“God, we’re gonna be so fucked by the end of the week,” Steve said.
“Which is why I’m going to catch forty winks now,” Tyler said. “Wake me in an hour and I’ll relieve you.” With that, he slouched down in the back seat and closed his eyes.
Dillon gave Steve a friendly pat on the arm, burped loudly and then followed Jack’s lead.
◆◆◆
The radio squawked into life unexpectedly, jarring Tyler awake. He sat bolt upright in the back of the car, blinking rapidly.
His watch said 10.15 p.m.
Another transmission came through with heavy background noise. “…ject….out of block……wards mai……foot….” The voice belonged to Kelly Flowers, but what was she trying to say?
“This is really not the time for her radio to pack up on her,” Tyler said, leaning forward. There was a sense of urgency as the atmosphere inside the car became charged with adrenalin.
Bull started the engine just in case.
“…Repeat Subject has come out of the block, going towards the main road on foot.” Flower’s voice came through on the speaker again, crystal clear this time, but was the warning too late?
“He’s coming towards us!” Jack said. “Keep your eyes open, boys.”
The first few seconds after a contact is established are always the most dangerous, and when Winston didn’t appear Jack started to fret. Surely, they hadn’t lost him already?
Jack was staring at the entrance so hard that his eyes were hurting, but he was afraid to blink in case he missed something. Seconds passed with excruciating slowness.
“Where the fuck is he?” Bull asked; his voice strained.
“Be quiet Stevie,” Dillon soothed. Like the others, he was painfully aware that Winston should have reached them by now. Had he somehow managed to slip out of the estate while Kelly was transmitting? Dillon bit his lip and thought hard. Pace, time and distance, that’s what it all came down to in the end: at the pace Winston was walking, how far could he have travelled in the time that had elapsed since he was last seen?
Steve Bull snatched up a map the Intel Cell had printed of the estate. Had he missed something when he was preparing the briefing? Not according to the map. Whatever route Winston took out of the estate, someone should pick him up.
So, where the hell was he?
“There he is, over there,” Bull suddenly exclaimed, pointing into the darkness.
Tyler froze, conscious that sudden movement draws the human eye like nothing else, even from a distance. He allowed his eyes to follow the line indicated by Bull’s extended finger, and sure enough, there he was, strutting through the estate like he owned the place.
“Fuck me, look at that leather jacket? It’s that Lawrence Fishface bloke from The Matrix, only with dreadlocks,” Steve whispered.
Tyler let out his breath and sagged back into his seat, relieved.
A slow smile spread across Dillon’s dark features. “Got you now, you bastard,” he purred.
Dillon took the radio back from Jack and began issuing instructions to the others, telling them to be ready to move off in case he got into a vehicle.
Claude Winston paused at the edge of the road and had a good look around before crossing.
“He’s eyes about,” Tyler warned.
“Bloody hell, if he turns right, he’ll walk right past us,” Steve said, looking around to see what options they had.
“It’s alright, he’s not coming this way,” Dillon said as Winston veered off to the left.
“C’mon Dill,” Jack said, as he killed the internal light and slid out of the car.
On his way out, Dillon turned to Steve Bull. “Try and shadow us if you can, and be ready for a quick off. If he gets in a car, you’ll only have seconds to pick us up and get behind him.”
“No pressure there, then,” Bull said.
Dillon winked. “We live for pressure,” he said as he closed the passenger door.
“Not me. I just want a quiet life,” Bull told the empty car.
Tyler crossed the road and began following Winston at a discrete distance, hands in pockets and head down. Dillon stayed on the same side, but he dropped much further back, adopting the classic surveillance ‘back-up’ position. He found himself wondering where the hell Winston was heading.
◆◆◆
Winston had collected the drugs from the safe house without incident, and they were now safely hidden in his flat, ready for him to drop off at the washhouse first thing tomorrow. Their presence made him uneasy. He wasn’t worried about break-ins; the iron gates that he had fitted would foil any burglar. Besides, he was ‘The Man’ and his reputation was known, respected and feared. What concerned him was the drug squad’s growing interest in his operation. They had been carrying out sporadic surveillance on his people over the last couple of months, not that it had got them anywhere.
Walking briskly, he passed several turnings before reaching the one he wanted. Checking to make sure that he wasn’t being followed, he ducked into the narrow street.
The BMW was parked about twenty yards in from the junction. Since the drug squad had started taking an unhealthy interest in him, he had made a point of not parking outside his address anymore. In fact, he had made a point of not parking in the same street on any two consecutive nights. If they were watching him, the last thing he wanted to do was make it easy for them to predict his movements. Predictability was a death sentence to someone in his profession.
He slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine and cranked the sound system up to full blast. Barry White sounded as cool as ever as he sang ‘Don’t make me wait too long’.
Winston reached into the inner pocket of his leather jacket and removed a bulky object wrapped in a leather shammy. Placing it on the passenger seat, he carefully unfolded it, reached down and cupped the gun in his hand. It felt good. Winston often wished that his parents had chosen to immigrate
