Live Fire (48 page)

‘One more for luck?’ said Mickey, handing him a third launcher.

Shepherd took it. He checked over his shoulder that all was clear, sighted just above the hole he’d already made, and pulled the trigger.

As the third warhead streaked away, Black stamped on the accelerator and the Jeep surged forward across the field. Mark got back into the second Land Rover and he and Wilson followed Black.

The warhead slammed into the wall just above the hole and a dozen concrete blocks spilled to the ground in a cloud of dust. Shepherd stood up and pulled down his ski mask. The hole was now more than large enough for them to get through into the depository.

‘Well done, mate,’ said Mickey. ‘Now let’s not hang about. The cops will be here in just over five minutes.’ He picked up the two discarded launchers, took them to the Land Rover and tossed them into the back. Shepherd did the same with the third launcher and slammed the door.

Black brought his Jeep to a halt at the edge of the blind spot of the CCTVs covering the wall. He and Yates jumped out holding their pickaxes and raced towards the hole. The second Land Rover pulled up alongside the Jeep. Mark and Wilson jumped out holding wirecutters.

Shepherd and Mickey climbed into their vehicle and Mickey switched on the engine. ‘Yee-haa!’ he shouted, and put it in gear. Shepherd pulled the gun from under his seat as the Land Rover lurched forward, wheels spinning on the damp grass, and fitted it into his nylon sling so that it nestled under his left armpit.

Black and Yates attacked the hole with their pickaxes. What blocks remained in place had been loosened by the three explosions and within seconds there was a space almost big enough to drive a car through.

Mark and Wilson ran towards the hole. Black and Yates stepped to the side to let them through, then dropped their pickaxes, pulled out their guns and followed them inside. It had been less than a minute since Shepherd had fired the first warhead.

Mickey stopped next to Mark’s vehicle and threw open his door. From the other side of the wall they heard a shotgun blast and Mickey cursed. ‘What the hell?’ he said. He ran towards the hole and stepped over the broken masonry. Shepherd followed him, pulling his weapon from its sling.

They emerged through the hole into a storage area the size of a basketball court, filled with mesh-sided trolleys full of cash. At the far end there was a wall of metal bars with a door set into it. On the other side of the bars two men in overalls were lying face down. Mark was standing with his gun pointed through the bars and screaming at them to stay on the floor. One had wet himself and urine was pooling at his groin. The other’s hands were clasped behind his neck and was muttering what sounded like the Lord’s Prayer. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ shouted Mickey.

‘Cleaners,’ said Mark.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve killed them,’ said Mickey.

‘They’re okay,’ said Mark. ‘They’re as good as gold now, but I’ve told them what’ll happen if they so much as look at us wrong.’

‘But the cleaners only come in on Friday,’ said Mickey.

‘That’s not the bloody point, is it?’ shouted Mark. ‘They’re bloody well here now.’

‘You sure they’re not cops?’

Mark laughed. ‘Do they look like bloody cops? One’s pissed himself. They’re just cleaners. The Professor screwed up.’

‘Keep them covered,’ said Mickey, putting away his gun. ‘If they move, shoot them in the legs.’

Shepherd knew Mickey was bluffing. The cleaners were no threat – they had no weapons and wouldn’t be able to identify them because they were all wearing masks.

Wilson had already cut the chains on four of the trolleys and pulled the doors open. He was reaching into one and pulling out plastic-wrapped parcels of twenty-pound notes, which he was handing to Yates. ‘Come on,’ said Mickey. ‘We’ve got four and a half minutes to go.’

Shepherd put his gun in its sling, went to one of the opened trolleys and grabbed at packages of money. Each was the size of a briefcase. He took half a dozen and sprinted for the hole. Yates was already ahead of him. They ran to Mark’s Land Rover, stacked the packages in the boot area and raced back to the hole. They passed Mickey who had eight packs in his arms. Wilson appeared at the hole with an armful. He gave it to Shepherd, who ran back to the vehicles. His arms were hurting and his chest was burning. He was used to running in boots with a rucksack full of bricks, but the weight in his arms was straining a whole new set of muscles. Sweat was pouring down his face under the ski mask, but he ignored the discomfort. He passed Mickey again and the two men grunted at each other.

Shepherd dropped the packages on top of the previous batch, then sprinted back to the hole. Black and Wilson ran out carrying money and Shepherd ducked through the wall as Mickey was coming out. Mark was still covering the two cleaners with his gun.

As Shepherd ran to one of the trolleys he looked up to see a battery of CCTV cameras covering the whole money-storage area. ‘The cleaners can’t do anything, mate!’ he shouted to Mark. ‘And they already know we’re in. You might as well leave them and help us with the cash.’ He grabbed at packages containing ten pound notes.

Mark looked over his shoulder, then up at the CCTV cameras. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. He ran to one of the trolleys, put his shotgun in its sling and picked up some packages. The two cleaners stayed where they were, faces down, too terrified to move.

Shepherd clutched seven packages to his chest and ran to the hole. Yates was about to come through but he stepped to the side to allow Shepherd through first. He clapped Shepherd on the back as he went by. ‘Well done, mate.’

‘Three minutes to go!’ shouted Mickey, as he passed Shepherd.

Shepherd ran to Mickey’s car and put the money on top of the unfired RPG. His lungs were burning and his clothes were soaked with sweat beneath the boiler-suit.

Mark appeared at the hole with a bundle and ran towards the vehicles, while Black and Wilson followed Shepherd back into the storage area. One of the cleaners was getting up. Wilson swung up his gun and screamed at the man to stay down.

Shepherd grabbed more packages and ran for the hole, closely followed by Black.

They passed Mickey who was tearing back to the building, panting. ‘Bloody hell, we’re earning our money today,’ he gasped.

The back of Mickey’s Land Rover was packed with cash and he had pulled the tarpaulin over it. Shepherd took his load to the Jeep and stacked it in the back. As he jogged across the field, Mickey yelled they had two minutes to go. Time for two more trips, so long as they kept up the pace.

Shepherd collected another pile of packages, then raced neck and neck with Black to the Jeep. They threw in the money and dashed back to the depot. Mark thrust five packages of cash into Shepherd’s hands, all fifty-pound notes. Shepherd ran back to the Jeep, threw his burden into the back and stepped aside for Black to do the same. He pulled the tarpaulin over the money as Black climbed into the driving seat, than ran to Mickey’s Land Rover. Mickey was loading cash into the rear of Mark’s. ‘Everyone out?’ Mickey shouted at Shepherd. He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Time’s up.’

Shepherd did a quick headcount. Black and Yates were in the Jeep, Mark was running towards Mickey with an armful of money, Wilson just behind him. ‘All clear,’ shouted Shepherd.

Mickey and Shepherd ran to their vehicle and climbed in. Mickey started the engine a fraction of a second after Mark, and the two Land Rovers pulled tight turns and raced back towards the ditch. The Jeep followed, blue smoke belching from its exhaust. As they reached the middle of the field the horses centered away, heads tossing, tails down.

Mickey pulled off his ski mask and grinned. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Perfect.’ He beat on the steering-wheel with his gloved hands.

Shepherd took off his ski mask and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his boiler-suit. He felt his mobile phone in his pocket and tried to quell the guilt in the pit of his stomach.

Chaudhry was driving the removal van and Kundi was in the passenger seat. A hundred yards ahead Bradshaw was in the Ford Mondeo, and fifty yards behind Talwar and al-Sayed were in the Volvo. The three vehicles were driving in the inside lane at just under the speed limit. Chaudhry was used to driving delivery vans but this one was far bigger than anything he’d had before. It was nothing more than a large rectangular box on wheels but it was difficult to turn, requiring constant touches on the wheel to keep it in a straight line when there was even the merest hint of a cross-wind.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Kundi.

‘I’m fine, brother,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Scared?’

Chaudhry flashed him a tight smile. ‘Nervous,’ he said, ‘but not scared. What we are doing we do for Allah, so He will protect us.’

Ahead, in the sky, an airliner was descending towards Heathrow.

Mickey slowed the Land Rover to just over thirty miles an hour and squinted at the GPS. ‘Give Mark a call and tell him to catch up. We’re almost there,’ said Mickey.

Shepherd fished out his mobile, tapped in Mark’s number and relayed the message. Two minutes later the Land Rover appeared behind them, with the Jeep a hundred yards or so back.

Mickey indicated left and the three vehicles turned into the industrial estate. ‘That’s the one,’ said Mickey, pointing at a unit with a sign on it saying, ‘Advanced Electrical Suppliers’. Parked outside was a Series Seven BMW and a white Transit van in which two young Asian men were sitting. ‘And there’s Pinky’s motor.’

‘Pinky?’ said Shepherd.

‘Pinky Patel, our laundryman.’

Shepherd filed the name. It was the first time Mickey had identified the man who would be cleaning their money and putting it into the banking system.

Mickey brought the Land Rover to a halt. ‘Bang on the door, mate, let him know we’re here.’

Shepherd climbed out and jogged to the main entrance. There was an intercom and he pressed the button. After a few seconds the electric door rattled open. Mickey drove in, followed by Mark. As Shepherd followed, yates and Black arrived in their Jeep. The gate closed behind them.

Pinky Patel was a big man in a grey suit that flapped around his legs as he walked. His head was almost perfectly round and his mahogany-brown skin was baby-smooth, but his hair was thinning and he had a comb-over, held in place with lashings of hair gel. His moustache, though, was luxuriant. He grinned as Mickey climbed out of his vehicle and walked over to him with his arms outstretched. ‘Mickey, Mickey, Mickey,’ he said. ‘My favourite customer.’

‘Pinky, you sweet-talking sod,’ said Mickey, ‘I bet you say that to all the blaggers.’

The two men hugged. ‘Everything went well, I assume,’ said Pinky.

‘As always,’ said Mickey. He released Pinky and introduced Shepherd. ‘This is Ricky, our new recruit.’

Pinky shook hands with him. He had a large opal ring on his little finger, which bit into Shepherd’s hand. ‘You have joined a very successful operation, Ricky,’ he said.

‘Just take good care of my share and I’ll be happy,’ Shepherd replied.

Mickey grinned at Pinky. ‘He’s a bit suspicious,’ he said.

‘It’s a lot of money,’ Shepherd said to Pinky, ‘and I don’t know you.’

Pinky grinned good-naturedly. ‘I would not risk betraying your trust or Mickey’s,’ he said. He gestured at his enormous waistline. ‘I am a big target, if ever anyone should decide to shoot me.’

Mark slapped the Indian on the back. ‘We’d never shoot you, Pinky,’ he said. ‘Not with a gun, anyway. A harpoon’s the only thing that’d bring you down.’

Pinky roared with laughter.

Yates and Black were unloading the money from the back of their Jeep and piling it on the table. ‘These are all twenties,’ said Yates. ‘Each pack is a hundred grand.’ He dropped ten of the plastic-wrapped packages on the table. A million pounds. Black put a similar pile next to it.

‘We’ve got tens and fives,’ said Mark. ‘Plus a few packs of fifties.’

Wilson held up a plastic pack of fifty-pound notes. ‘Got to love the fifties,’ he said.

‘Sooner we join the euro, the better,’ said Mark. ‘That five-hundred-euro note has got to be a robber’s dream. You’ll be able to shove enough in your back pocket to buy a Ferrari.’

Patel went to the table to inspect the money. ‘Mickey, what happens to the stuff we leave behind?’ asked Shepherd. ‘The stuff in the warehouse we stayed in last night, the Land Rovers, the gear we were wearing?’

‘All part of the Professor’s package,’ said Mickey. ‘As soon as we’re out of the country, he sends in a clean-up crew.’ He took a cigar out of his case and lit it. ‘They don’t know us. All they know is that they’re cleaning up. Even if they talk, they know nothing.’

Shepherd’s phone vibrated. He took it out and looked at the screen. It was the Major. Shepherd walked away and pressed the green button to take the call. ‘Both phones are on, and they’re close to Heathrow,’ said the Major. ‘They’re to the east of the airfield, which is where landing traffic approaches from. Near Boston Manor, close to the M4.’

‘They’re active,’ said Shepherd, flatly.

‘I’ve asked for a chopper from 27 Squadron at RAF Odiham and they’re ten minutes from the Knightsbridge barracks,’ said the Major. ‘As soon as it gets here I’ll send a troop out.’

‘Have you told the locals?’

‘I don’t want to muddy the waters,’ said the Major. ‘Where are you?’

‘Not far from Heathrow,’ said Shepherd.

‘Can you get there?’

‘Looks like I’ll have to,’ said Shepherd. He ended the call and walked over to the Land Rover he’d been riding in. He reached under the passenger seat and pulled out his sawn-off shotgun.

Mickey and Mark were talking to Patel and didn’t look around as Shepherd walked up. He cocked the shotgun and pointed it at Mickey’s head. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘Change of plan.’

Bradshaw adjusted the binoculars to focus on the third plane in the queue to land. It had the livery of BMI and it was a small airliner, probably a commuter plane coming in from Manchester or Glasgow. Bradshaw spoke into his mobile. ‘No targets on approach yet,’ he said. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted a British Airways plane and he wanted it to be a Boeing 747. That would be worth waiting for. From where he was sitting he could see the removals van parked in the lay-by, underneath the flight path. He could see al-Sayed in the passenger seat, staring fixedly ahead. The vehicle didn’t look out of place. The hole in the roof couldn’t be seen from the road and there were no houses nearby overlooking it. Anyone driving past would assume that the men inside were taking a break. Only at the last moment would the tailgate come down and the missile be fired.