The Crime Trade

47

Malik went back inside the house, slamming the front door behind him. The two detectives were still sitting where he’d left them, playing a game of cards. Both had cans of Foster’s open. They looked up as he reappeared.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Dan Harold.

‘We’ve got a problem. A big one. Vamen’s on to us. He knows Merriweather’s at this location.’

‘Christ almighty,’ he cursed. ‘How?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Who told you?’

‘That’s the thing, I’m not sure. I just got an anonymous call a few seconds ago.’ He didn’t add the bit about Flanagan being the alleged leak.

‘How do you know it’s authentic?’ asked Bill Cheek, reaching into his jacket and fingering his shoulder holster nervously.

‘He told me the address. It’s an authentic call, take my word for it.’

Cheek got to his feet, Harold following.

‘What’s going on?’ called Merriweather from the other side of the house, his voice booming down the hallway. ‘Whatchoo doing back, Asif?’

‘Let’s get all the lights off,’ said Cheek, switching off the lamp by the chair he’d been sitting in. ‘And pull the curtains. Dan, go down and make sure Merriweather stays put.’

‘Do you want me to let him know what’s happening?’

‘Yes.’

Malik had put the number of DCI Norman Thackston of Crawley Police, the nearest station with armed support, into his mobile a few days earlier, just in case of this eventuality, even though he’d always thought it unlikely in the extreme. He speed-dialled it now, at the same time flicking off the hall light. Thackston wasn’t there, but after a dozen or so rings, someone else picked up.

‘Thackston’s line, DS Kamal speaking.’

Malik strode into the kitchen, switching off the light and pulling the curtains across. As he did so, he told Kamal as rapidly as possible what was happening, and how urgent the situation was, before giving him the address. Twice. ‘I need armed response units here immediately. We’re going to have to move our man as soon as possible, but I’m not doing anything until you get here. Be quick, for God’s sake. We lose the target and heads’ll roll, I promise you that.’

He hung up before Kamal had a chance to get a word in edgeways, then headed back into the hall. In the darkness, he could make out Cheek standing there with his gun drawn. It brought home the danger of the situation to him. They were in trouble, serious trouble, and because he was unarmed, having never had the desire to take up firearms training, Malik was going to have to rely on other people to bring him out of the situation alive and unhurt. It wasn’t a situation he was either used to, or relished.

‘They’re on their way,’ he told Cheek.

‘Good. You need to get down with Merriweather. We’ll watch the back and front doors.’

Malik nodded and headed down the hallway in the gloom to the office where he’d spent the last three hours, Cheek following.

Merriweather was in the chair where he’d been sitting all afternoon. He’d lit a cigarette and was still swigging from the can. He didn’t appear too concerned. Harold stood next to him, his gun also drawn.

‘What’s happening then, Asif?’ Merriweather asked, trying to sound casually cheery, but not quite achieving it. ‘We got trouble or something?’

‘You could say that,’ said Malik.

‘All right, Merriweather,’ said Cheek, ‘put the fag out. Now. And get on the floor. Dan, you watch the back door, I’ll watch the front. Everyone turn their mobiles off. I want it to sound like we’re not here. All right?’

Merriweather reluctantly put out his smoke and sat down heavily on the floor. Malik crouched down next to him, and the other two left the room. Now it was simply a matter of waiting.

‘How the fuck did they find out where we were?’ demanded Merriweather. ‘Can’t you lot do anything right? I thought it was meant to be a fucking secret.’

‘Keep your voice down, Jack. Please.’

The two of them fell silent. Malik reached down and switched off his mobile, wondering what his wife was doing even as he crouched there on the floor of a darkened, silent house, his mouth as dry as a bone as he silently prayed for help to arrive. Probably preparing the dinner or putting the children to bed. Perhaps even reading them a story. The thought comforted him somehow. He looked at his watch. And waited.

A minute became two, then three. Time passed slowly. He could hear Merriweather’s heavy breathing.

‘I can’t believe you’ve fucked up again,’ hissed the other man eventually.

‘Shut up, Jack.’

He looked at his watch again, wondering how long it was going to take the ARVs to get up from Crawley. Fifteen minutes probably, even going at breakneck pace. However, their sirens would startle any would-be assassins before then, so time was probably on their side. But it still felt like a long wait.

There was a noise outside the window. A shuffling. Muffled voices. He tensed in the darkness. So did Merriweather, his eyes widening. They were here.

Then the noise was gone, and the dead silence returned, broken only by the faint hiss of traffic in the distance.

‘They’ll jimmy the door,’ said Merriweather quietly, an ominous tone in his voice.