Meltdown (6 page)

'My hero,' she said warmly. 'Thank you.'

Danny shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 'No
problem.' Maybe his chat-up technique wasn't
perfect, but Danny reckoned he'd made some
progress.

Fergus and Siddie had concluded their business.

It was a simple and straightforward deal. In
exchange for providing the 'cast-iron' information
that the Headingham twins were the makers and
suppliers of Meltdown, 'Frankie' was walking away
with five thousand pounds in used twenty-pound
notes as a down payment. Once Siddie and his boys
had moved in and taken over the operation, Frankie
was to receive another fifty grand. Cash. Frankie
had given Siddie a mobile number, which he would
call when everything was sorted.

That was it. Business done. Frankie had supplied
everything Siddie needed to know: a description of
the twins, the address of their apartment and details
of their regular comings and goings. He couldn't
tell him where the drug was being made because he
didn't know, but Siddie was more than confident
that he could discover that information for himself.
He would simply make the twins an offer they
couldn't refuse.

The gang boss had listened in silence as Frankie
told him in detail about Teddy and Will
Headingham, and when he'd finished, Siddie shook
his head in disgust. 'Who'd have thought, eh? These
privileged kids, they've got everything. Expensive
education, university, the lot. And what do they do
with it?'

He reached into a drawer of the desk and pulled
out a wad of notes held together by a thick elastic
band. 'They turn to crime, that's what they do. It's
not right. Just shows you the way the world is
going, eh, Frankie. It's definitely not right.'

Fergus didn't count the cash that Siddie handed
over to him. He knew there was no need.

They walked back to the front door and Siddie
held out his hand; this time, when they shook,
Siddie didn't let go at once.

'I'm sure you've heard about the way I do
business,' he said quietly, staring into Fergus's eyes.
This looks like a very lucrative deal for us both.
But' – he let the 'but' linger menacingly before
continuing – 'if this is a scam, or if you're trying to
have me over in any way, then I'll come looking for
you, Frankie, or whatever your name is, because
frankly,
Frankie,
I don't give a shit. And when I find
you – and I will – then it won't matter what your
fucking name is. Because you'll be dead.
Capisce?'

The clock on the dashboard of Lee's Mondeo
flickered as it moved on yet another minute to
8.47 p.m.

Danny sat low in the passenger seat as he pushed
forward the on/off switch on the side of the Taser
stun gun in his jacket pocket. A Taser would jolt
100,000 watts into a body when jammed against it,
and that was enough to instantly drop a small
horse.

Danny had got used to handling various longs
and shorts during his training, but the Taser felt
heavy and unfamiliar in his hand.

Drizzle had been falling for the past hour, dampening
the road surfaces and the parked vehicles so
that they gleamed in the streetlights. It was a light
but constant rain, enough to keep most pedestrians
off the streets.

Danny sighed. 'I think she fancies me.'

'Who?

'Storm, the blonde bombshell.'

Lee raised his eyebrows as he thought back to the
surveillance photographs he had taken of Storm at
the beginning of the operation. He was the one who
had come up with the nickname of the 'blonde
bombshell'. It fitted her perfectly.

'And what makes you think that?' said Lee, looking
at Danny.

'I dunno. The way she looks at me. And smiles.'

'Yeah, I can imagine. But don't get too carried
away – you've got a job to do, Danny boy.'

'I know, and I am. I'm just getting to know her,
like my granddad said.'

'Listen, Danny,' said Lee, more seriously. 'A word
of advice . . .'

'Yeah, I know: never mix business with pleasure.
And I'm not going to.'

'Good to hear it,' said Lee. 'Start messing with
women when you're on a job and it can mess with
your head. Women are clever, you know.'

Danny laughed. 'Oh, so you're the expert on
women, are you?'

'Not me, mate. You should talk to Phil – he's been
married three times.'

'Yeah?'

Lee nodded. 'Mind you, the last one walked out
on him a few years ago, so he obviously hasn't got
the hang of it yet, either.'

'How d'you know all this?'

'I've spent a lot of time with Phil since you got
your cushy office job. You get to chat up the girlfriend,
sit in a warm office shuffling the occasional
bit of paper, drinking poncy coffee four times a day
and we do the routine surveillance stuff. How fair is
that?'

Danny smiled. He was glad to be back at work
with Lee. But tonight wasn't routine. Tonight they
expected Mr Siddie Richards to pay a visit to the
Headingham residence.

It was a Wednesday, and Wednesday night was
one of the few occasions when the Headingham
twins were regularly apart. They took it in turns to
visit their widowed mother. When they were not off
on one of their foreign trips, she liked to see them
separately, on alternate weeks, so that she could
devote herself to one of her beloved sons on his
own.

Fergus had tipped off Siddie about the weekly
outings and he reckoned that the gang leader would
pick that Wednesday to make the home-alone twin
an offer he dare not refuse.

Lee peered out through the blurry windscreen,
then glanced over at Danny. 'So what you gonna do
when this is over?'

Danny shrugged. 'Dunno. Haven't thought about
it much.'

'You could come in with us, you know, the
Security Service. I might even give you a reference.
Or maybe you'd prefer to go over to the dark side
and do all that army SAS stuff like Phil and your
granddad.'

Danny looked at Lee: he had asked him about his
life at MI5, and while Lee hadn't told him much, he
got the impression that he loved the work. He
started to reply, then glanced up at the street ahead
and suddenly broke off to hit the pressel on the
Mondeo's gear stick.

'Stand by! Stand by! That's a grey Jaguar, four up,
approaching apartment building. Fergus acknowledge.'

Fergus's voice came back immediately.

'Roger, that.'

'Phil acknowledge.'

Phil was just as quick with his response.

'Roger, that.'

The Jaguar slid to a standstill at the kerbside just
past the building as Danny and Lee sank lower into
their seats.

Lee was impressed. 'Well done, mate. I'll give you
that reference.'

Danny didn't even have time to nod his thanks.

'That's the vehicle static outside the building. Wait . . . wait
. . . engine still on, lights on . . . wait . . .'

For a couple of minutes the Jaguar driver kept the
engine running.

'No change . . . wait . . .'

Then two doors opened, one front and one rear.

'Stand by, stand by. That's two possible x-rays out of the car.
One fat, one just massive. Both black leather on jeans. No
sign of x-ray one. Both foxtrot towards apartment building.
Engine and lights still on.'

Danny swore silently. He knew that his grandfather
needed Siddie Richards himself in the
apartment. But he also knew that Fergus wouldn't
panic. Fergus never panicked. He improvised.

Danny went back on the net.

That's two possibles complete in apartment building. What
we doing?'

A moment later Fergus's orders came through:

'Phil, move in closer to Jag. Lee and Danny, stay where you
are. Listen in for more instructions once I find out what's happening.
That's me foxtrot to service entrance at back of
building.'

Teddy Headingham hardly knew what hit him. One
minute he was enjoying the light supper of
scrambled eggs and smoked salmon he had prepared
for himself; the next he heard a thunderous
crashing from the hallway as the locked front door
of the apartment crashed open and then two of the
most terrifying men he had ever seen came hurtling
towards him.

There was no time to move, grab his mobile,
shout, or even use the knife and fork in his hands as
some sort of defence against the attack. He just sat,
frozen, as the first man pulled back his right arm
and smashed him in his handsome face, sending
him crashing back off the chair and onto the
carpeted floor.

Blood spurted from Teddy's busted nose as his
uninvited guest straddled his chest and pinned him
painfully to the carpet, stopping him from moving.
Teddy wasn't thinking about moving anyway; he
looked up as Mr Muscles glared into his eyes and
breathed on him with foul-smelling tobacco– and
booze-tainted breath.

'Don't move, don't shout, don't say a single
fucking word till I tell you! You got that?'

Teddy just managed to give a terrified nod as he
fought to stop himself choking on the blood that
was oozing from his split lips into his throat.

The sheer weight of Mr Muscles' bulk was more
than enough to make certain his victim didn't move
an inch. But just to make sure he had his victim's
total co-operation, Mr Muscles opened one of his
huge fists and slapped Teddy so hard it made
his head spin and his eyes water.

Teddy gasped, but he didn't cry out.

Mr Muscles returned the blood that had
splashed onto the sleeve of his leather jacket by
wiping it clean on Teddy's shirt. He smiled. 'Good
boy. Well done. I'm glad we understand each
other.'

In a wall socket in a corner of the room, a double
plug adaptor that Fergus had installed in the twins'
apartment on an earlier visit was picking up every
detail of Teddy's torment. Inside it was a minute
bug – a microphone and transmitter that had
constant power when it was plugged in.

Outside, in the Mondeo, Danny winced as they
heard Teddy take the blows.

Lee saw Danny grimace. 'Part of the job, mate –
don't let it get to you. Just focus on what we have to
do.'

Phil had parked his Vauxhall closer to the
apartment and Siddie Richards's Jaguar, ready to go
into action the minute he got the order. He nodded
as he heard Teddy get another friendly slap; things
were getting interesting at last.

Fergus was approaching the service entrance.
That afternoon he'd taped back the lock on the
door at the rear of the building. As he listened to the
one-sided encounter through his earpiece, he hoped
that Siddie's heavies hadn't been instructed to kill
Teddy if he didn't co-operate fully. He thought it
unlikely – they wanted Teddy's information – but
with a monster like Siddie Richards, he couldn't be
sure.

And Fergus needed Siddie to go into the apartment.
He had to give it a while longer.

For the next few minutes they all listened as first
one then the other heavy used his own particularly
favoured torture technique on Teddy to soften him
up. Teddy screamed like he'd never screamed
before as he absorbed the pain.

Blubber Man was proving to be less physical than
Mr Muscles, but he carried with him specific tools
of the trade. He reached into the back pocket of his
jeans and pulled out a large pair of pliers. 'That's
a nice set of teeth you've got there.' He grinned
at Teddy. 'Let's see how you look without the
front two.'

'Wait a minute,' said Mr Muscles. 'We go on like
this and he'll be dead. And we don't want that. Not
yet, anyway.'

He pulled a mobile from his bomber jacket pocket
and punched in a number.

A thin voice answered the call. 'Well?'

'He's ready for you.'

Siddie considered for a moment. 'I hope you
didn't bust that main door lock. I don't want a
break-in reported.'

Mr Muscles sounded almost indignant at the slur
on his professionalism. 'No! I did it right – I used
the code. You know, the one I gave you.'

Earlier in the day he had also made a visit to the
apartment building and had quickly discovered
the four-digit code number for the electronic
key pad on the entrance door. It was easy, a
technique he'd perfected as a teenager when he
used to look over the shoulders of people using
cashpoint machines before mugging them for their
card.

This time he'd just smiled at a woman as she
approached the door, watched her punch in the
numbers, followed her into the building and even
got into the lift with her. He waited until she
selected her floor and then pressed the button for
the one below. He nodded a goodbye and then went
back to Siddie with the number securely logged in
his memory. Mr Muscles was good at remembering
numbers.

Siddie seemed satisfied. 'I'm coming in.'

Mr Muscles ended the call and smiled down at
Teddy. 'Now it's really gonna hurt.'

Outside the building, a rear door of the Jaguar
opened and Siddie Richards stepped out carrying a
baseball bat. Siddie had always had a special liking
for the weight and feel of a baseball bat as a weapon
of mass destruction.

Danny hit the pressel on the gear stick.

'Stand by, stand by! That's engine and lights off. Wait . . .
wait . . . That's x-ray out of the Jaguar, approaching apartment
building with a baseball bat'

Fergus was making his way up the concrete
service stairs normally used by contractors. He
pushed the pressel on the wire dangling from one
sleeve of his jacket.

'Phil, you deal with the driver. Danny, Lee, the two
x-rays are yours if they come out of the flat. I'm losing this earpiece
now – don't want Teddy to see it.'

Fergus pulled the earpiece from his ear and
shoved it into a pocket. As he took the stairs three at
a time, he slid a silenced Welrod out of his waistband
and pushed the safety catch from right to left
so that it was ready to fire.

Designed in the Second World War, and looking
like a 20cm length of pipe with a pistol grip stuck
under it, the Welrod was still the ultimate silence
weapon because it had no working parts once the
subsonic round was fired: you couldn't even hear
the sound of metal scraping against metal.

Siddie used the code to enter the apartment block
reception area. Then he took the stairs – the main
ones with the thick carpet and modern art on the
walls – reasoning that it wasn't a good idea
to be seen in the lift with a baseball bat for
company.

Meanwhile Phil was already out of his Vauxhall.
He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and put
one between his lips.

He walked casually up to the Jaguar and knocked
on the driver's window. As the man behind the
wheel turned to look at him, Phil smiled and
pointed at the unlit cigarette in his mouth. The
driver didn't return the smile; he just turned away.

Phil knocked again, and this time the electric
window slid down and the driver glared.

'Piss off.'

Phil looked offended. 'I only want a light, mate.'

'I haven't got a light. Now piss off before I get
angry.'

Phil's right hand was in his jacket pocket. Before
the driver had the chance to say another word, Phil
whipped it out and jammed the Taser's two steel
probes into his victim's shoulder. The driver didn't
have a chance to react; he just shuddered uncontrollably
as the electricity crackled. Phil gave
him a five-second burst of 100,000 watts and he
collapsed onto the passenger seat.

Phil opened the door and lifted the unconscious
driver back into a sitting position. The Taser was
designed to stun, not to kill, being high wattage
but low amperage. But to ensure that the driver
remained out of action until well after the operation
was over, Phil gave him another fivesecond
burst before closing the door and moving
away from the Jaguar into the shadows to await
further orders.