Capital Punishment (44 page)

‘He’s a boxer. He’s never fired a gun.’

‘Any of the others fired a gun?’

‘Just two.’

‘Take one of them,’ said Jat. ‘Show me the layout and I’ll tell you how we’re going to do it.’

‘What are you saying to him?’ asked Cheema.

‘He’s agreed to carry out the operation,’ said Jat.

‘These are
my
people,’ said Cheema. ‘They operate in
my
network. They’re not trained for this kind of thing.’

‘They don’t need any training with me to plan the assault,’ said Jat. ‘This isn’t a complicated operation like the Mumbai attack in 2008 which
I
was responsible for planning. These boys are only up against a nurse and the girl, who will be handcuffed.’

Rahim and Tarar were clearly impressed by Jat. They started talking, off to one side.

‘But they are valuable members of my network. What happens if one of them is hurt or killed? We will lose the ability to fund other operations.’

‘How much funding do you want?’ asked Jat. ‘I’ll give you all the funding you need. I guarantee it.’

‘We’ll do it,’ said Tarar.

They looked at Cheema.

‘We’ll do it on condition that we keep the girl and take the ransom. That will give us the funding we need,’ said Tarar.

Cheema nodded his agreement at him from behind Jat’s shoulder.

‘I want to interrogate the girl, once we have her in our hands,’ said Jat. ‘I need answers from somebody and she will give me the ability to apply pressure. Once I have those answers, she’s all yours. Is that agreed?’

They all nodded.

‘What do we do with him?’ asked Tarar, pointing at MK.

‘There’s only one thing
to
do,’ said Jat.

‘No more mess,’ said Cheema, disgusted by the pool of urine.

A teenage girl in a black puffy coat walked along the pavement towards the Rich Mix Cinema. She stopped by the silver Golf GTI, knocked on the window. Boxer lowered it. She handed him a note, moved off.

Boxer read it, gave it to Isabel. They set off down Bethnal Green Road. Seven minutes later they were outside Stepney Green tube. Boxer searched the night. Nothing. He sat back. A kid walked past, slapped a piece of paper on the windscreen. GO TO MILE END TUBE STATION AND WAIT. Boxer turned left onto Mile End Road, pulled up outside the tube a few minutes later.

‘I was Frank’s conscience for the first ten years of our marriage,’ said Isabel. ‘Until we fell apart. For the next fifteen years he had no conscience. Anybody who came into his orbit, he corrupted them.’

‘What about Sharmila?’

‘She’s from that world. She left a gangster to be with Chico. He put her in charge of his “escort agency”. She provides whores for his clients. And, this is Chico for you: he’ll make her do terrible things until she’s as black as he. The corruptor is only satisfied when his corruptees have been totally immersed in his darkness.’

‘But you’re out of that now.’

‘Am I?’ she said. ‘What am I letting myself in for this time?’

‘I’m not rich. I don’t want power over others. I don’t corrupt.’

‘Are you ruthless?’

He checked himself before he answered that one. Didn’t want to lie to her.

‘Yes, but only with those who’ve done wrong.’

An old man in an overcoat, long grey hair spreading out over his shoulders from under a woollen hat, crossed the road in front of them with a limp. He stopped by the car.

‘Where to?’ asked Boxer.

‘You got a cigarette?’ he asked, until he saw Isabel and leaned in further. The alcohol and tobacco were fierce on his breath. ‘Are you married?’

‘No, I’m not,’ she said, smiling.

‘You should be,’ he said. ‘You’re a fine-looking woman. Is
he
married?’

‘No,’ said Boxer.

‘Are you sure you don’t have a cigarette?’

‘We don’t smoke.’

‘A fine-looking woman,’ he said, staring intently. ‘Where do you want to go now?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Isabel. ‘We’re waiting to be told.’

‘Have you got a message for us?’ asked Boxer.

He switched his gaze to Boxer and said, ‘Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum illuc, unde negant redire quemquam.’

‘Sorry?’ said Boxer.

‘“Now he goes along the darksome road, towards that place from where they say no one returns”,’ said the old man. ‘Good night.’

He moved off. They turned to the middle of the car, looking out of the rear window.

‘Loony?’ asked Boxer.

‘I think so,’ said Isabel. ‘Or perhaps a revenant.’

‘A what?’

‘A ghost, sort of. Someone who comes back to tell you something.’

‘Let’s hope he was talking about himself going along the “darksome road”,’ said Boxer, a little shaken at the thought that he himself might have gone beyond the point of no return.

They turned back in their seats. One of the Metropolitan Police flyers fluttered under the wiper, slightly damp. Boxer retrieved it.

‘The most important thing to remember in this country,’ he said, showing Isabel the flyer. ‘Never lose your sense of humour.’ The flyer showed the photos of Skin and Dan, except that Skin now had scribbled bouffant curly black hair and a moustache and Dan had glasses. Underneath it said: ‘GO TO SHADWELL STATION, Yours Cannon and Ball’. Isabel started giggling, half involuntary, half hysterical. Boxer did a U-turn.

‘By the time we get to Shadwell, there’ll be some bloke playing the next destination on squeaky cats,’ said Boxer.

Ten minutes and they were outside Shadwell DLR station. It was just after 11.30 p.m.

‘Why are you checking the rearview all the time?’ said Isabel.

‘You never know with the Met,’ said Boxer. ‘They have ideas of their own. We don’t know what information they’re operating on, but it’s likely to be more than ours. I just don’t want them to screw things up for us. I want to get this over and done with before anybody else catches up with Skin and Dan.’

‘But wasn’t this the idea, to make sure we weren’t being followed?’

‘It’s been more for show than real,’ said Boxer. ‘There’s only two of them and one is with Alyshia. They’re making us think they’re checking us out. The Met know that. I saw Rick’s mind at work.’

They sat in silence in the darkness of the Golf under the yellow lighting on Cable Street. Boxer held out his hand palm up. She placed hers on top and he enclosed it and brought it to his lips.

Isabel’s phone rang, making her start.

‘Your friend: what’s his name?’

‘Charles Boxer.’

‘Tell him to get the money out of the boot and put it on your lap. Go.’

The phone cut.

They sat in silence again. The sports bag on her lap. The tension occupying too much of her mind to allow conversation. Barely any traffic. The car’s computer telling them the outside temperature was now zero.

The phone rang. Dan gave the next batch of instructions to Lowell Street.

‘Wait there until I call you again.’

‘We’re getting close now,’ said Boxer.

‘How do you know?’

‘The phone calls are from Dan. Skin’s gone to the drop point to receive. He’s not around to get people to stick messages on our windscreen.’

Boxer pulled up on Lowell Street. Empty. No parked cars even. Below freezing now. The tension building as they came to the moment of releasing the money. The terrible point when the kidnappers had everything and the family nothing.

‘We’ve still got to have our proof of life,’ said Boxer. ‘Don’t let him forget it.’

The phone rang.

‘Hello, Mum, it’s me,’ said Alyshia brightly.

‘Oh my God,’ said Isabel. ‘It really is you. Are you all right?’ ‘I’m fine, Mum. Just do as Dan says and everything will work out. They’re all right, these two. You can trust them.’

‘Listen very carefully, Isabel,’ said Dan, taking over the phone. ‘I’m going to give you all the instructions now and you must obey them to the letter.’

Dan talked her through the drop in detail.

‘When you’ve let go of the sports bag, don’t look over the wall, just go straight to the car, no looking back. Your friend, Charles, stays behind the wheel. He’ll drive you back to the Rich Mix Cinema. You wait there until the money’s been counted and I’ll call you with the address. Everything understood?’

The wait at the traffic lights at the end of Lowell Street was interminable. They turned onto Commercial Road, found the drop point and pulled over. Isabel got out, gasped at the sub-zero wind that cut straight through her thin white paper suit. She clambered over the railings and walked quickly back over the bridge to where the numbers were painted on the wall. She dropped the bag into the darkness. No sound came back. She jogged back to the car. Two men came running towards her, really sprinting, at full pace. She flinched as they flashed past her. She vaulted the railings, looked back to where they’d gone. One went down some steps at the side of the apartment building while the other ran across the bridge and disappeared through the gap in the wall to go down to the towpath. Boxer was out of the car watching them, leaning on the roof, shaking his head.

Two cars shot past on the other side of Commercial Road; one pulled up in front of the Tequila Wharf development. Two men got out and ran down the steps to the canal. The other car shot across the road and went down the street on the other side of the canal, heading for the blocks of flats around the marina.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Isabel.

‘The Met,’ said Boxer. ‘Going for their big moment.’

11.00 P.M., TUESDAY 13TH MARCH 2012

Boleyn Road, London E7

‘Anybody accompanying the girl must be shot immediately,’ said Amir Jat.

Jat had drawn up a layout of the buildings, roads and the canal around the workshop on Branch Place. Tarar’s other two men had not been recalled from their lookout points. Jat was addressing the four men who were going to perform the operation, describing the best way to mount a successful assault on the flat, how they should move from room to room.

‘What if he grabs the girl and holds a gun to her head?’ asked Rahim.

‘You will have the advantage of surprise so you must move quickly to ensure that does not happen,’ said Jat.

‘But if it does?’

‘Are you a good enough shot to kill the man without harming the girl?’

‘He’s good,’ said Tarar. ‘He just doesn’t want the responsibility if it goes wrong.’

‘And I haven’t been trained in assault situations,’ said Rahim.

‘Nor has this ex-nurse,’ said Jat. ‘He will be in such a state of shock, I doubt he will be able to react. It’s possible, too, that the girl will still be secured in another room. We must put our faith in Allah for a beneficial outcome.’

Jat asked to see their weapons and had them check the mechanisms and load with a round in the chamber. He asked for any more questions. Silence. They left the house in pairs at intervals. Jat and Cheema met at the VW van they would use for the operation. They picked the others up at prearranged points and headed west.

Only two people in the van weren’t nervous: Amir Jat and Rahim. The rest were hyped up, Cheema more so than the rest of them. The steering wheel was skidding through his sweating hands. He was just the driver, but only he knew what he’d been instructed to do the moment this operation was over.

As soon as Skin had caught the bag, he’d turned and sprinted back towards Limehouse Basin. He wasn’t taking any chances, not with a hundred grand, which was the most money he’d ever held in his hands at one time. He turned left at the basin and ran in front of the blocks of flats, up some steps, along a walkway and through a small park, which took him to Narrow Street, where he’d parked the van. He got in panting, ducked below the dashboard and hot-wired it. He pulled away and weaved through the narrow streets to join the traffic on Commercial Road. He headed south through the Rotherhithe Tunnel and made his way to the Old Kent Road. He parked up in a side street, got into the back of the van over the front seats, opened the sports bag.

It was nearly unbelievable. Ten packs of ten grand each, just as they’d asked. He counted through one of the packs. Spot on. He riffled the other nine to make sure they were genuine. He clenched his fists, punched the air and did a little hobbled dance around the back of the transit.

Dan was in the living room with Alyshia. He’d removed the remaining handcuff and they were sitting at a table. Dan had one hand on the gun in between them while he played with the mobile in his other, willing it to vibrate. She’d dressed in the tracksuit, T-shirt and trainers he’d bought and she had a blanket from the bed around her shoulders. He’d called Skin several times but the phone was switched off. Dan sat back, tried to relax. Didn’t like the feel of Alyshia’s eyes constantly on him.

‘So what happened,’ he asked, going on the offensive, ‘between you and Skin?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I could see that,’ said Dan. ‘But you were getting on and then...?’

‘We weren’t.’

‘He tried it on?’

She shrugged, as if this happened all the time.

‘In the shower?’ said Dan. ‘That was leading him on a bit too much, maybe.’

‘I hadn’t had a shower for five days. I was filthy. I’ve been stripped down to my underwear all that time. I had nothing to hide,’ said Alyshia. ‘I drew the line when he asked to help, to get in there with me. I told him where to go.’

‘And he didn’t get ... physical with you?’

‘No, I’ll give him that, he’s not a rapist. I just slapped him down verbally and that was it.’

‘I told him you were out of his league.’

‘It’s easy when you’re not interested,’ said Alyshia. ‘You’re not gay, are you, Dan?’

‘No, just careful,’ said Dan. ‘I’ve ended up in prison because of women like you.’

She smiled. He leaned back in his chair, looking at his watch.

‘Come on, Skin.’

‘What time is it?’ asked Alyshia.

‘Half an hour past midnight,’ said Dan. ‘And as usual, I don’t know what the fuck he’s playing at. Mind of his own, that boy, and not all of it properly wired.’

‘Where are you going to meet him?’

‘We didn’t decide that,’ said Dan. ‘He was going to see where he ended up.’