The Hanged Man Read online

  Ugo’s smile immediately did a runner, but Stegs didn’t give a shit about that. It was essential he set out his stall early as a man not to be messed with. If Ugo and Ralvin Lambden thought they could get away with it, he knew they’d try to rob them, especially on a one-off deal like this.

  ‘Then I’m going to need to see the money first,’ said Ugo. ‘So I know you ain’t Feds. Otherwise it’s a no-go.’

  Stegs and Tone exchanged looks.

  ‘All right,’ said Stegs. ‘Follow us.’

  The three of them walked two hundred metres round the block, passing a large white van with blacked-out windows with the name of a local plumber on the side that Stegs knew contained at least six heavily armed cops, whose presence he was very glad of. Every so often both he and Tone glanced over their shoulders, just to make sure no one else was following and it wasn’t a trap.

  The car Stegs and Tone were using for their undercover role was a BMW X5 – a classic bad boy car – that had been borrowed from Counter Terrorism Command. It was completely wired for sound, and sitting in the driver’s seat was the third member of their undercover team, a middle-aged guy in a cheap suit who looked not unlike a young Keith Richards but who in reality was a decorated firearms officer. His name was Ron and Stegs hadn’t worked with him before, but he looked the part, and Stegs liked the fact he was carrying a Glock 17 that he knew how to use.

  Stegs nodded to him now and opened the rear passenger door. There was a holdall on the back seat. They’d both been expecting Ugo to want to see the money up close so the holdall had been packed to make it appear as if it was stuffed with wads of cash. Each wad was supposedly five grand in twenties, but only the top and bottom few notes of each wad were real money, the rest a mix of varying qualities of counterfeit notes borrowed from the NCA evidence room, and paper. There were also ten separate tracking devices among the money, and two in the material of the holdall itself, so even if they were robbed there was no way the bad guys were going to get very far with it.

  Yes, tonight the bad guys were doomed. The important thing was that they didn’t take any of the good guys down with them.

  Stegs leaned in and unzipped the bag, switching on his mobile phone torch to illuminate the contents. Ugo leaned in beside him, and took a sharp intake of breath. Stegs could almost smell his greed, along with the job lot of expensive aftershave he’d doused himself in. He pulled out a wad that had more real money in it than the others and handed it to Ugo, knowing that out here in a public place he wouldn’t have time to give it anything more than a cursory examination.

  ‘Satisfied?’ he demanded as Ugo quickly flicked through it. ‘And don’t try anything. Ron here’s armed.’

  Ron turned round in the seat and eyeballed Ugo but didn’t reveal the gun.

  Ugo threw the wad back in the holdall, flicked a couple of notes on the one next to it, then nodded at Stegs, the grin firmly back on his face now. ‘Yeah, bruv, I’m satisfied. Stay here. I’ll come round with the car. Then you follow me.’

  They watched him go before jumping in the X5 – Big Tone in the front, Stegs in the back.

  ‘Looking good so far, but we’re going to have to watch him,’ said Stegs. ‘UC1 to Tango 1. Did you get all that?’

  ‘Loud and clear, UC1,’ said Eddie Olafsson.

  ‘Keep us nice and close, all right? I don’t trust Ugo, and I trust that loon Ralvin even less.’

  ‘We’ve got full back-up here, UC1. You’re in safe hands.’

  Stegs had heard that one before. In these days of increased health and safety, ops were a lot more tightly run. There’d been a risk assessment of this one and, because of the value of the targets, it had been given the all-clear. Even so, Stegs knew it could go tits up in a moment. Still, he felt a thrill go through him at the prospect of some real excitement. Not many things were exciting in his life. His ex-wife had remarried, his teenage son hardly spoke to him, he had no money, and his last girlfriend had left him for an accountant. But he still had this. The adrenalin shot of danger, mixed with that most potent of fantasies: the illusion of power.

  The Porsche Cayenne appeared at the end of the road and Ugo waved for them to follow him.

  Stegs grinned from the back seat. ‘UC1 to Tango 1. OK, we’re live.’

  Twenty-five

  It had begun to rain, and the city streets were slick and gleaming with reflected light as we pulled off the Uxbridge Road and headed into a winding warren of back streets in the direction of Hammersmith.

  The back-up team travelled in a very loose convoy, keeping a long way back from the undercover vehicle, and sometimes taking different roads, so as not to arouse suspicion. An armed surveillance car containing three officers was at the front, just in case there was an ambush, and then a further minute behind them were the support vehicles and Ealing, with us bringing up the rear, a long way from any of the action.

  I doubt we’d gone a mile and were listening to the radio traffic between the various vehicles when the armed surveillance team came on the line.

  ‘Tango 2 to all units. UC1 and target vehicle have turned into the west entrance of the Cray’s Pond Estate from Webber Avenue. There are two IC3s loitering at the entrance who may be look-outs. We are continuing southbound on Webber Avenue. Traffic is sparse, so advise all other cars not to follow us but to take an alternative road and suggest rendezvous on Cray’s Pond Road out of sight of the west entrance.’

  ‘Tango 1 to all cars,’ said Olaf, sounding uncharacteristically nervous, ‘affirmative. Rendezvous on Cray’s Pond Road unless advised otherwise by Tango 2. The Cray’s Pond Estate is scheduled for demolition. There are very few people still living there, and a lot of places to hide. We may have to abort. It could be too dangerous.’

  In the car, Dan and I exchanged glances. It would be a nightmare for us if the op was aborted, but as we turned into Cray’s Pond Road, I could see Olaf’s point.

  The estate loomed up on our left, silhouetted among the sodium glow of the streetlamps: a brooding, dark fortress of brutalist 1960s concrete blocks, many visibly crumbling, linked by a series of covered walkways, and providing a multitude of ambush points and escape routes. It was in fact very similar to the estate in Hackney I’d gone into on my last op with Olaf. That one had gone disastrously wrong, ending in the death of our suspect and a full-scale riot. None of us could afford a repeat performance.

  Tango 2 was right. Traffic was sparse and the street largely empty, meaning we’d stand out if we weren’t careful. Up ahead I saw the white van containing one of the armed response teams park up directly in front of Olaf’s vehicle so I kept going, sneaking into a parking space next to an off licence a hundred metres up the road, which afforded us a view of an empty walkway running between two of the buildings. In my rear-view mirror I saw a couple of grimy-looking drunks stumble out of the off licence, cans in hand, and cross the road, disappearing into the darkness of the estate.

  It was, I thought, either a very good or a very bad place to do a major drug deal, depending on where you were in the equation, and the undercover cops going in there weren’t at the good end.

  Twenty-six

  ‘Where the hell’s he taking us?’ said Stegs, looking out of the X5’s window at the buildings looming around them. The place had an abandoned feel. On the way in, Stegs had seen a sign saying that demolition work was due to begin here soon and a brand-new urban village was being built in its place, and if anyone still lived here, they weren’t showing themselves tonight.

  They drove past a row of ground-floor flats with caved-in windows, missing doors, and walls covered in graffiti, following Ugo’s Porsche as it drove deeper into the estate.

  ‘See those two,’ said Big Tone, motioning towards the shadows of one of the buildings where a couple of kids in hoodies loitered, watching them pass. ‘They’re look-outs.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Tango 1?’ said Stegs to Eddie Olafsson. ‘We’ve got kids watching us next to the third building in on the right-hand side.�
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  ‘I hear you, UC1. No problem. We’re going to allow the targets to drive out of the estate with the money and take them on the street, well away from you. Just make sure you record the transaction then get out of there.’

  ‘Roger that,’ said Stegs, sitting forward in his seat and feeling the adrenalin surge through him. On jobs like this, Stegs was the king. He had real power. He was essential to the op’s success. Without him it was nothing, and for just these few minutes, all the other mundane shit of his life faded into nothingness.

  Twenty yards ahead of them, Ugo’s Porsche Cayenne indicated and made a turn in front of one of the buildings. The X5 followed, turning on to an entrance ramp that led down into an underground car park – a cavernous space lit by overhead strip lights, several of which had ceased working. Up ahead, Ugo stopped his car next to a BMW saloon, the only other car in the place.

  ‘Stop here,’ said Stegs to Ron as they came to the bottom of the ramp. ‘Can the camera on this thing film the whole deal from here?’

  Ron stopped the X5. ‘Of course it can. It’s state of the art.’

  ‘OK,’ said Stegs, taking a deep breath and opening the door. ‘Stay here and wait for us.’

  He and Big Tone walked across the empty car park as the X5 ticked over behind them. The plan was simple. As soon as he and Tone saw the drugs, Stegs would wave Ron over. They’d make the exchange, with the camera on the X5 filming everything – and giving the back-up teams a few minutes to get fully in position – then give the code phrase, jump back in the car and get the hell out of there. As soon as Ugo and his buddies followed suit, they’d be nicked by the waiting cops. Job done.

  The car park smelled of piss. The ceilings were low, and because it was dimly lit, shadows formed in the corners among the supporting pillars running down either side, giving the place a menacing air.

  Ahead of them, Ralvin Lambden and a large Rastafarian with an angry-looking pitbull on a lead got out of the saloon and joined Ugo next to the boot. Ralvin and Ugo were both grinning at Stegs and Tone as they approached.

  ‘Keep your wits about you,’ Stegs whispered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I never like it when crims smile this much.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m on it,’ Big Tone whispered back.

  They stopped when they were a couple of yards away from the others.

  ‘How you doin’, mon?’ asked Ralvin, seemingly a lot happier now than he had been when they’d met earlier. ‘You got the money?’

  Stegs nodded. ‘Yup. It’s in the car. Ugo’s seen it.’

  ‘It looks like it’s all there, bruv,’ Ugo told Ralvin.

  ‘We need to count it,’ said Ralvin.

  ‘As long as you don’t take too long,’ said Stegs, knowing that only a brief examination would reveal that most of the money was counterfeit. ‘I don’t want to hang round here any longer than I have to. Have you got the gear?’

  Ralvin nodded. ‘Course I got the stuff, mon. It’s in here.’ He tapped the car boot.

  ‘I’ll need to test it before we hand over the cash,’ said Stegs.

  ‘Yeah, but don’t take too long, mon. I don’t want to hang round here any longer than I have to.’ He gave Stegs a big gold-toothed grin to show he was joking, then flicked open the boot.

  Stegs walked over, giving the snarling pitbull as wide a berth as possible, and peered inside, while Big Tone stood behind him watching his back.

  There it was in a holdall: ten clear packets of white powder sealed with duct tape. Stegs felt a surge of relief as he realized this wasn’t a rip-off. He would have happily turned round right now and headed straight back to the X5 but behaviour like that would have immediately raised suspicion. He needed to act the part, so he reached inside and picked up one of the packets, pulling back a piece of the duct tape to reveal its contents.

  At the same time someone’s phone started ringing. The noise was loud in the empty car park, and Stegs looked round and saw Ugo pull his phone out and answer the call. Ugo turned away and walked round the other side of the Cayenne as he talked quietly.

  Stegs stiffened. He really didn’t like the timing of this call but knew it was essential he continue to act natural, as if it didn’t bother him in the least.

  He licked the tip of his forefinger, put a small amount of the coke on it, and put it in his mouth.

  Straight away he felt the tingling sensation on his tongue. It was good stuff.

  He looked down. The pitbull was sniffing round his ankle. ‘Get that fucking thing away from me,’ he snapped at the Rastafarian, who glared back at him, but gave the dog’s lead a quick yank.

  Which was the moment when Stegs heard Ron lean on the X5 horn behind them. Before he could react, there was a loud crack and Big Tone pitched forward with a barely audible grunt, smacking his forehead on the edge of the boot. Directly behind him stood Ugo, holding a baseball bat close to his chest. He snarled at Stegs and lifted the bat again.

  The whole thing happened so fast Stegs was momentarily rooted to the spot, knowing there was no way he could get out of the way of the bat before it came down on his head. This was the thing about violence. However much you expected it, or had experienced it – and Stegs had seen violence too many times – the suddenness and brutality of it never ceased to shock. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Big Tone land in a heap on the concrete floor, the back of his head bleeding, already unconscious and no help at all.

  ‘It’s a fuckin’ set-up!’ yelled Ugo. ‘There are Feds all over the street out there!’

  Pure fear shot through Stegs and he bolted. But he’d gone barely a yard when he was yanked backwards and pulled into a headlock, the strength of the grip so strong that he knew it must be Ralvin. Stegs felt himself being swung round, just as Ron screeched towards them across the car park. Ron was no longer blasting away on the horn. Instead Stegs could clearly see him reaching into his jacket pocket for the gun. He was talking as well, no doubt into the X5’s mike, telling back-up that everything had gone tits up.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Stegs saw Ralvin lift a gun with his free hand and the next second he let off five shots in rapid succession, the noise from them deafening in the confines of the car park. It was difficult to know whether he was shooting to kill or just trying to blow out the tyres, but either way the front driver’s side wheel blew and a bullet slammed into the windscreen.

  Ron ducked down out of sight and the X5 stalled, leaving it stationary in the middle of the car park about fifteen yards away.

  ‘Ugo, get da fuckin’ money!’ yelled Ralvin in Stegs’s ear as the pitbull barked wildly.

  Stegs couldn’t believe it. In the confusion of the moment, Ralvin still thought that the money they’d brought with them was real.

  So, it seemed, did Ugo who sprinted over to the X5, still holding the bat he’d used to attack Big Tone, and tried to open the rear passenger door. It was locked, so he dropped the bat and was reaching in the back of his jeans for something when he suddenly yelped in fear and jumped back.

  ‘He’s got a gun!’ cried Ugo as Ron fired two shots from inside the X5, shattering one of the windows.

  Ugo fell over on his arse trying to get out of the way but a moment later he was on his feet again.

  ‘I can hear the Feds!’ he shouted, running back towards them. ‘They’re coming!’

  As if on cue, the white van Stegs had seen earlier near the pub drove slowly down the ramp, with armed CO19 officers coming down behind it on foot.

  The Rasta let go of the pitbull which immediately started sprinting towards the van, still barking wildly, while Ugo ran past Stegs and Ralvin and kept on going. The Rasta immediately turned and ran in the same direction.

  ‘Where you boys goin’?’ cried Ralvin in surprise, as if the question wasn’t completely obvious, and for a moment his grip on Stegs loosened a little, allowing him to speak.

  ‘Go while you still can,’ Stegs hissed, hoping Ralvin’s sense of self-preservation would kick in.

 
Unfortunately it didn’t. His grip on Stegs’s throat tightened as two shots rang out from the other side of the car park and the pitbull went down.

  It was hard for Stegs to imagine how things could go any more wrong, but then – and this was the story of his life – they did as Ralvin shoved the still-smoking barrel of his gun against his temple, the hotness of the metal making him gasp in pain, before dragging him towards the driver’s side of the BMW saloon.

  At least six armed CO19 officers appeared from round the back of the white van and began fanning out, their weapons pointed at Ralvin – and, unfortunately for Stegs, at him too.

  ‘Armed police! Drop your weapon now!’ barked one of them as the officers slowly approached. ‘Drop it or we will shoot!’

  ‘Come any closer and I kill him!’ yelled Ralvin. ‘I’m driving out of here wid him and you ain’t gonna stop me, unnerstand? Him my hostage.’

  Ralvin had clearly been watching too many movies if he thought he was just going to leave with Stegs and no one was going to stop him. Maybe that kind of thing worked in Jamaica but they couldn’t have it happening round here. It would be too embarrassing.

  Ralvin’s breathing was getting shallower and faster as the cops kept coming, moving into a semi-circle, and Stegs could tell he was coming to the same conclusion.

  ‘You are surrounded,’ shouted an armed cop. ‘This is not helping. Let him go.’

  ‘Come any closer and I shoot dis wasteman. Den I shoot you. Unnerstand?’ Ralvin stopped moving, and Stegs felt the gun being removed from his temple as he pointed it in the general direction of the cops, holding Stegs in front of him like a human shield. ‘I told you. Get back!’

  Stegs had never been so scared in all his life. But in the midst of the fear he remembered a martial arts move he’d been taught in an introductory self-defence course he’d done the previous year in the esteemed surroundings of Hendon Town Hall, about how to deal with someone who grabs you by the throat from behind. Stegs wasn’t at all sure it was designed to stop wild-eyed gunmen as strong as oxen, but this was life or death, and rather than mull over all that could go wrong, he just did it.