The pilot banked and swept down towards the three bikes, closely following their progress, while his colleague radioed back to the command centre in New Scotland Yard to let them know what had happened. Moments later, every patrol car within a five-mile radius had been alerted and began listening to the instructions from the helicopter – something else the three motorcyclists had anticipated.
Once they reached the main intersection, the bikes began a manoeuvre known as the ‘three-card trick’. Every few seconds they swapped places, until the pilot in the helicopter no longer could be certain which of the motorbikes Faulkner was on.
When the three bikes reached the next junction, the lead rider turned left, the second turned right, while the third carried straight on.
The pilot decided to follow the one that was heading for the motorway, while giving Scotland Yard the exact locations of the other two, and their direction of travel. The police got lucky. The first of the patrol cars spotted the bike that had gone straight on coming towards them. The driver switched on his siren, swung around and pursued the suspect, who to their surprise slowed down and came to a halt by the side of the road. The two police officers got out of their car and cautiously approached the suspect.
The rider had removed his helmet long before the two officers reached him, but they were only interested in the passenger. She slowly removed her helmet and smiled warmly at the policemen. ‘How can I help you, officers?’ she asked innocently.
When the second bike reached the motorway, it moved into the outside lane and quickly accelerated away, reaching speeds of well over a hundred miles per hour, while the helicopter stuck with him. When the rider heard the siren, he glanced in his wing mirror to see a police car speeding towards them. He slowed down, moved across to the inside lane and took the next slip road off the motorway, only to be met by three police cars blocking the exit.
This time the bike was surrounded by a dozen officers, two of them armed. The driver removed his helmet and said, ‘I don’t think I broke the speed limit, officer.’
‘We’re not interested in you,’ barked one of the officers, pushing up the passenger’s visor to be greeted by a teenager, who gave him a huge grin.
‘Yes, you did, Dad, but it was worth it.’
The third motorcyclist slowed down as he approached an underpass. Once the bike was out of sight it skidded to a halt, while a fourth took off like a seamless relay runner, emerging from the tunnel just seconds later. The driver swung left at the next junction and sped away in the opposite direction to the helicopter. His instructions couldn’t have been clearer: lead them a merry dance for as long as you can.
Miles climbed off the back of his motorbike and handed his helmet to the driver.
‘Hang around for fifteen minutes, and then drive slowly back the same way you came,’ he said, as a Ford Escort entered the underpass and pulled up next to them.
The driver got out and said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ as if he was picking up his boss from the office.
‘Morning, Eddie,’ Faulkner replied, as his chauffeur opened the front door and he climbed inside.
The Ford Escort emerged from the underpass a few moments later, and when it reached the junction, Eddie turned right. Miles looked out of the back window to see the helicopter flying in the opposite direction.
The commander opened the thick file in front of him. ‘First, and most important, Assem Rashidi is, as you know, safely locked up in Pentonville. You’ll also be glad to hear he was refused bail, so he’ll spend the next six months or so in jail, waiting for his case to be heard. Until then, his lawyer is the only person who’ll be allowed to visit him.’
‘Do we have reliable witnesses this time?’ asked Lamont.
‘The Crown will produce a doctor who’s already under the witness protection scheme and will give detailed evidence as to what Rashidi’s been up to in exchange for a lighter sentence.’
‘That’s good news,’ said Lamont. ‘We don’t need another Adrian Heath.’
‘I can assure you,’ said the Hawk, ‘this one will be better protected than the Royal Family. And even if he should change his mind at the last moment, we’ve got two other potential witnesses in reserve, whose lawyers are also trying to make deals with the CPS.’
‘What about Rashidi’s mother?’ asked William.
‘She’s locked herself in her home in The Boltons,’ said Jackie, ‘and won’t open the door to anyone.’
‘And who can blame her?’ said William. ‘It must have come as a dreadful shock to discover your only son is a notorious drug dealer, and not the respectable chairman of a successful tea company.’
‘Ironic really,’ said the commander. ‘If he hadn’t hugged his mother on her doorstep that Friday evening, we might never have been able to identify him.’
‘She betrayed her only begotten son,’ said William. ‘But, unlike Judas, she didn’t mean to.’
The commander turned a page. ‘A total of twenty-seven other suspects have been arrested and charged, including Marlboro Man and four of Rashidi’s closest associates. One of whom, as I said, is singing like a canary. An added bonus, Jackie arrested another runner who turned up after the raid was over with enough wraps of cocaine on him to make sure he joined the rest of his pals in Pentonville.’
‘Did anyone get away?’ asked William.
‘Thanks to the carpenter and the counter-terrorism officers, it seems unlikely. But three of those who were arrested have been released on bail and are now threatening to sue the police.’
‘Let me guess,’ said William. ‘Three of the lookouts?’
‘So, what’s their story?’ asked Lamont.
‘They claim they were
