He went down like a toppling oak, and she turned her attention to the fat man who was trying to get out from behind the desk, a shocked look on his face. Tina was across the floor in a second, grabbing him by his collar and tie and dragging him back across the desk towards her. ‘I’ll have those,’ she said, grabbing the passport and driving licence out of his hand, and shoving them in the back of her jeans.
She threw him back in his seat and swung round just in time to see the gunman stumble bow-legged across the floor, and grab the gun. He stood back up, still unsteady on his feet, and was in the process of turning the gun in her direction when there was a huge bang as the front door downstairs was kicked in, followed by angry shouts of ‘Armed police!’
For a split second the gunman froze. Unfortunately for him, Tina didn’t. She stepped over and punched him once in the face then turned round and saw the fat man yank open the side door to the stationery cupboard and run inside. Ray had given Tina the layout of the place so she knew that the cupboard had a false wall at the back, which led into the room where they did the counterfeiting.
Already she could hear the sound of heavy footfalls racing up the stairs. This was obviously an intelligence-led op, which meant they knew where to go. Leaving the two thugs injured on the floor, she grabbed the dazed Zafir and pulled him to his feet, then ran into the stationery cupboard after the fat man, just as the door was being opened from the other side. She slammed both hands into the fat man’s back with as much force as she could muster, sending him crashing through the door and straight into a desk, upending a monitor in the process, and knocking over the young man who’d opened the door.
Tina went straight for the window, ignoring the open mouths of the other two men in the room, and climbed out of it onto the fire escape. She raced down the steps and into a narrow alley with rubbish bags piled up against a high wall at the end, astonished that there didn’t appear to be any other officers around.
She looked over her shoulder and saw two of the men from the counterfeiting room running down the steps, followed by the fat man and Zafir, both of whom were moving a lot slower.
Tina didn’t think that Zafir was going to make it, but that wasn’t her problem so, keeping her headscarf pulled up so she couldn’t be recognized, and to keep out the stench of the rubbish, she trampled over the bags and did a running jump, getting her hands to the top of the wall and scrambling up and over it, straight into another alley. She took a sharp turn, clambered over another couple of walls, thankful that she’d spent so much time in the gym, and a couple of minutes later she was strolling along a different street, her gait casual, blending into the background in her headscarf and jacket, her breathing finally returning to normal.
That was when she burst out laughing. With shock? Relief? Enjoyment? Who could tell? A week ago she’d been showing photos of a flabby sixty-five-year-old man in flagrante with a rent boy forty years his junior to his frankly devastated wife, just another depressing case among many. And now in the last twenty-four hours she’d aided a fugitive, shot at an assassin, and beaten the crap out of a couple of thugs while only just avoiding the long arm of the law.
It was risky. It was foolish.
But by God it felt good.
24
I awoke with a start just like I’d done so often in prison, as if sleep was a weakness and now I had to be ready for whatever threat was waiting for me.
Except this time none was. I’d fallen asleep on Tina’s bed, more out of boredom than anything else. I looked at my watch. 6.15 p.m. Jesus, I must have been out for at least two hours. Hopefully Tina would have picked up the passport by now.
Then I heard it. Outside the window. A shuffling sound, then what might have been a grunt of exertion. I’d only left the window open a couple of inches to let in some fresh air, and hadn’t dared shut it in case someone was watching the house.
The noise stopped. Now all I could hear was the sound of birds singing in the trees. I slipped off the bed and crawled over to the window on my hands and knees. I didn’t think the police had come back. They’d already searched the house once and I’d been extremely careful to be as unobtrusive as possible all day today, staying upstairs, away from the windows, and only moving when necessary, and I couldn’t believe that anyone had spotted me.
I kept my head beneath the window but close to the gap, listening carefully. I thought I heard light footfalls coming from somewhere down below but then there was silence once again and I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d imagined it.
I knew from when I’d spent time here before that Tina’s cottage was covered front and back by CCTV with a live feed on her phone and laptop. Her laptop was open on the bed. I’d been surfing the net on it earlier looking for any updates on my escape and the Kalaman murder the previous night, and I crawled over now and refreshed the home screen.
Which was when I saw it. A large photo of me at the top of the BBC news page. I’d got used to seeing myself
