicked round at the movement, and his eyes widened slightly as he recognized Slider. ‘You,’ he said, with a sort of weary disgust; and then, ‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’

‘Put it down,’ Slider said.

Webber was horribly calm. ‘I’m not armed,’ he said. ‘I have to get this inside. Let me past, please.’

Slider shook his head. ‘It’s going nowhere. Put it down.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Webber said with a touch of cold impatience. ‘This box contains human organs for transplant. I must get them into the proper storage facility.’

Behind him, McGuinness had been relieved of his gun and was being searched, while two others of the team were looking in the car for any more weapons, Slider saw, while never taking his eyes from Webber’s.

‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’

‘Get out of my way!’ Webber ground out.

‘You’re under arrest,’ Slider said.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Webber said, his colour high. ‘You can’t arrest me.’

McGuinness, hands on head, was staring at Slider and Webber, watching the scene play out, as if ready for his cue to jump back in. Slider could smell his sweat, and Webber’s aftershave, sharp on the flat, oil-tainted car park air.

‘I have patients in there –’ Webber jerked his head towards the hospital building – ‘waiting for these organs. Waiting for a transplant that will transform their lives. Have you any idea of the suffering of these people? How long they’ve waited? How few organs there are available? And you want me to waste these? What are you, a man or a monster?’

‘That’s exactly what I was going to ask you,’ said Slider.

Webber’s calm was suddenly fractured. ‘I’m not the villain here!’ he shouted.