‘ I don’t think you’ll have to look far. I reckon they’re in Blackpool somewhere. That should make things easier for you.’
After ten minutes amongst the tables, de Vere turned to Conroy. ‘We need to talk money now.’
Which is exactly what Conroy wanted to hear, but he also needed McNamara’s presence because of the transport arrangements which were an integral part of the deal. ‘Just give me a second,’ Conroy said. He went to Morton. ‘Where the fuck is Harry?’
At which exact moment the man himself walked hurriedly in through the door. His face was a mask of controlled grief, though none of the men in the room picked that up. They wanted him for his contacts, not his face.
‘ Ahh,’ Conroy announced with relief. ‘We wondered where you’d been hiding. Come over here. We’re talking business.’
Kate picked up the phone on the first ring. ‘It’s for you. Somebody called Kevin Summers.’ She handed it across to Donaldson, then sat down again. Her eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark circles. Karen placed an arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug.
There were only the three of them in the house. The girls had been taken to school without any explanations about what was going on.
Donaldson asked a few muted questions and hung up.
He turned to the women. ‘Developments,’ he said. Before he could expand, there was a knock on the front door. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said.
It was Detective Chief Superintendent Fanshaw- Bayley.
Ten yards above the dance floor, two escaped prisoners watched and listened as intently as possible. Only the occasional word could be made out.
Henry adjusted his position ever so slightly to relieve the pain he was feeling.
Rider’s stomach gurgled obscenely, reminding Henry how hungry he was himself. It had been a long time since both men had eaten or drunk anything warm and they were both close to starvation and exhaustion.
Donaldson and FB burst out of the front door and sprinted down the driveway to FB’s car, a Ford Probe.
FB was shouting into his personal radio, ordering all the ARV patrols to go onto channel 71, the secure radio channel to which only firearms officers had access.
‘ How many teams are in Blackpool at this moment?’ Donaldson asked.
‘ Three. That means six officers, all armed and dangerous.’ FB slammed the Probe into first and accelerated away from the kerb. ‘All ARV s to meet me, as a matter of urgency, on the Promenade, near to the pleasure beach, opposite the Big One. Do not use two-tones, or blues,’ he said into his radio, then repeated the message and asked for acknowledgements. He then instructed them all to prepare their weapons and don their body armour.
When FB had finished speaking, Donaldson said, ‘Henry thinks you’re one of them.’
‘ Henry’s an arsehole,’ FB muttered, negotiating a blind bend and slewing the back wheels across the tarmac.
‘ And he’s been used by you, hasn’t he?’
FB slotted Donaldson a sidelong squint of contempt, then concentrated on his driving, choosing to make no reply to what was a very leading question.
After discussing the planned demise of Christie and Rider with Morton, the Mayfairs sauntered between the tables of weaponry, watched closely by Morton who did not like, or trust them very much.
They strolled until they were — accidentally — directly under the aperture in the ceiling through which the two escapees were peering. A table displaying two AK 47s was next to Tiger.
Tiger’s trainer scuffed the dusty grit on the dance floor. He bent down, dipped his fingers into it, frowned and looked up at Wayne.
The ARVs responded brilliantly. Within five minutes, each car had converged beneath the shadow of the Big One. The officers, all kitted out in their body armour, Glock pistols and MP5s, waited expectantly for FB who screeched to a halt a minute later.
There was also another car present. The nondescript occupant got out of it and approached Donaldson. They shook hands. Donaldson then introduced the man to FB. ‘I’d like you to meet Kevin Summers, FB. Kevin’s with the MI5 Surveillance Branch. He’s been doing some superb work for me.’
Coolly Summers said, ‘I think we’ve got a situation here and we should move as soon as possible with it.’
McNamara, de Vere and Conroy paused at one of the tables which was displaying. 357 Ruger revolvers.
McNamara nonchalantly picked up one of the empty guns in his left hand and flicked the cylinder release whilst continuing to discuss matters of transport and money with the other two. He held a speed-loader in his right hand which was fitted with six wad-cutter bullets.
‘ Yes, yes, I think so. We can arrange all that,’ he said, continuing with the conversation. ‘No problem. I’ll arrange for my company to distribute them however you require.’ He smiled, slotted the bullets into the chamber and twisted the release mechanism on the speed-loader.
Summers was succinct. His team of twelve had been tasked to pick up Hamilton and de Vere at the airport. They did so and followed them with ease to the country club where they met up with Conroy, Morton and McNamara. The team of watchers settled in for the night, even though the weather was atrociously wet, cold and slushy.
McNamara was the only one to leave the club that night. Summers took the decision not to have him followed.
In the morning, though, when Morton left early, Summers directed four of his operatives to tag him. This left eight to deal with the remaining gang. Easily enough to cope with people who were not expecting to be followed.
A good set of Polaroids taken through a long lens recorded the departure of the men from the club — and the arrival of two more players.
Summers handed the photos to Donaldson, who immediately recognised the Mayfairs. His face went white. And again he saw the scratch-marks on Tiger’s face and wondered whether it was his tissue underneath Sam’s fingernails.
Perhaps he would soon find out.
The MI5 team followed them, Conroy, Hamilton, de Vere and the Mayfairs to Blackpool, where they liaised with the four who had tailed Tony Morton and recorded his activities for posterity that morning. The four produced photographs of Morton, Tattersall and WDS Robson removing weapons from the armoury.
FB looked at the photographs and began to boil.
‘ They took all these guns to a club,’ Summers said. He handed over the final shots of Conroy, de Vere and Hamilton entering Rider’s club.
‘ The place is under observation by my team and they’ve told me that McNamara has just turned up.’
‘ You have done some excellent work here,’ FB said genuinely. ‘Can you tune your radios onto our frequency?’
‘ They already are-’ Summers began, but was interrupted when the airwaves crackled to life and one of the MI5 watchers reported hearing the sound of gunfire from inside the club.
‘ You did a good job with the prostitute,’ McNamara said suddenly and savagely to Conroy. The conversation about financial arrangements was brought to an abrupt close.
‘ You know, then?’ Ronnie asked, slightly bemused. ‘I was going to tell you later. How did you find out?’
‘ The police were waiting for me when I got home last night,’ McNamara said. ‘You also shot my wife, or at least the tosser you hired did. I had to go and identify her body last night, for God’s sake.’
