Even so, she felt a bit better. Hitting things always helped her clear her head. It always had, even when she was a kid. Though Danny probably didn’t look back on those days with any fondness. She smiled, but only for a moment. She couldn’t find it in herself to be overly concerned with what Danny thought, these days.
Being in the military had been bad enough, but joining Albion…? She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling worn out. Danny might as well have put a target on her back. Mary Kelley hadn’t mentioned anything about it, but Ro knew it’d come up sooner or later. Especially if Albion managed to take over for the plods. They’d use her – or mum – to get to Danny. And Danny, tight-arse that he was, wasn’t likely to play nice. No telling what would happen then. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.
For a moment, she considered punching the wall again. But she resisted the urge and made her way down the hall to the bathroom. It smelled of mould and cheap deodorant. It hadn’t been cleaned in some time – maybe never. Her eyes strayed to the cistern of the toilet. She frowned, and removed the top. As she had suspected, a trio of waterproof baggies sat at the bottom of the tank, tucked beneath the flush valve.
Grimacing, she fished them out one at a time and tossed them into the sink. Two of them contained rolls of bank notes and several cheap flash drives. No telling what was on those. She pocketed the cash without thinking about it. Few people used it these days, but money was money and Colin didn’t need it anymore, poor sod.
The third baggie was more interesting. It contained an Optik external unit as well as an old fashioned flip phone. She knew a burner when she saw one. Everyone’d had one, back in the day. These days not so much. It had a list of pre-programmed numbers, but no names or references. The Optik was more interesting.
Colin’s Optik had been broken when it hit the ground, and what was left was now at the bottom of the Thames. Ro wasn’t much for technology – she had an Optik of her own, everyone did – but she knew enough to get by. External units would synch up automatically with the nearest base unit. Granted, everything on it would be encrypted, but Colin wasn’t the sort to trust weird hacker bullshit. Colin was a straight out of the box, default password sort of guy.
But that didn’t explain why he had two Optiks. She turned the device on, waited impatiently for it to synch up, and then started trying passwords. She got it on the second try – Colin had used his birthday, like a proper numpty.
Files skittered across her display. She zeroed in on a scheduling app and was rewarded by several dozen entries. Some she recognised as legitimate – well, mostly – deliveries, but some of the others were at unusual times.
One stood out. An address in Hackney, a contact number and a name – Holden. The name wasn’t familiar, but something about the address was, though she couldn’t say what. She’d have to go see it for herself, maybe talk to this Holden, whoever they were. She pocketed the Optik, turned – and stopped. She’d heard something. Voices.
The walls in the flat were thin and she could hear someone, or several someones out in the corridor. The police? Either way, she didn’t want to be caught in the flat, if they were coming in. She needed an exit.
The balcony. She moved quickly, out the doors and paused, looking down. Not a long drop to the next balcony, but far enough to make her hesitate.
Behind her, someone eased open the door. No more time.
Ro went over the side.
When Danny spotted the broken lock, he signalled Hattersley. The other man nodded. Danny drew his pistol and eased the door open. They’d spent most of the previous day going back and forth over Colin Wilson’s trail. They’d located his van parked along Regent’s Canal – someone had set it on fire, helpfully. Probably the Kelleys.
He and Hattersley were in their civvies. They were both wearing their body armour under their coats, with the Albion insignia emblazoned on the chest, but no helmets to hide their faces, and no combat rig other than a concealed P9 pistol. Danny had made the call. Given the Kelley’s involvement, he thought they should be prepared, just in case, but didn’t want to spook the locals unnecessarily. Hattersley hadn’t argued.
“How do you want to do this?” Hattersley murmured.
“By the book,” Danny said, studying the door. Someone had clearly kicked it in.
“Think it’s Bloody Mary?” Hattersley said, referring to the Clan Kelley matriarch. Every Albion operative in East London knew Mary Kelley’s reputation.
“You can relax, I don’t think she’s in there,” Danny muttered.
“Ha-ha. I meant you think it’s her goons?”
“Only one way to find out.” Danny waved him back and reached for the door. He eased it open, pistol at the ready. When no shots came, he stepped inside. As he did so, he saw a flash of movement near the balcony. He opened his mouth to shout, but whoever it was, was already gone. “Clear the flat. One of them is going out the window. I’ve got them.” He shoved past Hattersley and pounded towards the stairs.
He took the steps two at a time and hit the doors at a
