* * *
Shepherd and Armstrong walked out of the house. Shepherd pulled the door closed and the headed across the street. The armed cops kept their carbines trained on the door but it stayed firmly closed. The superintendent was standing at the street corner, watching them anxiously. ‘Is he coming out?” he asked.
‘He said he’s on his way. He wanted to write a letter to his wife.’
The superintendent frowned. ‘Explain that to me, will you?’
‘He wants his wife to know how he feels, he thinks that once he’s in custody he won’t get the chance,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s going to write it out then he wants to read it out to a TV crew. I said that’d be okay.’
‘We can’t have him live on TV, anything could happen.’
‘Doesn’t have to be live. They can record it and broadcast it later. It’ll be a great scoop for them, he gets what he wants, and you get him out of there without shots being fired.’
‘It’s what they call a win-win situation,’ said Armstrong.
‘If it works out that way,’ said the superintendent. ‘The last thing I want is for him to pull out his gun and start shooting.’
‘That won’t happen,’ said Shepherd. He reached inside his bullet-proof jacket and pulled out the Makarov and the clip. ‘I’ve made it safe,’ he said, handing the gun and clip to the superintendent.
‘So he’s in there with no gun?’
‘A sign of good faith,’ said Shepherd. The superintendent turned towards the SFO team but Shepherd put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I gave him my word he could come out on his own terms.’
‘You don’t have the authority to make any sort of deal with him,’ said the superintendent. The SFO they had seen in the ops room jogged over. The superintendent handed him the gun and the clip.
‘No, but he gave me his gun which means he isn’t a threat to anyone but himself. I gave him the radio so you can talk to him.’
‘We’re ready to go in now,’ said the SFO.
‘He’ll come out under his own steam,’ said Shepherd.
The superintendent stared at Shepherd for several seconds, then took his transceiver and put it to his mouth. ‘Mr McIntyre, this is Superintendent Simon Walker. Is everything all right in there? Over.’
There was a brief burst of static then McIntyre’s voice. ‘Aye, superintendent, I’m as right as rain. I just want to get my thoughts together. You can get me a TV crew, right? Over.’
‘You are coming out, then? Over.’
‘I’ll come out, I’ll say my piece, then I’m all yours. Do we have an agreement? Over.’
‘Yes we do, Mr McIntyre. As quick as you can, please. Over.’
‘I won’t be long now. Over.’
The superintendent put down his transceiver. He called over a uniformed sergeant and told him to go and fetch one of the TV news crews. ‘Not the BBC if they’re there, go for ITV first. Tell them they can have an exclusive if they play ball.’ The sergeant nodded and hurried away.
‘How was he?’ asked the superintendent.
‘Tense, obviously,’ said Shepherd. ‘A bit worse for wear. But that’s to be expected, considering the stress he’s under.’
‘Stress of his own making,’ said the superintendent. ‘Did he say why he shot up the car?’
‘He was just trying to get your attention,’ said Shepherd.
‘Well he succeeded. You didn’t promise him anything else, did you?’
‘Like what?’
‘He doesn’t expect to walk away from this, does he? Because that’s not going to happen. Possession of the gun alone guarantees him a prison sentence but shooting at police officers takes it to a whole different level.’
‘To be fair, he was shooting at the car and not the occupants.’
‘Well he can explain that to the judge.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘What’s he playing at?’
‘He isn’t the best letter writer,’ said Armstrong.
The superintendent hit the transmit button on his transceiver. ‘Mr McIntyre, my patience is wearing thin. Are you ready to come out? Over.’
The radio crackled. ‘Won’t be long now, superintendent. ‘Are the TV people there? Over.’
‘They’re on the way, But I need you out of there now. Over and out.’
The superintendent paced up and down. Five minutes passed. Eventually the superintendent’s patience snapped and he put the transceiver back to his mouth. ‘Mr McIntyre, this is your last chance. You need to come out now or we will come in and get you. Over.’
He listened but there was no reply.
‘Mr McIntyre, if you don’t answer I’ll have no choice but to send in my team. Over.’
There was still no answer.
‘My patience is wearing thin, Mr McIntyre. Please respond immediately. Over.’
The superintendent glared at Shepherd and Armstrong. ‘What the hell is he playing at?’ The two men shrugged. ‘Stay here,’ he said, and stormed off towards the temporary ops room.
The armed police went in ten minutes later. Two groups of three approached the front door. One of them was holding an enforcer, a 16 kilogram bright orange battering ram, which when swung hard hit with three tons of kinetic energy. The SFO holding the enforcer was well over six feet tall and almost as wide and he made short work of the door. Two swings and the door was off its hinges and with a third it crashed into the hallway. There were similar crashing sounds coming from the back of the house.
The five other SFOs piled through the doorway, carbines at the ready, screaming ‘Armed Police!’ at the top of their voices.
‘Shock and awe,’ said Armstrong. ‘Very impressive.’
‘Stay here,’ said the superintendent. He hurried over to the house.
‘Why did we never shout “SAS, we’ve got guns” when we stormed a building?’ asked Armstrong.
‘Different rules of engagement,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s crazy.’
‘No argument here,’ said Shepherd.
The shouting continued for several minutes interspersed with cries of ‘clear!’ as the men moved from room to room. Then there was silence.
Armstrong grinned at Shepherd. ‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall.’
‘I’m happier being well out of it,’ said Shepherd.
Several minutes passed before the superintendent appeared in the doorway. He waved Shepherd and Armstrong over. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Shepherd as they reached the front door.
‘Your friend has done a runner,’ said the superintendent.
‘How? We were watching the front door all the time. And your men are covering the back, right?’
‘The roof,’ said the superintendent. ‘Come and see for yourself.’
He took them inside. Two armed cops were standing in the front room and another blocked the door to the kitchen. The superintendent took them up the stairs. Two more armed cops moved aside to let them pass. At the top of the landing was a set of folding steps that led up to a hatch in the ceiling. The superintendent waved them up. Shepherd went up first, followed by Armstrong.
The attic was dusty and festooned with cobwebs. At the far end was a large plastic water tank illuminated by a shaft of light coming through a ragged hole in the roof. Scattered around were half a dozen broken tiles. An armed cop was looking up at the hole in the roof. The superintendent stuck his head up through the hatch. ‘He broke through the roof and pulled out enough tiles to get through. Looks like he crawled along the roof to the end of the terrace and broke into the house there.’
‘Weren’t your men there?’
‘It’s eight houses away. There’s a hole in the roof. He probably left through the back yard. This is a bloody nightmare.’
Armstrong grinned at Shepherd. ‘Crafty bastard,’ he said.
‘If I find out that you two had anything to do with this…’ said the superintendent. He left the threat unfinished.
‘You’ll do what?’ said Shepherd. ‘We’re not cops. And we
were outside with you the whole time.’
The superintendent mumbled something and then disappeared down the steps.
‘He’s not a happy bunny,’ said Armstrong.
‘Yeah, he’s got a lot of explaining to do, and he knows it,’ said Shepherd. ‘But at least he’s recovered the gun and no one was hurt. I doubt that the Met will be doing me any favours for a while, though.’
‘You’ll manage, grinned Armstrong.