Payback. Part 14

The fair-haired teenager from Newcastle was nearing his destination when he heard a voice calling to him.

'Hey, mate?'

He stopped. In his right hand were a few twists of green garden twine. He tightened his grip slightly, slowly turned round and immediately recognized the Big Issue Big Issue seller who had given him directions and was now standing a few metres away, smiling at him. seller who had given him directions and was now standing a few metres away, smiling at him.

'What time's your interview?'

'My... my... ?'

'Got time for a coffee first?'

They were standing in a wide open s.p.a.ce in front of the steps leading up to the Mailbox. The teenager looked confused: Wilf could see beads of sweat standing out on his forehead.

'I... I don't want any coffee.'

He started to turn away, but Wilf called to him again. 'Look, mate, I know you're in trouble and-'

'p.i.s.s off!' The teenager was shouting. 'I'm not not in trouble! Just leave me alone!' in trouble! Just leave me alone!'

Wilf raised his hands and held them open, with both palms facing forward. 'It's cool, it's cool. It's just that I've had a few problems myself and I know what it's like.'

'You know nothing! How could you know?'

Wilf was no professional negotiator; he just wanted to help a kid in trouble. Like he said, he'd had problems of his own. Drugs, and the increasing amount of theft required to fund the habit. But there had been people around to help him. He was clean now and going straight. His life was the best it had been for years.

But at that moment Wilf made the mistake that no professional would ever have made. Instead of keeping his distance, he moved closer, simply to rea.s.sure the teenager facing him; to show him that he was no enemy; to prove that they were on the same side.

He saw the teenager's right arm jerk upwards and a momentary flash of brilliant light.

And then it was over. For them both. For ever.

Mark Davenport had left his home in Newcastle the previous evening after a row with his parents. It was most unlike him; he was a quiet eighteen-year-old who rarely, if ever, argued with his mum and dad.

He liked living at home, so much so that when it came to choosing a university, he'd opted for Newcastle, despite receiving offers from more prestigious centres of learning. And it had seemed to be the right choice. His first year was going well, and even if Mark hadn't really made many new friends, he'd seemed happy enough. At first.

However, over the past few months Mark had gradually become more withdrawn, with little to say unless someone spoke to him. The situation at home became tense and his worried parents had finally confronted him with it the previous afternoon.

They reasoned to begin with, and when that got them nowhere, they argued, until Mark finally stormed off to his room. Half an hour later, dressed in a shirt and tie and his black duffel coat, he left the house and drove away in the second-hand white Nissan Micra his parents had given him as a surprise eighteenth birthday present.

At one o'clock in the morning Mark's anxious mother phoned the police to report her son missing; he had never before stayed out that late without phoning to say he was OK. The desk officer patiently took down Mark's description and was sensitive enough not to tell Mrs Davenport that she was worrying unnecessarily. He was a dad himself; kids were a worry. He logged the details and asked Mrs Davenport to call again when Mark turned up, as he felt sure he would.

But he never did. Less than an hour after the explosion in Birmingham, police had matched the facts from Newcastle with the city centre CCTV footage and the details phoned in by the man Wilf had spoken to near New Street. Soon the ident.i.ty of another bomber was confirmed and Mark's distraught parents were being comforted.

Police forces throughout the country swept into action even sooner, with new tactics, planned since the second bombing. Road blocks were set up on major roads into cities, targeting young drivers travelling alone. Police were suddenly present on trains and buses, and outside schools and colleges. They were stopping, challenging and questioning teenagers, particularly those who were alone.

There was no longer any doubt: the bombings were part of an orchestrated campaign. But the vital question remained unanswered: who was doing the orchestrating?

CHAPTER 34

It was like being in a white goods graveyard. Old fridges, freezers, washing machines and tumble dryers took up every available metre of s.p.a.ce in the warehouse. They lined every wall and in some places were balanced precariously, one on top of another.

But they were silent; the only sound came from the hum of the fluorescent strip lighting dangling unevenly from the steel support girders stretching across the warehouse.

Joey and Danny helped Fergus through the maze of white and up the steel staircase bolted to one wall. On the first floor was one large room, with a filing cabinet, a desk, a couple of bentwood chairs and an old, threadbare sofa. A barred, grime-covered window looked out onto a small square made up of other industrial units. In the distance the ma.s.sive steel arch and construction cranes of the new Wembley Stadium cut into the skyline.

Behind Park Royal Station and the lines of car showrooms and fast food places that hug the A40 is a world of business parks, conveniently positioned to make use of the main road in and out of west London.

They were in the heart of one of the parks. They had pulled off the A40, pa.s.sing a Renault showroom and a Parcel Force depot. The service road was potholed through constant use by heavy vehicles. Joey had known exactly where he was heading. He turned the hire car into the square and they stopped by the roll-down shutters outside a unit in one corner. They got inside quickly.

'Not exactly home from home,' said Joey as he and Danny eased Fergus down onto the dusty sofa. 'But I guess it will do.'

Fergus nodded as Danny lifted his injured leg onto the sofa. 'Just tell me again exactly how you sorted this, Joey?'

Joey sat on one of the bentwood chairs and took out a small cigar. 'Like I said, this place was the legitimate side of my business partner Sonny's operation. I brought Elena here to meet him.'

'Yeah, I remember him,' said Elena as she unpacked some of the items she and Danny had bought while Joey had been arranging their new place of residence and Fergus lay in the back of the car fighting back the pain from the GSW. 'And I didn't like him.'

Joey lit the cigar and blew out a long stream of smoke. 'No, well, we don't have to worry about good old Sonny. He'll be staying at Her Majesty's pleasure for some considerable time.'

Danny was unrolling new sleeping bags from their plastic wrapping. 'So how come we can use this place? And you've got the keys?'

Joey took another puff on his cigar. 'While you were shopping, I went to see Sonny's wife, Joyce. She's a fine woman; I met Sonny through Joyce back in Nigeria a few years ago.' He smiled and wistfully blew on the end of the smouldering cigar. 'Yes, a fine woman. In fact, there was a time, a while back, when me and Joyce used to-'

'Dad!' said Elena holding up her hands. 'This comes under the heading of "too much information". We get the picture you were good friends, right?'

'That's right real real good friends, honey. But Joyce has been struggling to keep the business going. So she's agreed that I can take over after I've spent a couple of days sorting out my own situation.' He looked at Fergus. 'That's where you come in.' good friends, honey. But Joyce has been struggling to keep the business going. So she's agreed that I can take over after I've spent a couple of days sorting out my own situation.' He looked at Fergus. 'That's where you come in.'

Fergus nodded. 'If we get out of this, I'll do what I can for you.'

'I'm counting on you,' said Joey as they watched Elena take her precious laptop from its bag.

'Can you get online here?' asked Fergus.

'All I need is a hotzone.' She saw his puzzled look. 'There'll be plenty around, I just have to find one I can access.'

'Right. Well, I want to st.i.tch my leg up while I've still got the strength, and you won't want to watch. You and Danny go and see if you've had any more messages from our friend in the Firm. If you have, you tell her exactly what I've told you and no more.'

Joey threw his cigar b.u.t.t onto the floor, trod on it and then stood up. 'Think I'll take a ride. I'm not specially keen on watching medical operations either.' He was already on his way to the stairs. 'I'll go see Joyce we've got a lot of catching up to do and-'

'Wait!' said Fergus. 'I want you nearby; we'll need you to drive later. Go find those things I asked you to get me, but move the car first. Park it outside the square, across the road where we can see it. And keep it there from now on we don't want to attract any unnecessary attention after dark.'

'These things you want Joey to find?' said Danny. 'I thought we'd bought everything you wanted.'

'Just a few extras. For defence. Come on, let's move. Elena, what about your school?'

'School?

'Won't they be worried if you don't turn up?'

Elena shrugged. 'I'm sixth form. Sometimes I don't go.'

Fergus nodded. 'I need your computer bag, and Joey, leave me your lighter.'

'My computer bag?'

Joey looked equally bewildered. 'My lighter? Just what sort of operation is this?'

Fergus smiled. 'They're for after the operation.'

The 21b-breaking-strain length of nylon fishing line was threaded through the small needle and was balanced on Fergus's good leg. He'd pushed his tracksuit bottoms down around his ankles and now slowly eased off the last of the bloodstained dressings from the GSW to expose the entry and exit wounds.

It didn't look good: the pus spots were getting bigger. One had burst and was oozing into the torn, scabby flesh. Fergus poured the last bottle of antiseptic liquid over the gaping wounds and doused the needle and fishing line as well. He held his breath and took the pain as the fluid attacked the exposed muscle. It wasn't going to help much the wounds were far too infected but the thought that it might at least stop them from getting any worse made Fergus feel a little better.

Fergus had performed this sort of emergency operation before, in the field; but never on himself. It was going to hurt, but there was no other option: the wounds had to be st.i.tched up if they were ever going to heal. He could worry about fighting the infection when, and if, he managed to get some proper medical attention.

He took a deep breath, clenched his teeth and pushed the needle in at the start of the exit wound, tensing his muscles to absorb the pain. The needle penetrated the top layer of skin and slid through muscle until it pierced the raw flesh on the inside of the wound. It hurt like h.e.l.l, but that was a good sign at least the muscle hadn't gone dead and blood was still flowing around the wound.

With his left hand Fergus squeezed the two sides of the wound together, and pushed again until the needle broke through the skin on the other side. He took another breath and held it, pulled on the needle and watched as the fishing line slid through the two sides of the wound and slowly closed them together. He kept the needle held high in his right hand and his left continued to squeeze the wound together. The best way to combat the pain was to get on with it, so he moved the needle across and pushed it in again.

Gradually he st.i.tched up the exit wound; nothing fancy or pretty, he just looped his way along, with the pain getting worse all the time. He couldn't allow himself to pa.s.s out. He could hear Danny and Elena speaking to each other downstairs. He focused on their voices, forcing himself to try to hear what they were saying, as he watched his skin being pulled up like a small volcano, with pus oozing from the top each time he tightened the fishing line.

Finally the exit wound was st.i.tched. It would hold for now. The entry wound was smaller: st.i.tching it would be easier. Fergus gritted his teeth and began again.

There were plenty of firms and individuals operating their own hotzones in the area, and as Elena had told Fergus, she just had to find one that didn't need a pa.s.sword for access.

She went onto her wifi network and a whole list of names appeared.

'A lot of people are lazy,' she said, scrolling down to the first name. 'Either they don't care who uses their hotzone and let anyone on, or they give it a name and then use the name as the pa.s.sword, so no one logging on has to remember anything different.'

But Elena's confidence was dented slightly when she was unsuccessful with the first few names she tried. Each time she typed in a pa.s.sword matching the name, she was denied access.

'Maybe they're more security conscious around here,' said Danny, wondering if they would have to go out and legitimately log onto a publicly accessible hotzone somewhere in the area.

'We'll find one,' said Elena. 'Just be patient.'

Before she could try the next name on the list, the metal shutter at the front of the building opened noisily and Joey appeared clutching an empty five-litre paint can. He held it up. 'You think this will do?'

'For what, Dad?'

Joey shrugged. 'Don't ask me, darling. Fergus said he wanted a paint can. Found this one in the skip outside, and the nuts and bolts he wants.' He shook the can and the rattling sound proved to Danny and Elena that it did indeed contain pieces of metal. 'I'll leave this here while I go get some cardboard. There's plenty in one of the other skips, but I got no idea where I'll get the electric plug and lead he wants.'

Danny and Elena exchanged a look. They had no idea what Joey was talking about but they could easily solve one problem for him.

'Dad, what is this place full of?'

Joey glanced around. 'Fridges, darling. And freezers, and washing machines.'

'And what have most of them got dangling from the back?'

Joey looked at the closest fridge and saw the length of electrical lead and the plug still attached to the machine. He smiled. 'Darling, you're a genius.'

He placed the paint can on the floor, stepped outside and rolled down the shutter, and with a shrug to Danny, Elena went back to her computer.

The next name on the list was OfficeHelp. Elena typed the name into the pa.s.sword box and suddenly she was online. She grinned at Danny. 'Must be one of the firms around here. Very helpful they are too.'

She logged onto her e-mail and the message they had half expected was waiting.

You do not reply. This is NOT GOOD. Where are they, and where are you? Report IMMEDIATELY!!!

'Think she's getting a little bit touchy,' said Danny.

'Good.'

Elena hit the reply box and typed in exactly what Fergus had told her to write: All alive and safe.

She logged off just as the metal shutter rolled up again and Joey appeared holding a selection of cardboard in various shapes and sizes. He pushed down the shutter and picked up the empty paint can.

'Looks like Fergus wants to make something for Blue Peter Blue Peter,' said Elena with a smile.

'Somehow I doubt it,' said Danny quietly. 'Let's go up.'

As they climbed the stairs, the smell of burning wafted down towards them. Elena was first up, and as she glanced over at the sofa she saw Fergus blowing on one smouldering end of her laptop bag.

'That's my bag bag!' she shouted.

'Yeah, sorry, but you'll need this for the CTR. And I'll buy you a new one if we manage to get out of this alive.'

Fergus had burned a small hole in one end of the laptop bag. He blew on the hole again, and when he was certain it was no longer smouldering, he dropped the bag on the floor.

He was looking pale and drawn and was obviously in agony from st.i.tching up the GSW. But there was still much to be done before he could rest. 'Sit down, all of you, and I'll run through the plan for the CTR.'

Elena sat on one of the bentwood chairs and Joey claimed the other, placing the items rescued from the rubbish skips on the floor.

'Get everything?' asked Fergus.

'Everything you asked for.'

Danny perched on one arm of the sofa and stared at his grandfather. His face was almost grey and there were dark shadows beneath both his eyes. 'You all right?'

Fergus fended off the question with a shrug. 'Now listen. You've got to realize that's it's not just the third party you have to worry about when you do the walk past at Northwood. This is a secure location and the security is good the best and with these bombings going on they'll be on a heightened state of alert. If they see anything anything suspicious, even outside the camp, they'll come and check it out.' suspicious, even outside the camp, they'll come and check it out.'