Hard Landing (47 page)

It was a good question. Had they come in over the wall? Lloyd-Davies wondered. Dropped in by helicopter? Or come storming in through the front gate? Did anyone else in the prison know that armed men were on the loose? ‘Help me get up,’ said Lloyd-Davies. ‘Sit back to back and push.’

Morrison rolled over and sat up, then shuffled around so that his back was against hers.

‘On three,’ she said. She counted aloud, then they pushed hard and raised themselves. Almost immediately Morrison lost his balance and fell back against a filing cabinet, cursing.

Lloyd-Davies looked at the monitors. There was no sign of the men, so they must have left the block. That meant the only prisoners they’d released had been Shepherd and Carpenter. An armed robber and a drug-dealer. Where was the logic in that? Armed men in ski masks meant terrorists, but most of the terrorists were in the Special Secure Unit on the far side of the prison. None of this made any sense.

‘Gamma, you have two prison guards heading your way.’ Armstrong’s voice crackled in O’Brien’s earpiece.

‘Shit,’ said Mitchell.

Shepherd looked at the two men. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. He leaned against the wall, allowing it to take some of Carpenter’s weight.

O’Brien pressed a finger to his lips, then pointed down the corridor and held up two fingers.

‘Alpha, how far away?’ he asked.

‘Gamma, one hundred metres from the corner ahead of you,’ said Armstrong.

‘Alpha, have they got radios?’

‘Gamma, affirmative.’

O’Brien cursed under his breath. The two prison officers might be going to another block or the administration centre. Or they might be leaving, which meant they’d buzz the gatehouse to unlock the door from the secure corridor. If they went to the administration block, he and the team would be in the clear, but either of the other two options meant the officers would have to be confronted and overpowered. They wouldn’t be able to summon help from outside the prison but they could use their radios to call colleagues from other blocks.

O’Brien glanced at his watch. Time was running out. ‘Alpha, if they stop at the door, let me know.’

‘Gamma, will do.’

O’Brien made a clenched fist, telling Mitchell and Shepherd to wait.

Lloyd-Davies groped for the radio. As her fingers closed round it she saw the alarm button on the wall and decided it was a better bet. She hopped over towards it. It was on the wall next to the monitors at shoulder height so she couldn’t reach it with her bound hands. She tried to hit it with her shoulder but failed. She cursed, then pressed it with her forehead but that didn’t work either. She tried again and fell forward, banging her nose against the wall. She felt blood spurt from her nostrils and blinked away tears. She pushed herself away from the wall, then hopped as close to the desk as she could get and allowed herself to fall forward. Her nose slammed into the button and she felt the cartilage crack. Tears streamed down her face and mixed with the blood, but she heard the alarms burst into life and smiled despite the pain.

O’Brien swore as the alarms went off. ‘Where are they, Gamma?’ Mitchell was looking back the way they’d come, cradling his rifle and shifting from foot to foot.

‘Still heading your way,’ said Armstrong. ‘They’re about fifty feet from the corner where you are.’

‘We’re going to have to take them,’ said O’Brien. ‘Are you ready, Beta?’

‘Let’s do it,’ said Mitchell.

O’Brien put a hand on Shepherd’s arm. ‘Are you okay?’ Shepherd nodded. ‘We’ll rush them but, whatever happens, you keep going, okay?’

Shepherd nodded again.

‘Gamma, they’re running your way.’

O’Brien jerked his head at Mitchell, then pointed down the corridor. Both men started to run. Shepherd hurried after them.

As they rounded the corner, they saw the two prison officers heading towards them. They were big men with the build of rugby players. They stopped dead when they saw O’Brien and Mitchell.

O’Brien pointed his gun at the men. ‘Down on the floor!’ he shouted.

The men didn’t move, too shocked to react. Mitchell stepped forward, his finger on the trigger of his AKM-63. ‘Do it –
now
!’ he shouted.

The mengot downonthe floor andlay there, spreadeagled. Mitchell bound the wrists of one. O’Brien told Shepherd to go on ahead and knelt down to tie up the second.

Overhead, the alarms were ringing, but O’Brien knew they were internal with no connection to the authorities outside the prison. It was an inconvenience but they were in the end phase now: a few unarmed prison officers wouldn’t stop them.

Shepherd ran along the corridor. Carpenter was moaning, but he wasn’t moving. Ahead he saw the door that led out of the secure corridor to the courtyard, then heard rapid footsteps behind him and turned. O’Brien and Mitchell were running towards him. The two officers were on the floor, face down, their hands tied behind their backs.

He wondered if the alarm had been sounded back in Block B or if the problem lay ahead, at the gatehouse. His heart was pounding and his back ached from Carpenter’s weight. He stopped at the door.

O’Brien skidded to a halt and jabbed at the intercom button to the left of it. ‘Alpha, ready for exit!’ he shouted.

Mitchell ran up behind O’Brien. The lock clicked and O’Brien shouldered open the door. Then he put his hand to his ear. ‘Alpha, say again.’ He frowned.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Shepherd.

‘More officers in the corridor, from Block A.’ O’Brien glanced at Mitchell and pointed down the corridor, then held open the door for Shepherd. He carried Carpenter through and hurried across the courtyard, Carpenter’s feet banging into his thighs.

Armstrong scanned the monitors. O’Brien was holding open the door from the secure corridor. Mitchell was racing towards Block A. Shepherd was coming towards the gatehouse with Carpenter on his shoulders. And Shortt was gunning the van engine.

No cameras covered the outside of the prison so he had no idea what was going on beyond the walls. For all he knew armed police units were already stationed there. He said a silent prayer that Major Gannon was right and that even if they knew what was going on it would take SO
19
at least eight minutes to get to the prison.

There was movement on another of the monitors – the secure corridor outside Block C: three prison officers, two male and one female, were running from the bubble.

‘Gamma, three more guards in the corridor,’ said Armstrong. ‘Time to call it a day.’

‘Alpha, roger that,’ said O’Brien, but he stayed where he was, keeping the corridor door open.

Mitchell stopped running. He could hear booted footsteps round the corner ahead of him. He stood with his left leg slightly forward, ready to absorb the kick of his AKM-63. He took no pleasure in shooting at unarmed men, but he had to show them he was capable of using his firepower.

The two men reached the corner first. One was short and dumpy, the other tall and lanky. The tall one yelped when he saw Mitchell, the other ducked and tripped over his own feet.

Mitchell was amused by their confusion. ‘Get down on the floor!’ he yelled.

A female prison officer came round the corner. She swerved to avoid falling over the officer on the floor and slammed into the wall.

Mitchell fired a short burst into the ceiling above their heads. A light shattered and ceiling tiles showered down on them. ‘I won’t tell you again!’ he shouted.

The overweight guard and the woman dropped on to the floor next to the other.

‘Link your fingers behind your neck!’ ordered Mitchell.

They did as they were told.

‘Anyone follows us, I won’t be firing warning shots,’ he shouted. ‘Tell your friends – they come after us, they’re dead.’ He turned and ran back to O’Brien.

‘Nice speech,’ said O’Brien.

‘What can I say?’ said Mitchell. ‘Winning friends and influencing people.’

O’Brien held the door as Mitchell ran into the courtyard, then chased after him. The door clicked shut. Hopefully, with the gatehouse disabled, no one would be able to follow them out of the secure corridor.

Shepherd was breathing heavily by the time he’d reached the gatehouse. Carpenter was still groaning, but his body was limp. The interior door was already open and he ran through it. To his left Armstrong was cradling his automatic rifle. He acknowledged Shepherd, then went back to studying the CCTV monitors.

The second door, leading to the outside, was shut. Shepherd stood in the holding area and waited.

O’Brien and Mitchell ran in from the courtyard, rushed through the interior door, then turned to check that no one had come after them. The courtyard was clear.

Armstrong hit the button to close the security door. Seconds ticked by as it shut. O’Brien and Mitchell turned to the second door. ‘We haven’t got time for this,’ said Mitchell, levelled his gun at it and let loose a short burst. The glass shattered.

Armstrong vaulted over the counter and ran out into the courtyard.Shepherd raced after him, his trainers crunching over shards of broken glass. Armstrong jumped into the back of the van and held out his hands to heave Carpenter in. O’Brien and Mitchell were running towards them. They turned and faced the gatehouse, weapons at the ready as Shepherd clambered into the van. ‘We’re in!’ he shouted.

O’Brien and Mitchell ran together, jumped in and Shepherd pulled the door shut.

‘Go, go, go!’ screamed O’Brien. Shortt stamped on the accelerator and the van shot towards the gate.

The van swerved and Shepherd’s head smacked against the side. He put out a hand to steady himself. O’Brien and Mitchell sat with their backs towards the seats, cradling their weapons. Shortt was keeping just below the speed limit as he pulled a series of tight turns. It was important to put as much distance between themselves and the prison as they could, but there were speed cameras in the area and they couldn’t risk being photographed.

Armstrong scratched his chin under the ski mask as he stared down at Carpenter, who was lying on his back, his eyes shut, breathing heavily. ‘Doesn’t look like much,’ he said.

‘Worth twenty-eight million,’ said Shepherd.

‘Yeah, well, his money’s not going to get him out of this,’ said O’Brien.

Mitchell held out a hand. ‘Hang on, now, boys. Let’s at least hear what he has to say. I mean, Spider’s one of the lads, but twenty-eight mill is a shedload of money.’

O’Brien thumped Mitchell’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you just go out and write one of those kill-and-tell books? Make some money that way.’

‘Can’t string two words together, me,’ said Mitchell. ‘Why don’t we just hold him to ransom? He’s got money. Let him pay for what we just did.’

O’Brien pointed a warning finger at him.

‘Joke,’ said Mitchell.

The van swerved again and the tyres squealed. O’Brien was monitoring police radio frequencies but so far no one had called in the raid on the prison. ‘We’re in the clear, Jimbo,’ he said.

Shortt eased off the accelerator.

Carpenter rolled on to his side, and Armstrong placed a foot casually on his neck.

They drove to an industrial estate on the outskirts of Watford, close to the M
25
. O’Brien climbed out and unlocked a metal shutter, pushed it open and Shortt edged the van inside the building. It was a small warehouse, a bare space with metal rafters overhead and a small plasterboard office in one corner. There were no windows.

Armstrong and Mitchell opened the rear doors of the van and dragged Carpenter out as O’Brien pulled down the shutters at the entrance. Shortt got out, holding a bottle of Evian water. He unscrewed the cap and poured it over Carpenter. Carpenter coughed, spluttered and sat up.

O’Brien, Shortt, Mitchell and Armstrong stood in a semi-circle facing him, their submachine-gunsat the ready.

‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Carpenter, running his hands through his wet hair.

‘We’re the guys who pulled your nuts out of the fire,’ said O’Brien, ‘so a bit of respect is called for.’

Carpenter got to his feet. His lip was split and blood was dribbling down his chin. He grinned at Shepherd. ‘I knew you’d be able to do it,’ he said. ‘You just needed an incentive.’

‘I got you out,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now I want my boy back.’

‘I think we should celebrate, don’t you? It’s not every day that you get to break out of a Category A prison, is it?’ Carpenter laughed, but no one laughed with him. ‘A friend of mine always made the same toast when he opened a bottle of bubbly,’ said Carpenter. ‘Champagne for our real friends, and real pain for our sham friends.’ He moved quickly, stepping forward and grabbing the gun from Shepherd’s belt. Then he flicked the safety-catch. ‘That’s what I want for you, Shepherd. Real fucking pain.’ He pointed the gun at Shepherd and pulled the trigger.

In the confined space the explosion was deafening. Shepherd staggered back, clutching his belly. Carpenter grinned in triumph. He waved the gun at the men in ski masks, then frowned when he saw they were all laughing, guns at their sides.

Shepherd straightened. He held his hands up, palms out to Carpenter. No blood.

Carpenter stared at the gun in disbelief. He aimed at Shepherd’s stomach and fired again. Shepherd stood where he was, his ears ringing.

‘You stupid twat,’ said O’Brien. ‘You don’t think we’d give Spider real bullets, do you?’

Carpenter tossed the gun away. ‘Fuck the lot of you,’ he said.

O’Brien aimed his gun at Carpenter’s face. ‘Why don’t we just have done with it and slot him now?’

‘Do that and he’ll never see his boy again,’ said Carpenter.

‘Where is he?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I don’t know.’

Shepherd’s jaw dropped. ‘You what?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know. My guys have taken them somewhere. Once you’ve let me go, they’ll let your boy and his grandparents go. That’s the deal.’