of your guys with us in plain clothes in case the gun is produced.’
‘What about our teams? Where should they lie up?’ said Swift.
‘I’d suggest they stay mobile,’ said Wright. ‘One should be near Piccadilly Circus because that’s closest to the Trocadero, and of the fifteen attacks we know the group has carried out, they boarded at Piccadilly Circus in nine cases.’
‘Do they attack as soon as the train moves off?’ asked Swift.
‘Unfortunately not,’ Wright said. ‘On one occasion, they went as far as Hammersmith and on another to Caledonian Road.’
‘So the idea is that the Specialist Firearms teams shadow the train above ground?’
‘That would be our game plan,’ said Wright. ‘By holding up the train in a tunnel we should be able to give you time to get in position.’
‘You’re going to lock down a train after a robbery has been committed when there’s a chance that a firearm might be involved?’ asked Swift.
‘We’ll have our officers on board, plus your plainclothes armed officers.’
‘And if they start shooting? You want a firefight in a train in a tunnel?’
‘I’m assuming there won’t be a firefight,’ said Wright, ‘and that our officers will be able to contain the situation. If there is a firearm, the presence of armed officers should prevent it being used.’
‘Should,would,could,’said Swift.‘If it goes wrong, civilians may get caught in the crossfire.’
‘Like I said, if the boy has a gun, he hasn’t fired it yet.’
Brian Ramshaw passed the photographs to Shepherd, who took a set and passed the rest to the officer on his left. The pictures were grainy but clear enough to aid in identification. Shepherd memorised the faces.
‘That’s the state of play,’ said Wright. ‘We’ll kick off at about six this evening. BTP will have six plainclothes officers, including myself. There’ll be a chief inspector running the operation at our Management Information and Communications Centre in Broadway just opposite New Scotland Yard. He’ll have access to all the CCTV cameras and can liaise with us in the tunnels and with your guys above ground. Two uniformed officers with radios will be here later today and they can ride with the Specialist Firearms teams. Any questions?’
Heads shook.
‘I’m going to suggest Stu Marsden and Brian Ramshaw as the undercover officers from SO19,’ said Swift. ‘Have you guys got suitable casual clothes?’
Shepherd was already wearing a leather jacket and jeans with a blue denim shirt. He glanced at Ramshaw, who was nodding.
‘That’s it, then,’ said Swift.
‘Don’t suppose I can take my Heckler, can I?’ asked Ramshaw.
‘Only if you can hide it down the front of your trousers,’ said Swift, dead-pan.
A uniformed WPC opened the cell door and smiled at Angie. ‘Your lawyer’s here.’
‘Thanks,’ said Angie. The WPC took her along a corridor to an interview room. When the woman opened the door and Angie saw who was sitting at the metal table her face fell. It wasn’t the lawyer she’d phoned. It was Gary Payne, who worked for Charlie. She hesitated but Payne got to his feet and held out his hands, a broad smile on his suntanned face. He spent a lot of time in his villa in Marbella, a stone’s throw from Charlie’s. ‘Angie, love, what a nightmare,’ he said. She took his hand, and he squeezed it hard enough to make her wince. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were flint hard. ‘Sit down and let’s see what we can do to get you out of here.’
‘Would you like some tea or coffee?’ asked the WPC.
‘Tea with milk and two sugars,’ said Payne. ‘Bit of a sweet tooth. Angie’ll have the same.’ He swung his slim Gucci briefcase on to the table.
‘I don’t want anything,’ said Angie.
‘Nonsense,’ said Payne, jovially. ‘Hot sweet tea will do you the world of good.’
The WPC left the room, closing the door behind her.
The smile vanished from Payne’s face.‘You stupid, stupid, cow,’ he said.
Angie put her head in her hands.
Payne leaned over her, so close she could smell the garlic on his breath. ‘Did you think you’d get away with it? That Charlie wouldn’t find out?’
‘Can you tell him I’m sorry?’ Tears poured down her face.
‘You’re sorry?’ Payne sneered. ‘Sorry doesn’t cut it, Angie. Don’t you understand what you’ve done?’ He sat down opposite her, interlinked his fingers on top of his briefcase and waited for her to stop crying.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, and Payne handed her a crisp white handkerchief with his initials in one corner. ‘Use this. What have they said to you so far?’
‘Gary, please, I’ve got my own lawyer coming—’
Payne’s grey eyes burned into hers. ‘Listen, you stupid bitch, your life is over, the trick you’ve tried to pull. All we’re trying to do now is minimise the damage you’ve done. If you don’t help Charlie you’re going to bring more grief on your family than you can believe.’
Angie felt as if she’d been slapped across the face.
‘What did they offer you?’ he snapped.
‘They said they’ll forget what I did if I help them put Charlie away.’
‘Specifically?’
‘Deals he’s done. People he’s met. Where his money is.’
‘You know the guy you paid was a cop?’
Angie’s jaw dropped.
‘You paid off an undercover cop.’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘He killed someone else. There were photographs.’
‘It was a set-up, Angie.’
She slumped in her chair.
‘The cops set you up because they needed you to help them put Charlie away. You were never going to get what you wanted. The game was rigged from the start.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘He can’t help you now. No one can. Do I have to spell it out for you, Angie? There’s your mother, your sister, your nephews. Do you want them hurt because of your stupidity? It’s over for you. Charlie won’t let you take him down. You know that. The cops will end up putting you on trial for trying to have him killed. If you get sent down, Charlie will have you done in jail. And if you don’t go down, you know what he’ll do to you. Heads or tails, Angie, it’s over for you. You paid a guy to kill Charlie. He can’t let that lie.’
Angie nodded.
‘You know what you’ve got to do, don’t you?’
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she blew her nose.
‘Look at me, Angie.’ Her eyes locked with Payne’s. ‘You do know what you have to do, don’t you?’ he repeated. ‘You have no choice.’
She nodded again.
‘Better to get this sorted now, rather than dragging it out. Because if you do drag it out, others are going to get hurt.’
‘Okay,’ she whispered.
Payne reached into his pocket and took out a small polythene bag, containing two dozen capsules. He slid the bag across the table. ‘These are barbiturates, Angie. Sleeping tablets. When you get back to your cell, take them with that cup of tea. Flush the bag down the toilet. Then lie down, go to sleep and everything will be okay.’
Angie reached for the bag. She picked it up and slipped it into her pocket.
‘You know it’s for the best, don’t you, Angie?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.
‘Good girl,’ said Payne. He stood up, picked up his briefcase and patted her shoulder. ‘Your will’s all sorted. Your mum will want for nothing, there’s money for your nephews, your sister gets your jewellery. Everything will be neat and tidy. Don’t worry about a thing.’
