* * *
The train lurched to a halt, throwing a Japanese tourist off balance. Her husband steadied her by the elbow as the doors opened and half a dozen passengers spilled out on to the platform. The doors closed and the Tube train swiftly accelerated towards the next station. Tommy Reid rested the back of his head against the window and exhaled through clenched teeth. He’d been riding the Circle Line train for more than two hours and he was dog tired. He had a bottle in a brown paper bag, which he raised to his lips, taking a couple of swallows. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the map on the wall of the carriage opposite him. Bayswater was the next station. He sighed mournfully. The muscles in his backside ached and his ears hurt from the near-constant noise. He scratched the two-day growth of beard with the palm of his hand and grinned across at the blind man sitting opposite him, a thirty-something man in blue wrinkled linen jacket and black jeans, holding a white cane between his legs.
The train began to slow as it reached Bayswater. Reid’s earpiece crackled. “We have a possible contact,” said a voice. “Three white males. Black motorcycle jacket, red baseball jacket with white sleeves, green anorak.” The three muggers had struck four times in the last week. Reid sniffed and took another swig at the bottle as the train slowed then stopped.
“Fourth carriage,” said the voice in his ear. Reid was in the fifth carriage from the front. He swivelled his head. Through the window in the connecting door he saw the three teenagers board the carriage and huddle together, laughing at something Anorak had said.
The doors closed and the train lurched forward again. Motorcycle Jacket took a stopwatch from the back pocket of his jeans and nodded at Anorak and Baseball Jacket. All three of the teenagers pulled out black objects from inside their jackets, the size of flashlights with small metal prongs on the end, and spread out along the length of the carriage. Baseball Jacket clicked the trigger on his and blue sparks arced across the prongs.
Reid got to his feet and went over to the connecting door. Two schoolgirls moved away uneasily. He slowly buttoned up his thick overcoat, figuring it would offer at least some protection again the stun guns. Reinforcements would be waiting at Paddington, and all Reid had to do was to make sure that no one got hurt.
A businessman handed over his wallet. Anorak took it and put it into a green Harrods carrier bag. A housewife fumbled in her shopping bag while Baseball Jacket stood over her menacingly. An elderly black man was waving his hands and shaking his head, clearly unwilling to give up his money. Anorak walked quickly over to him, thrust the prongs of his stun gun against the man’s thigh and pressed the trigger. The man screamed and then stiffened, his whole body shuddering involuntarily.
“Oh shit,” said Reid. The muggers had never actually used their stun guns before the threat alone had always been enough to frighten their victims into submission. He gripped the metal handle and pulled open the door. The noise of the rolling gear rattling down the rails was deafening. He opened the door leading to the adjoining carriage and stepped across the gap.
The three teenagers looked up. Reid held out the bottle and grinned blackly. “Wanna drink?” he asked, pretending to lose his balance. Reid figured they were about thirty seconds away from Paddington all he had to do was to keep them distracted.
Suddenly the door at the far end of the carriage opened and two men in leather jackets and jeans burst in. Reid cursed. They might as well have been wearing uniforms.
“Cops!” yelled Motorcycle Jacket. “Run for it!”
All three teenagers hurtled down the carriage, towards Reid. Anorak reached him first. Reid stepped to the side and slammed his bottle against the teenager’s head. Anorak slumped to the side, falling against two young men in suits who grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground.
Reid tried to bring up the bottle for a second time but Baseball Jacket ran into him, slamming him against the carriage door, then stabbed the stun gun against Reid’s shoulder and pressed the trigger. Reid felt as if he’d been kicked by a horse. He tried to breathe but his lungs wouldn’t work and the life seemed to drain out of his legs. Baseball Jacket yanked open the door and he and Motorcycle Jacket spilled into the next carriage. Reid heard the brakes begin to bite as the train approached Paddington.
They rushed along the carriage, pushing the two schoolgirls out of the way, the two plainclothes policemen about ten paces behind. Ahead of them the blind man was getting to his feet, one hand gripping his white cane, the other outstretched. The train burst out of the tunnel and the platform flashed by.
“Out of the way!” Baseball Jacket shouted, pushing the blind man to the side as the train came to a halt and the doors opened. Baseball Jacket stepped out, but as he did so, a hand grabbed his hair and yanked him back.
“You’re under arrest,” said the blind man, slamming Baseball Jacket against the side of the carriage. The white cane dropped to the floor.
Motorcycle Jacket skidded to a halt and held out his stun gun. “You’re not blind!” he shouted.
“It’s a miracle,” grinned the blind man, jerking Baseball Jacket’s arm up behind his back until the teenager yelped in pain.
Motorcycle Jacket glared at the blind man, then spat at his face and jumped out of the carriage. The blind man pushed Baseball Jacket towards the two plainclothes policemen, who grabbed his arms, then he tossed his sunglasses away and chased after Motorcycle Jacket.